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yinses · 4 years ago

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nanami kento ft. f! reader + lots of praise + soft dom nana + fingering + semi clothed sex + domestic au

rating: 18+ wc: 2.2k a/n: inspired by this fanart that sister yulia blessed me with. nanami supremacy for all.

you take notice in the shift the moment he crosses the threshold. hair tousled and tie askew is nothing new to expect from your husband after a long day at work. he takes his job seriously and his goal to provide even more so, often sacrificing extra hours just to provide for more than what you ask.

he strived for a life of comfort, he’d told you before marriage. it was something he worked hard for prior to you and only doubled his efforts to ensure that future after putting a ring on your finger.

it wore down on him, adding maturity lines earlier than they should present themselves and taking away years he needed to give back to himself. but nanami kento was a man of consistency, even when those boundaries started to fracture.

you could feel the splinters echoing beyond the slam of the door closing shut from the kick of his heel. it rattles straight to your core as you stand there, held hostage by the stormy pools of blue staring down at you. his day had likely been another one of agitation piled on top of another. surely a cup of tea before dinner would help soothe the cracks of frustration.

though neither your lips could form the words nor could your feet cross the distance it took to move in any direction.

this plight was not a fault of your husband who stepped confidently in your direction, a single finger coming up to remove his tie all together.

“is dinner on the stove?”

your mind blanked at the question, frazzled at the sight of him handling his cuffs with practiced care as he set one gifted metal piece aside one after the other. you had a plan set in motion from the moment he kissed your forehead in departure that morning, but everything beyond that suddenly felt trapped.

lips stumbled over answers and your cheeks warmed at the foolish display. what had swept into your household to shift the mood so?

nanami appeared otherwise unaffected as he finished rolling up the last sleeve. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, capturing your fraying attention as he looks around you towards the kitchen. you think you see his nose twitch once before his gaze falls back down.

“i don’t smell anything burning.” his intentions are becoming increasingly clear as his hand comes up to cup your cheek, a single thumb swiping at the fullness of your lips before pressing against the corner. without a second thought, you part them.

it provides a catalyst that gets you pressed against the nearest wall with one wrist pinned near the frame displaying your wedding day.

when his lips lower, you crane your neck in response only to have them stop just short of a whisper. his breath ghosts a trail down the exposed column of your throat, nose edge the line of your jaw. you swear you feel him smile against the shiver of anticipation rattling your form.

“i would like to fuck you in this hallway, if that’s alright, darling?” the thumb still trapped between your teeth, presses down against your tongue as if to prompt an answer yet he doesn’t pause for one.

“i’ve already put in a request for the cleaners to come and groom the rug tomorrow so you’ll need not to worry about that.”

your toes curl against the fine woven carpet at your feet, nerves tingling at the premeditated situation that you’ve found yourself in. your husband, who was now suckling soft blooms under your chin, had taken time out of his day to schedule a clean up for the mess he planned to make out of you. the idea made your knees go weak.

nanami chuckled knowingly as he caught your descent with the sharp line of his hips. “i imagine that’s agreeable with you, wife?”

the hasty nod of your head dislodges his finger, but he’s quick to replace it with his lips. the kiss is all consuming as his tongue slips between the seam, allowing you to taste the moan from his lips.

you may as well have had the script, dressed perfectly for the role as his knee nudges between your thigh and ride up the edge of your summer dress. he tells you all the time that you don’t need to try, that you look pretty in anything. but you like to go the extra mile. painting your lips a nice shade at home just to smear it in the passion of his kisses.

you know he appreciates it too. an inviting contrast to the mundane office view at work.

the same hand falls from the cut of your jaw to drag the hem of your dress up the ascent of your thigh. you’re more proud than embarrassed when his fingers tap against the tacky wet spot at the front of your panties.

his tongue clicks against the top of his mouth, “played with yourself while i was away again?” a firm swipe up followed by a press inward has you keening. “or did you just miss me this much?”

“yes.”

it’s both an answer and a cry for attention. a meaningless wail that meets no need of a man who would fracture the world to build you one better.

“my pretty little angel, it must be so hard when i’m away.”

he follows the panty line, teasing the sensitive skin there. the rumbling laugh you receive when your hips jerk in response makes your heart flutter. you’re still riding the tremors of your excitement when he nudges aside the lace of your panties to push a finger inside.

the intrusion meets minimal resistance as he slides from the first knuckle to the next. he still takes it as slow as your initial night, pumping in and out with care before adding a second. all the while, he peppers your face with kisses and words of adoration. nanami moves his thumb to flick over your nub before pressing down hard until you cry out.

pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, mine, are all formations of adoration that he mutters against your skin while he unravels you thread by thread.

“take it, darling, i’ll give you another.”

he utters a low curse at the sharp keening sound, enthralled by how your body trembled as he worked his fingers deeper. nanami lowered his head back to the junction of your shoulder, where he flicked his tongue against the feverish skin. your high whines and small gasps encouraged him to pick up the pace, hips rocking against yours with the precipice of something more, yet he ignored the growing discomfort in his pants to focus all the different ways your mouth formed his name.

his teeth mark your skin, where they tenderly nipped and sucked, leaving fresh marks while you twisted in his hold. you emit a shuddering cry, nails raking over his skin as your body pulls tight as a bow string. the shaky breath lining your lips forms a mantra of his name, over and over until the tremors ebb away. what remains are shaky legs that nearly slump over, caught by your husband as he follows you to the ground.

still floating down from your high, you could vaguely make out the sounds of nanami sucking off his fingers, removing them with lasciviously loud pops. when your gaze eventually focuses, you find him waiting with an eager, seductive smirk.

“ready for me then?”

swallowing a sharp inhale, you nod.

hands heading down to the zipper of his pants, nanami pulled it down and shrugged the material away to free his cock. one hand grabbing himself and the other reached for your left leg which he threw over his shoulder. you immediately try to grind down, slippery lips colliding with warm flesh.

“thought about you all day while i was at work.” nanami purrs breathily with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight before he would take you to heaven. “thinking about how you would feel around me and mad with pleasure.”

his hand reaches for yours, capturing the digits and bringing them to his lips. he takes his time, allowing his tongue to glide up and down your fingers before kissing your palm, murmuring heated words against them; “thought about our wedding night… those twisted sheets wrung dry”

you feel his hips roll once, probing slightly, before he jerks forward and grunts at the overflowing heat engulfing him. still reeling from your first, your body was pliant and gracious while he chased his. your chest heaved up and down as you tried to calm your breathing while lips continued to release indecent moans.

his grip slides down to your wrists, pressing them above your head into the rug as he adjusted over you. there was an unmistakable provocative outline in his lust-darkened blue eyes. the blonde’s lips meshed intricate patterns against your cheeks, moving downward to capture your lips in a tight needy kiss that made nanami twitch even further.

it made his last strand of self-restraint snap before he met you stroke for stroke, grounding down on you deeply. your lips broke apart with a loud cry that milked with a following angled push as he snatched at your other leg to wrap around his waist. his movements were perfectly concise, designed to make you lose control with the potent effect of his affections.

picking up the pace when your high whines turned into full-blown moans, he inhaled sharply and choked out as coherently as he could,”together, darling, meet me there. i know you can.”

then he shifted on his knees slightly, that brought on a new change in the angle as he continued thrusting deeper, watching how your head thrashed from side to side and you repeatedly arched against him, trying to meet his every move. the delectable bead of sweat that ran down your throat was promptly licked up by the blonde as he sucked on your pulse.

his hands were ever so helpful in guiding your hips as he slowed down his speed to a torturous beat, rolling his hips in deeply to tease the edge. he knew where the peak was, hovering just at the horizon as he marched gradually up the hill. nanami was practiced in the art of getting you there, watching as your spine arched to accommodate is languid yet deep drives.

“ ‘m there, kenny-please”

it was silenced with on of his brain-numbing kisses again as he captured your lips. you could feel the slight curve of his mouth as he pulled out almost fully, making you slutter in the middle of your kiss.

“that’s it, “ he hissed, loving how you pant his name with each of his thrust, trying to manage coherency past how tightly you clenched around him. “we’re there baby. take me with you.”

nanami could feel himself losing control with your begging, fitfully aware you were going to tumble over the edge with him right behind. he abruptly accelerated his thrusts once more, bringing you to meet him sharply. each time he struck, he made sure that he prodded that spot that would drive you frenzied and wild, gazing in satisfaction as you squirmed harder under his skilled touches.

“c-come now, love.” he grunted, phishing past all bounds as he rammed into you repeatedly, losing himself to the sensation crawling up his skin. “do it. be good for me, princess.”

your head twisted and turned as your mouth hung open. vision getting lost in the blinding white. body growing weaker. as if determined to break you entirely, his hand traveled down your navel to come between your joined bodies. expert fingers quickly found you clit as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing you to let go of everything as he whispered lewd thoughts into your ear.

“k-kenny!”

that was all the warning he had when your toes curled and he could feel your walls spasm around him. the flow of sensations ignited his nerves, left to surrender as you became impossible tighter around him, jerking him into his own release as well. a hiss was all he could manage as he slammed into you, shuddering through his climax.

the world exploded into a disarray of hues as he slumped forward, bracing a single arm above your figure while he panted heavily through euphoria.

“bad day at work?” you manage to get out.

he grunts at first, a small sound of misunderstanding before the mutual foggy haze lifts to prompt clarity. a breathy chuckle leaves him.

“never a bad day with you in my life. just missed you is all.” his words are slightly slurred, much unlike your husband but very a keen to a man on the verge of undeniable sleep.

dinner could wait.

“why don’t we take an early evening nap and have dinner in bed later?”

who could deny that?

you get a slow kiss of affirmation in return.

#nanami kento x reader #Nanami x Reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami sins

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new-sandrafilter · 4 years ago

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The Making (and Re-Making) of Timothée Chalamet

BY DANIEL RILEY / PHOTOGRAPHY BY RENELL MEDRANO

He found superstardom and artistic acclaim instantaneously. Now, with unique candor, the actor of a generation reveals what it’s like to come of age in our very upside-down era.

The day after the Oscars in 2018, everything that had changed, changed back again. Timothée Chalamet had spent the previous months becoming known. He had acted in a film, Call Me by Your Name, which was critically acclaimed as well as an instant object of cultish admiration—and his performance had made him, at 22, the youngest person nominated for best actor in 80 years. He had, simultaneously, been transformed into the rarest of pop confections—fawned over by younger women, older men, and every demographic in between. And he had traveled without pause on the awards circuit since early autumn, back and forth from New York and Los Angeles, practically living out of the first-class lounge and the lobbies of the Bowery Hotel and the Sunset Tower.

But the day after the Oscars, the moment the clock struck midnight and his carriage turned into a pumpkin, Chalamet was right back where he'd been before the whole fantasy had begun: in New York, with no credit card, no apartment, and no longer any structured demands on his time and attention. Outsiders who had witnessed the arrival may have regarded this 22-year-old as being in possession of wealth and clout, but he was suddenly back on his own dime, which amounted to maybe five or six dimes, reticent to stay with family and friends whose lives he felt he was disrupting with all his new baggage. Of course they couldn't possibly comprehend the chemical reaction that had just transpired. They were still hydrogen and oxygen, and Timothée Chalamet was all of a sudden water.

And so, for three weeks, he disappeared into the wallpaper of the Lower East Side. Specifically, the wallpaper of a little apartment that the French street artist JR kept for visiting collaborators. Chalamet holed up against the ugly New York weather of late winter, and did the only thing he could think to do: learn lines. The King would be his first film since his pivot into fame, and he was anxious to get back to acting after such a long stretch of merely talking about acting. Even more, he needed to blot out the unrecognizable icon the internet was already beginning to make of Timothée Chalamet.

I met Timothée for the first time at the onset of that initial blush of fame, when all of us were being introduced to an actor who had both rare talent and the un-engineerable it that chings like an audible sparkle off a jewel in a cartoon. I wrote a story for this magazine about that first chapter in the arrival of a film star. This is the second chapter, the story of what's happened since. It wasn't evident yet, but those three weeks in New York in 2018 were the starting line of what would amount to a 30-month stretch of four new films, two new Oscar campaigns, some refreshing romance, an incessant awareness of the confusing image of himself as—what else to call it?—an emerging global movie star, and a constant concerted effort to figure himself out as both a young actor and a young person in the unceasing spotlight.

This summer, we were talking about all this on a little screened porch out back of a modest cabin in Woodstock when Chalamet recalled those three weeks. “My world had flipped,” he said. “But if I kicked it with my friends, things could still feel the same. I was trying to marry these two realities. But I don't even think I knew that was what I was doing. That dissonance was real. And thank God. Because I feel like if I'd caught up to it immediately, I would've been a psychopath or something.”

Out on that porch, I asked him a version of the same question over and over: What had the last two and a half years been like for him, as a human being? His response was a multi-hour monologue that I would characterize as: intense. He expressed unadulterated gratitude for his great good fortune. But he also expressed confusion and tension. He is firmly in a moment when he is concerned that everything he says or does or thinks will look or sound wrong. He backtracked a lot (“Wait, let me try that again”). He jumped on and off the record (“Sorry, sorry, sorry, this is just for you…”). It was important for me to know, he said, in order to communicate the context of his experience, if not the specifics.

“I want to get back to the undefined space again. I'm chasing a feeling.”

He lives in the same world all of us do—only with the potential for adoration and blowback turned up to 11. He seems, at once, to trust his own instincts while also second-guessing most thoughts the moment he's convinced of them. It is an exhausting way to be. At times, when he was up on his feet, in his T-shirt and shorts, pacing around the little screened porch, hands tugging at his mane, I could feel the gears grinding to the point of smoke. He wanted so desperately to get this right, to express what he really meant, to feel the right feelings, to live the right way, to be the right kind of man for the people in his life that he knows he can and should be, despite everything else, despite the noise. He's doing his best.

Timothée had rented the house for the month of July, as a little escape but also as an opportunity. He was slated to play Bob Dylan in a new biopic. No telling when it might film, given everything, but for now he had more time to himself than he'd had in years, which meant time to maybe huff the vapors of some Woodstock Dylanalia. “It's not like I'm suffering from lack of connection otherwise,” he said, “but it just really feels like I'm connecting to something here.” When he arrived, he discovered that his little house had a wall devoted to Dylan—to the albums he'd recorded in the run-up to his timeout in Woodstock in the late '60s. Timothée relished happening upon that wall his first day in the Airbnb. The universe offered signs if you nudged it toward coherence.

He knew what the cabin might seem like—like some young actor taking himself way too seriously, “treating himself like an artist.” But he was back and forth between Woodstock and New York all month, bombing up and down the interstate in the Honda sedan he'd rented from Enterprise. (He learned how to drive on Beautiful Boy.) All the while Dylan was top of mind. Timothée was late to the party but helplessly obsessed. He quoted him generously. He fixated on both the art and the persona. He marveled at the way the artist could be out there so much, making such an impact, while also keeping the real person obscured behind the music, the characters in the songs, the language. In the city, we spent time walking around Greenwich Village, Timothée in an identity-concealing face mask and bucket hat and sunglasses, able to search out old Dylan addresses in an invisibility cloak. He ran from site to site, with notes he'd kept while reading Dylan's memoir, Chronicles: Volume One, barreling up stairs and peering into windows. He was a 24-year-old actor, taking advantage of the pause between the second phase of his career and the third and thinking hard, daily, about how to play the next few years.

He rented the house in Woodstock, too, so that he could have a little space all to himself. He craved the privacy to try things and to fuck up. To make small mistakes now, out of view, when it was just him, when he was still young, so that he didn't have to worry about it later. At one point, he stood up and slapped an empty water bottle off the table so that it clattered against the screen of the porch. “I want to know what that sounds like!” he shouted. He hadn't taken many missteps yet, and it made him uncomfortable, wary, that he would someday. The month felt like a controlled burn. In the most innocent way, that was what Woodstock was about. He got to practice his guitar and harmonica in peace, cook himself his “shitty pasta” without judgment, permit himself space to keep growing up. So much was in the spotlight now. But in that cabin, he could sit on the couch for a while and re-familiarize himself with “the crease in the cushion” that he'd lost touch with over the past few years. The quiet. The stillness. That sunlight there coming through the trees. He could breathe a little. Sleep a little. It had all been so good for him so far. But the goodness made him anxious. When will the other shoe drop? Not there. He'd deleted Instagram off his phone. He'd stopped posting on Twitter. He was reading again. Listening to albums all the way through. Slowing down. What was it like to have lived these past two and a half years? It was like a lot of things, but here at the end of it, it just felt good to sleep.

Back at the start of the 30-month run that led to Woodstock, Timothée turned over the keys to JR's studio and went to Europe to shoot The King. The role was like none of the films he'd just received notice for. “Here I am on set with all these Hungarian men with scars on their faces, and they're like, ‘You're the center of the shot, you're the badass! And we know you tried to put on all this weight, but like: You're wearing all the chain mail.’ If they took the chain mail off, my throat is still this big…” There he was trying to keep in perspective this new fame, this new validation, this new temptation toward ego, all while being thrust into the center of “something called The motherfucking King.”

When he returned to New York that summer, he skipped off the atmosphere again with another awkward reentry. One moment he was on the battlefield of the biggest-budget drama he'd yet experienced, the next he was “back in New York, on the A/C/E at Port Authority, just like, What the fuck is going on?” It was a pattern over the past few years. The calmly intense immersion into work, the “thud of lost purpose,” as he called it, when the work ended. It happened the same way in the fall of 2018 with Little Women—reunited with Greta Gerwig and Saoirse Ronan and the crew from Lady Bird. There was just an ease with which he plugged in with them, “a vocabulary of friendship” that existed there.

Timothée's career thus far has been filled with these sorts of friendships, notably those across generational lines. Even a casual observer may have picked up on it. Those glommings-on to older people in his life. Armie Hammer. Kid Cudi. Greta Gerwig. When I asked Gerwig to comment on the arc she's witnessed up close, from Lady Bird to Little Women, she wrote a note about “my friend Timmy”: “It's hard for me now, because I'm his friend, to see him strategically.… I love talking to him. We can get on the phone and talk for an hour or more without even realizing it, just skipping from subject to subject, making jokes, me feeling old and happy and him being funny and anxious and delightfully all over the place.” It's an odd gap he finds himself in—forced to be more accelerated than most 24-year-olds while also having not lived enough life yet to fit in absolutely with the people he enjoys spending time with most. On a recent visit with his grandmother in New York, she surprised him by saying, “I wish you would hang out with people your own age more often. It must be so weird.” It made him chuckle. Even she'd noticed. She might be right. But how could he resist the orbit of these creative geniuses he'd so long admired and who were filled with so much knowingness?

“I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles.”

In the winter of 2019, another Oscar campaign left him feeling disoriented all over again. Everything, Timothée said, was exactly the same as the first time except him. He'd put in this undeniable performance, but maybe one that sparked a little less for Oscar voters than that first kiss with a stranger. Now he was in all the same rooms as before, the same lunches and dinners and cocktail parties, shaking hands with the same Academy members who showed up at everything to get a little nibble of the freshest biscuit, growling ominous things at him, like: You don't have my vote yet.… “I really don't know how to talk about this stuff, man,” he told me, “because my experience of it is at the center of it. There's just some dark energy at these things, and this time around I felt like I could see it. And yet I'm thinking, Why isn't this going the exact same way?”

He wasn't nominated for Beautiful Boy, but the fresh air came, as it always seemed to, on the set of the next film: Wes Anderson's The French Dispatch. The movie is about a fictional English-language magazine (based on The New Yorker of the midcentury) and is structurally organized like the magazine itself, featuring short pieces at the “front” of the movie and a triptych of long features at the back. Timothée costars in the second feature, about a May '68-style student-protest leader named Zeffirelli and the middle-aged magazine journalist (Frances McDormand) assigned to report on his cause.

“I had seen Timmy in Lady Bird and Call Me by Your Name,” Anderson wrote to me, “and I never had the inconvenience of ever thinking of anybody else for this role even for a second. I knew he was exactly right, and plus: He speaks French and looks like he might actually have walked right out of an Éric Rohmer movie. Some time around 1985. A slow train from Paris, a backpack, a beach for 10 days in bad weather. He's not any kind of type—but the New Wave would have had a happy place for him.”

The privilege of early fame that Timothée most appreciates is the ability to choose the directors he works with. His role in The French Dispatch is a minor one, but it's a Wes Anderson movie—it's as simple as that. Due to the episodic nature of the film, some of the other “stories” were already being shot when Timothée arrived in Angoulême, a town that reminded him of the one he spent time in growing up, “so French it was like a caricature,” he said. Timothée had the opportunity, then, to hang with some of the elders he doesn't act with, like Jeffrey Wright, Bill Murray, and other seasoned members of the Wes Anderson troupe. “It was immediately as if it wasn't his first time with our group,” Anderson explained. “He was somehow already part of the family. The youngest member.”

Timothée had seen McDormand around for years, but he'd never felt like she was someone he could approach. “We'd shared an agent,” he said. “And it was no disrespect to me, but I hadn't been in any movies yet. What business do I have talking to Frances McDormand? But now, and this is the gift of acting, I really feel myself coming into my own as a community of thespians, as opposed to actors. And man, that sounds pretentious, but I just mean it's not about the fucked-up ladder of success and un-success, and being the guy or the girl, and then being off the list… That's not what I'm talking about with her on set, that's not what she's espousing to me. She's talking about a long career. She's talking about marriage with a creative partner and consultant. So to be able to have conversations like that and then a story line in the movie where they're kind of on an equal field? Even if she's an experienced, wise woman and he's an idealistic, naive boy? That's the exact relationship of exchange I want with my intergenerational peers.”

There's a particularly memorable scene in The French Dispatch, reporter and subject having fallen into bed together, when there's a knock at the door. Timothée looks at McDormand, anxious about who's there, mortified when McDormand informs him it's his mother. There, in that scene, we see all the desire of Zeffirelli—this energetic young man with all the right intentions, who strains to be intellectually and emotionally riper—clash with the reality of his age. It felt familiar to me, and no doubt to Timothée. It was some of my favorite acting in the film. I asked McDormand if there was anything in their scenes that struck her as particularly mature for someone his age. “Maturity is not something a fellow actor is the most concerned with,” she said. “Playfulness, discipline, and rigor. I do recall, during our scene in bed, the crew responding to his work with true respect for his focus. He was bringing it and we sat up and paid attention.” Anderson added: “I think my favorite moments with Timmy during a scene were the ones where I saw him pause and find a new attack. A new angle, which he does very clearly and assertively. What I love is how he will surprise you with something new, completely unexpected and perfect.”

One night, while McDormand was shooting a scene without Timothée, her husband, Joel Coen—he of the Brothers—asked Timothée if he wanted to go out for a steak. Over dinner, Timothée grilled Coen about Dylan. He knew Coen was a fan and had steeped in it on Inside Llewyn Davis. “He almost seemed weary of even talking about this stuff, it was so big and potent,” Timothée told me. But Coen noted that the truly incredible thing about Dylan was not so much the quality, which was obvious, but the quantity—the rapid amount of work in short succession, one groundbreaking album after another, in those early years. That takeaway resonated deeply with Timothée. Especially as he reflected on it from summer 2020, during the pause, during the moment of no work. That gush from Dylan made him want to work—harder, longer, better, more.

A week after our conversation in Woodstock, Timothée and I were in New York City, sitting on a bench along the Hudson, talking about what he's looking for when work resumes. “I want to get back to the undefined space again,” he said. “I'm chasing a feeling. When you think you're doing some great thing, it's probably something you've done before, and when you really fucking have no clue, that's when you're doing something on the edge, good or bad.”

Timothée's mask had slipped down his face as he was saying this, and two young women, about his age, approached cautiously. “Would you mind if we got a…,” they asked, and he hopped up without hesitation. “How'd you recognize me?” he said, friendly, but genuinely curious, as if he hadn't just been shouting about art in a voice that sounded a lot like Laurie from Little Women or Timmy from late-night shows.

“Was it the scrawny limbs or the hair?” I asked him as he sat back down.

“Definitely the first.”

From France, last spring, it was straight to Hungary—right back to the exact apartment in Budapest he'd stayed in while shooting The King—to start work on Dune. Very few actors had become as famous without a blockbuster. And while he'd really gotten it down how to act on an indie set, how to make every second and every take count, he knew this would be something altogether different. It wasn't just the shoot that would prove taxing. A film of Dune's scale would likely be the can opener to a whole other stratum of Hollywood prominence.

Director Denis Villeneuve told me Timothée was his “first and only choice” to play Paul Atreides, “the one name on the page.” When they met to discuss the prospect, Villeneuve told Timothée how happy he was to finally meet the young actor. And Timothée had to remind him that they'd met before, when Timothée read for Villeneuve's Prisoners. “ ‘Of course!’ ” Villeneuve remembered. “He did a great audition, but he didn't physically fit the part. He was probably swearing at me because I didn't take him.” Timothée was party to so many stories like that one—glancing interactions with these heroes of his before he'd broken through. It reminded me of the relationship between freshmen and seniors in high school. The freshmen remember everything about the seniors; the seniors hardly notice the freshmen. But we all become peers eventually.

“I felt there was one being on this planet right now that would be able to portray Paul Atreides,” Villeneuve said—referring to the hero of the 1965 Frank Herbert novel, who transforms from an unassuming heir into a messiah figure, a charismatic outsider and commander of men and women (and sandworms). I read Dune for the first time this summer and was shocked by the source material, how much I'd consumed in culture that had borrowed from it. Star Wars. Alien. The Matrix. Game of Thrones. Paul, therefore, is a type we're familiar with but also possessing singular characteristics Villeneuve wanted Timothée for: “He has a deep, deep intelligence in the eyes. Something you cannot fake. The kid is brilliant. Very intellectual, very strong. And you see that in the eyes. He also has a very old soul. You feel that he has already lived through several lives. And at the same time, he looks so young on camera. Sometimes he'd look almost 14 years old. He has this kind of general youth in his features and the contrast with the old-soul quality in his eyes—it's a kid that knows more about life than his age. Finally: He has that beautiful charisma, the charisma of a rock star. That Paul will lead the whole population of a planet later. Timothée has that kind of instant charisma onscreen that you can find only sometimes in the Old Hollywood stars from the '20s. There's something of a romantic beauty to him. A cross of aristocracy and being a bum at the same time. I mean, Timothée is Paul Atreides for me. It was a big relief that he agreed, because I had no plan b.”

“If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.”

I asked Villeneuve if he noticed Timothée struggling at all to adjust to the larger-scale production. “It didn't show when he was on set, but I think for him the big thing was to learn how to create his own bubble on set. So that he would not have to try to be the friend of everyone. When you're on a smaller set, when there's 25 people, you can be friendly with 25 people. When there's 800 people around, you cannot be friends with 800 people.” He chuckled. “It's too much. So how to save your energy, how to focus, how to give himself permission to be in his bubble and make sure that his bubble is respected.”

