#and i wont get home until the evening but the fact that she's threatening me because she wanted me

[robotpussy]

this white woman is threatening to call the police on me after she fucking sprayed bathroom cleaner in my fucking face and lashed out and told her to fuck off

[yelshin]

CAT? HUMAN? | MLIST

﹙SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER X FEM READER﹚

An: IM GETTING IMPATIENT TO POST THIS ONE SO ILL POST THIS RQ BEFR I GOT BUSY

Tw: 3.3 SCARAMOUCHE LORE SPOILERS, used pronouns in 3rd POV: they/them/you, cursing , another day another ginger slander/J DONT ATTACK ME PLS一

"ma'am are you sure you want a room this large-" "Did i stutter?" You send a threatening glare to the man while he nervously gulp "I-it cost 5,4000 (i def did not guess frfr) along with the items" You look over ur bank acc; feeling hesitant but still its for you best kitten right?

"fine, I'll take it." Just like that they start working on Kuni's new room which is pretty large for his size.. buy its okay atleast he got WAY TOO MUCH space to explore

"[Name] can you be fr right now?" Yoimiya sweatdrop while you're at the couch being proud parent that Kuni learned how to stand in 3 second "Yes Yoimiya I am being for real" you smiled before showering Kuni with your affection

"A LARGE ROOM JUST FOR A 3 SECOND STAND?? sigh this cat is very special yeah?" She also sat down beside you before noticing the amount of changes in your house

Before your house dont have toys around, a bowl at the floor, a sack of cat foods etc. 'thats a different breed there..'

Yoimiya looks over you who was busy pampering your kitten before asking the same question again "Are you sure you wanna pay that high just for...yk Kuni"

"He deserve everything in the world. If he got hurt i wont hesitate to hunt them^^"

"oh my fucking god."

--

"Kuni! Where are you, its time for bath!" You called out playing as if you dont see him at the very corner of your house; sulking

"there you are!" You pick him up before heading towards the bathroom and give him the most relaxing bath that no kitten could ever have(/j). Making a bubble bath you scoop some before putting it to his forehead as a hat... (ITS CUTE. FIGHT IF DISAGREE 👿)

You giggled before taking a picture of him having a bubble hat and grumpy looks and finish his bath and drying him up.

---

"Can i PLEASE bring him? I'll make sure he won't hurt anyone" You plead at your(girlfriends) friends to let them bring your kitten to your hangout "Cmon [Name]! We only hangout for like 3 times a week and we rarely spend time with each other!" Hu tao frowned but even you guys hangout yesterday it felt like a month to them

You frowned before looking at Kuni who's sleeping peacefully at his cat tree wiping small tears in the corner of your eyes "but look at him! He look so lonely if i left him alone yk.."

"Why not hire someone to babysit him?" You grinned at Ayaka's idea before contacting someone to take care of your little (demon) angel Kuni while you we're gone

"WHY ME?! OUT OF ALL PEOPLE WHY." Childe sobbed at the fact his life is gonna be in danger for the next 20 hrs of his life "Don't worry this is your chance to befriend with him! Im sure he wouldn't hurt you unlike last time^^" and just like that you left with your girlfriends while Childe look at Kuni who's now awake and preparing his evil plans to make Childe living in hell.

Childe was chilling at the living room watching some movies on the TV until he heard a glass getting shattered on the floor. He look at the counter to see Kuni glaring at him before signaling him to put food at his container. Childe only rolls his eyes as he continues watching..which made your cat wanna scratch him again

"why should i give you food when you scratch me last time 😒"

It didn't take that long for Kuni to jump high and landed on Childe's stomach and Childe felt like his organs are getting destroyed.

"YOU LITTLE一" Kuni showed him his sharp nails meaning if Childe continue his words he wont hesitate to scratch him; damaging his face.

Childe gulp before going to the kitchen and put some cat food at Kuni's container "I wanna go home..." The ginger walked to the door and tried to open it but...

It was locked.

Childe felt the whole world is against him. He wanna get out of the house and leave Kuni alone! "What did i do to deserve this.."

"You not giving me food."

Childe flinch at the voice and look around to see a small person; with indigo hair and eyes. Childe was completely confused.

First Kuni is a little demon cat(for him) AND NOW HE'S HUMAN??

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

"the demon under your bed." Kuni answered grinning at the poor ginger "I KNEW IT! YOU LITTLE DEMON MAKING MY LIFE GO HELL!"

Kuni rolled his eyes and walk to the kitchen grabbing some sweets at the shelf ignoring Childe's presence. Childe grab his phone and instantly contacting you to tell that your kitten is officially now a human!

You felt your phone ring so you picked it up

"hello childe?"

"COMEHOMENOWYOURCATISAFUCKINGHUMAN"

"Can you PLEASE speak slower?"

"YOUR CAT IS A H一"

and after that the call ended, you just shrugged before continuing to eat your food

--

It took 30 mins to Childe to calm down before talking to Kuni who introduced himself as Scaramouche. "So like you can be a cat around [Name]...?" "Dumbhead i can turn into cat whenever i want, but for now ill stay hidden because I don't wanna be ended up on the streets again" Scaramouche frowned while Childe look at him with pure confusion

"You're lucky [Name] loves you so much that they bought you your OWN room" he sigh for the 69th time while Scaramouche sat back "i told you they're secretly Kylie Jenner"

"if your previous owners are kylie jenner then why did you ended up on a box?💀"

"WE DONT TALK ABOUT MY PAST."

An: Y'ALL IM SORRY IF THERES NOT MUCH OF SPOILING KUNI😞😞 IM REALLY RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS(just like ur bank acc)

Taglist: @thetwinkims @sunsethw4 @etherisy @kunikuzushicandegrademefr @Heiijoxz @eliciana @naritecs @kkazuyass @itztaki @makilovescofi

[anemcia]

@viopolis​ ​​ asked: 🌻🌻🌻 ( From Cell to Honeydew, From Cleo to Cyto, aaand Dek to Cell. Give 'em some Words )

A flower for your thoughts 🌻 - [ACCEPTING]

Honeydew

”...When I was ‘bout five years old, my mom gave me a gold seashell necklace for my birthday. It was the prettiest thing I ever saw, my name engraved in the back and a soft melody that ringed each time I would open the locket. I’d wind the gears over and over-- just to hear that song each night before I went to sleep. It made me feel safe, much like how you’d pray for protection. Even after my mom passed away, I never did stop wearing the locket she gave me. Ya might be curious why it’s not on me now-- and I’ll let you know.”

“It wasn’t my choice, well, not entirely. I was in that private university school my father enrolled me in, got into a huge mess with an ex friend and her pals. She knew about how much my necklace meant to me and coordinated a plan to steal it. I was blind sighted by someone holdin’ my head back, yanking my chain until the clasp broke. I tried to chase em’ all down, and they led me right into our bathroom. One of them was danglin’ it over a toilet bowl, threatening to flush the last memento of my dead mother for a laugh. I guess ya could say I lost it, got into a huge brawl that ended with my head faced down in a sink. I just...Remember the vivid sound of somethin’ being smashed repeatedly, a lotta laughter and then... Silence.”

“When I could stop my nose from bleedin’ so damn much, I picked up what was left of my gift and hurried home to fix it much as I could. I could barely work through my tears, but somehow I was able to piece it together and make it sing for me-- but the melody I loved so much... It doesn’t sound the way it used to. I cried about it for days, placing it in my jewellery box to never be touched again. I doubt my dad noticed how upset I was, or even the fact it wasn’t around my neck anymore. Those girls... I did get back at them for what they did eventually, but winnin’ that fight ultimately ended with my expulsion. I guess it’s just one of the many reasons why I hate people so much.”

Cyto

”I’m sorry to hear about your pet bunny, Cleo... I get scared of holding little animals too, well, not as much as I used to. If you come home with me later, I can show you how I pick up and hold our chickens. I have to move them to find eggs they lay so we can eat them later, at least the ones that don’t have baby chickens in them. I know it’s not the same as your old per, but they’re just as soft and fluffy. If you can learn how to do that, maybe we can ask my mom to buy you a new rabbit that wont run away? I don’t like you feeling sad and alone on that mountain, so when we find the perfect friend, you can be happy!...

“...If that's okay with you, right? Is that okay with you? Sometimes I don’t know what you’re thinking when you look at me like that.  I... I wish you could tell me more things.”

Cell

”You’re about as interesting as you are disgusting to look at, but I admire your moxie for being such a strange creature. Just how is it that you ended up stranded on this planet again? Did your ‘Aseity’ find you weren’t as useful as it thought? How could you be so certain that this sentient ship has any concern for you or any of the residents it harbors? Seems to me that you’ll be marooned indefinitely until something or someone puts you out of your misery. Be thankful the farmer has decided you’re fascinating enough to keep around like some pet. Once she finishes whatever it is she wishes to do with you, I may just kill you for fun.”

[traincat]

Disregard my last ask because the latest issue raised a troubling question that I, as a black man, feel the need to clarify with you, a woman. That whole whole Ned Leeds/Betty Brant business is sexual assault via deception right? Like you know more about Clones and Spider-Man 616 than I but I feel like that’s besides the point because it happened to Betty. She is carrying the child of whom she thought was her dead ex-husband. And Ned clone has to know he is a clone. He has to know. Unlike Ben and Kaine, he has the awareness and information of the Jackal and the awareness of his progenitor’s death.

Or am I reaching too far and reading too far into things?

I'm glad you came back and asked this specific question because it's definitely something I have a lot of thoughts on, and I’m glad you asked my thoughts on it as a woman because I think this is one of those comic book storylines that’s hard for me to divorce that fact from -- the fact that I’m a woman definitely plays into how I view this storyline specifically and how it effects me, in ways I don’t think were necessarily intended by some of the writers involved in its ongoing arc who were not looking at things from the same perspective I’m coming at them from. I definitely don't think you're reaching or reading too far into things -- I think that is what's being presented on the page, albeit likely without authorial intent. Just as like a general disclaimer, I'm not closely following Spencer's run for the sheer reason that I'm not enjoying it very much, although I'm aware of the general directions it's taking through friends and social media. But I actually think this Betty/Ned issue goes back pretty far.

First things first, I think Clone Conspiracy really wreaked havoc on how Spider-Man as a series has always handled clones. Pre-Clone Conspiracy, there was a very clear clone narrative going on: clones are their own person, they are not direct copies or replacements of the original. You see this with Ben Reilly and you see it with the Gwen Stacy clones. Clones are treated as their own individuals, even if they have to struggle to get to that point -- there's even an issue of Spider-Man Unlimited where Ben and Betty go on a date. Betty doesn't know that Ben is Peter's clone -- he's introduced as his cousin -- and they both reflect on how you can't go back to the way things were. So even though Ben has all of Peter's memories regarding his initial romance with Betty, the narrative makes it clear that Ben and Betty cannot recapture that connection or that exact relationship.

Here's where Clone Conspiracy changed everything, in my opinion for the worse: Clone Conspiracy's clone narrative is that these clones are, essentially, the original person. I believe the Marvel wiki still actually lists the end of Clone Conspiracy as 616 Gwen Stacy's issue of death instead of Amazing Spider-Man #121, because Clone Conspiracy treated that Gwen not simply as a clone with all of the same memories, but as essentially Gwen resurrected through a cloning process. The Billy Connors who was cloned is treated as the same Billy Connors who was killed by his father in Shed (Amazing Spider-Man #630-633). And the clone Ned is treated as the same as 616 Ned. This is a mess, to put it simply, because it goes against all the previous Spider-Man cloning narratives and, honestly, most popular sci-fi clone narratives, and it's seriously undermining decades of good Spider-Man storytelling in ways that Slott didn't address and that Spencer seems unwilling to. It probably wouldn't have been a very big deal -- a frustrating one, but not a big one -- if all of the clones had perished at the end of Clone Conspiracy, but they didn't. Billy Connors escaped, and it's immensely frustrating to me to see Peter treating the Connors family reunion as something he can tolerate when Curt Connors ate his kid, and the Ned clone slithered away in the gutters to, I assume, spite me personally.

Which brings us to the current Betty Brant storyline in Amazing Spider-Man, where Betty has showed up heavily pregnant and informed Peter that the child is Ned's.

Yeah, I would say this is in fact the worst possible part. (ASM (2018) #67) Just speaking for myself, I'm generally not anti-pregnancy or baby storylines in comics, but this one is making me very uncomfortable for reasons beside Spencer being apparently unable to find any way to fit Betty into his stories without her showing pregnant.

So I'm actually going to take this back way, way to when Betty and Ned first got married, with some explanation of who Ned Leeds is for the uninformed, because, especially with the MCU's Ned Leeds in the mix, he's not exactly the world's most well known Spider-Man character. (I’m sure @ubernegro, who is much more well read on Miles Morales’ canon than I am, has thoughts on how the MCU’s Ned borrowed heavily off the character of Ganke Lee with a 616 Peter Parker character’s name pasted over him.) Ned was initially introduced as Peter's competition for Betty's affections -- Ned was older than both Peter and Betty, a working reporter, and presented as the more "stable" option compared to Peter, who of course Betty vastly preferred before circumstances tore them apart. Ned and Betty married in Amazing Spider-Man #156 and jetsetted off to Europe for Ned's job. This is where the cracks in the marriage began. Betty later reveals that she felt abandoned by Ned in Europe, to the point where she was able to come back to New York without his immediate notice -- as a woman, it's very easy to read their relationship at this point as being one filled with, if not abuse, then emotional neglect. Betty and Peter have a quick extramarital affair at this point -- Peter has just broken up with Mary Jane and Betty claims she and Ned are separating -- that persists until Ned returns and punches Peter over it.

(ASM #193)

(ASM #229) Betty and Ned reconcile off panel shortly thereafter, but that's pretty far from the end of the story. It's implied that the problems Betty and Ned previously had start to develop again, namely that Betty feels abandoned by Ned, that he is inattentive and, again, as a woman, it's hard not to read it as emotional neglect, if not abuse -- yet. Betty does start another affair at this point, this time with Flash Thompson, and Ned starts acting strangely. It would later be retconned that he was suffering the effects of hypnotism by the Hobgoblin, but like I said, that's a retcon, and what was happening at the time was that Ned was acting erratically in part because he was the villainous Hobgoblin. Ned becomes controlling, threatening, and verbally and physically abusive towards Betty.

(ASM #284)

(ASM #283) "I suppose you think it's all right for a wife to cheat on her husband!" "No -- but I won't let you hurt her, either." Leaving aside that Peter also had an affair with Betty, something he's conveniently forgetting in the above panels, I've always really liked this exchange, because the narrative makes it clear through Peter's response to Ned that, whatever the audience may think of Betty for cheating on Ned, it is reprehensible for Ned to publicly humiliate her and/or physically abuse her as a response.

Then Ned Leeds dies in Spider-Man vs Wolverine and he's revealed as the Hobgoblin posthumously shortly thereafter and that remains canon for years and years until it's later retconned out, as comics are wont to do. But that's not really that important for this conversation -- my point being, at one point in Spider-Man canon, it's made fairly clear to the reader that Ned is an abusive husband. He emotionally neglected and abused Betty several times over and physically hurt her at least once on panel, with the clear intent that the reader should realize that he is physically hurting her. So for me as a reader and as a woman, this has always been a really uncomfortable relationship. I have a problem with later Spider-Man comics claiming that it's "not Ned's fault" that he abused Betty because of the retcon that he was hypnotized, and I have a problem with the MCU making Betty and Ned into a cute summer fling in Spider-Man: Far From Home, because I feel like Ned's clear abuse of Betty either gets excused or entirely glossed over. And I don’t think the initial abuse storyline is bad -- I think there’s some amount of value in portraying Betty as a woman who marries too young, who experiences a terrible marriage, and who then spends years recovering from that marriage, which was the case up until they retconned Ned’s abuse of her as a side effect of him being controlled by the real Hobgoblin. What I’m specifically uncomfortable with is the post-retcon attitude that since Ned didn’t really mean to abuse Betty, it’s perfectly fine to portray the relationship in a positive light when even before Ned’s abuse became physical that wasn’t the case. I think that’s ultimately really irresponsible storytelling.  As a reader, I’m not against soap opera style storylines -- someone getting impregnated by a cone of their ex-husband seems pretty par for the course. But there’s so much additional context here that I still haven’t entirely processed how I feel about this Betty storyline, except that what I feel isn’t positive.

So yes, I would agree with you when I say I think there’s quite a lot of deception involved in Betty’s pregnancy storyline -- the Ned clone didn’t tell her he was a clone, even though he had full knowledge of that fact, just as he had full knowledge of how badly the original Ned treated Betty over the course of their relationship -- that renders their sexual encounter and Betty’s pregnancy uncomfortable for me as a reader, to put it mildly. I don’t think it’s out of character for the Ned clone, given that he acts much like the original Ned: he’s selfish and controlling, withholding information from Betty to suit his own needs. The tragedy of Ned and Betty isn’t that Ned died, as more recent Spider-Man stories like to portray it -- including this one, where Betty doesn’t have the knowledge that a) the Ned she reunited with was a clone and not the original and b) that that clone later died. (ASM #816.) The tragedy is that writers continue to force Betty Brant into Ned Leeds storylines instead of letting her as a character grow past him, and that the only way Spencer thought to include her, one of the longest running Spider-Man characters, back in the story was to have her appear starry-eyed over carrying the child of (the clone of) her abusive ex-husband, and the tragedy is that nobody writing more recent Betty and Ned interactions seems to realize that Ned was a villain not because he was briefly the Hobgoblin but because of how he treated Betty. 

[prose-for-hire]

So wrong it’s right

Part 2 // Part 3

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: (Sorry if I make a mistake, English is my second language) Will you make a story with a somewhat villain reader (but shes not exactly evil) that keeps helping Angel out because she likes him and in the start he wont trust her but one day they kiss and Angel becomes confused about how he feels? I hope that makes sense. If I didn’t explain it well please don't feel you need to write it you can ignore this.

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Violence/fighting. Swearing.

A/N: This is the kind of fic I LOVE to write. I enjoyed myself with this one !! 💜

You weren’t well-liked in LA. The ‘good guys’ hated you, trying to stake you at any second and the ‘bad guys’ despised you. Both felt this for the way that you made decisions based on how you felt. No allegiance to good or evil. No atonement or evil plotting. You served neither the powers or dark forces. This was a fluid and extremely ambiguous way to live, which brought suspicion with you wherever you went. But you were nothing if not authentic to your beliefs. You just weren’t really sure what those beliefs were yet.

In any case, you didn’t much care for world domination nor did you hang out in particularly damp underground hovels that you wouldn’t even bury your dog in, let alone spend precious years of your un-life.

LA had a certain draw to you, it was a hub. A beating heart of life that helped you thrive in a way you had only dreamed of when you really were alive. But most importantly, it wasn’t a backwater little town. The type that always seemed to harbour Hellmouths. They seemed a little boring to you anyway.

Yeah, it holds all the supernatural power hotspots you could wish for, but at what cost? Everyone knew everyone’s business and there was such a large amount of demons concentrated in one area it was hard to navigate without bumping into several ex-lovers. Not to mention there was a higher chance of a Slayer on your back.

Now, just because you weren’t ‘evil’, that wasn’t to say you lived in the light. For one, you couldn’t. You would die… again. But also, you weren’t exactly chafing at the bit to do as the powers said. They couldn’t simultaneously damn you to hell when you got dusted whilst enticing you with some long-winded and ultimately unnecessary prophecy that gave you the one thing you were scared of. Hope.

You didn’t have a soul, and you didn’t care for gaining one. Not through a curse and even less through fighting for one yourself. This is why one vampire didn’t like you. He didn’t trust you and definitely never cut you a break.

The fact was, he barely looked your way. Unless you were stood in his path. And you had, a few times. He was convinced you had some ulterior motive but had little time for you until you turned into a bigger threat.

That was, up until the last few months. You had started to catch his attention more and more. You had been fighting, again. In the back room of some seedy bar. Trading blows, neither of you holding back. The real threat long since dusted. It was just gone three in the morning, a time you liked to be home. Just in case of a freak early sunrise (you had heard horrible things of whole towns of vampires wiped out suddenly).

You were fighting, hard. He never left it. He just couldn’t walk away. You were after the same stupid vampire. Yes, you had been after him because he owed you a large sum of money and around five Siamese cats, but the end was the same. You twisted from his firm grasp, throwing him over your head. He landed but didn’t stay down. He ran at you, pushing you back and slamming you against the door. Almost through it. He grabbed a stake and flipped it up in the air before expertly catching it, looking back in your eyes.

There was almost a flicker of danger. A flicker of all the stories you had heard of Angelus. There was something there, some kind of feeling and it got you excited. Up until this point, his face had been pretty unmoving every time you saw him. The stake dug into your chest, directly over your unbeating heart. You couldn’t help but enjoy the way his eyes scanned your face. Moving from your lips to your eyes and back again. He was so close you could just lean in and… no. Eye on the prize, you tell yourself. You would settle for a quip charged with at least a little sexual tension. On your end, at least.

“You gonna keep waving that thing around or are you going to actually do something with it?” You bite, breathing heavily a smile on your face. You didn’t need to breathe but it was still a habit.

“Why’re you here, huh? Why are you always around when something bad happens?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Now I’m never getting those fucking Siamese” You muttered as he scowled at you. You were going to threaten him one more time before staking him. He rolled his eyes, you were worse than spike. At least he had a soul. Wanted one. You were content with your lot and it bugged him to no end.

“You know, I think I might enjoy this” Angel said stoically.

“Watch out, you don’t want to get too happy” You teased with a smile, everyone knew about Angel – word travels fast even here, “Or maybe you do. You might be more fun, to be honest”

These was the last words he expected to hear from you, you were younger than him by a mile. He was used to vampires pretty easily going down. He moved his arm back, directing the wooden stake straight for your heart. In the same second, you changed into your vamp face and propelled your head forwards. Your hand twisted his wrist trying to knock the stake from his hand as you propelled your ridged forehead towards him. Headbutting him with all of your strength.

