#gale talks a lot but when she has something to say he LISTENS okay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reverieblondie · 3 months

Text

Late Night Dip

Pairing: Rolan x Fem!Tav Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Fingering, Tail play, Teasing, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (Please wrap before you tap), G-whiz Position.

Summary: Cal and Lia are worried about their brother, he's just so stressed and needs a break! Good thing you have an idea that could help...

A/N: Rolan is hot, and I'm not going to apologize. I want to give him everything. More fics of my other favorite fictional men coming soon!

Word Count: 4,774

“Please, you have to get him out of that tower! You're the only one who he will listen to!”

You almost spit out your drink from Cal’s comment and look at him bewildered, “Uh, You must be confused you're talking about Rolan? Mr. Know it all? The arch workaholic? He's not going to listen to me.”

Lia leans against the bar dramatically, “Could you just give it a try, please? We have tried everything we could think of to get him to take some time off to destress but nothing has worked. We are hoping that because he has a soft spot for you he will listen to you.”

A scoff leaves you, “Rolan does not have a soft spot for me…”

Lia and Cal share a quick look before Cal speaks up again.

“Just one try, for his health. I swear every time I’m near him I can feel his tension radiate off him, take him out somewhere so he can unwind, and if he rejects you I will buy your drinks for two weeks.”

Closing your eyes you consider the chore. Seeing Rolan isn’t a bad thing you love getting any excuse to see that handsome face. Though pulling him from his work would not be an easy feat, but…you do enjoy teasing him, those looks he gives you when you get under his skin always sends a rush of heat to rise to your cheeks. Plus if he is overworking himself you can’t let that happen to your favorite wizard (sorry Gale). Maybe this would be a good push to your friendship to move to more…romantical areas….plus there was that spot you wanted to take him and tonight is as good of a time as any. If all else fails and Rolan heartbreakingly rejects you for a night outing at least you will get free drinks for the next two weeks to wash away the pain.

“Okay, I will handle it, but be ready to have to buy a lot of ale for the next two weeks Cal,” you say as you gather your stuff and step towards the doors. Cal and Lia watch as you walk out of the tavern into the night towards Ramazith Tower.

“Think there's a chance he will reject her and we will have to deal with a tense Rolan?” Cal asks Lia worriedly.

Lia scoffs and settles herself on a seat at the bar, “Please, Rolan can’t deny her, and even if he wants to pretend he can, do you think she’s going to take no for an answer?”

“Those two are really into each other huh?”

“Yeah, Let's hope one of them finally realizes it and does something about it tonight. I have a bet with Larkissa that Tav makes the first move, and I want my 50 gold.”

Wow, they were right…he looks so stressed.

Your eyes watch as Rolan's taut back stays hunched over the journal he is scribbling in as he studies an old-looking tome. The only part that moves on him is his hand and he writes in a frantic motion. His golden eyes peering at the tome then back to his journal as he continues, it's clear he has been at this for a while.

Leaning against the doorway you study his profile for a bit longer. Hair was done in its elaborate bun to hide his ears, brows underneath his well-kept horns furrowed in irritation, and the most perfect nose in all of Faerûn. Let's see if we can’t get him to scrunch it in irritation.

“And what happened to the master of Ramaziths Tower? Worked so hard he died from stress, he was so young…”

Rolan seems surprised for a moment before he turns his head to see your smug grin, this earns you an eye roll, “What happened to the Hero of Baldur's Gate? Oh, she pushed her luck too many times and was thunder waved out of Ramazith's Tower.”

Sontering in you wave him off dismissively, “See you're so tired you're unable to come up with your own insults. That means it’s time you take a break.”

Scoffing, he turns away from you going back to scribbling away, “You sound like Cal and Lia…”

“They did send me to get you.”

“Of course they did”

Getting closer you see the swarm of papers and books he’s been busying himself with, ignoring it all you sit on his desk and look down at him as he writes. He seems to look at your legs for a moment before shaking his head and going back to what he was writing. Usually, he would be nagging you about your poor manners and the fact that you are bothering him, must be too tired to fight. You watch him as he slowly starts up his work again trying to ignore your ass so close to his hands crushing his papers. His nose is starting to scrunch and you can only smile with a sweet taunting hum. Crossing your legs gets his attention one more time before he mumbles something to himself.

“Work, work, work, write, write, write, Rot, rot, rot” you chant in a sing-song voice as you shake your foot bumping him slightly.

“Must you annoy me?” he grumbles

“You're just annoyed because you're so pent up with stress, come on let's go out.”

Rolan looks up at you and furrows his brows, nose still scrunched, “I’m annoyed because of everyone constantly pestering me when I have a thousand things to do. I’m not going anywhere and I am not…pent up…”

You let out a loud sigh, “Oh come on Rolan you're so pent up with stress you could pop, just a small break, a nice stress-free night will do you some good, then we will leave you alone to be the great grump of Ramaziths. Plus I have something I want to show you that I found the other day.”

Rolan keeps his head down scribbling, “It will be really fun.” you coo

He continues to ignore you. You frown before leaning down to his ear. “Please…” you whisper softly

Rolan stops his writing and groans.

“Come on Rolan! Just a bit further!”

“Where the hells are you taking me!”

“It's a surprise! Now hurry up!”

You're both running in the forest outside of the gate, you're ahead of him leading the way but you can hear the snapping of twigs and slight infernal cusses as he tries to keep up. You can't help but laugh as he continues his grumpy pursuit. Finally, you reach your destination with a bright smile on your face as you wait for Rolan to emerge from the thicket. Biting your lip in expectation you bounce on the heels of your feet, this will be perfect…

You had found this place on one of your walks and knew that you would have to come back, and bringing Rolan only made it all the better. A secret hot spring is hidden away in the thick forest, perfect for two. The water looks as if it glows a cyan blue, it seems to glitter underneath the full moonlight. Your eyes watch as the steam from the water rises to the vast starlit sky. This will be perfect for relieving stress.

Finally, you hear him come into the clearing, his once pristine appearance is now a mess with twigs in his now messy hair and robes covered in dirt from where he must have fallen trying to keep up with you. The smile on your face never falters and he approaches you with an unamused look. He looks past you at the heated water and raises an eyebrow.

“A hot spring? You know if you wanted to bathe…”

Rolan's words halt as you start loosening the strings of your bodice. Looking up you meet his golden eyes and smirk at his surprised face as you drop your bodice to the ground. His eyes widen and his lips slightly part before he turns away quickly.

“Come on Rolan, a late night dip under the stars. You can’t beat that. Plus I bet once that water hits your skin all your stress will melt away.”

You start stripping off your undershirt quickly followed by your pants. Your eyes watch Rolan's back as it seems to tense at each sound of your clothes rustling and falling. His tail whips around seemingly uncontrollably, before wrapping around his leg, you're still trying to figure out if it is from excitement or irritation.

“You have been traveling with Halsin for too long…”

You laugh at the comment, “Well, he is rather wise, learned a lot from him while on our journey…”

Rolan's tail twitches before he turns around quickly to face you. His eyes widen as he sees your scantily clad undergarments, not like you went and changed before going to fetch him…

He turns back around quickly “Like what…” he mutters, is he? Jealous…

“Just…things…” you say almost tauntingly. You just can’t resist, from the moment you two started becoming friends you two have been taunting and teasing at every opportunity. Sometimes you don’t know if you want to punch him or kiss him. Though now…you can only think of one thing…

Taking off your undergarments and then by complete ‘accident’ you toss them towards his feet. He looks down at them for a second before you watch his tail rise slightly before falling back down and lifting his head to look up at the starry sky.

“I’ve learned things from my other companions as well…” you say softly, almost too sweetly

A nervous laugh seems to rise harshly from his chest. Slowly you approach Rolan, you're being extremely quiet and you're completely bare. “Like Astarion for example” Right behind him now you look up at his tightly set bun, and with a quick moment you pluck the tie keeping it up out, That should loosen him some, “taught me to sneak up on people to take things.”

Rolan starts to turn his head but seems to stop himself remembering you're now naked. Not that you would mind his golden eyes taking you all in. With his hair now down you finally see his sharply pointed ears, they are cute and with their marron coloring at the tips completely giving away how embarrassed he is at the moment. Part of you wants to take the opportunity to be naughty and nibble on his ear while playing with his loose hair. Best not to push your luck however.

Proud of successfully teasing him you decide to finally get into the water. Stepping carefully into the calm water the heat craseing your skin immediately relaxes you. The water is the perfect temperature and you quickly sink in and swim around enjoying yourself with pleasant sighs. Turning your head you see Rolan watching with what you think is a smile on his face.

“Come on in, the water is great!”

“Dry land is also great.”

“So you're just going to let me swim alone?” you watch as Rolan thinks for a moment “It's very relaxing…” you coo

He finally sighs, “Fine…just to make sure you don’t drown out here…”

“Lucky me ~”

Instead of ripping his clothes off quickly and jumping into the water ready to confess his desires to you as you hoped, Rolan instead brings his hands to undo his collar slowly and methodically. Somehow the slow stripping is not only frustrating you but also exciting you, the robe rolls off his shoulders and he takes the time to fold it up neatly. A tightening in your lower stomach is driving you mad, how hard is it to undress quickly?

Opening your mouth to give him a hard time your comment gets halted in your throat. Rolan lifts his red undershirt over his head exposing his chest lined with beautiful ridges. The ridges seem to lead your eyes along his surprisingly athletic build, the moonlight shining on his body showing off just how toned he is; tense muscles being stretched as he raises his arms to relieve some tension from being so confined. He’s been hiding all this under those robes? That's just criminal…

Then his hands go for his belt and you're completely caught in a trance mouth slightly parting as he undoes the first button, seeming to remember your presence in the shining spring his golden eyes lock with yours and all your previous nerve leaves as your heart lurches. Quickly you turn around breaking his gaze, you swear you hear a slight chuckle before the clearing of his throat. Closing your eyes you chastise yourself for being a pervert, but that still doesn’t stop the image of his bare body replaying over and over in your mind running through all the possibilities the night could hold.

Sounds of sloshing water along with a sigh breaks you from your thoughts. Turning you can’t help but smile at what looks like a very blushy Rolan, feeling nice you give him a round of applause as he settles in the warm water.

Rolan rolls his eyes, “Your an idiot”

“What, I thought you liked adoring applause?”

Rolan ignores your comment, shaking his head as he cups the shimmering water in his hands. You take the time to admire him trying to relax the best he can, his loose hair hovering softly over his shoulders, you see that not only do his freckles decorate his face, but they are also peppered against his tense shoulders. With a quick motion, Rolan brings the spring water towards his face, rubbing the water against his face then keeping his hands over his eyes for a long moment. You watch him confused by him keeping his eyes covered.

“What are you doing?”

A sigh leaves his nose before he responds, “Relaxing”

Getting closer you do a testing poke to his left shoulder, and an irritated groan leaves his chest.

“You don’t seem relaxed…”

“I’m working on it.”

“Maybe you should try swimming around then?”

Rolan pulls his hands from his eyes, golden irises glow as his ardent gaze lands on you. Suddenly you're hyper-aware of how close you two have drifted and how bare you are right underneath the cyan water. All your previous nerve starts to sink away being replaced by a growing flush to your skin.

Rolan lifts a brow leaning down slightly to take in your face, you put on your best poker face to seem unbothered through Rolan quickly sees past it and is ready to tease you, “Heat finally getting to you?”

“No”

“Then why are you so red?”

“Why are you so red?”

Rolan folds his arms over his chest and you roll your eyes, “redder than usual”

“What do you expect? It’s hot.”

“Aren't tieflings like…heat resistant?”

Rolan goes to argue back but he seems to be unable to think of anything so he turns his back towards you muttering under his breath.

Turned away, you trace the paths left by his infernal ancestors. He seemed to have relaxed when teasing you, but now…

“You can feel the tension radiating off….”

Rolan's ears seem to perk up and he glances at you.

You sigh, “I was hoping to help…”

“I…you…” Rolan sighs collecting his thoughts, a cuss slips his lips before he starts again, “You are helping…I just…” Rolan takes his hand to cover his eyes again, “I don’t know how to let myself relax…”

Carefully you reach your hands to rub his back, he practically feels like a board, so tense under your fingers. You lean your head to rest on him.

“Rolan, let me…try something….”

You continue to rub his back and shoulders gently working out the knots. Right as he seems to start to relax he tenses up again. A soft hum leaves you as you continue to work down his back. Dropping from his shoulders you use his ridges to guide you, softly you rub his shoulder blades feeling the sharp tips. When you touch them you feel Rolan tense and lean forward slightly.

“Am I hurting you?”

Rolan looks over his shoulder, his eyes moving from your flushed shoulders following the drips running back into the cloudy water keeping the rest of you hidden, only enough for his imagination to run wild. “No, I’m just…not used to being touched like this.”

“I could stop…”

You keep your hands on his spine, trying to savor this moment in case he says yes. You close your eyes and keep your hands as gentle as possible hoping he won't say yes, that he won’t move away. Just keeping this moment touching his warm skin for a bit longer…

“Don’t stop…it's helping me”

Biting down the smile on your lips you continue to rub his back blindly moving through the water. Over time you get lower slightly rubbing above the base of his tail. A steady sigh leaves Rolan's chest as you continue to work. You even feel all your nerves starting to settle in this perfect moment, then suddenly a wrapping around your calf startles you enough to let out a yipe. Rolan, snapping back to reality goes to retreat his tail and move away from you, but before he can run away you quickly grab his wrist. He pauses for a second, then he turns towards you, your eyes wide, lips trembling for the words to say.

It only takes a moment before Rolan pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you suddenly and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry…”

“D-don’t be…”

Rolan moves his face from your neck and you feel your body heating up as his shining eyes watch you, slowly roaming from your eyes to your glossy lips, then down to where your chest is pressing against his.

Rolan's eyes linger for a moment before he brings his head down to whisper, “You feel like you're burning up…”

All you can do as you feel his clawed hands moving slowly down your back is nod and lean into him further. Touching him now he seems much more relaxed, more open, confident. Right as you're settling yourself on his chest you whisper the words he’s been waiting to hear.

“Kiss me…”

Quickly you feel his hand lifting your chin and then meeting your lips for an almost too eager kiss, but you had been wanting this equally as bad. Rolan's lips are soft and assertive as he leads you through the kiss. The familiar feeling of his tail sliding up your leg no longer draws a gasp from you but a wanting moan, craving for his warmth to further engulf you. Rolan, always striving for more, lifts your arms to wrap around his neck as he slips his smooth tongue in your mouth to get a taste of you. It's deep, and teasing as it slides against yours making you meet his enthusiasm, and driving you to want more. Before long you find yourself with fist fulls of his loose hair while his sharp nails dig into the fat of your ass, Pressing you into his hardened shaft, it practically throbs on your thigh.

As you start breaking from the kiss to fully catch your breath Rolan bites on your lower lip, careful not to break the delicate skin, only enough pressure to have you whine before he’s releasing it from his sharp teeth. You're a panting mess feeling like your body is on fire, the spring, his hot touch, your blazing arousal dripping down your thighs; it's all starting to be too much for you. Rolan brushes his nose to yours to bring you back from your fuzzing mind.

“I think it's time you get out. You're as red as me now.” his rich voice taunts

A quick laugh leaves you before it’s ripped from you abruptly. Rolan almost as quickly as he kisses you, he lifts you guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. With shocking little effort, Rolan carries you out of the hot spring back to the dry bank. The sudden chill of the air nipping at your skin should leave you shivering, but wrapped in Rolan's warm limps you find yourself perfectly comfortable.

Playfully you twist and pull the strains of his soft hair. “Not to sound like an insult but I’m surprised you're able to carry me. I didn’t think wizards were all that strong?”

You're both out of the water, dripping on the springs bank still wrapped tightly in his hold. Rolan rolls his eyes at your statement before responding with a smirk, “Well you should know that no wizard can match me, from my talent to my strength.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now and as you do he bounces you within his arms forcing you to grab him tighter making him laugh at you.

“Well, you are definitely relaxed now.”

“I am, I should thank you, Hero.”

You feel yourself getting wetter from his sultry words, “How do you plan on doing that, Archmage?

His eyes spark with something and he grins allowing you to see his sharp canines and molars, “I’m thinking I’m going to fuck you on the bank of this hot spring. Is that what you want?”

Leaning in you breathe into his pointed ears, “Yes…”

Then in the next moment, you feel his lips leaving messy kisses over your neck causing you to hold on tighter as Rolan slowly lowers you to the cool ground. The chill of the forest floor on your back makes a shiver rush your spine causing your nipples to perk and your body to shake. A whine leaves your chest and a smile stretches to his lips as he pulls away from you, his shining eyes roam over your body as he carefully moves his hands to your hips and adjusts to a kneel. Slightly digging in his nails, he pulls your body causing his length to brush your slick sex.

The heat of his cock pressed on your soft flesh makes you shut your eyes with a whimper, he’s not even in you, and your whining.

“Keep your eyes on me.” his voice commands as his hands lift your legs onto his textured shoulders.

Finally opening your eyes you see his eyes watching you as he presses a kiss to your inner knee before taking a quick nip to it causing your hips to buckle forward.

That only feeds his ego, “Don’t tell me you're sensitive…”

You narrow your eyes, “if you were underneath me I would have you whimpering, so don’t get cocky.”

Rolan lets out a laugh as he looks down at your spread sex, wet and quivering for him. You can hear his tail begging to swish behind in excitement.

“We will have to test that on a different night…You look too perfect spread open and waiting for me.” Rolan taunts as he brings his hand to slide his fingers over your glistening cunt, then rubbing slow circles to your swollen clit.

The sensation of his dexterous fingers stimulating your bud causes you to grind your hips on him for more. Falling deeper into the pleasure you feel your lower stomach twist as waves of heat flood your body. You can’t help but shut your eyes with a shivering breath as soft moans slip through your lips.

Rolan tsk as he suddenly pinches your clit making you gasp and shoot your eyes open. “Keep your eyes on me. Understand?”

You quickly nod, keeping your eyes on his gorgeous face. His fingers slide to your entrance, slipping his middle finger slowly to rub your soft fluttering walls. Watching you intensely he slips in a second finger curling the long digits in your velvety insides. Moans of his name and pleads flow out of your lips as he keeps a steady tempo.

“You're being so obedient…that's new for you…”

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can Rolan twists his fingers to the spot that's making you see stars. Rolan seeing your slack jaw expression speeds up his motions. The twisting in your lower stomach gets tighter and tighter as you look at Rolan with pleading eyes. Seeing your expression and feeling your walls clamping down on him, he knows you're closer and he brings his tail to flick on your clit as his other hand keeps your grinding hips in a firm hold.

You are panting as you dig your fingers into the ground you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. Rolan's eyes are on you, staring intensely as he studies every one of your expressions, he looks divine.

“F-Feels so-so good!” You scream breathlessly

He smiles at your stammering, getting excited from your praise. “Yeah? Then cum for me.”

Nodding absently mindlessly you feel his tail flick faster and his fingers curl deeper so perfectly making your coil suddenly snap and your body explode in a wave of white-hot ecstasy as you feel yourself squirt on his fingers, running down his hands and thighs now.

“Prefect…” Rolan whispers as he watches you come down from your high while slowly rubbing your release over his swollen cock.

“You want more?” he asks as he lines himself up to your tight slit.

“Please~” You hum out blissfully, feeling his ridged length’s heat radiating onto you.

Rolan chuckles with a shake of his head, “So greedy…”

He braces his hand tightly on your hip as he pushes the heat of his dick into your cunt. It’s hot and intense as it slides and stretches you. Your walls clench as you moan his name as his ridges rub your insides deliciously. Your thighs tighten as he pushes into you fully, his nails digging into you as his cock throbs as you adjust to him.

“Gods you feel good” he sighs in pleasure. He moves his eyes from where he’s buried within you to your blissed-out face. Rolan brings a hand to cup your cheek and you melt into his touch, turning your face to kiss his palm before giving him a nod that you are ready.

Rolan presses kisses on the insides of your legs again as he brings his hands to your waist. Slowly he starts positioning into you, your eyes roll back as his strokes nudge his burning cock right into your spongy spot that's making you mew shamelessly at every thrust. Rolan picks up his thrusting as he feels your walls clenching on him.

“You're taking-ta-taking me so well darling.” he groans, throwing his head back as his balls slap against you.

Rolan moves your hips up and down to match his thrust as his breathing quickens. Squirming and curling your toes you feel yourself approaching your climax again, but this time you're desperate to have Rolan cum with you.

Rocking your hips against him faster you drive him deeper as his cock now rubs your cervix and your walls lick his ridges. “Rolan, you're amazing! Fantastic! I’m yours whenever you want me! Fuck! Right there!”

Rolan’s sweating skin further flushes at your praise and his moans turn into broken whines as he fucks you faster and bounces you at the perfect pace.

With a couple more thrusts that familiar rush floods you as you arch your back mindlessly screaming as you make a mess over Rolan's cock. With your orgasm quivering and sucking him in he stills and squeezes you tightly as his dick throbs and spurts his burning cum deep within you. Stars slowly fade from your vision as you focus on a panting Rolan still buried deep in you.

With hooded eyes you give a lazy smile, Rolan eyes are glazed over but still focused on you as he smiles back at you. Slowly he pulls out and you wince at the feeling of the sudden emptiness. Rolan settles beside you and carefully holds you to his chest as his tail wraps around your ankle gently.

“Rest with me for a while…then come back to the tower with me.”

You hum in agreement as you let your relaxed state move you to one of sleep. Perfectly warm and perfectly relaxed wrapped in each other's arms.

Larkissa is busy drying the goblets behind the bar to prepare for tonight's service. A tapping of nails on the counter gets her attention away from the task. She turns her head to see a smirking Lia.

“A bet is a bet and I want my 50 gold,” Lia says, holding out her hand.

Larkissa huffs and digs in her pockets, She will have to scold Rolan for not being assertive enough to make the first move.

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avocado-writing · 2 months

Note

Hey there, if you’re still doing requests for BG3... I'm terribly angry about something big and outside of my control at the moment. Could you let me know what you'd think the BG3 companions do if Tav started self destructing? Like Tav passing harsher judgments, snapping at neutral NPCs, or fighting more dangerously and recklessly with bad guys?

Oooo the angst possibilities! Fun! Going to write like you’re self destructing due to stress, and you’re picking unhealthy coping mechanisms. Here we go:

Astarion

at first probably thinks that it’s quite funny. We know he enjoys seeing a little bit of suffering.

but, the more it goes on, the more worried you can see him become.

this isn’t like you. He knows you by now. You’re… kinder than this, damn it.

he takes you to the side one day after he’s seen you be short with a friend.

“whats the matter?” “Nothing, Astarion.” “If you’re going to lie to me, darling, you’d better do a better job of it than that.”

you go to snap at him, fire on your tongue, and then something inside you breaks. You just start sobbing. Everything which has been weighing on your mind has finally become too much.

he isn’t good at comforting words, but he does hold you. Runs his hand up and down your back, and lets you know you he’s here for you whenever you’re ready to speak.

helps you centre yourself again, eventually. He loves you. He’ll do what he can to make things better.

Gale

Makes a couple of snide remarks about how you’re acting, suggesting maybe you be a bit kinder, but then he stops to reassess how you’re acting.

there’s something wrong. You’re pent up. Furious, but not with the people you talk to. They just happen to be the ones bearing the brunt of it.

he sees the injuries you nurse on yourself after battles too. You used to be a clever fighter. Now you are a reckless one.

takes you aside one night at camp and presents his findings very matter-of-factly, concluding that there must be something the matter. When he puts it so astutely, you know you have no chance of hiding from him.

tears slip down your face and he is there in an instant drying your eyes. Telling you there’s nothing to worry about. Reassuring you that “the great Gale of Waterdeep is on your side, we’ll find a way to work things out.”

he puffs his chest out, you chuckle and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Yes. You will find a way to work things out.

Wyll

When he first sees you acting out, as it were, he immediately intervenes.

he knows what it’s like to be under great levels of stress. He made his contact when he was a teenager, after all, and had to deal with all the fallout that happened consequently.

he takes you to the side, holds your hand tightly in his, gets you to look at him.

“i love you, you know that, yes? If there’s something the matter, you need only tell me.”

you begin to crack immediately. Damn this sweet man and his emotional intelligence. Why is he perfect.

you let him know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You agree you’re not coping with it very well. He says he’ll help you however he can, but you need to stop being so unkind to yourself.

“you matter, my love. You deserve sweetness.”

holds you close, and you just stand there for a while, together. From then on whenever something is wrong, he is the first one you go to.

Karlach

Sees you snapping at a friend, jumps in.

“whoa, whoa, whoa! Soldier, where is all this coming from?”

you snap to tell her it’s none of her business, she wouldn’t understand… but then you see the hurt in her eyes and immediately feel awful.

“Oh gods, Karlach, I’m sorry…” your voice is wobbly, cracking a bit, and she cups your face in her warm hands.

“hey, hey. it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

you blurt out all your feelings to her in one, long, run-on sentence. She can’t help with a lot of the personal stuff, but she can listen, and she holds you to her chest and rocks you a little. Being engulfed by her embrace is very comforting.

”I’ve got you, babe, eh?” You know she does. For better or for worse.

Lae’zel

She sees the vicious way that you’ve been acting in battle. Strange, usually it’s her attempting to take the big hit, not you. She can take it, you can’t.

She finds you when you’re tending to your battle wounds. Sits down. Stares at you until you instigate conversation.

“what?” “You are not acting like yourself.” “Oh? And how would you know what that is?”

you’re just saying these things to be hurtful, but she’s stalwart. You’re deflecting.

She tells you she’s been enamoured with you long enough to see how you usually are. That you’re kinder, smarter. You’re lapsing into these feelings out of some sort of self-preservation, but you don’t need to.

”if there is something weighing on your mind, share it. I am here to help ease your burdens.”

you don’t love to cry in front of her but that is remarkably… sweet. It breaks you a bit.

You promise to stop being so foolhardy, especially in battle. She says that must be for the best, lest you get rended in half.

“Hey!” but she’s smiling. Your heart swells as you realise she’s trying to make you laugh.

Shadowheart

Lets you get quite far down the burrow of self-destruction before she does anything.

once again, she’s loyal to the lady of loss. Nothing you’re doing is exactly alarming to her.

but it does get worse and worse… she sees you snapping at friends, being harsher to passers-by, and she’s constantly having to patch you up after battle due to your wounds.

eventually one day you snap at her, and that’s her limit.