As ever, Timothée had a special affinity with those people on set who were a little older, a little wiser. Villeneuve said Timothée was constantly speaking with him and his wife in this open, vulnerable way about his concerns, his fears, how to deal with certain pressures. Villeneuve also described for me Timothée's relationships with his fellow actors, particularly the trio of Josh Brolin, Oscar Isaac, and Jason Momoa. “I felt like Timothée was deeply seduced—or maybe not seduced, but I just felt it was like a kid being with older brothers,” Villeneuve said. “He was younger, he was the little one on set, and everybody loved him. There's a scene in the movie where Timothée runs into the arms of Jason Momoa, and Jason grabs him like a puppy and lifts him into the air like he was a feather. And that's real! They really loved each other. It was very beautiful to see this young man being influenced by these people he admires.”

“His positive energy is infectious,” Zendaya, his nearest peer in the film, told me. “He really is so much fun to be around. We have very similar humor, and we can keep a joke going for a long time, but when the cameras start rolling and it's time to work, you can see it's game time, and he just taps into this brilliant intensity. It's awesome to witness.” Villeneuve underlined the energy as well, describing for me just having seen Timothée the night before we spoke, and marveling at “that beautiful, strong candor.”

“I will say that looking at Timothée working, I had a deep feeling that I was watching the birth of something,” Villeneuve added. “Not that it's for me—I say that with humility, because I feel that birth in all the movies he's done so far. I'm feeling it's someone that has insane potential. When I say potential, I don't want to reduce what he's doing right now, not at all. It's just that sometimes you are in front of somebody and you have the feeling you are in contact with a strong artist and that artist, his identity is still growing, building itself, learning its boundaries, learning how to protect some part of it. I think that we are witnessing something beautiful right now.”

At the end of summer 2019, Timothée finally resurfaced from Planet Dune. He had been on social media only sporadically while shooting for most of 2019, and so, for his vast base of fans, it was an overdue glimpse of the object of their affection. First up was the Venice Film Festival and the premiere of The King. There were clothes and Kid Cudi cameos and charming red-carpet interviews. It was an example of the sort of stretch, in the gaps between shoots, when Timothée could indulge his passions for hip-hop and fashion and all these things he'd loved all his life that were suddenly accessible. It was another of the delirious disorientations of the past few years—the way that people who were once subjects of his intense fandom were suddenly a part of his life as friends or acquaintances happy to have him around. He might still embarrass himself at times, helplessly rapping back lyrics to his hip-hop heroes or gushing like a broken dam about new music or clothes or art made by the makers in his life, but they were cool with him so long as he actually kept his cool.

Timothée also spent the end of last summer promoting The King, alongside his costar Lily-Rose Depp, whom he'd been dating for about a year. He is serious about keeping his former relationship with Depp to himself, but he did share one very sweet, very funny, very sad anecdote that encapsulates the spectrum of great and terrible that accompanies the private life of someone new to mega-fame like Timothée.

After Venice, he and Lily-Rose took a few days for themselves in Capri, where they were photographed by paparazzi. One image, in particular, circulated in which they were making out on the deck of a boat. Timothée is contorting himself into the kiss and looks a little awkward. Many people had their laughs. And some even suggested that the photo was staged for publicity. “I went to bed that night thinking that was one of the best days of my life,” Timothée told me. “I was on this boat all day with someone I really loved, and closing my eyes, I was like, indisputably, ‘That was great.’ And then waking up to all these pictures, and feeling embarrassed, and looking like a real nob? All pale? And then people are like: This is a P.R. stunt. A P.R. stunt?! Do you think I'd want to look like that in front of all of you?!”

This was how things worked now. He'd disappeared into those four straight films and emerged into a new paradigm—one that followed him into the holiday season of last year and a whole new level of exposure with Little Women. Here was this film about sisterhood, female intimacy, and a feminist critique of art and commerce. And yet Timothée was still the shiniest object in the set for so many fans. “I'm very used to answering questions about Timothée's hair from 15-year-old girls,” Saoirse Ronan joked with me. “I imagine that's probably what you're going to ask me about?”

Ronan has the unique perspective of having filmed and then promoted two movies with Chalamet during the past three years, and has as clear an eye as anyone onto this early phase of his career. “He's had such incredible opportunities, and he doesn't let the reality of that pass him by,” she said. “He's incredibly gracious and grateful in relation to his work and the people he works with. I think he's become more open as an actor. He knows his instrument more. I think he works even harder now because there are projects that are on his shoulders in a way that they weren't before. And of course he's been totally catapulted into this whole other realm of attention and notoriety. So he's also having to balance the incredible fame and attention, which would completely freak me out if it was something I had to go through.”

“I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

When Timothée and I were sitting by the Hudson that afternoon back in summer, there were those two young women who approached him for a photo. But there were also two other young women who caught an eyeful of his profile as they strolled by and then surreptitiously positioned themselves out of his sight line but still in mine. They did that thing where one pretends to take a picture of the other while actually shooting back over her shoulder in selfie mode. That charade went on for five minutes or so while Timothée exercised his guts about reuniting with Gerwig and Ronan on Little Women, and though I was nodding along, I was also marveling at the lengths to which those two fans were willing to go to get a picture of him.

I asked Ronan what she's noticed about that level of attention, sitting beside him for so much of it. “I'm always kind of shocked by those things—when any one person can just completely take over people's lives so much,” she said, laughing a little incredulously. “But I'm also not surprised. There just aren't many other young male actors out there like him, who are able to hold an audience in the way that he does. His look is so magnetic and beautiful. One of the things that we spoke about a lot when we were doing Little Women, in terms of our characters, but also in terms of myself and him as people, is that we both have this masculinity and femininity equally. And I think that that's one of his strengths, is that he can be incredibly sort of feminine and sensitive and sensual, and also he's a guy that, you know, girls fancy. So he covers so much ground in terms of popularity. But at the end of the day, he's always gonna have this skill. He can be cute, but that only gets you so far.… And so I've seen him learn how to separate himself from all that other stuff when he's on set, when he's working.”

In Woodstock, Timothée had described to me with greatest admiration the way that Ronan can act in these films, at this highest level of acclaim and attention, but also remove herself, uncomplicatedly, from all the fuss: “She is like a superhero when it comes to this sort of thing, going through it so healthy—with the asterisk being excellent work across the board and four Oscar nominations. I think her, like, DNA of self is really morally right.” She knows herself extremely well, he said, and has the confidence to give up only so much of herself. Whereas he feels he is calibrating constantly how much of his true self to reveal. “Saoirse's one of my best friends in the world—at least I think we're best friends. And she's never judged me for…the Coachella of it all.” That is, the part of him that can't resist fanning out backstage with his favorite musicians or occasionally allowing himself to be in the spotlight even as he talks about preserving his privacy.

“He's 24, and he's gonna have a great time, and I would never judge him. I've been to Coachella; I just never got photographed at Coachella,” Ronan said, chuckling. “But yeah, we talk about that sort of stuff all the time. We've weirdly gone through this together for the last few years. We've both become more accessible. But he's had one sort of attention—I do feel like boys get it on a whole other level. I know that ultimately what he wants is to be good at his job. And that will always steer him on the right path. I've always let him know, and he's always let me know, we can talk to each other, and we do. He has good people around him, and I'm one of them, and Greta as well—we all kind of look out for one another.”

Timothée spent late May and early June asking questions of himself: What can I do? What is my role in all this? He felt conflicted when he sprang to action and conflicted when he stood still. But never did things feel less uncertain, less self-conscious, than when he was marching, anonymously, alongside hundreds or thousands of others in Los Angeles in the wake of the murder of George Floyd. It was an active way to participate—meaningful action, without being showy, without flexing any of the levers of fame or power. He was going to get hit no matter what he did, so he tried to follow his instincts of what felt humble, responsible, right.

“This idea,” he said, “that power is the mass body politic organized—and how many bodies can you get together—that makes sense to me.” He didn't disappear but, rather, stripped himself of his him-ness and became one body, among many, taking up space and participating in an unequivocal statement. “With a mask, a hood, a hat, glasses—my face is deleted,” he explained, “and I'm literally presenting a physical form, you know?” A single body in space that, like a vote cast in an election, is democracy embodied, but anonymous. The same unit of power as anyone else. “People might find it disingenuous, but I found it really grounding,” he said. “It was Oh shit, I don't feel out of place—and yet I haven't been in a crowd like this for years.”

He spent much of the summer talking with others about how a person should be in a cultural and political moment such as this one. “After a day of protests,” he said, “I'd ask friends if they ‘felt good.’ If we do, is it a good thing to feel good, or does that mean we're doing it for the wrong reasons? How much do I want to put on social media? Is it a virtue signal to put it on social media? But all social media is performative, right?” I heard him ask dozens of self-interrogating questions like these. He cares so genuinely about doing the right thing, about doing well by his family, his friends, and his fans. But he didn't want to misuse his privilege or his platform, to overreach so that the gravity of his fame sucked up anything from anyone else whose moment it was to speak. He didn't want to take up room; he wanted to help center other voices. On Instagram, he posted videos each day during the first week of marches in Los Angeles—no directives into camera, just an implicit charge to his followers: Show up. Listen. Be a body.

“I have so many thoughts on so much of it,” he said, “but I don't see the benefit of putting it down for consumption until I've really worked out exactly how I feel about it all. Who benefits from my half-baked ideas?” Who cannot relate to this in 2020? Who would want any of their dinnertime conversations with family and friends these past months chiseled into the stone of the internet? “I care so much about this stuff. But I would never want my caring to be misconstrued. I don't want my caring to be about me in any way.”

God, this stuff twisted him up. He knows how much has gone his way. But from the summit of good fortune and power, is it better to speak constantly—or to shut up, put on the glasses, pull down the hood, and live and act according to one's convictions as one individual among many individuals? To march. To vote. To speak through action rather than words. Staying in motion, showing up, being a body—it's a good place to start while he works out the rest of how he's meant to live a life true to his values with everyone watching.

He's seeking out the right path, the right people—with help from his “intergenerational peers” and Dylan and anyone else he can find. He wants the benefit of their knowledge and experience, and he's okay if it's slow going to accrue it. He's open to playing the role of the novice still. But there have also been things in his life these past of couple years that have made him realize, as he puts it, “adults are just kids a little bit older.” When he returned to New York from Los Angeles this summer, it wasn't to his childhood apartment or to a borrowed living space of an acquaintance. It was to his very own apartment, his first, in a little wedge of Manhattan he loved for being nowhere, but on the edge of several somewheres. He relished the mundanity of setting up his own place. To hear him talk about a first trip to CB2 was like hearing another person talk about their first trip to a movie set. “But I think if people saw what my apartment looked like, they'd be like, ‘Oh! This kid has no fucking clue what he's doing.’ ” He is so young and he is so old. It is his gift. He is so patient when he can suppress being so restless. So careful with the long arc of a career when he can resist obsessing over the instant. He is so confident when he centers on the work and so searching when he gets sucked down into questions about the rest of his life. Will he always be this way? This pliable and open? This self-reflective and intentional? He trusted so little of his new life, but he trusted his talent. That was the key. He knew he was as good as anyone at playing other people, even if he was still figuring out how to play himself.

We spent a good amount of time in Woodstock and in New York City and on the phone talking about where his career might take him from here. With great humility, he acknowledges his skill. But he has been thinking a lot about the difference between preternatural talent and mastery—the work that's required to ascend from that floor of young greatness to the ceiling of realized potential. That said, he's wise enough to know that his career could pivot in an entirely different direction—that the world could change or the opportunities could dry up or “eventually there's gonna be an Oscar Isaac in his 30s who's gonna bust out of Juilliard who's gonna be the next great actor and make me feel like a piece of shit. But right now…”

He told me, “If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.” To show up with Call Me by Your Name—he knows that that film was a unicorn, the sort an actor works his whole life to find. And the immediate Oscar nomination had freed him up to not spend the rest of his career chasing a certain kind of role that might lead to a certain kind of validation. “I'm not gonna be bashing my head against a wall trying to prove that I'm an actor,” he said. “The train can run over my leg and leave a track forever, and yet the point of entry for me…,” he said, trailing. “That's a good feeling.”

He looks at all these careers—all the careers you might expect: DiCaprio, Bale, Phoenix, Depp. And he does his best to separate the strands of each of their careers that might still apply to his. But all of the rules for acting success that those performers played by, for how to be in the public eye, for career arcs and longevity—those rules are irrelevant now. Hollywood is different, the media is different, fans are different, movies are different, the world is different. “I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

And so it's occurring to him that the next few years will be Timothée finding the path that's right for him. Lately, he's thought about this next phase as shining a flashlight into the dark. There are potential projects that excite him considerably, some of which he's had a greater hand in engineering. There is, of course, the Dylan movie. But there's the question of how to spend the rest of the year, when most Hollywood productions are still paused. “The rest of the year,” he says, “I'm just thinking about Trump, man.” But after that…maybe Europe for a while? The Woodstock experiment did what he'd hoped it would—a little space, somewhere else. He would love to just breathe some different air again.

He was at another pivot point, as he had been when he and I were first together for Chapter 1. In the winter of 2018, the work had been validated, the public profile had developed suddenly. But the temptations, the confusion, the money—those were all lagging indicators. By mid-2020, all had caught up. And the money, in particular, was on his mind one afternoon in New York. We were talking about how a person might stay true to one's roots with that sort of thing when the reality, for him at least, had changed with Dune. I told him that one of the things that seemed to differentiate him from young stars of the past, and perhaps was a feature of his generation, was the way that material possessions didn't consume him. He didn't buy much stuff. He didn't own a car or a house. He liked borrowing clothes, but not necessarily keeping them. He agreed with the characterization, but then got immediately twisted up about a potential future hypocrisy: “But Dan, what if I do grow to like fancy shit?!”

Boomeranging back home after the surreal adventures out in the world—that was a good and grounding thing for him. Over the weeks we were talking, he spent time with his folks, delivered some COVID groceries to his grandma, and was in touch with his sister daily. And in New York, he and I kept running into ghosts. One afternoon, when we crossed the West Side Highway at Houston Street, he gestured at the athletic complex at Pier 40, where he played soccer growing up. He scampered over to a vending machine there to grab a bottle of water. When he pulled open his wallet to pay, he had only twenties. “Bad metaphor! Bad metaphor!” he screamed, jumping away from the vending machine, as though it were one of the great threats to his selfhood. This was the sort of innocuous moment that will hum with outsize resonance for me when I think about Chapter 2 from the future. All the things that one would expect to happen had happened in the first two and a half years since the arrival of a comet, and yet he was suspicious of so much of it.

Here is another way I will remember him from this moment: sitting on that porch in Woodstock—breeze and birds in the trees, sunlight in the leaves—looking for a higher power. Or at least expressing openness, as a nonreligious person, to the idea of some central organizing force in the universe—because, given everything lately, there has to be or we're fucked, right? Some of these searching things he said to me could be mistaken as a person spinning out a little. But that wasn't it at all. There was such calm. There was such contentment with the grace that had been afforded his life and career thus far, and where each might take him next. He was questing, yes—but he was firmly at the controls. The flashlight in the dark. Someone moving forward with great confidence into the unknown, with eyes wide, mouth shut, and ears listening more than they ever had before. There were no models for how a person like him should be anymore. There were no longer any adults who weren't just kids a little bit older. There were no blueprints for how to shape a career—so much had changed. There was only a head and a heart, his, and a feeling for the moment. “Maybe I'll never do a great work of art again, but I just feel like I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles,” he said on that porch in Woodstock. “When you think about Dylan. When you think about what Joel Coen said about the rapidness of the art, I'm just like: Trust the beat of your own drum. Give this its best shot. Give your artistry its best shot.”

Daniel Riley is a GQ correspondent and the author of ‘Barcelona Days,’ which was published this past summer.

A version of this story originally appears in the November 2020 issue with the title "Wild Heart."

PRODUCTION CREDITS: Photographs by Renell Medrano Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Tailoring by Ksenia Golub Produced by Wei-Li Wang at Hudson Hill Production

#timmy #timothee chalamet #gq interview #super long post

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amishfruit · 3 years ago

Text

Lady Of The Lake, Chapter One: Wade

pairings: fakir/ahiru, background mytho/rue

word count: 7048

on ao3

A young woman comes out of the lake one day mid summer, walking into town completely nude, long ginger hair falling in waves over her petite frame. Her wide blue eyes blink naively back at the stunned people milling about. It doesn’t take long for someone to provide her with a blanket to cover herself with and later clothes once they’ve gotten somewhere safe to dress.

Once the initial shock wears off a bit, the woman observes the space she has been welcomed into. She sits on a bed dressed with a soft purple duvet and a pleasant assortment of pillows. It is simple but elegant, the walls were left mostly bare, but the sweet collection of knick knacks more than made up for it. The clothes she's wearing now were given to her off a rack by the bed, where a modest number of dresses hung. She finally turns to the friend who had invited her into their room and attempts to speak, at first nothing but a strangled call comes out but after clearing her throat she begins again. “Thank you.” she meets eyes with them earnestly, “for helping a stranger.”

The person across from her flushes lightly, seated on a stool in front of a small vanity.

Tucking a strand of their long black hair that had fallen out of a lovely ribbon behind their ear, they answer. “You’re very welcome, though I don't think we are truly strangers anymore.” Their voice is gentle and light, but there is a playful glint in their grey eyes and the woman of the lake realizes she is being teased.

Her cheeks heat, but she knows it is not malicious. “You're right, we aren't strangers.” She huffs a small laugh, “though i do not know your name, i am..” her face falls momentarily as she struggles to remember, but it comes to her in time. “Ahiru. my name is Ahiru.”

Her new friend smiles beautifully in response, rosy lips contrasting against their pale unmarred skin. “A lovely name, I am Raetsel.” A pause, “..forgive me if this is rude, but why, or, how did you walk out of the lake today? Where do you come from? Also, are you alright?” it all comes out in one breath and Raetsel gnaws on her lip anxiously once she finishes.

Ahiru smiles a small, sad smile, blue eyes seeming to dim. “I don't remember..I cannot answer even one of your questions, Raetsel. I only know my name.”

Raetsel leans forward delicately, concerned. “You don't need to answer me Ahiru, i'm sorry to have upset you.” She grasps ahirus hand in hers and gives an encouraging squeeze.

This seems to warm Ahiru who lifts their joined hands and leans forward to embrace her new friend. “I think I am alright.”

-----

The sun was just at its highest when she had risen from the lake and after a very eventful few hours of awareness, she finds herself quite hungry and tired. Raetsal hears her stomach growl and laughs, leading her to the kitchen and informing her that it is time for supper. Upon entering, Ahiru wakes up a bit in response to the wonderful smell coming from the stove. She follows and sits next to Raetsel at the table, there is an extra setting next to her. Before she can ask, the smell gets closer and stronger and she can't suppress a delighted sound as her nose chases the scent. Opening her eyes after a particularly deep sniff she is met with the sight of a tall, handsome stranger. Their skin is a deep olive shade and it compliments their dark green hair beautifully. Like Raetsel, a few locks of shorter hair fall out of a low ponytail that reaches down to the middle of their back, the ribbon tying their hair in place is simple and not as decorative as Raetsel’s, but it has its own charm. Their face is stoic, thick eyebrows resting low over their sharp green eyes. They turn to the side a bit and Ahiru admires their strong profile, a strong nose is the most noticeable feature from this angle, long and curved down with a high bridge that flows into sharp brow bones. Their jaw is square and defined, but their neck and shoulders are more lithe than she expects. There is clear strength in their arms but they maintain a lean figure that holds a surprising level of grace.

They turn to ahiru with a quizzical expression, lips twisting before they decide to speak. “I take it you are the lady from the lake?” Their voice is rich and low, quiet but stern.

She nods slowly, “yes, i am Ahiru. Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

The stranger sets a plate of food in front of Raetsel, and then another in front of her giving a noncommittal grunt. “Mm. I’m Fakir, am I correct in assuming Raetsel has already introduced herself?”

Ahiru smiles, “yes, she has been very kind to me.”

Fakir looks at Raetsel, searching for something in her face that he seems to find. He nods to himself, sitting down next to Ahiru. “I hope the food is acceptable to you.”

She grins, “it smells delightful, I have no doubts I will enjoy it.”

He flushes a bit at this, fidgeting with the rolled up sleeves of his white linen button up.

Raetsel laughs lightly, “Please excuse my brother dear Ahiru, he is not accustomed to company.” She leans closer to Ahiru and continues in a conspiratorial tone, “Especially not company as kind and lovely as yourself.” She ends it with a wink, laughing as fakir chokes slightly on his food and flushes red.

Ahiru, for her part, is just as embarrassed and is very sure her face has turned the same color as her hair. Rather than trying to respond, she stuffs a bite of the meal into her mouth, quickly forgetting her own embarrassment as she tastes things she has never tasted before. “Oh!’ She exclaims after swallowing, “this is so good!”

Raetsel hums her agreement, “Fakir is a talented cook, most of his ingredients come from the garden out back as many of them are not commonly used in this town.”

Fakir seems to be pointedly ignoring the conversation, focusing on his plate and pretending not to notice how his ears are burning.

Ahiru turns to him, “where did you learn to cook like this?” She asks earnestly.

He seems surprised at being directly addressed but he swallows and clears his throat, looking to Raetsel for help but eventually realizing he cannot avoid the question. “I taught myself.” he meets her eyes and looks away quickly.

Raetsel, satisfied that she has tortured him enough for one night, fills in the blanks. “Fakir came here as a very young boy from a place far away, there are spices and herbs from his home that aren’t commonly used here and when my mother took him in she provided him with many books about his culture, though the food is what turned out to be most important to him.” She smiles at her adoptive brother, who’s embarrassment seems to have faded if only slightly. “He has been cooking for our family ever since.”

Ahiru is very impressed, taking a moment to look at Fakir with appreciation. He pointedly ignores her stare and lets his bangs fall forward to shield his eyes.

They finish the rest of their meal with minimal conversation, both of the women respecting Fakirs clear desire for the topic to be dropped. When every plate has been cleared, Ahiru offers to clean them up. Raetsel quirks a brow at her and asks if she has ever actually washed a dish before.

Ahiru rubs the back of her neck, “well I.. don’t remember if I have.” Fakir seems surprised at her response and she avoids eye contact with both of them, “but it can’t be that hard! I remembered that they needed to be cleaned, right? I’m sure I can figure it out!” She is so passionate that Raetsel chooses not to question her further, but she does accompany the tiny woman into their kitchen and watches over her as she carefully cleans and dries each dish. Fakir joins them in the kitchen, quietly putting away ingredients and tools that he had used to cook their meal, when he is done he bids them both farewell and retreats to his room.

“I hope he hasn’t put you off.” Raetsel comments, showing Ahiru where she can hang the dish rag.

Ahiru shakes her head, “not at all! The food was so delicious, he is very skilled.”

Raetsel is amused, “you didn’t find him rude?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head to the side. “Why would i? He fed me.. that was very kind.”

Raetsel smiles, “you have a very open heart, many of the townspeople have issues with him. He's just a bit too blunt..” she puffs out a breath, “sometimes they misunderstand him, and he gets frustrated.”

Ahiru nods sadly, “I would too.”

Raetsel seems surprised at this answer at first, before settling into a very pleased disposition. “You are really something new Ahiru.”

The aforementioned lady blushes softly and straightens up. “T-thank you Raetsal.” She ducks her head in a miniature bow.

“Come dear, I’ll show you your room.”

————

Once she gets settled and bids goodnight to her host, Ahiru takes a moment to breathe. Slow, in and out. Feeling a bit overwhelmed with, well everything that had happened in the day, she wishes to braid her hair, dress down and sleep. In the room Raetsel provided to her there is a vanity, and on top ribbons and a wide tooth comb. Ahiru smiles at the thoughtful touch and carefully undresses, mindful of her steps so that she does not damage Raetsels’ lovely dress. She hangs it on a hook by the door, removing her socks and leaving her chemise on, remembering the earlier incident and cringing at herself. Next, she sits on the vanity stool and takes the comb carefully, starting at the ends of her long hair and working her way up slowly. Once all the tangles are gone she separates it into three sections and plaits in a simple pattern. She hums as she does this, a tune she knows and loves, something comforting. At the end of her hair, she ties a thick satin ribbon into a bow and tucks herself into the comfortable twin bed.

She is on the lake, dancing mournfully by herself. In the distance, she sees a royal couple performing a grand pas de deux. They only have eyes for each other, and she dearly loves them both. Her steps don’t falter with her sorrow, she only dances more freely, allowing her tears to fall as she lifts herself up into the air. The foggy air grows dark and eventually she realizes she’s alone, the prince and princess are gone and everything is quiet except for the sound of her own crying as she falls into the lake.

She wakes with a start, the grief in her chest real and heavy, cheeks wet. Deep breaths in, and out. Again, until she feels ready to open her eyes. The sun is rising, shining soft light on her face and the pain from her dream eases slightly. She sits up, donning her socks once more and making her way to the window and leans on the sill, observing the small flock of birds on a neighboring roof. Soon Ahiru is able to put the nightmare out of her mind, and the sun gets higher so she dresses once again, at first struggling to fasten things by herself but figuring it out through trial and error. Her braid is a mess from tossing and turning, so she sets to combing her hair out once more and choosing to do two braids today, parts it all down the middle. Her fingers are quick and nimble and she picks a set of wide gray ribbons to match her dress. Once she is ready, she makes her way back into the kitchen, hoping she hasn’t woken up too early.

At the stove once again, Fakir doesn’t notice her right away, continuing to add ingredients and muttering quietly to himself on occasion.

Ahiru chooses to sit down rather than interrupt, leaning on her palm and watching him as he works. His shoulders are wide but she can see how narrow his waist is, emphasized by the plain apron he wears. Fortunately, she catches herself as her gaze wanders lower and her eyes snap back up to his hands. They are large and clearly strong, but he handles everything he holds so gently. Ahiru wonders if she would ever want to see the strength in those hands used rather than controlled, and she cannot decide. Lost in thought, and busy staring a hole into fakir, she doesn’t see Raetsel come in.

“Oh ahiru! You look lovely this morning!”

She doesn’t react quick enough and is caught when fakir turns around quickly, eyes wide and mouth opened in a surprised little ‘o’. they both flush and break eye contact, electing to ignore Raetsel’s amused smirk.

“Smells good Fakir, something special for our visitor?” Raetsel continues teasingly.

He shoots her a sharp glare but it lacks it’s usual spark when his face is still bright red. “It’s just bread, Raetsel.” His tone is measured but it’s clear he’s irritated.

Ahiru finds the exchange remarkably cute and tilts her head to the side in wonder as she observes the siblings.

“We should get you your own clothes and shoes.” Raetsel says to her, looking at the ill-fitting dress she’d loaned ahiru. “I don't mind sharing, but they’re much more comfortable in the right size. When we are done eating I know someone who can help.”

Ahiru is hesitantly excited about this, swinging her feet a bit under the table.

Fakir comes with the food soon after, setting each plate on the table.

“Woah.” Ahiru states quietly, when Fakir had said bread earlier, she hadn’t expected french toast. Upon tasting, she notices something floral and a bit of spice and sweet honey. She can’t identify all the flavors but she loves it all and happily digs in.