The stake pierced your skin, but luckily (or unluckily it still hurt like anything) it was stabbed into your left arm which made you yelp. You yelped almost as much as Angel in his surprise as his nose started to bleed. It was enough to stun him, letting you run off with the stake still sticking out of your arm as you took a short cut to your destination.

Angel walked back to the hotel slowly, pinching his nose and wiping the blood on his sleeve. He took the long route back, not wanting to have to tell the others that he had lost in a fight with a vampire who was probably half his age. When he returned Cordelia rushed over to him, helping him to sit down. The entire team was there, waiting up for him. Fantastic, now he would have to tell them.

“Oh, uh, Angel?” Fred asked softly, “This was left for you – on your desk”

He turned and there it was. The stake that had been embedded in your arm the last he saw you. You must have travelled fast to get there before he did. He took it as an act of aggression, especially when he read the note attached.

‘Until we meet again, sweet Angel’

“Is this your slayer friend?” Fred asked, looking down at the floor. She had taken somewhat of a shine to Angel and may have been a little jealous. She had just learned what a slayer was.

“She’s a little more dramatic, a little less with the subtle” Cordelia stated, knowing for sure that the person that brought it was not Buffy. Not at all.

“Yes, I recall the young woman is about as subtle as a brick” Wes chuckled softly, reminiscing over his brief stint as a watcher.

“No. it wasn’t her” Angel confirmed, turning and scowling, “Wes, I need everything you can find on a vamp. Name’s y/n”

“Y/n? Are you sure it is wise to, um, shake the hornets nest so to speak. They’ve done little to actively harm-” Wesley said quickly. A slightly sheepish look on his face. You had met him and helped him out several times. You often crossed paths late night at the occult book store. You weren’t afraid of losing your credibility over a little light reading.

Your intelligence was often what gave you the upper hand over many demons you came up against. Wesley was strangely fond of you, although he knew from word on the street you could be mean if something was in the way of what you wanted. He was pleasant enough although spending too long with him gave you an Englishman-induced headache. He does prattle on so. And, that phrase had been unfortunately transferred into your brain from listening to him for too long.

“Apart from, that they’re a vampire who brutally kills to eat and always seems to be in every bad situation we’ve been in recently” Angel snapped, “I want everything. By tomorrow night”

“What are you going to do?”

“Kill them”

It had been several more months and Angel had seen you several times in that period. He had yet to make good on his promise. The tension mounted, peaking every time you became close. Your back and forth riling you up, making you begin to pine for his attention.

He had noted that you had common goals, evil tended to get mowed down in your wake. Which, he couldn’t exactly complain about except that your personality was simultaneously infuriating and intriguing.

But he maintained that he didn’t like you. The way you danced through life, with no guilt. Very little self-reflection. You wouldn’t join him and that was enough, in his eyes for you to be against him.

This evening finds you on the hunt for a backstreet dealer, one that could find you an item that was particularly hard to find. Especially now Angel had a snitch on the inside, the deliveries were starting to slow. Dust couldn’t drive trucks.

You arrived at the meeting place, a dingy alleyway despite you specifically asking to meet somewhere that didn’t smell like something had died there. You had a very sensitive sense of smell.

“You got the stuff?” You asked, gesturing with your head for the demon to open the briefcase. But he snatched it from your grasp and the boss stepped from the shadows. This meant something more sinister.

“You helped him. We saw you” The scaly man with an impressively tailored suit accused.

“What?”

“Angel” He confirmed. Bad things happened to people who didn’t side with the boss. You knew this.

“I don’t pick allegiances, I told you. I’m just me” You assured them, eyes on the briefcase.

“You’re with us or you’re with him. Choose.”

“Fine.” You shrugged, the man nodded approvingly. It had been easier than he thought.

“Good, glad that you’re-” You spun into a kick, hitting his jaw which made him shut up. You hated people who gave you an ultimatum. You, for this very moment only, were on Angel’s side. Fists flying, feet connecting with hard bodies. You fought against them, hard.

More of them started to turn up. As if there had been a call. They started to surround you. You were strong, but not that strong. Your un-life flashed before your eyes. There was so much you had left to do. I mean, you had never even been to a virgin sacrifice. Never properly feasted on St Vigeous. You hadn’t even found your anti-soulmate.

You were almost ready to give up. And then he turned up. Your guardian angel.

Angel assessed the fight, realising you had been caught up. Not realising why it broke out. You fought beside each other, but traded insults with your ally. You found yourself waiting for these interactions with him. It made you smirk. This was the way you flirted.

You enjoyed this back and forth. He was starting to make you feel alive again. Begin to… hope.

The fight was finished and now all you both were was surrounded by dust. You took a breath. In name, not in action, recovering from the fight.

But he grabbed you by your shoulders, you had taken your guard down. He slammed you into the brick wall. The contact almost made you shiver as you smiled wide. You opened your mouth to speak, he was expecting it and spoke first.

“Don’t” He warned, frustrated at the way your eyes danced despite his threat.

“I’ve been waiting for this for months” You smirked, leaning closer to his face. There was barely an inch between you.

“Huh. Your death?”

“We’re already dead, baby, I’m looking more for the spice of life” You teased before leaning in and finally catching your lips with his. This had been all you had been thinking since you had first met him. The tension had reached its crescendo and you had to act.

It was an urgent kiss, you were willing him to reciprocate. His action beforehand made the adrenaline pump around your body harder. Want him more. There was danger harboured deep below the soul he cared for so deeply and it called to you like a moth to a flame.

You wanted him. You enjoyed every side you had seen so far. You didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to admit the tension in the air when you were around each other.

His lips didn’t move at first for those agonising moments. And then they did. All at once. His lips moving and fiery against yours, now fighting you for dominance. You tasted so good to him. A hand gripping your upper arm tightly with the other sliding up the curvature of your neck.

You slid your hands between the fabric of his shirt and his leather jacket, grasping at him. Your fingers snaked around him, exploring unchartered territory. He felt so good, you wanted him closer.

You found yourself almost preferring the feel of this more amiable touch to the harsh blows you had exchanged previously. He pressed you further into the wall, wanting more.

But all too quickly, his lips started to falter and you felt him start to pull away. He started to think too much into it. Comprehending the implications. You felt too good to him. You were a distraction, a sinful figure that strayed him from the power’s path. You almost whined as he pulled himself from where he had been pressed flush against you. He had to fight himself to remove his hands from you.

Your hands slid sadly from where they had been exploring his lean form. You felt yourself pouting slightly, which is a feat when you have fangs like you did.

His face had changed during your kiss, as had yours. Your vampire forms released as the tension did. Your more animalistic forms finding each other so appealing. The kiss a revelation, in some sense a curse. But again, he was used to that.

He pulled back, his face the picture of shock. It was the most emotion he had allowed you to see. So many contradictory emotions flashing behind his eyes. It had felt wrong, but oh so right to kiss you that way. He wanted more. He wanted to get as far away from you as possible.

You watched him in his turmoil, not able to hide the way you enjoyed seeing his face this way. You reached with your hand to trail along the distinctive bumps of his forehead. You couldn’t help it, you had suddenly begun to soften for him. Against your will. You wanted him to want you deeper than you had realised.

He realised that his vampire face was showing. He winced away from you, and you scanned over his face. He switched back immediately. Masking it.

He was ashamed. You frowned, your own vamp face still there. You embraced all that you were. You scanned his face, trying to show him that he could be himself with you. But he didn’t read that from your face.

He stepped back, all contact with him now gone. His eyes still trapped in yours for a moment. Your back was still pressed against the rough brick, your arm still outstretched for him.

But he just ran, jacket whipping around him as he kicked up his dust on way out of the alleyway. As if a magician through a puff of smoke, he was gone.

You eventually moved yourself from the wall, leaning to take the briefcase. You shrugged, dusting it off from the ash that had been left from the fight.

You walked slowly with your items, thoughts beginning to spin. Finding yourself lacking something deep inside that you had not realised you had been missing for so long.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hello! Could you please do yandere headcanons for Penguin, Mad Hatter, Scarecrow and Victor Zsasz from Gotham please? Thank you!

Hey! Hope you like these! ^^ Jervis’ is a bit of a let down I know, but I couldn't really think of much more to add about him. Benedict Samuel did a really good job presenting the obsession and instability stuff in the actual show. 