“I know something’s causing you stress but it isn’t me. I’m trying to help. So you can either pull your head out of your arse or I’m leaving this tent.”

the two of you have a little squabble, but it quickly becomes obvious your heart isn’t in it. Your anger turns to sadness. You collapse in tears and she pulls you to her without a second thought, holding you close.

despite her sharran devotion, she starts whispering how things can get better, how they will change. How the first step is letting people in.

her hand wound throbs as she comforts you. But in this moment she knows she’d pick you every time.

things are easier from then on, knowing she is with you.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x you #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel x you #astarion x tav #shadowheart x tav #lae'zel x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x tav #wyll ravenguard x reader #karlach x tav #karlach x reader

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writteninlunarlight-years · 3 days

Note

(May 9 2024: Hi Luna! Just cause I'm worried mine was one of the ones that got deleted I'll resend my ask and if it didn't get deleted then please ignore this!)

-----

Gender:

Female

Pronouns:

She/Her

Race:

Rock gnome

Class:

Multiclass Paladin/Cleric (Probably an Oath of the Ancients paladin and a cleric of Lathander but I haven't given it much thought yet)

Alignment:

Neutral good

Sexuality:

Straight

Appearance:

3.2ft tall with tan skin, curly dark auburn hair that falls down to the middle of her back, middle parted bangs dyed blonde that frame her face falling down to the bottom of her ears and thin blonde braids falling down to just above her shoulders. She has bright amber eyes and visible eyebags, her face giving off a feeling that she's tired and been through a lot, but learning to be content with the life she's lived.

Personality:

Around people she's unfamiliar with she's quiet and reserved at first, worried about how they would perceive her but once they've gained her trust and given some of her trust in turn, she's bright and outgoing. She likes to talk about anything she can think about that interests her or would interest the people around her. Regardless of whether she's opened up or not though, she's incredibly loyal and would fight for their safety if needed. Having lost many people in her life - whether they intended to leave her or unintentionally because of tragedy - she's deathly afraid of being abandoned which is why she works so hard to be good and to do good by others, hoping to quell the nagging voice in her head that tells her she's never good enough or kind enough for anyone to really stay in her life. She tries to hide her overwhelming fears and insecurities with her bubbly personality but often times at night, in the comfort of her tent or in the darkness that veils all secrets, she lets out all the worries she's been holding in all day and just... cries it out until it's time to get back up and continue on with the journey.

Likes:

Tea - both hot and iced, animals but mostly cats above all, a nice blanket to just wrap around herself when she's relaxing or resting, reading, would doodle from time to time, salty snacks, not-too-sweet sweets, magic and the possibilities it offers has always been a wonder and beautiful to her, the rain, the feeling of being helpful and useful to others, and being alone

Dislikes:

Vegetables, coffee, VERY strong smells/scents, spiders give her the creeps but she also would not like to kill them, being in large and loud crowds, and being alone

Extra fun fact:

Once she's opened up, oh boy she's a yapper. If she finds something that extremely interests her, she will not stop talking about it for weeks. Sometimes she will stop herself before saying anything because she's scared that the company she's with will find her annoying, but a lot of the times her Need To Talk will override her feeling of being a burden and just infodump you with why this thing is so interesting oh please listen to her she just HAS to let it out or her average sized 3.2ft body will explode.

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(May 9 2024: I will also add this other request of mine in the same ask again)

Also as a separate request (hopefully I'm doing this right or if it's okay) as a Galemancer could I please ask for a Gale x Stelle falling in love and learning to love again type of story?

I had already planned on having Stelle romance Gale in the playthrough I'm planning but I genuinely want to see your take on who would be a nice matchup for her whether that end up actually being someone else entirely!

I really appreciate you resubmitting! I had yours written in my notebook, but since you were an Anon, I didn't know how to notify you! I was swayed about what to choose, but I am confident.

~~~~~ MATCHUPS ~~~~~

BG3

Gale

~~~~~ HEADCANON ~~~~~

Gale is less than pleased with the turn of events in his life. First, Mystra dumps him and leaves a bomb in his heart, then a mind flayer ship kidnaps him, probing his mind, and now he is on an adventure with a band of misfits.

Well, the bright side is that you were there. Yes, you were sometimes quiet and reserved, but you were one hell of a leader.

You were kind to all your fellow companions, never turning anyone down for their weird habits or issues.

You were also quite attractive. When you fought, you were ferocious like a tiger, but when you were at camp, you were calm and docile like a house cat.

When he opened up to you about Mystra and his Tryssem Tara, he was surprised by your eagerness to know more about the cat than about a God.

He found you interesting; all your morals, hobbies, tics, and everything was so fascinating.

When the news came of his potential death, and you were so worried for him, he felt light, happy even.

He was scared to love again, even if he liked you a lot. He was too scared to love you and be hurt once more.

As time passed and he continued to live for you, he fell harder and harder.

He could listen to you talk for hours on end about so many things. You made life bright again, even with a ticking time bomb.

~~~~~ BLURB ~~~~~

After a long, hard battle, the group went to camp; you and many others had wounds far exceeding what was expected in battle planning. Shadowheart and Halsin took turns healing the group; you were the leader, so you asked to go last and just heal yourself. Heading to your tent, you passed all the comrades you grew to call friends. All had agonizing faces due to the pain from their wounds. The feeling of guilt began to gnaw at you. You could have saved everyone this pain if you had just made some better callouts, were a bit stronger, or faster. What stung the most was passing by Gale's tent. He had requested a magical artifact before battle, being fresh out due to some bartering. You told him you'd give him some after the win from today. All you could think, looking at him wincing in pain while lying there, was, 'Stella, how could you be so damn foolish.'

You made your way to your tent, and once inside, you undressed. Slowly relieving yourself of the heavy armor, you started looking for your wounds. You weren't as severely scuffed up as everyone else. Sadly, they all took a lot of hits for you Dressing the wounds you did have every sting and bandage felt like a penance, you should have been just as injured not your poor friends As you dressed the last wound a crack of thunder was heard Peeking out the opening of your tent you saw everyone healed and resting, you all would definitely need a couple days of rest to recoup fully though The rain began soon after, you closed your tent now alone it all came to a head.

The overwhelming emotions took over, and you couldn't help but drop to your knees and cry. The storm ragging on outside covered your cries of pain and torment. How could you let this happen? Thinking back on it, you realize the person who took the most hits for you was Gale. He has always done so since you two had a rendezvous to learn about the weave. The one you lov- no cared about was injured and starving due to you. The tears kept coming, holding yourself close, letting the pain and anguish leave your body. Why were you chosen for all of this? What plan did Lethander have for you? As your body wracked with quivers, suddenly you felt warm. Tan arms were wrapped around you, and bristly chin pressed against your shoulder in the crook of your neck. Jolts ran through you; turning around in the stranger's arms, you were shocked to find Gale there. He looked down at you, reclaiming his hold on you. "Don't you normally love rain? No need to cry, my love, just rest. If you need to cry don't cry alone I will be here for you Stella."

As if breaking the damn, you let it all out, wrapping your arms as best you could around Gales's neck. Crying profusely, he just held you and cradled your head. As the whimpers died with the storm, you two soon found yourselves wrapped together, warm in your tent. Gale cradled you against him, his warm chest below your head. He stayed with you the whole night. As day broke and you had awoken you saw him there resting peacefully, though still injured he was alright and you can only assume he found something to curb his hunger. Smiling, you leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I, Stella, vow to always love you, Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep." As you moved to get up, you were pulled back down into said man's chest. "And I, Stella, vow to stay by your side and love you." A couple extra minutes in bed with your loved one couldn't hurt.

~~~~~ EXTRA ~~~~~

(You were brewing some tea for yourself at the fire. The camp was resting for a bit before heading on the next lead for the brain.)

Y/N: A nice fresh cup of tea really solves all issues.

Gale: I beg to differ. Coffee is much better.

Y/N: How could you say such a thing that's disgusting?

Gale: (Laughing) No, it is much better than leaves from a plant.

Astarion: Gale, are you numb? Coffee is also from plants.

#x reader #bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 x reader #match up #headcanon #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios x reader #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #gale

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final-girl96 · 8 months

Text

My Boyfriend's Back Chapter Forty-Two

The Next Day

Sidney and I decided we would go to the L.A.P.D. Just as we walked into the precinct we saw Dewey, who was in the middle of trying to get a hold of one of us. We did our greetings and then went back to meet Detective Mark Kincaid. He was definitely Sidney's type; dark hair, tall, very handsome, nothing like Billy. He asked us questions and we talked. We also found out that our mother was once an actress that went under a different name. The killer has been leaving her pictures at the crime scenes.

"Can we go where this picture was taken?" I asked. Detective Kincaid nodded his head. "Yeah, sure. It was taken at the studio." We then left with another detective and a few police officers in tow and went to Sunrise Studios. When we got there, we saw the metal stairs that were in the background behind our mom. "Why didn't she ever say anything? I mean, she went by a whole different name back then. Do you think dad knows about this?" I asked, Sid. "I don't know. He did say she had a lot of secrets," she said.

We were walking past one of the trailers when the door opened. I jumped back with a small yelp before looking up to see who it was. "Jesus, Randy! What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. "Who else is going to tell you the rules of a trilogy?" He shrugged. I rolled my eyes and pushed past him into the trailer. Sidney, Gale, and Dewey were close behind. We all sat down and listened to Randy go on about the rules of a trilogy.

"Okay, so here's the critical thing. If we find ourselves to be dealing with an unexpected backstory and a preponderance of exposition, then the sequel rules do not apply. Because we are not dealing with a sequel, you are dealing with the concluding chapter of a trilogy," he explained. "A trilogy?" Dewey asked, and Randy nodded.

"That's right. It's a rarity in the horror field, but it does exist, and it's a force to be reckoned with, because true trilogies are all about going back to the beginning and discovering something that wasn't true from the get go. 'Godfather', 'Jedi', all revealed something that we thought was true, that wasn't true. So if it is a trilogy we are dealing with, here are some super trilogy rules." Great more rules to try and remember while fight yet another fucking killer.

"One, we got a killer who's gonna be superhuman. Stabbing him won't work. Shooting him won't work. Basically, in the third one, we gotta cryogenically freeze his head, decapitate him, or blow him up." I raised my eyebrow at that, "really? Can't we just shoot him in the head and be done with it?" He shushed me and continued on.

"Number two; anyone, including the main character, can die. This means you, Sid, and you," he said, looking at me. "I'm sorry, it's the final chapter. It can be fuckin 'Reservoir Dogs' by the time this thing is through. Number three; the past will come back to bite you in the ass!" He gave me another look and I cleared my throat. "Whatever you think you know about the past, forget it. The past is not at rest, any sins you think were committed in the past are about to break out and destroy you."

He never took his eyes off me while saying that. I knew he was talking about Stu. This time around all that I've been hiding would come out into the public and then I'm fucking six ways to Sunday. "I'm just glad I got to be here and tell you all this. I made a tape back at Windsor as a just in case. Honestly, I'm surprised I survived since I lost my virginity to Karen Kolchak in the back of the video store in the porno section," Randy said.

"Creepy Karen?" Dewey asked, and I snorted, trying to keep from laughing. "Shut up! She's a nice girl!" Randy argued. "He went on a date not too long ago with her," I blurted out. Everyone looked at him, and he huffed out a heavy sigh. "She's a nice person!" After Randy was done with all his rule telling, and we calmed down from teasing him about Karen, we left the trailer. Sidney had to go to the bathroom, so I went with her while Gale went off to do her own detective work, and Dewey and Randy waited outside the sound stage for me and Sideny.

I stood at the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. Randy's words about the past coming back rang in my mind. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn't notice Sidney coming up beside me. "You okay?" I shook my head and looked at her. "Mmhm. Yeah, I'm fine." She turned the faucet on and washed her hands. We were getting ready to leave the bathroom when a noise from one of the stalls had us stopping in our tracks.

Sidney pulled out her pepper spray, and we slowly walked over to the stall. I took a deep breath and looked at Sidney, who nodded her head. She had her pepper spray ready, and I pushed the door open. A girl with short brown hair looked up at us after dropping her bag. I looked down to see a ghostface mask. Sidney bent down to help her pick up her things. "I wanted a souvenir. I didn't think anyone would mind," she said and quickly put all her stuff in her bag.

When she stood up and got a good look at us, her eyes got a little wide. "You're Sidney prescott! I'm you! Well, I mean, I play you in the movie, or I was supposed to." Sidney smiled at her, "it's nice to meet you…" The girl held her hand out, "Angelina. Well, I better get going. It was so nice to meet you both." Then she was gone.

"Well, that was weird," I said. Sidney bent down and picked something up. "Wait! You forgot your brush!" She headed for the door and rushed out into the sound stage. "Sidney, wait up!" I went after her, and we walked through a door, and as soon as I realized exactly where we were, I stood dead in my tracks. "Sidney, wait!" It was too late though she was already out the door.

I slowly walked through the hall and spun in circles. I was standing in the entryway of Stu's house. There were so many memories that came flooding back. It was unreal how accurate it looked. I looked into the living room. The first memory that came to mind was Randy going on about the rules to survive a horror movie.

"You don't know the rules?!" He stood up. "Great. Thanks, babe." He shrugged and looked at Randy. "Have an aneurysm, why don't you?" Randy stood in front of the tv and started his whole rule bullshit. "There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie. For instance, number one: you can never have sex." Everyone booed and threw popcorn at him. Stu kissed my neck. "It looks like we're dead, baby." I laughed and lightly hit him. "BIG NO NO!" Randy said, swatting at the popcorn.

"Sex equals death, okay? Number two: You can never drink or do drugs." There were cheers, and everyone raised their bottles. "The sin factor! It's a sin. It's an extension of number one. And number three: never, ever, ever under any circumstances say, "I'll be right back." Because you won't be back." Stu pulled out from under me and stood up, kissing my forehead, and then stood by the kitchen door. 'I'm gettin'' another beer, you want one?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure," Randy told him. Stu held his arms out, "I'll be right back," he said and backed into the kitchen. "See, you push the laws, and you end up dead. Okay, I'll see you in the kitchen with a knife."

That was all before shit really hit the fan and I learned that my boyfriend was a fucking psychopath who helped kill my mother. If only we could go back to the times before all this. Before the murders. Before our lives were made into a movie. We would never get away from this no matter how hard we tried.

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brightlotusmoon · 2 years

Text

Diary Of A Mom:

A couple of days ago, Sora at Angry, Asian, and Autistic wrote, “Teach your autistic kids about consent. I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating because I see evidence of it everywhere, that folks aren’t doing it. I don’t care if it’s a hard thing to teach, and/or you’re not 100% sure if your autistic child will ever fully understand what consent and boundaries are. Do it anyway. I promise it’s worth the effort. They are worth the effort.”

It’s something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. And by lately, I mean the last, oh, ten years or so?

The thing is, a lot of us roll our eyes when we’re told to teach something to our kids because we think that it means, “Sit down and talk to your child about this topic.”

For a lot of kids with developmental disabilities, that’s just not how they learn. For them, introducing a complex and highly nuanced topic through conversation is like trying to teach surgery while waterskiing.

So we get defensive. We think, “You know nothing about my kid. YOU try lecturing him about consent. Good luck,” and we pick up our ball and walk away.

I submit that we need to broaden our idea of what it means to teach our children.

Before we scoop a two year old out of their high chair, do we say, “May I pick you up?”

When we’re tickling our three year-old and, even through gales of laughter, she says, “No more!” do we stop or do we teach her that she didn’t really mean it?

When an uncle goes in for a hug and our kid recoils, do we insist that he hug him anyway?

When our third grader steps out of line, does the teacher casually take her by the shoulders and reposition her?

When our autistic ten year old is struggling to tie his shoes, do we guide him, hand-over-hand without waiting to see if that’s okay?

There are a thousands ways to teach consent that have nothing to do with talking.

Brooke has a script that long ago sprouted from Frosty the Snowman. She asks if we want some Summer Wheeze. The bit is that we’re supposed to taste it. If it’s summer, it’s delicious. Any other time of year, it’s terrible and we make a big show of how awful it is. (Listen, people, I don’t write this stuff, I’m just here to report it.)

Anyway, she offers the Summer Wheeze. If it’s not summer, I say no. She says, “Aw, c’mon, try it.” I resist. She insists. We go back and forth a few times until I inevitably give in and take a sip. It’s been a script for so long that I stopped really hearing it.

A couple of months ago, I heard it. And I didn’t like what I heard. So I told her that. I told her that it made me uncomfortable … and why. I told her that even though it was just a game, we needed to remember to respect each other’s boundaries.

Those words had no meaning for her, so I changed them. I told her that when someone says no, we need to stop what we’re doing. That nothing should happen to anyone’s body that they don’t want. So if she says no, I need to stop. If I say no, she needs to stop.

We’re still working on it. We’ll likely be working on it for a long time.

The reality is that many of our autistic kids have been trained to comply with whomever is in authority. No matter how we try to pretty it up, the crux of a whole lot of that therapy that everyone told us was the key to their futures was compliance. Want a reward? Do what the adult is telling you to do. Doesn’t matter what it is. Doesn’t matter why. Doesn’t matter if it’s uncomfortable or painful or makes no earthly sense to you, your job is simply to do what you’re being told to do.

Hand-over-hand instruction, physical guidance, palms on each side of the face to force focus … No one is asking for their consent. No one is showing them that it matters. In fact, we’re expressly teaching them that it doesn’t.

So we’re reframing the script. We’re talking about it in the way that we talk about things. A little bit at a time. Retracing our steps. Circling back. Doing it all again. And most importantly, modeling it. *Demonstrating* what it means.

So, yeah, I couldn’t agree more with Sora that we need to teach our autistic children about consent. And I submit that we need to broaden our idea of what it means to teach our children.

#diary of a mom #being autistic #disability advocacy #we need to change the conversation #ableism #being neurodivergent #this is very important

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winderlylandchime · 8 months

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The Man, the Myth, the Legend is tired and in pain but that’s his own fault and you will see why: ‘OH HOT GUY ALERT! Emmett..baby..he is wearing denim on denim with a leather jacket, if that doesn’t scream gay, idk what does. GAY! WHAT DID I SAY!’ He just paused the episode and walked to the tv to look at Justins art ‘THATS bc you accepted a boy who wasn’t beaten yet. So of course his work was different, sherlock! Now stop being a prick and let my boy draw on his computer! We expect our students to what now? What did he just say about excelling at everything? Just bc he’s disabled doesn’t mean he won’t be amazing?! Oh just say you don’t accept disabled people you old fart! Fuck you and your tradition! I hate this clown..oh i guess the clown has some brain after all!..BRIAN! Dont put any ideas in his head.. oh he wants him to succeed and be the best and do good and this is a lot to handle on so many pain meds’ ‘why is linds being a bitch? Since when is she so uptight? Oh, the silence is LOUD…BRIAN WILL YOU GRAB THAT AND THEN HE JUST DOES? OH HE IS GONE. THAT MAN IS IN LOVE! HE IS SO IN LOVE AND NOBODY EXCEPT ME FOR SOME REASON SEES THIS *looks at me like he just realized im there too* can you see it?!’ ‘Okay dudes, that was not chill! You don’t do that to your friends. It’s fun to be jokey but that was not cool, yall are better than that…are you tho? MICHAEL BET 5 WEEKS?! i guess people do change. Tell them debbie! At least she gets it, even if she only gets it once every 17 episodes’…‘Ben better be better than David. Oh is he gonna be the one..i mean he’s asking him to talk about comics..david hid them. I hated that. Okay Benny boy, you can stick around, I’ll allow it but you get 3 strikes!’ ‘Okay goatee dude, chill the fuck out. People are allowed to have relationships and still be the hottest thing around. Don’t make him self conscious, i have worked overtime to try and get him to admit to being in love! DONT RUIN THIS FOR ME!….NOOOO HE RUINED IT FOR ME!…MICHAEL! WHAT THE FUCK MICHAEL WHO JUST SAYS THAT TO A PERSON? Just when i was about to be in your corner, someone please hit him! You cant just say fucked up shit and then say sorry! Thats not how that works!’ Then he felt bad for Mikey bc of the school thing and then he hated that he felt bad bc hes mad at him ‘Oh we are getting hot and HEAVY! Bri Bri, i am impressed! You knew he was upset and why! Oh so that guy was nothing but Justin is something? MY DUDES WE SERIOUSLY NEED TO LEARN HOW TO TALK. Aww he doesn’t want Brian to change. Now that’s love! Oh COME ON, I CANT FUCKING WIN EVEN FOR A MINUTE! Im a good person, i deserve good stuff, throw me a bone ffs’ ‘aw Benny boy is listening! Oh he is way better than david! If youre the one, you can stay! Just do me a favor and make mike more tolerable, i am begging for the sake of my well being..that was sweet mike, now give me brian and justin again!’ He had to go and take his last dose of pills for today and he just looked at the ceiling and flapped his arms around while making no noise at all, so id say he’s handling it well. ‘Listen, i am 100% straight. But THIS *points to a paused screen of Brian in the green light in the beginning of the non confession scene* is one beautiful man! I AM INTRIGUED And I would not mind him hitting on me.’ I made a comment that he is now 54 years old to which he puts his hand up in my face and goes ‘I’ll get back to you on that’ and just continued to watch. 1/2 of 2x06

Dear sweet anon - I am SCREAMING over him asking if you see that Brian is in love too. Yes, Brother Anon, that's why we're all here 20 years later. Still sobbing over them.

And yes, Gale Harold is the most beautiful man to ever man. I have a straight crush on him and even at 54 he could get it. The green light scene is one of my favorite. UGH that profile.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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daisytachi · 2 years

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Thing is I think Sidney always love/hate billy because I think their 2 Billy’s in sidneys eyes the billy she fell in love with and he will always be her first everything and the monster who killed her mother, friends and tried kill her, and find out he also cheated on her she appeared indifferent because he was the past and she is married and has kids now so after everything she knows about billy that little in comparison but it must hurt a little bit to learn he had interest in other people and even more of his betrayal

Aah for that, i will say anything because to me, scream 5 is a bad movie and i don't count it canon. It's not in his pathology to cheat. I mean, how many time we hear the characters saying he was too perfect or that he loved his perfect image? He is this kind of psycho who will have a simple life, who will look nice and stuff but who will never risk to break this perfect life he built. It's like a way to hide his true nature for him.

So to me, again, it's only up to me and i understand if people love the movie and if they see this new story as canon, it's just uncredited the OG characters as they were etablished in the trilogy. Also, if really Billy was a cheater, Craven would had etablished it in Scream 3 with all the revelations and in Scream 4 too. Actually, if we look at it with ironic eyes, Craven was saying nice guys beside Derek were cheaters. I mean, listen how Jill talked about her ex boyfriend to Sid when she shot him. Look how was Hank Loomis in Scream 1. He seems nice..until we read the Gale's investigation over Sunshine Industry. Hollywood has now this frakkin obsession to connect their new females characters with etablished villains and it just doesn't sound right in my opinion but it's an other topic.

I can see Stu cheating on Tatum because his pathology let me think he was very touchy as a person. He was flirting, hugging everyone, stuff like that. + it's clear to me, again it's only up to me, he was dating Tatum to piss off Casey but it didn't work. Billy was an introvert and like a cat as a psycho. Cheating would had risk to frak up his goal.

And also, marrying Sid to Kincaid was pure fanservice to me. It was insulting her actually. The guy had an all file on her, not on the others victims. He refused to talk with Neal and only wanted to talk to Sid. Even his partner mocked his obsession with her. And again, in Scream 4, she didn't mention it. She never showed any romantic interest for him. I wish they would had marry her to an unknown husband who was far away of her tragedy, someone who works in a theater or something and let Kincaid being a true friend to Sid instead. But well...

Okay okay, i repeat it. I understand people loving Scream 5... but i don't count it as canon, i just can't. But as a fan of Skeet, of course i reblogged the gifs where he appeared. But the movie disappointed me a lot. If you love it, i'm okay with it and i will never force my opinion on you. Never!! Again, enjoy what you love is my mojo now.

I saw a lot of people here who love Scream 5 and i imagine they will be happy to talk about it with you.

I only want to talk about the trilogy. I'm old school.

#nuri's words

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thecagedbard · 19 days

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Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here. There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings. A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy.

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 8,897/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter Nine

“You know, I have to say,” Gale said as he perched on the boat next to Vesper, “that was quite the farewell you got from Astarion this morning.” He kept his voice low so the duergar who had boarded their vessel didn’t overhear. “I hadn’t realized the two of you were so close,” Vesper turned and looked at the wizard, thankful that the illusory image of her sister kept him from seeing her flushed cheeks, though it didn’t do much to hide her rounded eyes as she looked away quickly.

The corners of her mouth were upturned, “You may be the only if even Halsin caught on.” Gale lifted his hand to his chest, “You wound me. I knew you were close but not so close to have such a passionate goodbye in front of everyone. Though, perhaps, I am just a little more conservative in my own acts of affection.” The bard’s head tilted and she leaned close to the wizard, her voice low as she teased him about his own relationship with Mystra, “Conservative or just astrally adventurous.” Gales's mouth formed an ‘O’ shape as he chuckled, “Fair enough. I’m done teasing I suppose…truly I just wanted to keep your mind clear. After our breakfast intervention and knowing what we’re coming up to…I must admit I’m worried. About you, I mean.”

Sparing him a glance as she turned to look behind them, Vesper nodded, “Thank you. I’ll be okay I think…as long as they don’t turn their rods on me at least.”

That morning, Vesper had awoken to several terse voices not far from the tent. When she emerged, her hand rubbing her tired eyes, she saw everyone around the fire. “None of you thought to tell her that you saw into her dreams?” Astarion had said and Karlach glanced behind her as she rounded the corner. “It’s not that, Astarion,” the tiefling said, keeping her eyes on the drow, “We didn’t know how to bring it up. That’s part of the reason I want Vesper to wear that ring of mind shielding…not because I don’t want to share your dreams,” she began to address the bard in the back who was trying to disappear back into the tent, “but because I don’t want you to share something you’re not comfortable sharing. That’s all!”

Astarion turned and looked at the drow before crooking his fingers, “None of you thought how she’d feel learning about it later, did you?” He turned and looked at Shadowheart, “For someone so secretive about her own self you don’t seem to mind sharing others' histories…even things they haven’t told people themselves.” When Vesper got close enough he looked at her again, “We all have a past. Karlach was sold to Zariel. I was tricked into my slavery to Cazador. Wyll is Mizora’s little bitch…none of us want to talk about the horrible things that happened to us. No one has poked at Wyll about what he experienced as he was dragged through the hells.”