Raetsel watches her in amusement for a moment and then turns to Fakir who also watches Ahiru eat with an unreadable expression. He is focusing more on their guest than he is his own breakfast and she stifles a laugh as he misses his own mouth.

Ahiru seems to realize she has all but ignored the two others at the table and slows down, swallowing and wiping her face with a napkin. “This is very good fakir.” She looks down as she says it, a bit embarrassed by her own actions.

Raetsel agrees, “delightful as usual.”

Fakir thanks them quietly, looking at his plate with the same unreadable expression and eating slowly. The two women finish eating before him, but Ahiru still insists on cleaning the dishes that he isn’t eating off of. He almost smiles at her, but the urge to confuses him and he is easily distracted.

“Are you coming with us?” Ahiru asks when he brings his own plate to the sink, wide eyes boring into his skull.

Fakir falters, looking at Raetsel who simply shrugs. “Uh.. I don't know if I would really be of any help.” He hopes his reasoning is enough to appease her.

Ahiru furrows her eyebrows, “why not?”

“He’s avoiding his fan club.” Raetsel chimes in, amused by the exchange and how easily their guest catches her brother off guard.

Ahiru does not know what this means, imagining a group of people gathering together to discuss fans or perhaps dance with them as she remembers doing many times. She notes the remembrance to herself before speaking, “was there a disagreement? If you’re in a club with them, you should be friends right?”

Fakir looks at her incredulously, “I'm not in the club.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?” She asks innocently.

Raetsal chooses not to help clarify, retrieving her boots from the front door and sitting at the table to lace them, leaving the two alone.

“It’s- well,” he shoots her a quizzical glare, “are you teasing me?”

Ahiru is thoroughly confused, “what?! No!! Why would you think that?”

Fakir can tell she’s being truthful, “it's not really a club Ahiru, Raetsel was joking.”

She sticks out her lip in a small pout, “why?”

He sighs in defeat, “you’ll understand once we get there.”

Raetsel returns to them, “so you’re coming?” She sounds surprised and more than a little impressed.

“Yay!” Ahiru claps her dainty hands together cheerfully.

Fakir nods, still unsure of how she had convinced him.

—

The summer weather allows them to leave the house quickly, not needing to don cloaks or extra layers, and they walk a short while to the stables.

Raetsel turns to Ahiru, noting the nervous glances she shoots towards the horses they pass. “Have you ever ridden?”

Ahiru’s face is pale and she wrings her hands in front of herself. “No.”

Fakir turns from where he is retrieving their steeds. “No? Or you don’t know?”

She laughs a bit at this. “Definite no. I think I would remember a creature of this size.”

Raetsel notes that Ahiru is a whole head shorter than herself, and Fakir towers over

her in a way that would intimidate anyone else, but it doesn’t seem to bother the bright little flame of a woman. “You should ride with Fakir then, he can keep you safe.”

Fakir looks at her, opening his mouth to argue but he snaps his jaw shut once he sees that Ahiru looks less afraid. He waits for Raetsel to mount her own horse before swinging himself up onto his. They both look at Ahiru who is once again starting to look a bit sickly.

“You’ll be fine.” Fakir reassures, “you were watching me and Raetsel right?”

She nods, spark returning to her eyes and mouth set in a hard line of determination. She steps into the stirrup that Fakir has left empty for her and attempts to swing herself up onto the horse's back like her two companions. At first she thinks she has succeeded, but her leg doesn’t go all the way up and she begins to slide backwards towards the ground. Fakir grabs her ankle, then uses his other hand to guide her by the waist until she is settled in front of him. Her head is still spinning from the near fall and it takes her a moment to find her words again.

“Thank you.” She breathes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand still on her waist.

He moves his hand as if he’s been burned and thanks everything that she can’t see his face. “Dont mention it.” he responds gruffly, avoiding Raetsel and using the reins to steer their ride forward.

Raetsel follows them close behind, looking up at the bright sky and wondering what good deed she did for the universe to think her worthy of this newfound entertainment.

They ride mostly in silence, except for Ahiru’s occasional exclamations of delight or awe as they pass under trees and through town. She is constantly turning her head in an attempt to take everything in.

It isn’t a very long journey, and soon they come to a quaint little shop with mannequins dressed in a variety of fabrics displayed in the large front windows.

Raetsel is the first to dismount, smoothing her skirts down as Fakir follows her and offers a hand to Ahiru.

Once the three of them are safely on the ground, Fakir guides their horses to a small grazing area where they will wait obediently until the shopping is complete.

Raetsel leads them into the shop, Ahiru close behind her and Fakir bringing up the tail end. A bell rings as they open the door and a head of blonde hair pops up from behind a counter.

“Welcome in- oh! Raetsel! Let me grab Pike.” Before they can respond, the shopkeeper is running to the back, pigtails bouncing as she moves.

Fakir finds a bench in a corner and sits down, hoping the racks of fabric and garments are enough to hide him.

The shopkeeper returns with her coworker, “has Lilie helped you at all yet?” She asks, tying her shoulder length violet tinted hair into a high ponytail.

“Hmph.” Lilie pouts, “I thought you’d want to do the consultation together.” She lowers her voice so only the three women can hear her, “plus, the handsome Fakir has graced us with his presence.”

Pike rolls her eyes, “you are so dramatic.” She scolds, though it doesn’t have much bite when she is craning her neck to peek at the man hiding in the corner.

Raetsel clears her throat politely, “My new friend could use your expertise.”

The two shopkeepers turn to Ahiru at last, looking her up and down before turning to each other.

“Do we have enough yellow left?” Pike asks Lilie, ushering Ahiru to a section of the room where the floor is cleared and producing a measuring tape from thin air.

Lilie hums, moving towards a rack against the wall and sifting through the materials until she finds a sunny yellow linen. “Yes! And perhaps a blue?” She suggests, stacking a soft blue cotton atop the yellow draped over her arm.

“Oh yes, that will compliment her eyes nicely.” Pike addresses Ahiru directly for the first time, “how many dresses are you looking for today?”

Ahiru looks helplessly towards Raetsel, letting Pike move her arms as she takes her measurements.

“We are starting her wardrobe today, so however many items you both think she will need.” Raetsal answers, earning a surprised look from Lilie.

“What happened to the rest of your clothes?” The blonde asks, pausing in her search for fabrics.

“I don't have any.” Ahiru answers simply.

“Long story.” Raetsel adds.

The two accept this answer easily, “Well then, we should send you home with something today. Lilie?”

Lilie looks over, setting the chosen materials on a large cutting table. “A premade garment for now?”

Pike nods, “just try to find the smallest things you can and we can alter it to fit her properly.”

Raetsel interjects, “she will also need shoes, mine are too large for her. Do you think you have something that would work?”

“Oh i’m sure we do,” Lilie answers, returning with an armful of dresses and blouses. “Shoes are over by Fakir.”

He starts at the mention of his name, looking at his surroundings and finding the shelves stocked with shoeboxes.

Pike measures her feet and calls out the length, instructing Fakir on where to find the correct size of boots.

He carries them to Ahiru once he has found them, bringing a few different options and setting them down next to her before awkwardly standing off to the side.

“Alright, you can try those on Ahiru. We’ll be right back.” Pike says before disappearing into the back of the store with Lilie.

“Do you need help?” Raetsel asks, showing Ahiru where she can sit to unlace her borrowed boots.

“No, thank you, I think I'm alright.” She smiles gratefully at her and sets to work, slipping her feet into one of the pairs Fakir brought her. She carefully tries on each pair but ends up settling on the first, made of dark brown leather with a slight heel and strong black cord lacing them securely.

Lilie returns and writes down the price on a pad of paper tucked into her dress pocket, setting it aside and guiding Ahiru to a fitting room. She helps Ahiru undo the fastenings on her loaned dress, hanging it carefully and instructing her to keep the chemise on before darting out and returning with Pike, both women are carrying armfuls of clothing and Pike has a pincushion strapped to her wrist. They help her into a simple white blouse, pinning where it needs to be taken in. The remaining garments are tried on in the same fashion and Ahiru watches them work. Before she knows it, they are done, helping her back into Raetsel’s loaned dress once more and walking her back to her companions, assuring her that they will return momentarily and asking her to wait while they stitch the adjustments into place. Ahiru seats herself on a bench next to Fakir and Raetsel follows the two shopkeepers to assist them and discuss the items they will be making for pickup at a later date.

“So..that’s the fanclub?” Ahiru guesses.

Fakir looks uncomfortable, “that’s just what Raetsel calls them.”

She giggles, “did you hear what they called you when we walked in?”

He shakes his head, too afraid to ask.

“The handsome Fakir.” Ahiru tells him, stifling another giggle. “Is that your title?” She teases.

He shoots her an irritated glance, “you know that it’s not.”

She shrugs, an impish grin stuck on her face. “It could be.” she states it as if it is a fact and doesn’t seem to catch what she is implying.

Fakir stammers, embarrassed. “W-wha-“ clearing his throat and looking out the window to hide his blush, he scolds her. “You can’t just say things like that!”

She sticks her tongue out at him, “why not? They said it first!”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “They shouldn’t be saying it either.” He groans, wishing he had stayed home.

“Hm. whatever, I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal.” Ahiru bumps her shoulder against his, “are they your friends?”

“I barely know them.” He answers honestly, “they’re the best seamstresses in town so I’ve been a customer but Raetsel is the one that comes here most often.” He looks at her for a second before continuing, “I usually avoid them.”

Ahiru hums, “I think I understand why.” She acknowledges, “they’re a bit like a whirlwind aren’t they?”

He snorts out a laugh, “don't tell them that, they’ll never let it go.”

She nods. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and fakir studies her when she isn’t looking, trying to understand the mystery of this little lake lady.

It doesn't take long for Raetsal to return with a large package wrapped in brown paper and fastened with twine tied in a bow. “That’s it for today, we will return at the end of the week for the rest of it.”

Ahiru moves forward and takes the package despite Raetsel’s protests, “wow! That was so fast!”

Raetsal winks, “6 hands work faster than 2!”

Fakir takes the package from Ahiru while she’s distracted and holds it where she can’t reach when she tries to take it back. “You’ve paid already?” he nervously glances around the store as he says it.

Raetsal laughs. “Yes Fakir, don't worry. Those two are busy in the back, we’re done.”

He relaxes a bit and they make their way out again, Fakir holding the door for both of the women.

Ahiru skips forward, looking down at her new shoes and admiring how comfortable they are. When she looks up again Fakir and Raetsel have already mounted their horses, the package safely secured to the back of Fakir’s saddle.

“Do you need help? Or would you like to try again on your own?” He asks, looking down at her with his brow furrowed in concern.

Ahiru answers by sticking a boot in the stirrup and once again trying to lift herself up. This time she gets closer to her goal, but Fakir still has to catch her when her leg doesn’t properly hold her up.

“Good try!” Raetsal encourages from behind them, smiling as Fakir adjusts their friend with gentle hands before taking up the reins.

They ride home with minimal conversation, the two siblings focused on steering their horses in the right direction and Ahiru distracted by the people out on the streets, going about their days.

When they are home again, Fakir helps her down and retrieves her parcel, leaving no room for her to argue as he carries it inside.

She follows him, Raetsel not far behind. He stops outside the door of her room, waiting for Raetsel to open the door before carefully setting the package on her bed and excusing himself politely.

Raetsel helps her unpack and hang her new clothing, she picks out a new chemise for Ahiru and shows her to a room down the hall where she can bathe. After making sure she knows how to fill the tub, she too excuses herself with the promise that they will see one another at lunch.

—

Once she has dried herself and wrung most of the water from her hair, Ahiru dons the fresh chemise and pads up the hall to her room. The new clothes hang neatly and she has trouble choosing when given so many options but eventually she settles on a short sleeved, collared blouse made from a lovely cream colored cotton and a simple, tea length yellow linen skirt. Plain white socks cover her feet and the boots are left by the door for when she needs them. She sits at the vanity to comb her hair, leaving it down to dry but tying a yellow ribbon under her hair and around the top of her head to keep it from getting in her face. She smiles at her reflection, the clothes fit perfectly and she can finally see herself now that she isn’t drowning in fabric.

She retrieves Raetsel’s loaned dress and chemise and carries them out to the room she was first brought in to. She knocks gently, and when there is no response, she cracks the door open.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps, turning to find Fakir glowering at her. “I-well I was trying to find Raetsel!”

His face softens, “she’s the door at the end of the hall, moron, this is my room.”

Ahiru flushes, indignant, she bites back “I’m not a moron! How was I supposed to know that! I've only been to her room once and it was a really hectic day!”

Fakir puts a hand on her head, “I know, I was teasing. Could you move out of the way?”

She settles down, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry.” She shuffles off down the hall and he watches her go, shaking his head and entering his room.

Raetsel, having heard the exchange, opens her door before Ahiru can reach it and gives her a kind smile. “You can just set those in the laundry basket over here.”

Ahiru follows her instruction and smiles at her gratefully, “Thank you Raetsel.”

“Anything for you Ahiru, now, would you like to see what’s for lunch?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head, “didn't Fakir just go to his room?”

Raetsel nods, “He’s probably referring to one of his cookbooks.”

“He doesn’t keep them in the kitchen?” Ahiru asks, following Raetsel back out into the hall.

“It’s easier to keep them in good condition away from the steam and mess of food.” Fakir answers from his doorway, “Plus, I don't always need them.” He closes his door and leads the way to the kitchen, resuming his work.

Raetsel and Ahiru seat themselves in the same spots as always, chatting and watching Fakir cook. Raetsel asks how she likes her new clothing and Ahiru gushes her thanks and talks about her favorite things.

Fakir comes with plates of food soon after and seats himself next to her.

Ahiru claps in excitement, tucking her long hair towards her back before digging in.

Raetsel eats more politely, complimenting Fakirs choice of ingredients and asking him questions about the recipe.

Ahiru barely pays attention to them, so focused on enjoying her meal that she doesn't notice when the conversation turns to her.

“Ahiru?” Raetsel prods gently.

she starts slightly in response, looking up and finding them both turned to her. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Raetsel smiles, “Do you know what you want to do here? I work at Ebine’s bakery for part of the week and Fakir writes for our local paper. Pike and Lilie offered to teach you how to cut fabric but you are free to choose what you like.”

Ahiru blinks, “I’m...staying?”

Fakir answers this time, rolling his eyes. “Of course you are, where else would you go stupid?”

Raetsel swats his shoulder, “Oh be nice to her Fakir.” Turning back to Ahiru, “Yes, you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish dear.”

Ahiru grins, “Thank you! I like it so much here, I’m so happy!” She looks down at her hands, “As for what i want to do.. I’m not really sure yet. Pike and Lilie are very nice but I don’t know if I could really be of any help to them.”

Fakir nods, “You don’t have to decide yet. You haven’t even seen your other options so take your time and don’t feel bad about it.”

Raetsel agrees with him, “I'm sure you will be good at whatever you choose, with passion like yours you can do anything.”

Ahiru flushes and curls into herself, hair falling forward to hide her face.

Fakir watches in horror as a lock of her hair begins to flop into her plate, instinctively he tucks the hair back into place. Once he realizes what he’s done he can feel the steam coming out of his ears, “Y-you should probably tie your hair up when you eat.”

Raetsal barely stifles her laugh, shoving a bite of food into her mouth to keep herself quiet.

Ahiru stares at Fakir, mouth open and cheeks pink. It takes a few more blinks before she twists her knee length hair up and up and up, using the yellow ribbon to loosely tie it into place, it’s the best imitation of a bun she can do with the current materials.

Clearing his throat and drinking water in an effort to cool the flush on his skin, Fakir continues eating as if nothing happened and the two women soon follow his lead.

Ahiru is grateful for the diversion, feeling more shy than usual and needing the silence. She is also easily distracted by how much she loves this food and each bite brings her farther away from the embarrassment.

Soon, the meal is over and they separate, Ahiru washing the dishes without supervision as Raetsel has deemed her able. Fakir puts away anything left over in the kitchen and excuses himself to his room.

When the dishes are cleaned, dried and put away, Ahiru wonders what she’s meant to do, yesterday and this morning there was no time for boredom. Now she feels like she should be doing something and without noticing she has begun to dance, the kitchen floor not ideal for ballet but accommodating her nonetheless. There is no music, but the early afternoon sun shining through the windows above the sink highlights her more beautifully than any spotlight. When she finally realizes what she’s doing, she is in the middle of simple barre exercises. Her muscles ache in relief, as if they have been waiting for her to use them. She smiles, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the sun, letting muscle memory take over.

Fakir carries his notebook under one arm and holds his inkwell and quill in his hands. He is headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, but stops when he sees her. Not wanting to interrupt, he sits at the table, partially hidden by the open doorway that connects the two rooms. His things are set down carefully and quietly, and then he turns his attention back to the ballerina in his kitchen.

She moves through her relevés with the ease and joy of someone who lives to dance.

Chin in palm, Fakir watches her. The light flickering over her face moves with her and he is entranced. Warm ups finished, Ahiru moves into a choreography as if it’s second nature. His heart aches in his chest when he realizes it is meant to be a pas de deux, her body struggles to support itself and he longs to take the weight for her.

She continues, oblivious of her audience, dancing to the song only she can hear and baring her emotions with every movement.

When the steps come to a close and her head is bowed in an ending curtsy, Fakir panics, realizing that soon she will open her eyes and he will have to explain why he’s been creepily watching without saying a word. Cringing, he braces himself and opens his notebook, hoping to at least look busy when she catches him.

She lets out a small startled noise when she opens her eyes, coming back into her mind after letting her body take over. She sees Fakir sitting at the table and despite the open notebook, she knows that he has not written a word for she would have heard the scratch of his quill. She flushes prettily, sneaking out of the kitchen while he’s still looking down and all but running to her room.

She leans against the inside of her closed door, putting her head in her hands and trying to calm herself down. She hadn’t planned on dancing and she definitely did not expect an audience, no matter how politely he pretended not to be watching she knew he had seen at least some of her dance and she hopes that she danced well. Most of the remaining afternoon is spent like this, trying to distract herself by thinking over the job offer from Pike and Lilie, but mind wandering back to the kitchen and her dream from the night before. There is a mix of confusing emotions swirling in her chest and she unties the ribbon holding her makeshift bun in place, running her hands through her own hair in a calming fashion. The dream had felt so real and coupled with some of the memories that had come back to her, she has a feeling it was something that had really happened. Brows furrowing as she thinks, she tries desperately to recall the events of her dream but most of what she can remember is emotions and steps of a dance. There is a flash of black curls and red lips kissing a pale figure with hair like the feathers of a swan, but this imagery brings a panging sorrow and the tears rising in her eyes warn her not to push this memory back into her conscious mind. Wiping her cheeks where they have gotten wet, she takes Fakir’s advice and sets to braiding her hair into a crown. It doesn't take her very long, and soon Raetsel is knocking on her door to alert her that supper will be ready soon. Ahiru thanks her and says she will be there in a moment, needing some time to collect herself and finish tying the braids in place around her head.

When she finally comes to the dining table, Fakir and Raetsel are already seated and a plate is waiting in her usual spot. She squeezes by Fakir, who avoids her eyes and looks at his plate with pink dusting the bridge of his nose. Once she is settled, the three begin to eat, they are all tired from the eventful day and conversation is light.

It is a quick meal and Raetsel is the first to bid them goodnight, letting Ahiru know that she will be gone for work by the time they wake and making sure Ahiru does not need anything before she excuses herself.

Ahiru pokes at her remaining food listlessly, wishing she could enjoy it the way she wants to but emotions ruining her appetite. Sighing, she carries the dishes to the sink and begins scrubbing, not even noticing when Fakir follows behind her.

“Ahiru?” Fakir asks quietly, “I hope I didn’t upset you earlier.”

This breaks her reverie and she looks at him, confused. “What? No! Why would I be upset?”

Fakir seems doubtful. “Well you’re obviously upset about something.”

She puffs her cheeks out. “No, i just…” brows furrowed she admits defeat, “Okay yeah you’re right I am. But I promise it has nothing to do with you!” She says the last part earnestly and Fakir is momentarily stunned by the shine of her eyes.

“Do you.. want to talk about it?” He says it awkwardly, as if the idea is foreign to him.

Her eyes dim, “I don’t think I was very happy before I came here.”

He seems surprised at her answer, “Was the lake not good to you?”

This makes her puff a tiny, sad laugh, “The lake may be where I came from, but it wasn’t where I lived before.”

Fakir looks at her concerned, “You don't remember very much, do you?”

She shakes her head, “Most of it is just feelings, there’s something there definitely but trying to recall more than just blurs hurts.”

He feels deeply sorry for her, “It sounds like.. well sometimes our brains try to protect us by blocking some things out.”

She tilts her head to the side, “You think it could be that?”

He nods slowly “There are many written accounts of this experience, if you’d like, I can help you research more about it tomorrow?” He says the last bit as a question, unsure if she really wants to open herself up to possible pain.

She smiles gratefully, it is smaller than her usual grin but still makes his heart skip, “Thank you Fakir, I would like that very much.”

Flushing at her sincerity, he looks away. “D-dont mention it.” He dries the dishes that she is finished washing and together they finish the chore faster than either could on their own. When the dishes are put away and the kitchen is clean, Fakir walks her to her room and bids her goodnight with the promise of a library trip the next day. Ahiru is so exhausted she barely manages to take her hair down and remove her blouse and skirt before crawling into bed and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#princess tutu #ptutu #fakiru #fakir x duck #princess tutu fanfiction #princess tutu fanart #ahiru arima #princess tutu fakir #fairy tale inspired

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shijiujun · 4 years ago

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Hope everyone is partying (by yourself, spiritually, or with people, all are totally fine) well into the Christmas weekend! I am back with even more recs (I’ll prolly give it a rest at the 10th one sorry for the spam guys)! This one I just finished a few days ago, because CHINA BOOKSTORE PUBLISHED THIS ON CHRISTMAS WITH MANY GOODIES!! And I was like oh cute long-hair dude, let me read this.

Anyway this is a fengshui + supernatural + body-switching type of novel, with a heavy focus on fengshui! I don’t know if everyone knows what fengshui is (I will prolly do a list for Chinese New Year) and I am no expert, but it’s basically like Chinese geomancy where you can calculate a person’s fate, wealth, marriage suitability etc. with things in an individual’s environment.

So a lot of Chinese people, for example businessmen when they have new offices or when couples renovate their homes, they may get a feng shui master to arrange furniture and add crystals or talismans or whatever to increase wealth/prosperity/happiness or harmonize bad energy etc., just an example. When you want to check the compatibility of yourself and your SO, some people do go to the fengshui master and calculate their 八字 (day, hour, time they were born + other things) to see when is an auspicious day to marry etc.

My ex-editor really believes in feng shui masters because hers really predicted a year that her husband got into hugeee trouble like almost to the day itself apparently. And she always wear an accessory with a snake on it because the master said

Written by the same author (Xi Zi Xu) who wrote Kaleidoscope of Death!

- Part of Min’s ‘Why You Should Read’ Series -

Summary:

This book is set in the normal, regular, law-abiding modern city world where fengshui is heavily believed in, and skilled masters can see spirits, bad energies. Where dogs can be reincarnated as humans, and there are demonic pets that humans can keep, and paper dolls can come to life basically.

Zhou Jia Yu is a government office worker who dies in a car accident one day, and wakes up in the body of another Zhou Jia Yu - a handsome man whose name is the same as his. He’s brought back by this spirit bird in his head called Ji Ba (pun not intended), who says that Zhou Jia Yu is fated to save Lin Zhu Shui, the young, blind fengshui master who has caught him.

Unfortunately, this second Zhou Jia Yu is a con-artist who has cheated the money of several families via fraudulent fengshui schemes, and his scams have led to the death of several children in the process. Legendary fengshui master Lin Zhu Shui and his disciples have caught/imprisoned this Zhou Jia Yu, not knowing that original conman Zhou Jia Yu has died (and therefore his soul is gone), leaving good citizen Zhou Jia Yu in the body of a conman.

Lin Zhu Shui intends to kill conman Zhou Jia Yu (not really kill, kill but probably will do something to his soul, considering there are laws against murder you know) when good citizen Zhou Jia Yu wakes up in this body, but because he has come back from the dead, his body and soul is considered an extremely yin (cold) body, which allows him to attract more bad spirits and energy, giving him an extraordinary, gifted ability to excel in the fengshui line. Of course, being the master that he is, Lin Zhu Shui also realizes that this Zhou Jia Yu (and his soul, in particular) is not the one he caught, and as he has an extremely yang (hot) body, the both of them are compatible with each other. Lin Zhuo Shui realizes that he can train Zho Jia Yu and then takes him on as his disciple.

Cue Zhou Jia Yu being tossed into a dangerous fengshui competition as he figures out just what Ji Ba wants him to do about Lin Zhu Shui. In the meanwhile, he falls in love with amazingly handsome, cool and aloof Lin Zhu Shui (who threatens to murder him if he doesn’t come out first in the competition), who keeps him warm when he gets unbearably cold due to his body condition. They also have to deal with an evil person working behind the scenes, and how Zhou Jia Yu eventually returns back into his own body at the end.

Read:

Novel (Online) | Novel (Print) - Dec 2020 Print | Novel Translations

Characters:

1. 周嘉鱼 Zhou Jia Yu (third from right) - A really cute government office worker whose soul was pulled into a conman’s body, who has the same name as he, when he got into a car accident. Has an extremely yin (cold) body which attracts spirits (good and bad), and allows him to see, smell or hear them more clearly than everyone else except for Lin Zhu Shui. He cooks extremely well too and is considered a treasure in the household by Lin Zhu Shui’s other disciples because none of them can cook for shit. They don’t initially know that this Zhou Jia Yu is not conman Zhou Jia Yu, although they suspect it, and once they fall in love with his cooking no one doubts him anymore HAHAHA.

He gets a feng shui tattoo personally done by Lin Zhu Shui who already knows that his soul was switched, a tattoo which is supposed to help him in feng shui matters. Gets a paper doll son halfway through the story, who he calls Xiao Zhi (little paper), which calls him Dad (and calls Lin Zhu Shui Big Dad - da baba) ;-; It’s the cutest shit ever.

There’s a mystical creature in the back of his head that speaks to him and helps him out on certain feng shui things, and helps him to explain what he’s seeing, but aside from telling Jia Yu that he’s supposed to save Lin Zhu Shui, the mystical bird thing is unable to tell him anything else. Within a few weeks of him waking up in this body, he’s sent by Lin Zhu Shui on an international feng shui competition without having any sort of basic knowledge, only innate talent, much to his panic XD As Lin Zhu Shui continues to protect him, teach him and tease/smile at him, Jia Yu, who is certified gay af, falls totally in love with the seemingly aloof and strict feng shui master.

They probably would have continued like this if not for Jia Yu’s body deteriorating because his body is technically not his and not compatible with his soul, and Lin Zhu Shui tries to find a way to save him, after seeing the future where Jia Yu’s body is rotting as he dies slowly over months and begging Lin Zhu Shui to kill him and let him die.