Have a good day ^^ (: ^^ 

~~~

Jervis Tetch / Mad Hatter:

·         Jervis is yandere all the way. These are just normal x reader HC’s, honestly. He’s creepy, he’s obsessive, and he doesn’t take rejection- Period.

·         I think this one is pretty straight forward, and there isn’t much I can say XD He’s just like he was with Alice, but with you.

·         He will hunt you down wherever you go, he’ll try very fervently to ‘remind’ you that you’re in love, as if you ever felt it back in the first place, and generally be ultra-obsessive.

·         Jervis is a gentleman, but he isn’t as much a gentleman as the others- he’ll act like one, but when he reaches the end of his tether he will take without permission.

Jonathon / Scarecrow (I’m gonna write about him at the end of Gotham):

·         He keeps you for himself (Like an experiment) in a lab like area of his home under ground and when he puts you there, he sets out the rules for you very clearly. Like, for example, he doesn’t want to (He also won’t get all torn up if he does end up using it on you. He’ll stand by and watch, no emotion), but he will use the fear toxin on you if he is forced to.

·         Why he would be ‘forced’ to: If you try to escape, if you hit him, or if you try to hurt yourself. You’re allowed to bad mouth him, but he will be disappointed in you and will leave you without dinner.

·         Not a sexual yandere at all. Like, I sense nothing from him in that area. He’s science-sexual. Ace. A scary, adorable ace boy. So at least you don’t have to worry about that sort of thing.

·         He can, and has no qualms, with completely ignoring your bad mouthing and screams if he wants to (He adopts an attitude just life a parent- ignore the baby until they learn to behave), and just tell you about whatever experiment he’s up to at the moment and the science behind it- so your time with this yandere is quite educational. Which is, you know… nice?

·         He literally treats you a like a child over all, actually. Tries to use both negative and positive reinforcement at different times and it just ends up psychologically traumatising you.

·         He is sorry about that

·         … sort of.

·         Cuddles. He likes cuddles sometimes.

·         When he, inevitably, ends up getting lit on fire because he insists on wearing canvas all over, he’ll walk in and drop a medical kit in your lap and shove various burnt body parts close to you for you to disinfect and wrap up like his arms, legs, his back, etc. He has no embarrassment about it either- you’re his mate. You can see whatever part of him and its fine.

·         He doesn’t care if it makes you uncomfortable. Will just tell you to grow up; Its just skin.

Oswald Cobblepot / Penguin:

·         Oz has lost too much love in his life now- he is not going to lose you. Not because someone else can offer you more, not because someone tries to hurt you (Like his mother), and not because you don’t want him (Like Ed didn’t).

·         He keeps you with him at all times. He’s very smart, and can threaten you (And pull through with threats just as easily) so you don’t dare tell anyone that you aren’t willingly with him or ask for help while you’re out.

·         He just believes the safest place for you, his love, to be is right next to him. He let his mouther out of his sight and she was kidnapped. He left Edward out of his sight and he met Isabell(a).

·         He’s also the kind of yandere to genuinely want you to be happy, and not scared of him, because he loves you. He just wants you two to be together, while you’re happy. You’re a power couple made for Gotham’s underworld. T o g e t h e r.

·         Now, Oz is gentle with you usually (Except for restraints and guards when he knows you’re going to try and leave him), but he does have his violent outbursts, as we know.

·         During these times, he might swing his cane around or threaten to hit you with it and it is t e r r i f y i n g, but you know he isn’t going to hurt you. He would literally never forgive himself- he is an honest criminal. He’ll break things, though, and scream, and contort his expressions and will likely kill people in front of you. Which is extra traumatising, because as we know, Oz doesn’t just shoot people and get it over with. No. He bludgeons or stabs people to death with little precision and with any object close by at the time.

·         When he’s in a really good mood (Like he’s smiling and he’s not suspicious and he has that air of having no worries in the world) he doesn’t stop talking. You get many a secret out of him this way. Things he probably shouldn’t tell. Not even to you.

·         ^^^^ And that means a lot, seeing as Oswald is terrible at trust (For good reason). The fact that he’s so loose lipped with you? Its amazing. He realises this, too, and it astonishes him. It makes him believe even more that what he feels for you is real love.

·         He is not, though, the type of yandere to be deluded into thinking you love him back. That’s why he wont let you out of his sight.

Victor Zsasz:

·         His personality and demeanour don’t really change much, except he shows a bit more emotion? Like, a little.

·         He’ll keep you safely (Not ‘safely’ like he’s afraid you’ll hurt him of course, but like you would keep money safely in a vault) hidden away in a basement somewhere. And trust me; No one is going to find you. Not on purpose and not by accident. Victor has been playing Gotham’s game for a long time, and he’s very good at what he does. He’ll probably just pick a location from a successful kidnapping (You know, the kind where you keep a rich person’s child or spouse until they send you money. I forgot the word) and keep you there. Easy-peasy.

·         He visits you all the time when he isn’t working. He tells you he would love for you to come live with him, but… you know. You might try to escape him, and then he would hunt you down. Which would be fun for this sadist, but he doesn’t think it would be for you. (How�� thoughtful? You can never tell by his expression whether he’s joking or serious- which is another terrible thing about this situation that we will briefly discuss)

·         Victor Zsasz has a hard time with expressions, which is why he’s so blunt. This can be an issue for you when he’s in a bad mood and you don’t know whether to listen or cower. You don’t know if he’s hungry, horny, sleepy, mad, thinking, or waiting for you to say something. Its very, very nerve wrecking for you.

·         He always brings you a milkshake or an ice cream if he gets some for himself.

·         Wendell has been to your new ‘home’ and met you multiple times- assassins code, you know, so Victor is okay with it. Wendell is the only Victor trusts with this, in fact, so when he can’t watch you he’ll send the Headhunter and he’s actually a far more chill companion to you compared to Vic. You know, where kidnappers are concerned. 

·         But then Victor will come home and put down his gun, and sit beside you and just stare at you for a while and your chill, relaxed time is over.

·         Oh, that’s another thing. He really loves to stare at you. Not even touch you, just stare at you and think, occasionally make odd facial expressions that you don’t have a prayer of comprehending because you won’t ask what’s on his mind (He would tell you if you asked though- he likes talking to you. He does admit its especially hard to communicate seeing how ‘awkward’ this situation is. A huge understatement, yes, but at least he gets why you wont interact a little) because you don’t want to know.

·         A good thing is, as long as he doesn’t have to move you someplace, he wont lay a hand on you. You aren’t a victim, you are your own category of person, to him.

[aliendes]

Clingy

From the BTS song lyric drabble game: #3 in the dynamite drabble game for jimin pls & ty!

3. Say what you want

Warnings: cursing, angst, with a sort of fluffy ending? unedited as always

Word count: 1.9k~

It was your day off from work today, Saturday, one of your favorite days of the week. You got to sleep in this morning, and when you woke up it was a beautiful day, sun shining, no rain in the forecast even though it had rained all week.

You lounged around in bed all morning, not really doing much except text your boyfriend Jimin and scroll through Twitter. It’s been a really great day so far, and you were in a really great mood. Once you finally decided to get out of bed, you took a shower and got changed into some workout clothes. You were feeling really good today and since it was finally warm out, you decided to go for a jog.

You didn’t go too far from your apartment, going around the block a few times, texting Jimin the entire time. You two talked about making plans for tomorrow night and texted back and forth about how you missed each other. It was nice. You were happy. Because you were in such a good mood you decided to jog over to Jimin’s company building which was only a few blocks away and surprise him. You typically visit at least once per week and everyone there knows you at this point, having been together for the last three years.

Walking into Big Hit you wave at the receptionist and the security guard, who both wave back to you with sweet smiles. You return them, of course, and make your way towards the elevators.

You knew from your earlier text conversations that Jimin and the rest of the boys were practicing choreography today, so you went to the floor with the practice rooms and walked through the hallways until you heard music. Stopping outside the door, you looked at yourself in the reflection of your phone, fixing a couple of stray hairs.

When you walked in, the first person you saw was Jungkook who was sitting on a couch against the far wall. When he saw you, you quickly put a finger up to your mouth to signal him to stay quiet. A bunny smile grew on his face as he nodded quickly. The music was fairly low, and you looked to your left and saw Hoseok and Namjoon trying to learn a couple of moves for a new choreography. Other than that, no one else was dancing. When you looked to your right, you saw Taehyung and Jimin standing in the other corner near a table that had all their drinks and coffees on it. You started to make your way towards your boyfriend, who had his back to you as he talked to his best friend.

When you approached, you started to hear the conversation that was taking place.

“I don’t know, Tae,” Jimin sighed, “she just seems so clingy lately. It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

Your heart and your smile dropped at his words. You haven’t even seen Jimin in over a week. What did he mean you were clingy. You stopped moving towards the pair when you met Taehyung’s wide eyed stare, like he had been caught red handed. You gave him a sad smile, letting him know it wasn’t his problem.

When Jimin noticed his friend’s stare, he followed his gaze, spinning around, until his eyes met your misty ones. You blinked a few times to try and fight back the tears that were threatening to fall, to no avail. You watched as Jimin’s expression changed from confused, to shocked, to embarrassed in a matter of three seconds. “YN-”

You didn’t want to hear it. You spun around and started running. You ran through the practice room door and straight to the stairwell, ignoring the shouts of Jimin and now who you thought was Jungkook.

Once you reached the bottom floor, you were panting hard, but you pushed through the pain and ran out the front doors of the building and down the block. The adrenaline and hurt you were feeling fueled your fire and you ran all the way home. Not that it was super far, but by the time you got there, your lungs burned as you collapsed on the floor of your kitchen. Your knees cracked against the tile floor as you fell, sobbing into the palms of your hands.

Why would he say such things? You couldn’t imagine a world in which he ever thought you were clingy. You felt crushed. How long has he felt that way, how long has he been talking about you behind your back? You had so many questions, but didn’t know if you really wanted answers to them.

A shrill ring of the doorbell brought you out of your reverie, making your head snap in the direction of the front door. After the bell stopped, you heard banging. Loud banging. “YN!”

Jimin.

“YN-” more loud bangs, “please! Please open the door, YN.”

You sobbed even harder at the sound of his voice. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him, for the pain in his voice, when you were the one breaking down on your kitchen floor.

“YN if you don’t open the door I’m coming in. I know the code,” came Jimin’s muffled voice again, followed by a few more bangs. You contemplated getting up, but thought better of it. He was going to come in anyways, might as well wallow in your self pity a little longer. You scooted backwards until your back was against your kitchen cabinets, knees pulled to your chest as you hugged yourself. A few seconds later you heard the beeping of your keypad and the locking mechanism open.

You didn’t look up when you heard quiet footsteps approaching. Nor did you look up when they stopped right in front of you.

“Fuck,” Jimin hissed as he looked at your sad form, bruised and bloody knees, hair a mess from running your hands through it, and tears on your arms from wiping so aggressively at your face. He knelt down in front of you, hands hovering over you. He wasn’t sure if he should touch you right now, so instead he used his words, “YN, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. Please, please look at me.” He sounded like he was crying now, but you didn’t want to look up at him. Didn’t want him to see you like this. “Please let me explain?” It was phrased like a question, even though you knew he was going to talk anyways, so you cut him off, snapping your head up to look at him. He held back a gasp at the sight of your tear and mascara stained face.

“Explain? You don’t need to explain. I heard you loud and clear, Jimin. But I know that won't stop you, so go on, say what you want. Tell me how clingy and awful I am.” Your tears had stopped now and all you felt was anger. How could he think he had the right to burst in here after what he said about you?

Jimin let out a sigh and closed his eyes, sinking down onto the floor and pressing his back against the cabinets opposite you. You could see the tears starting to run down his face as he tried to steady his breathing. “I know I fucked up. I really don’t have a good excuse for why I said those things, and I know you wont believe me when I say I didn’t mean them,” you scoff, making him open his eyes and look at you sadly, “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your understanding, YN. I never should have said you were clingy. I don’t know why I even said it - fuck, I’m so fucking stupid.” He rubbed his hand down the front of his face, wiping away the tears. “I’ve just been feeling so overwhelmed lately, and we were talking about making plans tomorrow -”

You cut him off before he could go any further, “Jimin we haven’t seen each other in a week. Even so, if you didn’t want to make plans, why didn’t you just say no instead of agreeing?

“I know, I know! I’ve just been feeling so exhausted with work and the new album and I can’t get these damn dances down. I’m so fucking tired, YN. I told you yes because I didn’t want to let you down, and then I let the fact that I was tired drive my words and my actions when I was talking with Tae. I don’t think you’re clingy. I don’t think that at all, I swear. Me being tired is no excuse for those words, and I am so, so fucking sorry.”

You could see and feel that he was telling the truth, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. “You’re right, Jimin. Being tired isn’t an excuse.”

“I know,” he looked down as more silent tears rolled down his puffy cheeks, “I know that. I was looking for someone, or something, to blame my frustration on, and since we’ve been texting all morning, my brain went straight to you.”

It wasn’t a good explanation, but you understood where he was coming from. You’ve definitely lashed out on people because they were standing too close before, but again, it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. “While I believe you,” you started, making Jimin lift his head to look at you, a hopeful look in his eyes, “it doesn’t change the fact that what you said was extremely hurtful, Jimin.” A few tears streamed down your face as you spoke, prompting Jimin to slide closer to you and reach a hand out to touch you, before he thought better of it and let his hand stay there, midair.

Pursing your lips, you moved closer slightly, letting your cheek rest in the palm of his hand. You melted at his touch, having not felt it for over a week. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he sobbed as your eyes closed at his gentle touch, “I know it doesn’t fix it, but I will do everything I can to fix this and to be better for you.”

You opened your eyes and looked into Jimin’s watery ones, “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, but I love you, Jimin. Don’t be stupid anymore.”

Jimin gives you a small smile, rubbing his thumb against the apple of your cheek, “I know. I love you, too, baby,” he pulls away and scoots closer to you so his back is against the same cabinets as yours, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I told the guys I wouldn’t be back today. I hope that’s okay.”

“What would you do if I said no?”

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, “Go cry at the park.”

You let out a snort at his words, “Maybe I should say no so you can learn your lesson.”

He sighs, “I mean, I won't hold it against you. But I would much rather stay here. Besides, you need someone to clean your knees up, and probably carry you to your bed.” He’s smirking now, realizing his words are true.

Looking down at your bruised knees, you try to straighten your legs, only to wince at the searing pain you feel in them. “Oh shit,” you breath, “that really hurts.”

“Hey, you’re okay,” Jimin says as he stands up, picking you up bridal style with him, “I got you now, and I always will.”

[an-absolute-travesty]

Smokey Skies and Pretty Fires

Hecking FINALLY

This took like a whole ass month my dudes

There was no prompt, just some good ol self indulgent marelinh :) (that started as a joke but-)

About: Marella x Linh, vigilante arsonist/fire fighter au

Word count: ~4,250

Tag list: @cadence-talle @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percabetn @vibing-in-the-void-deactivated2 @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42​ @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e @mistythegirlfluxmess @we-have-no-bananas-today @we-wont-dissapear 

Warnings: corrupt governments, fire, swearing

Linh bent down, examining the ash that covered the ground.

Some of the structure still remained, but very little of it. This was intentional, and the perp knew what they were doing.

The long string of arson incidents on government buildings was getting to be too much. At first, Linh didn't mind much. No one was ever hurt, the files inside were saved and released to the public, no fire ever spread to other buildings. But as a fire investigator and, due to her hydrokinesis, a firefighter it was getting kind of annoying. She had better things to do with her time.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Hey Song, come over here for a minute."

It was her boss. She, obviously, followed.

"Chief Zaldo."

They nodded.

"I have a special assignment for you. We've gotten word that the arsonist may be attacking the courthouse next. We need you to scope out the place and put out the fire."

"Not stop the fire?"

"No. These people, or this person, might be dangerous. Just put it out, don't engage. Try to catch their face."

Linh nodded. She...wasn't great at taking orders, but she could try.

"Do you know when this is happening?"

"Three days. We hope to get more details soon."

"Who's your source?"

"Confidential information. Now go back out there, the folks will get suspicious soon."

"They don't know?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Song,"

"I have the right. Are...are you sure something bad won't happen, Chief?"

Zaldo sighed.

"No. No, I'm not."

~*~

Linh sat in the parking lot of the building next to the courthouse in the most nondescript car she could obtain.

... That being her own. The higher ups didn't exactly give her department the most funds. That went straight to the police sector. She stared at the news on her phone as reports came in of a protest across town. If she wasn't stuck in a stuffy government provided position she'd be down there with them.

She looked out the window once again. So far there were no signs of the arsonists yet.

She sipped on her mostly milk coffee. This seemed like it was going to be a long night.

~*~

At nearly three a.m. Linh awoke to a warm glow outside her car.

Shit.

Her orders from the Chief Had been forgotten completely. Without hesitation, she sprung from her seat and looked around frantically for the culprit.

There. A small figure was running away from the blaze. Linh chased.

"Hey! Kid! Get back here!"

The figure kept running. She couldn't blame them. She would too.

Luckily she was significantly taller than the person and caught up quick. It was probably very ill-advised, but she tackled them to the ground.

So much for "do not engage."

In the light of the still raging fire she saw that the apparent arsonist was a girl. She was about Linh's age with blonde hair and pretty eyes and-

CHRIST! LINH, SHE'S A SERIAL ARSONIST, GET IT TOGETHER.

Linh shook off her brief moment of lesbian brain fog.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same." the blonde girl looked in her eyes with a challenge.

"Only one of us was just caught in the act. You're going to jail."

"Am I?"

In one swift movement the girl shifted so she was on top of the pin.

"Welp, I'm going to head out now. Good luck with that fire."

She got up. Linh was still frozen in place as she ran away.

She turned around mid run and paused.

"Oh, the name's Marella. Not Mare, not Ella, no nicknames. Make sure you tell the papers that."

With a wink she was gone.

~*~

Linh sat in the Chief's office, twiddling her thumbs until they got there.

She had put out the fire that night. In fact, a lot of the structure of the courthouse was saved. When she came into work the next day she was welcomed with a warm applause.

When they walked into the room, she stood respectfully. Before she could greet them, they started talking.

"Song, how'd it go? Did you get any info?"

"Um...no, no I didn't. They must've run the other way."

"Dammit. That's okay. The fire's out, that's what matters. The cops can do the rest."

"Yeah, I guess." Linh couldn't meet their eyes.

~*~

Marella looked over the morning paper with disappointment.

"What's up?" Sophie said as she peered over her shoulder.

"They didn't even mention the fire, I made it extra dramatic and everything."

"Oof, guess we have to try again."

"Ugh." Marella flicked her wrist and set the paper to flame, it turned to ash as it hit the floor, "I'm so tired of these assholes. Peaceful protests don't work, aggressive protests don't work. These council bitches are stubborn. Our requests are reasonable, but nooooooo. Can't even let us have a real say in who controls everything."

Sophie hummed noncommittally.

"Like I said, we have to try again. Fill the skies with smoke, they have to notice eventually. Just like Forkle always tells us. Oh, and it's your turn to empty the dishwasher today by the way, Biana said she would put them all in your bed if you forget again,"

Marella waved her off, returning to her black coffee.

~*~

The next day, Marella went through the same motions as usual. She had leaked where she would be lighting up again, the first time was a risk but if all their cops were like the last she'd be perfectly fine.

And if it was the same cop...more than perfectly fine.

As she hauled the boxes of files out of the city hall she noticed a particular car sitting in the parking lot.

Guess she would see her favorite officer today.

Soon after the blaze started building, the woman got out of her car. Marella didn't run away this time, rather walked towards her.

"Lovely night isn't it?'

"You again."

"The one and only." Marella turned to her blaze. "Strangely beautiful, don't you think?"

"Yeah... I mean no- I mean-" The woman sighed. "Why are you doing this?"

Marella shrugged. "Well, it's simple. Peaceful protests seem useless at the moment so we're taking a more hands-on approach."

"No, why are you doing this? Not this...group, if there is one, why are you risking your freedom for this?"

"What freedom?"

Marella walked to her car. As she drove away she saw a large wave come from the fire hydrant, putting out the building in one go.

~*~

As Linh walked into the office, Zaldo already sat at their desk.

"Song, did you find anything this time?"

"No, I didn't, I'm sorry."

They sighed, putting their face in their hands.

"Song, I'm giving you one more chance. You're clearly determined, and to me the stealth angle seems best. But if this fails? We're going to the police,"

"Yes, Chief."

With a nod they gave permission for her to leave. She stood in the hallway for a moment, knowing what she had to do next but not knowing if she had the courage to do it.

~*~

Linh stood at the house's front door. She had chased down arsonists and saved kids from blazing fires and yet this was still the scariest thing she'd ever done.

She rang the doorbell. Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe she wouldn't have to do this.

The door opened.

In front of her stood the grown-up form of the teenage boy she had left Tam as. He still had his trademark silver bangs, apparently he hadn't cut his hair very much since they were kids. She had gotten rid of the silver long ago, dyed hair doesn't go over too well in the corporate world and her shoulder-length bob was much more practical than her long hair.

"Hello,"

"Long time no see," Tam's voice had an annoyed sound to it. "Came here to tell me 'Tam! You shouldn't mess around with that Black Swan stuff! They might be dangerous!' Again?"

Tam's impression of her voice was crude, unfortunately that was a direct quote from the last time they had talked right before their falling out. He always could hold a grudge.

"Well, um, actually, uhh... I mean sort of,"

Tam sighed.

"You know what? Whatever,"

He brought her into a tight hug.

"Come in, lecture me as much as you want, I'm not risking another 8 years without talking to the only family I have left,"

"I'm sorry about that, by the way," She said, crossing through the door and sitting on the couch.

"It's ok, you tried to make contact, I was being the asshole."

"I love you, asshole,"

"I love you more, dumbass. Now, go ahead and get your lecture started while I make us some coffee."

"Look, that arson stuff that's going on. Is that...you guys?"

He stopped mid coffee ground scoop.

"Considering you're with the government, it doesn't seem wise for me to confirm or deny,"

"Tam, I'm trying to help I swear. I just wanted to say that if it is then you should stop, I can only buy time for so long before the police are brought in,"

He put his hand on the counter, back still facing her.

"Are you threatening to call the cops? Well, we're not going to stop. It's not our fault that after years of our society abusing you, you decided to help it,"

"Tam I-"

"No. We've fought too long for what we want and you've worked too hard to make everyone forget you had a twin. I think it's best if you leave, Linh. Fitz is going to be home soon and he's heard too much to be fond of you."

"Fitz?"

"My boyfriend. Should be husband by now but your dear councillors aren't letting that happen any time soon."

"Tam, please, it's not like that I-"

"Please go. Right now. You know where to find me."

Linh nearly said something else, she wanted to argue, wanted to make sure she wouldn't lose her brother again.

Instead, she left without another word.

~*~

Linh stood outside the back of the new makeshift city hall (which was just an old fire department building repurposed) anxiously tapping her foot, waiting for Marella.

Soon enough a car pulled up and the petite woman got out of her car.

"Heya! You're waiting for me this time, that's new. What changed?"

Linh sighed.

"Look, you have to cut this stuff out. I- the police-"

"I don't care about the police. Lock me up, you have me right here officer,"

She extended her wrists straight out, offering to be handcuffed.

"I'm not a cop,"

"Really? Are you just an excitable citizen then? I thought you were just absolute shit at your job,"

Linh cracked a small smile but repressed it quickly.

"I'm a fire investigator...okay technically I'm just a firefighter but they needed more people,"

Marella cocked her head to the left.

"So none of this is even part of your job? You get paid more right?"

"Well no but-"

The girl opposite of Linh doubled over in laughter.

"Oh gosh lady you're just as bad off as the rest of us! No wonder you haven't done anything to stop us. Speaking of, scoot over, I have a fire to start,"

"No. Like I was trying to say you have to knock this off. They were trying to be stealthy but since I haven't given them any information they're sending in the cops if I don't get anything this time."

"You're trying to save my ass?"

Linh felt her face start to burn.

"Well um..."

"What's your name Miss Not-Even-A-Fire-Investigator?"

Linh sighed.

"It's Linh. Linh Song."

"Song? Like..." She trailed off, thinking for a moment. "No fucking way. You're the sister Tam always talks about. You know, putting me in cuffs won't do any harm to your brother, I'm no snitch."

"Tam has made it very clear he doesn't want my protection,"

"Why are you doing this then? You're risking your job, your...everything really,"

"I don't know,"

There was a tense silence. Marella stared her down, it was like she could see right through her into her soul.

"Linh, let me into the building,"

Linh didn't know why she moved. She didn't think she ever would know.

But she watched wordlessly as the files were taken out, loaded into a car, and then Marella walked a decent way from the building and tossed a ball of fire.

The building went up quick. It felt wrong to just stand there but...the fire was very pretty.

Soon enough Marella joined her in watching the blaze. They were wordless for a good while.

"We should get out of here soon. Someone's bound to notice the smoke," Linh was starting to get anxious.

"We? You don't have to wait for me, Linh. You have your own car,"

"Yes, I know,"

They were silent for another minute.

"Tam talks about how much he misses you, like a lot. Normally when he's drunk but still. He'd um... I think he'd like it if you um..."

"Yeah..."

Linh thought. And then she thought some more. What did she have to lose? She didn't have friends, or family, she went home every day to a mediocre apartment she could barely afford. She was underpaid and overworked.

"I want to join you,"

"You know, you said it yourself, you're risking your freedom,"

"What freedom?"

Marella smiled.

"Well, in that case, go home and get your things packed up. Meet me at the diner on 5th street tomorrow at noon. You might want to quit your job, we don't need a missing persons case on our hands."

"Be honest, is this a bad idea?"

"It depends how much you have going for you, but considering you're willing to run off to an undisclosed location with an arsonist I'm guessing you don't have much to lose. No offense," Marella looked panicked at what she said.

"None taken. Don't worry, I'm on my own. No wife and children or anything."

"Same,"

A siren wailed a few blocks away.

Marella smiled again. Wow, her smile was beautiful.

"Welp, see you tomorrow,"

"Yeah,"