The warlock opened his mouth before closing it. The bard was unsure if he was going to share or defend himself.

“All I’m saying is that perhaps you could all have a little heart and not tell everyone the awful things that have happened to our bard,” Astarion tilted his head as he looked at Shadowheart. The cleric was watching Vesper though, she adjusted her jaw before speaking, “I’m sorry, Vesper. Astarion’s right…I had no right to share what I did with Halsin or Gale and Wyll.” Vesper nodded and Astarion huffed, “That’s it? Just going to forgive them that easily?”

The bard turned to look at him, “What can I say?” she shrugged, “First apologies in ten years may sway me more than anger…” The high elf cleared his throat and pursed his lips. Karlach’s face fell, “I’d give you the biggest hug if I could Vesper…” she turned to look at them around the fire and showed a tense smile.

There was a tense silence as they all looked around before Lae’zel spoke up, “Who is this Mariwen…why did that man say it was your fault?” The other’s heads whipped around to the githyanki, “Just because the rest of you prattle on and gossip does not mean I too did not experience the dream.” Slowly the attention of those around the campfire turned back to the bard and she took a shaky breath, warmth enveloped the middle of her back. Looking up Halsin stood on one side of her, his head bowing in a nod; with another breath, Vesper launched into her story about her children again.

Unlike the night before where she kept glancing at the druid, this time she kept her eyes on the fire as it danced within the pit.

“Someone hug her, I can’t…” pleaded Karlach as Vesper finished. Wyll was quick to acquiesce to Karlach’s request, his arms encircling the bard’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry for your losses,” he whispered to her before stepping back. The redhead lifted her eyes to meet him, she knew her body had gone stiff the moment he embraced her, “Thank you.”

She listened to them as they talked more agreeing that from now on if there was a dream shared through the tadpole to talk to the person they believe it came from. Karlach approached her as the others began cooking and held out the ring she’d received for telling Omeluum the story of how they’d gotten to the underdark, “Seriously. Keep this. If it’ll work to keep your thoughts your own, you deserve it.” Vesper tilted her head up and gave the tiefling a genuine smile before nodding, “And if we have to go to Baldur’s Gate, point that prick out to me the moment you see him. I’d like to have some words…between his arse and my foot.”

Preparations to leave had been started, Gale had been the one to suggest she disguise herself before leaving camp. Astarion jerked his head up and moved rather swiftly to her side, “Before you do,” was all the warning she had before he grabbed her hip with one hand and pulled her close. Vesper had practically shrieked when she was forcibly moved, and frozen for just a moment before melting into Astarion’s kiss. Thankfully she couldn’t hear the low whistle Karlach let out as her hands fisted in his cotton tunic, but the tangy metallic taste against her tongue after she opened her mouth to the rogue’s prodding made her push at him just the tiniest bit. He leaned back, his tongue wetting his own lips, “I was going to wait but I’d rather see this than a false image of that sister of yours.” The bard was dazed as she stepped away from him and nodded, “Right. That….that makes sense.”

Thinking back on it now, on this rickety little boat, her lip began to tingle as she pressed them together. Gale pointed just past her, “My spell isn’t nearly as powerful as your eyesight, but there’s something just ahead.” Vesper pulled back from her musings to look in the direction he pointed, he was right. Large statues loomed ahead, she stood up and braced herself as they neared.

Thankfully, Vesper’s lack of knowledge of how Lloth's sworn drow behaved didn’t cause any issues. She just pulled on all the mannerisms her sister embodied over nineteen years of knowing her. At the very least these underdwarves couldn’t tell the difference.

“Something wrong?” questioned Shadowheart as the spiders ran off to find Lloth’s faithful. “Oh, I’m just beginning to wonder if my sister was perhaps darker than I thought…” replied the bard as she continued to look around, “Have you found anywhere worth trying to summon the others?” Gale nodded, “There’s a locked door in this direction, I had to agree to throw some gnomes into the dark waters but it should be safe for you to…” he cleared his throat, “unlock.”

Lae’zel searched the pockets of the dead gnomes while Shadowheart and Gale kept an eye on the duergar; Vesper kneeled at the door her tongue poking between her teeth as she worked on the lock. “Any luck yet,” asked Shadowheart. “This is different from the locks he had me practicing on last night…it’ll just take a minute…Oh, I got one,” the bard bounced before focusing again.

“It’s almost adorable how excited you are about your criminal education,” Gale said with his head turned, so the bard could hear him. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I didn’t exactly take you as a sneaky thief type,” he waved a dismissive hand. Shadowheart laughed softly, “Not everyone is as they appear, Gale. Not to mention besides the bad we know about our dear bard, we don’t know much about your life before.”

Another pin stuck, and the door shifted, “Got it, let's go.” She stood and began pocketing the tools before she pushed the door open, “And we,” she looked at the wizard as he stepped up beside her, “did whatever we had to do to survive. I’m a much better pickpocket…” Gale raised a brow as they walked through the Nightfeast. “Is that so?” he pressed a button that was against the wall, “Much practice doing that?”

Vesper nodded as she balanced over the unleveled floor, “When I was much younger my brother Vale would play while one of our sisters danced, people would be so caught up in their drinks or the entertainment they never saw Perris and me rifling through their pockets. And of course, if they caught us we were fast enough to get away and Lothaire would just bully them into leaving us be.” She smiled fondly, “I miss them sometimes.”

Carefully sneaking by the two acid pools, Lae’zel spied the two large acidic blobs that clung to the ceiling, Gale found an area to begin his ritual. “I’ll leave the chalk markings here in case we need to come back later, just give me enough time to gather the others,” he looked at Lae’zel and Shadowheart who then looked at one another and nodded. It was Vesper they had to stop from wandering off though, the bard was too curious about what else this area of the place was hiding.

When the others arrived, it took a little bit of time for Gale to perform the ritual the second time, they set out. They found a gnome with a large container of rune powder, the bard was practically a sweaty mess when the gnome gave them a vial of the powder and left with the larger one. She had to sit down after that.

“I think we’re better off trying to save the drow…or well, are we saving him or leaving him to die. Either way is fine with me, we just need his head,” Astarion said as he walked around the area where the gnome had been hiding. He was searching the bookshelves and looking over the stone tablets.

“We have to save the gnomes, Astarion,” Karlach said.

“Ugh, why must it be gnomes…”

Wyll pointed at the spawn, “You said something similar when we saved that man from the goblins back in Moonhaven. What do you have against them?”

“Nothing I suppose, just one of Cazador’s spawn…I assume they’re most like him really, so why save any of them,” he pocketed something from the bookshelf. “Weren’t we supposed to find something about the Nightsong in a Sharran temple?” he picked up one of the tablet fragments again, “This mentions the lady of loss more than once…”

“What? Let me see,” Shadowheart rushed to his side and began trying to piece the tablets together.

“You cannot hold an entire race of people responsible for the acts of one person,” Wyll shook his head, “Just because one of your spawn siblings bothers you, doesn’t mean that they’re all the same.” Astarion scrunched his nose in annoyance, “I think you’ll find I can. I’ve yet to meet a gnome who amazed me…”

“Did your gnome brother tattle on you or something?” Gale asked as he helped Vesper back to her feet.

“More than once…”

The others got quiet before Karlach cleared her throat, “Right well…let’s annoy the piss out of Astarion and save these gnomes. Because slavery, Astarion,” she pointedly looked at him, “is bad.”

They entered the hottest portion of the area, lava flowing just under their feet, and Vesper had to adjust her illusory image to give her sister’s face the appearance of sweat. She met with the sergeant who didn’t have a tadpole but seemed to be a believer of the absolute anyway. With the mention of a vial of rune powder the dwarf practically pushed her forward toward the gnomes. And there was a familiar face.

“Barcus Wroot?” she said softly and one of the deep gnomes turned and looked at her, “Hello. I’m not supposed to talk but…do I know you?” Her eyes widened before she remembered the face she was showing, while it was just like her own even the change in complexion and the different hair might make her look like a different person. “We met at the windmill, I–I saved you from the goblins,” he looked her over and nodded slowly, “Right. Well…if you could be as heroic now that would be great…they won’t likely keep us alive after we get the drow out of here.”

Vesper nodded, “Stay away from the lava,” she took the vial of rune powder out of her pocket, “try to avoid being used as a shield. The blonde doesn’t mind collateral damage.” The gnomes paused and looked at the vial, “Go, run for cover.” She turned and walked back to Astarion’s side, “Don’t shoot the vial yet…” he glanced at her through the corner of his eye, “Why?”

Vesper tried to make sure the man behind the rubble wouldn’t hear her as she used the tadpole to speak to the others, “Kill the dwarves. We risk the gnomes if we don’t take them out now.” She saw Karlach begin to stretch and heard her, “Right then.” She glanced at the others and received subtle nods from Wyll and Gale. Lae’zel began to stretch and reached for the hilt of her long sword while Shadowheart hid her face behind her shield, though she could hear the cleric as she began to say a prayer.

“Go ahead,” she said to Astarion with a nod.

The rogue still seemed unsure as he hesitated for just a moment before he lifted his hands, “Ignis!” A flame lashed from his fingertips and hit the sergeant right in the back, “Oops…I missed.” The sergeant turned and drew her sword, “Traitorous bastards!”

The under dwarf let out a yell for help that was eclipsed by Karlach’s rage as she rushed forward and shoved the sergeant into the lava. It didn’t stop the scrying eye that had been hovering around them from calling for help though.

Barcus and the other gnomes did as they had been told and ran for hiding places, two taking the opportunity to shove the dwarves or to try and trip them as they came running. With her rapier in one hand and the other holding her crossbow, Vesper focused on the dwarf that was trying to shoot them from above. When she missed twice she dodged the blow of a dwarf near her and called to Wyll. The warlock misty stepped onto the balcony and with an eldritch blast threw the duergar off of its perch.

Shadowheart pulled one of the illithid bombs they’d found on the nautiloid from her side and threw it in the center of a group of the duergar, “Gale!” The wizard swung around and summoned a fireball atop the grouped dwarves before jumping back from the swing of one near him, “Karlach! A little help please!”

It wasn’t the strength of the duergar that gave the party issue, but rather the sheer amount of them and the room’s hazards. Vesper danced on her toes around the duergar trying to avoid their weapons while at the same time trying to steer herself away from the lava, the two duergar clearly trying to push her in its direction.

Astarion came up behind one and stabbed his daggers into each side of the dwarf’s neck. Despite armor upgrades and careful dodging, the group did receive injuries and as Lae’zel beheaded the final dwarf, one wearing a mask that had been a particular annoyance for Astarion, they each took a moment to heal themselves.

Barcus ran forward while they collected themselves, “You did it! I can’t believe it…but inside there are more of us…please.” He stuttered the last bit, staring at Vesper who nodded, “Right, hide again.” She looked at Astarion and Gale who glanced at each other before Astarion turned and cast another firebolt cantrip at the rune powder.

As the dust cleared, Vesper stepped forward, watching gnomes run out and a male drow stepped from the rubble. He swore at one cowering female before shoving her into the lava, Vesper jumped forward, “Stop that!”

The drow looked her over, and Vesper realized where she’d screwed up. Yasmine didn’t care about another’s pain. She quickly schooled her features and narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her. “What happened here?” he questioned looking at the bodies surrounding the area. The bard licked her lips, tasting her own sweat and blood that ran down her face. Shit, there was blood on her face but probably not Yasmine’s. “True believers against traitors…we survived,” she said, her voice faltering as she was unsure if she wanted to say that they were True Souls.

Nere looked her over and stepped forward, “Very well. You will dispose of the gnomes, they have–” “No I won’t!” she said and felt her tadpole writhe in answer as it pushed into his head. The Absolute has other plans for these gnomes. His head tilted, “Yes…yes–” he frowned and shook his head as her attempt at charming him failed, “Lies!” Vesper’s eyes widened and she turned to try to avoid his lunging hand.

His fingers slid through the illusion of Yasmine and found purchase on the lip of her collar, not chancing it he gripped tightly and jerked the bard backwards. Like lightning thrumming through her body, Vesper screamed as she felt the threads in her shoulder pull before snapping as she was thrown behind him. She rolled as she landed and hiss as the lava popped hitting her boots, “Shit, shit, shit!” Vesper cursed as she tried to crawl away from the most dangerous part of the room. Unfortunately for her, every time she moved her arms to pull herself up the pain in her shoulders thrummed through her.

“Save her!” she heard Astarion yell and felt three sets of hands pulling her arms and pulling her away from the molten lava. She released a pained cry as the gnomes dragged her away from the fight and she felt the loss of the magic over her appearance as her disguise fell away.

From their hiding spot she could hear Karlach’s enraged yell and the sound of metal cleaning against metal and then just hard breathing. Footsteps pounded against the grate and she felt hands on her hips turning her over, “Vesper!” Shadowheart’s panicked voice met her as she turned and lay flat on her back. The cleric began unbuckling her armor, “Your collar.”

The bard nodded, “Take it off…just fucking take it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks from the abrupt pulling and the jerking that had happened at her throat. Barcus Wroot was still hovering over her as he watched the cleric strip the bard of her armor and then there was Astarion a knife in hand, “It’s alright, darling, we’ve got it from here.” Brandishing the blade just in front of her Vesper felt herself slipping and soon found herself within her own mind. In that boat where she’d been during her night with the high elf.

She could barely hear the sounds as the boat rocked in the dark waters. Shouting was softened to a whisper, something cool across her forehead and cheeks while her shoulders burned. Until there was nothing but the burning where she ached. No sound besides the water lapping at the sides of the boat, she was safe again. The pain would lapse and she’d awaken to new aches and bruises.

“I just hope I can move my arm after this…”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

“Use your tadpole, it’s a connection to her.” Vesper frowned as the new voice, deeper, but with an underlying worry she wasn’t used to. “Let me,” that was…Gale? Vesper sat up in the boat and looked around before an image of Gale materialized in front of her. “Gale?”

“There you are…you can wake up, we’re out of the Grymforge now. Wait–can you wake up?”

“How did you get here?” she tilted her head as Gale just sat there in front of her. This image of the wizard had none of his mannerisms, his hands stayed rested on his thighs as he spoke and he didn’t emote in the way she was used to.

“I’m using the tadpole. We’ve brought you back to camp…we need you to wake up, we need to know that you’re alright. Going comatose as you did gave us all an awful fright, please…wake up.”

There was a warmth surrounding one of her hands, her shoulders…didn’t ache or burn any longer. She flexed her hand and felt the warmth tighten around it.

“That’s it, you’re doing wonderfully. Can you move the other hand?”

She turned to look at her other hand and wiggled her fingers before looking at Gale. “Perfect, though you just scared Wyll with a little tickle. Careful of your legs, but move one of them?”

Slowly she reconnected with each part of her, Gale giving her encouragement each time a new part of her responded in the waking world. As her eyes opened she was shocked by the golden glow over her, she turned to the hand that had been held so warmly and found Halsin smiling down at her, “There you are,” he said in relief.

Shadowheart let the spell fall and bent until her forehead was pressed against the bards, “Lady of Sorrows, Vesper don’t do that again. We tried everything to wake you and nothing…nothing worked.” The cleric choked as she repeated the second nothing, when she sat up Vesper looked up and saw tears in her companion's eyes, “We didn’t know if it was the worm or if we’d just lost you. You were breathing, and your heart was beating but–”

“I’m okay,” Vesper said softly and flinched when she heard the barking laugh of Astarion. Slowly she looked around, they were surrounding her. Even Lae’zel stood behind Shadowheart, worry etched on her face as Vesper made to sit up.

Halsin used the hold on her arm to help pull her up and Vesper paused when she realized it didn’t hurt when he pulled. Her free hand came up to her chest and felt…nothing. Astarion sat at her feet, Gale just beside him, “Nere ripped the back threads, nearly detached the whole thing…” The wizard nodded as Astarion spoke before adding, “If the gnomes hadn’t acted so quickly…we thought you were going to go in.”

She heard a surprising voice pipe in and turned to see Barcus as he nodded to her, “Hardly seemed appropriate to let you die after you had just saved us. Consider us even…” Vesper nodded mutely and continued to rub her fingers across the bare skin of her sternum before her right hand reached up to feel the raised area where her bone hadn’t healed right.

“Careful,” Halsin said, “in their haste, it looks like the people who saved you may have agitated the break. I wanted you awake before I healed the fracture.” He looked toward all of them, “It will only take me a moment, the rest of you should go and relax. I have it from here.” One by one the others got up, Wyll placed a careful hand on her shoulder as he left. Shadowheart pushed past Lae’zel, the gith hanging around before she began to remove her armor. The only one who didn’t leave was Astarion who stared at her injury.

‘It could end the whole thing if it’s not enjoyable.’

He’d just uttered those words the night before. Unconsciously she covered the area and looked at Halsin, “I didn’t mean to worry everyone. I just…” Halsin shook his head as he assured her, “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You’ve learned a technique that many have when in a situation similar to yours. Escaping to a safe place, though I’m sensing not many here knew about you doing that.” Vesper cut her eyes to Astarion who cleared his throat, “I’ll get some rags and water, to clean your neck.”

She watched as he got up and walked away, her eyes trailed him as he retreated to his tent before she felt Halsin begin to manipulate her arm. Gently he lifted it to straighten it before bending it more, his eyes watching her face for any hint of discomfort. “This is alright?” she nodded, “Perhaps I healed more than I intended the first time. Astarion made something of a mess of your shoulders trying to find the threads, Wyll mentioned he seemed determined to remove them all while Gale came to retrieve me.”

The wood elf continued to stretch her left shoulder, up and down, pulling it back and then in front of her. When he was satisfied he moved to her right arm and this time Vesper tried to move with him. She stiffened when she felt cold water touch the nape of her neck, “It’s only me. I’ll let you wash the front, but let me get the back.” She had expected it to be Astarion, but he had apparently passed the task to Shadowheart who scrubbed heavily trying to get everything off of her.

“How long did you wear that device?” Halsin asked as he lowered her right arm and began prodding at the marks on her shoulders, “Two years maybe? Possibly almost three, I can’t remember exactly.”

Shadowheart paused before returning to washing. Halsin wet another rag and held it out for the bard, “I know I’m pushing for us to reach Moonrise, but if I may suggest to the group…take a day before moving on to this crèche Lae’zel would like to reach. If only to be certain there are no other surprises from the collar’s unexpected removal.” Vesper didn’t reply to the druid, she just took the rag from him and began to scrub at the dirt the collar had hidden and left behind after all this time.

There was a clinking sound and Astarion kicked a crate over to the fire before he set down several bottles of wine, “I think we all need a drink after this.” Picking one bottle up he glanced at it before removing the cork. Pouring two goblets full he set them beside the bard and cleric before picking up a third for himself, he glanced at the silver cup before tossing it down and tipping the bottle to his mouth. “Very classy, Astarion,” Shadowheart said as she finished cleaning the back of Vesper’s neck and shoulders, “but thank you.” She lifted the goblet to her mouth with one hand while the other reached up and tugged the bard’s hair loose from its bun, “If you’re self-conscious we can figure out a way for your hair to cover your shoulders. I can’t imagine it’s easy to go two-three years of them being hidden to suddenly being exposed.”

Vesper nodded dumbly as she continued to scrub at her throat. Eventually, the others joined around the fire again as Gale began cooking. No one mentioned the collar, no one even brought up that she’d gone comatose. Thankfully no one brought up the fact she’d nearly died. Again.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Astarion had been correct, they all needed a drink or twenty that night. Vesper settled in Astarion’s tent after only two goblets full, though she does carry her third into the spawn’s space. “I didn’t realize you were planning on staying with me tonight as well,” she heard and turned, careful not to spill the contents of her cup. Astarion kneeled just outside the flaps of his tent with a smirk on his face, “Don’t mind me, you go right ahead and get comfortable. I’ll just enjoy the view.” The bard frowned before she realized she would have been on her hands and knees crawling into the tent when he followed behind her, “Astarion,” she admonished while her cheeks flushed.

“What? Am I not allowed to watch?” once the drow was settled against some of the cushions in his tent, Astarion followed behind her, settling across the way, his legs resting on top of hers as he stretched. “Someone has to be admired and as I can’t see my own face, I guess yours will have to do,” he said as he continued to stretch lazily. “You can’t see your face? Right…mirrors,” she frowned and took a sip, “do you miss it?” A gray brow lifted as he lowered his head to look at her, “Do I miss petty vanity? Of course, I do! I haven’t seen this face in nearly two hundred years, I don’t even remember what it looks like anymore.”

“It’s a good face,” she said as she lifted her goblet to him, “a beautiful face.”

His smile softened under her compliments, “Could–” he stopped and shook his head. “What?” Vesper moved to fully sit up asking again, “Could I?” Astarion took a breath and held it for a moment before he breathed out the question quickly, “Could you draw me?” The bard, who had been waiting patiently, frowned and shook her head, “I wouldn’t do you any justice in a drawing. Portraits require details that I’ve never gotten right…” She looked down before her hands paused reaching over to her goblet, “but there is something I can do.”

“Are you going to recite poetry about how beautiful I am?” he retorted, trying to fight the crestfallen look that had come over his face when his request was denied. But when he looked back up he jumped back because Vesper was right in his face, “Hold still,” she said as she moved her eyes over his features.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure it’s right…where’s your mirror?”

“I’ve already explained–here–I cannot see myself in the mir–”

He stopped talking as she spoke a familiar incantation and her own facial features began to morph. Her long red hair became a silvery blonde, in the mirror’s reflection he could see her teal and violet eyes become red and…sad, her cheeks hollowed, and her cheekbones were higher. “Is that…”

Vesper stared in the mirror then turned to look at him, “One second,” she moved the mirror behind him and adjusted Astarion so she could compare her reflection with the real thing. “Alright, now I’m just a tad bit drunk but I think I’ve got it right,” it was so odd hearing her voice come out of this masculine appearance but Astarion was in awe. Swallowing hard he reached out and turned her chin to have a better look at her, “This is me?”

The pallid face smiled at him and she nodded, “This is you. See, what I meant about you being a very pretty man?” When he reached for the curls on the illusion’s head his fingers first met air before he felt the bard’s own, just a couple of inches below where it was supposed to be. “It’s still only an illusion,” she said softly, “I can try and adjust it to be closer to my face, but yours is just a tad longer than mine.” “No,” he said as he looked into the red eyes he’d never seen before, “no, this is…this is perfect. How often can you change this…” She pursed her lips and Astarion watched as his face made one he recognized as hers immediately, “Don’t do that…” he chuckled, “Your expressions on my face are…well, I suppose I wouldn’t know if they were wrong per se, but it's odd.”

She laughed and shrugged her good shoulder, “I can cast this a couple of times if I have enough magic. Changing its appearance though takes some time, especially when I have to keep concentrating on the spell. If you were a wizard I’d say we go ask Gale how he summons his mirror image.” Astarion’s lip curled but then he stopped sneering, “I don’t think he’d be up for teaching me how to use the weave. It’s so precious to him.”

“It wouldn’t do any harm in asking, he asked me the other day if I wanted to compare magics. If the way I cast magic felt the same way he did…he might enjoy teaching you,” she offered and Astarion shook his head. “No,” he said with a whine, “He’d enjoy teaching you. Not me. We just don’t get along, my dear.” He still had a hold of her chin and was now turning the face in different directions, pausing when he realized he could see two scars on the side of the neck. “You included those as well?” his voice warbled as he pulled back. “Should I not have? I didn’t want it to be a false image,” she sat back and crossed her arms over her middle.

“No, it’s… it's fine…thank you, now please, drop the illusion?”

She let her concentration fall and looked in a mirror again. Gone was the visage of the high elf in front of her and instead, she just saw herself. Astarion caught her as she quickly looked away and frowned, “What is it?”

“Hmm?” she glanced toward him as she settled back on the opposite side of the tent and sipped at her wine. “Don’t ‘hmm’ me, you looked disgusted after looking in the mirror,” he said, his tone accusatory while she shook her head and kept her head down. “I don’t know what you mean…I saw myself and I decided to sit back,” Astarion’s eyes narrowed at her answer before he pulled his legs under him to lean toward her, “Do you think you’re disgusting?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, lifting her chin higher. She was biting the inside of her cheek to try and keep control of her emotions. There were mirrors at home but for the most part, she avoided them, no one ever cared how she looked, only if her body was satisfactory. Astarion eyes scanned her face and stopped on her lips, “No. Not at all…why would I? And think very carefully about how you answer that question.” Vesper’s eyes darted upwards as she choked out a singular laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion. Caz–” she stopped when she saw his lip begin to curl, “That bastard chose you because of your beauty…I was a pawn to Issac. Handed over to whoever had enough coin or a big enough debt that Issac didn’t want to pay off. I’m no more than a piece of gold to be passed from hand to hand.”

She lifted the goblet and drank. Vesper was barely able to swallow for a third time when a cold grip pulled the cup from her mouth, “Those sounds like your bastard’s words, Vesper.” When she didn’t answer he moved closer until he straddled her legs, “Look at me.” Her chin lifted, no need for him to do it, but she still wouldn’t look at him, “Vesper, darling, eyes on me,” when she finally lifted them she knew he would see the tears welling. He was right of course, it was Issac who made her feel this way. Issac, who constantly told her how worthless she was besides being passed off.

“I’ve spent two hundred years bedding any beautiful soul that would follow me back to, as you said, my bastard’s palace. Do you know what they had in common? How beautiful they were…” he said as his hands bracketed her cheeks and his thumbs wiped away the hot tears from her eyes. “I had thought to seduce you the moment I laid eyes on you,” he paused, and his head bounced from side to side, “once we became allies I mean…the moment I saw you I thought you worked alongside those tentacled freaks.” His smile spread when he heard a soft giggle from her lips, “Nevertheless, two hundred years of orders kicked in when you invited me to join you. A beautiful little elf, all red hair, and charm…”

“Are you saying that you would have taken me to him?” she asked her eyes growing round.

“You would have been just fit for him to invite me to dine with him…I would hate doing it, taking you to him, but it’s true,” he said as he swiped his fingers under her eyes again. “Even with your dark circles and scars, you’re incredible.”