2. 林逐水 Lin Zhu Shui (third from left, right next to Jia Yu) - Long-haired, wears changshan perpetually and is blind, but can see more clearly than most people. He knows where everyone’s positions are exactly, and can see spirits etc. very well despite being blind. Considered a genius of the feng shui world and is the patriarch of one of the big feng shui families in the world - the Lin family. He’s a master at drawing talismans, carving crystals/gems and feng shui tattooing.

He’s so well-known that everyone wants to be his disciple, everyone wants to get a talisman/crystal/tattoo from him, everyone wants him to come and look at their houses, but he can’t be bothered with most people. He’s also super handsome? So a lot of girls (and guys) are always drooling over him.

He has an extremely yang (hot) body, which is supposed to naturally help to repel spirits and what not, but because of this he suffers a lot in the summer. His body condition is very rare and when he was younger, others said he would not live past 18 years old, and his parents gave up their lives to change his fate so he would survive. The feng shui master also predicted that Lin Zhu Shui would experience another calamity when he was 30 (thereabout), and that year, thankfully he has Jia Yu as his entire house caught on fire in the summer while he was in it (and cooling talismans and the house item placements meant to keep the house entirely cool in the summer were no longer working). Jia Yu helped him to cool down with his incredibly yin body.

Knows right off the bat that this is a different Jia Yu, and starts teaching him as one of his disciples. Can only eat the food hat Jia Yu cooks because his yin qualities transfer to the food he cooks as well, and Lin Zhu Shui usually cannot eat anything else that’s cooked outside. Gives Jia Yu a carved jade pendant he made himself that’s apparently worth thousands of dollars to keep him safe, and is a dumbass when it comes to confessing to Jia Yu hahahaha (although he’s successful at the end!)

3. 沈一穷 Shen Yi Qiong (second from right, dark skin tone) - Lin Zhu Shui’s youngest disciple and also Jia Yu’s best friend, technically. Brash but smart, and is always thirsting openly after his shifu Lin Zhu Shui, it’s hilarious! He’s a little jealous in the beginning because his shifu is showering Jia Yu with so much attention when he’s only been around for a week etc., but quickly gets used to it and supports Jia Yu. Jia Yu always makes fun of his tanned skin, then makes fun of his singlehood HAHA, while Shen Yi Qiong provides emotional support to Jia Yu, and by emotional support I mean when Jia Yu asks him what will happen to him if he loses the feng shui competition, Shen Yi Qiong pats him on the shoulder and asks him to choose a vase/pot pattern (like a ceramic pot where you put cremated ashes) = shifu will kill him if he loses the competition, so gets Jia Yu to choose a pot he likes so Shen Yi Qiong can help him put his ashes in HAHAHAHA. He is the last one to find a significant other, but the one he finds is like a legendary mystical creature who half deceives him into promising to marry him and then keeps chasing after Shen Yi Qiong so he can marry him XD

4. 林珏 Lin Jue (first from left) - Lin Zhu Shui’s cousin but technically his older sister because she brought him up after his parents died. Spends most of the novel being sad about her past lover who died because of an illness, and is wooed a few years later by a legendary golden dragon.

5. 小纸 Xiao Zhi (that little cute white thing on top of Jia Yu’s head) - A paper doll who’s given to Jia Yu after he helps out at the paper doll village/tribe, and grows up with Jia Yu and Lin Zhu Shui taking care of him. Is the cutest little shit ever, can speak, and calls Jia Yu ‘baba’ and Lin Zhu Shui ‘da baba’ i.e. dad and big dad. Very strong, and can protect Jia Yu very well.

Other Things I Like in the Novel:

Jia Yu basically goes to the feng shui competition and destroys everyone else because he’s just gifted in this aspect - When he wakes up, and in the days leading up to the competition, he doesn’t have a cellphone (Lin Zhu Shui and his disciples live in a remote part of town, a traditional-type house, one with nature) and after he wins the competition, other people want his phone number to contact him and he’s too embarrassed to say that he’s basically too poor to have a phone after rising from the dead, so he bluffs everyone and says “My shifu says that handphone signals and radiation will interfere with advanced feng shui readings so I don’t have one” and LITERALLY half of the feng shui training population gets rid of their phones on that day, gullible af

Everytime Jia Yu runs cold, he has to drink some of Lin Zhu Shui’s blood mixed with water/milk, and the man’s yang blood warms him up immediately

Jia Yu has to deal with four of Lin Zhu Shui’s disciples, all who are really suspicious of him because they think he’s the conman, and Jia Yu doesn’t realize they already know it’s not him until they defend him in front of other people, and he’s so touched

Shen Yi Qiong gets his marriage fortune told during one of the cases by accident. He asks when he’ll get married, and the thing replies “Seven Three” AND HE’S SO DEPRESSED BECAUSE he thinks that it means he’ll only get married when he’s 73. It’s a source of jokes between him, his other shixiongs and Jia Yu, but then towards the end he realizes what it means - His supposed match, a legendary mystical male weasel who’s 73 years old XD

Jia Yu keeps thirsting after Lin Zhu Shui, fully aware that he’s very gay himself, and he’s confessed to while he’s stuck in the haze of a high fever, so he thinks it’s a dream. Lin Zhu Shui doesn’t realize he forgot/thinks it’s a dream and is pissed that he’s rejected HAHAHA and then Lin Jue reminds him to not be a dumbass and confess properly, and so he does so again in an empty amusement park, after summoning evil spirits so they can fly in the air and make a heart shape just for Jia Yu while they’re on the ferris wheel XDDDD

#danmei #danmei recs #我五行缺你 #my five elements lack you #my five elements is short of you #西子绪 #xi zi xu #min's why you should read

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

Text

Hope Lies In Tomorrow

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Katniss is caught crossing the fence by peacekeepers. Serves time. Conditions of parole: employment nearby (busy bakery?) and reporting weekly to the parole officer (Haymitch?) Will she find anything to be thankful for this thanksgiving [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: M (Because, well, it will get to that status. There will be violence and mentions of abuse, and some characters are off canon.)

Author’s Notes: This story took me for a loop. I couldn’t resist it. I tried to make it light and fun, but it just wanted to be a freight train to the gut. The words “serves time.” I kept on getting back to that, and my imagination just took flight so much that the first two chapters are about 9.5K words. I promise chapter 3 will be a painful doozy. Special thanks to @norbertsmom.

Chapter One

The spotlight made Katniss wince as she distinctly heard Darius say, “Pluck a duck,” into the cold dark night.

“We caught a Poacher!” The young Peacekeeper said out loud. He jumped and clapped his hands like a preschool girl with pigtails who just won a prized sticker. He was one of the new cadets brought in for training.

Daruis was the new Head Peacekeeper. He earned the promotion when Cray retired. Darius also inherited the group of new Peacekeepers. They were eager rule-following Cadets.

“Everdeen!” Darius groused.

Katniss sighed. She kept her hands in the air. It was the perfect ending to the worst day. It started with the evil spawn of Buttercup peeing inside her drawer. Things got worse when Gale announced he wasn’t going to be able to join her tonight, and he wouldn’t tell her why either. Then this afternoon she discovered her baby sister, well technically, Prim was seventeen and taller than Katniss, but that’s neither here nor there, she was rolling in the hay with Vick Hawthorne.

Prim wasn’t supposed to be…. well…sex crazed. Katniss saw red, took a bucket of ice-cold water, and dumped it on top of the two idiots. Vick was fifteen and, like Gale, looked older than Prim’s baby-faced self. Needless to say, Prim was livid. Vick went home with blue balls. And the arguing match that ensued gave Katniss a massive headache.

However, finding her sister doing the equivalent of two goats breeding in Lady’s pen was nothing compared to their mothers’ reactions to Prim’s escapade. Euadora Everdeen backed Prim and said, “Prim was doing what came natural.” It was what came next that flabbergasted Katniss. “At least I have one normal daughter.”

It was the last straw, until this moment.

This day was supposed to go so differently. She’d woken up with so much hope then things fell apart. But she’d kept thinking, tomorrow, tomorrow would be a brighter day. Just get through today and tomorrow would be a better day.

“Katniss,” Darius growled.

Katniss shrugged. There was nothing Darius could do. If he had been alone, he would have looked the other way.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take you in.”

She held out her hands; she knew the drill. This wasn’t going to be her first time in the District Twelve lock up. In fact, as Darius pulled her toward the transport, and she quietly climbed into the back, this was all familiar. The last time was at that darned Harvest Fair five years ago.

“This would have been easier had you gone to the Fair,” Darius said.

Her scowl was instantaneous.

“What,” Darius said, jumping inside of the wagon while the young Peacekeeper closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Darius.

“I know, Katniss,” Darius was sympathetic. His communicator crackled with a voice that communicated a code. “Roger that.”

In the semi-darkness Katniss could see Darius teeth as he grinned.

“Old man Haymitch is going to throw the book at you.” Haymitch and she had a long-standing history. She stayed out of trouble and he wouldn’t bring trouble to her.

Haymitch Abernathy was the former Victor of the 50th Hunger Games and town drunk. The transition from a government run by one man, President Snow, to one run by a council with a true elected leader were the scariest months in Panem. No one knew what would happen. Fears of retaliation from the former government ran high. The word came down from the Capitol for each district to send a District Liaison.

Haymitch volunteered.

Turns out the drunken Victor was smart, wilier than anyone could perceive. Haymitch helped form the transition team to create the new charter between the Capitol and the Districts. When he came back, Haymitch could have been elected to become the mayor. He could have taken over the position of Head Peacekeeper, since Cray was from the old regime. Instead, Haymitch made up a position, the town Magistrate. Every district would have a way to fairly dispense justice, with the Peacekeepers relegated to do just what their name described keeping the peace. From town drunk to judge, this was the world of the new Panem.

Though Katniss would rather face Haymitch than her mother.

“Has your mother calmed down?”

Katniss grimaced. It all started with the initiative. Ever since the President went crazy and abolished the Games, calling it the Lucy Grey Baird initiative, and then promptly dying before anyone could change the law, her mother’s focus changed from reliving the past to finding Katniss a husband.

Her mother began railing against her plan to stay single. Mind you Katniss was only sixteen at the time and she could only focus on the fact that her baby sister would never again experience a Reaping.

Nope, not her mother, Eudora Everdeen, somewhere between her melancholy that ensued after pa’s death and the cancellation of the 74th Hunger Games, decided to become a holy nightmare, worse than any horror Katniss’s imagination could conjure up. Her mother tried to fix her up with various men throughout the district. Her mother’s sting about her single status was the last straw tonight.

“She’s stopped,” Katniss flinched; it wasn’t the entire truth.

Eudora hadn’t really stopped, there were introductions all of the time. There was Waylon, Adam, Zachary, Jackson, Hank, Lee, Hunter, Davis, Ashley, Samuel, Vernon, Beau, Elijah, not to mention Humperdinck, who was also known as the Goat Man. It was always the same pattern. A subtle introduction, followed by an invitation to tea or supper or both, a run in in the Seam or the Hob, before the guy in question lost interest and her mother went back to the drawing board. Eudora didn’t push, but she didn’t relent either. However, recently, her mother had been quiet. Katniss hoped after 5 years, her mother finally gave up.

“But?” Darius asked.

The transport shook as it began to move.

“Nothing.”

“You know, you’re a bad liar.”

“She doesn’t like me being alone.”

“That’s preposterous. I know plenty of women Peacekeepers.”

“You know we are talking about Eudora Everdeen?”

Darius grinned. “You mother did tell one of my new recruits she should leave her hair down because it would make her look pretty. She even asked me when my time was up and if I was interested in courting you.”

“Yup,” Katniss breathed, “that’s my mother.”

“So is it true she tried to pair you with Gale and even Gale got scared.”

“How do you know?” Katniss’ mother first picked Gale, who conversely, after seeing her mother try to manipulate them as a couple, was shocked. One good thing came off Eudora’s meddling. Gale laid off the entire, we-make-sense offer to toast angle, and suddenly became a perfect angel around her and the rogue doubled his efforts around other women to prove that he wasn’t interested in Katniss.

“You forget how small District Twelve is,“ Darius said looking tired as he rubbed his face.

He’s right. Twelve is the smallest of all the Districts. And nothing stayed buried, just like a piece of coal, it would be eventually unearthed.

"Gale said my mother was loonier than the Goat man when he got drunk on Ripper’s special liquor.” Ripper called her special liquor, the ‘shine.’ There were rumors the shine caused people to do strange things. Katniss wasn’t interested in drinking anything that wasn’t life sustaining. Her only thought was to keep food on the table and maintain the roof over her family’s heads. Just last summer she had to fix the roof all by herself. Drinking or marriage were out of the picture.

When Gale politely said he wasn’t interested in Katniss, her mother was upset, but said she understood that Gale only saw Katniss as a sister. Five years ago, Katniss hoped with her mother’s attempts thwarted, Eudora would give up getting her hitched. Little did she know it wasn’t over by a long shot.

Darius snorted. “Your name comes up every year."

"Ugh. I avoid that damned dance every year.” There were three main social events in District Twelve, where parents shoved their young for possible partnerships and couples did coupley things, The Spring Formal, The Harvest Fair, and the Winter Festival. The last of these major social events had been the Harvest Fair.

“Waylon still asks about you every time.”

Katniss groaned hearing that name again. He was Leevy’s brother, who was in Gale’s class. Waylon was the next on her mother’s list. Waylon’s obsession began slowly. He failed his last year of school and became a quasi-associate. He would show up at her locker and want to walk with her to class. At first it was nice. He was Gale’s friend and as long as he didn’t talk, she didn’t mind. When they graduated, he went to work in the mines. Katniss set up a booth in the Hob selling her jerky.

And for a time, everything was calm. Then he started coming to supper. He tried to become friends with Prim. Her sister thought him weird. Then one day, Waylon tried to kiss her. When she pushed him away, he chased her straight into the forest. Thankfully, he didn’t dare go into the woods.

The woods became her refuge. As soon as she knew Waylon was let loose of his shift at the mines, he would head straight to the Hob. Katniss would pack up her booth and run off into the woods. She began hunting at night to get away from him. Also, she sort of used Gale as an unofficial bodyguard to keep Waylon at a distance. Waylon was a sore spot in her relatively short life span.

“He does?” The words slipped out before they could be stopped.

“He’s got a thing for you Katniss,” Darius’ voice sounded full of mirth, “He’s one of many in the district.”

“If I weren’t in handcuffs, I’d deck you.”

Darius grinned. “He still shoots Peeta the evil eye.”

At the mention of Peeta’s name, her brain misfires.

Peeta.

Sigh, strong, capable, dependable, sweet, kind, lovely, delicious…always lurking in her dreams, Peeta.

That night at the Harvest Fair, every time she saw Waylon come her way she hid. Thankfully Peeta came to her rescue. He asked her to dance and afterwards he escorted her the entire time.

Oh, Peeta tried to keep her out of trouble. He was so nice, and she had no way to pay him for his kindness in rescuing her that night. Even four years later she could still recall every detail. He did admirably despite her lack of social graces, and inability to dance.

Katniss groaned in the transport, her head leaning up against the metal wall. Dancing with Peeta was heavenly, being with Peeta was indescribable, but Katniss shoved that feeling deep, deep, way deep inside of her, locked it up and only took out that memory in the dead of night. When she was alone in her bed, her fingers drifted to her lady parts and she sought relief from the thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him over and over.

She had a secret bond with Peeta, a bond she couldn’t shake. “Peeta,” her heart whispered with longing. Katnis hoped Darius couldn’t see how deeply she was affected by her baker. Peeta was the one soul in the district who knew her better than anyone else.

“So, it’s Peeta you have a thing for. Waylon’s not wrong in giving him the evil eye.”

Katniss scowled at Darius, causing him to laugh.

“I’d have to be drunk on the shine,” Katniss grumbled. She hoped to redirect Darius, he was so near the truth.

“Katniss,” Darius rubs his face. “Please don’t tell me you’ve drunk the shine.”

“No. Gale swears he has. He said it’s so strong it has the power to peel paint off the walls. Is it true…about you and the shine?” Katniss asked.

Darius became serious.

"So, it isn’t true. I knew Gale was lying."

Darius cleared his throat. "It made me hallucinate. There are things, Everdeen, you shouldn’t ever try.”

"Duly noted.”

The transport rolled, and another command came through the radio. Darius “What?”

“Star 451,” the voice answered back.

“Pluck a duck,” Darius whispered angrily. “Are you sure?”

His angry voice sounded out of control as if he wanted to hit something or someone. The atmosphere changed suddenly. It crackled with foreboding darkness. Katniss tried to ignore it, she knew she was in trouble.

For the rest of the journey Katniss wondered what was going on, what did that Star 451 mean? Katniss noted Darius became quiet, and sullen; all the traces of humor left his face. Darius stopped looking at her as if he couldn’t face her. Finally, the transport came to a halt.

“We’re here.”

Katniss winced, thinking of Haymitch Abernathy, and the uncertainty that faced her outside of the transport.

“Wait for me to get down before you get up,” Darius bit out as the door opened and the cold wind caused Katniss to shiver.

Katniss wrinkled her nose. Haymitch was going to be a pain in the neck. The last time she’d been before him things were not pleasant. When she got down, her eyes widened. They weren’t at the Justice building. They were at the Victors Village.

It was one thing to stand in the Justice building, a cold sterile edifice made of white stone. It was another to stand inside of a home. “Darius?”

The transport moved on and there was another waiting, one that did not have any insignia on the side. It was black and it reminded Katniss of the one they used to transport the corpses of the deceased.

“Come on,” Darius said gently, once more avoiding looking at her.

Katniss nodded. She wasn’t someone who let things affect her. She didn’t scare easily, this however, put pure fear in her heart.

Darius escorted her inside of the massive house and guided her into a room by the side. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace. The warmth stung her cold skin. There was a dark wooden desk, two comfortable chairs, and another pair facing the fireplace. “Sit.”

Katniss sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Give me your hands, Katniss,” Darius said.

Katniss lifted her trembling hands.

“What did I tell you ‘bout keeping your nose out of trouble, Sweetheart?” Haymitch grumbled from the door.

Katniss masked her fear.

Four years ago Gale was sick and couldn’t attend that darned Harvest Fair. Katniss needed a way out, thankfully Peeta rescued her.

Everything was splendid and at one point while staring into his gorgeous blue eyes Katniss was breathless. It was toward the end of the night when his mother, the witch, pulled him away and that’s where all hell broke loose. Accidentally, in her haste to get away from Waylon, a small fire started when one of the glass lamps fell, and broke. Several bales of hay caught fire. It somehow escalated and concluded with a goat stampede down the center of town.

Her mother blamed Katniss for embarrassing Waylon and his family, and basically setting the fair on fire. Haymitch told her mother that her unfettered meddling would one day cause the destruction of all she held dear. Eudora Everdeen was not amused, nor was she happy with the outcome. Haymitch let Katniss go with a slap on the wrist because her only criminal act was trying to flee the unwanted attention of a man. Plus, thanks to Peeta’s quick thinking, it was only the stage that burned. He and his brothers managed to get the fire out and they built another stage, how they did it in one day, Katniss didn’t know.

She kept away for the rest of the Harvest Fair, thinking it was better not to remind the community of her stupidity. She’d been lulled under Peeta’s spell. She’d done more than dance and start a fire at that fair. Heat rose from the pit of her belly and flowed to her core and spilled on to her cheeks.

The sound of a chair being scraped on the wood floor caused her bubble to break. Katniss shook her head. Her eyes came back into focus to the present.

“Darius, you can wait outside. Katniss isn’t going to do anything stupid,” Haymitch turned his grey eyes toward her, “are you?”

Katniss shook her head no.

Darius nodded and walked outside, closing the door.

Katniss didn’t even bother rubbing her wrists. She balled her hands and rested them at her side.

“You’re probably wondering why you got caught?”

She hadn’t really. Katniss thought it was just a routine inspection. There were bears in the woods and just one week ago the electric fence had been damaged.

“Your mother.”

“What?” Katniss growled. Her lips thinned her anger skyrocketing. Then she thought for a second it couldn’t be. “She wouldn’t…”

“She did, and there wasn’t anything Darius or I could do. We had to arrest you?”

A combination of bitterness and sadness swept into her soul like the bitter winds that brought the frigid winter air. It was one thing to try to get her to marry; it showed that her mother cared. However, handing her over to the authority showed Katniss that her mother had fallen out of love for her. Can a mother un-love a child? It could happen, she supposed, thinking of Peeta’s mother, the witch. That woman only cared for one person, herself.

“Sorry Sweetheart, Darius tried to dissuade her. She said it was time for you to learn what the real world was all about. But instead of leaving it with me and Darius, she went to the Justice building and filed a complaint with Panem’s Bureau of Justice. She got Seneca Crane’s underwear in a twist. He’s demanding you pay for your crimes.”

Katniss gasped. Seneca Crane was from the old regime. He was the Head Gamemaker of the 74th Hunger Games. His arena was never used. The man was so twisted and evil that he was merciless with those who came under his thumb, and she was one of them. Katniss wondered how someone like him still had power in this new Panem.

There was no doubt in her mind she was going to serve time. Those who served time were often sent away to another District. She could be sentenced to District Eleven to work in the fields, District Two to work in the mines, or work in District Four in the fish processing plants doing the lowest of menial jobs. “How much time will I be sentenced?

“A year Sweetheart, you can get out early for good behavior, come back here and work the rest of your sentence as a parole.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d never been away from home, never was tempted to escape into the wilds of the forest. Now she was going to be carted out in the middle of the night. She was a blemish to society, unwanted, a problem for her mother. A solitary tear rolled down her face.

Katniss didn’t need handcuffs any more; she was about to be branded as undesirable.

Darius quietly walked in with the machine. They slid her hand in the machine and she cried as the skin of her wrist was seared with an imprint. Cradling her hand she read *451. Now she understood.

“I’m sorry Katniss,” Darius whispered.

Two heavy set men dressed in black came in and pushed her inside of the waiting black transport.

Chapter Two

Peeta whistled.

“You’re in a good mood,” Norma Jean, his brother Graham’s wife said.

Norma Jean was his favorite sister in law. Graham had fallen head-over-heels for her. It was funny because before Norma Jean, Graham’s type were tall statuesque thin blondes. Norma Jean was short, and as she put it, rounder than an apple. She was also sweeter than the candy she and Graham sold at the confectioners’ shop.

“I am.” He couldn’t help himself.

Today was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, one because the bakery closed early, and two because Katniss always came by on Saturday to trade with him. No one else. Peeta knew for certain Katniss didn’t trade with anyone else but him.

“Well it’s my favorite day.”

Norma Jean grinned. “Is it because of a certain huntress?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her belly, she was heavily pregnant. She was sniffing the air. When pregnant, Norma Jean had the ability to identify different herbs by smell. Her nose was that good.

Peeta kept quiet and wondered how long it would be before she sniffed the cheese buns he had hidden in the back.

“Have you heard from Rye?”

Peeta grinned. “He’s back in District Two.”

Rye was the reason Peeta had inherited the family bakery. With Graham married to Norma Jean, their mother thought Rye would take over the bakery, leaving Peeta out of the inheritance. Then, one-and-a-half years ago Rye announced he wanted to be a Peacekeeper. Nothing their mother said or threatened dissuaded Rye from becoming a Peacekeeper.

“He’s great actually, talked to him last night.”

“Graham’s still upset with him. He didn’t want Rye to sign up to a twenty year commitment to be celibate to serve home and country.”

Peeta recalled. “You know how Rye gets when he wants something.”

“Yeah.” Norma Jean nodded.

“His training is over, and he’s waiting for his assignment. When we were talking at least ten guys came by to say hello.” Peeta had gotten to know the guys in Rye’s squad. They were from all over Panem.

“Good, I am glad.”

“Won’t Graham miss you?”

“Nope, my sister Virginia is helping him set up; the boys were fast asleep.”

“You do realize today is Saturday and they’re up early on Saturday.” Peeta said.

“Exactly, no one bothers the sweet shop at six in the morning, nine maybe, but six…only those who are craving stuff like me…now, hot buns, give me one of those treat’s you’re saving for your huntress,” Norma Jean demanded.

Peeta shook his head. “I would never deny you anything.”

He walked into the back whistling and grabbed two of the cheese buns he’d saved for himself to share with Katniss.

“For you,” Peeta said, bowing slightly.

“I haven’t seen you like this since that Harvest Fair?” Norma Jean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Peeta said.

“You can’t lie to me, Peeta,” Norma Jean said, narrowing her eyes, one fist curled around the cheese bun.

“You’re right,” Peeta said.

“So, it is Katniss,” Norma Jean said.

Peeta could feel the heat raising up to his cheeks. He looked at his reflection in the smooth surface of the metal case; he looked ruddy.

After they graduated, Katniss set up her shop in the Hob. Her jerky was a favorite amongst the residents. Katniss had enough coins to buy everything she needed. She could buy bread, but she didn’t. Their friendship began slowly. At first it was a slight nod, with her cheeks so rosy she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

The Harvest Fair changed everything. They’d been a little tipsy as a result of the hard apple cider Greasy Sae offered them. She’d pulled him into Mr. Plover’s blacksmith and horse barn and kissed him. The kiss got out of hand and one thing led to another. Soon they were in one of the empty horse stalls and tearing their clothing off. Katniss had given him her virginity and he had given her his. When they walked out hand in hand Peeta couldn’t help the goofy grin on his face. He would never forget how soft her eyes looked.

Then his mother came looking for him, and everything became a nightmare. Peeta advocated for Katniss, got his brothers and his friends to clean up and rebuild the stage. Katniss was arrested, and the community shunned her. They took Waylon’s side, no thanks to Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss had never attended another social event after that.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Norma said excitedly.

“Well.” His eyes went to the store front. Mrs. Bernelle came into the store. With Thanksgiving tomorrow Peeta expected a brisk business today.

“Hello Mrs. Bernelle,” Peeta greeted.

“Hello Peeta, Norma Jean.”

“Hello,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her stomach.

“You’re due any day now?” Mrs. Burnelle said warmly to Norma Jean.

“ Just about.” Norma Jean smiled warmly.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Burnelle,” Peeta said, wanting Mrs. Burnelle out of the store so that he could speak to Norma Jean.

“May I have a dozen of your dinner rolls, but only the freshest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peeta said, grabbing a brown paper bag. He quickly dispensed the rolls.”

Mrs. Burnelle smelled the bread, “These smell delicious,” she leaned over and with a mischievous lilt in her voice. “Don’t tell you father, but you are the better baker.”

“I won’t,” Peeta laughed. “Is that all for today?”

“Yes.” She had the exact amount. She put it on the counter. “Thank you Peeta and Happy Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving became a national Holiday after the treaty between the Capitol and the Districts was ratified as law. A day for both sides to come together and celebrate everlasting peace and tranquility and celebrated with a big meal. Normally the Capitol sent all of the Districts a parcel with some sort of treat. Each year a District was selected to make a parcel to send to the Capitol. District Twelve had yet to be selected.

“Thank you, you too,” Peeta said. He waited until the door was closed before he turned his attention back to Norma Jean.

“Whatever you have to tell me has got to be really good for you to be acting like you did four years ago?”

Peeta sighed happily.