Linh watched her walk away, a dorky grin on her face the whole time, before realizing she should probably get out of there before the police caught up.

~*~

The next day, Linh stood in the parking lot of the small diner. The only things with her a small backpack and a crate with Princess Purryfins, her murcat, inside. She didn't even take her car, rather walking the whole way.

Soon enough, a familiar car pulled up next to her and Marella got out.

"Is that it?" Marella pointed to her bag.

"Yep, like I said, no wife and kids or anything,"

"Yes but most people have, I don't know, clothes?"

"Swiftly changing the subject, I have a couple questions,"

"Shoot,"

"Since I'm not working anymore, how...exactly will I stay, y'know, alive and fed?"

Marella laughed. Linh knew that even if her answer was 'you won't, we live in the woods and you're our next dinner' Linh would still follow her if she was promised she'd hear that laugh again.

"Well, frankly I shouldn't be saying this in a public space, but we have allies in high places. They fund us,"

Linh nodded as if she understood fully.

"Any other questions?"

"None worth asking,"

"Cool, ready to go?"

Linh nodded again, tongue-tied from anxiety.

~*~

Nearly an hour later, they pulled up to a building in a rural part of the county. It seemed cozy enough, plenty land to be a farm though there were no animals. A small pond out to the side of a cabin that had clearly been added onto to make significantly larger.

As they walked up to the door, Marella pulled out an odd key with a swan insignia painted on the grip.

"Here is your new home for...as long as you choose to stay. You can always go out and get your own house if you want, but only paid with cash and no renting. We have to stay off the grid as much as possible,"

Linh just nodded again.

"You've been quiet," Marella pointed out.

"Yeah I'm just...it's been a lot,"

"I know, I'm sorry, you can still turn back,"

Linh shook her head.

"No, I'm committed now. I already sent the letter quitting my job,"

Marella gave her a sympathetic look.

"Alright, your room is down the hall, third to the left. I'll be upstairs if you need me. We're having a meeting tonight over dinner, then you can see everyone,"

Linh smiled politely, but started tearing up when she was left to find her room. What was she doing? Getting involved with an illegal organization against the government.

Ah the extents she would go to for a pretty girl. And nice. And funny. And smart.

Ugh. Cute girls would be the death of her.

~*~

Marella tapped her fingers on the table, waiting impatiently for the meeting to start.

Most people were there and she had introduced Linh to them.

Well, everyone but Tam and Fitz, who weren't there yet like the late-ass bastards they were.

Marella sat right next to the very quiet Linh, she seemed completely resigned about the whole ordeal. It had to be a very strange day for her.

Forkle stood up at the head of the table, tapping a glass with his dinner knife as if to get everyone's attention, even though the room was mostly silent.

"Good evening everybody! Today we have been joined by the lovely Ms. Song. Unfortunately we have not been blessed by the appearance of her brother as is usual of him."

Marella and the rest of her colleagues chuckled, Linh didn't.

As if on a timer, the door opened.

"Well speak of the devil," Forkle said, turning around to peer at the men in the doorway.

Tam's eyes went wide at the sight of Linh. He quickly ran over and scooped her into a hug.

Their conversation was quite long and very quiet, even for someone right next to them. All Marella caught was "I promise I won't leave again, I love you asshole," Linh came away with a slight sparkle of tears in her eyes.

After they broke apart, Forkle continued.

"Okay, now that we're done with that sweet moment, it's time for the boring stuff. It'd come to our realization that we can't continue on as we have been. We need something new to grab their attention. Anyone have a suggestion?"

The table was silent.

"Ms. Song? Perhaps you're more diligent than these kids,"

"We're very much adults, thank you very much," Keefe piped up.

"Mr. Sencen, when was the last time you changed the oil in your car?'

"...touché,"

Forkle sighed, and after a moment Linh started talking.

"I was thinking...all this fire stuff probably isn't great for the environment and stuff. And, well, water should work just as well. But, I mean, I don't want to impose-"

Squall cut in. "Ms. Song that's a great idea, we can cause just as much destruction with less harm and throw them off,"

Everyone around the room nodded their agreements and Marella nudged Linh's arm.

"See? You're fitting in already, nothing to worry about,"'

Linh smiled.

~*~

Linh sat at the edge of the pond, making small ripples in the water and looking at the fish. A toad croaked in the distance.

She didn't know if she was supposed to be out here, or if there were any rules at all. It didn't seem so, of all the people she'd met so far they treated this base like their home.

She felt a tap on her shoulder that made her nearly jump out of her skin. When she turned around she was expecting Tam or someone on their 'Collective' or whatever. Turns out, it was just Marella. She sat next to Linh on the bank.

"Told ya' everything would go fine,"

"You told nothing of the sort,"

"I was thinking it,"

Linh chuckled. "Yeah, it was fine,"

"So, what's your first impression of the gang?"

"Sophie and Dex seem nice, I'm a bit concerned for Keefe's car's health, I don't think Fitz likes me very much..."

"They can take some getting used to,"

"Mhm," Linh mumbled before they fell back into silence.

"So..." Marella said after a while. "Do you think you'll stay? Here at the base I mean,"

"For a bit. I don't exactly have an apartment anymore and this is way better than the one I had anyway. Just until I can get back on my feet by myself,"

"You can really stay as long as you'd like. Most people have their own homes but quite a few stay here. Sophie, Biana, and I do, at least,"

"Then maybe I'll stay a while,"

"I'd like that,"

Linh felt Marella's body heat get a lot hotter just then. She couldn't quite see in the moonlight but she guessed she was...blushing?

"I um... I was thinking um...that...um," Marella seemed to continue to heat, Linh was concerned she was going to catch fire. "I was thinking that maybe we could um...go out sometime? I- I mean as a date, o-or as friends if you don't-"

"I'd love to,"

Marella sighed in relief. "I didn't expect that to go well, honestly,"

Linh laughed. "Well, how does tomorrow at 8 sound? We can go to that pottery place on 2nd street, I think they mostly do kid's birthdays but that's never stopped me before,"

"Sounds great, it's a date,"

"It's a date,"

Linh almost just got up but hesitated for a moment. She quickly pecked Marella on the cheek before going back to the house as fast as possible. She almost thought she saw the light of a fire in the corner of her eye.

~*~

The beep-like news theme comes on followed by the announcer.

"Tonight on the 7 o'clock nightly news with Jennifer Watson"

The woman on T.V. straightens her papers.

"The two silvered-hair bandits known as the "Trouble Twins" by the public are still escaping the police's grasp. They have flooded two government buildings this week and don't seem to be intending to stop any time soon. They claim all they want is to have a proper negotiation with our lawmakers. Will the council respond to these vigilantes? Or will they continue to let our buildings be destroyed? And coming up next, this video of Bobo the panda has the internet going wild-"

Marella turned off the T.V. and slouched further on the couch. She bit into her apple, unamused.

"Babe, you have to be patient. We're getting closer, Councilor Oralie said she was going to introduce the idea of negotiation, it'll be ok,"

Linh's words helped but Marella was still unsure.

Linh sat back on the couch and nudged her.

"There's nothing to worry about, c'mon, give me a smile,"

Marella couldn't help but grin at the dork she called her girlfriend.

"There it is! Dinner will be ready in like...5 minutes so," Linh took away Marella's apple, "Then we can go meet up with Tam to fuck up the Tribunal Hall,"

"Sounds like a lovely night,"

Linh laughed.

"I love you, you know that?"

"We do say it to each other quite often,"

"Yes but I don't know," Linh looked down at her lap. "It's been almost a year and... I guess I thought I'd regret joining you guys at some point but I never have,"

"Well, I am quite charming,"

"She says, as she slowly slides off the couch,"

Indeed, Marella was now halfway to the floor. Linh just laughed.

~*~

"Order in the court!" Councilor Emery slammed down the gavel.

Bronte rolled his eyes. Ever since they decided to cut the telepathic communications (Emery's migraines were getting bad) he had been using that stupid thing.

"Today the council will be voting on one thing, are we willing to listen to the Black Swan's pleas? Or do we attempt to wrangle them?"

Everyone around the room scratched on their piece of paper with the old-fashioned and unwieldy fountain pens. Bronte already knew what his vote would be, he had many conversations with the Forkle brothers in the past, now down to one. It was an easy decision.

Once all the votes were in the box, Emery started counting. He sighed.

"And, with a close vote of 7 to 5, we will be attempting to negotiate with the vigilante group," He pounded the gavel again. "Meeting adjourned,"

Oralie gave Bronte a thumbs up from across the room. He rolled his eyes again, but fondly this time.

~*~

BAM BAM BAM.

The gavel was loud, Linh didn't like it, her anxiety was high enough that day, the stimulation of it all was too much.

Marella gently held her hand under the table.

"Order in the court!"

Sure, "court", not like they were sitting in the community center because they hadn't managed to rebuild the actual places of court yet, not at all.

"Today we have gathered to discuss many things. First, on the agenda is discussing giving citizens the right to vote as a democracy. Then, the details of a possible police reform and redistribution of funds. Finally, on what the current legal definition of marriage is, and the possibility of changing that."

Tam caught Linh's eye from across the room, he nodded at her.

Now, the real fight began.

[wreckofawriter]

The Not-So-Perfect Sister

Pairing: Sirius Black x potter!reader

Word Count: 4,442

Warnings: Under aged drinking, mentions of neglect, overall angsty

Summary: James Potters sister who had felt put of place her whole life finally breaks when Lily Evans arrives at her house.

A/n: I really like this one. Kinda angst but sweet. My inbox is open feel free to send in requests! Hope you guys like it too!

Being a Potter seemed like an easy gig to most people. The big house, nice family, a large amount of money, it definitely seemed like a piece of cake. And if your name is James then yes, yes it was. But if your name was y/n- or as most people called you James' sister -than no, no it wasn't. 

When you were eleven you had walked up to the chair and sat down with your eyes locked on your smiling brother. He was seated between his three best friends and practically glowing with excitement from the gold and red table.

The old hat was placed on your head and you could already the word that would flow from its leathery mouth. But to your surprise along with everyone else's in the large dining hall, not even a second after the hat landed on your y/h/c head it bellowed, "Slytherin!" 

The hall fell silent and your eyes, still on your brother went wide. James' on the other hand narrowed, his lips piercing to a thin line. 

You felt your heart break as your best friend turned away from you in disgust. And at eleven years old you had already been smashed to pieces by the person you loved most. 

Your parents had sent you a letter telling you it was alright to be in a different house but they didn't act like it was. When James joined the quidditch team they had cheered for him and came to as many games as they could. 

When you joined the Slytherin team as a keeper they had dismissed it with a wave of a hand and only came to your games when you happen to be playing Gryffindor. They were always adorned in yellow and red. 

They almost never sent you letters when James received one once a week. They would support James no matter what, but if you slipped up even once they would come down on you in a hail storm of fury.

By third year you stopped coming home over breaks, you would spend Christmas at Hogwarts alone. But summers were unavoidable. You would simply go home and hide in your room, only coming down stairs for meals which you eat in silence as you listened to your parents gush about James' achievements. 

When Sirius joined you in your fourth year, their fifth, your life went from bad to worse.

Sirius was an asshole. He always was and always will be. He was arrogant and stubborn, he was sure he was the best thing in the world and that he had everyone trapped under his finger. And watching him receive more love from your parents than you did made living under the same roof as the boy nearly impossible. 

What made it worse was the fact that he was irritatingly handsome. He was dashing and charming, somehow managing to make you hate him just to avoid feeling something else.  It made you sick that you even had thoughts of him in a positive way whatsoever. But even though you would never admit it, you did.

And now you had to welcome another one of your least favorite people into your life.

You hated Lily Evans. From the minute layed eyes on the girl you could feel a sickening loathing build up in you like a fire. With each overly sweet smile she threw and disgustingly soft laugh she uttered the larger that fire burned. 

It wasn't like she had ever done anything wrong to you. She was always nice when you passed in the hallways, she never picked on you or called you 'James' little sister' a term you had grown to hate. She was always kind to you, even when your brother was being a brat like usual. And that was one of the many reasons you hated her. 

She was perfect. It made you want to hurl. Her fiery red hair and emerald eyes. Her perfect grades and great scores. She was kind, brave, smart and cunning. She had it all. Plus your brother, who wouldn't even spare you a glance, trailed after her like a lost puppy. She was the physical embodiment of everything you hated. 

Of course now she was dating James which meant you had to put up with her bullshit even more than usual. 

You were downstairs making yourself a sandwich, when the doorbell rang. You rolled your eyes and walked to go open it. 

You swung the door open ready to shoo away some girl scouts when you came face with your worst nightmare.

"Hey y/n!" She smiled waving a bit. 

Your mouth dropped and eyes went wide before narrowing to slits and your mouth slamming shut into a scowl. 

You merely growled the word "Nope." Before slamming the door shut straight into her face. 

"Y/n! What the hell?" You turned your mood souring from bad to worse. 

"You deal with you preppy girlfriend James, I dont have the energy for her." You hissed. 

He simply rushed past you his shoulder hitting yours harshly as he passed and opened the door.

"Lily, I am so sorry for my sister is being an asshole again.." 

The rest of the conversation died out as you snatched your sandwich and darted upstairs. You quickly slammed into James room to meet Sirius, who was adorned in only a towel his black hair dripping wet. You ignored the sight and focused on the problem at hand.

"What the hell y/n?!" Sirius snapped, his face flushing. 

"Yeah what the hell!" You responded to worked up to care about his lack of clothing. 

Sirius shot you a confused look, his cheeks now a blazing red.

"Why is Evans here?!" You screeched. 

"Maybe because she's meeting her boyfriend's parents?" Sirius bellowed back, "Now get out!" 

You ran from the room slamming the door behind you and retreating from your safe haven. You stopped in your tracks when you saw your mother frantically attempting to clean your room. 

"Y/n!" She scolded, "Your room is a complete disaster!" 

"What are you doing in here?" You asked voice angry. 

"Lily is going to be sleeping in here so clean this place up!" She yelled motioning to your disaster of a room. 

Your fury strengthened, "I wont clean shit for that bitch." You growled. 

"Y/n!" Your mother gasped in disgust.

You left before she had a chance to say anything more. Your head pounded as you thundered down the steps not bothering to move in the slightest as your brother and his girlfriend ascended upward. You shouldered them roughly out of the way James protests fading in the back of your mind.

You ran for the door, grabbing your purse and shoes from the mudroom before sprinting onto the street. 

It had rained that night so everything was damp, causing your mitch-matched socks thin fabric to grow cold and wet. The scent of wet asphalt and dewy grass filled you helping to calm your nerves as you ran from your inevitable future. 

You knew that eventually you were going to have to go back to that house and deal with your mother and father and brother and his girlfriend and probably his best friend too. But you ignored that fact sitting on a bench to pull on your converse. You didn't bother to tie them. 

You then stood up and began to walk with no destination in mind. You walked for about an hour before you realized how hungry you are. You never got to eat that sandwich and breakfast was a distant memory. 

You quickly found a small coffee shop and walked inside enjoying the strong scent of the beverage it emitted. You ordered before plopping down at your table and staring helplessly out the window. You watched people move back and forth outside of the window feeling slightly like a tiger locked in a zoo behind the thick glass. You stared at the thick purple clouds that bruised the grey sky, ignoring who's eyes they reminded. You were so entranced with the scene in front of you, you didn't even notice that your food was placed in front of you until you turned to see it there, the sandwich slightly cold. 

You sighed, too hungry to discard the food put in front of you. You ate slowly, as if you were unsure if the meal was safe. You then turned your head back to the street to see a dark haired boy smirking back at you. You instantly stood, sprinting for the door. 

The idea of being brought back to that house made you want to hurl the sandwich you had just eaten. So you began to run not bothering to look back, your feet thundered on the wet cement of the sidewalk before you turned down an alley only to yelp when you were greeted by a bored looking Sirius Black. 

"Did you seriously think that you could outrun me." He questioned eyebrows raised.

"I could if you didn't use magic." You scoffed, attempting to shoulder past him and continue to the next street over. You were stopped when he grabbed you shoulder harshly. 

"Why the hell did you run?" He asked almost seeming worried. You quickly brushed off the thought. Sirius Black doesn't worry, much less about Slytherins. 

You hummed pretending to think, "Maybe because I don't want to deal with greasy haired asshole who is going to take me back to my living hell?" 

"Hey!" Sirius protested, clearly offended, "My hair is not greasy!" 

"You can not be serious." You sneered rolling your eyes. 

"I'm always sirius." He smiled back satisfied with his overused and unoriginal pun.

You resisted the urge to smack him. "Why did you come anyways?" 

"Your brother sent me." He shrugged, "plus we both know you don't want to walk all the way back to your house."

"Who said I was going back?" You challenged, eyes narrowing.

Sirius sighed, "You are going back weather you get on my bike yourself or I force you onto it." You glowered at him. 

"If I could you use magic I would wipe your ass all over the street." You threatened. 

"I know." He smiled, "that's why I'm happy you can't." 

"I'm not going." You decided planting your feet and crossing your arms, head held high.

Sirius let out a strenuous sigh clearly annoyed, "Come on." He whined, "Your brother said I had to bring you back." 

You pursered your lips, looking away from the boy. 

He groaned, "Are you fucking with me?" 

"Nope." You responded lips popping on the p. 

"You're really going to make me hex you?" He grumbled. 

You nodded making the boy let out another moan in protest before raising his wand and muttering "Rictusempra."

You immediately burst into giggles "You asshole." You spit out between laughs as a tickling sensation made you lose all other abilities. 

Sirius grabbed you throwing you over his shoulder like you were a doll. 

"I'm gonna kill you." You giggled unable to stop the laughter spurring from your mouth. 

"I'm so threatened." Sirius smirked back before plopping you down on his motorcycle and buckling his helmet on your y/h/c head. 

"Hold onto my waist, I don't want you to die." 

"Really?" You chucked, voice uncharacteristically high. 

"I'm on my way to changing my mind." He sighed sitting down trying to to flush as your arms hugged close to his waist your body shaking with giggles. 

He reversed the spell at the first stoplight you reached and then continued his way back to your house, your chest pressed to his back. When you pulled back up to your house it was growing dark out and you were beginning to question your entire existence. 

You groaned into Sirius leather jacket and banged your head onto his back. 

"Can we not going inside?" You asked hopefully, glancing at the house its windows glowing warmly, the door reminding you of an entrance to hell. 

"You got yourself into this one y/n/n, get yourself out." He shrugged before hopping off the motorcycle and snatching the helmet off your head. 

"Don't call me y/n/n and I didn't get myself into anything you guys are just all assholes." You spoke harshly.

"How was I possibly an asshole?" Sirius exclaimed. 

"Umm how about you hexed me and then forced me back to my house?" 

"I was helping you!" He yelled exasperated. 

"You were not!" You shot back, "You practically kidnapped me!" 

"You're impossible." Sirius scoffed at you before turning on his heel and heading inside. 

You scowled angry all over again before turning to face the house you knew you would have to walk into sooner or later. 

You paced back and forth for a second before biting your lip and walking slowly up your porch steps. You then slowly opened the door and slipped inside. You were greeted by the sound of laughter and the clatter of silverware. 

You poked your head cautiously around the corner to see your family seated for dinner. 

Sirius was serving himself some pasta while your mother talked to Lily and James messed with your dad. 

You felt your heart clench at how right it looked. The perfect son, the head boy and the quidditch star. The friend who needed help and received it, needing a family and getting one. And of course the perfect daughter. With red hair to match her robes and perfect grades. The head girl who would no doubt have an amazing life after school. 

You tried to imagine yourself at the table sitting in the empty seat, your head bent, staring at the food refusing to meet your parents eyes, your green shirt looking odd against the wave of red. The fact was that you didn't belong and never would. So you went upstairs snatched a blanket and a pillow and retreated to your basement. 

You plopped onto the couch and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You felt your eyes prick with tears as the image of the perfect family upstairs burned in your eyelids and you wanted to scream. 

You slammed your hands on to your closed eyelids, enjoying the pressure they provided, keeping tears behind them. Because the truth was as much as you hated your family you wanted nothing more than to be apart of it. You had spent your whole life attempting to get noticed, to simply be acknowledged as half the person they saw James as. But year after year you were left more and more broken. And now your parents fell in love with a girl they had known for only one night. It made you sick. Your hatred for Lily growing into a nightmarish beast. 

Your eyes popped open when you heard someone descending the stairs. You turned to see your brother leaning against the railing arms crossed eyebrows furrowed. 

"What do you want James?" You scoffed sitting up on your elbows. 

"What do I want?" James hissed, "I want to know why my sister is such a selfish prat." 

You sat all the way up glaring at your brother, "I'm the selfish one?" You glowered in disbelief. 

"Yeah, yeah you are." James spat. 

You stood walking to meet your brother, "How in bloody hell was I being selfish?!" You growled. 

"How about slamming the door in Lily's face, or I don't know swearing at mom or maybe calling my girlfriend a bitch before running off to fairyland?!"James was yelling now his voice echoing off the small room."Your damned lucky Sirius offered to find you because I'm done with it!"

You shook your head, "Sirius said you sent him to get me. He was lying?" You asked softly, You silently wished him to say that he wanted you back, that he had sent him, that he had wanted you here.

"Of course I didn't!" James shouted "Not everything is about you!"

You felt your heart crumpled. He hadn't wanted you back. Hell, he would have been happier if you had stayed gone. You willed yourself not to cry, so instead you laughed, a crazy demonic sound ripping from your throat and escaping your lips, "Your right James!" You screeched, "Not everything is about me!" Your fire full smile broke into a sneer, "It's all about you." 

James looked taken aback for a second guilt flashing momentarily into his dark eyes before being replaced with anger. 

"It's all about you. You and your perfect grades and your perfect friends." You could feel tears pricking at your eyes. "You and your quidditch bullshit, and your god damn bright fucking future!" You spat the words like venom from your mouth, "You and your bitchy girlfriend who's going to make the perfect little daughter in law!" You were now yelling your voice feeling raw as tears dripped off your chin. 

"Stop calling her a bitch!" James screamed back. 

Just then the door opened and Lily, Sirius and your parents came hurling down the stairs. 

"What in bloody hell is going on!" Sirus shouted but you ignored him. 

"I'm so sorry for calling shit as it is, your girlfriend is a bitch. B-I-T-C-H. BITCH!"  You wailed taking a step forward, you were now looking directly into your brothers eyes, just barley below him, less than a foot away. 

You saw his eyes burn, anger filling them, turning their dark brown pigment to black. 

And then he did something you would never imagine him to do in his life. 

James raised his hand and with one swift movement slapped you clean across the cheek

You heard a series or gasps and yells fall around you, your ears ringing slightly. You could feel where his hand had struck your skin, it was hot and thumping, a dull sting finding its home there. 

You slowly turned your head back to meet your brothers eyes which were now wide with surprise and guilt. 

You slowly removed the hand that had instinctively risen to your cheek and stared hurt and broken in front of your brother who's mouth had dropped open. 

"Y/n, oh my God I didn't-" 

"Rot in hell Potter." You spat your voice deep and dark. And with that you sprinted up the stairs. 

As you began to move the world resumed and everyone else began to take action as well.

You saw James stumble backwards Lily beginning to go to him but Sirius beating her to it and reaching the boy himself. You then heard him yell something you were too delirious to understand before a thud was heard followed closely by another shriek. You shouldered past your parents as you accented the stairs, the fact that they didn't even spare you a glance stung more than a slap ever could. 

For the second time that day you sprinted out onto the street, the crisp air hitting your hot face in a refreshing blow. You stumbled into the night ignoring your bare feet and chilled arms. You had no destination in mind as you sprinted down the sidewalk, you only had a location to get as far as possible from. You wished you had been thinking enough to grab your purse, you could have gone to a bus stop and left to Merlin knows where. 

You made it four blocks before one of your feet caught behind your heel and you were flung to the ground by the ever cruel gravity. 

Your hands hit the damp cement first followed directly by your chin causing you to bite roughly down on your lip. 

You didn't even bother to move debating weather living was even worth it. You could taste the blood in your mouth and feel it seeping from your hands as you lay unmoving under the buzzing streetlamp. 

You were pretty sure you would have lay on that sidewalk, your body shaking with sobs, blood slowly filling your mouth until you died if a strong pair of arms hadn't swept you up. 

You instinctively buried your head into the familiar musky scent as Sirius pulled you close to him. 

"Hey, hey you're okay." He mumbled quietly into your hair, smoothing it clumsily down as he pulled your head into his chest. "You're okay, I've got you." 

You sobbed uncontrollably into Sirius as he mumbled sweet nothings into your ear and held you close to him. 

"I-im sorry." You choked out eventually,  pulling away from the boy slightly. 

"What on earth are you sorry for love?" Sirius chuckled softly pushing the damp hair from your face. 

"I think I got your jacket wet." You muttered a soft smile darting onto your lips. 

Sirius let out a soft laugh, "You are ridiculous." His smile disappeared when he saw your lip.

"I'm okay." You muttered wiping the blood from you lips with a wince. 

"No your not." Sirius sighed quietly. 

He watched your face deflate and he realized that was probably the first time that someone hadn't let you lie to them. Hadn't let you hide behind the thick walls you had built. He called your bluff and it was unfamiliar and strange to you. 

"Why did you lie?" You asked quietly.

"About what?" The boy questioned, confused.

"James didn't send you. He told me."

Sirius flushed before shaking his head he definitely needed to change the subject, "James is an idiot." 

"He's your friend." You shrugged. 

"Yeah well I don't know if that's true anymore." 

You knotted your eyebrows, "Why's that?" 

Sirius sighed "I knocked him out." 

Your mouth dropped.

"If it was anyone else that hit you I would have killed them on the spot." He murmured.

You smiled slightly torn at the idea of your brother getting knocked out by his best friend. 

Sirius decided that you needed something desperately, the same thing he had needed when he left home. 

"Let's get you a drink." 

Your eyes rose to meet his a bit uncertain, before you nodded, "Please."

Sirius smiled as he pulled you to his motorcycle, lazily tucking the helmet onto your head and buckling it for you, his face dancing red at the proximity of your soft pink lips.

You walked into the bar Sirius at your arm. The two of you sat on the stools and Sirius used a bit of magic to order your drinks. 

He handed you a shot of vodka setting one in front of himself. 

You glanced down at the small glass then back up at Sirius before shrugging and raising swiftly to your lips. 

Sirius did the same laughing brightly when he saw your face scrunched in discomfort. 

"That was disgusting!" You coughed, laughing a bit, "Get me another one!" 

Sirius burst into laughter once again ordering you both another round, "This is the last one though, I don't want to have to take you home drunk." He said eyebrows raised. 

You smiled back, downing the second shot a bit more easily than the last, enjoying the warmth that twirled down your throat to your stomach. 

Sirius and you left, you a bit tipsy, him seemingly sober. 

"Let's get you home." He muttered smiling about at your beaten and battered form. 