She blinked twice before pulling her head away from his hands, “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or if the wine has muddled my head.” Astarion frowned and sat back, “Let’s just say that if you didn’t have your issues I’d have bedded you several times already. As horrible as it all was I did like having gorgeous people writhing beneath and on top of me…”

Her teeth ground together as her face flushed more and she heard his chuckle again. “You think it’s funny when I blush,” she said softly and Astarion hummed in appreciation. “Yes, these little flushes of purple on your cheeks do delight me,” he admitted, he didn’t go back to his side of the tent. Instead, as he got off her lap he settled just next to her and leaned close to her ear, “It has me curious if you flush like this when you’re actually enjoying sex.” Her face lifted to his, “Must everything be sex with you? You’ve got your own problems…I thought you’d be happy to not be–”

“Performing? I am…but is that not what couples are supposed to do? Find fulfillment in each other bodies?”

“I don’t know. I thought so…”

“So,” he said as he tucked a bent knuckle under her chin, “should we try?” Her mouth opened and closed without an answer. Pulling her closer until his nose touched the tip of hers, his voice lowered to a whisper, “I should thank you for your gift after all. It is all because of you I know just how beautiful I still am.” Her face betrayed her sadness and Astarion pulled back, “What’s the matter, my sweet?”

“You shouldn’t want to sleep with me because I did something nice for you, it feels…like a payment. I,” she pulled back again and shuffled away, “I don’t want this,” she motioned between the two, “to feel like it used to. I…” Vesper trailed off her focus now on her hand as she pulled it back to her, Astarion tilted his head and shifted closer to her, “You what?”

She looked up at him and blushed again, “I want it to be real…” a breathless laugh left her before she shook her head, “Don’t listen to me…I’m being drunk and silly.” The bard leaned forward and took up her goblet again, missing the flash of confusion before Astarion smirked. She finished her goblet before the vampire’s spawn took it from her again, he leaned close to her, “Then let’s be real.”

He glanced away long enough to set the cup on the ground before turning and placed his hand against her cheek, coaxing her forward, “Tell me no…” he hesitated, waiting for her to stop him. When no answer came, he pulled her closer until his lips met hers. Vesper allowed him to lead, numbly allowing herself to slip away until she felt a fang nip at her lip, “Oh no, stay with me…” he whispered against her mouth.

Her eyes sprung open and met his crimson stare, she could see and feel when he smiled, “You said you had kissed someone before…try and remember then. Unless you want to say no?” Astarion glanced down at her mouth before looking up again, “Do you want to say no?”

The rogue was so close that when her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, she touched his mouth and he took it as a sign. His mouth shifted over hers and he used his weight to push her onto the floor of the tent. The hand not cradling her face found her side and gripped tightly, taking his time to move underneath the flimsy leather top she still wore. He chuckled when she shivered as his hand grazed over her skin, “Just make sure you’re quiet, darling.” He sat up and quickly pulled the ties of his tent flaps allowing them to flutter closed before he removed his shirt, “We wouldn’t want the others peeking in now, would we?”

She lay there staring up at him, though she could see the glow of the underdark’s flora through the stitching of his tent he was still cast in the greyscale of her dark vision. Even then he was breathtaking. Languidly she reached out a hand for him and he took it into his hands placing a kiss against her bruised knuckles before flipping it over and kissing her palm.

When he kissed her again she tried to recall those nights from ten years before. The now faceless boy she had rolled down the hills with, the way her body had responded. “Out of your head,” she heard a whisper in her ear and opened her eyes again to see the high elf’s raised brow, “where are you?” She frowned at the question. Astarion’s hand cupped her cheek and he ran his thumb across her brow, “Where are you?”

“We’re in the underdark…” he nodded and bent his head lower pressing his lips to her now naked throat. A chill went up her spine and her breath caught in her throat when he nipped his teeth across the now-exposed skin of her throat. She heard his appreciative hum and flushed, he lifted his head and captured her mouth again. The hand that had rested on her side slid lower, tugging at the lacing of her leather trousers.

On instinct, her hand moved quickly to grab his wrist and he stopped before whispering, “Who are you with?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked him over, “I’m with you…” his head shook, “Not good enough, little bard. I want to hear my name.” He bent down and caught her ear lobe just between his teeth before he whispered again, “Who are you with?” Despite her holding his wrist he tugged at the lace that held the panels together, “Astarion,” she answered in a hushed voice.

“I want you to enjoy this,” he said as he pulled his hand from the lacing and began to trace the top hem of her pants against her abdomen. “I won’t fuck you unless you let me, I just want you to know how your body feels when it enjoys it.” Astarion dipped his head back down to her throat, his tongue tracing a path down until he met the junction of her throat and shoulder. He easily found the raised area where her bone hadn’t properly healed and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

“But you–”

“No, I’m fine. I’ve enjoyed myself most thoroughly,” he used his other hand to wiggle the metal fastener of her top, “I was right about how far your blushing goes.”

Further down he moved until his mouth closed around a nipple. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she stared up at the roof of the tent. Between teeth and tongue, she felt an unfamiliar tug in the pit of her belly and a warmth that she could only recall once.

When he switched to her right breast he pressed a kiss to the scar just above before he began to tease her again. His hands worked on her pants, tugging at the leather that hugged so tightly. Curiosity had her planting her feet on either side of the elf and lifting her hips, and the warmth in her core multiplied as he chuckled against her skin.

As he trailed down he nipped at her softer flesh on her middle. She reached down to stop him with one hand but he caught it and pinned it to her side, “Use your voice.” Astarion paused as he glanced upward but she didn’t say anything, still looking upward and covering her mouth with her hand. “Vesper?” she shifted and looked at the rogue who smirked and leaned up to move her hand and kiss her again, “You can still say no. Tell me to stop and I will…” She watched his eyes bounce back and forth before she licked her lips again, “Do you want me to stop?”

Blood was rushing in her ears, she wanted to keep going but wanted to stop all the same. “Would you hate me?” she asked and he shook his head, “Not at all, my sweet.” He started to back away before she grabbed him, “I don’t want to stop…”

Astarion’s smile grew and he bowed his head, “Alright.” Bending to catch her lips again she heard his chuckle as she copied him and placed her hand against his cheek. The rogue used his foot to kick her pants further down her legs until they were off. This time rather than just holding her side his nail divoted into her hip as he pulled her close and bent down to her throat once more.

His mouth paused over her pulse, the hard beat of her life pulsating under his lips and for a moment she wondered if he would bite her then. It was enough of a distraction that she didn’t realize his hand left her hip until it found the apex of her thighs. A surprised gasp left her and she removed her hand from his face to cover her mouth again, to his amusement.

As his finger slid between her lips, his mouth came back to her ear, “I think you know what desire feels like now.” He lifted off of her and brought the finger he’d run through her to his lips, her eyes wide as she watched him taste it.

“Delicious.”

He made no move to toy with her body again as he moved downward, settling his body between her lifted knees. Pressing a kiss to the top of one of Vesper’s knees, he descended, and again her eyes found the roof of the tent very interesting. Astarion had not done this in the woods, she expected his tongue to be just as cold as the rest of him but was surprised by the not-icy feeling against her sensitive flesh.

Then he found something, one nudge and she shuddered, her hips jumped, and her knees attempted to close. Astarion didn’t allow them to, just as he had held her arm pinned before he now held one of her legs open wide while he used the other to spread her lips.

A breathy moan left her when that tautness she had felt before tightened again and the chilled air of the underdark made goose flesh of her skin. Or was it Astarion’s doing?

There wasn’t much room for thought as he continued moving his mouth over her. His tongue danced between that sensitive bundle of nerves down to her entrance. The tightness in her belly twisted, tighter. She kept mentally repeating the answers to his previous questions. She was with Astarion. They were in the underdark.

Astarion. Underdark.

His nails scratched over her mound, slipping down the junction of her thighs and core.

Underdark. Astarion.

Her hand not covering her mouth gripped the bedroll she laid on. There was no longer a difference in temperature between his tongue and her body, it was just the ghost of pressure as he teased that spot with the tip of his tongue.

Underdark.

There was a distinct difference when she felt cold fingers press into her, her hips tried to raise and were pushed down. The motion was neither rough nor gentle. She lifted on her elbows and looked down, a shudder running through her as she met Astarion’s unwavering gaze from between her thighs. “Astarion,” she whined in a whisper before biting down on her lip to stop another noise from passing through her lips as the tightness broke in her and a rush of heat flooded her.

Vesper’s head fell backward and she felt him move over her, his teeth finding purchase on her neck while her hips still stuttered, and his fingers were still there. They were still in her thrusting through her rush of elation. At the height of her orgasm, she couldn’t feel when his teeth punctured her throat, but the rush of blood leaving her made her heady feeling…more. When the quaking of her body halted she could feel him pulling more from her and ran a hand over his shoulder, her fingers raising when she would catch the raised edges of his scars.

Astarion settled back, laying the bard down gently after removing his fingers from within her. His gaze was still on her throat, where she felt the warm droplets run before he reached past her and pulled a healing potion from his armor, “Drink.” She obeyed his command and watched as he poured water from a jar into a chalice he kept in his tent. He wet a rag, and then another, cleaning his face and hand with one he threw it down and took the other before leaning towards her, “I can do that…I’m used to it.” She said with flushed cheeks.

With a lifted brow, Astarion finally nodded and passed the rag to her. Once she was clean he reached for his discarded shirt and passed it to her, “We’ll find you something more comfortable to wear soon. Maybe Lae’zel’s crèche has an abundance of laundry somewhere.” He grunted as he laid down on the outside bedroll, “Surely they cannot wear that armor all the time.”

Vesper pulled the ruffled shirt over her head and grabbed for one of the blankets to cover her lower half.

He turned to her, his hand twisting in her direction to lift her chin to keep it from bowing to her chest. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again until they heard Karlach’s voice.

“Are you two finished? Shadowheart and I want to go to bed but we also don’t want to listen in….” Vesper’s jaw dropped as her head twisted out of his grasp to stare at the tent’s opening. Astarion’s own eyes rounded in surprise before he started cackling, his eyes squeezing together tightly as he laughed. He ran his hands across his face, “By all means. Have the sweetest of dreams, darling Karlach.”

“Yep,” the tiefling grunted out before they heard her shoes scuff as she walked to her tent just behind Astarion’s. The drow’s face was drained of color as she turned to look at Astarion, who laughed harder when he got a look at her, “I did tell you to be quiet.”

More scuffing was heard outside the tent and a horrified Vesper looked at the close flaps, “If he bit you during that I won’t be restoring you tomorrow.” The bard buried her face into Astarion’s naked side and groaned. The rogue wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he shook from his laughter and daubed his eyes with his other hand.

“Are you finished?’ she asked as she lifted her head. Astarion looked down at her and shook his head, “No. But I’ll stop…for you.” Vesper sat up and reached for her pants, “Maybe I should sleep by the fire…” Astarion reached for her hands, pulling lightly, “No. Don’t go. What will the others think of me if you leave after such a pleasant evening? I’ll go get another blanket if you’re cold.”

Vesper looked down to her naked thighs and then at Astarion, “I’d have to fight with my trousers anyway wouldn’t I?” He nodded, “Unless you wanted to give Halsin a show…not sure that he’d mind.” The bard lifted her head, her eyes wide again and Astarion chuckled, “It’s true…I don’t think he’d mind if the whole camp was nude. He’d probably be happy to walk around without clothing.” Relief flooded the bard and she shook her head, “I thought you were implying something else.”

Astarion’s tilted his head and pursed his lips, “I might…though I’d rather not consider you with someone else when I only just got a taste of the real you.” He gave her wrist another tug, “Stay with me.” Heat stained her cheeks as she laid down on the inner mat and shifted to her back beside him. Just as she assumed he would, Astarion shifted to his side and laid his head against her breast, her heart pounding against his cheek. “Even this feels nicer, no leather digging into my face,” he said as he closed his eyes.

#the caged bard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #tcb: vesper #astarion/tav #astarion/halsin/tav coming later #halsin/tav later #astarion/halsin later #tav's story

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arickaandherfictionalothers · 1 year

Text

No place like home Part 2: pep talks and rehearsals begin!

(Aricka x Bradley, Aricka and Jake; Aricka and Bob; Aricka and MavDad)

(Aricka has rehearsal jitters and her best friends and boyfriend give her a pep talk.)

Aricka’s palms were sweating and the air felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She chewed on her bottom lip, teeth worrying it like her life depended on it.

Bradley noticed first, gently prying her hands open, gripping them in a relaxed but firm manner. “Hey sweetheart,” he says. “Come back from whatever internal conflict you’re having and look at me.” He knew she got like this sometimes- she seemed like she shut down externally but internally her thoughts raced and stomach churned like she ate something bad.

Jake tossed a clementine orange her way, Bradley peeling it quickly and handing her a piece, relieved when she actually ate it- so she was still able to take in her surroundings. “Hey, A?” Jake says. “You okay?”

“I’ll get her some water; she finished her water bottle in chemistry,” Bob says, snagging her Captain America thermos and taking off down the hallway.

“Talk to me, babe. I can’t exactly fix it if you don’t tell me.”

“I’m nervous,” she says, barely above a whisper. “What if I screw up?”

“You try again. And again. Until you get it right. But you won’t mess up; because you’ve had this movie script memorized since you were seven,” Bradley says. “You’ve idolized Judy Garland since you could say her name. You and I were Dorothy and Scarecrow for Halloween when we were ten. This movie has quite literally raised us.”

“You are the best person to sing, “Over the Rainbow,” who’s our age, and you’re the one who helped me and B memorize our lines for our auditions.”

She smiles and leans against him. “Thanks; B. Jake.” He squeezes her carefully, letting her bury herself against him.

“Anytime, Miss Gale,” he teases.

Jake reaches over and offers a fist bump, “what are friends for?”

Bob returned then with the water bottle in hand. Aricka takes it gratefully and unscrews the lid, taking a deep drink before screwing the lid back on and tucking it away in her backpack. “Thanks Robbie,” she says. The quieter member of their band of thieves smiles.

“You’re welcome. And to echo what Bradley and Jake said; you’ve got this.”

“Now, let’s get through the rest of today and get to rehearsal,” Bradley says, grabbing his and Aricka’s backpacks before also claiming his girlfriend’s hand, as the four of them walked to their next class together.

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

“Alright; Aricka, I want you to run in and start talking about Miss Gulch to your Uncle Henry and Auntie Em,” Ms. Barnes says. The girl beams and glances over at the pair playing Em and Henry and darts off stage, waiting for her cue. “Okay!”

Aricka runs onstage, clutching the stuffed dog from the auditions, exclaiming, “Aunt Em! Aunt Em!” Penny keeps pretending to be counting the make believe chicks in a cardboard box. “Aunt Em! AUNT EM!”

“Fifty-seven, Fifty eight,” Penny Benjamin, the woman Aricka wishes was her real mom, knelt down and went on counting, so Aricka huffed and began ranting,

“Just listen to what Miss Gultch did to Toto! She -!”

“Dorothy, please! We’re trying to count! Fifty-eight -,” Penny interjects.

“Oh, but Aunt Em, she hit him -!” This time, Aricka’s own dad interrupted her,

“Don’t bother us now honey. You see, this old incubator’s gone bad and we’re likely to lose a lot of our chicks,” giving her a faux-stern look. Aricka clicks her tongue worriedly,

“Oh, - oh, the poor little things.” SHE reaches into the box and lifts out a chicken which SHE strokes during the next bit of her dialogue, “Oh, but Aunt Em, Miss Gultch hit Toto right over the back with a rake just because she says he gets in her garden and chases her nasty old cat every day!”

“Seventy. Dorothy, please!” Penny exclaims. Aricka huffs, stomps her feet.

“But he doesn’t do it every day -- just once or twice a week. And he can’t catch her old cat, any-way. And now she says she’s going to get the-!”

Dorothy! We’re busy!” Penny pretends to put the final chickens in HER outstretched apron and hurries off-stage. Aricka turns to her dad. Pleads.

“Uncle Henry. Can’t you do something?” She watches her dad pretend to wipe actual sweat from his forehead; turning to her. Patting her head.

“I’m doing something right now honey so just keep out of our hair.” He lifts up the box and exits after Penny. The noise of the chicks fades.

“Oh - all right…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Aricka-Dorothy and Bradley

“She tried to kill him. Oh, what am I going to do about Miss Gultch, Hunk? Just because Toto chases her old cat,” Aricka says to Bradley, who turns to her, somewhat exasperated.

“Now lookit, Dorothy, you ain’t using your head about Miss Gultch. Ain’t you got no brains?” He taps her forehead, making the girl protest,

“Sure I have brains!”

“Well, why don’t you use them? When you come home, don’t go by Miss Gultch’s place - then Toto won’t get in her garden and you won’t get in no trouble. See?” The two of them stare each other down before the girl mumbles,