“Did something happen between you two?”

Norma Jean knew all. Peeta confided in her. When Katniss didn’t show up that Saturday after the Fair, she encouraged him to seek out Katniss. Peeta gathered his courage and found her at the Hob. She looked like hell and she wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes. Peeta found out from Greasy Sae, no one was buying her jerky.

Peeta brazenly bought her jerky and told her he’d run out of squirrels. Then he sent Norma Jean, and Norma sent Rye, and Rye sent Delly to buy her jerky. Delly sent someone else and so forth. There was no way he was going to allow the people of District Twelve to turn their backs on Katniss.

The following Saturday he found a package at his doorstep. Norma Jean packed up some bread and told him to pay her for her game meat. He’d gone down to the Hob and put the bread on her table and told her she’d forgotten her payment before he walked away.

This went on for weeks until she came by and shyly waited to make the exchange. Every Saturday he’d do his best to tamp down his own yearnings because Katniss needed a friend. He made it his mission to befriend her. Like a flower blossoming she opened up to him.

Peeta remained tight lipped.

Mrs. Evangeline walked into the shop.

“Good Morning Mrs. Evangeline,” Peeta greeted, but he could see Norma Jean wanted to shove the nosy woman out of the bakery.

“Hello Peeta,” Mrs. Evangeline said with her list in hand. She nodded at Norma Jean. This morning Mrs. Evangeline was in battle mode. “I am in a rush this morning. I have to get to the butchers before the best cut of meat is taken,” she muttered.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My daughter is coming home with her new husband and I need her favorite bread, a baguette.”

“Oh yes, I remember Rosalee loves the sourdough with Mrs. Caries strawberry preserves.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Evangeline said. “May I also have a loaf of the sourdough?”

“Absolutely,” Peeta said.

“Thank you Peeta, you always remember everything,” Mrs. Evangeline gushed.

“It’s no problem,” Peeta smiled but he saw Norma Jean’s impatience.

“So, when you are due?” Mrs. Evangeline asked Norma Jean.

“Any day now,” Norma Jean answered.

Peeta bagged the baguettes and the loaf of Sourdough. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Evangeline. “How much?”

“Ten credits,” Peeta said.

Mrs. Evangeline took out her credits and paid Peeta. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.”

“Thank you, you too.” Peeta waved as Mrs. Evangeline left.

“Finally,” Norma Jean exclaimed.

Peeta shrugged not wanting to give anything away.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Norma Jean huffed.

He feigned innocence.

“Okay hot stuff, what happened? And don’t spare any details. I know Katniss has been coming here every Saturday for the past three years.”

Norma Jean wasn’t wrong. Katniss had been coming to the bakery every Saturday. She’d knock on his door precisely at nine in the morning. They would talk and sometimes she’d linger to drink tea. Recently he began showing her some new recipe he’d been working on.

Peeta grabbed a cleanser and a squeegee and wiped down the counter.

“Uh-uh…none of those diversionary tactics!”

Peeta put his hands in the air.

“Go on, what happened?” Norma Jean fixed with him the mommy glare.

“We kissed,” Peeta whispered.

“What,” she screeched. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Okay, more!”

“Katniss came to the door, we traded, we drank tea. I introduced her to my newest creation. These cheese buns. And I saw that same sparkle in her eyes, as the night of the Fair. I do not exactly know how it happened. But we kissed.” How precisely their lips met Peeta was still fuzzy on that, but he did recall the desire and longing that shot through him like the fireworks that lit the sky at Thanksgiving. Her lips were soft and warm, and he marveled once more at the taste of wild berries, sweet and tart, crisp and delicious.

“Good for you,” Norma Jean said. “Are you guys going to talk today, going to, you know, talk about getting together?”

“I hope so. I’ve waited so long for her to see me, and not just as a friend.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Norma Jean said. Her eyes looked past him above him at the clock, and she groaned, picking up her packages. “I’m late, I have to drop this off at your mother’s house.”

“Good luck,” Peeta grinned.

“Nothing to it,” she rubbed her expanded belly. “Your mother is always rainbows and hearts when I’m pregnant. She keeps on expecting a girl. Sadly, I keep on producing strong Mellark men, much to your father’s delight. He loves his grandchildren. But not as much as your brother loves to keep me fat and round.”

“Norma Jean, you’re not fat,” Peeta replied.

“And that’s why my wife prefers you over me.” Graham came into the shop with his twin boys, one in each arm. Their other child was wrapped around his ankle.

Norma Jean patted Peeta’s hand. “Graham is the grouchy one and Rye is the wild one and you, Peeta are the good Mellark. You’re the hot goods every girl in District Twelve wants to get her grubby hands on, but only one can have.”

“Please don’t call my baby brother hot in front of me,” Graham whined.

Norma Jean grinned wickedly. “Sorry Graham we both know that even Rye with all of his wild ways isn’t as hot as Peeta.”

“Evil woman,” Graham said, handing one of his boys to Peeta.

“Hey buddy!” Peeta grabbed Malcom and tossed him in the air.

“Uncle Peeta,” his twin brother Marvin shouted. “Me, I’m next.”

Martin who was wrapped around Graham’s ankle popped up, “Me too, me too.”

Peeta loved his nephews.

“Boys,” Norma Jean said with that firm mommy voice they listened to.

“Yes mama?” All boys said with rapt attention.

“Your uncle is working. He will wrestle with you tomorrow,” Norma Jean said.

All three boys nodded their pale blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Here’s a cookie for each of you,” Peeta said, taking three plain cookies out. Norma and Graham were careful about the sugar the kids ate. “Why don’t you guys sit at the table and eat the cookies?”

All three of them scampered to the table and sat, eating.

“So if uncle Peeta comes over then maybe mommy and me can…”

“Nope,” Norma Jean said. “Peeta and mommy have serious girl stuff going on.”

“Seriously,” Graham settled his eyes on Peeta. “What the heck? What kind of pull do you have over the ladies?”

“I told you Peeta��s the hot one,” Norma Jean winked. But then placed a playful kiss on Graham’s lips.

Graham stared lovingly into Norma Jean’s eyes then turned to Peeta and playfully growled, “She’s mine, all mine.”

“I know,” Peeta shrugged. “Besides, she’s not my type.”

“I’m not,” Norma Jean said. Then she stood on tiptoe to place a small kiss on Graham’s chin. “If we leave the kids today at grampa’s, maybe we can have a private chat about my candy shop, after we close at noon?”

“Oh,” Graham said, his voice brightening.

Peeta was grossed out by the innuendo.

“Okay, Mellark Clan, march out,” Graham said. “We’re going to grandpa’s.”

The store emptied of his brother’s family, but then the customers came in filling the store for two solid hours. As the time neared 9 o’clock, Peeta started whistling.

Nothing could get him down.

He had the tea prepared, he had cream, and plenty of sugar. Peeta grimaced. How Katniss could drink her tea that way, he didn’t know, but Katniss loved her tea with loads of cream and sugar. He whistled as he wiped down the display cases.

He looked at the clock, 9 o’clock. His gut twisted, anticipating her soft knock. But it didn’t come. He put his cloth away and walked to the back door.

He opened the door looking to see if he could spot her trademark bag or braided hair. He worried something was wrong. Katniss wouldn’t have stayed away. He knew kissing her could have been a mistake and maybe she was regretting the kiss. Peeta shook his head. This was different. Something felt off and he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t put his finger on it either.

Peeta looked at the clock, she was fifteen minutes late. Katniss was never late; she was alway punctual. He was truly worried, maybe she’d gotten into another argument with her mother over her single status. Mrs. Everdeen was dogged in her search for a husband for Katniss. All of the men Mrs. Everdeen picked for Katniss were strong minded individuals. Men who liked to be in charge. Peeta chuckled, Katniss didn’t need a domineering guy. Anyone with her same fire would cause them both to combust.

These four years Peeta had gotten to know Katniss, and from what he gleaned she needed someone who treated her as equal or someone to balance her fire. Someone who understood the value of partnership. Peeta hoped he was that man for her.

He once more looked at the clock and another five minutes went by. Foreboding crept inside of his being, causing the hairs of his neck to stand on end. The last time he felt that was right before the fire. Something was wrong.

“Where are you, Kat?” Peeta asked. He had half a mind to close the shop and walk to her home in the Seam.

The bell to the front door rang. He sighed then went to the front. Though his mind was made up, he was going to close up shop and head to the Seam as soon as he finished with the patron waiting for him.

“Dad?”

“Son,” his father glanced at him and there was concern in his eyes.

His father hardly came to the bakery now that he had retired. His parents moved to a house just outside the central market. His father enjoyed gardening and canning. He enjoyed his little group of other gardeners. His mother didn’t like the sedate life but she didn’t really have much of a say.

“What’s going on dad?”

“I came to check on you,” his father searched his eyes.

“Dad, you’re acting weird,” Peeta said, frowning.

His father was uneasy, his feet shifted, his hands were buried deep in his pocket, and there was something about the way that his dad looked at him reminded Peeta of the day that his dad sat him down and talked about what it meant to be the third son of a baker. It was one of the hardest conversations they’d ever had. Peeta loved the bakery, loved the smell of yeast, and yes even though he didn’t like the heat, he loved the smell of the hot ovens. There was something immensely enjoyable about seeing the awe and wonder in a customer’s face when he delivered a cake for a special occasion.

He hoped one day to see that same awe and wonder in Katniss’ face, if he could only find her talk to her.

His father cleared his throat.

“What is it dad?” Peeta said, walking to the shop door and flipping the sign from open to close. He closed the door. Peeta squared his shoulders waiting for whatever news his father had for him.

“Son,” his father drifted off. He closed his eyes then said, “…it’s about Katniss…”

“What about Katniss,” Peeta couldn’t believe how calm his voice was. He should have been freaking out. His father knew how important Katniss was to him, though he didn’t know the extent of their friendship.

“She’s been arrested.”

That feeling in his gut that told him Katniss wasn’t okay, caused Peeta’s senses to sharpen. He needed to help her get out of trouble. He stalked to the cash register as if it was his mortal enemy, opening the drawer he took out all of the credits and emptied it into a bag. “I’m going to Darius; what’s her bail?”

“She was caught last night in the middle of the night, with squirrels, poaching.”

Peeta’s heart stopped beating. She’d been hunting for him. At least now he knew Katniss wasn’t running from him. His mind quickly formulated a plan. He walked to the back and put his coat on. As he walked, he talked, “Fine I can talk to Haymitch, tell him why.”

“Son,” his father’s grave voice let Peeta know there was more. His father put his hands on his shoulder. Peeta was still. He didn’t want to know more but he knew he needed to listen. “Her mother.”

“What has she done now?” Peeta didn’t wait; he shook his head. “No, I need to see Haymitch.” Peeta ran out of the back door and speedily ran to the Justice Building. He tore up the stairs taking them two at a time. She’d spent the night in jail.

He didn’t even bother talking to Haymitch’s assistant Anna.

“Mr. Mellark, you can’t go in there,” Anna stood.

Peeta had never been uncourteous to anyone. He was always kind, always aware of other’s feelings. It’s why his mother thought him soft, but he wasn’t really. Not when it came to Katniss. He loved her, and for Katniss he would give up his life.

“Anna,” Peeta growled, and her eyes opened wide as if she’d encountered a feral beast in the meadow.

She stepped to the side.

Peeta barged right through into Haymitch’s office. The last time he’d been here he was eighteen. Desperate to help Katniss. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man, a man who was willing to move heaven and earth for the woman he loved.

Haymitch had a drink on his desk, and an opened bottle. Another was tossed into the waste paper basket. His office smelled of malt whisky and white liquor. Peeta hadn’t seen Haymitch drunk in years. Not since he was fifteen. His eyes swept the room and he noted Haymitch was not alone.

Mrs. Everdeen and her sister Primrose stood in a corner. Mrs. Everdeen looked surprised to see him. Her pale blue eyes were like stones in a river, hard and cold. Her sister Primrose stood away from her mother. Her arms clamped around her middle. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was bright red. The rest of her, her face, hands, and legs looked pale, ashen really.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” Haymitch rasped gruffly.

“Where’s Katniss?” he demanded.

“Boy, sit, have a drink,” Haymitch said, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

“No, where’s Katniss and how much to bail her out?”

Haymitch rubbed his face. “When I took this job on I did it because I knew that the people didn’t trust Cray or any Head Peacekeepers to make the laws just. I set up this position for each district so that they could have one of their own to make decisions on their cases. I specifically set it up with loopholes so that no party could have the ultimate power over the other.”

Haymitch gave Mrs. Everdeen a scathing look.

Mrs. Everdeen lifted her nose. “I only did what was right. She was poaching.” Her voice was filled with indignation, as if she couldn’t understand why she was being reprimanded.

“Eudora, what you did was send an innocent girl into hell because of your stupid pride. You’re no better than the folks that tossed you out into the street when you chose to marry Jack,” Haymitch barked.

Peeta noted how Eudora blinked and her eyes flickered with momentary pain before they went back to that cool indifference. Katniss had a similar look, but unlike Mrs. Everdeen’s which held no personality depth, Katniss’ look always showed a small bit of vulnerability, compassion, fiery resistance and some trace of emotion. Peeta could spend a lifetime examining Katniss’ smallest gestures.

“What happened, Haymitch, where’s Katniss?”

“I don’t see why he should be here,” Eudora said coolly.

“He has every right to be here,” Haymitch said, standing up. “That boy is the one fella your daughter loves.”

Eudora’s eyes widened with shock and she looked at Peeta, really looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She shook her head, “No, not him, she doesn’t love him. She doesn’t even know him.”

“She does, mama,” Primrose said.

“Katniss was caught poaching for me,” Peeta said quietly. “Every Saturday she comes to my shop and we trade, and talk…” Peeta looked at Haymitch, “Where is she? I need to see her?”

Her mother suddenly looked pale.

“Eudora tipped Darius about Katniss poaching on Fridays late in the evening. I guess she thought Darius wasn’t going to do anything and filed a complaint to Panem’s Bureau of Justice. It got to Crane; that bastard ordered me to hand her over for justice.”

“No,” Peeta roared. He stood up, his eyes landing on Mrs. Everdeen. Prim stood at his side.

“No,” Prim said quietly.

His hands were stretched out resting on Mrs. Everdeen’s neck.

“Boy,” Haymitch ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes were wider than saucers. Her body trembled underneath his fingers. There were horror stories about landing in the clutches of Seneca Crane. “Do you realize Katniss can be killed because she was bringing me squirrels.” His voice cracked. Tears stung his eyes. He let go of Mrs. Everdeen and sat in the chair.

“Momma, you’d done wrong.”

“Primrose, I wasn’t going to let her stop you from marrying. I wasn’t going to let her…”

“MOMMA!” Primrose squeaked.

Mrs. Everdeen became quiet.

“If you bothered to get to know Katniss, you would know that she would never stop me from getting married if that’s what I wanted. You would know that all Katniss wants is for me to be happy. Yes, I got mad at her for walking in on me and Vick.” Prim stopped, wiping the tears from her face. “But I know she did it because she loves me and she did not want me to foolishly get pregnant.” Prim squared her shoulders.

Peeta raised an eyebrow; he’d never seen this side to Katniss’ sister. Prim was a sweet girl, innocent, loving and caring. The girl before him had grit and integrity, something she learned from Katniss. Prim leveled a look at her mother before turning to look at Peeta.

“Yesterday she said she knew what it was like to get carried away in the arms of a man that loved you so much it hurt. She knew what it was like to give into pleasure so deep without thought of the future. She told me she didn’t want me to go through the worry of a pregnancy scare.”

Peeta’s hands gripped the arm of the chair he sat in. Katniss thought she was pregnant. He could just imagine her terror. He thought she’d been avoiding him because of the fire; he didn’t know it was because she didn’t know if they’d made a baby together. Katniss was right to be scared. They weren’t ready back then. He had no future and she still had her sister to rear. He looked up to Prim and nodded acknowledging her words.

“You and Katniss,” her mother sounded brittle.

“No Momma, don’t redirect; look at me,” Prim ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen looked at her youngest daughter.

“If you would have taken the time to get to know your eldest daughter, you’d know she sacrificed herself for me. I made her promise me that after I graduated that she would follow her dreams. Katniss promised me,” Prim looked at Peeta. “She’d promised me she’d talk to you, Peeta.”

“I,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“Katniss helped me, after I graduate, I was going to go to District 3. Dr. Jensen helped me get into an accelerated course in medicine. Everything is set up.” Prim’s voice sounded watery, she had tears running down her face. “Now I can’t go knowing my sister is in the hands of that butcher.”

Mrs. Everdeen flinched.

Peeta stood and gently held Prim in his arms as she cried. “I don’t understand how you could do this to Katniss. I don’t understand how you could betray her when all she’s ever done is to put food on your table and keep a roof over your head. She is the most selfless person. The most loyal. All Katniss has ever done is tried to protect her family, yet you betrayed her.”

“I did it for her own good. I didn’t betray her.” Mrs. Everdeen stood straighter. “This new regime, it may not last forever. There are men like Seneca Crane out there who are vying for power. What if one of them becomes president and then we end up worse? Katniss is a foolish child. I had to do what I thought was best for Katniss, and taking away her ability to hunt was the only way I could think of to get her to think…to see how dangerous this world was.”

“What you did was feed her to the wolves,” Peeta spat. “They called my mother the witch, but you lady, you are a cold hearted bitch.”

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes became colder. “Primrose we are leaving.”

“No momma,” Prim said, shaking her head. “I’m not going back to that house. I’m gonna to do everything in my power for my sister.”

“How long?” Peeta asked Haymich.

“A year,” Haymitch sighed. He looked tired and drained as he spoke, “Maybe less for good behavior.”

“Where?” Peeta asked.

��District Two.”

Hope bloomed in Peeta’s chest. “My brother is in District 2, maybe he can watch out for Katniss, keep an eye on her, and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“You think Rye would do that?”

“Yeah, he would,” Peeta said. Then he turned to Haymitch and asked, “What happens when… if she gets out for good behavior?”

“If Crane’s people let her go for good behavior, and I doubt it’ll happen, Katniss will be paroled and required to work the rest of her sentence.”

“I want her assigned to me. She can work off the rest of her parole in my bakery. She can live under my roof and I can take care of her.”

“Okay I can do that.” Haymitch sat down at his desk. He pushed the bottle and the glass into the waste paper basket. He took out a form.

“Wait, what’s going on,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“There’s no way I’m going to give up on Katniss. When she gets out of there she’s going to need a home, a place where she can be safe, and know that she’s wanted and loved.”

“What will your mother say?”

“My mother has no decision in the bakery or how it’s run. The bakery became mine last year when my father and Rye signed it over to me. Believe me, I’m going to make a Katniss campaign and when she comes back everyone in town will welcome her with open arms.”

“Haymitch,” Prim said, stepping out of Peeta’s arms. She sat in the chair facing his desk. “You said Seneca might not let her be released for good behavior. Does that mean he will make sure that she serves out her full sentence?’

“Yes, that rat bastard makes all of his victims pay.” Haymitch set the paperwork aside. His eyes though, were churning as if he was working on a puzzle.

“Then how can we make sure, or what can we do to make certain Crane has to shorten my sister’s sentence?” Prim asked on the edge of her chair.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asked, sitting down in the empty chair.

Haymitch opened his drawer and pulled out a slim electronic device. Because District 12 was the outlying district, and it was the poorest one, it dealt mostly with papers. However, there were things that needed to be done with the fancy electronics that the Capitol favored.

Peeta had a computer at the bakery, it was one of the first things he splurged on. It helped him maintain his accounting and supplies. It also was a way for him to get incontact with his brother in District Two.

“This is a computer, and it contains all of the bylaws of Panem. When we set up the justice system, I wanted to make sure there was a catch. Our newly appointed President Paylor helped come up with this. I had forgotten about it until this moment, Prim.”

“What is it?” Prim asked, voicing what Peeta was asking himself.

“Ha!” Haymitch said triumphantly. “There is a clause in the law that stipulates that family members can step in and volunteer for family in case they unjustly fall into the hands of Panem’s Bureau of Justice. Your sister was caught with two squirrels at the time she was caught poaching. Now poaching is a serious offense. But squirrel hunting is completely legal. In fact it just happens to be hunting season for the little critters.”

“So in reality all Katniss did was get caught crossing the fence,” Peeta said.

“And that is a lesser offence than poaching.” Haymitch turned to Primrose. “Which means that her conviction is unjust and a family member can volunteer to work some of her time off here in the district. If someone volunteers, Katniss’ hard labor sentence will be cut in half, but she’ll still have to be paroled.”

“Six months of labor?” Prim whispered, before looking to Haymitch and asking. “Will I be able to finish school?”

“I don’t see why not, we just need someone to take you in for six months for you to work for them for free.”

“No,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“I’m seventeen Momma, well past the age of consent in Panem,” Prim said.

“I forbade you,” Mrs. Everdeen said, stomping her foot.

“Haymitch, I volunteer for my sister. I volunteer to work off of her debt.”

“YOU CAN’T!”

Prim turned to her mother. “This is all your doing Momma, if you’d let Katniss alone, she’d be with Peeta now talking about the future. Talking to the man she loved about a toasting, children, everything she denied herself for a long time. But you wanted to punish her. You wanted to punish her for looking like Papa, for being his daughter. For always doing the right thing even if it meant going against your archaic wishes. Now you will take the punishment the way I am sure Katniss took hers, with dignity.” Turning to Haymitch Prim said, “Where do I sign?”

Mrs. Everdeen cried, and ran out of the room.

Peeta turned to Prim. “Will she be alright?”

“No,” Prim said. “But Katniss was right; our mother is selfish. I didn’t see it until now. She thinks what she did is justified, that she did the right thing. But she didn’t and now it’s up to us to save Katniss.”

“You’re a lot like her,” Peeta said.

“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Prim said.

“I think we need to get my sister-in-law,” Peeta said to Haymitch.

“Norma Jean,” Haymitch said.

My sister-in-law is pregnant with her fourth child. She said she is ready to give birth any time. Anyways, her sister Virginia’s getting married in a month to Jason Swanson, the railroad engineer’s son. Once she gets married, she’s going to work full time there, which means my brother will be alone in the store. They’re going to need help, and I know Norma Jean would never treat you poorly. She’s the only one I trust to help out. My brother Graham will pretty much do anything Norma Jean says.”

“Anne,” Haymitch barked.

Anne walked in, “Yes, Mr. Abernathy?”

“Go have one of Darius’ do-gooders get Peeta’s brother and sister-in-law here,” Haymitch grabbed another piece of paper. “We’re going to save Sweetheart’s butt.”

Peeta sat back, but he knew the battle was far from over. That night he called his brother. His brother was like him, but his features weren’t as soft. His face was angular, and his blonde hair was darker and it was curlier, though you couldn’t tell since he was sporting a buzz cut.

“Hey Peeta,”

“Rye I need…”

“Don’t I know. I heard about Katniss. It’s all everyone is talking about. The girl whose mother betrayed her for you. I’m kind of a celebrity now.”

“You saw her?”

“No, she’s been put deep in the tunnels. The star squad is so deep they don’t surface for months at a time. Communication down there is only done when necessary.”

“Will you keep me apprised if you do see her, take care of her for me?” Peeta asked.

Rye nodded then he said, “Did Graham really say yes to Primrose staying with him?”

“Yeah,” Peeta smiled ruefully. He was tired and he wished he could have done more.

“Huh, was it Norma Jean?”

“No, he volunteered when he heard what happened to Katniss, before I could even ask.”

“Really, I guess he’s not like mom.”

“Nope, if he were like mom he would have married Esme Smith.”

Rye laughed. “I forgot about Esme; man you know she popped my cherry.”

“Rye, really, I don’t need to know your escapades,” Peeta joked but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rye was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working.

“Look Peeta, I know Katniss is your girl, and I promise, in fact all of the guys in my squad, in all of the squads know how special she is, they told me if they’ll take care of her.”

“Except for the guys working under Crane,” Peeta muttered. He closed his eyes. He wanted to punch the wall, wanted to scream.

“Just hang in there, Katniss is strong, she’s tough. For any girl of twelve to brave the forest and hunt animals with the threat of predatory beasts to put food on the table, that takes bigger balls than I have.”

“Thanks Rye,” Peeta whispered.

“I’ve got to go, but maybe the next time tell Graham that what he did for Prim was great.”

“I will.”

The communication went off. Peeta sighed and leaned back. He looked up at the darkened sky just beyond his bedroom window. “Hang in there Katniss. Please hang in there,” he whispered brokenly.

A lot of things could happen in six months. Katniss could be beaten mercilessly. She could be raped by one of the prisoners or even by a sadistic guard. She could catch a disease and die. The fear he’d been fighting threaded through him and for the first time in all of his life he was unsure of the future. Sleep was not an option for him tonight and he couldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow. Not with the love of his life in some hellhole beneath the earth.

Getting up, he began to clean and sometime around midnight he decided to make bread for the children tomorrow; that would keep his mind occupied. The next six months were going to be the hardest of his life.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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fuck-you-i-am-spiderman · 4 years ago

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hi :) chil for the ask game. choose the numbers that spark joy to you <3

Hi! Yes thank you 😍 I love to think about them and I've been thinking about them more lately <3

Who buys flowers for the other?

↳ 1000% Chad. He's always getting fancy bouquets and extravagent gifts to show Gil he loves him. Gil just likes that Chad was thinking about him. And Chad quickly finds out that food is the way to Gil's heart, and so he ends up getting Gil baked goods - like bringing him pastries for breakfast or getting them fancy cupcakes. Gil likes using the flowers Chad gets him to make flower crowns (and Uma uses her magic to preserve them). Gil likes to bring Chad shells he's collected and little bits of wood he can craft into charms for Chad. Gil makes him a wooden charm of a crown and carves in little details and Chad wears it every day.

Who genuinely likes pineapple on pizza?

↳ Gil! I mean, he'll eat most things but he really likes fruit and he will gladly eat all of the pineapple on pizza with a lot of enthusiasm. Chad detests it and he'll very dramatically refuse the pizza that Gil offers him. Gil likes to tease Chad with the food combinations he likes and Chad will pretend to block Gil for "slandering pizza" and they bicker about Chad's "bland tastebuds"

Who wears hats on special occasions?

↳ Definitely Chad. He LOVES fancy events, honestly any excuse to dress up. But honestly Gil is so chill about things that he's really open to wearing different things. Chad loves getting to wear fancy clothes and wearing a top hat with a suit. Gil likes wearing goofy hats because it makes Chad laugh. But he had bandanas for like every occasion, Chad gets Evie to make Gil a variety fo different options because he knows how much Gil likes to wear them.

Who likes long walks on the beach?

↳ They both like to go on walks together and explore together. Gil really likes the beach and the ocean, he likes to walk as the sun is setting and listen to the ocean. Chad just likes to be with Gil, and he loves when Gil is on the beach he just seems so relaxed. It often leads to Gil chasing Chad and tackling him into the sand as they kiss under the stars. Or Chad being dramatic and refusing to talk any more so Gil has to carry him bridal style or give him a piggyback ride.