Suddenly you broke free of him and stumbled backwards, catching yourself on the side of the building. 

"I don't want to go home." You pouted. 

"Sorry Y/n we have got to go back." Sirius sighed. 

"I'M NOT GOING BACK!" You yelled harshly, anger flowing through you. 

"Y/n/n come on it's not that bad, let's head back." Sirius sighed sympathetically. 

"I know your parents were shit Sirius, but at least they were terrible people!" You yelled. 

Sirius rose both eyebrows, "What?"

"Your parents were terrible people right?" You slurred a bit.

Sirius nodded.

"And they hated you because you weren't like them, you weren't s-somebody who would kill a-and hurt, so they hated you for being different. For being a good person." You rambled tears slowly falling from your cheeks.

"Y/n/n we seriously need to get you home." Sirius grumbled worriedly. 

"You're not listening to me!" You screeched taking a step back. 

Sirius stood unsure of what to do.

"My parents hate me for the same reason, because I'm different and I'm not like them." Your voice breaking mid sentence stabbing Sirius in the chest. 

"And because they are 'good people' and they are nice and kind and heros being different than them means I'm a terrible person." Tears now rolled coolly down your check leaving silver streaks in their wake. 

Sirius' face crumbled, "No, no, no. Y/n your not a terrible person, your a great person." He gushed rushing forward to capture you in his embrace. 

"Then why do they hate me?" You asked voice small and weak. 

"They don't hate you y/n. They love you." He mumbled softly one hand wrapping around your waist while the other gripped your head softly pulling you into him. 

You shook your head slowly afraid if you spoke anymore that your eyes would flood with tears once again. 

"Hey." Sirius murmured, causing your big y/e/c eyes to look up at him. "They love you, James loves you" 

You looked away from his stormy grey eyes tired of hearing lies. 

"Hey." He repeated bring your attention back to the storms resting behind his head. "I love you." 

His whisper resonated through the chilled air, like the final note of an orchestra, the strings still not unmoving. You stared at him in wonder. Then your stood on your toes and grabbed the back of his neck slowly pulling him toward you. 

Your lips connected in a sweet, salty kiss. The taste of blood and alcohol lingering between you. You felt his slightly chapped lips moved smoothly against yours making your heart flutter as your hand played with his dark locks, his own finding your waist and pulling you towards him. 

You pulled away softly gasping lightly for air as your noses brushed lightly. Sirius' own heavy breaths tickling your face as your foreheads leaned together. 

"I-I t-think I love you too Sirius." You fumbled lightly with your words. 

He simply responded by reconnecting your lips in a desperate kiss, savoring the metallic taste of blood mixed with the sharpness of alcohol. You tasted like a sin, his tongue dancing across your lips before they opened allowing it to slip inside. 

When you finally pulled away for the second time. You looked into his glassy storm filled eyes brushing his cheek gently with your thumb. 

"I need you." You whispered quietly into the night. And for the first time in a long time you felt loved.

Part 2

Masterlist

[vercopaanir]

Go to Sleep

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x (female) blind!Reader

Warning: Mentions of surgery, but it’s not graphic.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Part 2 after Keep Up! This series is now called The Lovely Moons, and these are also on AO3. My name on there is missbluebonnets. I have a Javier x Reader story that’s on the back burner right now, but I do eventually want to put it up as well. Thank you to everyone who’s been so responsive. It’s given me a lot of courage and motivation!

Once, when you were a child and still had your vision, you had fallen from a window of a second story and broke your arm in a horrible way. It had taken months to heal, the bones having nearly shattered on impact. It still sometimes ached in the cold, as if the injury hadn’t completely healed and the delicate bones of your right limb were trying to knit themselves together again. You doubted the veracity of the feeling, because feelings are so very often wrong, but having the chip removed from your body and the lost feeling it left behind was truer than anything else you’d ever felt.

It was as if the tiny bit of wiring and metal had held a part of you inside it, rather than the other way around. Once it was removed and the small incision was closed, you felt bereft. You expected the opposite, and as you listened to tools clinking quietly and the wind whistling outside the tent, melancholy threatened to overtake you. 

Freedom came at the price of abandoning the familiar. You could not (would not) be ungrateful, but there was something to be said for being anchored, for knowing what would come next. Now you were left floating and unsure of the future, and you blinked away a small tear.

Kuiil, the abrupt but not unkind Uganaught with steady hands, had not said much during the short duration of the procedure. There was no pain, and you barely felt him work, even when he made the incision at the base of your neck. But what he did say left you softened and comforted.

“I worked three human lifetimes to free myself from servitude,” he said, resting one hand on your shoulder as you kept your head bowed forward. You didn’t feel as if you were placing your life in someone’s hands. In fact, seated on the stool with your hair pulled forward on either side of your face, you thought of your mother, braiding your hair by the fire when you were a girl. “It is not an easy path.”

Your mouth felt dry. “There are others who have known more cruelty than me.” 

Entire races and clans had been subjected to atrocities, and you felt suddenly small and undeserving of the kindness being performed. Why were you chosen, out of a cantina full of others who were subjected to unkindness? You had been the only slave, but you could not think of a good enough reason the Mandalorian would ask for you.

“Suffering does not judge its hosts,” Kuiil said, turning your shoulder so you were angled better as he worked. “The pain of another does not diminish your own.”

You had nothing to say to that, and you sat in humble silence. Something told you he had that effect on people. He placed a small bandage at the back of your neck, and when he deemed it finished, you gently pushed your hair back over both shoulders. Yes, that odd feeling was there, in your head, like you’d lost something important and couldn’t quite remember what it was.

Turning on the stool, you inclined your head down, only barely able to make out the shape of your new acquaintance. “Thank you, Kuiil. I owe you a great debt for this.”

“You do not owe anything to anyone, including myself. I have spoken.”

A gentle frown changed your otherwise placid features, but you were distracted by a quiet baritone asking from under a helmet, “How do you feel?”

The question, and the presence of the Mandalorian, startled you. You had not thought he was inside the tent, having retrieved a crate of some kind and moving outside into the night air. But now, he seemed very close, and you considered the question, unsure how to form a response.

“Lighter,” you finally said, deciding it to be the closest to the truth.

“That thing doesn’t have a tracking code on it, right?” the Mandalorian asked, his voice directed towards the Uganaught. You went to touch the back of your neck where the bandage lay, stiff and thick with gauze, but a leather glove caught your hand and pushed it back down. “Stop trying to mess with it.”

It surprised you so much your mouth dropped open indignantly.

“It no longer receives a signal now that it has been neutralized. It is an old model of transmitter,” Kuiil said, coming back towards you and pressing the small glass and wire bit into your hand. “They were outlawed, but not impossible to find.”

Your fingers turned the small implant over, frowning more in curiosity. 

“Are you now looking for two homes? A second clan to locate?” Kuiil asked, moving around the tent once more. Did he get visitors often, out in what felt like the middle of nowhere? “One for the child and one for your companion?”

You slipped the dead transmitter into your pocket and let your hands rest in your lap, perking up at the mention of the child. 

“What child?”

There is a long sigh of annoyance from the Mandalorian who now leans against the work bench you sit beside. “No. Just the one. She is going to care for the child on my ship.”

As if choosing now to be the most opportune time, a docile coo floated into the tent, and you recognized such a sound. What you weren’t expecting was such a small shadow-so tiny, it didn’t even reach your knee!-to waddle up to you and fall against your leg. Your heart squeezed painfully, and you looked down to try and make out more of it in the dim lighting of the tent, reaching out a hand.

The child was not human, you knew immediately. Two small hands with only three fingers on each took hold of your pointer and middle digits, squeezing gently and gurgling happily at the attention. You waited, letting the baby tug your hand and sniff your palm. He had big eyes, you thought, when he pressed his face into your hand, and a small nose. It was when you reached down with your other hand to pick him up that you noticed something else.

“Oh my,” you laughed, touching two large petal shaped ears. They perked up and down as you stroked them, and he cooed again if trying to tell you he appreciated the doting. You found yourself smiling at the sweet noises the baby made, patting at your robes and nuzzling against your arm.

“It is a good choice,” Kuiil finally said. You’d almost forgotten that he and the Mandalorian were even there. “Now you won’t be remiss when you leave him alone. As you are often wont to do.”

Another long sigh forced its way through the modulator, and you frowned, looking up towards the sound. “You leave your son alone? That’s very unwise.”

The Mandalorian grunts sharply, “Tell me about it.”

You sense a story-or perhaps more than a few-behind the words, but the child trills up at you, tugging your hair playfully. 

“Don’t do that,” the Mandalorian scolds with a huff, sounding more concerned than annoyed. You suspect he’s never cared for a child before.

“He’s only a baby. He just wants to play,” you say patiently, leaning down until your brow brushes the top of his fuzzy head. It tickles against your skin, and you smile when he burbles curiously, brushing your cheeks with tiny fists grasping bits of your hair. “What is his name?”

There’s a definitive pause before the Mandalorian says, “He hasn’t got one.”

“Oh,” you murmur, lifting him up more securely in your arms. Some cultures did not name their young when they were born, you knew. Was that...a Mandalorian edict? You were interested, but it felt too personal to ask such a thing. The child is still touching your chin and jaw, fascinated with you. “I have not cared for children in some time,” you confess, frowning softly. “Though it’s not exactly something you forget.”

Kuiil has turned away, because he sounds farther than you remembered. “In your life, before now?”

You think to the large estate you served on, before the cantina owner bought you. “Human children, yes,” you admitted, inclining your head towards the child. You could swaddle babies, feed them and keep them happy-it felt so easy, back then, when you had more to smile about. Now, you felt the child you held was the reason for your smile, and it gave you an odd sense of vertigo, holding such innocence against your chest. “I doubt there are too many differences.”

“Just try to keep him away from frogs,” the child’s guardian muttered, making you raise an eyebrow.

“It is a good choice,” Kuiil repeated, moving dishes and rattling cups. His voice was so reassuring, and even though you weren’t entirely sure what he was referring to, you knew him to be true. It reminded you of the kind smile of an older woman with silver hair, more elegant than the moon that you had left behind. “Now he will never be alone.”

It made you wonder, much later, who he was truly speaking of.

“Come on, let’s go for a little walk,” you tell the baby, feeling restless and confused after your procedure. You are thankful neither man chose to follow, because your throat is growing a bit sore from talking. Or perhaps it’s just tight from swallowing down so much feeling. 

You follow the sounds of animals, your pace lazy and purposeless. The child coos with content, and you tilt your head when he begins to wriggle at the sound of frogs nearby. You had not expected to be given employment, to be of use. As dizzying as your liberation left you, this new purpose gave you a stronger spine. You stood taller, your hands sure once again.

This you knew how to do. To be kind, to care for someone. This you were good at.

Had the Mandalorian known that? You frown in thought, shifting the child to your side before slipping your hand into the pocket of your robe. The trigger he’d given you sat heavy in your palm now, connected to nothing and no one. You glanced down at the child, who you could sense staring up at you.

Dropping the small device, you bring your heel down hard, breaking it against the dusty earth. It shattered with a satisfying crack, and you swayed the baby in your arms gently. “I knew a baby as sweet as you, once,” you tell him softly, turning your path closer to the sounds of animals. There were snorts and tired grunts, and you wondered what they could be. Some kind of cattle, perhaps. “But that was a long time ago.” 

Your boot bumped the edge of a pen, and you reached out with your hand to follow the perimeter of it. The baby in your memory had not lived to see its first year, sickly and weak, and you hug the child a little closer. The sadness you had felt, been nearly sick with it, had found you crying into the lap of your own guardian.

You hum as you walk, a gentle sway that hits the beat of the melody you sing wordlessly. The baby slows his wriggling even as the frogs chirp into the night air, and by the time you’ve rounded the animal pen, you’re holding a deeply sleeping infant.

Bootsteps crunch at the rocky terrain as they approach you, and you tilt your head up towards the Mandalorian. Footfalls were easy identifiers for you, nearly as unique as a fingerprint. “Kuiil has made you some food,” he says, his modulator making his words seem even more hushed. He takes a few more steps, and you feel leather gloves gently slipping around the baby’s tiny form, lifting him from your arms. 

There’s a sudden chill where he’d cuddled into your embrace, and you let your arms drop to your sides. “That’s very kind of him.”

“He likes you.” The words are said with a small amount of wonder, and you bow your head, following him as he turns toward the Uganaught’s tent.

“I like him, too.”

The Mandalorian lets you pass him, but you don’t miss the way he murmurs with a softened pride, “Everyone does.”

You realize, then, that you were not speaking of Kuiil, and you can’t help but blush.

The food is humble, warm, and filling, and even though you had slept on the ship, you feel your eyes begin to grow heavy. The Uganaught and Mandalorian speak quietly about upgrades and repairs his ship requires, and you stand and carefully gather your dishes, taking them to the counter. It only takes you a moment to find a sink to clean them in, hands smoothing over different canisters and utensils. When you are finished, you’re aware the conversation behind you has stopped.

“Where is the child?” you ask, returning to your seat.

As an answer, you feel your employer shift across from you until something gently bumps your arm. You blink, holding a hand out to tentatively find a smooth surface, dome in shape and floating beside you. Kuiil shows you how to open the pram manually, should the child’s guardian be away, and explains how it’s programmed to his communicator to follow.

You touch the closed lid of the pram, wondering how on earth it all came to be. “You said you’re looking for the child’s family. So you are not…?”

There’s a frigid silence across the table for a beat, but then you hear a sharp thump and answering grunt. When he spoke, the warrior’s voice was low and guarded. “By creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, it is in my care.”

There’s an ache in your chest when he speaks, not from the words themselves, but the tone is that of a father. You can remember your own, speaking that way once, a mixture of valiance and fear that came with loving someone so deeply. 

Kuiil began to tell you the story of how he came upon the Mandalorian, his search as a bounty hunter for the asset that he came to protect. It sounded like a story, something someone would make up to entertain small children near a fireside, and you were just as captivated by it as a little one would be.

But a yawn that you tried to force down brought the tale to an abrupt end.

“You must rest,” the Uganaught told you sternly, standing from the table.

A frown curved your face, and you grumbled, “I slept already-”

“Show her to the cot in the back, since you have nothing else to do,” Kuiil threw over his shoulder to the seated warrior, and you had to fight a smile at the answering grunt. The Mandalorian was not used to being bossed about, that much was obvious, but it was both amusing and endearing to see him follow orders from the Uganaught so succinctly. 

A gentle shift of armor and fabric brought him to your side, and you stood up and followed the few paces deeper into the tent where it was nearly black with darkness. You reached out a hand, hoping to find something stable to tell you where you were. 

“To your right.”

You sat down gently, finding the mattress less comfortable than the bunk on the ship. Though, you weren’t sure you could call that one comfortable either. Your body was quickly sinking into exhaustion, though, and you moved until you lay back, folding your hands primly. You’d assumed at that point that your employer had removed himself, but then you heard a deep sigh as he plopped down beside the cot on the ground.

“W-What are you doing?”

There was a pause before he answered with a tired mutter. “I���m going to sleep.”

You turned onto your side, gauging where he lay on the floor just beside the cot. You tilted your head over the side, wishing you could make out his shape. “Don’t you want a pillow? Or a blanket?”

“Go to sleep.”

“But where’s the baby?”

“Sleeping.” He sounded more tired than you felt, but he somehow still managed to work a bit of irritation into his tone.

“I mean-”

There was a louder, gruffer sigh this time. “If he wakes up, you’ll know. Now be quiet.”

He was certainly right about that. You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep, but it felt like an awfully long time. Your eyes fluttered open when you felt something tickling your hand, which hung off the side of the cot. Morning light seemed to wash the tent of the darkness from the night before, and you made out the tiny green creature looking up at you, holding your hand. He stood balanced on the chest plate of his softly snoring guardian. The baby cooed and bumped his head against your arm, and you found yourself smiling, cheek pressed to the edge of the cot.

“Hello,” you whisper, voice hoarse but feeling renewed. Sometime in the night, confusion and uncertainty disappeared and were replaced with an odd peace. You had a place now, a purpose, and it was tugging on your sleeve and gurgling happily.

Shifting as quietly as you could, you leaned down and picked the baby up, bringing him up onto the cot with you. Several thoughts fluttered through your mind as you woke, mostly wondering what to feed the little one currently crawling along your bed, puffing sweetly as he explored the space.

Once you were fully awake, you shifted on the cot just enough to step over the Mandalorian. You froze when his breathing hitched, afraid you’d woken him up. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but as a warrior, you suspected sleep on the floor was probably better than none at all. You waited, listening for the sound of a stern reprimand, but instead, after another moment, his gentle breathing through the modulator had you relaxing. 

Before you left, you reached for the blanket on the cot, tugging it until it fell over the armored guardian on the floor. You tiptoed with the baby through the tent, only bouncing him to make him giggle once you’d stepped outside. In the bright light of the day, you could roughly make out the animal pen where you could see movement.

“Good morning,” you called to Kuiil, making your way over. The Uganaught was throwing bushels over the fence, and you could make out the larger-much larger-animals on the other side crowding to get their fair share. “I think it’s time for his breakfast. He woke me up. May I help you?”

“The child is an early riser,” Kuiil said, throwing another bushel of all manner of plants over the fence. Each one was bound with twine and held various types of desert flora. It landed on the ground before being torn apart by one of the animals who chomped at the herbs and shrubs loudly. You set the baby down beside you before kneeling down and grabbing one of the many groupings, tossing it over. “Where is his father?”

The label makes you smile, wondering what the Mandalorian would say if he heard it. “Still sleeping. He seemed like he might need it.”

“Growing slow in his old age,” Kuiil snorted, and you smiled at his chastisement, picking up another bushel. “But sleep in safety is the most restorative.” 

You both worked in quiet for a while, the baby waddling over to lean against the fence just beside you to watch the large beasts eat. Kuiil described the blurrgs, even going on to tell you how he’d caught and tamed his first when he came to Avarla-7 to become a vapor farmer. By the time you were finished feeding the blurrg, you boasted a light sheen of sweat, and he sent you back to the tent with instructions on where to find bread and meat for the baby. 

The little one toddled beside you, and you could feel his tiny claw holding onto the skirts of your robes. You measured your steps, making sure you didn’t pass him, and by the time you made it into the tent, the Mandalorian was awake.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have just woken up, because he spun around with such violence you gasped and stumbled back a step, overturning the baby. Immediately, the child fell over with a whimper.

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” you whispered, kneeling down quickly to gather him into your arms. The little noises he made as he tugged at your robe made your heart squeeze. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

“I-Is he okay?” The worry in the Mandalorian’s voice touched you in a way you hadn’t experienced before, and when he stepped closer, you had to breathe through the shivery feeling climbing up your back to focus on the baby in your arms.

“I think so. Just startled,” you murmur, tracing the furrow on the child’s brow as he whimpered. You curved your index finger and bumped your knuckle against his mouth, smiling when he immediately began nibbling. “And hungry.”

“Oh.” The Mandalorian seemed to radiate determination, and he swung around as if on a mission. 

You moved towards the table, sitting down gently, and gave soft directions where Kuiil said he kept the fresh bread and cured meat. You listened to the sounds of dishes and knives clanking about, and when the child’s guardian approached you, he set a plate by your elbow on the table.

“Look at that,” you coo to the baby, letting him sit upright in your lap. He was happy to feed himself, you found, and the sounds of his quiet munching eased your worry. Your fingers drifted over the plate, barely hovering over the food, and you incline your head. “This is a lot for such a little thing.”

“It’s for you, too,” he murmured, sitting across from you. 

That surprised you, and you felt once more humbled by the kindness. A thought occurred to you, imagining his helmet and the creed he has sworn. “And have you eaten?” you ask, gently tearing off bites of the bread and eating them. He’d put butter on it, too, and it tasted sweet melting on your tongue.

“Yes.”

The three of you sit in comfortable silence, you eating bread and butter while the child eats what seem to be diced cubes of meat. A rather loud little belch signals he’s finished, and you cover your mouth to squash the giggle. You wonder if the Mandalorian smiles or laughs, if he watches the child with fondness.

He must, you decide, as he takes the plate away. 

It is nearly midday by the time you give your goodbyes to Kuiil. The child sits, perched in his pram while the Uganaught pats his head between his ears. When he turns to you, you offer your hand and smile when he takes it.

“Thank you, for everything.” You aren’t sure when the tears pricked your eyes, but you blink them away as hard as you can so they won’t fall when you press a kiss to his cheek.

Kuiil shifts, squeezing your hand before patting it with his other. “Should you grow tired of this Mandalorian, you will always have a place here.”

The two males did not say anything to one another, but you didn’t miss the way the armored warrior inclined his head in deference to his friend. For they were friends, you knew now.

The warmth blooming in your breast left you glowing, even long after you departed towards the Razor Crest. It was a quiet walk, which you were grateful for, mulling over the events of the last day. You waited as the ramp lowered, the hatch opening on the ship, but the Mandalorian suddenly stopped you with a hand. 

His other made a sweeping motion, and you could make out the dim outline of the pram being shuttled up the ramp. He turned to you, then, two fingers hooking on the belt slung around his hips that held weapons.

“Before we do this,” he says evenly, voice low and guarded. “I need to know something.”

Your eyebrows went up, heart doubling in pace. You clasped your hands in front of you, nodding once. “Alright.”

“Who are you loyal to?”

The question threw you, and you felt your mouth opening and closing as you grasped for something to say. The afternoon breeze ruffled his cape and your robe, and those were the only sounds in all the world, it seemed. When he didn’t qualify with anything, you shook your head.

“I don’t understand.”

He stepped closer, and you could see the gleam of the sun on his beskar chestplate. It wasn’t threatening, but it was intimidating. You couldn’t help it when you took a step backward. “Your accent betrays you,” the Mandalorian finally said after a long moment. “Kuiil noticed it, too. The way you speak...you’re gently bred. Educated. The planet you must have come from was full of the Empire.”

The pieces began to fall into place as his words nicked you. “Oh.”

He shifted, taking another step closer, but this time you didn’t back away. “I need to know the truth of you before I let you near the child.”

“I’ve already been near him,” you point out weakly.

“Alone.”

A sigh escapes you, and you nod. “Very well,” you murmur, thoughtful. You consider what to tell him, how to word the truth without garnering pity or suspicion. “My loyalty was bought when I was a child, as a slave to a household of an Imperial family. They...that is, there were no children.” When he said nothing, you flexed your fingers. “She could not…”

“So you are a foundling?” 

You raised your eyes at the softness of his tone, surprised. “They killed my family,” you said, just as softly, trying to imagine your mother and father. Their faces were almost gone from your memory. “I was young, taken to be a handmaiden for the Imperial’s wife. She wanted a daughter, more than a servant.” 

The revelation didn’t seem to comfort him much, but you weren’t trying to do that. The truth is what he wanted, wasn’t it? You think for a long moment, whether or not to tell him everything. Was it necessary? Would he care?

“The Empire has a bounty on me and the child,” he finally told you, tilting his head. “You should know that I will not hesitate to protect him, no matter the cost.”

His implication could not have been louder if he’d screamed it. Then again, you already understood your place and purpose if you were to board his ship, so it was easy to accept. Even easier, since you felt for the child, yourself.

“You should know, then, that I would not stop you.” The wind blew a bit more, causing your hair to float over your shoulder. Your fingers flexed, and you dropped your hands to your sides. “I would not see another child fall into the hands of the Empire from bloodshed.”

The silence that fell between you was devoid of the previous tension. Before you can question if you’ve passed this test of his, you feel the leather clad fingers of his hand gently take one of your own, and you suck in a breath. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, stepping aside so you can follow him up the ramp. “It’s a steep walk up.”

Tagged: @itzagoodthing 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Don’t Call It Love

A/N  With Saorsa done and dusted, it’s time to return to the Metric Universe.  When we last left Jamie and Claire in October 2017, they were sharing comforting silence and attending a Depeche Mode concert together.  Will things fall easily into place now that they have tripped over the line from being roommates to being friends?   Oh, hell no.  What would be the fun in that? 

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Zero 7 (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

Winter, 2017 - London, England

It happened by accident.  Happenstance.  Serendipity.   Fate.  The words she used to explain the fact that she and Jamie started seeing each other outside of the flat in social circumstances that would typically be characterized as dates varied, but her opinion remained fixed.  They weren’t dates.  Jamie was her roommate, a good friend, a fellow enthusiast of the culturally obscure, and a brilliant pub trivia partner.  They had both agreed that a romantic relationship between them would be disastrous; ergo, there was nothing romantic about their increasingly frequent outings.  If she could memorize the names for the 206 bones in the human skeleton, she could certainly manage to keep her feelings for Jamie inside the tidy box she had built for them.

Non-Date #1

They crossed paths inside the massive Spittalfields Market, both of them with shoulders damp from the chilly November rain.  Jamie was on his way to the fishmonger, while Claire carried a cloth bag filled with late-season vegetables, determined to eat something other than take-out on a rare day off from lectures and the hospital.

“Are ye on yer way back tae the flat, then?” Jamie asked, physically fighting the urge to offer to carry Claire’s wee sack.

“No, I’m off to the charnel house first.”

“The what, now?”  Surely he’d misheard her.

“The charnel house.  Don’t tell me you’ve been living over top of a medieval burial ground all this time without realizing it?” Claire teased.

Intrigued as much by her beguiling smirk as the opportunity to explore a bit of London’s history, Jamie followed Claire to a commercial highrise near the edge of the market.  Descending a non-descript stairwell in Bishop’s Square, they came to a halt in front of a glass wall.  On the other side was an excavated ruin, the crypt of the long-vanished chapel of St. Mary’s Spital hospital, a quick scan of a nearby information plaque informed him.

“They only discovered it was here when construction of the office tower began,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face.  “For centuries, travelers and the victims of London’s many plagues were buried around the hospital, quite literally in the Spital fields.  When the graves overflowed, they brought the excess bones here and stacked them for safe-keeping until the Apocalypse.  Imagine, forgetting something so...fundamental.”

