In-ho’s Books.

Mathilde Augustadam

Josef Bsharah

i know in canon that inho’s and junho’s mother (stepmother in inho’s case) would never find out about the Games but i’m actually screeching imagining this:

like imagine this woman. all she wanted was for her two boys to call her sometimes. maybe not disappear for months at a time without so much as a text. maybe come to dinner once a week. and then she finds out:

(1) inho?? the “golden child” who always brought her flowers on parents’ day and vacuumed without being asked?? ran off to play in a death game?? then still had the audacity to survive, climb the ranks, and then became the emo darth vader of the whole operation??

(2) and the other? junho. immediately endangers his life to chase after him. zero hesitation. zero explanation. just disappears the same way, like they’re doing some twisted sibling relay race into the abyss.

(3) then inho shoots him. shoots. him. off a cliff.

(4) and after all that, junho still decides, “i’m gonna go back. i’m gonna find him. i’m gonna rescue his murdery ass because i’m the only one allowed to beat him up.”

so now imagine their (step)mother, who thought both of them were dead, suddenly finds out that not only are they not dead, but they’ve both been playing emotional chicken with the reaper out of some self-destructive sense of sibling loyalty.

her slipper’s already in hand. her rage is generational.

she gets them both in the same room and it’s not yelling—it’s a reckoning. she doesn’t even ask questions. she just starts swinging.

“you!” slaps the older one on the back of the head “you don’t call! you don’t write! you don’t even have the decency to stay out of crime??”

“and you!” grabs the younger by the ear mid-escape attempt “YOU FOLLOW HIM?? INTO THAT?? ARE YOU STUPID OR IS THIS A PERFORMANCE??”

they try to explain. they stutter. they glance at each other like say something but neither does. because god forbid they communicate like normal people. at some point one of them probably mutters “it wasn’t his fault” and she just screams louder.

they’re both on the floor by the end. slipper marks. emotional damage. one of them maybe crying a little. and she’s just standing there going, “you could’ve died without even telling me why. you idiots. come eat.”

and they do. they sit at the table in total silence, still bleeding metaphorically and literally, and they eat. because no matter how far you run, no matter how cold you become, no matter how many times you almost kill each other—

you are NEVER too old to be slippered into submission by the woman who raised you.

Apple Pear Pie

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Is this how you roll?