Who compares themselves to fictional/celebrity couples?

↳ Chad. He rambles about it and Gil doesn't really understand but he always listens and laughs along when Chad gets excited. Gil likes when Chad picks out couples costumes for them.

Who can solve a rubix cube?

↳ Gil. Chad is still in shock. Gil does it in record time and Chad is sat in awe. He boasts about the fact that Gil can do it and Gil laughs and jokes like "did it turn you on" and Chad is just sat there like: 😳😅 but it’s something unexpected and Chad is both incredibly jealous and incredibly proud of how skilled Gil is.

Who would wear Hawaiian shirts on vacation/during the summer?

↳ Chad is very much a bright shirt kind of guy. Gil doesn't really wear shirts on vacation, something Chad is very much a fan of. But Gil likes the patterns so they often are both in matching Hawaiian shirts. Chad initially scrunches his nose at the bright yellow one Gil chose but he can't deny how good his boyfriend looks bathed in sunlight in his yellow floral shirt and matching sunglasses

Who wears mismatched socks because they can’t keep up with the pairs?

↳ Chad is too much of a perfectionist for that. Gil doesn't really care, he just grabs any socks and rocks it. Harry, Carlos and Mal like to tease Gil about it, but he doesn't mind. Gil's socks are all kind of cute, like he's got a much loved pair of socks with cartoon eggs on them (they're the only ones he'll pair). Chad tries to organise Gil's socks but Gil always manages to wear mismatching ones.

#Descendants #Gil legume #Chad charming #gil son of gaston #Gil x chad #Chill 👑☠️#ship ask game #why are they so perfect #the more I think about them the more enthusiastic I become #spideymoors 💜

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satoshi-mochida · 4 years ago

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NEO: The World Ends with You will launch for PlayStation 4 and Switch on July 27, followed by PC via the Epic Games Store this summer, publisher Square Enix announced. The PC version is newly announced.

In Japan, the game will cost 7,480 yen. A 21,000 yen “NEO: The World Ends with Bag” edition will also be available via the Square Enix e-Store and 7net Shopping, which includes a copy of the game, mini soundtrack, art book, pin badge set in a cassette-themed case, Mr. Mew hanging pouch with snap ring, and record bag with graffiti pattern.

Users who purchase the game via the Square Enix Store or Square Enix e-Store by August 26 will receive the downloadable content “Reapers’ Game Survival Set,” which includes the following three in-game items:

“Mutation” (Badge) – Effect: Gradually restores Team HP while holding the button.

“Koumokuten” (Fashion Item) – Ability: Significantly increases HP.

“Twister -NEO MIX-” (CD) – Effect: Can set the background music of the menu screen to “Twister -NEO MIX-.”

Users who purchase the game via the PlayStation Store or Nintendo eShop by August 26 will receive the “Legendary Threads Set,” which contains five equippable items once used by the legendary Neku. These items are normally unavailable until you proceed considerably far in the story. The set includes:

Legendary Headphones – Ability: Increases damage dealt to enemies with less damage taken.

Legendary Off Turtleneck – Ability: Significantly increases damage dealt by attacks.

Legendary Shorts – Ability: Shortens down time.

Legendary Sneakers – Ability: Increases movement speed in battle.

Legendary Audio Player – Ability: Hugely increases HP.

Here is an overview of the game, via Square Enix:

■ Story

It was just another seemingly ordinary day in Shibuya, but not for Rindo. He could tell something about the city felt different.

A girl with an ominous aura appears before him, identifying herself as a so-called Reaper. With some trepidation, Rindo decides to play along with this Reapers’ Game, but something is weird…

Battles with monsters called “the Noise”, pins that grant mysterious powers, and a place called Shibuya UG (Underground) to set the stage for the Game—it isn’t long until Rindo starts to have second thoughts on his decision.

■ Characters

The latest Players to join the Reapers’ Game: the Wicked Twisters.

Rindo (voiced by Paul Castro Jr. in English, Yuuma Uchida in Japanese)

One of the newest Players in the Reapers’ Game, Rindo is a high schooler to whom searching for info on his phone is second nature. He prefers to go with the flow, and although he doesn’t go out of his way to interact with others, he won’t turn them away if they come to him first. Thrust into the Game without even realizing it, he now serves as the de facto leader of the Wicked Twisters.

Fret (voiced by Griffin Burns in English, Chiharu Sawashiro in Japanese)

Rindo’s happy-go-lucky classmate and fellow Player in the Reapers’ Game, Fret boasts the ability to get along with just about anyone. While he styles himself as a natural conversationalist, he prefers to keep things light, subconsciously avoiding subjects that are too serious. He enjoys walking around town with his buddy “Rindude.”

Nagi (voiced by Miranda Parkin in English, Mina Katahira in Japanese)

Another Player in the Reapers’ Game, Nagi is a college student whose youthful appearance leads others to mistake her for a middle schooler. She is deeply passionate about her pastimes, devoting all of her time and energy to her favorite games. Highly perceptive, she is acutely aware of others’ emotions, and shows disdain toward those she deems superficial and disingenuous.

Minamimoto (voiced by Andy Hirsch in English, Takayuki Fujimoto in Japanese)

A fellow Player in the Reapers’ Game, Minamimoto puts his impressive psychic powers to use when he saves Rindo and the gang from a tight spot early on, then forces himself onto their team.

He calculates every possible future using his own unique formulas and acts in accordance with the values he discovers, but he remains a mystery to all around him. He seems to have his sights set on something greater than Rindo and the gang.

Shiba (voiced by Shaun Conde in English, Daiki Hamano in Japanese)

Shiba currently ranks number one among the Reapers in the Shibuya UG, having worked his way to the top within a year of his arrival. He also serves as the Game’s Master, arbiter of its rules, and encourages its Players to keep things hot. His psychic powers far surpass those of his fellow Reapers, ensuring that none dare disobey him.

■ Locations

NEO: The World Ends with You takes place in Shibuya, Tokyo. You may recognize some of the landmarks, but the city itself is depicted with an artistic touch unlike anything you’ve seen before.

Explore this wonderfully unique version of Shibuya!

■ Cutscenes

Dialogue sequences are presented with a comic-esque aesthetic that keeps the story moving while highlighting character interactions.

■ System: Scan

Scan to read people’s thoughts!

Scanning is one of the fundamental psychs available to players. Press the button to begin scanning your surroundings, which will allow you to read people’s thoughts and visualize enemies known as Noise.

Noise will start to chase you if you get too close and coming into contact with one will initiate combat. Quickly touch several Noise symbols to start a chain battle.

Scan your surroundings to see what the people of Shibuya have on their minds. You might stumble upon some important pieces of information, so be sure to scan often!

■ Team Battles

Team up to take down the Noise!

Each teammate can equip one pin at a time. Press the corresponding button to unleash the psych contained therein. Simple controls keep combat moving!

Switch your team’s psychs by changing your pin loadout. Choose from hundreds of pins that let you attack the Noise, heal your team, or boost your allies’ abilities!

■ Staff

Series Director: Tatsuya Kando

Director: Hiroyuki Ito

Character Design: Gen Kobayashi, Miki Yamashita

Composer: Takeharu Ishimoto (Thrill inc.)

Producer: Tomohiko Hirano

Creative Producer and Character Design: Tetsuya Nomura

Watch a new trailer below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery. Visit the official website here: English, Japanese.

English

youtube

Japanese

youtube

#NEO: The World Ends With You #The World Ends with You #TWEWY #Square Enix #Nintendo Switch #Gematsu #long post

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Just Like a Folk Song (Our Love Will Be Passed On), 1/3 (Trixya) - Pinkgrapefruit

A/N -

hi! I’m really excited for this!!! I started it back in the summer of 2020 and it’s been a labour of love for sure. I was initially dead set on waiting for it to reach its end before I posted but I want someone who isn’t me and ortega to enjoy it. I’m so, so proud of it and I really hope you enjoy it so please let me know and maybe I’ll actually finish this one.

Thank you to Jaz, Ortega and Frey who have endlessly supported me, egged me on and corrected the minutia of my grammar. This one is for you xoxo

[chapter 1. pirate wives]

part one. joy

please picture me in the trees i hit my peak at seven feet in the swing over the creek i was too scared to jump in

There is a girl in the trees. She is blonde and messy, and her knees have scratches that Trixie’s mama would never allow. She clambers through the branches in her wellies, light as a feather until she’s straddling the edge of a thick branch, white teeth glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Trixie is immediately jealous. She’s missing her two front teeth and although her mama straightens her dresses and tells her she’s very pretty - she’s not entirely convinced. The girl jumps down from the tree and hits the debris-littered floor with a soft thud. Her shoes are caked in mud and she runs a dirty hand through her hair in a way that makes Trixie’s skin crawl.

The day is warm, and Trixie’s mama had told her to spend it by the river near their flat. It’s overlooked by a wood, and the last man who pretended to be her daddy built a tire swing, so her and her brother could play down here when the sun makes it unbearable to be indoors.

The girl tilts her head and Trixie mirrors her, unsure. Her eyes are a crystalline green, the same colour as the lazy river, and she blushes as Trixie stares. The girl waves exuberantly.

“I’m Katya!” She introduces, pushing her hand forward for Trixie to shake. She sees her mama greet people like this, but it seems very strange. She cautiously moves her hand to meet it and they shake rather forcefully.

“Katya?” She repeats, almost a question, half-formed on her tongue.

“Yup! K-A-T-” she pauses, eyebrows scrunched as she tries to remember the next letter. The sun filters through the leaves, speckling her face with dots of light. “Y-A! Katya!”

Trixie giggles, cheeks flushing. She grips her pink corduroy dungaree dress, letting the soft fabric soothe her nerves. “My name is Beatrice,” she says, voice tight like a rope pulled taut. She is being polite. She is a good girl. Katya purses her lips, shuffling from one foot to another. “You can call me Trixie, though?”

Katya smiles, nods slightly. “I would like that, Trixie.”

She reaches out for Trixie to take her hand, and Trixie is slightly less hesitant this time. Katya’s smock blows in the slight breeze as she tugs Trixie forward, and the girl in the pink follows willingly.

but i, i was high in the sky with pennsylvania under me are there still beautiful things?

She ends up pulling her towards the tyre-swing and she holds Trixie’s cardigan as she wrestles up onto the tyre. Katya can only manage to push her for a few minutes before she wants her own turn, and Trixie makes her pull the swing as far back as she can, so there’s no chance she’ll end up in the river.

“How old are you?” Trixie asks as she holds the tyre patiently for Katya, who struggles in her wellies, despite being adept at climbing trees in them.

“I’m seven,” she announces proudly as she sits atop the tyre. She grips the rope tightly, so her fingers turn white and her brown smock is tucked under her thighs for grip. “My mama told me I look very old for my age.”

Trixie wouldn’t necessarily disagree. Katya looks bigger and certainly stronger than her. She is louder - more physical - and her hair is pretty. Trixie considers it all for a second.

“Okay,” she replies, pushing the swing gently, so its reflection ripples across the river. “I’m seven too.”

She pushes Katya gently for a few more minutes before Katya pipes up again. She’s more relaxed, fingers only barely hanging onto the rope.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Trixie?” The question makes Trixie squirm almost as much as the fact that Katya is now trying to hang upside-down above the river.

She gulps her anxiety down. “No,” she tells her, “I don’t really want one.”

Katya looks at her from upside down and smiles brightly. “boys are gross, Trixie,” she tells her sternly as if she’s had experience. She is steady in her convictions, and Trixie finds this admirable - she’s not sure if she has convictions.

Katya’s smock comes loose from under her thighs and Trixie looks away in shock as it exposes her almost naked body. Katya just giggles, her stomach expanding with laughter as she tries to grip with her legs and pull herself back up, so she is no longer exposed.

She twists her body slightly and manages to jump off the swing and onto the ground, watching as Trixie winces.

Katya puts her arms in the air. “I’m fine, look,” she tells her reassuringly. Curving her fingertips slightly she smiles. “RAWR!”

She chases Trixie through the horse fields until they end up on a street full of little stone cottages with flower boxes under the windows. Trixie stops when her mary janes hit the concrete and looks quizzically at Katya who’s stopped at a green door. She beckons for her to follow, and Trixie does.

sweet tea in the summer cross your heart, won’t tell no other and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you

Katya’s sister Anna is sitting in the living room with a jug full of sweet tea and ice that makes Trixie drool just thinking about it. She smiles, offering them plastic cups full of the sugary liquid that Trixie happily gulps down after hours in the woods. She goes to slip her shoes off by the door, but Katya waves her hand. “Keep ‘em on.”

Trixie shrugs and follows the messy blonde up a flight of wooden stairs into a little red room. It has a bed pushed up to the wall and a set of gymnastic rings that come down from the ceiling. Katya places her cup down on the nearest flat surface as Trixie cradles hers in her hands, and launches herself at the rings.

Trixie is astounded that Katya can push herself off the ground, arms locked straight. She jumps down and grabs the shorts off the bed, pulling them on (somewhat awkwardly) over her wellies. Trixie watches in wonderment, fixed in place on the carpet, so she doesn’t spread dirt as Katya swings around, flipping and tumbling, aided by the rings.

When she finally stops, they sit crossed-legged on the floor, sipping sweet tea.

“Will you be my best friend?” Trixie asks Katya sweetly - her tongue coated in tea and her body energised from the most fun she’s ever had. She picks at the lace on the top of her socks while Katya considers her offer.

“I can do that,” she tells her, voice earnest and honest.

“Deal. I think best friends braid each other’s hair.”

“That sounds good.”

your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to saturn passed down like folk songs the love lasts so long

“You can move now!” Katya announces after a painfully long time. Trixie gently pats the neat rows of hair on her head - it’s tender, and she scrunches her face up in response. She finds herself jealous - Katya is much better at braiding than she is, but she promised to teach her on the hand-me-down styling mannequin she got from her sister Anna.

“You’re better than me,” she effuses, hand splayed on the soft fabric of Katya’s smock.

“Yeah, well you have freckles,” Katya retorts, and Trixie nods because she makes a good point. “You can’t have everything, Beatrice.”

Trixie chews on her lips. She feels freer in Katya’s bedroom, there are no ghosts in the cupboards or angry ladies drying the washing in the sun. “Can you call me Trixie?” She asks. “I liked that better.”

Katya jumps up, pulling Trixie up with her. The sun makes her red walls glow, and they reflect onto her blonde hair.

“Okay, Trixie, do you wanna go on an adventure?”

Trixie nods and they barrel out of the bedroom and down the stairs, which creak pleasantly with every thundering step. Katya tugs her round the bend at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Trixie almost slams into the wall, but eventually they find Katya’s mama, Seraphine, in the kitchen making a salad.

“We’re going on an adventure!” Trixie exclaims, and Seraphine chuckles at them, ruffling Katya’s hair until the blonde scowls.

“Okay girls, stay safe,” she tells them, and they nod earnestly. “Are you staying for dinner?” She asks Trixie, and Trixie shakes her head sadly.

“My mama told me to be home for six.”

Seraphine smiles warmly and moves, so they can exit through the back door. Katya’s house backs onto a horse field and it makes Trixie feel like a butterfly - all warm and free in the sun and she never really wants to go home.

Katya sticks her arms out like she could fly if only she had the lift, and they run around playing aeroplanes for a little while. Trixie’s scuffed mary janes let her socks get wet from the dew in the grass and it makes her feel like she is a part of nature.

Katya takes off her wellies and the ground squishes under her toes.

and i’ve been meaning to tell you i think your house is haunted your dad is always mad and that must be why

Katya walks Trixie home to the grey flats on the edge of the town. They tower high above the little cottages - a relic of a revolution long gone - and cast hazy shadows in the late afternoon sun. In the shadows, Katya’s hair looks dull and Trixie’s dress looks clean, and it makes the hairs on Trixie’s legs stand up as a breeze whistles under her skirt.

“You live here?” Katya asks and she doesn’t mean it to sound mean, but the words still crackle in Trixie’s ears like dying embers. She bristles, standing up tall and proud like she’s always been taught to.

“Yes, I do,” she tells Katya almost haughtily - trying to channel her mama. Her hands firm around the squish of her hips and she purses her lips.

Katya frowns. “I’m sorry,” she voices, chewing the inside of her cheek, fingers clinging together behind her. “It looks like ghosts live here.”

This makes Trixie laugh, it’s soft and ladylike because she’s a lady, which in turn makes Katya laugh - loud and raucous.

“Good-bye, Kat-y-a,” says Trixie, her mouth rounding over the syllables. “Katya.”

“Good-bye, my best friend Trixie,” replies Katya with a wave and a nod before she skips back up the path towards the streetlamps. She steps inside the building and heads up the stairs, knocking three times on the door.

“Why are your shoes scuffed, Beatrice?” Is her first greeting and she turns her toes in an attempt to hide them from her mama.

“The forest, Mama,” Trixie responds, calm and quiet. Her brother is watching from the couch and he sticks his tongue out at her with a kind smile. “I met a girl named Katya.”

Her mama scowls, face tight and eyes sharp. “You let a girl named Katya touch your hair?” She asks, almost mocking as she picks up a braid and lets it fall back onto Trixie’s back. She sighs. “Go get ready for dinner and wash your hands.”

“Yes, Mama,” Trixie tells her dutifully before running off to her bedroom. She places the bobbles Katya used in her hair in her jewellery box.

and i think you should come live with me and we can be pirates then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet

They play pirates, skipping rocks on the river like cannonballs. Katya is Blackbeard with her macaroni necklace and her stolen clip-on earrings. She smiles sweetly and tells Trixie that she is Grace O'Malley, because she is pretty and male pirates were not pretty. Also because then they could have the best pirate wedding anyone has ever seen and this makes Trixie laugh so hard she accidentally throws her best skipping stone. Katya decides that she’s won, but she will share her treasure and they lay on the grass on the bank of the river.

Seraphine has been reading Katya a book on pirates, so the young girl parrots the information back to Trixie, who revels in the knowledge. She begs her brother Josh to read her that pirates books she’s borrowed from the library and the next day she comes back to the river and tells Katya that they are both women pirates.

“I am Grace O'Malley and you are Mary Reed,” she announces authoritatively. Katya frowns, head tilted so her blonde hair glows white in the sun.

“Can we still have the best pirate wedding though?” She asks, and Trixie squeezes her hand before jumping up.

“Of course!” She tells her like it is obvious. “We will just be pirate wives.”

Katya nods, because this makes perfect sense. “We will be pirate wives,” she consolidates. She pulls a stick out of the belt of her smock and holds it aloft. “TO BATTLE, PIRATE WIFE!” She screams so the horses in the next field are adequately prepared before running down the grassy bank, so her wellies get wet on the rocky shore of the river.

“To battle!” Trixie squeals, running after her with enthusiasm. She stops when the stones start because she doesn’t want to get her socks wet this time, but she watches as Katya jumps in the water.

'Best friend pirate wife,’ she turns over in her head. It sounds good.

and just like a folk song our love will be passed on

part two. discomfort

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

There’s only one middle school in the village. Its bricks are a rust-brown and rough like they’ve just been dug out of the ground. It used to be a factory town, so everything is covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust anyway, but this building manages to look particularly rugged. Trixie assumes the planters were at one point neat and trimmed, although they don’t seem to be anymore - wiry stems making their way up the walls. It’s not unwelcoming, Trixie just doesn’t really want to be there.

She pushes that down though, pulling her white long-socks back up past her knees and adjusting the way her backpack falls on her shoulders. She spots Katya loitering under the carefully positioned 'no loitering’ sign and smiles - picking up her pace so her mary-janes slip a little on the gravel-covered yard. Katya’s wrists are covered in the friendship bracelets they spent the summer weaving with Seraphine’s embroidery threads. She wears Trixie’s too - her mama threw the first one out with her brother’s holey socks.

They share a homeroom, and Katya makes sure they get two seats next to each other, the plastic chairs sweating in the late August heat. Trixie’s thighs stick to them against her will and she finds herself gently prying her thighs away from the seat every so often as Katya laughs in her loose jeans.

Katya has always been the one who preferred practical fashion. Her brown smocks have turned into tank tops and jeans, and she’s only eleven, but Trixie thinks she dresses a bit like the boys from Grease. They’re older. Maybe, by then, Trixie will look like a Pink Lady. That’s what she wants, anyway.

They write notes on each other’s pencil cases while Mr Thompson gives them a rather hasty personal health lesson. Trixie worries at one point that she’s missing important information about periods or nail varnish, but Katya tells her that Anna can just explain it all to them, so they go back to doodling hearts in the margins of their brand new notepads.

At one point, Trixie chances a look around the room, the walls are sparse and the paint peels, but there’s one poster that makes her tummy feel weird and she almost points it out to Katya, but the other girl is too busy making a paper plane.

The poster tells her homosexuality is a sin.

She wonders if pirate wives are exempt.

i’ll get you out on the floor shimmering beautiful and when i break it’s in a million pieces hush

In Biology, Katya is seated next to a boy named Maxwell. He’s Jewish and sweet enough, and they talk about his babushka’s chak-chak. Katya remembers the sweet, doughy treat from her times visiting her baba back in Russia, and she almost asks why his name doesn’t sound like hers, because he sounds awfully American even though he can pronounce her last name.

Most of the teachers can’t. It’s the third day and they’ve already resorted to Zamo. She’s too used to it to be hurt.

Mrs Dodds comes in through the teacher’s door and drops a textbook on the desk to get everyone’s attention. She’s a mousy sort of woman - light hair cut to a bob that stops at the nape of her neck. Her blazer is tweed and also oversized, and it reminds Katya of the jacket her dad wears to job interviews.

Dodds starts scratching her name onto the board in white chalk and the sound sends shivers down the class’s spines.

“Can anyone explain to me where humans came from?” She asks the room, and the eleven-year-olds cower from the cadence of her voice.

A brave girl called Monique waves her hand, but Dodd’s picks on a boy called Jaremi instead and he quivers under her gaze. “Sex?” He suggests, tone light like he’s walking on eggshells and all of the preteens burst into giggles. The poor boy turns the same shade as summer poppies, and Katya feels terrible. Unfortunately, her face must betray this because a crooked finger is pointed in her direction. She shifts awkwardly.

“Evolution,” she musters with enough confidence that it doesn’t sound like a question, and while the class looks vaguely impressed with her, Mrs Dodds does not. She scoffs.

“A fallacy,” she claims, stalking back to the chalkboard with her sleeves crumpled by her elbows.

The chalk scraped on the board, spelling out a word: God. Katya gulps. She’s pretty sure god didn’t make humans. They came from fish - at least that’s what her encyclopedia told her.

“God created humans,” she announces to them all, smiling faintly, “and it’s people like you, sinner,” she points at Katya again, “who make him regret it.”

when no one is around, my dear you’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you Hush

They square dance in gym class and even though there aren’t enough boys, the girls aren’t allowed to dance with each other, so Trixie ends up sat on the bench while Katya and Max twirl in circles - blatantly flaunting the teacher’s instruction. Her long black skirt is patterned with white skulls and flares prettily around her ankles, exposing her red Doc Martens.

Katya leads, stepping backwards while Max steps on her toes - his shorter stature making for quite the picture (one that makes Trixie snort into her elbow).

She is not jealous. Jealousy is too strong, what she feels is subtle - like pulling on her ribs, shifting them under her skin until her heart hurts. Her heart does hurt. Maybe she’s not used to Katya having other people, so what - they said they would stick together and they will. She is confident.

When the dance ends, Katya bows - waving her arm so it circles under her and allowing her messy hair to fall over her face before flicking it back dramatically. She smiles at Trixie, and Trixie smiles back for the split second before she is assigned to the tall, lanky boy at the back of the gym. His hands are clammy and damp and strangely cold, and Trixie tries to hold them as lightly as she can, confident that Katya’s would be softer, warmer.

The boy smells strange, his hair falls over his eyes, and he stutters when he talks to her, making a poor effort of leading her and standing on her feet more than she stands on his. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, too busy screaming at the blonde girl who refuses to dance with the boy who has eczema.

They dance in circles rather than squares and Trixie’s mind is running in triangles rather than circles.

i know they said the end is near but i’m still on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you

Trixie finds herself giggling with the girls Katya called plastic in her English lesson. She doesn’t share it with Katya and she didn’t want to sit alone, so she positioned herself at the back with Gigi, Pearl, and Courtney, who don’t seem to have an appreciation for Keats, but then again neither does Trixie, unless Katya is reading it to her in the hammock behind the cottage.

Gigi is dating a hippie boy from the next town over. She refers to him as Crystal, and the other girls go along with it, so Trixie doesn’t ask. Pearl wants to smoke weed with the high school boys that hang around the skate park, but she’s promised her brother that she won’t until she’s fourteen. Courtney is from Australia. They seem interesting.

Trixie doesn’t understand why they’re plastic.

But Katya drags her by the arm out of school one day ranting about how they’d called her names like 'dyke’ for not having a boyfriend.

“Boys are dumb,” she’d told them proudly, “I don’t want one.”

“Boys are dumb,” Trixie agrees solemnly, sat on a wall near her flat as Katya paces. She kicks a stone into the road and watches it skitter to a halt before sitting next to Trixie with a huff. “Sometimes girls are dumb too,” Trixie reminds gently, and Katya puts her head on her shoulder.

“You’re not dumb,” Katya tells her, “I don’t understand why they have to be.” She sounds so dejected that Trixie wants to bundle her up in blankets and make hot cocoa until she’s smiling again.

“Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re going to love it,” Trixie quips, and it does make Katya chuckle at her best friend’s antics.

“You did not just quote friends at me,” she jokes, pressing a finger into the softness of Trixie’s side. Trixie jumps off the wall in shock as Katya cackles to herself and sticks her tongue out.

“I hate you,” she tells her, smiling widely.

“I hate you too.”

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i can change everything about me to fit in

They walk the final stretch to Trixie’s flat, hands swinging between them. Katya’s hand is clammy, but it is warm, and it grounds Trixie’s thoughts from where they are spinning. She knows people can be horrid, her brother once told her that 50% of the town is assholes and 50% is assholes you can deal with, but knowing and realising are two different things, and maybe she just hadn’t realised.

She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s more careful from then on. She giggles with boys and she doesn’t really hold Katya’s hand outside of the woods and the fields, where they are free to be whatever they want. And maybe she wants to hold Katya’s hand. Maybe.

There is a boy called Ben who hangs around the library. He seems sweet and small and kind, and she sits at his table while she tries to work out algebra. He plays baseball, but he mostly paints and makes jokes, so everyone seems to like him and Trixie admires that.

She appreciates the non-judgemental silence as she struggles over Pythagoras one evening. Katya is at art club, and Trixie doesn’t feel like having to do the work in the flat where the heating is broken, so she bundles herself up in the library and watches Ben eat a chocolate muffin over the top of his book. He smiles warmly at her and offers a chunk, which she takes gladly - savouring the way it seems to melt in her mouth.

"That’s good,” she mutters appreciatively, mouth full and all too aware of the watchful eye of the librarian.

“I made them!” Ben responds, his cheeks flushing with excitement.