Jamie grunted in acknowledgement, seeing the reflection of Claire’s face superimposed on the glass.  He couldn’t decide if this human tendency towards forgetfulness pleased or disappointed her.

“Tis rather...”

“Macabre?” she suggested with a grin, turning away from the display and climbing back into the cloud-roofed square.

“I was gonna say morbid, but as ye like.”

“We build our present on the bones of our past, my Uncle Lamb used to tell me.  He was referring to archaeology, but I’ve found it to be true of life itself.”

They walked back to the flat, collars raised against the hastening rain.  Jamie had bought enough hake for two, so they shared the narrow worktop, dicing fresh vegetables and letting their shoulders bump together occasionally.

Claire ate at the two-person dining table while scrolling social media on her phone.  Jamie used the coffee table to hold his plate and the gaming magazine he was flipping through.

It wasn’t a date.

Non-Date #4

Her cellphone rang as she was leaving the bathroom, thoughts bouncing between her end-of-semester exams and her non-existent plans for the Christmas holidays.  She accepted the call with one hand while starting the tedious job of separating her soaking curls with the other.  At first there was only static.  She glanced at the screen, recognizing the familiar number.

“Jamie?” she tried.

“...mac na ghalla, Hamish...” followed by muffled noises and masculine jeering.  She switched hands and started to towel off, making certain first that the video call button wasn’t active.

“Hal-lo.  Paging Mr. Fraser.  You have a call on line one.”

“Ach, sorry Claire.  I didna mean tae... That is, the lads were just... How are ye?”

She giggled at his discomposure.  “I’m well, thank you.  And you?”  They had seen each other that morning, as he came off shift and she was leaving for her morning lectures, so she assumed there was more to this call than a polite inquiry into her state of well-being.  She had learned over their months as roommates that sometimes you just needed to wait for Jamie to get to his point.

“Braw, thank ye.  I was... weel, I’m at the park with some o’ the lads, tryin’ tae put t’gether a side, an’ we’re short a winger, an’ I was jus’ thinkin’, ye said ye wanted tae learn tae play an’...”

Another James Fraser quirk was that he rambled in broad Scots when he was nervous.

“Jamie, are you asking me to play rugby with you?”

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  If ye wish, o’ course.”

“I did just step out of the shower...” she mentioned, already peering outside at the threatening sky and mentally assessing her wardrobe for something suitable for a ruck and maul in the rain.  “Hello?” when there was no sound from the other end in some time.

“Aye, I’m here.  Nevermind, Claire.  I dinna consider, ye must be gettin’ ready to study fer yer finals, an’...”

“Where are you?” she interrupted, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of yoga pants.

“Victoria Park?” Jamie replied, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Splendid!”  She could hear his smile down the line.

“I better not get mud in my hair, Fraser,” she retorted before hanging up, her own smile lingering on her face.

There was nothing romantic about rugby.

Non-Date #7

The flat was strangely forlorn, even with Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the living room windows and a tiny fir tree precariously balancing its five ornaments standing in the corner.  

They had exchanged their gifts on December 23rd, sipping on hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua and grinning shyly at each other.  She’d bought Jamie the next Call of Duty game for his XBox.  Nothing intimate, just something he’d mentioned in passing he was looking forward to trying.  His boyish glee upon unwrapping the package warmed her more than her drink.   Hands shaking slightly, she delicately opened the tastefully wrapped rectangle he presented to her.  Inside was a cashmere scarf, luxuriously soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it.

“Is this?” she asked.

“Aye, tis the Fraser plaid.  Ye ken there’s no’ a clan named Bee-cham, right?”

She was deeply touched, and thanked him was a kiss against his scruffy cheek.

Jamie had left for Scotland the next day, having somehow managed to secure a week’s worth of leave from his uncle over the holiday season.   As was her wont, she’d put down for as many shifts as possible while medical school wasn’t in session, but by some fluke she wasn’t scheduled to work New Year’s Eve for the first time in recent memory.

Some of her classmates from nursing college had invited her along to a “raging party in Shoreditch”, but she’d made up some excuse.  The truth was, she wasn’t in the mood for loud music and over-priced drinks with a group of virtual strangers.  If Geillis had been in town, she would have allowed her friend to coerce her into whatever mayhem she had up her sleeve, but Geillis was still in Columbia and eight months’ pregnant with twins, to everyone’s collective shock.  Especially the mother-to-be.

No, what she really wanted was a quiet evening at home, snuggled under her favourite fleece blanket on their couch, the latest Ferrante novel in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir at the ready.  Jamie had a turntable and a surprisingly well-curated selection of vinyl in his bedroom, but she didn’t like entering his domain without his permission.

Without giving it a second thought, she rang his cell.  It was only upon hearing the raucous sounds of a party in full swing that it occurred to her that just because she was spending New Year’s Eve alone, it didn’t mean Jamie was as well.

“Claire?” he yelled over something that sounded a lot like live music.  “Are ye all right, lass?”

“Oh!  I’m so sorry, Jamie.  I just wanted to ask... never mind.  It’s not important.  Enjoy your party...”

“Wait!” the background noise mutated, sounding like a riot underwater, and then there was a wooden slam.  Jamie huffed a sigh of relief.

“Mu dheireadh.   Are ye still there, Sassenach?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling sorry for herself.  She might be the most pathetic thirty-year old in London.

“Did the hospital no’ call ye in for a shift, then?”

She tucked the blanket under her feet, warding off the chill that always seemed to creep in from the wall of windows.  The Christmas lights she’d strung reflected against the glazing in alternating colours: blue, red, green, blue, red, green.

“No. By some miracle of the festive season, I have the night off,” she joked halfheartedly.   “I’m sorry for interrupting your night out.  I wanted to ask if I could borrow your turntable and a few of your albums?”

“O’ course.  Ye didna need tae ask.  An’ I’m no’ out.  I’m at home, at Lallybroch.”  He pronounced the word with a guttural flourish that made Claire think of an exotic kind of pastry or a rare tribal custom.  Any time Jamie spoke of his family’s home in Scotland, he imbued it with an otherworldly quality, like a fortress in a fairy tale, a far away land of warriors and mist.  It was strange to think of him there now, while she sat alone in their flat.

“It sounds like quite the party.”

“Aye.  The Frasers take their Hogmanay celebrations verra seriously.  Ye shoulda come wi’ me.”  Then, as though realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, “We could use a doctor.  Dougal sprained his ankle doin’ a sword dance, and Angus singed his arse somethin’ fierce jumpin’ o’er the bonfire.”

She laughed, her mood suddenly much lighter, and asked for more particulars as to how his cousin’s naked ass came to be in close proximity to open flame.  Without either realizing it, the last minutes of 2017 crept by.

Fireworks erupted outside, followed by the tolling of bells and honking of horns.  On the other end of the call, she could hear cheering and an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne.  They were both silent, embarrassed to have been so caught up in their trivial conversation as to have missed the arrival of midnight.

“Happy Hogmanay, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice came soft and sure over the line.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” she replied.  “I should really let you get back to your party.   Your family must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

He hummed noncommittally.  It occurred to her that had they been in the same place, they would likely be kissing right now.  It sent a shiver of want down her spine.

“Jamie?”  Her voice sounded thready, like she had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Hmmm?”  Shivers, again.

“What’s a Sassenach?”

He laughed softly, and she had to bite her lip.  What was the matter with her?  “Tis a Scottish word for a foreigner, particularly an English one,” he explained.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Claire remarked.

“I’ve ne’er spoken tae ye while on Scottish soil.  T’wasn’t an accurate description ‘til now.”

There was a long silence.  She could hear the sound of revelry through the door of whatever room at Lallybroch he’d hidden inside.  Outside the flat there were firecrackers.   They reminded her of mortar rounds heard from a distance in Afghanistan.

“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she guessed.  It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to know that bright flashes and sudden pops of sound would trigger his PTSD.  They really were a mess, the pair of them.

“Nay.  Jenny an’ Ian’s bairns love them, an’ I told them no’ tae hold off on my account, but they insisted on a bonfire instead.  It reminds me o’ when I was a lad, a’fore ye could buy fireworks along wi’ yer ham at the local Tesco.”

Jamie launched into a long account of the significance of bonfires in Highland culture, and she let herself drift on the melody of his voice, the turntable long forgotten.

“Tell me about yer most memorable New Year’s,” he prompted after his cultural diatribe wound down.

“Oh, well, they all rather blur together, actually.  Too much drink, too much spent on the cover charge.  You know how it is.”

“Nah, I mean when ye were younger.  Ye must ‘ave celebrated in some remarkable places.”

She thought back to her time spent following Uncle Lamb around the globe.  Truth be told, traditional holidays weren’t something that stood out in her memory.  They felt like a foreign custom, a series of drawings taken from a picture book that showed a mother, father and children crowded around a loaded table while snow piled up outside.  They bore no relation to her reality.  It was no wonder Christmas and New Year’s left her feeling ambivalent.

Still, she didn’t want Jamie to feel sorry for her, so she launched into one of her favourite tales.

“One year, I must have been eleven, Lamb was leading an excavation of a Berber oasis town in northern Mali.  The site closed down for the Christian holidays, but Lamb decided to stay behind rather than travel back to England.  We ended up riding camels through these enormous sand dunes, following a local guide on an ancient caravan route.  On December 31st, just as the sun was setting and we had begun to make camp, the camel Lamb had been riding let out this infernal noise, leapt to its feet, and started to gallop away.  Lamb and the guide set off after it on foot, hollering and waving their keffiyeh in the air.  It was the funniest thing.”

“They left ye all alone in the desert?” Jamie asked, horrified.

“Oh, well, they came back eventually.  The camel had been stung by a scorpion, you see.  Once it got over the fright, they were able to catch it and bring it back to camp.”

“Were ye no’ scared, tae be out there in the dark by yerself?”

“No.  Not as I remember it.  The sunset was glorious, and little by little the sky came alive with a million stars.”

“Ye brave wee thing.”  Jamie sighed.  “I wish I was there wi’ ye.”

She didn’t know if he meant with her on that sand dune, or with her at their flat.  Either way, her answer was the same.

“I wish you were too.”

They finally hung up well past two o’clock.  It didn’t count as a date if the other person was five hundred miles away as you whispered goodnight.

Non-Date #12

The Royal London was expanding its pediatrics wing, and Claire was invited to a fundraising gala held, fittingly, in the Museum of Childhood.  The invitation included a plus one, and she’d been putting off asking Jamie if he could join her all week.  It wasn’t that she doubted his suitability as an escort.  Far from it.  But the gala was taking place on February 14th, of all nights, and the symbolism made her nervous.  Still, the alternative was spending the night being hit on by a drunken internist or hedge fund investor, and that was a headache she could do without.

“So,” she began casually a few nights before the event, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?”  If he said he was working or had, god forbid, a date, she would just have to go stag.

Jamie set down his gaming controller and turned to face her desk.  The pulsing  colours from the screen lit his curls like a neon nimbus in the dim room.

“Nah, nothin’ definite.  An’ ye, Sassenach?” he asked tentatively, as though easing himself out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the depth of the ice.  The nickname he had assigned to her during his holidays in Scotland had stuck.  She didn’t correct the inaccuracy, as she rather liked the idea of having a name that was only his.

“Well, I’ve been summoned to a fundraising gala for the hospital, and I was wondering... not that you need feel obliged... it’s black tie, which is really the height of pretension, if you ask me... anyway, there’s no way to decline gracefully short of an aneurysm, so...”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach,” he prodded.

“Mightyouconsiderbeingmydate?” she blurted, before taking a large gulp of tepid tea.

“Yer date?” he asked as though he had never heard of such a thing.

She sighed, resigned to the fact he was going to make this difficult.  “Yes.  My date.  My plus one.  My social companion.  And hopefully, my defence against spending the evening being pitied and set up with someone’s second cousin, Nigel, the chartered accountant.”

“Do ye have somethin’ against accountants, then?”  The corner of his lip was twitching with the birth of a grin.

“Oh, very funny, you bloody Scot.  Look, I need a date on Valentine’s Day and you are the only man in the Greater London Area who won’t interpret that as an opportunity for a pity shag.   The offer is on the table.  Take it or leave it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t interpret.  Then it was gone.

“Ne’er fear, Sassenach.  I’ll protect ye from all the wee Nigels.”

***

She’d forgotten to ask whether Jamie had suitable attire for a black tie event.   It was too late now, regardless.  They were meeting at the museum, since she was on shift until eight.  Using the nurses on-call room to get changed, she slinked into her burgundy chiffon gown, its gauzy layers wrapping around her like millefeuille.   Her hair was a lost cause, so she slicked it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and hoped for the best.  Silver chandelier earrings and a dab of cologne below her jaw, and she was ready to go.  She carried a small beaded clutch and her dress shoes - there was no way she was navigating the Tube in stilettos. 

The museum was a single massive space, conversation and the tympani of glassware echoing against its high-arched ceiling.  She stood in the entryway after checking her coat, spinning in circles and trying to get her bearings.  More than one lascivious glance was directed her way, but she studiously ignored them in favour of looking for Jamie.  With his height and red hair, he shouldn’t be hard to pick out of the crowd.

There was an appreciative murmur from behind her, a gust of fresh air, and then a soft tap against her bare shoulder.  She turned around.

No.  Not hard to pick out from a crowd at all.  Standing before her was James Fraser in full Highland regalia.  He wore his family tartan, a black velvet waistcoat, brilliant white dress shirt and a black bow tie.  When her gaze fell to the floor, she noticed his polished brogues and white socks pulled up to his knees.  She’d never before considered how a man’s knees might be alluring, but there it was.   Jamie had very sexy knees.

“G’d evening, Sassenach.  Ye look... weel, ye look bonnie.”  Jamie’s normally deep voice was gruffer than usual, perhaps on account of the cold night air.  Or maybe his bowtie was tied too tight.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she replied once she found her voice.  “You look, well, if you were a Jacobite, I’d say you looked regal.”

The tops of Jamie’s ears went red, and he ducked his chin, his tamed curls falling briefly forward.  It gave him the look of a bashful child receiving unexpected praise, completely at odds with the strikingly masculine figure he cut.

“No’ a Nigel, then?” he teased.

“No.  Definitely not a Nigel.  Come, let’s get something to drink before all the top-shelf liquor runs out.  You wouldn’t believe how much some of these doctors can put away!”

Jamie was a perfect date.  He stood by her elbow as she mingled and greeted various colleagues and professors, nodding at their tales of medical misfortune and smiling at their awkward jokes.  He spoke confidently about his work and current affairs, and patiently tolerated endless jibes about what a true Scotsman wore beneath his kilt.

When she politely excused them from one such conversation, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they walked away to fortify themselves with more alcohol.

“I’ve a mind tae lift my plaid an’ moon the entire assembly the next time one o’ yer wee doctor friends asks about my underthings.  Are ye sure they arena raising funds for a new proctology department, Sassenach?”

She snorted in a truly unladylike fashion and turned to meet his unrepentant smirk.  Just then, a figure approaching from the bar caught her eye.

Oh no.  It couldn’t be.  After five years, she’d finally relaxed her vigilance, had ceased anticipating his presence at every turn, and now, here he was.

“Sassenach?” Jamie was watching her with concern.  The blush had drained from her cheeks, leaving her wine-stained lips and sintering eyes the only colour on her face.

“Claire!  Fancy meeting you here!”  Had his voice always been so nasal?  His eyes so glassy and vacant, like portals into nothingness.  He’d obviously been drinking heavily.  A blond woman half his age had her arm linked through his.

“Frank,” she uttered his name.  Jamie stepped into her side, his posture erect, somehow sensing that she needed his protection from this unheralded threat.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.  I’d heard you’d gone into the army, or some such thing.  Afghanistan, was it?  Well, with your penchant for violence, I suppose that’s fitting.”

She breathed deeply through her nose.  She would not let him get the better of her.  She wasn’t that person anymore.  With a clammy hand, she grabbed onto Jamie’s fingers where they rested around her hip.  He squeezed back.  He was here.   She wasn’t alone.  It was all the strength she needed.

“Yes, that’s right.  I served overseas for a time, but I’m back in London now.  In medical school.   Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

Focusing on each step, she turned towards the exit, Jamie’s hand now warm upon the small of her back.  Her chin wobbled, but she bit down hard to stave off tears.

“A doctor?” Frank taunted from behind her.  “Wouldn’t a demolition expert be more apropos, darling?”

She froze, spine trembling with anger.  Jamie made a questioning noise, asking without words if she wanted him to intervene.   She didn’t.

Glancing over her shoulder, she dealt her parting blow.

“Give my best to Amelia and the children.”  Without waiting to witness the aftermath of her pronouncement, she made her way out into the chilly night air, Jamie’s bulk a silent sentinel at her side.

It wasn’t a date if it ended on the floor of your bathroom, crying ugly sobs as mascara stained your cheeks, while your partner held your shoulders and made soothing noises with his throat.  

That wasn’t dating, that was survival.

***

mac na ghalla = son of a bitch

Mu dheireadh = finally

[hockeysweetheart]

CCCSweet Moments Between these two Including every Kiss This wont Include the Bread story or When Katniss Pushed him and Regreated it.  ( Beause those are in other posts)   It’s a very long one 

Hunger Games. 

Chapter 5   But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise. 

Chapter 6 

"You're shivering," says Peeta. The wind and the story have blown all the warmth from my body. The girl's scream. Had it been her last? Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right?

Chapter 9/10  ( Peeta Confessing his love) 

I'm still in a daze for the first part of Peeta's interview. He has the audience from the get-go, though; I can hear them laughing, shouting out. He plays up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. Then has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers. "Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" he asks Caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house. I'm coming back into focus when Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home. Peeta hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar. Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they can relate to. "She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. "I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar encouragingly. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning. won't help in my case," says Peeta. "Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because. because. she came here with me."

For a moment, the cameras hold on Peeta's downcast eyes as what he says sinks in. Then I can see my face, mouth half open in a mix of surprise and protest, magnified on every screen as I realize, Me! He means me! I press my lips together and stare at the floor, hoping this will conceal the emotions starting to boil up inside of me. "Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and there's a real edge of pain in his voice. The crowd is murmuring in agreement, a few have even given agonized cries. "It's not good," agrees Peeta. "Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," says Caesar. "She didn't know?" Peeta shakes his head. "Not until now." I allow my eyes to flicker up to the screen long enough to see that the blush on my cheeks is unmistakable. "Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience. The crowd screams assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours." The roar of the crowd is deafening. Peeta has absolutely wiped the rest of us off the map with his declaration of love for me. When the audience finally settles down, he chokes out a quiet "Thank you" and returns to his seat. We stand for the anthem. I have to raise my head out of the required respect and cannot avoid seeing that every screen is now dominated by a shot of Peeta and me, separated by a few feet that in the viewers' heads can never be breached. Poor tragic us.

Chapter 19 

"Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me." "You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die. "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. I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth. 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. I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."  

 Chapter 19 ( Had to add some Flirting from the stream 

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say.

Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?"

I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it.

"Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently.

"I. I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!"

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" he asks.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say.

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.

The temperature drops rapidly and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. It's toasty warm and I snuggle down gratefully until I realize it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic. I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on the fact that by teaming up with him, I've made myself far more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered to the ground, on guard, with a very sick person to take care of. But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I'm just going to have to trust that whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one.

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. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten," I say. We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though. "You didn't sleep," Peeta says. "I'm all right," I say. But the truth is, I'm exhausted.

It's too warm for the sleeping bag now. I smooth it out on the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notice. Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. "Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep. Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Peeta's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive but better rested than I've been in days.

"Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," I say in an unsteady voice. "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win," I say. "Yes, that's a good plan," he says. But I feel this is mostly for my benefit. "You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," I say.

Chapter 21

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 

"No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?" I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who. who worries about. what it would be like if. " 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. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it. "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 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 23 ( Just a sweet moment) 

"Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing." I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me to keep up the act. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" I ask him. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you," he says. "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," I say. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," he says.

Chapter 24 

"Can't we go back to the cave?" he asks. "It's near water and easy to defend." I sigh. Several more hours of walking  -  or should I say crashing  -  through the woods to reach an area we'll just have to leave in the morning to hunt. But Peeta doesn't ask for much. He's followed my instructions all day and I'm sure if things were reversed, he wouldn't make me spend the night in a tree. It dawns on me that I haven't been very nice to Peeta today. Nagging him about how loud he was, screaming at him over disappearing. The playful romance we had sustained in the cave has disappeared out in the open, under the hot sun, with the threat of Cato looming over us. Haymitch has probably just about had it with me. And as for the audience. I reach up and give him a kiss. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

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 25  "You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out. "Listen," he says pulling me to my feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around. We both know they have to have a victor. Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country. If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were. 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. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you  -  the tributes of District Twelve!" 

* NOT A Kissing but cuddling moment sorta* 

"Don't go to sleep," I tell him. I'm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I'm terrified that if he drifts off he'll never wake again. "Are you cold?" he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It's a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop.

Chaper 26 

  I spew the berries from my mouth, wiping my tongue with the end of my shirt to make sure no juice remains. Peeta pulls me to the lake where we both flush our mouths with water and then collapse into each other's arms. "You didn't swallow any?" I ask him. He shakes his head. "You?"

  "Guess I'd be dead by now if I did," I say. I can see his lips moving in reply, but I can't hear him over the roar of the crowd in the Capitol that they're playing live over the speakers. The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see that while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta's leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious. My fingers are still gripping the back of his jacket so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of black fabric. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room, and a glass door seals between us. I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage. I slump down on the floor, my face against the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, but I place it carefully on the floor, not trusting anything so clean and pretty.

Chapter 26 ( Had to add this one in here ) 

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see that while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta's leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious. My fingers are still gripping the back of his jacket so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of black fabric. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room, and a glass door seals between us. I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage. I slump down on the floor, my face against the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, but I place it carefully on the floor, not trusting anything so clean and pretty. Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes, watch a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin. But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch? And now I know. It's because you have no choice. I startle when I catch someone staring at me from only a few inches away and then realize it's my own face reflecting back in the glass. Wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tangled mat. Rabid. Feral. Mad. No wonder everyone is keeping a safe distance from me.

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 Rewatching the games 

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.

Chapter 27 Final interview of the book 

Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. 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.

For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. I shake my head.

"I haven't had the chance," says Peeta with a slight shrug.

"It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Peeta.

"He's right," says Caesar. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it."

I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

"Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind. hm?" he says.

I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just. couldn't bear the thought of. being without him."

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," he says.

Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Haymitch. "Okay?" I whisper.

"Perfect," he answers.

Chapter 27   A sweet moment then Freaking Haymitch Ruined it... I guess Peeta had to learn the truth at some point 

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. Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home. "What's wrong?" Peeta asks. "Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come. 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 1 ( 