“You just won’t listen, that’s all.”

~~~~~~~~

Aricka and Bob

“Zeke, what am I going to do?” Aricka asks Bob, who pretends to think; guiding her off to the side of the stage.

“Well for a start, Kid, don’t let that old Gultch heifer try and buffalo you. She ain’t nothing to be afraid of. You got to stand up to her, that’s all, with a little courage, a little grit.” Behind Aricka, Jake mimes holding a large metal funnel and Bradley pretends to hold the ruined scarecrow.

“I’m not afraid of her,” Aricka says.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Walk with your head up, your chest out and the next time she squawks, you just stroll right up to her and spit in her eye. That’s what I’d do.”

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

Practicing Somewhere Over the Rainbow

“Okay; Aricka; this is just the first rehearsal, so feel free to use your script and sing along, I just want you to begin getting comfortable with the song, and the tracks, alright? If you mess up: we can start over; it’s all good.” Ms. Barnes motions for the song to begin, and Aricka begins reciting the line right before the song begins,

“It’s not a place you can get to by a boat or a train… it’s somewhere far away… beyond the moon… beyond the rain…” closing her eyes, she began to sing,

“When all the world is a hopeless jumble

And the raindrops tumble all around

Heaven opens a magic lane…” she slowly begins walking in a circle, keeping her front half to the audience, glancing at her script before continuing,

“When all the clouds darken up the skyway

There's a rainbow highway to be found

Leading from your windowpane…” she bends down as if she’s setting down Toto, glancing offstage she sees Bradley and her dad both giving her a supportive thumbs up.

“To a place behind the sun

Just a step beyond the rain…” she makes her way back to center stage, taking a deep breath and belting it out,

“Somewhere, over the rainbow

Way up high

There's a land that I heard of

Once in a lullaby…” nerves began to come back and she felt panic fill her stomach, but another voice came from behind her; and she sang with it,

“Somewhere, over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true…” she turns to see Jake-!- walking up to her; grabbing her hand and pulling her focus onto him; and behind him; Bradley and Bob joining him,

“Some day I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are

Far behind me

Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops

That's where you'll find me…” for a moment, it was just the four of them; in their own bubble.

“Somewhere, over the rainbow

Blue birds fly

Birds fly over the rainbow

Why then, oh, why can't I?…” Jake let’s go of her hand and turns her back to facing the audience, squeezing her shoulder as Bob and Bradley do the same to her other shoulder and hand.

“If happy little bluebirds fly

Beyond the rainbow…” she takes a deep breath, nods her head; and belts it out,

“Why, oh, why can't I?”

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

“That was the best time I’ve heard you sing that song,” Pete says as he pulls into Jake’s driveway.

“Thanks dad,” Aricka says, finishing the last drops of her Oreo milkshake. “I was really nervous, but having Jake Bradley Bob and you there really helped. I didn’t feel as scared.”

“We’re your backup,” Bob says.

“Sure thing snickers, what’re friends for?” Jake adds.

“I’ll- um- we’ll- always have your back,” Bradley finished. Aricka grinned at her best friend and says a soft,

“Thanks B-B. Thanks guys. See you tomorrow Jakey-!”

“Bye Ariel; bye guys-!” And Jake jumps out of the vehicle, running into his house and waving once he was inside.

Pete made the drive to Bob’s house in the same fashion, making small talk about the kids’ day, asking them about their upcoming college visits- knowing full well that the four of them had every intention of applying to join the Navy and later, TopGun.

Aricka mentioned that she had a backup in mind on the off chance she didn’t get accepted- Juilliard, in New York. “I’ve always loved acting as much as aviation,” she points out. “That way even if I can’t fly planes I can still sorta fly with pulleys and such.”

Bob mentioned a college in Texas as a backup and Bradley said he’d found one he’d liked locally near the base- Fallon Campus. Bob disappeared into his own house and soon it was just Pete, his daughter and his godson.

Now. He wasn’t oblivious. The two in the backseat of his car clearly had some sort of feelings for each other; and neither seemed ready to make any sort of move.

He’d have to mention it to Nick to mention it subtly to Bradley. Not that he was eager for his only daughter to be dating but- he trusted Bradley.

“Hey: can you come over later and study?” Bradley asks suddenly. “For the English lit test Friday?”

“Can I dad?” She asks, not about to commit to anything without his permission.

“As long as you get home by curfew,” he agrees, pulling into his own driveway; knowing Bradley would more than likely cut across through the backyard to his parents’ house. “You had enough to eat or-?”

“If you want she can eat with us, Uncle Mav,” Bradley says. “Mom’s making this spaghetti-pizza bake thing. With homemade garlic bread.”

Aricka glanced at her dad once more; beaming when he nodded his permission. “Have fun,” he says, wrapping his arms around her when she crashed into him with a hug.

She snuggled underneath his chin like she had ever since she was two, before standing on tiptoes to kiss her dad’s cheek.

“Love you daddy,” she whispers, before grabbing Bradley’s arm and running across the lawn with him, Bradley carrying both their backpacks instead of just his.

———————-

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @sappy-secrets @yeehawselfshipping @letsgofoletsgo @tsundere-selfship

#Spotify #Aricka and MavDad #dad and daughter self ship #fly to your heart #Aricka x Bradley

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure.

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on)

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss - I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it’s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #everlark #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #honestly there were so many scenes in these 3 chapter that I wanted to draw... but I barely had the time for these 2 #Catching Fire is just chock-full with interesting/important moments... my book is more post-it notes than pages at this point

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phati-sari · 3 years

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Greetings PS, I just checked the hyper attunement gifset and that was absolutely wonderful - it was one of my personal favorite things in the show because of how beautifully it was done - so thanks for giffing it! Toh, one sawaal if you'd like to answer, do you have any favorites from there? Or just feel free to give any two cents about it - whatever you want. Hope you've been doing well :) Take care. AJ.

Hi hi hi AJ :)

Thank you very much! It’s one of my favourites too (okay look, I know I say that about everything but a girl can have loads of favourites!). I’m very proud of it. And I too love this aspect of the serial :) :)

My gif sets are usually my favourite instances of a certain aspect or trope of the serial, rather than attempts at showing every single instance, so in a way this is already a curated list. But let’s go through them one by one:

The original subtitle of this gifset was “It began with sneezing and ended with telepathy” (you can still see it in the URL because Tumblr likes to keep track of all our crimes). So the first gif was always going to be this: sneezing together after their car park adventure. I just find this moment adorable.

This, I could write essays on: the first instance of The Awareness. And for me, the most powerful thing is that Arnav knows Khushi is there. He doesn’t question the feeling -- this man who no longer believes in religion, who doesn’t believe love is for him -- he just stands up and mouths her name and goes looking for her.

Finally, Khushi aa gayi!

When I watch these episodes, I always wonder just how close Arnav was to getting on a helicopter and flying to Lucknow (... and hence Tere Bin). And that moment of disbelieving hope when he feels her is amazing -- Sobti was excellent! -- before he shrugs it off and continues with the preparations.

I firmly believe Arnav is feeling Khushi’s distress in this scene. The way her agony is spliced with his, the way he paces and stares at the cut on his hand, such angst, many wow. It’s like he has all this pain and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, he just knows it’s connected to Khushi.

Arnav and Khushi know about their connection. They don’t like admitting it at this stage but they know. This is the first time they’re forced to acknowledge it and it’s brilliant, from the way he looks at her to her admission that she just knew and her pun about gale pad gaye. Why are they allowed to be this cute?

This is probably the most powerful, and most contentious, example. Khushi was caught completely off guard by Arnav’s trip to London. He didn’t deign to inform her, and his family assumed she knew about it (until it was clear that she didn’t). She goes into a bit of a loop where she keeps repeating that he shouldn’t have left, why didn’t he listen, why didn’t he stay, etc etc. There’s a restlessness in her. Normally one would expect Khushi to just wait for him to come back but she seems to realise that she’s lost her chance. In my opinion, she’s telepathically feeling his panic and resignation. He’s been kidnapped, and though she cannot explain why she’s this restless and panicky, she seems to be able to feel his distress as if it’s her own in the same way he felt her emotions when she was getting engaged to Shyam.

There’s not much I can say that would improve upon this post :)

We talk so much about whether Arnav’s redemption was enough, whether his apology was good enough, and yet in my opinion this sequence is perfect. It can’t be reduced to Arnav giving her gifts. He gives her things she loves, things that once upon a time were indicators of her lower class, the channa and jalebi and Salman Khan poster that he used to look down on. Actions come so much easier to Arnav than words, and this is where he says “I love you the way you are, Khushi” (something he will verbalise on their date during remarriage but this is where it happens). And the necklace, something he instinctively (telepathically!) knew she wanted and needed, a reinstatement of the innocence he tore off her on the night they met and again on the night they eloped. This is the request for forgiveness, the apology, the acknowledgement that he hurt her a thousand times and that he’s sorry he’s sorry he’s sorry. And I will forever be bitter that the creative team didn’t allow the audience to absorb the impact of what he’d done.

This is just adorable, Khushi in Laxmi Nagar ordering a scowly photo of him to smile and Arnav smiling as he looks up at the moon. The moon has always connected them so it’s no surprise that he obeyed!

This one always makes me laugh. Khushi falls in the Shantivan kitchen and Arnav instantly calls. I think the way she looks at her phone, sighs in exasperation when she sees his name and practically barks “Kya hai?” [What?!] is peak comedy.

And a scene I didn’t include except for the subtitle (ping @maansiloves) -- the way NK asks Arnav how he knew Khushi-ji had arrived, and she replies “Bas pata chal jata hai” without hesitation. They’re no longer afraid of the connection and what it means, they’ve given into it entirely, and I think this moment is the sweetest.

This was a lot of fun, thank you so much for asking such an amazing question!! I super appreciate the opportunity for free-form answers and babble :D

Take loads of care ❤️

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arshi #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #jalebi weds bluetooth #answered #analysis #maansiloves #queue dard hai itna

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday, booksandeverlark!

Our sincerest apologies for the delay on your gift, @booksandeverlark! We hope your birthday back on October 22nd was a wonderful one, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for. To bring your party feels back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a monster of a fic just for you!

RATED E - For sexual situations and trigger warnings for manhandling and mild violence. Some Hunger Characters are off Cannon for the purpose of the story.

a/n Peeta Mellark is one of the worlds most recognizable stars, and he needs a break. He goes missing and is hiding in plain sight because he has fallen for Katniss Everdeen who is raising a tween Prim. Everything goes according to plan until one day Hollywood comes a’callin

- special thanks to @norbertsmom who beta’d this monster of a story. 20K sorry to Booksandeverlark for the lateness of the story I hope you had a belated birthday.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pete Holly Golightly

-THE JUNKET

“Where the hell is the kid?” Haymitch growled.

“He’s in his bedroom,” his red-haired assistant said, popping her gum not even looking up from her phone.

Haymitch opened the door, and saw red. He took his phone and called the kid, and the phone began ringing. There was a buzzing sound coming from behind the ensuite bathroom. The younger generation never went anywhere without their phones. The kid was no exception.

“Kid,” Haymitch marched into the room and banged on the door.

He had a bone to pick with the kid. The junket was a roller coaster. The kid was barely coherent during the second half of the interviews. His co-stars did the heavy lifting. Haymitch did everything in his power to get the kid in this movie, and he was brilliant, an Oscar worthy performance, but now the kid was burnt out.

The phone began buzzing again.

“Come on Peeta. I know you’re in there I can hear the phone buzzing.”

It was silent on the opposite side of the bathroom door.

“Kid,” Haymitch said once more. Peeta was one of the most responsible people. Today was so out of character for him. Yet again, the pressure by the press lately made the kid feel like a guppy in a bowl full of piranhas.

A few weeks ago, some not-so-distinguished members of the press broke into the kid’s home. Peeta’s privacy was smashed when he found out it was his own mother who gave the pap’s the key to his house for a cool $100K. Ever since then the kid changed.

Haymitch was worried. The pressure was getting to Peeta. He was no longer having fun. His smiles never reached his eyes anymore. Haymitch was just about the only one who could tell when Peeta became Peet-the-movie-star. No one could distinguish the polished, charming, and funny persona from the genuine affable, fiercely loyal, kind kid Peeta was at the core of his being.

After the press junket was over the kid gave him the slip. Normally they talked about the next project or movie. Opening the door, Haymitch cursed when he saw the kids’ phone on the bathroom counter with a note next to it.

“Haymitch, I’m just exhausted. I need a break. I promise I’ll be at the world premiere of the movie - Holly Golightly.”

Haymitch crushed the note in his hand. He laughed bitterly at the code name the kid gave himself whenever he checked into a hotel. The kid loved the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Thankfully, this was the last appearance Peeta had to make before the movie premier in less than a week. But a week later, when Peeta didn’t make it to his movie premiere, the entire industry went up in arms.

Peeta's disappearance was the talk of the town. Even three weeks later the fury hadn’t died down. Every paparazzi fueled by the promise of the mini fortune for the first picture of Peeta Mellark was now hunting down the kid. The good boy gone missing had every tabloid spinning articles and fake sightings. Peeta had gone into the Elvis Presley stratosphere of speculation. Everything from aliens, to he became a monk. One thing for certain, the pap’s were seeking Peeta like a struggling dieter seeking a rich German chocolate cake.

-THE SEARCH

“You got any proof you saw Peeta Mellark?” Claudius questioned Judy Morphling.

“You got the cash?” the thin girl with the dark circles under her eyes asked.

Claudius showed Judy the white envelope filled with a couple of hundred-dollar-bills. She was a junkie. And he took advantage of her broke status to make a quick buck to fix her addiction. Claudius slipped the envelope back into his pocket. He wasn't fooled by kids like these.

He’d spent the past four weeks hunting down dead ends. People willing to sell their left arm for money. True, there were other pursuits where he scored a couple of thousand. The hottest going ticket in tinsel town was finding the whereabouts of Hollywood's golden good boy Peeta Mellark. The movie he was in had gone to number one for the past four weeks. It was driven by the mystery of his disappearance, and the phenomenal acting performance in the movie about race. It was a true story, a love story about a man who moved heaven and earth for the love of his life, a freed slave.

“Okay,” she said.

“Now the proof,” Caludius demanded.

He was familiar with his informant's story, all too well. Judy won a popular game show when she was in college. She became an instant national sweetheart. During her 15 minute of fame, she was invited to every single hot Hollywood party. Subsequently, she got hooked on alcohol and drugs. One of the bellhops tipped him off that she was in the hotel where Peeta was having the junket and that she had seen him the day he disappeared.

She looked side to side nervously reaching into her pocket to whip out her phone. "Here."

With detached indifference he looked at the picture. It was hard to tell, the guy had on a baseball cap and sunglasses. Claudius swiped the screen and saw that trademark chiseled chin his ex fawned over. It was him. Still, knowing the kid had walked out of the junket didn’t help him. He wasn’t ready to part with his money for just any reason. “This could be anyone,” he said.

Judy lifted an eyebrow. “A friend of mine that works at a gas station said he also saw him.”

Claudius took a step back. “Sorry Judy. I need real proof.”

“I just need something to tide me over...please...look I have a friend... my friend’s name is Morph.”

“Morph like in the TV show?”

“His mom was a big into 1970’s reruns.” She shrugged, though the light trembling in her lips let Caludius know she was desperate.

“Okay look.” He took out a twenty and showed it to her. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the money. “Give me this guys information. If it proves to be fruitful, I’ll pay you what you asked for.”

“Okay,” she held out her hand. “I’ll text you his information.”

His phone buzzed. He looked down at the information. “That’s out of State?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were on the money.

“You say he works at a gas station?” Claudius enjoyed taunting his informants. He waved the cash, like a cat and mouse game.

“Near the border.”

Claudius withdrew the folded bill. He needed assurances that she wasn’t just talking to get the money and not coming through with information vital to him. The payout for finding Mellark was nearly 200K. Judy licked her lips as her eyes followed the money reaching out with her hand.

“I’ll text Morph to give you an exclusive.”

“Text him now.”

“Okay, okay.” Judy’s fingers moved quickly over the screen of her phone. She even included him in the group chat. When the reply came back as “no problem”, Claudius was satisfied.

“Here ya go,” Claudius said, giving her the twenty bucks. He walked away; he needed to make the trip to Peeta Mellark’s last known position. He hummed as he got into his car, thrilled for the chase.

-LIVING WITH THE ENEMY

Gale Hawthorne glowered from underneath the tree in his backyard as District Twelve’s newest resident, that blond painter Pete Golightly, made a move on Katniss Everdeen. He was supposed to be taking out the trash when he saw them by the curbside.

They stood so close in the dark that she was swallowed up by the guy's physique. But they weren’t touching, and although that was a relief, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

He liked Katniss. No, that was an understatement. He more than liked her, he could see that there was a potential between them. She was smart, he wouldn’t call her pretty, hell she never smiled. But she made sense to him, she was practical, determined, efficient, loyal, punctual, and some much more. Katniss never looked at him like a piece of man meat. A lot of girls looked at him that way.

Frankly it was great, but sometimes, Gale sighed, sometimes he wanted to have an honest conversation with a girl. With Katniss he could, he’d talk, sure she didn’t say much, but she listened and that’s what he wanted. He held a candle for her so long that watching her with the new guy made him grow tense. He wanted to punch a wall.

The nerve in his temple drummed making his headache even worse.

Rubbing his temple he wondered what the hell a guy like Golightly had that made Katniss, and for that matter, every single woman within a fifty mile radius act like a cat in heat. Even his own mother talked about how handsome the painter was. And of all of the available girls, the douche chose Katniss to hang around.

The peal of girlish laughter reached his ears. Gale walked closer, using the darkness to hide himself. He wanted to hear what they were saying. He crouched by her car. From this position he could see them. Pete dipped his head low near hers. Gale knew that hovering move, it was a move he used to get close enough to kiss a girl.

Gale furled his fist. He watched Katniss reach up and smooth Pete’s golden locks away from his face.

Katniss didn’t do that. She didn’t touch people, hell she didn’t like to be touched. He recalled how she recoiled when he tried to touch her. She did the same thing at Greasy Sea's whenever someone touched her by accident. Gale loved it when she scowled at them.

Then she leaned up on tiptoe.

“No, no, no,” Gale ground out. He then stood agog as Katniss lifted her head up to kiss Pete Golightly.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It was really a peck, but Gale could see that both parties enjoyed the kiss. Her hand was perched on his chest and his hand covered it while the other one cupped her chin. This guy was a smooth operator. Gale’s head pounded as he saw red.

Pete separated from Katniss and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before he walked away to his car. Once he pulled out, Gale stood to his full height.

“I thought you didn’t have time for that.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He stomped over to her, his fists curling and uncurling. He was trying to keep his calm.

Katniss turned around and gasped her eyes wide and silvery in the moonlight. “What the hell are you doing, Gale?”

She had the look of a girl who was properly kissed and that drove Gale insane. “You chose that pasty faced wimp?”

Her face transformed into that steely scowl of hers. She walked around him.

Gale followed. “I’m talking to you.”

She ignored him as she moved forward.

When she reached the front door of the garage apartment she rented from his mother, he turned her around, leaning down toward her. “What, you don’t have anything to say?”

Katniss looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “It’s none of your damned business.”

Gale was going to say something to her when she opened the door to the apartment and quicker than a fox stealing eggs from a henhouse she slipped inside and shut the door in his face.

Gale pounded on the side of the door. This wasn’t over.

-80’s QUEEN

“Prim,” Katniss hollered through the bathroom door of the small studio apartment.

The apartment was basically a portion of Hazel Hawthorn's garage. There was no privacy except for the small airplane sized bathroom. She jiggled the bathroom doorknob. Prim was going to be late for the bus.

“Katniss!” Prim screeched from the other side.

She rolled her eyes at her baby sister's dramatic response. “You’re going to be late for school.”

The door opened and Prim stood there pouting, her blond hair a riot. Katniss did not dare gasp. Prim was a tween and Katniss knew how vicious kids could be at school. Instead she sighed, “Okay, what can I do to help?”

“It’s 80’s day at school today and I need to look like that,” Prim pointed to the picture on her phone of Christie Brinkley.

“We’re going to need a lot of hairspray and a brush,” Katniss rolled up the sleeves of her shirt.

“But I’m going to be late to school!” Prim cried.

Prim was twelve and at this age everything was a crisis. Katniss wasn’t as dramatic as Prim at that age, though she was moody. “Hey, I’ll give you a ride into school. It will be alright,” Katniss smiled over Prim’s head, their reflected images showed a united front. They were as different as night and day, but both girls had their dad’s smile and their mom’s button nose.

"Thanks Katniss," Prim said in a small voice. She was almost a teenager, but still very much a little girl.

"Okay, let's rock this." Hair and makeup wasn’t her strong suit but Katniss had a crash course having to take guardianship of her baby sister at the age of eighteen. When their parents died, Katniss fought tooth and nail for her sister. She didn’t want Prim to go into the foster care system. She elected not to go to college and found a job. She sold their parents’ house, paid off the debts and made a home for herself and her then 10-year-old sister.

It was a rough learning curve, but somehow Katniss made it work.

Taking a brush, she quickly brushed and smoothed her sister's hair. She took a portion of Prim's beautiful wavy blond hair and put it in a side ponytail. The rest of her hair Katniss curled and teased into perfect 80's puffiness. Combined with her ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt she borrowed, Prim was perfect to go back in time.

They were rushing out of the house. Katniss started her beat up Camry and began to make her way down the mountain. The mountains of Panem’s District Twelve were a beautiful blue grey. A lot of the residents lived in the high hills because they were cooler than the valley below. It was private and no one got a house in the hills unless it was passed down by family inheritance or in her case, a rental by a friend of the family. The school was a good half-hour away from the entrance of the steep hill, but as they drove, the car began to shake as they made their way down a steep incline.

Her palms were sweaty as she frantically pressed on the brakes as they made their way down to a small plateau. She pulled the heaving, trembling Camry to the side of the road.

“No, no, no,” she uttered as it began to smoke. Katniss sighed and hoped that it wasn’t something costly. “I’m going to take a look.” She popped the hood. Getting out, she went to the hood and released the latch. She jumped back as a waft of billowy hot plume of smoke wafted from the engine.

“Dagnabit,” Katniss muttered.

“Is it fixable?” Prim asked out of the window.

She grimaced before she looked toward where her sister sat in the car, at this rate Prim was never getting to school. Her knowledge on cars was limited. She knew how to change the oil, change a tire, and do the necessary upkeep for a car. However, it was the more complicated stuff like identifying which of the hoses that broke causing her car to overheat, was out of her scope. That would mean she’d have to deal with Gale, a mechanic by trade.

Gale was obsessive about her, something that Katniss hated. They were once friends until Gale stopped looking at her as a friend, but something to be possessed. He didn’t acknowledge they were too alike, in temperament and personalities. To Katniss it didn’t matter Greasy Sae said Gale was sex on a stick, she just didn’t like him like that.

Her appetite for men ran in a different direction. Sighing, she gave the car a bewildered look. The odds were not on her side.

“Katniss, I'm going to miss school,” Prim said desperately from the window of the passenger seat.

Katniss felt bad. These were the times she felt guilty for not being a better sister / guardian to her sister. Prim was a good kid and deserved better. Looking down at her watch, time was running out. Squaring her shoulders Katniss vowed she was going to get her sister to school. “Come on,” Katniss said, reaching down and grabbing Prim’s knapsack. “We’ll be late, but we can walk to school.”

“We can call Pete,” Prim said quietly.

Katniss couldn’t help the flush that crept up to her cheeks at the mention of their new hunky neighbor. Those darned butterflies began whizzing around her stomach. Katniss wanted to hush them or at least put them on a leash whenever Pete was around.

Pete lived on the mountain with them. He was quiet, and he and her sister got along like chicken wings and buffalo sauce. Pete was the different her appetite was hungry for. Her mind replayed the soul stirring kiss they shared. They said a kiss was a window into a person’s heart, and if that kiss was an indication of what was in Peeta’s heart it was a three alarm fire that burned for her.

However, the kiss was something she wasn’t going to share with her twelve-year-old sister. Hell, that wasn’t something she wanted to even think about. “Prim.”

“Katniss,” her sister’s eyes glittered with mischief. The little imp knew what she was doing.

“I don’t need a man to come rescue us. We can walk to the school.”

“I know we don’t need a man, but we’re not even halfway down the mountain and I’m more than half-an-hour away from school. Pete is about two minutes away.”

Her sister’s logic was infallible, and Katniss knew it, but loathed to admit. “Fine, call Pete.”

-INCOGNITO

Peeta drove exactly three minutes from his home to see the old dark Camry with the hazard lights on. His gut clenched when he saw the petite fiery woman with the olive skin tone, eyes the color of a raging storm, and cute pert nose. They were seeing each other, not in an official I’m dating you way, but definitely in the, there was something going on between them.

Peeta was used to women fawning all over him. Not Katniss, and he’d fallen for her harder than a sledgehammer hitting concrete. They’d kissed last night. Not a gentle peck on the lips, but the type of kiss that proved the earth was round, because your world shifted on its access. One moment you were standing on the floor and the next you were standing on the ceiling.

He’d been a star since the age of six months. A casting agent walked into his parents’ failing bakery and spotted him sitting in a high chair. The agent convinced his father to put him up for one of those national baby advertisements. Yet none of the accolades he received compared to winning a small smile from the woman standing on the side of the road.

“Hi,” Katniss said pushing her long rope of braided raven hair over her shoulder.

“Hi,” Peeta said, climbing out of his truck.

“Hi Pete,” Prim greeted, her eyes alight with joy.

“Hey, little duck.” Katniss' sister Primrose was as infectious as sunshine after a rainy day. She was the one person Peeta was sure Katniss would put her life down for. He had never seen that type of devotion and love before. In the industry he was in there wasn’t much room for any sort of relationship. Everything was colored by money.

His own mother was the poster girl for how money corrupts absolutely. When that casting agent walked into the family’s failing bakery his mother doubted he would get casted; she often said he was an ugly baby. His mother was wrong. Peeta won the contest. His round little face with his priceless blue eyes was soon appearing on every jar, can, and package of that brand of baby product. His mother got bit by the show biz bug, or rather the money that he made from it. She became his manager, and without anyone’s knowledge, took money from Peeta. As he became older and less easy to control his mother became abusive.

Peeta longed for a normal semblance of life. Despite not having two pennies to rub together, Katniss was raising Prim on her own and she was doing it all right. Not once did he hear Katniss lose her temper with her baby sister.

“Hi,” Katniss waved back, her face a deep shade of purple. She slipped her hands into the pocket of her pink diner waitress uniform Greasy Sae made Katniss wear. Her white sneakers shuffled back and forth.

Peeta got out and slipped his sunglasses off. He opened the cab door and held it for Prim and Katniss.

Katniss rolled her eyes at him.

They had this discussion before, about how he didn’t have to hold the door open for her. Peeta knew Katniss was more than capable of opening her own doors, but he was a romantic. He believed in Arthur and the Round Table and a knight’s code. His friend Finnick often told him he was born in the wrong era. He stood up when a lady walked into a room, held doors open, and walked little old ladies across the street.

“Seat belt,” Katniss reminded Prim who already had her earbuds in.

“K,” Prim replied.

“Oh, your lunch,” Katniss said, taking out a brown paper bag littered with glittery stickers from her brown leather messenger bag.

“Katniss, pink panda bears?” Prim huffed.

“I thought you liked them?”

“I do, but these stickers scream six-year-old kid.”

“Okay next time I’ll do a plain brown bag.” Katniss put on her seat belt.

Peeta caught the way Prim’s fingers went over the stickers with awe and reverence. Once more he couldn’t help loving the way the sisters were a unit.

For the whole of his life Peeta longed to be accepted and loved by his family. His older brothers were self-involved and didn’t give a flying fig newton about him; he was just their meal ticket. His mother was abusive and money hungry. His father was a simple man who couldn’t stand up to his wife.

His dad failed to protect Peeta.

The lesson he learned growing up was that no one needed him. They needed his bank. That last stunt was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Peeta needed a way out and he found a way. His friend, mega star, Finnick Odair helped him get it. Starting over was worth breaking a few rules. He made a few withdrawals, put it in a new bank account and when the time was right, he left.

The trek to the small country of Panem that sat between the Canadian border and the United States border took less than 19 hours including a 90-minute ferry. Panem was a small island, with little islands scattered around it. District twelve was the smallest of the islands and had the smallest community. He chose this small island because it was so far removed from everything that reminded him of Hollywood.

He could have continued travelling but stopped when he met Prim and subsequently her older sister, Katniss. Peeta stayed far longer than what he wanted to because he was fascinated by Katniss.

Once they were on the road, Katniss kept on sneaking looks at him. It was when he caught her gaze going down to his mouth that he knew he was in danger, by the way he stiffened in his jeans. He looked back at Primrose in the seat and the pressing problem in his jeans shriveled.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Katniss said, clearing her throat. She picked up her phone and called the school and her husky voice on the phone made him uncomfortable once more.

Peeta told himself to keep himself in check. Peeta wasn’t a lady’s man, but that didn’t mean he was a saint. However, he was the type who liked to be in a relationship. In his opinion, the best sex was had when he was emotionally connected with someone. When it was used just to blow off steam or to scratch an itch, he found it empty and meaningless, so he stayed clear of women who only promised that sort interaction. By Hollywood standards, he was a virgin. Compared to him, Katniss was a unicorn.

He respected her and if she knew his thoughts she’d no doubt shoot him through the eye with her bow. To be fair, he was terrified of Katniss, especially when she was in what he called the ‘Hunter Mode.’ Her scowl combined with her glittering silver eyes promised pain and certain death to whomever was in her crossfire.

There were two things he learned not to mess with, one her sister Primrose, and the other was her personal business. Katniss was an extremely private person. Peeta sighed as they sped toward Prim’s school.

“Prim,” Katniss said. “I let the school know we’re on our way.”

“What about Greasy Sae?” Peeta asked.

“Greasy was the first person I called while Prim called you.”

They approached the school and there were a few stragglers, parents rushing to get their kids into the school building. Katniss jumped out of the car.

“Katniss, I'm not a baby. I can make it into school by myself,” Prim whined.

“Prim I have to sign you in, and that will continue straight up through high school.” Katniss' matter of fact tone of voice let Prim know this wasn’t the time for a pre-teen hissy fit.

“Fine,” Prim said quietly.

Peeta grinned. “I’ll wait here while you get her sorted.”

Katniss nodded, a look flitted through her eyes. She had been avoiding him, and in a way he had been avoiding her as well. He knew the kiss was a dangerous thing and with everyday he stayed put, there was a chance he could be discovered.

He pulled his hat lower and slipped on his sunglasses. Even though he’d let his natural blond hair grow out, there was a chance people would recognize him, his eyes were legendary. The only thing he was grateful for was that his mother despised his blond locks.

To the public at large, he had brown hair. For the majority of his career Peeta dyed his hair and eyebrows. He purposefully didn’t take movies where he had to be a blond. After his parents’ stunt, he had begun to let it grow out. Cinna, his stylist, helped him wear a wig whenever he needed to make a public appearance.

It was easy to slip on some glasses and walk out of the hotel. About halfway through the interviews Peeta had his double sneak in, so that he could escape. No one could make out the difference, well no one but Haymitch.

Peeta felt guilty for duping his manager and mentor. The wrap on the window pulled him out of his thoughts. Katniss stood on the other side, her eyes were staring at his hands. He didn’t realize the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel. He felt the blush creeping up the side of his neck. Leaning over he quickly jumped out and opened the truck door for her.

“Pete,” Katniss mumbled under her breath.

“You’ve got your quirks, and this is one of mine.” He could see the beginning of a small smile on Katniss face and that right there was the reason he kept on coming back to see her. When she smiled it was better than Christmas, better than fresh baked cookies, and better than a greasy bacon double cheeseburger after a night out knocking back beers with Finnick.

He got into the car and drove out of the school parking lot.

“Look,” Katniss grimaced.

Peeta sucked in a breath. Here it came, the excuses passed off as rationalizations. Peeta dreaded the speeches that ranged from it was a mistake, we should forget that it happened, and his least favorite, it’s not you it’s me, I’m sorry I’m just not that into you.

“I don’t do that,” Katniss said. Her eyes were focused on her hands.

Peeta sat back waiting patiently for Katniss to continue.

Her cheeks were tinged with a warm red color. She wrinkled her nose and bit her bottom lip, all signs of her nervousness. Peeta found it endearing.

“I don’t go around.” Her leg began shaking now. “...kissing, I don’t go around kissing...”

“I know.” He put his hand next to hers, but didn’t touch her. Yet, the nearness of their hands caused butterflies to make an appearance in his stomach. The connection between the two of them was electric. He hoped she felt the same way. He saw her look turn from trepidatious to one of suspicion. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is you take care of your sister. She’s your whole life. You don’t have time for romantic entanglements.”

Her eyes opened.

“You have to worry about putting food on the table, a roof over your heads, plus everything that comes with raising a tween.” They came to a stop at a stoplight.

She blinked.

Peeta opened his mouth and shut it. He sighed and nodded; her actions proved refutably, his words were wrong. He didn’t hear her moving across the cabin, or the way her hands braced his face before she kissed him.

Peeta’s heart exploded like a redstone rocket leaving the mission pad into the atmosphere. Her lips were warm and supple, and they tasted of ginger and mint. His hands gently cupped hers.

Katniss pulled away. Her lips plump, her eyes were a dark stormy gray, from their kiss. She smiled at him shyly. “Thank you.”

“I think I should be thanking you.” The light turned green and he began driving. He couldn't hide the ear to ear grin.

Katniss raised an eyebrow and gave him a chaste kiss. “I like you Pete Golightly.”

Hearing his fake name sat like sour milk in his stomach. Peeta wanted to come clean to Katniss but didn’t know how. Katniss wasn’t anyone who trusted people easily, and she let him get close. He felt guilty for not being honest with her. But he held onto the idea that he was going to be leaving soon. He also told himself that the less people knew about his secret the easier it was for him to be able stay incognito.

He gently let go of her hands and he missed her touch when she pulled away. “I like you too, Katniss Everdeen.”

“You want to come overnight,” Katniss asked.

“As long as you let me make you and Prim dinner.”

She looked indecisive.

“Look, you’re going to be late picking up Prim tonight, and when you get to the apartment you’re going to focus on Prim and her homework while making dinner. Since today is Wednesday you do the laundry.”

Wednesday is the most dratted day...it runs a close second to Sunday night. Katniss hated laundry. She hated the separating, the folding, the waiting well just about everything except for the smell of the fabric softener. She said it reminded her of a spring meadow on a warm day.

“Okay,” she said. Laughter bubbling up from her lips. “How do you know me so well?”

Peeta winked slowly. “I always take notice when you’re in the room Katniss.” He enjoyed the blush that blossomed on her cheeks.

-THE CHASE

Less than two days later Claudius unfolded himself from his car. He pulled into the gas station near the border of Canada and Panem to fill up his tank.