“And they’re not going to poison me?” Trixie asks as he offers her a full one from a Tupperware in his bag. He sticks his tongue out, shaking his head, before ducking down as the librarian looks their way.

you are not like the regulars the masquerade revellers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

“I think Ben has a crush on me,” Trixie postures, approaching it slowly like one approaches a kitten stuck on a road. Katya, in many ways, is comparable to a scared kitten - whether it be her anxious quiver or the mess of her hair - soft, but tangled in a knot on her head.

Katya’s eyebrow quirks, though her mouth stays set. “I thought we said boys are dumb?” She tells Trixie firmly, feet planted in the damp October soil.

Trixie shifts her toes on the crunching leaves and the noise ripples through the forest.

“They are,” she agrees, quietly, “I don’t want one.” She feels like she’s having to defend herself and she doesn’t really know why. Her cheeks prickle red with heat.

Katya scowls, and Trixie’s quivers on instinct before pulling her shoulder back and standing up straight. The clouds rolling overhead seem greyer, but maybe that’s just a trick of the light.

“You can’t control who I’m friends with, Kat,” she advocates, the telltale signs of anger slipping into her tone as the pitch heightens with every word. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her palms so she can feel a little sense of security, and Katya’s face softens.

“I know,” Katya sighs. She falls down onto a log, brushing some of the bark off the edges. She shifts as it scrapes her legs through her trousers, but eventually settles, looking mournful. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Trixie holds her hands in her own, feeling the clammy warmth.

“I promise you won’t.”

hush

part three. comfort

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Trixie is fourteen, holding hands with Ben as they eat ice creams from the parlour down the street. Ben dots some of his onto her nose, and she flushes pink and flustered as he wipes it off with the pad of his thumb. He’s grown taller, face chiselling ever so slightly, although his cheeks remain doughy and soft. She has to refrain from imprinting her fingertips into the pale flesh just to watch it bounce back. She’s grown into herself, breasts growing until her mama had to take her to the department store, an hour away, to buy training bras in sizes larger than the local shops have in stock.

She blushes and goes back to her ice cream, the strawberry sauce dripping into her knuckles so she has to run her tongue along them, leaving only the faint hint of pink food-colouring trailing across her hand.

He presses his lips to her cheek, tongue skimming the tip of her soft serve on the way, and grins like a Cheshire cat. She relents, placing her lips on his for a peck, and his lips taste like chocolate sauce. It’s sweet.

It took her a few years to finally accept his constant asking her out, but they spent ninth grade canoodling in the library, hand swinging between them and lips pressed to each other’s cheeks. It’s nice.

The girls she changes with for gym class tell her she must be in love, but she’s always thought that love would feel more like fireworks rather than popping candy. It’s pleasant. She doesn’t know if she should want more.

but i knew you dancin’ in your levi’s drunk under a streetlight, i

Ben wanted more. He dumps her for Kelly Mantle, a drama student famed for giving Brian McCook a blowjob behind the smoker shelter.

She cries into Katya’s paint-splattered denim jacket, the blonde’s fingers worming their way around the fullness of her hips until Katya’s holding her.

Trixie sobs in hiccups, and Katya’s sorrow rolls in waves. She’s held the girl so many times in their friendship, but they swore it would never be over a boy. And now Trixie is clinging to her like a liferaft in the ocean and Katya cannot help but pull her ashore.

Katya guides her over to the blanket she’d thrown on the warm grass, and they collapse onto its cushioning. Katya holds her until all her sobs muffle into croaks, and then there is silence.

They eventually roll onto their backs, Katya’s arm resting under the nape of Trixie’s neck, and although she’s losing feeling in her fingers - she wouldn’t move it for the world. The sun is warm, bright and even across their exposed stomachs in crop tops that Anna gave them when her chest grew too large. Katya’s hangs limply, but Trixie’s is stretching to her body and moves gently with each breath. Katya could watch the hypnotic movements until the sunset.

The river at the bottom of the verge babbles softly. There’s a heron in it, tall and proud and searching eagerly for fish. Its beak hooks into the water and it pulls out a flapping anchovy - or so Katya tells her, fingertips painting the words into the skyline.

Sometimes Trixie feels like the heron, but most days, she supposes, she is the anchovy. She is only fourteen, but life is harder than she thought it would be. Heartbreak hurts more. Making daisy chains with a lifelong friend soothes the pain a little.

i knew you hand under my sweatshirt baby, kiss it better, i

The rips in Katya’s Levi’s let the grass brush her calves. She longs to pull Trixie up, drag her around on the grass till they’re dancing, but the sun is starting to burn orange on the horizon line and Trixie’s mam has never been one for letting her off curfew.

She tugs the blonde up, sleepy and satiated - brushes a thumb along the redness of her under-eyes. Trixie adorns her with a flower crown and in the headiness of the sunset, Katya blushes.

The sky goes from naphthol red to quinacridone. Trixie swings their hands together as they take the long road home. Their path is shaded by the trees, and a breeze causes goosebumps to appear all up her arms, so she tugs her sweatshirt on, and Katya carefully pulls her hair out of the back for her. She whispers something, but it is lost to the whistling of the leaves.

Sometimes Katya wishes they could go back to playing pirates. They could be pirate wives and gallivant about the woods, waving their sticks up high and pretending that they could always go home to each other. It would be easier, she muses, easier than enduring school with girls who call her a dyke and a lesbo and tell her not to look at them in gym class, when, really, she gets ready facing the corner. Pirate wives would be fanciful, but lovely nonetheless.

The softness of their footsteps stops as they reach the path to Trixie’s. It’s gravely and it crunches underfoot, but the streetlights cast shadows that make Katya yearn to dance with Trixie once more.

She gives in this time, pulling the younger girl into her arms so they can mock-waltz, imagining the streetlamps as spotlights and maybe their friendship as something more.

Katya’s hand slips onto the fullness of Trixie’s hip again, her skin hot under her cold palm.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya whispers, lips brushing the flyaways from Trixie’s ponytail. She cannot see the blonde blush, but she squirms a little in Katya’s arms and it makes her smirk.

“And you’re mine.”

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favorite

They kiss under that streetlight.

It may be the first, but it’s the sweetest and the quickest and the kindest too - lips brushing like a promise. Trixie can’t say what she’s promising, but she’s pretty sure she’d promise her life away just to taste cola off Katya’s tongue again.

a friend to all is a friend to none chase two girls, lose the one when you are young, they assume you know nothing

part four. deception

make sure nobody sees you leave hood over your head, keep your eyes down tell your friends you're out for a run you’ll be flushed when you return

Katya pads quietly along the line - her socks not quite keeping out the 3am chill. She’ll have to wait until she’s out of the door to put her worn converse back on - the squeak of the soles bound to wake the whole flat up. She resists the urge to skid - knowing she’ll hit the front door with a thud that Trixie will struggle to pretend is the wind. It’s a calm night.

She’s left Trixie in bed - the duvet twisted around her recumbent form like a snake. She wishes, for a second, to turn around and snuggle back into the warmth of Trixie’s side. To sling a leg back over the plush of her thigh and rest her head on Trixie’s chest.

Cuddling, she decides, is god’s divine creation. And so is Trixie.

She manages to avoid the creaking floor panel in front of Mama Mattel’s bedroom door, hugging the wall opposite just to make it out unscathed.

She locks the door with the key Trixie gifted to her over summer - pressed at a locksmith two towns over. Mr Lackerty in the village centre would have asked too many questions. Trixie paid for it with her allowance, stealing change from her Mama to take the bus there and back. She’d gifted it to her in a little shoebox stuffed with pulled-apart tissue. Katya has cried.

Slipping on her shoes in the hall outside, she sighs in both relief and sadness. She leaves quickly.

take the road less travelled by tell yourself you can always stop what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots

Trixie shifts on the wooden desks - hoping her skirt won’t be covered in chalk and graphite when she gets up. She’s watching Katya, dark eyes trained on crystalline green, and Katya smiles up at her before focusing back on her canvas. Her tongue pokes out when she does something she deems good, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration.

The art room is empty except for the two of them and by the silence of the corridor outside, lunch isn’t over just yet. They’re safe.

It’s like their own little sanctuary, Katya with her paints and Trixie with her Katya. She gently brushes the girl’s fringe back whenever it looks in danger of getting messy - there’s already a streak of pink across the bridge of her nose, but Trixie doubts she’s noticed.

She starts humming to herself, an old song that she’s heard through the walls of the flat, and Katya looks up at her.

“You should sing more Trix,” she tells her, ever so earnest.

“You think?” Trixie tucks her hair behind her ears, eyes twinkling at the compliment.

“I do,” she muses, turning back to the painting so she can put a final stroke in place before she tugs on the edge of Trixie’s skirt.

Trixie brushes a hand at her, hoping there won’t be painted fingerprints on the corduroy before coming to stand behind Katya. She wraps her hands around her waist and balances her chin on Katya’s shoulder before finally allowing her eyes to fall on the canvas.

It’s the river. Their river.

And they’re on the banks.

Together.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares

Trixie turns sixteen in February. Her birthday is celebrated by the world even if they don’t realise it, pink hearts adorning every establishment in town. She spends the day with Courtney, as Pearl is smoking weed with her boyfriend from city college. He’s a forty-minute bus ride away on a good day, but Pearl says the sex is good, and Trixie just blushes softly because she shouldn’t know what Pearl is talking about, but she does.

She’s okay with it, though, spending the day without Pearl. She and Courtney get smoothies from the 'healthy’ diner that Courtney’s been going on about and talk about boys, and Trixie makes up most of her opinions, but that’s okay.

She decides that she’ll be attracted to Mathew because he’s tall and he’s got the same cheekbones, as Katya so she can just talk about that. Courtney’s raving about this guy called Danny that she wants to be friends with (make out with), apparently he’s in a band and he sings, and that makes Courtney positively ravenous for him.

They part ways after Courtney gives her the charm bracelet she and Pearl bought. It’s silver and has a little heart charm on it, but Courtney tells her not to worry, they can buy more.

It jingles, but it’s not as comfortable as the woven friendship bracelets she and Katya made when they were eleven.

Katya meets her by the river and they walk through the woods hand in hand till they reach the clearing where she’s laid out a picnic blanket.

They lay on it together, looking up at the sky and holding hands through their gloves.

“We met here,” Katya ponders, as she allows herself to get lost in the smell of cherries on Trixie’s breath.

“Huh,” Trixie replies, placing a gentle kiss on Katya’s nose, “I guess we did.” A blush spreads across her cheekbones and she feels the heat in her chest as she remembers the past few years.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya tells her, a whisper in the wind.

“And you’re mine.”

it’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times

They go through a rough patch. They’re only seventeen, it’s their god-given right to, and they’re hiding a secret that’s burning them both, slowly, but surely.

Katya spends more time with Danny and his band, and Trixie spends more time with Courtney and Pearl and Gigi and her boyfriend, who transferred at the end of last year. He’s got a mullet, and it’s confusing, but apparently it’s in fashion, so Trixie doesn’t try to argue.

They drift apart a little bit. It’s the kind of drifting where Trixie stares at Katya across the corridor - watches a boy with eyeliner compliment her rings in front of their lockers. Katya stares at Trixie too - watches her when Courtney and Pearl aren’t around to call her a dyke, and maybe she’s still hurt that Trixie chooses to be their friend.

She wonders what would happen if they knew where Trixie’s proclivities lie.

She slips a note into her locker, telling Trixie to meet her in the art room, 6th period on Thursday. It’s bound to be empty, the rest of the school busy with summer term exams and home study. She tells herself that she’ll wait till then. She can wait.

Trixie looks nervous when they meet, she’s pulling at one of her nails - the glossy pink peeling off.

“You wanted to see me?” She asks, voice low and cautious, and it breaks a little part of Katya that she doesn’t even realise is shattering.

“I’ve missed you,” Katya responds, honest and raw. She’s twisting her fingers together too, subconsciously mirroring Trixie, or whatever Danny was trying to tell her about psychology. Trixie nods slowly.

“I’ve missed you too,” she agrees, gulping air like she’s drowning. The tension is sucking all the air out of the room, but she’s only just noticed it’s ugly form. She manages a smile, and it’s softer than she thought she could muster.

“I love you, you know?”

Katya frowns, and it makes Trixie back into the table she’s been stood in front of.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya says, and suddenly the silence feels like it’s been shattered.

“Wh-” Trixie stutters, feeling like the air has been sucker-punched out of her lungs leaving her winded.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya repeats plainly, her eyes suddenly emptier than Trixie’s ever seen them. She’s gripping the table behind her so hard that her knuckles have gone white - gathering all her resolve because she’s sure she’ll crumble if she lets go for a second.

“Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“You don’t.”

“Just because you’ve decided you can’t accept it.” Trixie’s indignant now, she wants to scream and shout and yell, but most of all - she just wants to understand.

“You don’t love me,” Katya says again. “You say you do, but you can’t. This hasn’t meant anything to me.” It’s a lie. She watches Trixie crumble and then pick herself back up again all in the space of a few seconds.

“You know what, you can go fuck yourself.” She throws it out there and watches it detonate - the harshest words she’s ever said to Katya.

She turns to leave, inhaling deeply to try and keep the tears in her eyes instead of streaming down her face where they want to be.

“Dyke,” she mutters as the door slams.

She leaves, and Katya finally falls apart.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else

#rpdr fanfiction #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #bendelacreme #dela x trixie #miz cracker #coming of age #childhood best friends #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #i swear there is a happy ending #folklore #just like a folk song #pinkgrapefruit #concrit welcome #tw use of dyke

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lonelypond · 3 years ago

Text

Love Is For Losers

NicoMaki, Love Live, 1.7K, 1/2

Summary: Yazawa Nico and Nishikino Maki are both key players on the Otonokizaka University Tennis Team. But now Nico has decided to "improve" Maki's social media and tennis game.

Love Is For Losers

Not the most flattering picture of herself, racquet ready, waiting for the return of a serve, but Maki Nishikino really liked her look of concentration. So she hit “Post.”. And the hearts and reactions and fire emojis piled on. Wait, what was that comment, from @NicoNi? “With squinty eyes like that, how can you see the ball?”

WTF?!?!?!? Junior and top tennis singles player Nico Yazawa was notorious for living on social media. Since practice started in September, she’d been leading weekly social media best practice training sessions for the Otonokizaka University team that freshman Maki had proudly never attended. And now she was trolling Maki? Was that a social media best practice?

Maki never replied to a comment, but to let the smug Nico Ni have the last word would grate across every nerve Maki had.

To quickly type, “Who’s in the top 10 national standings again? Can you see that?” seemed almost an illicit thrill. To get an instant reply of eye emojis, plus a sweatdrop made Maki laugh out loud. Quickly scoping out the coffeeshop to check if she’d drawn any attention to herself, Maki clicked through to NicoNi’s home page, Nico’s last post was a bikini shot with an obscene amount of hearts and various emoji combinations in an endless comment scroll. Maki snorted, too obvious an attention grab. Maki would ignore it and stick to tennis, which she knew very well. Ah, there was a pic of Nico rushing the net, one of her favorite ways to use her sprint speed. Maki had an in.

“Spend less time looking at my pics and more time on your approach shots.”

Another instant reply. Another sweat drop. “Nico knows. But you’re so pretty. See you at media training ; )”

Did Nico think she was going to get Maki into one of her stupid sessions like that? Maki dropped her phone on the table, sipping her espresso with a frown.

###

Maki’s phone pinged explosively. A series of messages from her self proclaimed bestie and doubles partner, Hoshizora Rin.

R: hahaha Maki Ma you really need to be here

R: Nico’s going through your TWIG account as her “what not to do on social media” slideshow

R: it’s so funny, Maki

R: (*≧艸≦)(*≧艸≦)(*≧艸≦)

R: you missed out Check out Nico’s LIVE.

Maki stared at her phone. Nico’s Live, that happened when you went to someone’s TWIG profile and clicked on their pic, right? Maki did, grimacing as she clicked on Nico’s face. Nico was in front of a whiteboard, drawing pictures of tennis rackets, disgustingly cute tennis rackets. She leaned forward, checking her phone, then grinned like someone who’d just served a winning ace.

“And @Nishikinoshot has just joined the fans watching Nico on TWIG Live…”

Maki heard Rin yell “Hi Maki!!!” in the background as Nico continued, “One of the best ways to learn how to properly conduct and promote yourself on social media is to find an influencer you respect and build a relationship with them. @Nishikinoshot has chosen @NicoNi, the smartest move she…

“I have not.” Maki shouted at her phone and then felt silly when she realized there was no way for Nico to see or hear her, or was there? TWIG kept floating an “ask to join the Live” teaser, so Maki thumbed it. Nico paused, obviously her notifications were on, another one of those winning serve grins and suddenly Maki was sharing Nico’s screen.

“Jumping into the Live. Good initiative, Nishikino..”

“Maki.”

“So why’d you pick your TWIG handle?”

What kind of a question was that?

“Nishikino shot...you know...because of tennis...the Nishikino shot always scores.” Also worked with photography, a hobby Maki wanted more time for.

“Nishikino announces her prowess off and on the court.” Nico giggled, Maki glared.

“What are you saying? That’s not right.”

“Ah, so you admit it is confusing. Make a note of that, class, it’s always best to have a tag that doesn’t confuse people.” Staring right at Maki, ruby eyes twinkling, Nico made an elaborately surprised, amused face, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “We were reading it as Nishikino’s hot, ‘cause you are.”

Maki flushed. And fumbled with her phone to end the live, not even registering what other garbage Nico was saying. And then her phone pinged again.

R: Are you all right, Maki? Nico was just having a little fun.

M: I don’t want to talk about Nico.

R: Okay.

M: That was your fault.

R: Hey, I thought you’d want to know.

M; Yeah...but tomorrow, after practice, you’re on clean up.

R: Maaaaaki (⁎˃ᆺ˂)’

###

Grunting, Maki swung through at full velocity, then grimaced as yet another practice serve skipped out of bounds. She leaned over to pick up another couple of balls. Both buckets were empty. Tempted to throw her racket, instead she shook her head, tucked her racquet under her arm, grabbed a bucket and went to the other side of the court to pick up the balls.

“Hey, let me help you,” chirped an unfamiliar voice. Maki turned. Nico Yazawa had grabbed the other buckets and was hustling for the net. Nico was always hustling, all lean muscle and speed. Her sable hair, usually put up in twin tails, was loose, still wet from the shower. She’d changed from her usual practice uniform to casual pink and black striped biker shorts and an oversized pink t-shirt shirt that slid off her shoulder and read “Killer Cute.” “Coach ended practice an hour ago.”

Maki shrugged, starting with the balls as far away as possible from the spot Nico had chosen.

“You’re always out here.”

“I take tennis seriously.”

Nico hesitated, hands on her hips, watching Maki curiously over mirror sunglasses perched halfway down her nose, “Nico sees that. But you can get trapped in patterns if no one points them out.”

“I’m fine. I win.”

“Don’t you want to win better?”

“Win better? That’s not a thing.” Maki tapped her racquet against her leg, fidgety.

“Accuracy matters.” Nico picked up a tennis ball, tossed it into Maki’s bucket, and winked, “Crush your opponents with finesse, not raw power. Fewer wasted serves.”

Maki’s hasty rush of anger changed to curiosity. Nico led the team in aces, with amazing power for someone so short. “Coach hasn’t said anything.”

“Like you said, you get the job done. And Coach has other problems...like keeping Honoka from exhausting herself in the first few volleys.”

They both chuckled at how eager Honoka Kosaka was to chase down every ball, until she hit empty. As a joke, after their last practice, Rin had her girlfriend, Hanayo Koizumi, the team manager, post a photoshopped pic of a golden retriever playing next to Honoka’s double’s partner, Umi Sonoda. Honoka had laughed longer than anyone.

Nico was right, Maki realized. Coach had been spending a lot of time on the players with more basic problems. And their assistant spend most of the time on opponent research, editing video footage.

“Nico uses a platform stance, but Maki could get away with a pin-point stance. Watch my feet.” Nico grabbed a ball, tossing it up, swinging at it with a pretend racquet. Instead of her feet remaining the same distance apart, her back foot shifted closer to the front one and then she pushed off up into the serve. “You’ve already got natural explosive power, you don’t need a nitro boost.”

Maki considered, moving her feet through the change Nico suggested. It felt comfortable, offering more control. She nodded, then jumped back when Nico clapped her on the upper arm.

“You’re a quick learner. Hang on. Nico will hop over there and you can try it out. It’s more fun with an opponent.”

“I’ll win. You’ll be crushed.” Maki winked.

Nico laughed and it echoed. “Nico didn’t teach you everything Nico knows.”

###

“So you’re a local too.” Nico was scooping salad into Maki’s bowl. They’d decided to stop for dinner.

“Yeah. My family owns a medical center so I couldn’t just go off anywhere.”

Nico paused, eyebrow raised. “Why not?”

“I’ve been working there since…” Maki tried to remember her first job at the hospital, how old was she? She remembered sitting at her father’s desk, coloring in specially made anatomy chart pages in elementary school. Did that count as a job? “Forever.”

“Ah. Nico had to stick close for family too. Three sibs.” Nico flashed a smile and three fingers. “They’re the best, but they rely on Nico.”

“Your parents work a lot?” Maki understood that.

“Yeah, my mom does. My dad died when I was little.”

Maki paled, what did you say to that. “I’m sorry” came out as a mumble.

A sigh, weary, as Nico pushed Maki’s filled bowl in her direction, “Me too. But we survived. He taught me tennis. And…” Nico put on a sparkling smile, bounced her hands up to her temple, rock hands gesture, and her voice became brighter. “Nico Nico Ni.” Then she relaxed back to normal, “He said it could cheer up the whole world..”

Maki remembered something. “Nico Nico is the ideophone for smile.”

Nico leaned forward, “So the Nishikino isn’t just for show.”

Maki shook her head, “We have a hospital in Tokyo too. I’ve spent a lot of summers there.”

“Wow, a doc and a jet setter. So why tennis?”

“I liked it better than golf. My parents said piano didn’t count as a networking activity.”

“Piano? Classic stuff.” Nico created a melody on an air keyboard.

“Some. And jazz. I get to take a couple of music classes, at least this year.”

Nico wondered if Maki realized how robotic she sounded, and how laced through with sadness her mood was as she talked about her family.

“Hey, Nishikino…”

“Maki.”

“Maki. Play for Nico sometime. Nico loves singing. My dad always said I should go on American Idol.”

“Sorry.” Maki twisted a curl of hair, “I don’t play those kind of songs.”

Maki obviously just needed to know more about Nico, which was Nico’s favorite topic. “Nico is multifaceted. We can do Ella and Count Basie, if you want. With the time you save not practicing your serve.”

Nico winked, her multifaceted ruby eyes cheerful pulls as she hummed. Maki found herself intrigued. “I’ll think about it.”

“Nico will be your personal tennis coach to make sure you improve.”

“Not necessary.” Maki leaned back to signal the waiter. Time to start the main course.

A/N: Another AU Yeah August entry, college rivals was requested and the Olympics put me in a sports mood. Planning another chapter.

Still taking requests.

#NicoMaki #Love Is For Losers #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #au yeah august #AUYEAHAUGUST21 #tennis #rivals #college

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haechanmochi · 5 years ago

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dom!Hoshi + ice play on a hot summer night please?

genre: smut

i’m sorry it’s so long and i’m sorry it took so long-

“How is it that it’s night yet still so warm- Fuck!!”

You stumbled into the kitchen, cursing at the wall that hadjust knocked against your shoulder.

“Screaming won’t help it”, Hoshi remarked, emerging from yourroom while wiping his wet hair with a small towel.

He found you adorable, sporting only panties and one of hisoversized white t-shirts.

“Sure won’t- I’ve tried”, you groaned, as he propped you uponto the cool marble top of the kitchen counter.

He stopped in front of you for a bit to massage yourshoulder as you continued to complain about the unbearable heat. You leanedinto his touch, he always had the ability to make you warm inside and despitethe intense heat of the summer, you didn’t mind it. He grinned at yoursoftening expression, letting his strokes slow down and then stop altogether.

“Here, try thisinstead”, Hoshi suggested, passing you a bottle of soda.

“Urgh you’re a lifesaver, bring these to the room please, I’ll get the air conditioning set”.

He laughed at your dramatic cues and got some tall glassesout, along with some ice cubes, arranging them neatly onto the wooden tray thatyou seemed to love so much, before following you into the room.

The clear contrast from the outside heat and the slightchill in the room sent a small shiver down Hoshi’s spine. That and the factthat you had changed out of his shirt and your plush breasts that he wasobsessive about were on full display.

“Damn”

He hadn’t meant to say it out that loud for you to hear butthe moment you did hear it, you were tinted with a light blush. You tried toreverse the awkward sexual tension with a cough and though it cleared up theair, his eyes still lingered every time he looked your way.

“C’mon, pour me a glass”, you urged, nodding to the traythat he had put down on the bedside table.

“Sure thing”, he grinned as he plopped a few ice cubes intothe glass.

He had a mischievous smile going on and you were far beyondsuspicious. There was no warning when he pressed the cold glass to the side ofyour hips, making you squeal.

“God, you dickhead”.

However mad you might have been at first, you couldn’tcontain your laughter as you pushed him hard on the arm and his face squintedin laughter at your reaction.

“Oh, ha ha”, you mumbled sarcastically, punching his armagain.

“Hey, I’m sorry, come here”, he toned down his laughter atyour serious tone and pulled you into his lap for a cuddle.

He let his hands roam down your torso and settle into the comfortof caressing your waist.

“Your hands are cold”, you hummed as his thumbs rubbedcircles into your hips.

“Feels good, huh?”

You were too lazy to say anything and nodded instead.

“Hold on a second and tell me if this feels nice”.

His voice was laced with an edge of excitement but your eyeswere way past the stage of re-opening, too tired to look.

It wasn’t until he pressed a cold solid against your innerthigh that you came to a realization of his intentions. Unwillingly, a moanescapes you, igniting a spark in him, one that sends a rush of blood directlyto the throbbing pulse encased by his boxers.

“If I had known how much this pleasures you, I would’ve donethis sooner”, he tells you, a smirk evident in his tone.

The ice cube was withdrawn from your skin and your eyes shotopen at the contrast in temperature.

He was grinning at you, taking the ice between his lips andyou propped yourself up onto your elbows to watch him carefully.

Teasingly, he dragged it along your other thigh, his fingersdipping into the hem of your panties and pulling them down ever so slowly.

Your breaths rolled out in heavy pants the closer he got toyour aching heat.

“Up”, he tapped your thigh, hinting for you to lift yourselfoff the bed so he could roll your panties down and discard them.

He pressed his warm palms to your inner thighs on each side,spreading your legs gently apart. His right hand caressed down your thigh’ssensitive skin, anticipating his movements until he finally got to yourentrance, wet with slick and clenching desperately around nothing.

He hovered the ice cube in his mouth right over you,breathing down on it to send cold puffs and a few cold drops of water directlyonto your heat.

“Hoshi, please”, you whined quietly and the edge in yourvoice gave him the green light.