I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It's stupid, of course. Hardly anybody knows me better than Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance became a key strategy for our survival in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy for Peeta. I'm not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing but painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how, on the Victory Tour, Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again.

A little later on Chapter 1. 

He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?" "I couldn't shake you awake," I say. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta." "Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out. I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part. Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It's not until he's handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?" "No, I ate at the Hob," I say. "But thank you." My voice doesn't sound like my own, it's so formal. Just as it's been every time I've spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. "You're welcome," he says back stiffly. Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." He's right, of course. The audience will be expecting the pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who can barely look each other in the eye. But all I say is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Then I swing out the window, drop to the ground, and head across the green to my house.

Chapter 3 

For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I make out Peeta coming through his front door. In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And I know I must. 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.

Okay ( I skipped over the Talk between Snow and Katniss ) Basically hes not convinced about that Katniss loves Peeta and is kinda a Di** about Katniss having the company of another guy when  Gale Literally  just surprised kissed her  Taking her By Surprise so  yeah this is what this post is below about basically 

His face sobers, grows older in the glow of the red tail-lights. "Then you can't fail." "If you could just help me get through this trip - " I begin. "No, Katniss, it's not just this trip," he says. "What do you mean?" I say. "Even if you pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after with that boy." The full impact of what he's saying hits me. I will never have a life with Gale, even if I want to. I will never be allowed to live alone. I will have to be forever in love with Peeta. The Capitol will insist on it. I'll have a few years maybe, because I'm still only sixteen, to stay with my mother and Prim. And then ... and then ... "Do you understand what I mean?" he presses me. I nod. He means there's only one future, if I want to keep those I love alive and stay alive myself. I'll have to marry Peeta.

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. 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.

Chapter 4  * The Speeches In district 11* 

Peeta had his personal comments written on a card, but he doesn't pull it out. Instead he speaks in his simple, winning style about Thresh and Rue making it to the final eight, about how they both kept me alive - thereby keeping him alive - and about how this is a debt we can never repay. And then he 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." The crowd can't help but respond with gasps and murmurs. There is no precedent for what Peeta has done. I don't even know if it's legal. He probably doesn't know, either, so he didn't ask in case it isn't. As for the families, they just stare at us in shock. Their lives were changed forever when Thresh and Rue were lost, but this gift will change them again. A month of tribute winnings can easily provide for a family for a year. As long as we live, they will not hunger. 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.

"Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. And even if I had pledged all my winnings to the families, it would not excuse my silence today. "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. "I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that." For the first time the old hunched woman - is she Thresh's grandmother? - raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips. The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath. I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread." I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine. What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena.

Chapter 5  Katniss Tells Peeta everything  

Peeta relates all that occurred in the square. The whistle, the salute, our hesitation on the verandah, the murder of the old man. "What's going on, Haymitch?" "It will be better coming from you," Haymitch says to me. I don't agree. I think it will be a hundred times worse coming from me. But I tell Peeta everything as calmly as I can. About President Snow, the unrest in the districts. I don't even omit the kiss with Gale. I lay out how we are all in jeopardy, how the whole country is in jeopardy because of my trick with the berries. "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone who had doubted believe I acted out of love. 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. "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. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don't I even rate the truth from you?" "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. What do you think is going to happen to Rue's and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them 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. "He's right, Haymitch," I say. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol." "Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you?" asks Peeta. His voice is quieter now. "Something I wasn't part of." "No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn't send," I say. "Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up," says Peeta. I haven't thought much about this. How it must have looked from Peeta's perspective when I appeared in the arena having received burn medicine and bread when he, who was at death's door, had gotten nothing. Like Haymitch was keeping me alive at his expense. "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. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into," says Peeta. "From now on, you'll be fully informed," Haymitch promises. "I better be," says Peeta. He doesn't even bother to look at me before he leaves. The dust he disrupted billows up and looks for new places to land. My hair, my eyes, my shiny gold pin. "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. "You'll see, the choices you'll have to make. If we survive this," says Haymitch. "You'll learn." Well, I've learned one thing today. This place is not a larger version of District 12. Our fence is unguarded and rarely charged. Our Peacekeepers are unwelcome but less brutal. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. Here in 11, they suffer more acutely and feel more desperation. President Snow is right. A spark could be enough to set them ablaze. 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? "Come on. We've got a dinner to attend," says Haymitch  

 Basically the rest of Chapter 5 

Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. First the prep teams, then her, the stylists, Haymitch. Peeta and I, of course, bring up the rear. Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our little procession begins down the steps, 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." I remember the shock of hearing Peeta confess his love for me in front of all of Panem. Haymitch had known about that and not told me. "I think I broke a few things myself after that interview." "Just an urn," he says. "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. We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step lead as Effie directed. "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? "That's fifteen. Let's do it," he says. A light hits us, and I put on the most dazzling smile I can. 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. Even without our personal speeches to trigger dissent - needless to say the ones we gave in District 11 were edited out before the event was broadcast - you can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to run over. Not everywhere. 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. When they chant my name, it is more of a cry for vengeance than a cheer. When the Peacekeepers move in to quiet an unruly crowd, it presses back instead of retreating. And I know that there's nothing I could ever do to change this. No show of love, however believable, will turn this tide. If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then these people will embrace insanity, too. 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. When Effie brings it up to me, I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't. The back-to-back appearances in 2 and 1 are their own special kind of awful. Cato and Clove, the tributes from District 2, might have both made it home if Peeta and I hadn't. 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? I suppose that before the Games I didn't pay attention, and afterward I didn't want to know. By the time we reach the Capitol, we are desperate. We make endless appearances to adoring crowds. There is no danger of an uprising here among the privileged, among those whose names are never placed in the reaping balls, whose children never die for the supposed crimes committed generations ago. We don't need to convince anybody in the Capitol of our love but hold to the slim hope that we can still reach some of those we failed to convince in the districts. 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."

That night, on the stage before the Training Center, we bubble our way through a list of questions. Caesar Flickerman, in his twinkling midnight blue suit, his hair, eyelids, and lips still dyed powder blue, flawlessly guides us through the interview. When he asks us about the future, Peeta gets down on one knee, pours out his heart, and begs me to marry him. I, of course, accept. Caesar is beside himself, the Capitol audience is hysterical, shots of crowds around Panem show a country besotted with happiness. President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers digging into my arms, his face smiling into mine, I dare to raise my eyebrows. They ask what my lips can't. Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving everything over to you, keeping up the game, promising to marry Peeta enough? In answer, he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Chapter 6    So Katniss and Peeta gave it all and Snow is still not convinced so Katniss is like screw you I’ll run away. 

Only not here, not quite yet. 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. These are the people I must take with me when I escape into the wild. How I will convince them, where we will go in the dead of winter, what it will take to evade capture are unanswered questions. But at least now I know what I must do. So instead of crumpling to the ground and weeping, I find myself standing up straighter and with more confidence than I have in weeks. My smile, while somewhat insane, is not forced. And when President Snow silences the audience and says, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" I pull off girl-almost-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch. Caesar Flickerman asks if the president has a date in mind. "Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," says the president. The audience gives a big laugh and the president puts his arm around me. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty." "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.

Chapter 6  ( The Party of the year) 

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.

Just then Portia appears with a large man who looks vaguely familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Peeta if he can steal me for a dance. Peeta's recovered his camera face and good-naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached. 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. But he seems to sense this and holds me almost at arm's length as we turn on the floor.  ( Leaving room for Jesus as they say )  

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  7  ( Basically The 

"Been hunting?" he asks. You can see he doesn't think it's a good idea. "Not really. Going to town?" I ask. "Yes. I'm supposed to eat dinner with my family," he says. "Well, I can at least walk you in." The road from the Victor's Village to the square gets little use. It's a safe enough place to talk. But I can't seem to get the words out. Proposing it to Gale was such a disaster. I gnaw on my chapped lips. The square gets closer with every step. I may not have an opportunity again soon. I take a deep breath and let the words rush out. "Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?" Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn't need to check my face to see if I'm serious. "Depends on why you're asking." "President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out," I say. "By 'we' do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?" he asks. "My family. Yours, if they want to come. Haymitch, maybe," I say. "What about Gale?" he says. "I don't know. He might have other plans," I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me a rueful smile. "I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I'll go." I feel a slight twinge of hope. "You will?" "Yeah. But I don't think for a minute you will," he says. I jerk my arm away. "Then you don't know me. Be ready. It could be any time." I take off walking and he follows a pace or two behind. "Katniss," Peeta says. I don't slow down. If he thinks it's a bad idea, I don't want to know, because it's the only one I have. "Katniss, hold up." I kick a dirty, frozen chunk of snow off the path and let him catch up. The coal dust makes everything look especially ugly. "I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won't be making things worse for everyone." He raises his head. "What's that?" I lift my chin. I've been so consumed with my own worries, I haven't noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. "Come on," Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don't know why. I can't place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. When we reach the square, it's clear something's happening, but the crowd's too thick to see. Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I'm halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. "Get down. Get out of here!" He's whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. "What?" I say, trying to force my way back up. "Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!" he says. Whatever it is, it's terrible. I yank away from his hand and begin to push my way through the crowd. People see me, recognize my face, and then look panicked. Hands shove me back. Voices hiss. 

  Chapter 9  * After Gales Whipping* The next day.

Someone gives my shoulder a shake and I sit up. I've fallen asleep with my face on the table. The white cloth has left creases on my good cheek. The other, the one that took the lash from Thread, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he's been watching us awhile. "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now," he says. "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running - " I begin. "I know," he says. "There's nothing to explain." I see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. The blue shadows under his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. Couldn't have been long. I think of his agreeing to go with me yesterday, his stepping up beside me to protect Gale, his willingness to throw his lot in with mine entirely when I give him so little in return. No matter what I do, I'm hurting someone. "Peeta - " "Just go to bed, okay?" he says. 

  Chapter 9    Basically 

"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. I go into the study, a room I've pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers. "Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home," I say. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you," he says. "I know, but with the weather and all," I say. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking." There's a long pause. "How's Gale?" "All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now," I say. "And your face?" he asks. "I've got some, too," I say. "Have you seen Haymitch today?" "I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says. "I wanted to talk to - to both of you." I don't dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. "Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down," he says. "Nothing much will happen before that, anyway." "No, nothing much," I agree. It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply snow coat to my cheek, try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it will help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get, I call Peeta to see if he wants to go into town with me.

Chapter 9 Katniss and Peeta realize People fear them and the Peacekeepers too 

Nothing much will happen during the blizzard. That's what Peeta and I had agreed. But we couldn't have been more wrong. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, march on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nests of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions - an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows - set up in the center of the square. "Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch. Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their living there. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in- - " I can't finish the sentence. "Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer," he says. "Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare." He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" Then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home." "Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family." "I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her. "I'll go, too. Drop by the bakery on my way home," he says. "Thanks." I'm suddenly very scared at what I might find. The streets are almost deserted, which would not be so unusual at this time of day if people were at the mines, kids at school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, through cracks in shutters. An uprising, I think. What an idiot I am. There's an inherent flaw in the plan that both Gale and I were too blind to see. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. We've done that our whole lives, or our families have. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I expect them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches? Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows and draw the curtains tightly. We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale'd be in the best possible hands." "Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mother says he'll be back in the mines in a couple of weeks." "May not be open until then, anyway," says Hazelle. "Word is they're closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty washtub. "You closed down, too?" I ask. "Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now." "Maybe it's the snow," says Peeta. "No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says. Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be all right." I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mother will send something for Posy." When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob." "I'll go with you," he says. "No. I've dragged you into enough trouble," I tell him. "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?" He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't even bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one would try to save it. The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days," I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. "I want to check on Greasy Sae." "Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them," he says. We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers' faces.

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. Prim's dispatched to get my pajamas and robe. When I'm changed, my mother makes a snow pack for my left heel and props it up on a hassock. I eat three bowls of stew and half a loaf of bread while the others dine at the table. I stare at the fire, thinking of Bonnie and Twill, hoping that the heavy, wet snow has erased my tracks. Prim comes and sits on the floor next to me, leaning her head against my knee. We suck on peppermints as I brush her soft blond hair back behind her ear. "How was school?" I ask. "All right. We learned about coal by-products," she says. We stare at the fire for a while. "Are you going to try on your wedding dresses?" "Not tonight. Tomorrow probably," I say. "Wait until I get home, okay?" she says. "Sure." If they don't arrest me first. 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  ( Basically they Start training like Caeers the way it’s writen the song  Under pressure would  fit well so Now they are  on there way to the games again) Also sobering Haymitch up...    ( And Peeta has been the drill sargent )  In this part he has a change of heart.

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?"

Chapter  14  They decide to watch Haymitch’s Games  ( Okay call me mean I am skipping over Haymitch’s Games because this would be extra long) 

"It's the only Quell we have. We might pick up something valuable about how they work," I say. But I feel weird. It seems like some major invasion of Haymitch's privacy. I don't know why it should, since the whole thing was public. But it does. I have to admit I'm also extremely curious. "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it." "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. Finally Peeta says, "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." "Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," I say. "You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!" I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind - and maybe I have, a little. "Almost, but not quite," says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling. I've spent all these weeks getting to know who my competitors are, without even thinking about who my teammates are. Now a new kind of confidence is lighting up inside of me, because I think I finally know who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am. And surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get Peeta home alive.

Chapter  15  

It's interesting, though, when I think of what Peeta said about the attendant on the train being unhappy about the victors having to fight again. About people in the Capitol not liking it. I still think all of that will be forgotten once the gong sounds, but it's something of a revelation that those in the Capitol feel anything at all about us. They certainly don't have a problem watching children murdered every year. But maybe they know too much about the victors, especially the ones who've been celebrities for ages, to forget we're human beings. It's more like watching your own friends die. More like the Games are for those of us in the districts.

For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself." He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Peeta is coming. Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off. Peeta's beside me, dressed in an outfit identical to mine. "What did Finnick Odair want?" he asks. I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure. Especially you," I say.

"Oh. And why especially me?" he says with a smile.

"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."

"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "Shall we?" He holds out a hand to help me into the chariot.

I climb up and pull him up after me. "Hold still," I say, and straighten his crown. "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be fabulous again."

"Absolutely. But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything," he says. "Where are they, anyway?"

"I don't know." I eye the procession of chariots. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." We do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chattering, and I know that, once again, we'll be the talk of the opening ceremonies. We're almost at the door. I crane my head around, but neither Portia nor Cinna, who were with us right up to the final second last year, are anywhere in sight. "Are we supposed to hold hands this year?" I ask.

"I guess they've left it up to us," says Peeta.

I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I'm determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it's Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we will go into this as one.

The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. I simply fix my eyes on a point far in the distance and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. I can't help catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.

And I love it. Getting to be myself at last. 

Chapter 16

"What are you so angry about?" Peeta asks, wiping the gravy from his shirtfront. "Because I teased you on the elevator? I'm sorry. I thought you would just laugh about it." "Forget it," I say with a shake of my head. "It's a lot of things." "Darius," he says. "Darius. The Games. Haymitch making us team up with the others," I say. "It can just be you and me, you know," he says. "I know. But maybe Haymitch is right," I say. "Don't tell him I said so, but he usually is, where the Games are concerned." "Well, you can have final say about our allies. But right now, I'm leaning toward Chaff and Seeder," says Peeta. "I'm okay with Seeder, not Chaff," I say. "Not yet, anyway." "Come on and eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again," says Peeta.

After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality." "They saw her shoot," says Peeta with a smile. "Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself." "You're that good?" Haymitch asks me. "So good that Brutus wants you?" I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags and District Three." "Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind." After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased some, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction. And the more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because, on the whole, I don't hate them. And some I like. And a lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I'm to save Peeta.  

Chapter 17   Okay short form prior they admitted in there  seassons what they did and Kinda forbidden stuff. Now Haymitch has to do DAMAGE Control. 

"No, but there's a first time for everything," Cinna answers. And it turns out he's right. Because when Peeta and I each pull a twelve, we make Hunger Games history. No one feels like celebrating, though. "Why did they do that?" I ask. "So that the others will have no choice but to target you," says Haymitch flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you." 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.

Peeta has to return to his room for prep, and I'm left alone with Venia and Flavius. The usual chatter has been suspended. In fact, there's little talk at all, other than to have me raise my chin or comment on a makeup technique. It's nearly lunch when I feel something dripping on my shoulder and turn to find Flavius, who's snipping away at my hair with silent tears running down his face. Venia gives him a look, and he gently sets the scissors on the table and leaves.

Katniss talking about the toasting 

Back home everything is so much simpler. A woman usually rents a white dress that's been worn hundreds of times. The man wears something clean that's not mining clothes. They fill out some forms at the Justice Building and are assigned a house. Family and friends gather for a meal or bit of cake, if it can be afforded. Even if it can't, there's always a traditional song we sing as the new couple crosses the threshold of their home. And we have our own little ceremony, where they make their first fire, toast a bit of bread, and share it. Maybe it's old-fashioned, but no one really feels married in District 12 until after the toasting.

Chapter 17 Katnisses Interview 

By the time I'm introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The sight of me in my white silk bridal gown practically causes a riot. No more me, no more star-crossed lovers living happily ever after, no more wedding. I can see even Caesar's professionalism showing some cracks as he tries to quiet them so I can speak, but my three minutes are ticking quickly away. Finally there's a lull and he gets out, "So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" My voice trembles as I speak. "Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding ... but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just ... the most beautiful thing?" I don't have to look at Cinna for a signal. I know this is the right time. I begin to twirl slowly, raising the sleeves of my heavy gown above my head. When I hear the screams of the crowd, I think it's because I must look stunning. Then I notice something is rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year in the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress. I begin to panic as the smoke thickens. Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage. Somehow I'm afraid to stop because my flesh doesn't seem to be burning and I know Cinna must be behind whatever is happening. So I keep spinning and spinning. For a split second I'm gasping, completely engulfed in the strange flames. Then all at once, the fire is gone. I slowly come to a stop, wondering if I'm naked and why Cinna has arranged to burn away my wedding dress. But I'm not naked. I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

Chapter 18 

I'm still smoldering a little, so it's with a tentative hand that Caesar reaches out to touch my headpiece. The white has burned away, leaving a smooth, fitted veil of black that drapes into the neckline of the dress in the back. "Feathers," says Caesar. "You're like a bird." "A mockingjay, I think," I say, giving my wings a small flap. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token." A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar's face, and I can tell he knows that the mockingjay isn't just my token. That it's come to symbolize so much more. That what will be seen as a flashy costume change in the Capitol is resonating in an entirely different way throughout the districts. But he makes the best of it. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestures for Cinna to rise. He does, and makes a small, gracious bow. And suddenly I am so afraid for him. What has he done? Something terribly dangerous. An act of rebellion in itself. And he's done it for me. I remember his words ... "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself." ... and I'm afraid he has hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost on President Snow. The audience, who's been stunned into silence, breaks into wild applause. I can barely hear the buzzer that indicates that my three minutes are up. Caesar thanks me and I go back to my seat, my dress now feeling lighter than air.

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? I look back to the crowd, but the faces of Rue's mother and father swim before my eyes. Their sorrow. Their loss. I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast. And then it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings, or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens begin to pop into blackness. It's too late, though. In the confusion they didn't cut us off in time. Everyone has seen.