A young family got out of the rest stop right next to him. The girls got out and were talking about Peeta. There was a billboard of the movie hanging right in front of them. Claudius followed them inside, he went to join the line, he had cash to pay for the gasoline. The girls queued up behind him.

“He’s so cute,” the young girl said, pointing to the tabloid with the picture of Peeta Mellark. The headline read he was taken by aliens.

Claudius glanced behind him, and estimated the girl must have been sixteen.

The other one who looked to be fourteen said, “He’s so yummy. Too bad mommy wont let us see his movie.”

“I know,” the sixteen year-old grumbled.

“Do you think his parents had something to do with his disappearance?”

“I don’t know,” the older sister said.

Claudius reached the front of the line and paid forty for gas. He walked outside into the sunlight. It had been a long ride from the junket to this small town. He had to stop halfway there and rent a hotel room for the night. After a complimentary stale pastry and tepid tea for breakfast, he was back out on the road. He was finally just outside the small town.

He walked toward his car and began to pump gas. The girls came out of the small convenience store and sat down in the small shaded picnic area next to the gas stop.

A young boy about their age walked by them and they were giggling and laughing.

“Girls,” their mother called out. “We’re leaving.”

“Okay mom,” the girls yelled out in unison. As they stood up from the shaded area. They looked up at the billboard. And continued to speak about Peeta Mellrak.

Claudius smirked at the girl's conversation. The actions of the young star were a mystery to Claudius and to the entire world.

Why leave all of the money and power behind, Claudius wondered? That question is what drew him to the story, he’d discovered. The kid was clean, didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink, he wasn’t broke. The kid had millions in the bank.

In his last movie, Peeta, was involved in the producing, directing, and script writing. The success of the movie had everyone clamorning to work with him. The kid was on the cusp, he had the ability to make more money and have the kind of power to make his own movies. They billed him as the next Ron Howard. Why would the kid throw all of that way? No one was that crazy. Claudius knew of one person who left it all behind at the height of their career, Dolores Hart. Dolores starred opposite Elvis Presley, and some of Hollywood's top male actors of the time. She left Hollywood to become a nun.

Claudius wondered if Mrs. Mellark had anything to do with Peeta Mellark’s Agatha Christie stunt. The Mellarks were a mess. The kind that were a paparazzi present wrapped up tightly with bright ribbon under the Christmas tree. His older brothers were sleeze balls. His oldest brother was in hot water for making several statements that were deeply offensive to a number of people. The middle Mellark was a mainstay in Vegas. He was a gambler and rumored to have connections with the mafia. He was seen with the daughter of notorious mobster Seneca Crane.

His mother, she was a joy, a really Betty Croker, complete with shark teeth. The woman sold her son’s privacy for 100 grand. The reporters entered his house and took detailed pictures of his home. The best was his color coordinated underwear draw. Everyone knew he was a boxer brief guy. His father was a patsy, with the personality of a limp wet towel.

Claudius wondered if they were the reason he left Hollywood? But then again, Peeta had nothing to do with his family. They lived separate lives. Peeta didn’t even have pictures of his family in his house. Only gorgeous paintings that were discovered to have been painted by Peeta himself. If his family was the reason, it didn’t matter to Claudius. He wanted to be the first to find Peeta Mellark.

It’s why he was in the border town looking for Judy’s friend Morph.

-NIGHT IN

Katniss watched Peeta with her sister. Her heart raced a thousand miles an hour, a common occurrence whenever he was around. He was washing the dishes with her sister as she folded laundry.

Prim introduced them, and Katniss hadn’t wanted to be his friend. She didn’t want to be with anyone. She had to raise Prim. Her sister took the priority in her life and few people understood the pressure that came with being so young and raising a child. She was still only twenty, and they were visited by a fastidious case worker Effie Trinket whose sharp eyes never missed a thing. If there was speck of dust on a lampshade Miss Trinket would spot it.

It’s why she stayed away from men. They complicated her simple drive to protect and provide for her sister. Pete however never imposed his person on hers. He never demanded that she pay attention to him. Instead he slowly and politely became her friend. She hadn’t wanted to face him after the kiss, but after fate brought them together, and she spoke to him in the car she couldn’t help but kiss him again.

That second kiss caused Katniss to realize maybe she was ready for more with Pete. He was kind, gentle, intelligent, witty, funny, and sexy. The last word caused her to blush, because she chose that moment to stare at him. As if sensing her stare, he looked up and his eyes darkened. His gaze dropped down to her lips before they moved up once again.

He was thinking of their kiss and Katniss squirmed in her seat.

Prim said something funny and he laughed.

“That’s just as bad as Gale making a pass at my sister.”

“No way?” Pete said gazing at Katniss.

He was curious about Gale. Katniss told him she didn’t have any romantic feelings about Gale.

“Way,” Prim said. “Gale thinks Katniss should date him because he’s so,” she said holding up her fingers in the air to make quotations. “...great.”

Pete didn’t say anything.

“They were friends and then my parents died. Gale expected my sister to fall at his feet. He kept on coming to the house to try to help, to make it known Katniss was his girl.” Prim’s face soured like that time she drank bad milk.

They never spoke about that time after their parents died. Katniss preferred to move forward.

“After the funeral he tried to make his move.”

“After the funeral, you mean the day you were…”

Katniss stopped folding the clothing. She had no idea Prim had overheard. She thought her sister was in their old home.

“Can you believe it!” Prim shook her head. “I was in the tree house hiding. I saw him grab my sister by the shoulder and try to kiss her, but Katniss pushed him away. She told him she wouldn’t have time for him, because she needed to petition the courts for me. Gale told her that raising me was a mistake. My sister kicked him in the nuts.”

“Did she?” Pete asked, his eyebrow quirked. Katniss could see his admiration, not for kicking Gale in the nuts as Prim said, but for sticking to her guns to take care of her sister.

Prim giggled, “He never saw it coming.”

“So how did you guys end up living in their garage?”

“Katniss had to sell our house to pay for the bills and for the lawyers and court fees.”

Katniss stood up and sighed. “Gale’s mother is the real estate agent that helped me sell our house. She offered the garage as a way for her to make extra money after her divorce from Gale’s dad.” Katniss shrugged, “She needed the extra income, and I needed a place to live. It was a mutual agreement.”

"Katniss worked really hard to make the garage homey."

Katniss watched Pete look around the apartment as if he’d never really taken a good look. His focus was always on Prim or herself. To be fair he wasn’t someone who took notice of the disparity they lived in. Gale constantly offered to fix things for her, including her person. It was like that perfect backhanded compliment. You look nice in a dress, you should wear one more often, or the one that always made her see red. Your face is pretty when you smile and wear makeup.

Katniss wanted to hurt Gale every single time he said something stupid and asinine.

Gale’s harsh words didn’t extend only to her person, they also extended to the apartment. Gale made her feel insecure about her flea bargain finds, dollar store buys, and hand-me-down furniture. He thought the colors dull, and her paint job was poor, but never offered to help paint.

Katniss could see all of the gaff’s she made painting. Katniss decorated their small home with calm earth tones, wanting it to convey peacefulness, warmth and be inviting. When they moved here Prim was ten and Katniss wanted to make sure her sister felt like everything was going to be alright.

The studio was small with a loft. Katniss gave her sister the loft so that she could have privacy. Prim was growing up and Katniss understood the need for space. Katniss went through those awkward years with their parents, their door was always open. It’s why she made a bedroom for herself in the nook below the loft. Katniss used shutters for a wall near the entrance and creatively used a tension rod between two bookshelves to make an entry to her makeshift bedroom.

Yet in Pete’s warm blue eyes she saw what could be considered admiration.

“You are amazing,” Pete said simply.

Katniss could feel the onslaught of warmth that rushed from her heart to her cheeks, because unlike Gale’s thinly veiled insults which hailed from a vain superficial perspective. Gale could only see beyond his own needs whereas Pete's hailed from deep within.

“Yes she is and she needs someone just as amazing,” Prim piped up, and Katniss was mortified. What came out of Prim’s mouth next however made Katniss want to bury her head in the sand. “Someone like you, Pete!”

Katniss thought she wanted to strangle her sister, but her feet were rooted to the floor. She glanced up and found herself staring at Pete’s lips. She wanted to be alone with him and kiss him once more but she couldn’t do anything in front of her sister.

“Prim I think you sister is more than capable of making her own decisions about who she wants to date.”

Pete’s words were commendable, and given the way his blue eyes looked darker and the fact that his eyes were gazing at her lip was a clear indication that Pete was thinking of the same thing, that kiss.

“You two are perfect for each other.” Prim’s gaze switched between Katniss and Peeta’s. “I am going up to my loft, put my noise cancelling headphones on and listen to my favorite K-Pop band really loudly in case you two want to kiss,” Prim wiggled her eyebrows with all of the mischievous and impish power she held.

“PRIM!!” Katniss gasped.

Prim’s peal of laughter exploded in the apartment as she ran up her loft ladder.

If Pete hadn’t been standing next to her she would have chased her sister. She turned slightly to Pete who stood with his hands in his pockets.

“I,” Katniss uttered, unsure what to say. The mood was ruined by her impish sister.

“Katniss, we can just hang out,” Pete suggested. “Maybe watch a movie? Or even fold laundry.”

Katniss wanted to roll her eyes at his suggestion to fold laundry.

“You doubt my folding abilities? I will have you know I know the secret of folding a fitted sheet, it’s a family secret but I may have to kill you unless you’re willing to die for it," Pete said wiggling his eyebrows.

"You know I am an excellent archer." Katniss narrowed her eyes in mock anger.

His instant grin and mischievous glint in his blue eyes caused a small fire to begin in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t explain the butterflies that sprung in her stomach whenever she was near him. Or the way she couldn’t stop staring at his nearly translucent eyelashes. She swallowed thickly as she stared at his lips and recalled how sweet he tasted, and the insane need, no scratch that, desire to walk up to him and kiss him.

“Oh hell,” Katniss breathed before she walked up to Pete and kissed him hard. Her hands reached up to cup his face while standing on tiptoe. She groaned the moment his arms wound around her, bringing her closer to him. Warmth spread from the deepest part of her chest and spread throughout her body.

The kiss wasn’t forceful, but man did it do things to her insides. Katniss disengaged and took him by the hand, dragging him to her makeshift bedroom.

“Katniss,” Pete raggedly uttered her name.

Katniss wasn’t even sure if what she was doing was correct. She didn’t have much, okay, in reality she knew zilch, zero, a big old donut hole about intimacy. The laws of attraction didn’t lend themselves to her until the day Pete Golightly came into her life.

She sat on the bed and scooted backward, trying to convey silently for Pete to come to her. Katniss wasn’t sure where this coquettish side to her came from. But Pete did things to her that made her want everything.

Her eyes scanned him as he stood by the foot of the bed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. If this were Gale he would have been the aggressor and that would have been like being thrown into a frozen lake in the middle of winter. It’s not that Pete couldn’t be aggressive, he was massive. His hands were warm and large, he was broad shouldered, strong, and taller than she was. Pete could probably bench press her caveman style, but he was sweet and polite, and that drove Katniss wild.

She sat up on the bed and crooked her finger at him.

Swiftly Peeta moved, coming to lay on top of her. She felt the moment he melted into her and she reveled in the power. They both gasped and moaned at the sensation of their bodies being pressed into one another.

Katniss tilted her head slightly to kiss him and little currents of pleasure flowed from her mouth to her belly and further south. Her hands grasped his face so that she could do something she’d heard about, kissing with tongue. It should have felt weird to have her tongue in his mouth. She instinctively sought entrance to his mouth and Pete gasped then angled his head and slowly opened his mouth for her. Her toes curled the moment his tongue greeted hers. Kissing was phenomenal, her new found favorite sport. Yes, it trumped archery.

Her hands released his face and began to roam as they kissed. Katniss had a sneaky suspicion that Pete was some sort of athlete because his chest was firm. Her hand snaked under his shirt and she felt the ridges of his abdomen. Pete moaned and pulled away, his blue eyes wide. He looked dazed, a flush spread up to his cheeks.

She wasn't the type of girl who noticed that a guy was hot. Not that she was blind. Even though she didn’t like Gale. Katniss could admit to herself Gale wasn't an ogre. He was actually good-looking in that tall, dark and too handsome for his own good sort of way. She was just not attracted to him. She was one hundred percent attracted to Pete. And at this moment, all the naughty things she never thought of, never thought she would ever want to do, and had no time for, were rushing through her mind like one of those poorly written super trashy novella's Delly was so fond of reading.

Katniss wanted the shirt to come off, she wanted for it all to come off, she wanted him naked. The word naked should have terrorized her, but in actuality it didn’t. She sat up and tugged up on his shirt. Pete pushed her hands down.

“Katniss we can’t.” Pete sounded like he had run up the steep hill carrying one of those 100lb crates of potatoes Greasy Sae had delivered to the restaurant. He sat back on his haunches. His eyes traveled over her and he shook his head. Katniss sorley wished she knew how to seduce.

"Katniss," he said before he grimaced.

She frowned.

“Your sister,” Pete said pointing up at the loft above.

She’d forgotten about her impressionable baby sister. “Dagnabit!”

Pete smiled gently.

“I hate adulting.”

“We all have to be adults.”

She fell backwards onto her pillow, frustrated. Selfishly she did not want to stop. Realistically Pete was correct. Prim was a scant few feet away. She couldn't act like a typical 20-year-old. She had to be smarter, which is why she tucked all of those awakened me-want-sexy-time thoughts into a corner of her brain. A place where boring things resided, like matching clean socks, cleaning the oven, or pumping gas.

"Talk to me." Pete laid down next to her, not touching her, but just looking at her. It was comfortable, it was nice and yet those butterflies were acting like they were banging spoons and pots in her stomach.

Talking was not her thing. As her court appointed family psychologist said, she was introverted, thoughtful and not someone who could eloquently speak unless pressured. This was partly because talking could lead to trouble. Katniss always reminded herself that until her sister turned eighteen, she had to be careful.

“You’re right,” Katniss sighed. “I can’t get carried away.”

“Believe me, it’s not easy walking away, but I get that you’re not ready for some things.”

“You do something to me,” Katniss blurted. “There are these butterflies I get in my stomach whenever you’re around.” She then realized how childish that sounded, she was twenty and not a thirteen year old girl.

He laughed.

Yep Katniss thought, Pete thought her crazy.

“I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I am around you too.”

“You do?” she was surprised.

“I do. You’re the sweetest most beautiful, bravest woman I have ever met. You are amazing.”

“I don’t know how to take that?” She was awestruck. She didn’t consider herself any of those things. Especially beautiful. She was not beautiful.

“Slowly like breathing. Let the words penetrate your heart slowly.”

Katniss nodded. “I just, I’ve never been with anyone. I don’t have the least idea about what or how I am supposed to act.”

“To be honest there isn’t one way to act; you just be yourself. If you’re not comfortable with something you tell me no or stop. Just like I pulled away and you respected my decision to pull away. I know this sounds like a cheesy movie line, but I like you, Katniss, I like you a lot. You are, and I keep saying this word, amazing, because I’m in awe of you.”

Words shouldn’t be that powerful but the way Pete wielded them caused her to want to rip his shirt and pans off and do stuff. What stuff she wasn’t sure, but stuff that people did in bed. She closed her eyes briefly and wondered what happened to the girl who a few weeks ago was grossed out at seeing two people make out in public.

He smiled and his blue eyes glowed. “I think you did a great job decorating too.”

“Now I know you’re crazy.”

“Given what you had to work with, you did amazing. Besides I’ve seen Prim’s loft…” Peeta grinned, the loft was a riot of baby blue, pinks, and purples. “Believe me you did a great job, even with your sister's space. Just enough chaos but enough organization to help a budding genius.”

“Oh no, she’s got you watching Pinky and the Brain?”

“Zoik!”

“Ugh,” Katniss said.

“What? I’m not a Brain, I’m more of a Pinky. Prim is the Brain.”

“Sometimes I am afraid about how smart Prim really is.” Katniss sighed. “Do you know she knew her periodic table before she turned three? She can spout all of the weights of the elements and is in advanced calculus and physics in school. I’ve asked her if she wanted to move on, you know, to a higher grade, but she said no because she wanted to grow up normal.” Katniss sighed. “She’s had so much disruption in her life. I just want her to have as typical a childhood as possible.”

Pete leaned in and kissed her soundly. Katniss sighed.

He leaned away. “I would like to take you out on a date.”

“When?” She scooted closer to him.

“What about Friday?” He scooted closer to her.

“S’okay.” She moved closer, so close she could see the pale specks in his blue eyes.

“Cool.” He gently enfolded her in his arms.

She’d never been held before, and it was better than ice cream on a warm July evening.

-THE SCENT

It took Claudius the entire day to track down Morph. Even with a stupid name, no one in this forsaken side of town knew the scrawny strung out kid. He went to every single gas station and no one could identify him.

Claudius was frustrated. Viciously glad the only thing he wasted was chump change. He was going to pack it up when he came upon a run down gas station near the border. It was a sad place. The kind of place people were murdered or bodies appeared. With a broken lamp and one gasoline pump because the other one had a white paper taped to it with the words ‘out of service’ hastily scribbled on it.

Claudius went inside and was struck dumbfounded when there sitting behind a laminated counter sat Morph.

“Morph,” Claudius said.

“Yeah.”

“Judy sent me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Morph nodded. His eyes looked unfocused and even in the dim light of the interior his irises were fully dilated.

Crap, Claudius thought, the idiot is high.

“Judy,” Morph said grinning.

“Do you remember why Judy sent me here?” Claudius wondered if this was going to be another dead end.

“Yeah.”

“And.”

“Oh.” Morph waited a moment. “Yeah.”

Claudius would rather get shot during a root canal. “Look kid, have you seen him,” Claudius took the tabloid from off the wrack and pointed to Peeta.

Morph blinked. “He was here, he paid for gas, cash.”

“He did?”

Morph held out his phone screen to Claudius. The thrill of the chase running through his veins. He showed him the picture of Peeta’s side profile. He was wearing the same baseball cap and sunglasses he wore in Judy’s picture. Morph then pulled his phone back and stared blankly.

“Can you tell me what direction he took?”

Morph turned his head. “Yeah.”

“Well.”

“He headed toward Panem.”

“Panem?” Claudius was struck. “Are you sure he didn’t head toward Canada?”

Morph took out his phone and swiped.

There on the screen was a picture of Peeta’s car with the license plate heading toward the Panem border. Claudius took the idiots phone and sent himself the pictures. He slapped a 20 on the laminate counter.

Claudius pumped his gas but mentally he chanted, “Gotcha.”

-CONSPIRATORS

“Good morning,” Prim said from over her bowl of cornflakes.

Pete grinned. The time on the microwave read 5AM. Rubbing the back of his head, he said, “Morning Prim.” He and Katniss fell asleep in her room. He hadn’t woken up until this moment. Katniss was still sleeping.

“So you and my sister,” Prim wiggled her eyebrows.

“Prim.”

She grinned then made little kissy faces.

“First, you are too young to think that way. Secondly, I respect your sister far too much…well, to push her into something she is not ready for.”

“Please, there’s no need for an explanation. I know you guys didn’t do anything. I came downstairs around eleven and both of you were snoring. You, by the way, drooled on her pillow.”

Peeta rubbed his face. He had a sinking suspicion Prim was going to hold this over him.

Prim smiled but as she continued slurping her milk.

“Your sister,” Peeta said, sighing. “I really…I...like her alot, more than a lot actually.”

“Listen Peeta,” Prim said. “You make my sister happy and she makes you happy.”

“Prim,” Peeta hushed Prim. “You can’t use my real name.”

Prim rolled her eyes.

She was the only one who had figured out who he was within seconds of meeting him. She waited until they were alone and then she began to grill him like a well done steak. He had been going to Sae’s diner for one of her infamous soups, but he also liked to watch Katniss. She was graceful. The way she walked around people without making sound or spilling drinks or bowls. He had been trying to gather the courage to speak to her.

One day Prim showed up and his entire ruse was over.

Katniss wasn’t the only Everdeen to be protective. Prim was like a mama bear around Katniss. Her attitude toward her older caused Peeta to have a deep appreciation for Katniss. That she sacrificed so much for her sister was humbling. Peeta wished he could use all of his money and connections to help out the sisters.

However as he got to know both of them, he knew neither sister would take money from him. These two were fighters, they were a team. When Prim figured out he wasn’t playing with her sister’s heart, she was a mini bulldozer pushing them together. Prim was, as Katniss stated, frighteningly intelligent.

“You mean Peeta?” Prim said it louder.

“Prim, keep it down.”

“My sister sleeps like the dead. And you owe me cheese buns.”

Peeta sighed. He’d forgotten the bet, which Prim won. Last night they did end up making out. He couldn’t help the buzzing in his body at the memory of the way Katniss silver eyes turned like liquid mercury when she was aroused. “Okay, we’ll have to go over to my place.”

“Why?” Katniss walked into the kitchen, her hair askew. Her sleepy face was adorable.

Peeta walked to her and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. “Good morning. I’m making cheese buns.”

“Why?” Katniss yawned.

“Because, you should never make a bet against an Everdeen.” Prim winked. “I’m going to grab my clothing and stuff. I’ll pack something for Katniss too.”

Katniss frowned, watching her sister walk toward the loft.

Peeta couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face and properly kissed Katniss. She hummed, groaned and moaned all at once.

She gazed up at him with awe and with the embers of desire. “I lost a bet to Primrose, and now I owe her cheese bun.”

“She shouldn’t be doing that, but your buns are well worth it.”

“You like my buns?” Peeta hoped she meant something else entirely.

Katniss slipped her hand around to his butt and squeezed him briefly before sassily winking at him. “Yup I just love your buns.”

Peeta laughed. And kissed her swiftly, feeling like he had come home.

-THE OUTRAGE

Gale wanted to rip the backyard tree from it’s trunk when he woke up to see Pete coming out of the apartment early this morning. They were laughing and holding hands.

Hi misery could only be accompanied by the rage he felt.

Katniss was supposed to his girl.

Gale closed his eyes momentarily as pain shot through him. He opened them to see the lovers wrapped up in each other. What hurt the most was that, this wasn’t sex, they weren’t fucking for fun. The way they held one another as they kissed, denoted tenderness, deep care, gentleness, and soft yielding toward the other.

Gale tore his eyes away. He loathed Pete Golightly for taking the one girl he thought belonged to him. The one girl he wanted.

Katniss might never be his, but he was never going to accept them as a couple.

-THE HUNT

Peeta Mellark was smart, but Claudius was smarter. With the plates he was able to trace the car. Peeta had turned his car into this obscure car rental in Panem’s Capitol. While he couldn’t confirm that Peeta rented a car, he showed the girl the picture from Morph’s phone. It was imperative he got that first picture of Peeta Mellark. It was now worth nearly 300 Grand. And Claudius wanted to sit on a throne made of money.

“Yeah, I’m trying to trace down my nephew. My brother had a heart attack and my nephew he’s on one of those retreats you go wireless.”

The perky blonde’s eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, are you alright?”

Bingo! Claudius said to himself. People were inherently good, well unless you were a bastard like him, but in reality they wanted to be helpful and that’s where he, the bastard, preyed upon them. “I am okay, my brother,” he added enough emphasis on the word brother to allude that he was mortally grave. “I just hope to find my nephew before…” He trailed off.

“Oh, I can’t give you information, because it’s private.”

Claudius grinned, “Yeah, of course,” he said pumping something close to sincerity in voice. “Could you tell me if someone has seen him if I describe my nephew to you?”

“Sure I can totally do that.”

“Great, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

-THE CONFRONTATION

Gale walked into Greasy Sae’s. He found Katniss briskly walking between tables, serving coffee.

He sat in her section, at the counter and waited patiently as the crowd thinned and she came behind the counter.

“Gale,” Katniss said, her lips were thinned into a tight smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“Coffee,” Gale’s eyes slid down her form. He recalled what she looked like in a pair of shorts and a tank top. She had a slight build, small breast and a small ass too. He thought before that outfit she had a boy's body, but he was wrong. That was the summer before her parents died. “And you.”

Katniss plopped the coffee saucer on the table and then said, “I’m not on the menu.”

“Well you’re sure on Golightly’s menu.”

Her eyes widened before she narrowed them. “That’s none of your damned business.”

“What? That you’ve been whoring yourself to him?” He reached out and snagged her wrist.

“Let go of me.” she tugged.

He tightened his grip, now that he had her, Gale couldn’t let go. He was fascinated by the silvery color of her eyes, the way her pert nose wrinkled. Once again, he thought she wasn’t beautiful, hell, she wasn’t even pretty, but there was this pull about her. One he could not let go, even though she was with that man.

“You’re hurting me,” Katniss whispered struggling.

“Gale Hawthorne,” Delly Cartwright said, slapping him upside the head.

Gale blinked and released his hold on Katniss. He frowned looking at the fat cow Cartwright.

“You let her go or I will call my cousin to arrest you for manhandling.” Delly’s voice was high and squeaky.

He realized everyone was looking at him. Embarrassed he pushed back his hat and said, “I don’t want anything from the likes of her.”

Katniss held her wrist protectively. Her eyes were a glittery silver. Her scowl was in place and he knew that if she had her bow she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“You okay?” Delly asked Katniss.

Gale scoffed looking at Katniss's wrist. “She’s not even bruised.”

“Get,” Delly said.

Gale saw that a few of the other residents stood up, their demeanor letting him know that they were backing the girls.

“I’ll be back.”

“No you won’t, I’m going to tell Greasy, and when she hears about this you’ll be banned,” Delly put her finger at the center of his chest.

Gale left, but he swore Katniss was going to pay for embarrassing him.

-THE DATE

Katniss was nervous. She looked at her wrist, glad she didn’t have a bruise after Gale manhandled her at work yesterday. She sighed and put the incident behind her. She wanted to focus on her date tonight with Peeta. Twirling to the side she fretted about the dress, was it too short, was it too revealing? She wasn’t sure about the color.

“You’ve got to relax, Katniss.”

Katniss swung around to face her sister. “You’ve got everything?”

“Yeah,” Prim said, rolling her eyes.

“Prim,” Katniss forgot to worry about her date with the worry about her baby sister.

“Katniss,” Prim grabbed her cheeks between her hands. “I AM GOING TO BE FINE!”

Katniss frowned. It was a night of firsts. She was going on a date with Pete, and her sister was going to her first slumber party with her friend Ginnee at the new girl Coral’s house. Katniss had met Coral’s parents yesterday when Prim came home with the coveted birthday party invite. Coral’s parents were from District Four and they thought a slumber party would help Coral make new friends at her new school.

Katniss thought Coral was okay, it was Ginnee, she didn’t trust. Ginnee had older sisters and brothers. She was astute and as slippery as a snake. Katniss frankly did not trust the intrepid twelve year old girl who would soon turn thirteen. “If anything even remotely happens or you feel uncomfortable you will…” Prim gave her a look that caused Katniss to amend her choice of words. “…can call me.”

“I will.”

There was a horn outside.

“Stop grimacing. It’s just Ginnee.”

“Ginnee,” Katniss muttered under her breath. “Just be careful, and have a good time.”

Prim grinned before she slipped her backpack on her back and sprinted out toward the waiting car.

Katniss stood outside looking like the proverbial mother hen with one arm wrapped around her middle the other lifted in a half-hearted wave. She couldn’t stop her sister from growing up.

As she stood there, Pete’s car pulled up. He came out wearing a nice dark blazer, white crisp shirt, and khakis. He clutched in his hands a bouquet of wildflowers. Where and when he got them she didn’t know. All she could think about was the shy yet sizzling smile Pete sent her way. And the breath she held when Prim left wooshed out of her.

“Hi,” she croaked.

“You look great,” he gushed.

Katniss looked down at the orange wrap dress Prim demanded Katniss splurge on and buy for tonight. “Thanks. You look nice.”

He grinned at her and that was how her control snapped. She stepped up to him and kissed him wildly. She moaned when his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to him. She was correct; kissing Pete was better than the thirty-one ice cream flavors Baskin Robbins boasted. “Oh Pete…”

Pete pulled back and sighed. “If we don’t get out of here now, I am going to carry over my shoulder and bring you inside, Katniss.”

Katniss raised an eyebrow, feeling emboldened and brazenly she said, “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Pete groaned.

“But,” Katniss said, liking how her words affected him. She wickedly said, “I suppose if you want to spoil me for a nice meal, before I plunder you later on…”

“Do you not understand I am trying to be a gentleman?” His eyes were wide and wild.

Katniss wanted to sound coquettish, but she ended up telling him the truth in a rushed tortured tone of voice. “You’re not the only one holding on to restraint.”

Katniss watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I am trying to think of everything that is disgusting and unappealing to make me come down back to earth and continue with dinner.”

“You are?”

“Katniss my brain short circuits any time you’re near, and when you kiss me I can’t even function. I have to literally sing the twelve days of Christmas in my head to calm down.”

“The twelve days of Christmas?” She couldn’t help the way a smile formed on her face.

“I have to keep on telling myself that you’re not ready, that this is moving way to fast-“

She didn’t let him finish. “What if I am ready to be with you?” It was impulsive and she was not sorry she said the truth.

“Are you sure?” He looked scared, almost reverent.

“I am, but if you’re not ready, then I’ll wait,” she said into his lips because he kissed her fiercely and such intensity that she was left breathless.

“Food,” he muttered when he pulled away. “Need food to keep up.”

He took her hand and tugged her along. The dinner that followed was uncomfortable in that they both wanted to go home and tear each other’s clothing off. Katniss couldn’t recall what she chose or what he ordered. The only thing she wanted wasn’t on the menu.

When they got to her apartment the thin wall of restraint broke and they were kissing wildly.

“Slow, must go slow,” Pete said as he struggled with pulling off his shirt without unbuttoning it.

Katniss chuckled at his eagerness. A smooth operator Pete was not, but she didn’t mind. She slowed him down by putting her hand on his chest and tugging his shirt down. Quietly she undid the buttons. His breath was labored while hers was calm. She was more than turned on, her underwear were ruined, to be fair, and her nipples stood at attention in her bra. She was the inexperienced one, but at that moment, Pete was the one with jumbled nerves and that made her feel excited, yet calm.

His eyes darkened when she removed his shirt and her hands slid up his chest. Her heart was a riot inside of her chest. Her blood pressure, no doubt, through the roof. Her mouth watered at the sight of his abs. She understood why when women said six-pack they went haywire. On impulse she kissed his chest and licked his pec and Pete roughly called her name.

“Off,” she said, tugging his pants.

Pete's hands flew to his pants and her eyes were riveted to his hands as the zipper came down. Katniss shivered now she began to pant. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened at the sight of him. “OH,” she said. Her hands reached out to touch him, but she glanced up to see if this was alright.

Pete tersely nodded.

Her hand wrapped around him and she sighed along with his groan. He was long and thick, and his tip wept with pre-cum.

“Katniss, I want to see you,” Pete’s voice sounded low and dangerous and she shivered.

Katniss leveled a look at him as she placed her hand on the ties of her wrap dress. He placed his hand on top of hers.

“May I?”

“Okay,” she gasped, dropping her hands. She was by this point unable to talk. The anticipation was getting to her.

Pete’s eyes were hooded and dark as his hands tugged on the knot at the front of her dress. “I’ve been thinking about this all evening.”

Her dress slid open and it slid off her skin smoothly like chocolate melting in one’s mouth.

Pete made a strangled cry at the sight of her. Emboldened by his reaction she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, letting the straps fall slowly revealing her breasts to him. His hands trembled when he reached out to touch her, but he sought her permission.

“May I,” his voice sounded hoarse.

She nodded, but he just stood there staring at her. Unwilling to wait anymore she took his hand and slid it to her waiting breast. His touch sent her over the edge and her head snapped back and she moaned his name.

His free hand brought her closer and the press of flesh to flesh was an explosion more powerful than any force of nature. Their mouths met greedily, wildly, taking, giving, needing, and raising the temperature between them. She was a blaze for him and he was ablaze for her. He picked her up and mouths still fused, her fingers in his soft wavy hair. She pulled and played with the strands as they somehow landed on her bed. His mouth disengaged from hers once they were laying on the bed him on top looking down at her wantonly.

His lips began a decent down, his tongue tasting, lapping, tracking a path downward leaving her to be a wriggling mess. She called his name fervently as a tight coil wound deep within her womb. He paused at the juncture of her thighs. She could feel his hot breath on her inner thigh. When his fingers brushed along her soaked panties, she jumped.

“I want to taste you,” he said. His eyes flickered from her face to the crotch of her panties.

Katniss fisted her hands into the sheets. She’d accidently read about this in one of Delly’s books. She’d picked it up one day curious as to why Delly found them so appealing. What she read shocked her men kissing a woman between their legs sounded unsanitary. But right now, in this moment, with the way Pete was looking at her as if she was the most delicious plate of food it was the one thing she wanted. “Please,” she gasped.

Pete inched her panties down as if he was unwrapping a present and Katniss was relieved when her underwear were off and lay bare with her legs spread before him. He looked predatorial and yet worshipful. His hands slid up her thighs and a thousand points of electric pleasure raced to her core. And when she kissed her there, and she felt his tongue taste her and she yelled and thrashed wildly, her body shaking as he tasted her.

“Perfect,” he muttered, “delicious,” were words he repeated when he gasped for air.

Katniss didn’t care as she felt herself burn brighter and brighter, the coiling sensation whirled within her until her skin burned and she combusted with a loud sound and moisture seeped out of her.

She was barely back to herself before Pete began his onslaught again. This time, adding a finger, then another and like a dam, she burst over and over until she was a raw nerve, quaking needing more, desiring him to fill her empty spaces. The ones in her heart, mind, soul and body.

She called out his name, pulling him up to her so she could kiss him. His hands touched her and explored her body as they rolled around in the bed. Her hands also drifted over him. Her short nails scraping over his body, soft but hard, brushing over the hair that traveled down his belly button, downward to his cock. She grasped him, but Pete pulled away.

“I want you,” she growled.

His grin was instant. Then he said, “condom…”

Katniss was frustrated when he pulled away to find the offensive item that took Pete away from her. She was bereft without his warmth, and his heavenly body.

When he returned back to her his eyes focused on her body. With fire she opened her legs, an open invitation.

“Fuck,” Pete said. His hand ran through his hair, and once more his lips descended upon her center until she was screaming his name. And when he crawled up pinning her to the bed she was a disarray of sensations primed and ready. With gentleness he lined them up before his body dipped into hers. Tears slipped from her eyes as she felt cherished, wanted, and loved.

His eyes conveyed that and more as she was split open and her mind flashed to the first moment she saw him come into the diner. The way he looked lost and bewildered when he first set eyes on her. The way his hands shook after their first kiss.

“Katniss are you alright?”

Katniss was sure, “Yes.”

“I’m not hurting you?” he gasped as she flexed muscles she didn’t know she had.

She shook her head. And with that he began moving within her and stole her breath away. Being with Pete was more than a treat, it was life altering, soul shaking. He was trying to make her feel good and there were a few times she felt the stirring, but her body was too raw and frayed to really be engaged.

“Katniss,” he panted, “you’re not with me.”

“It’s okay, let go,” she urged.

“But..” he groaned.

She gripped his butt and scraped her nails and he shouted.

She loved to watch him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t come again. She was well satisfied when she saw him lose his mind when he came. That was her new favorite memory. A memory to remove all of the bad ones.

Nothing else mattered because she had fallen in love with Pete.

-LA LIVING

Haymitch ran his hands through his hair. Whoever said there was no such thing as bad publicity should have been stuffed with the food from the first episode of that food network show America's worst cooks.

A month and a half had passed and still Peeta’s name was on the lips of every single exec, studio chief, or big time producer. They wanted Peeta to be in their next production. The Oscar talk in tinsel town was at a fevered pitch and with only one person leading the pack, his client, the kid.

He sat back in his chair. He had other clients, but the kid, he was special. Because unlike the other butter nutters that he dealt with, Peeta was a good kid. He was wholesome. Too darned good for this business.

His secretary buzzed in, “Mr. Abernathy.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch bit out.

“They are calling,” his secretary said with resigned annoyance.

Haymitch gritted his teeth. The studio was calling.