His tongue finally found its way into you, slowly and thenall at once, the long awaited cold contact sending a shiver through you andyour back arching off the mattress, thighs tightening around Hoshi’s face thatwas buried between you, his nose nuzzling into your clit and the cold ice cubelodged between your clenching hole and the flat of his tongue.

He pushed your hips gently back down and continued topleasure you. The ice initiated a slow burn inside you, one that had yougasping and moaning out profanities, anything to keep you anchored to thisworld- because your soul was on the verge of leaving you and Hoshi had neverseen something so sexually pleasing as you right now.

The ice melted on your clit but Hoshi continued his work onyou, taking over with his soft lips, suckling on you. The change in patternmade you let out an embarrassingly loud, animal like moan and Hoshi halted hislips from their sucking around your clit to see if you were still with him.

“You like that?”

He sounded incredibly raspy, eyes glazed over in lust andlips swollen from all their hard work. The sight of him laid out like thatbetween your legs and making you his priority was enough to initiate the knotbuild in your stomach.

“So much”, you replied, almost breathless and he gave youthe most kiddish grin before diving back down to attend to your needs.

His lips resumed on their suckling and he wanted you to comeundone, to say his name in the way that he liked so he brought his fingers upto where his lips were and dipped them into you, your slick allowing him toslide in with ease. He accompanied this with his teeth lightly starting tograze your sensitive bundle of nerves, switching between his tongue and histeeth.

He pulled his fingers back slowly and rammed them back in,aggressively and the feeling of being filled and fucked by his fingers made youchase your high, your legs starting to tremble and your hips thrustingthemselves onto his digits.

“Getting closer baby?”

He knew exactly how your body worked when it came to him andall you could do was let out a strangled “nngh”. Hoshi was satisfied with thisreply, knowing he had fucked you speechless with just his fingers.

“You look so pretty like this, you’re such a good girl y/n”

He knew your kinks inside out, using your weakness topraises as an advantage as he continued to pump two fingers in and out of youwhile muttering sweet nothings for you.

As he slipped in a third finger he pressed one final kiss toyour pulsing clit and looked your straight in the eyes, urging you with acommand, disguised as a praise.

“Let’s let go, angel- you’ve done so well baby”

And that was it.

You did exactly as he had told you to.

You thrashed in your position, his fingers still working youthrough, your eyes squeezing shut and chanting his name while you came aroundhis fingers, cum dripping down them and wetting the sheets under you.

“Attagirl, I’m so proud of you”, he beamed as he watched youcalm down at last and he retracted his fingers, coming up to kiss you softly onthe lips.

Your cheeks were flushed from the heat and your lips werestretched into the most tired of smiles but to Hoshi, you surpassed the titleof goddess.

And he was sure he’d drop down on his knees and worship youif you asked him to.

#seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen hoshi #soonyoung #seventeen hoshi smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen soonyoung #soonyoung smut #hoshi smut #hoshi

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x0401x · 6 years ago

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Yuukei Roadshow Reports and Highlights

Compilation of info found on Twitter and Privatter. Many thanks to ayara-resara for indicating them all!

Translations Index || Next Show >>

@taro4oto2:

Me: Jin-san, in your mind, what kind of adult will Kisaragi Shintarou become in the future...? Jin: Ah~! Kisaragi Shintarou, huh; he is who he is~. I’m thinking of writing songs concerning him from now on too. I’m currently 28, and if I think about him at around this age... I guess he’d probably be a teacher or something like it.

@BlueD01:

“Jin-san, what do you think Momo-chan will be in the future?” Jin-san: Let’s see... *thinks a little* An actress, I guess. “‘An actress’?” *thought process stops* Jin-san: She might also go... overseas. (Memory is faint here.) “Ooh.” Jin-san: I want to write these stories about the future next time. (At last.) “Thank you very much!”

@920ms:

My hands were shaking during Jin-san’s autograph session. Hella.

Although it was a commemorative autograph section for the release of MekaRelo, I’d wanted to tell him no matter what that I get strength from listening to Otsukimi Recital when I have to lighten up... So, I told him this, but I accidentally ended up babbling that Hibiya and Momo’s interactions were the most interesting to me and that I liked them a lot. And then Jin-san said, “I like them too! What will happen to them from now on?? I’m really curious!” as if to dig into it.

Of course I knew that he liked Hibiya and Momo’s combo, but the “What will happen to them from now on?” has been echoing in my brain the entire time... I had a bunch of other things to say, like, “The songs of Momo’s friends are also the best” and, “I’d been listening to Mekakucity Days/Records/Reload a~~ll the time coming the way here”, but my attention was drawn too hard by Jin’s words, so I couldn’t do it...

@BrainBurnShout:

Started with an explosive crossfade.

The host was the woman in charge of KADOKAWA’s Mekakucity Talkers (she’s a beauty).

Jin entered the stage slurping the Shissou Word-themed drink like, “I’d wanted to eat the pancakes but they sold out before I got to it.”

He had his first impression of VOCALOID with “Melt”.

The origin of his conceptualization of “stories told through music” stemmed from Kinniku Shoujo Tai and The Who.

He had planned on the narrative even before Jinzou Enemy, and while gathering up the pattern usage of “a story that ~ the eyes”, the first one he came up with was the one that “locks the eyes”.

One sentence of the initial concept that remained in his PC was: “Medusa does not come out of her house.” (original text)

KagePro is a “curse from his 19-year-old self” because his period of training was long.

He struggles with the consistency of the plot, like, “This and that don’t connect!” and, “That’s my old self~”.

During the innitialization of his PC, he interpreted the “name registration” wrong and accidentally named his PC “Frederica”.

*PC falls down the stairs during moving* Jin: FREDERICAAAAAA!!!!!

He had the ending of the story decided from the beginning.

Due to this, he couldn’t introduce new characters even though he’d always wanted to.

He’s been writing the sequel while thinking that if it turns out impossible to publish, then so be it.

Host: Are you going to make them reincarnate in a parallel world? Jin: That would be a spin-off... like, “Kagerou Quest” or something.

What hides beneath Ayano’s gentleness was something he’d come up with since the initial stages. (He didn’t mention it on Twitter or the like, though.)

[In regards of a question about “becoming an adult”] Jin: Until joining (Edword) Records, I had been in the position of Big Bro, but now I’m a full-fledged Uncle.

Since he’s an adult, he has to pay taxes. He’s been somehow making ends meet with the money that everyone bought the CD with.

[In regards of a question by an Asahiner from the audience about My Funny Weekend] The cheerful verses like the one that goes, “move forward” were said by Hiyori.

The Asahiner who had been waiting all this time for a Hiyori song is overcome with emotion.

The reason why there wasn’t a Hiyori song from the start is that, “If I had included her, everyone’s worries would have been relatively...”

Jin-san: Hiyori-sama.

He has the image of the adult Mekakushi-dan.

It seems Kido will be a caretaker in an orphanage.

When he talked about that image to Sidu-san, the MV’s adult!Kido was suddenly brought up. Jin: Did you turn her into an adult already? Sidu: Should I not have done that?

Hibiya will be an archeologist, and since the Medusa is said to have her roots abroad, he might do a research on that.

Even in Jin-san’s own mind, there are many interpretations: “So and so will get married”, “No, it’ll be so and so”. “The one Shintarou will marry is Haruka!” *audience acclaims*

Jin-san will write the interpretation of the winner of his peerless inner fight.

Haruka is main heroine.

Rather than saying that the albums go from 1st and 2nd to the 3rd, it’s more like the 1st and 2nd are an omnimbus and the 3rd is a backside.

What he depicted with Imaginary Reload was the strength of Mary, who isn’t there just to be protected.

The top was reached by drawing out the 274BPM Konoha~

Remind Blue has parts of Summer Time Record that he hadn’t been able to write about.

It was supposed to be Shintarou’s song, but the lyrics turned out as something that applies to everyone. (Seto has his own Remind Blue and it might be that Kano thinks the same things.)

As a result of Jin-san’s definition of friends, which is “we think alike even without saying anything”, it ended up becoming a song about the whole Mekakushi-dan.

From Jin-san’s childhood experiences, fireworks = summer’s end (an element also used in the novels).

Therefore, the English version of “Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni” is “Fireworks in the Summer End”.

@ndfakvnico:

Shissou Word “She’s bad with words, and I’m the same as her, so I made that into a song.”

Additional Memory A song about regret. Jin-san’s grandfather passed away, and for a while upon coming to Tokyo, he hadn’t been able to see him at all. After the funeral, Jin-san found a file with cutouts of himself from magazines that his grandfather had kindly gathered up. He regretted not having been able to convey anything to him.

Lost Day Hour A song about friends. There was a time during middle school in which he found himself unable to go to school. “If you don’t go once, you become less and less able to.” Back then, he encountered wonderful music. A-kun (provisory nickname), who told him that he also liked said music, came around and the two of them formed a band together. Jin became able to attend high school. He didn’t know what a friend was until then, but he thought, “I guess he’s my friend”.

Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni A song with the image of summertime fireworks. “Tokachi District holds the second largest fireworks festival of the country. I wonder what being second place is like. Just what are they fighting on this? (laughs)” It’s like the scenery of Gin no Saji; a place with that kind of feeling to it.

Remind Blue “Summer is hot and I don’t like it, but it has its charm. I wonder if I was properly able to make that end of summer into a song.”

As always, he drank a lot of water. Actually, in addition to the four bottles that were put there, he also brought a lot of water with him.

As he talked about each song, he would play them with his accoustic guitar.

“Such an honestly pretty library. So many books. It’s my first time singing in a place like this, so I’d been wondering if I wouldn’t get chased out if someone like me suddenly showed up and started singing. (laugh)”

By the way, he was indeed wearing a jersey... lol.

He was super cool when he was singing, but during the time of exiting the stage, he made his way out unsteadily while bowing, so he gave off a feeling of ordinary Nii-chan and it was heartwarming.

He’s good at singing. (my childish reaction)

His manner of speech was extremely gentle, and though I really enjoy the excitement of live concerts and the like, that calm atmosphere and his kind way of performing and talking had me going, “Aah, this totally goes well with Jin-san. It totally goes super well with him. Play-and-talk live concerts are the best...”

There were 100 people with regular tickets, lots of others were standing behind them, the costumers of the nearby Starbucks were all looking too, and many people also stood watching in rows at the second floor’s corridors.

The venue was a Jin World.

I’d been reflecting on the meaning of him doing a library live, and I think it’s something amazing. At the end of it, a staff member asked something by requesting people to raise their hands, and turns out that there were mostly middle and high scholars attending. It felt like there were also grade scholars and college students. Is there any other rock musician who would open an event at a middle school or a public library? Well, there might be, but that’s still incredible...

We were told that we couldn’t enter the venue unless we had a regular ticket, that it was okay to enter because it was a public space, that we couldn’t get autographs, that we actually could get them even without the ticket, and, hum, get your information... together... (tiny voice)

He talked a lot more about the songs, but it’s not coming to me... aah.

In one sentence, it was awesome.

@kugamiryou

The moderator this time was the editor of Mekakucity Talkers, and her hairstyle was kind of similar to Azami-san’s.The song order of the rendition was “Shissou Word”, “Additional Memory”, “Lost Day Hour”, “My Funny Weekend” and “Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni”... but! Guess what: Jin-san said, “I wanna play them after all” and additionally performed the first part of “Imaginary Reload” and all of “Remind Blue”!! Jin-san’s hopping as he played was cute.

The general course of events was that a teaser movie soon played, then the host came on-stage and called Jin-san over, Jin-san showed up slurping a Shissou Word drink, choked while drinking it, and then performed Shissou Word. After that, it was announced that there would be a lottery and some of the prizes were Jin-san’s personal belongings.

The first corner was “Jin-san Talks About Kagerou Project”. It was a talk about why he started making KagePro. With the trigger being that the band he had in high school broke up, he decided to make stuff on his own, and he started creating a story first from the fact that “There are many depictions of ‘eyes that do ￮￮’, huh!” or something of the sort.

“Locking eyes” ➡ “Medusa” ➡ “This is it!!” ➡ “A Medusa who doesn’t want to lock eyes with anyone won’t come out of her house!” - with this trend, it seems the first thing he planned out was Kuusou Forest.

Apparently, the stories of the novel and manga progressed with him deciding their ending first, and he indeed wants to write the next novel. If he ends up unable to publish it, he’ll write it like, “whatever” and turn it into a book anyway, and he talked about writing something like “Kagerou Quest”, lol.

After he finished performing Additional Memory, he stated that he “couldn’t mention it on Twitter”, but he had wanted to say that “Ayano isn’t just a gentle girl”. From then on, we had a questions-and-answers corner.

Q.: What was the moment in which you thought, “I’ve become an adult”? A.: That’s a theme I want to write about in the next novel. I thought, “I’ve turned into an adult, huh” when I was making Lost Day Hour and suddenly felt like calling my friends. Also, when I started paying taxes.

From someone who’s been an Asahiner for 7 years: I want to know the reason why you made My Funny Weekend. A.: I’d wanted to use Hiyori, but I couldn’t until now. Hiyori is strong, so if I’d used her before, she would make everyone else’s worries dim. It feels like Hiyori made me write the parts that go, “being greedier is just fine”. I’m not the one who came up with them.

From a person who used to stan Shintarou and started stanning Ayano after Additional Memory: Please tell us the reason why you gave Ayano that moment in AddiMemo. A.: It’s the one song in MekaRelo in which someone is dying alone. Sorry for going, “I’m sorry” right after singing, “It’ll surely be an even better day!”. This is actually a story that I wished I had included in the manga.

Q.: I would like to know about the Mekakushi-dan of the early stages. A.: There are parts of the way the loops work that I haven’t written yet. There’s a possibility that, epending on the loop, the characters of the first Mekakushi-dan might show up (like the female Konoha).

Q.: Will you write the story of the characters turning into adults? A.: I’ve already thought out what kind of jobs each will have and who will be married to who. There are many stories in the minds of everyone, but I want to write something like, “This kind of future also exists”. For example, Kido taking over the orphanage and Hibiya becoming an archeologist to investigate the Medusa abroad. But whenever I try to make so and so get married, another side of me cuts it off like, “Wait a minute... the one who will marry Shintarou is Haruka, right?”, so whoever wins this unique armed struggle tournament inside my brain will be the one to write.

~About MekaRelo~

He had wanted to make songs regarding what he couldn’t write in the novel.

Imaginary Reload: it’s about the girl who had been waiting to be rescued in Kuusou Forest going off to fight on her own will, and doesn’t just wait to be saved. It’s 274 BPM, so it’s the fastest song?

Shissou Word: it’s based on the fear that Jin-san experienced when he was a child from continuously being asked, “Why can’t you do such a normal thing?” and from wondering, “What is ‘normal’ even?”

My Funny Weekend: it’s the song that feels the most final episode-like to him.

Additional Memory: a song that he thought he “had to write”. It’s the saddest one.

Lost Day Hour: the song that had him thinking, “I have to make this” back when he was writing volume 6.

Remind Blue: a song that made him think, “This is the last summer song”. It’s a song packed with the things he didn’t manage to write about in SumReco. It has the image of Shintarou, but there are parts about Haruka, about Seto and about Kano, so it’s kind of a song with no definite protagonist. Makes one think about not forgetting summer.

Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni: since the fireworks festival that he once watched in his hometown is his image of the end of summer, so he had wanted to make a story that ended with people watching fireworks, but he was indecisive, because “the last battle happens in the basement of a school, what do I do~” (said originally with a northern accent). He didn’t want to let summer end, but if it didn’t end, it would be weird and unpleasant.

After this talk, Jin-san was about to play My Funny Weekend, but realized that the Shissou Word drink he was having had disappeared without him noticing and was like, “Where’s my Never-Lost Word!?”. He drank water instead, sulking.

“I might make a mistake, sorry!” ➡ *makes a mistake during the hook* ➡ “There were no mistakes, right!?”

Then, we had the big lottery. Sadly, although I had a number in hands, I wasn’t able to get Medusa, the amplifier that Jin-san used when making Imaginary Reload. Sad.

And so, we had the last song, Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni. Jin-san played while saying, “I wanna do collaboration drinks again~”

Everyone frantically lined up to pay their checks and buy goods, but then Jin-san suddenly came back, said, “I wanna do this after all!” and played Imaginary Reload and Remind Blue while drenched in sweat. “Why is it that I’m sweating so much even though I’m playing while seated?”

And then it really was the end... however, people quickly queued to get autographs as if racing to board the last train. While stiffly shuddering, I also got autographs on my CDs and MekaTalk, then handed a letter to him.

I was happy to get a “Ah! It’s a folded paper crane!” reaction from him, but I was nervous for real, so I turned into the typical figure of a useless otaku. When he was signing, I told him, “I won’t be able to go to tomorrow’s autograph session, so I’m happy to be getting it now.” and he replied, “I’ll hold lots of other events after this one! So when the time comes, please! Do attend them!!”

I’ll go.

@Hiroyannn168

I arrived at the venue a bit too early, and when I was waiting for the opening, the staff people and Jin-san passed by me like it was nothing...! He was giving off a civilian-like aura. He boarded the elevator crammed with staff members as if having fun, and when the door was closing, he waved a little at us.

During Jin-san’s play-and-talk live, there was a questions corner and Jin-san discussed about the compositions. He had always wanted to try creating collaboration drinks based off the songs, so it seems he talked it over with the personnel like, “Shissou Word is this kind of song” and, “This color will do~” and, “Could you make this thing float? Is it impossible?” in order to have them made. The band BACKHORN, which Jin-san likes, had been doing these kinds of collaboration drinks, so he had wanted to try his hand at it no matter what.

There were also two types of pancakes that had the image of song compositions, RED and BLUE, and just when Jin-san thought of eating them too, he was told by someone from the staff, “There are only five left” and went, “Incredible” www... They were mad popular, so there was a lot of people eating them.

When Jin-san entered the stage, he brought with him a Shissou Word-themed glass and was drinking it like, “Yummy”.

He’d said on Twitter that he wanted to do something like explaining about the compositions of the songs, so he tweeted about it just a little, but he hadn’t been able to tweet at all after that, apparently because he had been practicing for the live and doing all sorts of things in the meantime. It seems that, since Jin-san was late to tweet about it, he decided to do it properly if he had the chance to tweet later. Is what he said. That he wanted to “explain a little about the song compositions tonight~”.

First track was Shissou Word. At the applause that rose naturally from the audience, Jin-san bashfully said, “thank you” in-between the lyrics. The motif behind Shissou Word was Jin-san’s experience with being asked, “Why can’t you do normal things?” Even though normal things are easy to do for other people, they’re difficult for him... that’s what the song says.

He looked happy when he asked a girl sitting at the far right of the first row, “What are you drinking?” It seems that this person was having the Additional Memory drink (it was red).

Second track was Additional Memory. The song goes like, “Ayano has a so-called gentle girl image, but she also bears these kinds of feelings”. I sensed that listening to the hook with Jin-san’s live voice made it resonate even more sharply in my heart. A shout of her emotions... is what it felt like, I guess?

Jin-san also said something along the lines of, “It’s great being able to expand my range of expression by not just using VOCALOIDs but singing with my own voice too~”.

It seems Jin-san spent a period in truancy during his childhood, and what gave him energy back then was music and books. At any rate, by the looks of it, that had been a truancy amongst truancies.

He’d wanted to form a band in high school, but the bassist quit, so he quickly became spineless about it. It appears that when he was like, “What do I do?”, a senpai of his recommended VOCALOID to him. He came to admire songs with high levels of story settings, similar to the ones from Kinniku Shoujo Tai, and started wanting to create something like an album that would turn into a story – that was the beginning of KagePro.

He said, “It’s interesting that there are lots of phrases about things you can do with your eyes.” Like, “Averting one’s eyes is Hikikomori-ish, concealing one’s eyes means that kind of stuff.” (“That kind of stuff”, you say!? This is just the kind of specific term I wanted~)

It seems that the plot of back then is still in his computer. “The Medusa is a shut-in”, and things like that.

Jin-san is still burdened with the curse from when he was 19 years old www

He also talked about how his computer fell from the second floor when he was moving www and about he wound up naming it Frederica www

Q&A corner. It was a corner where he received questions from people that he’d randomly point at after they raised their hands. The contents of all questions were amazing...

Someone who’d been an Asahiner for over 7 years said something along the lines of being really happy that there was a song about Hiyori-chan, and Jin-san commented that Hiyori-chan is a character with an extremely firm notion of self, so he had wanted to release it sooner but it seems he hadn’t been able to. That’s because, back when the Mekakushi-dan members were still fretting and saying stuff like “oh, my dirty”, if Hiyori-chan had been there with her “Move forward! There’s no mistake that tomorrow will be a much more wonderful day~”, she would cut them off with a single stroke.

It seems she’ll have a lot of screen time from now on. And it looks like rather than Jin-san writing the part of the lyrics that goes “being greedy is just fine”, it felt more like Hiyori-chan was “making him write it”. Hiyori-chan is awesome.

Someone asked Jin-san, “At what time do you think you became an adult?” and he answered that, in the past, he would think of himself as an Onii-chan when looking at children, but now he thinks he’s an Oji-san. That he was paying taxes, laying out a path and keeping it clean www. He said he “ended up becoming an adult when creating Lost Day Hour”; he could see his friends everyday when he was a child, but it seems there’s no such thing after growing up, and he’d find himself thinking, “I wanna give my friends a call”.

Imaginary Reload is 274BPM, and apparently that’s the most in all songs he’s made so far. Incredible. By the way, the maximum for BPM is 300.

It seems Jin-san also likes Remind Blue. Even though he had said, “I’ll make this one and then I won’t write songs about summer anymore!”, he made Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni right after that www. His 28th summer song...

Questioner: Even though I’d never budged from Shintarou until now, I ended up coming to like Ayano-chan the most after listening to Additional Memory. Jin-san: It seems a derby happened there. Is this a horse race or what www

Additional Memory is a bit of an unique song even for MekaRelo. He said, “I’m sorry... for bringing about a song that falls down with a hard thud immediately after saying that ‘tomorrow will be an even more wonderful day~’ with My Funny Weekend.” Like, “She dies all by herself...” He also said that what he was going to discuss from that point on were spoilers.

Shintarou’s snake is... The snakes exchange the abilities for lives... Then, lives are their,,,...???

He was like, “Please don’t spread this on Twitter and the like~”.

Remind Blue. This song was supposed to be Shintarou-san’s, but the figures of everyone overlapped in it, and it feels like each of them is being nostalgic in their own spot. The lyrics go, “together with the me of yesterday”, so Kano-kun and Seto-kun were also in it... is what Jin-san said. The way of talking is masculine. So it felt like it turned into everyone’s Remind Blue. Jin-san did say that, to him, friends are people who think the same.

Jin-san had Saiyuki-san draw the manga extra from MekaRelo A, and it seems it went like this: “Is it all right this way?” “It is.” “Is Kido-san okay like that?” “She’s exactly like that.” “The Kido-san that Saiyuki-san draws is really cool!” Jin-san said with great admiration.

Speaking of which, it seems that there’s already a conception of the Mekakushi-dan as adults in Jin-san’s mind and he’s decided things such as, “This person will be like that” and “Their occupation will be this”.

Kido-san will run an orphanage; taking over the will of that orphanage is very much like her. Hibiya-kun will be an archeologist. There are legends about Medusa all over the world, so he’ll be researching that.

He talked about how an adult Kido-san appeared in the MV of Shissou Word after he commissioned it to Sidu-san... something like that. It looks like he’s thinking along the lines of... “this person and this person will get married” as well. But Jin-san also said, “Shintarou’s wife will be Haruka-san (laughs)”. Apparently, these Jin-san’s are on a peerless inner fight inside him, and the Jin-san who wins will have his scenario come to life.

Haruka-san is KagePro’s main heroine www

Jin-san asked the audience, “Do you want to see the children of the Mekakushi-dan?” (I do.) “I wanna write novels,” he said. He was like, “I wanna introduce new characters!”

A parallel universe (one of those that are trendy nowadays?) called “Kagerou Quest” might happen www

Alternatively, it might be set in outer space, and it’ll be like a Martian version of the Mekakushi-dan fighting? Something along those lines? (Martian Mekaushi-dan!?!?)

There was a break of about 10 minutes. In that meantime, we lined up for the sale of goods, ate pancakes, etc...

The latter half of the live started.

My Funny Weeked. Jin-san seems to think that this one is the most last episode-like song. He said something like, “It’s my first time playing it live, so if I make any mistakes, pretend you didn’t notice~” and began playing. There was clapping from the audience seats as if to cheer on him, and he stopped playing right before the hook for an instant, but soon resumed it. After he finished singing, he asked, “See, there were no mistakes, right~?” (lol)

During the play-and-talk part, Jin-san drank water because he was out of options, since he had left the Shissou Word drink that he was having at the beginning somewhere, but he heard someone say from the seats, “The Never-Lost Word has been lost” and replied with, “You say some clever things www”.

Jin-san mentioned that he “was bad at conversing”, but I enjoyed his talk.

Big lotery. I ordered food and drinks and received an application coupon with the second item. The prizes were a set of guitar picks, a set of can badges, a volume of Mekakucity Talkers, a poster of MekaRelo (with Jin-san’s signature), a set of ticket holders and cards that came with the novels as appendix, which Jin-san claimed to have turned his house upside-down in order to bring over, and Jin-san’s own CDs (of Mekakucity~) and guitar effector (he apparently recorded Imaginary Reload with it, and its name is Medusa too). To the people who were sorted, congratulations~!

It seems Jin-san has only told about a part of KagePro until now, and he hasn’t yet talked about the extent of the loops.

When he was a child, he used to think, “I don’t want the new semester to start. It’d be good if summer didn’t end.” but an endless summer is somewhat disturbing, just like the two people living together in the last volume... of the novel.

Wasurete Shimatta Natsu no Owari ni. It seems the last chapter of KagePro closed with fireworks. That’s because, in the past, when Jin-san lived in Hokkaidou, there was a huge fireworks festival, and he thought back then, “Summer is over, huh”. He was like, “But how will I bring up fireworks when the story led up to the school’s underground, a place that has nothing to do with it!?” (lol)

ENCORE!!!

From a wing of the stage, Jin-san got his face out and peeked through (?) from within the curtains with a glance. He’s kinda cute despite being an adult man...

It seems he was being considerate towards us and saying, “It’s late into the night and there are people here who have to go home...” He then played Imaginary Reload (but just the short version of it). And in the end, he was like, “I do want to do it after all!” He sang Remind Blue.

He bid his goodbyes with waving hands~!

Jin-san, you’ve granted me really fun and good memories tonight. You’re indeed by yourself when you’re making music and writing novels... you’ve also gone through hard times. Tonight was super enjoyable, and even though it was a play-and-talk live, you up and said that you were sweating bullets www

“Please let me perform live again,” he said to us.

It was a tremendously fun night. Good job, and thank you very much.

#kagerou project #kagepro #mekakucity actors #mekakucity reload #kagerou daze #jin #shizen no teki p #sidu #lost day hour #additional memory #remind blue #shissou word #imaginary reload #my funny weekend #wasurete shimatta natsu no owari ni #fireworks in the summer end #my translation

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