“Fudge,” Haymitch said. He’d given up his two favorite pastimes, drinking and swearing. The drinking because when he found himself lying on top of a train track in the middle of nowhere with a train horn blasting in the distance. It had been time to get help. Two the cursing, it reminded him of the bars. There was something about a good curse word that brought images of a smooth malt whisky. So as part of his sobriety, he gave up cursing.

“You want me to tell them you’re not here,” his secretary sounded giddy as if she wanted to tell them what bridge they can use to take a flying leap from.

“No. Put them through.” He could only imagine what they wanted.

“Abernathy!”

“Ravenstill,” Haymitch greeted.

“I just wanted to tell you that this Agatha Christine stunt is the best thing that has happened. We are two months away from the Oscar Nominations; his name is like gold. Not to mention the movie has been number one for six weeks and has done phenomenally well internationally.”

Haymitch could hear P. Ravenstille the Third calculating the money in his head. To men and women like Ravenstille it was all about the money, not about the kid who had had enough to leave.

“I just want him found before the Oscar nomination,” Ravenstill said.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, good job. I’m sending a few clients your way, Abernathy. See what you can do for their careers.”

With that Ravenstill was gone.

Sighing deeply, Haymitch thought to himself, it was time to begin some digging of his own. He needed to find the kid.

-THE BUBBLE

A few days later Pete made her scream so much that the tension rods gave way and fell. Maybe it was the force of the bed hitting the wall, but it didn’t matter because coming with him buried deep within her walls shook her world. She couldn’t form a simple sentence afterwards. She was glad that afternoon, Prim had been next door playing video games with Vick and Rory.

It all came about because of laundry. She was making plies gearing up for laundry day. By the time she mentioned dryer sheets her underwear was hanging from the corner of the refrigerator. Peeta had a serious kink about laundry.

When Prim came home, she stopped and looked at both of them, as they made dinner. Her eyes narrowed. She looked suspicious.

“Why is your hair wet, Pete?” Prim asked.

Pete looked so embarrassed that he couldn’t come up with a single word.

“Prim go wash up. Dinner will be done in a few minutes,” Katniss shooed her away needing to quickly redirect her sister.

“But his hair is all wet,” Prim said.

This was going to be harder than corralling baby chicks. “We were playing with water Prim,” Katniss said.

“Wait, you had a water fight and didn’t invite me!” Prim sounded outraged.

“I’m sorry, you were so busy playing victory of something or other with Vick,” Katniss teased. It wasn’t a lie; she and Pete did play with water. A steamy game of hide the soap.

Prim twisted her face, and sounded like Daffy Duck, “You’re despicable.”

“I know,” Katniss winked. “Now go wash your hands.”

Pete raised an eyebrow.

Katniss felt the way her cheeks stung as she blushed. “I didn’t lie, we were playing with water.”

Pete’s throaty laugh made her wish they were alone.

-TINSEL TOWN CALL

“Haymitch darling!” Caesar Flickerman's excited voice made Haymitch want to stand in the center of oncoming traffic. The man was so cheerful it gave him a toothache.

“Flick, I’ve got an exclusive.” Haymitch said, jumping in his car.

“Rrrreally,” Caesar rolled his r’s like a cat purring. Caesar's real name was Pertanio Rodriguez, he changed his name to sound more commercial. But he emulated Walter Mercado, a famous and beloved astrologer. Despite his Liberace-like appearance, Caesar was one of the smartest interviewers.

“Let’s just say I’m cashing in that favor, you owe me.” Haymitch slipped his glasses on. The black and white grainy pictures of a blond Peeta Mellark and a dark haired beauty were on his passenger side.

“You mean you know where Peeta Mellark is?”

“Yeah, I want you to get ready to move, and I mean move fast.” Haymitch knew everything, thanks to Finnick. He followed Pete Golightly to District Twelve and that’s where he found him playing house with a girl. Haymitch needed to spin this fast, because he guessed if he found Peeta this fast there were others who were on his trail. “The kid’s in love, and it’s why he left. To help his lady love.”

“OHHHHH,” Caesar said.

“Yeah, star crossed, flipping flip flop, lovers.”

-THE APPROACH

Claudius was tired, but he knew he was getting close. He could taste it as he drove off the ferry into District Twelve. The island was small, mostly filled with rocky hills. This was the type of place where cousins kissed and everyone was related.

His proof? As he drove into town all he could see was tan and olive-skinned people, with slick black hair and light eyes. Yep, he was in an inbred clusterfuck. It was evening, and the sun was dipping low, closing on another day. It was starting to get cold.

The rented car needed gas; he drove it through the Capitol and eleven of the thirteen districts. He wanted nothing more than to find a hotel, get a hot meal, and a shower.

Pulling into the gas station a taller version of the inbred came out.

“Forty dollars regular.” Claudius offered the kid the two bills. He was looking at his emails. There was still no sight of Peeta Mellark.

He scowled. “You’re tearing the engine with regular.”

The growl snapped Claudius from perusing his phone. The kid looked like he could bench press him. “Fine.”

“Ass,” the hot-tempered giant said.

“Look, I'm looking for someone. He’s medium height, blue eyes, broad shoulders…a chin that makes women swoon.”

The kid raised an eyebrow.

“Look, he kinda looks like Peeta Mellark the movie star,” Claudius doubted the giant had two brain cells that held a note of intelligence. “Do you know anyone who looks like that?”

The giant’s eyes widened and he growled, “I do.”

“You do, great!”

“Who the hell are you?”

Suddenly Claudius saw the kids eyes turn cold and calculating, and Claudius thought huh, he was wrong, the giant was smart.

“I’m a reporter, my name is Claudius.” Claudius took out his card and gave it to the giant. “I’m looking for him, you know where he is?”

“How much is it worth to you?”

“Sure, 50K,” Claudius said.

“100 Grand,” the giant countered.

“60..” the kids hand curled into a fist, and Claudius raised his price, his voice going up an octave. “70…5…75 Grand.”

“Good, name’s Gale.”

“Gale,” Claudius said, not sure if this kid was going to lead him to Peeta Mellark or into the mountains and skin him alive.

“Meet me tomorrow,” Gale said scribbling the address on the back of his receipt.

“If this is…”

“You want Mellark, right?” Gale asked.

“Yeah, well meet me there tomorrow morning. Early, or you won’t catch him.”

Claudius knew there was a story here, “Why?”

“Look, this district is so small about half a dozen people already know that you’re here. The news will get to him quickly and he’ll leave. Do you want that?”

“No.” Claudius felt like he was back in third grade being chastised by his thick legged hairy teacher Mrs. Gaul.

“Good, then drive four miles, make a left on Chicory lane and stop at number 451, and tell the goat man I sent you. He’ll take care of you tonight. Meet me tomorrow before five at this address.

-THE CALM

Katniss awoke slowly, she was surrounded, cocooned in a delicious warmth and manly scent. Their first date led to her sleeping with him. Heat spread throughout her body as she recalled the way it felt to have him deep inside her, the way her body split and widened to accommodate him. His look was a blend of worry and bliss. Seeing him come undone was one of her new favorite things to do.

Of course Pete confessed his favorite thing to do was making her orgasm over and over.

“How is it you’re not sleeping?”

His sleep roughened voice caused gooosebumps to appear up and down her body.

“Well, I have to go get Prim, she’s at Coral’s house.”

“Right,” Pete rubbed his eyes.

“Pete, you don’t have to go.”

Pete looked at his phone, “Katniss it’s not even five in the morning.”

“It isn’t?” Katniss looked at his phone. “I forgot the whole time-change thing.”

Pete laughed, “Well that gives us time...”

Katniss turned and saw him leering at her and she gasped and laughed as Pete attacked her lips.

-THE SNARE

Gale couldn’t believe his nemesis was none other than the ‘goody-toO-shoes’ Hollywood star; Peeta Mellark was Pete Golightly. It was the same blue eyes, chin, build, height, even his smile was the same. Only his hair was different. Peeta’s blond hair didn’t look like a bottle dye job though. He looked like a natural blond. Either way, Gale wanted to smack himself on the back of his head. His anger had blinded him and he hadn’t made the connection; the missing Hollywood star was hiding here in District Twelve, and now that Hollywood star had seduced the one clueless girl on the entire island that he, Gale, desired.

Gale looked at his phone. Claudius, the reporter was late. Gale had googled the guy last night. Claudius was legit. He worked as an independent photographer for Snow Incorporated; Coriolanus Snow owned several tabloid magazines, and a few reputable newspapers.

For once Gale was glad Katniss' sister wasn’t at home. He knew Prim wasn’t in the apartment. Vick, his little brother said she was having a slumber party this weekend. Prim shouldn’t have to pay for her sister's indiscretion.

A cold breeze slipped by. It was cold outside, and it looked like snow was on the way.

Pete or rather Peeta, was inside with Katniss.

Gale wondered if Katniss knew who Pete really was and if that was why she’d let him into her inner circle. Maybe she was attracted to his fame and fortune. If that was the case, and Katniss turned out to be one of those girls, then what chance did he, a mechanic, have. She would never go for him. And that is why he was waiting for the reporter.

He wanted her to hurt the way he hurt.

He wanted her to be embarrassed the way he was embarrassed at her denial of what he wanted.

He wasn't an idiot. He was smart.

And with the money he was about to make he certainly didn’t want a cheap hussy like Katniss by his side. He was going to get himself a good girl, a girl who wanted him for more than just his looks and money.

Gale spotted the reporter’s car as it pulled up silently.

“What kind of Blair Witch Project kind of road is this? I swear I was afraid I was going to fall into a ditch and die a few times.”

“You made it, didn’t you?”

Claudius sighed, “Yeah.”

“You got the money?”

“I need the goods,” Clausidius said.

“Look, I know you think I’m some backward hick living in a hole in the wall, but I know that if you don’t pay me, the best picture you’ll get of Mellark is a picture of him from behind, leaving this house. What I got planned is going to make you notorious.” Gale held up the extra set of keys to the rental.

The reporter grimaced, but looked at the keys. “Fine,” Claudius said. He got out of his car and pulled out a messenger bag full of money and handed it to Gale.

“That's half, that's all I have with me,” Claudius said.

“Once I get the picture, I’ll get you the other half.”

“Then let's go,” Gale said, striding forward.

-THE STORM

Peeta lazily let his hands drift over Katniss’ arm. They were cuddling, spooning. Her delicious backside was pressed up against his front. She was half-asleep, lulled by their last round of love making.

Prim told him last night that he needed to tell Katniss the truth. He was scared. But as Prim said, Katniss knew him. She knew the real him and not the poster board flashy grinning guy he had to portray in the media. Everything was pretend in Hollywood and over the top. He wanted something real and he found it in her.

His heart melted for her. He was in love for the first time in his life. He loved and was in love with Katniss and this morning he was going to tell Katniss the truth about who he was.

“Katniss,” he whispered into her cheek.

“Mmmm,” she moans sleepily.

“Come on, Everdeen,” he nipped at her neck, chin, and earlobe.

“Go away,” she snuggles into the bed.

“Katniss,” he tried again. “I’m going to make you cheese buns.”

“Mmmm, cheese buns.”

“And my real name is Peeta Mellark,” he said quietly.

Her eyes opened, just as the curtains to her room opened and the flash of a camera went off.

“PEETA MELLARK,” Cluadius shouts as he takes pictures. “Is she what made you leave Hollywood!”

Peeta took his shirt and covered Katniss before he leapt from the bed and pushed Caludius out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.

“Gale?” Katniss asked behind him.

Peeta saw the tall lanky neighbor with a pleased grin in the shadows as Claudius took pictures. His first instinct was to punch the idiot, because he knew it was Gale that sold them out. His second instinct was to call in the calvary, Haymitch.

-THE FRENZY

"My sister. They're going to take my sister away," Katniss whispered, pacing back and forth.

“Katniss, I am sorry about this,” Pete says, running his hand through his blond hair.

She can’t stop the worrying. Then she paused and stared at the man she’d fallen in love, the man who lied to her. “You were trying to tell me...before that...that.”

“I wanted to be honest with you.” He stood and came to stand near her.

Suddenly she was filled with questions, all of them starting with the word, why. "How did you come up with your name Pete Golightly?”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Audrey Hepbrun’s name is Holly Golightly. It’s the name I use whenever I check into hotels. I changed my name slightly and used Golightly. Only one person knows my alias, a fail safe in case someone needs to reach me in an emergency.”

“Huh,” Katniss cocked her head. She didn’t like old movies and frankly had never seen it. But she was familiar with the posters of Audry Hepurn standing in front of the jewelry store. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the girl with the black dress.”

“That’s the one.”

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because." He waits a beat before he says, "I was in hiding. I didn’t want to burden you with knowing. Besides, no one needs me."

Katniss couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. How could anyone not want him, need him.

“But you’re a movie star?” Katniss whispered, wondering how she missed out on the reality that he was Peeta Mellark, the movie star. She had a poster of him when she was younger. But she blinked to focus. Pete was really Peeta. She furrowed her eyebrows as she thought about what she knew about him. She'd seen him during these last few weeks, tested his metal. Carefully she made a list of the things she knew about Peeta, the man. He was smart, strong, generous, kind, sweet, good. At the last word she stopped. Peeta was beyond, just, plain ol' good. He had an inherent goodness that was at the center of his being, and people didn’t see it because they were taken in by the fame.

“Exactly.” He gave her a pointed look. “They need my money, notoriety, fame...but no one needs me. My family,” his voice sounds bitter laced with disappointment. "They only need me and use me for the money in my bank account. My mother sold the spare key to my house for a fee to the tabloids. They went through my home and splayed it in Snow’s publications for the world to see. When I asked why, my mother said it was because I was a selfish, weak chinned, dumbass who she was going to sue for lost wages. As we speak her lawyers are filing paperwork.”

He sighed and his eyes saddened. Katniss could see how broken and lost he was, and Katniss reached out to touch his hand. She wonders what kind of woman would do that to her own child. Katniss had no idea. she didn't read the tabloids or watched shows about movie stars and their sordid lives. She was too busy trying to put food on the table and keep a roof over her and her sister’s heads.

Sad blue eyes met her fiery silver ones. Katniss wanted to tuck him away and keep him safe.

“I left Hollywood because I was burnt out. I thought no one cared for me. I do not need attention, as Haymitch will attest to, I hate the attention, but I love the work. However, people want the movie star. They don’t want me Peeta, the guy who would rather hang out, paint or experiment with food. I only have two friends Haymitch, which you’re about to meet and I am apologizing for what Haymitch is, and Finnick Odair. Yes, that Finnick Odair who runs around in his movies, half naked, half the time."

Kathiss wrinkled her nose at the image of the guy with the Jason Mamoa body, and the devil may care grin. He was, in Delly's words, melt your panties hot. But Katniss didn't find him interesting. "I've been forced to watch a few of his movies."

His eyes lighted and his lips formed a smile at the word forced.

"Delly." Katniss shrugged. "She thinks he is sultry, but he's not my type." She watched his eyes process the information. "So if you don't have that many friends..." her voice drifted. Gleaning his information about his family, she formulated the question. Katniss didn't have a lot of friends. There was only Delly and Madge. But she also had Prim, her only family, and even her pacifist her sister would punch bees for her. "What do you do?"

"I sit home most of the time doing laundry. Perfecting my fitted sheet fold."

"You have a thing about laundry."

"Just yours," his heated look caused her pulse racing.

"Peeta," she chastised. He smiled mischievously and picked up the bra that she'd been looking for.

Intense heat flooded her cheeks. She imagined she had to be redder than the child of a tomato and a cherry. She snatched it from his hands. "You need to get back to Hollywood...and why you left."

Peeta cleared his throat. "I really don't do the whole Hollywood thing. I don't party. I don't drink and I don't do drugs. Most of my nights I hang out with Finn and his wife Annie. I do a lot of laundry for Annie. They have an adorable lil boy, a toddler, named Finian. Fin for short, who loves mud. I do their laundry for fun. But outside of them, like I said, I have no one and I know that no one wants me, so I walked away. I didn’t think anyone would hunt me down. I am sorry.”

Katniss didn’t have a voice momentarily, so she continued to listen.

“I came here, intending to hide out for a few days and then head to District Thirteen. Then I walked into Greasy Sae’s and I couldn’t breath when I saw you and weirdly parallel stalked you…and then I met Prim.”

“What about Prim?” Katniss needed to know everything. It would serve her right that, her super intelligence off the charts, baby sister would figure who Pete really was.

“Prim knows, she figured me out. Within seconds...she knew all of my media history. She's tough, made me sweat.”

Katniss chuckled. Her baby sister could be exasperating and could be terrifying when she turned on, what Katniss called her smart factor. Prim was a computer able to make calculations about all sorts of things. Katniss was the only one who could match her sister when engaged. But it also reminds Katniss of the pictures of her naked with Peeta. "Oh the pictures. This isn't good Pete...Peeta."

"Katniss trust me, we'll figure a way out. I swear. My manager Haymitch will know what to do.” Peeta's voice was reassuring.

“No, you don’t understand the state; they will see this as me being irresponsible. They will take my sister away and put her in foster care.” Katniss couldn’t help the way her voice rose. Everything was spinning out of control. She couldn’t help the tears that fell from her face.

“Listen to me. Haymitch is almost here. He said he has a plan.” He gathered her in his arms and she sighed and trembled.

All she ever wanted was to make her sister feel safe. She wanted to make her sister feel as if nothing else could go wrong. She closed her eyes. Now she couldn’t do that because a paparazzi had taken naked pictures of her and Pete...Peeta. Naked pictures that would be splashed and splayed all over tabloids and news media outlets.

Pictures that weren’t Peeta’s fault, but Gale’s.

Gale sold Peeta out.

“Pete, I mean Peeta,” Katniss couldn’t hide her misery. “Those pictures, they’re going to use them against me. They are going to use them against you too.”

His eyes warmed.

His cell phone beeped. He looks at his phone. “Delly’s here.” Delly was bringing Prim home. There was another ping. He frowned looking at the phone then said, “...and so is Haymitch.”

He gave her a look, as if pleading with her to trust him. He looked so vulnerable. Katniss expelled a breath. She’d question if she should trust him. A single word enters her mind. Together.

Taking his hand in hers. "There isn’t anyone I would rather do this with."

He chuckled. "You’re so fierce, like an Amazon."

Katniss grinned. "You haven't seen me with my bow."

"You’re so amazing."

Their hands threaded together. She was going to protect Peeta because the whirlwind of pain stopped here.

Let the storm commence.

"Together," Peeta said with hope.

"Together."

-THE BUCK STOPS AT LA

Peeta opened his mouth to speak as Haymitch entered the garage. The kid’s text message that Claudius broke into the girl's apartment and took pictures of them in-flagrante had him calling in the troops. He had less than an hour to spin and control the narrative. Naked pictures of the kid wouldn’t have meant anything to Haymitch if it were another client, but the kid had a stellar track record. It meant the world. He sent a text to his contact, another favor. The kid was going to owe him big.

"Save it, kid," he said gruffly. He needed a drink, hell, he needed an entire bottle of whisky. "Flipping burnt flapjacks, kid, if you needed a break." His eyes scanned the small interior. His car was bigger on the inside than this place. "I could have helped you."

"Haymitch," Peeta looked behind him at the girl and her sister.

"I'm sorry," Prim said quietly. "I wanted to tell you. But Peeta needed to feel safe."

"I know." Katniss nodded curtly.

Peeta's love interest had the personality of a dead slug. His phone pinged. Haymitch hid his eavesdropping. His eyes focused on Peeta. The kid was more than just a client; he was like family.

Haymitch lowered his voice. "I know this had to do with your family. So I let you go, my mistake. And I'm not letting anyone ruin you for a paycheck. Now introduce me."

"Haymitch, this is Katniss Everdeen and her sister Primrose.

It only took Haymitch seconds for him to assess the situation.

The little sister Primrose was sugary sweet, adorable. Her wide baby blue eyes held intelligence and goodness. The world was going to love her.

His grey eyes met the girl. "Listen Sweetheart, if you’re going to survive this, you've got to listen to me."

His grey eyes watched the kid with the girl. He hid his grin when she scowled at his nickname for her. He could see her bristle, before her eyes shuttered closed, almost like a camera lense quickly shifting to block out light. "Okay, lovebirds, Cinna is here. And Caesar is waiting outside to interview you both."

"Haymitch," Peeta said, taking a step forward to protect both of the women in his arms. This behavior he expected from the kid.

Sweetheart’s behavior though surprised him. When Katniss glanced at Peeta, she transformed into a fiery creature that is so pure and majestic. Haymitch realized Sweetheart was a lot like him. Tender hearted, fiercely loyal, with a tough exterior. Haymitch knew the girl was smitten with Peeta himself, and not the Hollywood facade. This he could work with.

"Haymitch, Katniss is Primrose's guardian. The pictures Claudius took are salacious and damning." Peeta glanced back at Katniss before moving forward. “She can't afford to have them come out. We need to make sure they are protected."

"Look, I can sell this star-crossed lover." As expected Sweetheart scowled. Good, Haymitch thought; he wanted her to go into combat mode. "You guys will tell Caesar the truth." As Haymitch spoke he was furiously typing on the keypad of his phone. "He's broadcasting it onto a live audience. People love a good love story. Any pictures Claudius has will be seen as intrusive."

Haymitch opened the door to Cinna who arrived with the prep team.

"How long do we have?"

"15 minutes tops," Haymitch said.

Cinna nodded. The team hauled in dresses, makeup, lights, and things Haymitch was sure the Everdeen women had never seen.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Haymitch turned to meet a woman who looked to be six feet tall. Her sharp eyes glance at Sweetheart. Haymitch guessed this was landlady by her agitated face.

"Hazelle," Sweetheart said, and he could see that she wanted to cry, but she built up a wall. This wasn't a friend, but the woman was an authority figure. Someone Sweetheart looked up to.

“Katniss what is going on? Why are all these people trespassing? Gale called me and said that you had all of these people here.”

Sweetheart was easy to read. She was pissed at the name Gale. He quietly glanced at the kid who’s eyes ticked also at the sound of Gale’s name.

“Who is Gale?” Haymitch abruptly asked, not caring about the woman before him. He knew Gale was related to Hazelle but he wanted to know what part this idiot had in this fiasco.

“Gale is my son, and this is my property.”

Sweetheart looked agitated, and he wondered if this Gale was the reason he was here. The reason the kid and sweetheart were in this mess. Peeta mouthed Claudius to him and confirmed his suspicions. “You rent to her?” Haymitch narrowed his eyes.

“Yes.” Hazelle bit back. “I want…”

Haymitch got in her way, stopping her torrent of words. His phone pinged, and he got what he was waiting for, the pictures, from an insider at the tabloid Claudius sold the pictures to. As he's suspected, the money shot wasn't of Peeta, it was of Peeta with Sweetheart. Haymitch then saw why Peeta was upset. Because the pictures showed how vulnerable the kid's other half was. It was Sweetheart’s whose life would be ruined. Her name raked through hot coals and muck. This was the intention of Hazelle’s son, and Haymitch scratched the words 'Hazelles son' and for the first time in years he cursed, that rat bastard. “Then you know your son allowed a paparazzi into your renter’s apartment and let him take pictures of my client and his girlfriend while they were asleep?”

Her eyes widened with shock. “My son would never…”

“Really,” Haymitch held his phone up and. “I believe that is your son in the background with a smug grin on his face. He violated the renter’s agreement to be notified before entering the residence. He also is a slimy, no good worm for doing that to her.” Haymitch said, “Hope you’re proud of your son.”

Hazelle’s eyes lost her indignation. "I..."

"I suggest you lawyer up. I've just sent the information to my client’s lawyer, Johanna Mason. I suggest you call your son and tell him he can kiss the money he made goodbye."

"Johanna?" Peeta questioned.

Haymitch grinned wickedly. Peeta hadn't wanted to do anything about his mother, but Haymitch went behind his back to procure Hollywood's number one ball busting lawyer Johanna Mason. She gleefully was preparing the paperwork against Snow; the woman loathed the man. She already had an injunction against the images. "Don't worry Kid, she's doing this pro-bono. Now go get pretty. You go live with Caesar in less than ten."

-THE INTERVIEW

Caesar Flickerman was like a circus ringleader. Literally dressed like a ringleader with a red jacket, black lapels, and gold trimming. His hair was jet black and his smile was a little too crazed for Katniss' liking. She squared her shoulders, looking at Haymitch who raised an eyebrow and his eyes slid to the camera letting her know she was not acting like the doting girlfriend. It caused her to gaze at Peeta who took her hand and squeezed it. The butterflies that were eerily silent until this very moment were having a championship hockey match inside of her stomach.

She was so uncomfortable. In ten minutes she’d been waxed, pealed, and poured into clothing with price tags that made her head spin. The jean’s she wore cost more than her rent. She and her sister were sitting on either side of Peeta. Primrose looked beautiful, her blonde hair combed and styled to perfection. Cinna and his assistants dressed her in a graphic t-shirt dress and distressed jacket. She wore lace up black ankle boots. Prim was excited for the fashion and Katniss' heart twisted because she could never afford to give her sister any of this.

Looking down at her hands, she thought this was all surreal.

There were cameras, glaring lights, this fuzzy long thing that hung right above her head. It was hot and uncomfortable. It was also live.

Caesar was speaking to the camera about them.

It was too much. Those butterflies that were playing hockey now drove dune buggies. Her eyes looked for an exit. She didn’t know how Peeta did it, being on center stage.

Sensing her discomfort, Peeta put his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer. Katniss sighed, looking up at him. The sooty lashes that Peeta's prep team glued to her lids stuck together and she blinked to separate them; this is why she didn't wear makeup.

Peeta might have read the wrong signal because he leaned in and brushed a kiss on her lips. Then his lips trailed from the cleft of her lips to her cheeks to her ear. "You okay?" he whispered.

Katniss could feel heat flush her face as she realized Peeta had found a way to communicate without breaking the charade. Katniss whispered, "My fake lashes keep on sticking together. And I loathe make up!"

The low rumble in his chest meant he was caught off guard.

She wanted to hide her grin, and he wiggled his eyebrows. There was the loveable goofball who had an unnatural love of all things laundry. Say the words fabric softener and he became a puppy with a favorite toy.

He roughly whispered, "You're amazing!"

He gently brushed her lashes and adjusted the troublesome lash before moving away.

"Look at you two, what a beautiful couple!" Caesar gushed.

For those few seconds Katniss was grateful for the man's exuberance; it's as if he was on their side.

“So what happened Peeta?” Caesar said with notes of sincerity. “Why did you walk away?”

Peeta leaned forward and Katniss slipped her hand in his.

“It was the whole thing with my parents.” Peeta’s voice hid nothing of the pain; he shared it with the world. “My mother sold me to the highest bidder, and,” Katniss squeezed his hand. “They went through my home. I felt violated, and unable to feel safe.”

Caesar said, “I recall that wasn’t that long ago.”

“The pressure, sadness, and betrayal were eating me up and I needed to step away. I am not a drinker or a guy who enjoys partying.” Peeta shrugged. “I’m a homebody. I’m more domestic.”

Katniss thought of his love of laundry and the butterflies in her stomach settled.

Caesar laughed. “Domestic.”

“He makes great pastries,” Prim said. Her eyes were wide and lovely.

“Pastries?” Caesar asked.

“Here you want some?” Prim held up a bag of cookies. “They are heavenly.”

“PRIM,” Katniss huffed. “I’m so sorry.”

Peeta grinned. “You see Caesar, this is what I needed.”

Caesar laughed. “Tell me who are these lovely ladies…”

“This is Primrose Everdeen,” Peeta introduced.

“Hi Caesar,” Prim said. “Seriously though you need to try these cookies.” Prim opened the brown bag and handed one to Caesar.

“Well, alright,” Caesar looked at the cookie as if tasting it was going to make him gain three hundred pounds.

“It’s gluten free, dairy free, and nut free,” Prim smiled.

The camera zoomed into Caesar’s face and Katniss witnesses the power of Peeta’s bakery take down another person. The celebrity interviewers face turners into one of pure rapture. “Peeta, you must give me the recipe.”

“Sorry his baked goods are all mine,” Prim said.

Caesar laughed. “Oh she is precious. But tell me who is this sitting next to you?”

“Caesar this is Katniss Everdeen.”

The butterflies were back and they had jackhammers.

“She’s the reason I stayed actually. They aren’t the reason I walked away, but they are the reason I didn’t go back” Peeta confessed. His voice softened, his eyes held notes of tenderness as he spoke, “These two women mean the world to me.”

Even the hardened Hollywood crew sighed at Peeta’s words.

“I met him first,” Prim said. “But I needed to make sure he had good intentions toward my sister.”

“Katniss,” Caesar asked, “You’ve been so quiet.”

Katniss glanced at her sister and then at Peeta, unaware of the way her face transformed and caused the world to fall in love with her. She transcended into something fierce and wildly beautiful.

The camera scanned down to the way her hands were intertwined with Peeta’s.

“When did you fall for him? Did you know who Peeta was?”

Katniss couldn’t stop staring into Peeta’s blue eyes. “I didn’t know who he was; I was clueless.” Her voice trembled, “All I know is that he was so kind and generous.” She stared, not at the camera but at Caesar. “And when I found out who he was and what happened I just couldn’t understand why any mother would want to hurt their child like that.”

Peeta smiled softly then he looked at Caesar, “Now you know why I stayed.” Peeta then placed a kiss on her lips and then said, “What I didn’t expect was another invasion of privacy.”

-AMERICAN SWEETHEARTS

“You alright?” Peeta tucked a strand of her hair behind Katniss' ear. She looked gorgeous. Cinna had outdone himself. She wore a red dress that looked like poured molten fire on her skin. Peeta couldn’t wait to get back home and strip her out of it.

“I am.”

He watched her hands shake. The Oscars was the superbowl of the movie industry. Peeta held her hand. Outside the limo, there were about a thousand reporters and wall to wall fans. This was overwhelming for her and he was the professional. He could just imagine what it was like for a girl who would rather sit in the chair of a sadistic dentist sans novacaine than to be thrust into the controlled mêle that existed outside the limo’s door.

“You don’t have to go in with me; you can stay in the car. You can go back to the hotel, rent a movie, jump on the bed, steal all of the toiletries in the room, and if you are feeling dangerous," Peeta lowered his voice an octave, "rip the tags off the mattress.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him. He watched her struggle to keep the laughter she wanted to expel over his ridiculous suggestion. He, of course, made reference to the small argument they were having over her purity.

It started with Finnick doing his whole Daniel Craig, James Bond thing where he came out of the water. Finnick was messing with her and Katniss disliked him. She proceeded to give Finnick, ‘if he were in her woods he'd be in big trouble’ looks throughout the barbeque.

Peeta told her, Finnick was only messing with her because she was pure. And Katniss bristled, and fought that she wasn't pure. But Peeta didn't mean it in a sexual way. He meant it in the way that she was pure of heart. Katniss had a pure heart. Like the hero's of old, she was valiant and although tough as nails, she was forgiving. Gale betrayed her and she was mulling over forgiving him.

After Caesar's interview, Peeta and Katniss’ relationship was cemented in the public eye. Haymitch was able to control the narrative since Katniss led a normal life and wasn't like Finnick, who had so many hidden skeletons in his closet. Haymitch was taking care of the Everdeen women, mentoring them. He had an affinity for Prim and Katniss. They understood one another because Haymitch had lost his family as well, and he had tried to raise his brother, but they were separated and sent into foster homes.

Haymitch hired Johanna to help Katniss retain her custody of Prim. They were seeking visas for all three of them. Peeta to travel in and out of Panem, and For Katniss and Prim.

Johanna, spurred by the public outcry over the second violation of his privacy, wanted Snow and his tabloids prosecuted for invasion of privacy of someone who wasn't in the limelight. Gale and Claudius were arrested for, breaking and entering and some other misdemeanor charges. Claudius was facing a harder climb because he was an outsider. Because of Katniss, there was clemency for Gale. And that brought him back to why Katniss was pure. She didn't even know the effect she had on people or how she inspired others.

Peeta reached out and put his hand on top of hers. “No, I can do this,” she said.

He knew this was not easy, but as she sat perched at the edge of her seat, he thought about how Katniss became his family. How she encouraged him to take on meaningful roles, and to pursue directing and production. They were both still young, but he knew from the moment his eyes met hers in Greasy Sae's diner he was a goner. His feelings for Katniss multiplied as time passed and they worked through each hurdle together.

Looking at her, Peeta knew without a doubt Katniss had strong feelings for him as well. She wasn't someone who used words; she spoke with her actions. Katniss fought by his side. Simple things she did. Like making his tea the way he liked it without sugar and milk. Opening the window before they went to sleep because she knew he liked to sleep with a window open. Googling how to make natural paints, then going out into nature and gathering supplies to make the paint for him. It spoke volumes.

"I love you," the words slipped out of his lips.

Her eyes widened.

"You don't have to say it back to me, because I know that you care about me. You do a hundred little things in the day to show me the depths of your emotions toward me."

He watched as a smile curved her lips. Her silvery eyes sparkled, greater than sunlight glittering on the surface of water. She stole his breath away. All he ever wanted was to be needed, loved, and here was the personification of that need.

"I need you Peeta," she rasped. He could hear and see the depth of emotion in her eyes. "I love you."

He leaned in and with shaking hands cupped her face. Suddenly he didn’t want to be at the Oscars. Peeta wanted to be in a private room to show her with his words, his mouths, his hands, and his body just how much he loved this woman. “Screw the Oscars, let's get out of here.”

Her eyes turned mischievous, “Oh hell no. I wasn’t plucked, creamed and stuffed into this dress like a holiday turkey by Cinna and his prep team just to turn around and leave. We’re going to walk that carpet, we’re gonna sit in our seats, and do this shindig, because as much as I like pissing off Haymitch, I don’t think we should give him a heart attack by not showing up.”

Peeta laughed. There she was pushing her own discomfort for him. “And afterwards?”

“Win or lose, Pete Golightly, you’re taking this dress off with your teeth.” She threw him a mischievous look, “And then we’re going to grab some fabric sheets and sniff them.”

The door opened and Peeta was stunned by her description. Heat and desire poured through his veins. He now had a boner. Then a slow smile spread on his face he was going to go home a winner no matter what. Laughter erupted from his lips, though from the fabric sheets comment and the sheer joy on his face was the picture that was captured by the press.

Peeta did win the Oscar, and he did go home, and he did tear off her dress with his teeth. And afterwards they did laundry all night long. He was after all, a man of his word.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by mega-aulover

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Harvest Festival

Author: @eiramrelyat

Prompt: Panem. No games AU, where Peeta asks Katniss to be his date for the Harvest festival, and Katniss goes to her best friend Gale for advice. She also hints to him that a certain someone he has his eyes on may also reciprocate his feelings and encourages him to ask her out [submitted by @everlurked]

Rating: T

Author’s Notes: Thank you @mandelion82 for editing this story for me. I hope you all enjoy!

_________

Today, Peeta Mellark asked her to be his date for the upcoming Harvest festival. It was a dance (or a feast, with dancing, some might say) that was held in the merchant’s square. Buildings were decorated with multicolored ears of corn, and banners swung from light poles. It was an event only merchants ever attended.

She was dropping off a trade for Thoball, Peeta’s dad, at the bakery. But when she rapped against the back door, Thoball wasn’t the one who answered. It was Peeta.

He was covered in flour, his curls falling softly against his forehead.

Out of surprise at seeing him, she almost tripped on the step leading into the kitchen. But Peeta caught her elbow in time before she could fall face-first into his chest. “Katniss, are you alright?” he asked, giving her a concerned expression.

Her mouth opened and closed, nothing coming out. She couldn’t remember the last time⎯if ever⎯she’d had a conversation with Peeta… She never even stopped to thank him for what he did for her and Prim all those years ago. “Oh, sorry,” she finally said, maybe a little too loudly for the tiny gap between them. “I wasn’t looking where I was going… But I’m fine,” she added hastily at the end, feeling embarrassed over her sudden clumsiness.

“Okay.” When he realized he was still holding her elbow, he quickly dropped his hand and gestured toward her game bag. “Are you here to trade?”

Katniss nodded, still flustered, and reached into her bag for the pheasants she shot down that morning. Peeta already had two loaves of bread set aside and handed them to her as she presented him with the two limp birds.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking the loaves under her arm. Peeta nodded, and his mouth twitched as if to say something, but he gave her a tiny, uncertain smile instead. “Well, uh, I should probably get going before it gets dark out. Tell Thoball I said thank you for the bread.”

Then she turned and walked back down the steps.

“No, wait, Katniss,” Peeta called after her, pulling her up short. She glanced back at him. “Do you, uh, if you don’t have a date… would you like to go to the Harvest Festival with me?”

She froze, blinking at him, her heart fluttering wildly. “What?”

A red hue scattered up his neck. “Would you go to the Harvest Festival with me?”

“I, um…” In a panic, she ran, leaving him without an answer at his back door. She was so eager to get away from the bakery that she bumped into Thoball around the front of the building. He seemed to be in a heated argument with his eldest son, Graham⎯ their voices hushed and sharp.

“Oops! Sorry, Mister Mellark!”

He looked down at her, his demeanor changing from agitated to friendly. “Hello, Katniss. Was Peeta able to help you today?”

“Yes, sir,” she told him, then cleared her throat. “Uh, thank you for the bread, but I need to finish my rounds.”

He gave her a kind smile. “Of course. Have a nice day, Katniss.”

~~~~~

Katniss mopily finished her rounds, wondering if she should have told him yes. Although, she knew Peeta deserved someone better⎯someone who didn’t ignore him when he tried to show them kindness. She hoped he didn’t think her ungrateful. Though that was the difference between them, he was good, and she…wasn’t.

Katniss tossed her game bag over her shoulder and kicked at a pebble with the toe of her boot.

Not to mention, Katniss didn’t know one thing about dressing up, except those times for the Reaping. Nerves had wracked her then. Not that she didn’t have them now, because she definitely felt acid butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. But that didn’t count since, at the time, she felt like she was being dressed as a pig for slaughter.

Lastly, she didn’t have anything to wear, aside from said Reaping dress that was starting to become snug around her chest and arms. All she owned were scuffed pants, old boots, and her dad’s hunting jacket‒none of which sounded like a proper Harvest Festival outfit.

Would Peeta expect her to dress like the merchant girls from school? Hair styled and shiny with ribbons? A pastel cotton dress that fell below her knees?

Yet, she was nothing like the merchant girls. She was Seam. Her hair and nails were often dirty⎯mostly from hunting. She didn’t own nice enough material to pass as a ribbon, nor did she own a dress that didn’t have patches sewn into the skirt.

Peeta, a merchant’s son, wouldn’t want that, would he?

The longer she thought about it, the more she started to believe that it was some sick joke. Maybe the golden boy wasn’t as nice as he so claimed to be…

“Katniss!”

She looked over to find Madge skipping up to her, blonde curls bouncing behind her. “Oh, hey, Madge,” she said, still walking.

Madge fell in step with her. “Um, I hate to ask, but are you going to see Gale?” she asked, blushing.

“Yeah, after rounds.”

“Well, um, do you think you could give this to him? I didn’t see him in town today.” Madge reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a small square box (blue tissue paper decorating the outside), then she held it out to her.

“Sure.” Katniss grabbed the box, placing it in her jacket.

Madge smiled. “Thank you, Katniss!” Then, she walked into the Cartwright’s shoe store.

~~~~~

She met Gale in the meadow, finding him lying in a section of tall grass. Like the hunter he was, he turned at the sound of her boots stepping in a pile of mud.

“Hey, Catnip.”

Katniss unceremoniously plopped down onto the grass next to him. “I have a special package for you from Madge.” She tossed the tiny parcel onto his lap, and he looked at it before shoving it in his pocket.

“Thanks.”

“What is it?” Katniss asked curiously.

His eyes widened. “Oh, uh…” She’d never seen his olive skin so pink. “It’s something we- she started a few weeks ago. It’s nothing really.” She hummed a noncommittal sound, deciding to leave it be for now.

They lapsed into silence, staring off at the clouds and the trees at the edge of the meadow. Normally, she’d find this peaceful, but her mind was still going a mile a minute. And she couldn’t stay still either, her fingers tearing up grass near the heel of her boot. She was too busy attempting to pick apart Peeta’s question from earlier to enjoy how quiet the birds were today.

“You’re scaring all of the wildlife away,” Gale said beside her.

Her fingers stopped. “Sorry, I just…I have a lot on my mind.”

He glanced over at her. “Want to talk about it?”

She was quiet for a moment, lips pursed in hesitation until she spoke up again. “How do you thank someone for a debt you can never repay?”

“Easy, you simply thank them.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, tossing the pile of shredded grass at him. “Very funny.”

Gale laughed before nudging her shoulder with his. “Are you talking about bread boy?”

Her mouth fell open. “How-?”

“He came up to me the other day while I was trading in The Hob, and asked if you and I were dating.” Katniss’s nose scrunched at the thought. “Wow, thanks,” he scoffed. “Listen, I think you’re overthinking this. And it’s clear that Peeta doesn’t hold any grudges against you, or else he wouldn’t have asked about you.”

She considered this, remorse and shame festering inside her. And the fact that Peeta didn’t hold a grudge, only made her feel worse.

Why did he have to be so good?

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Gale shrugged. “Glad I could help.”

The next morning, set on making things right, she walked as quickly as she could from the Seam to the Mellark’s bakery. Unfortunately, her heavy game bag bumping against her leg hindered her from walking any faster. She knocked on the back door. Once. Twice. And as she started to knock again, the door finally opened to reveal Peeta on the other side. He scratched the back of his head when he noticed it was her at the door, his cheeks turning a ruddy color. “Uh, hey, Katniss. Are you here to trade?”

“Yes- wait no… I mean yes I need to trade, but that’s not why I’m actually here.” He frowned, she probably looked like a bushy-tailed lunatic. She sighed, dropped her game bag on the step, and tried to gather her bearings. “Peeta I want to go to the Harvest Festival with you.”

He flushed slightly then cleared his throat. “About that, I wanted to apologize-”

She crossed her arms over her chest, determined to make him understand. “No, I want to.”

“You don’t have to ask me to make me feel better,” he said wryly.

Katniss scowled. “I’m not asking you out of pity, Peeta.”

Peeta sighed, running a hand through his mess of curls. “Katniss-” he started again, ready to argue with her on the matter.

With her heart fluttering in her chest, she silenced him by leaning up to press her lips against his. They were soft and smooth, still at first, then bumped against hers clumsily. It was slow, uncertain, and he faintly tasted like spice and mint. Peeta sighed into her mouth, the sound stirring something foreign low in her gut… However, the caress was short, as it seemed to have served its purpose. But part of her wasn’t ready for it to end, and she was almost curious about what other sounds he would make if they continued.

As she pulled away, she realized that she just had her first kiss with Peeta Mellark, and silently hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

They stared at each other, breaths mingling, then she repeated herself slowly, “I want to go to the Harvest Festival with you.”

Peeta’s mouth lifted upward. “Okay,” he said softly.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #eiramrelyat #submission #prompt

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octalove · 4 years

Text

V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

Photo

Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire

3 In Mockingjay ( and Some)

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES. ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek)

Here is a sort form of the Kisses.

The Hunger Games

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games)

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here)

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one)

5. Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return.

7. Katniss just wants the Games to End and they Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more.

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss.

12. They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food.

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do what you want

14. So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone

15. This one is when they Both said listen if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss.

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the rewatch of the games

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras. and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden. She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured. And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie.

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies

7. The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one)

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t have as many kisses).

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two

Now Bonus ones

1. Catching Fire After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.

so grand total is 30 kisses on all platforms the books and the movies.

So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too

1. The surprise Kiss From Gale That snow knew about

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses Katniss on the Cheek

Bonus ones

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena,

So their grand total is 6...

In the Hunger Games ( Book)

Chapter 5 But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 19,

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand, “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit)

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss)

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22 ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in)

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

Chapter 23

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.

Chapter 26.

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27.

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home.

Chapter 9 I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says.

Chaper 11 Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11 They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon

Chapter 19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20 Cpr is a kind of kissing

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales Kisses will be added below

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

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