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," I answer. 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 and 20 

But there is no other side. I know this before anyone else, even though I am farthest from the top. My eyes catch on a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first I think it's the glare from the sun or the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it's fixed in space, not shifting when I move. And that's when I connect the square with Wiress and Beetee in the Training Center and realize what lies before us. My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines. There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gone and I see open space over a short stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground. 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?" "No, he has to rest," I say. My nose is running like crazy and I don't even have a shred of fabric to use as a handkerchief. Mags rips off a handful of hanging moss from a tree limb and gives it to me. I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I blow my nose loudly and mop the tears off my face. It's nice, the moss. Absorbent and surprisingly soft. 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 22 

"Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" I say. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks. "Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say. "Not if I keep looking at you," he says. We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other's backs where the undershirts don't protect our skin. "I'm going to wake Peeta," I say. "No, wait," says Finnick. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his." Well, there's so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," I say in a soft, singsong voice. His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. "Aa!" Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I'm thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I'd thought. Not so bad at all, really. And just as I've come to this conclusion, a parachute lands next to us with a fresh loaf of bread. Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food. Chapter 23

Johanna narrows her brown eyes at me in hatred. "Lay off her?" she hisses. She steps forward before I can react and slaps me so hard I see stars. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You - " Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her out into the water and repeatedly dunks her while she screams a lot of really insulting things at me. But I don't shoot. Because she's with Finnick and because of what she said, about getting them for me. "What did she mean? She got them for me?" I ask Peeta. "I don't know. You did want them originally," he reminds me. "Yeah, I did. Originally." But that answers nothing. I look down at Beetee's inert body. "But I won't have them long unless we do something.

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!" My mouth drops open in shock. No one, ever, says anything like this in the Games. Absolutely, they've cut away from Johanna, are editing her out. But I have heard her and can never think about her again in the same way. She'll never win any awards for kindness, but she certainly is gutsy. Or crazy. She picks up some shells and heads toward the jungle. "I'm getting water," she says. I can't help catching her hand as she passes me. "Don't go in there. The birds - " I remember the birds must be gone, but I still don't want anyone in there. Not even her.

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. It's the first crack of the lightning storm - the bolt hitting the tree at midnight - that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn't real. "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 17 

"Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. "Haymitch says he's getting better," she says. "Maybe. But he's changed," I say. "So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?" she asks me.

"No," I answer.

"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things." She neatly returns my keepsakes to the drawer and climbs into the bed across from me just as the lights go out. "You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?"

"Like I couldn't take you," I answer. Then we laugh, since both our bodies are so wrecked, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, my ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help.

Peeta makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and me. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?" "Still dragging," says Johanna. Spasms cause Peeta's hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion. Is it all he can do to keep them from my neck? I can feel the tension in Gale's muscles next to me, fear an altercation. But Gale simply says, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." "What's that?" asks Peeta. "You," Gale answers. "You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?" "That they've replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself," says Johanna. Gale finishes his milk. "You done?" he asks me. I rise and we cross to drop off our trays. At the door, an old man stops me because I'm still clutching the rest of my gravy bread in my hand. Something in my expression, or maybe the fact that I've made no attempt to conceal it, makes him go easy on me. He lets me stuff the bread in my mouth and move on. Gale and I are almost to my compartment when he speaks again. "I didn't expect that."

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.

The following evening, the newest member of our squad arrives. With no manacles. No guards. Strolling out of the train station with his gun swinging from the strap over his shoulder. There's shock, confusion, resistance, but451 is stamped on the back of Peeta's hand in fresh ink. Boggs relieves him of his weapon and goes to make a call. "It won't matter," Peeta tells the rest of us. "The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up." Maybe they do. But if Coin sent Peeta here, she's decided something else as well. That I'm of more use to her dead than alive.

Chapter 19

Squad 451 and the television crew collect dinner from the canteen and gather in a tense circle to eat. At first I think that Peeta is the cause of the unease, but by the end of the meal, I realize more than a few unfriendly looks have been directed my way. This is a quick turnaround, since I'm pretty sure when Peeta appeared the whole team was concerned about how dangerous he might be, especially to me. But it's not until I get a phone call through to Haymitch that I understand. "What are you trying to do? Provoke him into an attack?" he asks me. "Of course not. I just want him to leave me alone," I say. "Well, he can't. Not after what the Capitol put him through," says Haymitch. "Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he'd kill you, but Peeta doesn't know that. He doesn't understand what's happened to him. So you can't blame him - "

"I don't!" I say.

"You do! You're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it's time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?" demands Haymitch.

I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn.

"You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?" Haymitch says. When I don't respond, he disconnects after a curt "Try and remember."

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 20 

Isn't it obvious?" No one even knew Peeta had regained consciousness. I don't know how long he's been watching, but by the look of misery on his face, long enough to see what happened on the street. How he went mad, tried to bash my head in, and hurled Mitchell into the pod. He painfully pushes himself up to a sitting position and directs his words to Gale. "Our next move...is to kill me."

Chapter 21 

That makes two requests for Peeta's death in less than an hour. "Don't be ridiculous," says Jackson. "I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta. "You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him. "Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!" "It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick. "You can't take me with you. It's only a matter of time before I kill someone else." Peeta looks around at our conflicted faces. "Maybe you think it's kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that's the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you'd be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?" Peeta. Back in Snow's hands. Tortured and tormented until no bits of his former self will ever emerge again. For some reason, the last stanza to "The Hanging Tree" starts running through my head. The one where the man wants his lover dead rather than have her face the evil that awaits her in the world. ‘

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 

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta's wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs. "You've got to keep them clean, otherwise the infection could spread and - " "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it." "Was I?" The comment throws him into confusion. Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention, because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs. Then all the energy saps from his body. "I'm so tired, Katniss." "Go to sleep," I say. He won't until I've rearranged his handcuffs and shackled him to one of the stair supports. It can't be comfortable, lying there with his arms above his head. But in a few minutes, he drifts off, too.

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 24 

"I'm leaving in the morning," I say. "I'm going with you," Gale says. "What should we do with the others?" "Pollux and Cressida could be useful. They're good guides," I say. Pollux and Cressida aren't actually the problem. "But Peeta's too..." "Unpredictable," finishes Gale. "Do you think he'd still let us leave him behind?" "We can make the argument that he'll endanger us," I say. "He might stay here, if we're convincing." Peeta's fairly rational about our suggestion. He readily agrees that his company could put the other four of us at risk. I'm thinking this may all work out, that he can just sit out the war in Tigris's cellar, when he announces he's going out on his own. "To do what?" asks Cressida. "I'm not sure exactly. The one thing that I might still be useful at is causing a diversion. You saw what happened to that man who looked like me," he says. "What if you...lose control?" I say. "You mean...go mutt? Well, if I feel that coming on, I'll try to get back here," he assures me. "And if Snow gets you again?" asks Gale. "You don't even have a gun." "I'll just have to take my chances," says Peeta. "Like the rest of you." The two exchange a long look, and then Gale reaches into his breast pocket. He places his nightlock tablet in Peeta's hand. Peeta lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. "What about you?" "Don't worry. Beetee showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. If that fails, I've got my knife. And I'll have Katniss," says Gale with a smile. "She won't give them the satisfaction of taking me alive." The thought of Peacekeepers dragging Gale away starts the tune playing in my head again.... Are you, are you Coming to the tree "Take it, Peeta," I say in a strained voice. I reach out and close his fingers over the pill. "No one will be there to help you."

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. Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife

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.

[rafe-cameron]

THE ANALYSIS OF JOHN B ROUTLEDGE

In the fandom, what I've seen is a lot of what I feel is misinterpretation of John B's character, which is leading to a lot of unnecessary slander, and overall a negative vibe surrounding John B, and giving a negative wave of backlash to those who do like his character. I am all for positive emotions, and supporting and liking and disliking whatever characters you'd like! Though, I would like to put this out here just as a way of explaining what I've seen in his character. This is not a professional opinion by any means, but I do have a habit and (ringing my own bell) talent in analyzing different characters from an unbiased point of view.

DISCLAIMER: All of this is not fact, but a closely analyzed opinion. You are free to disagree and I genuinely do not care if you don't like John B! I wrote this because I wanted to and feel it could help. And this is written FOR JOHN B. Don't hit me with comments of “but JJ also” or “but Kie didn't MEAN to” or anything, because I am not writing about them. I’m writing this one for John B, about John B, and how someone would view life through his eyes and with everything that happened.

Now, onto the analysis.

Episode 1:

John B has a wave of issues being presented in not-so friendly forms. A 16 year old is living alone, considering his father has been missing for 9 months. Looking at it that way, he's had to finish his school year while juggling constant jobs to take care to himself, for food, gas, and paying bills, on top of school. Even if it's revealed he missed a lot of school that year, it's hard to blame him. His mom left him when he was still a baby, His uncle by definition also abandoned him, and his father is gone. He's threatened with foster care daily, which means he would lose everything that he has, his home, and his friends, which are the only thing keeping his head above water.

That alone is enough to give him intense abandonment issues. Both parental figures left, his guardian is as he described it “MIA”, so his ability to process how people see him and how he sees relationships is going to be, at best, rocky. He's going to have it in his head that everyone around him can leave at any time and he won't have any sort of say in it. Not to mention the depression and the anxiety that would bubble up from all of this. Depression makes you lash out, anxiety makes you pull away, two things he's shown to have trouble controlling.

He gets an idea for a way to try and make his life better, and get money to support himself, JJ being the one to hype that up despite Kie and Pope being against it.

Come the party later that night at the boneyard. A widespread party with lots of people there, lots of drinking, and comes the fight between Topper and JJ, which led to John B stepping in to protect JJ.

This is the first of many times where John B is almost murdered or killed. Hearing Topper yells “dont make me drown you like your old man”, then being drowned by him, while everyone stood and watched until JJ went off his shits and saved him.

This? Is all just the first episode. A peek into the curtain of how his family abandoned him, then he gets his shit beaten in, and he gets drowned by Topper. This would only worsen his already fragile mental state. At this point, he's ready to call it off, and leave it alone, but JJ gets desperate to help his friend and himself, and he goes along with it. This leads to, again, him getting shot at by the two guys hunting down the compass he stole off the boat. The second time John B is almost killed.

“With no parents, no money, and no one looking out for me, I've got no chance, unless I make it on my own.”

He sees no way out of the hole he's in anymore unless he fights tooth and nail to get out of it, no matter what it takes.

Episode 2:

In this episode, he's got it in his head now that since he found a compass on a wrecked boat, that his dad is trying to reach out to him. When you have abandonment issues as deep-running as John B, any possible chance that someone who left already is trying to come back? You run with it. You cling to it like it is all you have, and for him, it is. This compass is all that he has to go on, and he's desperate to try and figure it out because this is his fathers last way of communicating with him.

He goes to Ms. Lana's house, and has to both watch and listen to two men terrorize her, and he is told vaguely by Ms. Lana that it is horrible that he has the compass. He returns home to talk to his friends, and goes to his dads office for the first time in a long time, and has to relive the fact his fathers gone at that point.

Only for the two guys to come to John B's house. They break in and completely ransack the place, they steal a good chunk of John B's fathers stuff. They have to sneak out of the window and go to hide until the two men leave, but, he has to sit and watch these people break apart his home and steal from him.

After all of that, they go to the lighthouse, where he's thrown into another panic over this compass that no one is telling him about. He's frustrated, and he's scared. They leave the lighthouse and in a complete blind instinct of adrenaline, he kisses Kie, and gets rejected by her. Then, he gets arrested, questioned, and has to get bailed out by Kie's dad, who insults him. Now Kie won't talk to him, and he has to go home to his damaged house.

He also has to get fired from hi only stable job, so now he has no money and no job, a damaged home, and lost a friend for now.

Not only that, but he does get hunted down by those two men again, and is almost killed for thr 3rd time, and runs through an electric fence, where he's almost killed the 4th time. He gives up his fathers compass, and while ull of hurt and despair for everything, returns home to try and move past everything, but he catches another glimpse of possibility, and he clings to it all over again.

And, his urge and crave to hunt down his dad only grows as they find the Redfield tomb thingy and find the package left behind by Big John.

Episode 3:

It starts off with John B having to sit through the emotion that comes with hearing his fathers voice for the first time in 9 months. The pain and the confusion and how much he missed him rushing back, it's a feeling that is hard to describe, but it is draining, and it doesn't feel good.

He talks to everyone about how he just wants to have a normal life, and stop stressing so much about damn near everything.

He's decently up in this episode, but his actions only worsen. He encourages stealing, and puts himself into risky situations. This is the bud of the suicidal/reckless tendencies he starts to develop as he starts to lose regard for his own safety, because subconsciously, he sees no point in caring about what happens to himself and those around him. This is where he gets desperate for a reason to keep existing, because he lost every other one that he had.

Episode 4:

In this episode, they find the merchant. They track it down and find it's empty, but John B isn't ready to give up.

He gets met, unfortunately, with DCS, who force him to pack, and start to take him away. In an attempt to not leave behind anything? He jumps from a moving vehicle, and is now being hunted down for the first time.

He's taken in by Sarah.

DISCLAIMER: OPINION.

This is where we see Sarah see that things with John B aren't cookie cutter. She knows hes plotting something, and she wants to get away from her Kook life and do something different and exciting. So, she tags along for the ride. Her and John B go out and Sarah puts John B into a situation where he is being led on by her, despite her being in a relationship. But, her desperation to break from her box gets the best of her, and John B clings to that romance, because a romantic relationship has a more solid foundation than a friendship to him. They're less likely to leave him. So, he wants to run with it.

This is a huge part of why he kissed Kie. In his eyes, if he's dating them, maybe they wont leave, but he can't have that same situation with just a friend. He knows that, and this is where he starts to push away his friends. Bite before you can get bitten, it's depression + abandonment issues 101.

Episode 5:

This one is.. a mess. Its a mess.

We start right off the bat with John B realizing that he can't go home anymore. JJ and John B get into a pretty nasty argument. JJ is concerned for his friend, and he wants him to be safe and stop all of this, naturally, but to John B? He hears JJ trying to give him on him, to abandon him, and to leave all of this. He reacts to this by lashing out at him, yelling at him, and talking about how he just wants to stop because he got beat up. Which, John B is still under the assumption it was just the Kooks, when it was both the Kooks and his father – something John B didn't catch onto. After they yell at eachother, John B has JJ following him again. It's a safe zone once more in John B's mind.

Then, after the party is crashed and they all meet up, John B tries to explain that Sarah got wrapped up into all of this. He has Kie, Pope, and even if JJ knew already, he's not too happy about it either. So he's got everyone mad at him for this, and even if spirits are high in terms of his recklessly driven hunt, he sees everyone around him getting angrier, and angrier. And that? Is making him angry too.

He goes to meet Sarah at the hawks nest. And once again, he is almost killed. He's shoved off of it by none other than Topper (who has tried to murder him twice now), and plummets, and ends up in the hospital.

But things can start to turn around, because Ward took him in and he has a legal guardian now, right?

No.

Ward is plotting to keep John B under his nose to make sure he doesn't find anything else out.

Episode 6:

Again, not much happens here. Things seem to be going good and despite Wards want for John B laying low, he doesn't. He finds the gold.

Episode 7:

Here, we  have another instance in which JJ's bad ideas get John B (and everyone) put into danger. After trying to pawn off the gold, they get stopped by Barry, who threatens to kill him and robs them. John B is quick to jump into the line of fire and get the gold back, desperate to keep it. He succeeds, but JJ barrels into Barrys house and robs him. JJ manhandles John B a good few times for trying to stop him.

And nearing the end of this, he's told by Ward that Ward knows about the gold, and wants John B to give it all up.

John B says no. He's gotten this far and can't lose it all to Ward. Not only that? But he finds out Ward had something to do with his father disappearing. That sort of news is heartbreaking. John B snaps just a little more, but so does Ward.

Episode 8:

John B and ward get into it. Ward is messy and doesn't hesitate to try and kill John B while they're on the boat. Again, for the 7th time, John B is almost killed, but escapes it just in time to keep going.

He goes to Lana, who explains that Ward was the one who killed his father. He finds out now that the man he trusted and the man that took him in both wanted to steal from him, and murdered his only parent? That's too much to carry for any one person.

Ward tells authorities John B tried to kill him, and he's being hunted down even more than he was before.

He sees now that again, all of his friends are both worried and angry with him. He's panicking at this point. He's stuck on the run and can't seem to catch a break, more so now that Ward figured out where the gold is, and sees him trying to leave with it.

Episode 9:

John B now is framed for the murder of Peterkin. He's almost killed by Rafe at the runway, and is now on the run again. He's facing major charges and none of them are of things he actually ever did.

John B has no choice but to run away from the OBX, from the US< and try and figure out what to do with himself from there.

He's almost killed by Rafe, again, because he set the bell tower ablaze.

But he manages to escape long enough so everyone can put together the pieces of his escape plan.

Episode 10:

He leaves. He leaves with Sarah on the boat, but of course, power has to go back on, and they lose their cover. They're both hunted down, chased out to sea, and is considered dead because of the storm. He survives again, but just by the skin of his teeth.

Looking back on everything that happened to  him just in these episodes, on top of knowing he had to deal with his father being gone for months without a clue of how to take care of himself, plus the fact he's now headed for his gold without anything but one bar and the clothes on his back?

John B quite literally lost everything. He lost his family, his home, his friends, his job, everything that kept his head above water, yet, he's expected to be the strong one, and the leader of the group.

He has expectations that he cant meet, and he's getting the wrong kind of help for his issues. Depression, anxiety, trust issues, abandonment issues, and I wouldn't be surprised if various forms of PTSD stemmed from everything that's happened to him. In no way is John B a perfect person. He is a flawed and complex character, who made poor choices, and acted out in bad ways, but, the entire gang is guilty of doing some bad things too.

JJ's aggression and lack of impulse control.

Pope's passive aggression and constant cold shoulder to not getting what he wants.

Kie's hostility and lack of self restraint.

Topper's sexism and abusiveness.

Rafe's drug abuse and abusiveness.

Again, you are so more than welcome to dislike and like whatever characters you want! Though, I hope this point of view can help clear up some of the thing's ive seen on John B being irredeemable and a bad friend to everyone.

John B is a wonderfully written, intense, lovable character, and I wanted to share my thoughts on him, his trauma, and his life! If anyone wants to see more deep character analysis', don't be afraid to request them! I enjoy doing them!

- jv

[screamingatsquirrels]

Lol after the ex best friend saw me in walmart yesterday (i ignored her and we didnt talk at all) she blocked me on everything so now i get to tell yall fully what happened. Now that she wont see it

So on sunday, she and her bf ,who moved in qith us after them dating for only a couple months, were in their room doing crafts as some sort of date. I had my appointment to get my snake bites but there was no lyft or uber drivers out so i texted her and asked if she could take me and drop me off. Or if it was going to be interrupting them, i could reschedule. She insisted on taking me and staying with me. My appointment was supposed to be at 5:30 but the people in front of us took forever so we finally got back their arpund 6:30. As im getting pierced, her bf texts me and says "dont do this again" then calls her and starts cussing her out and shit talking me. Well we get done and go home where they get into an argument while i sit in my room. The walls are so thin i can hear him shit talking me and convincing her im a horrible person for asking for a ride. Thats around 8...around the time i blacked out. Its like i was sitting on my bed listening to all this and i blink then suddenly im in that store trying to buy a gun. I opened my phone and saw the suicide note pulled up. When i realized what was happening, i left the store and sat out front hyperventilating and in a full on panic attack trying to get ahold of her because she was my best friend. I just needed to know that someone cared and i was making the right decision by not going through with it....she never answered me. I finally found a ride to the er where they had to gove me something to calm me down. They tried calling her bc she was my emergency contact bc i trusted her completely (i have an extremely hard time trusting people) but she never answered. So they asked me if id be ok with going to a mental hospital 3 hrs away. I realized i needed serious help so i agreed. When i got there, i finally got ahold of my mom who only got one frantic text from me before i got transferred. She had been trying to reach the ex bsf too to no avail. So i finally sleep and the next day call my mom again to updage her on stuff and ask if she was ever able to get ahold of her...thats when my mom (who is dealing with the fact that she just almost lost a second child to suicide) tells me that the ex bsf made my family come move all my stuff out of our apartment and had made up lies about me saying that i threatened suicide if she didnt talk to me and that i was buying a gun to hurt her and her bf. And that she mentioned getting a restraining order against me.

She also said that if i or anyone in my family tried contacting her shed call the cops. Once i was told this and realized that the one person i fully trusted amd cared about had abandoned me when i needed her the most....i had a full on mental breakdown. I was sitting on ny bed crying and hyperventilating, rocking back and forth. I was in such an intense panic attack that nurses had to come in and sedate me. I hit such a low that i contemplated killing myself when i finally got out because now, i had no friends...she promised shed be there for me no matter what but abandoned me when things got tough.

I slowly got better from that episode and the intense sadness turned into rage and hurt. Because i did nothing to deserve her treatment of me except be mentally ill and go get help. I helped her and her bf out so much. I bought most groceries and offered to pay for an apartment for her bf until he could get on his feet. I supported both of them through their own mental breakdowns. I supported their relationship even tho i was in love with her (was. Those feelings are long gone now) now i just feel like they used me. Like they took advantage of my kindness and only pretended tk care about me. And ditched me when i could no longer be of service to them.

So, Hope (an oronic name if you ask me), you are a shitty person who only really cares about yourself. If you see this, just know that if you ever try contacting me again, you will be the one with the cops called on you. Im done with you. You hurt me in ways i never thought you were capable. I will never forgive you for gaining my trust and betraying me in one of the qorst ways. I deserve so much fucking better than a bitch like you in ny life. I hope karma bites you in the ass.

[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

Gai strained against the rubble in the doorway trying against all odds to hope that the house he was about to search hadn't become yet another tomb in the destroyed remains of Konoha. It was getting hard, even for someone as optimistic as him, to continue to expect more survivors to emerge from wherever they had been trapped. It had a little over a week since the fight against pein had destroyed the village, but there was still so much if it to search and not neatly enough extra hands to search it all fast enough.

Gai had been pulling triple shifts on the search parties to try and pick up some of the extra weight on the search teams shoulders, but Kakashi had threatened to have Gai forcibly sent to the makeshift hospital if he didnt give himself some time to rest. So now he was down to double shifts and he refused to stop until they were sure all of Konoha had been cleared.

He hoped to find living people, some injured, some just scared and hungry from days trapped in collapsed buildings.

He expected to find bodies. Even with Pein's reanimation, people who had come back to life half crushed wouldn't survive long and without water more people would die alone in the dark.

What he didnt expect was the thing he found when the large chunk of rock that was blocking the entrance to the house finally gave.

Or rather the person he found.

Sitting in the remains of the kitchen, legs crossed, eyes up watching him carefully.

Itachi Uchiha.

Gai leapt back away from the door, his gaze dropping away from the Uchiha's face, those dangerous eyes, and his body instinctively slipping into a fighting stance.

He waited for a blow that never came. Itachi didnt so much as move a muscle.

"Might Gai...it's been a while."

His voice was deeper than what Gai remembered. He must have been 18 by now. If he'd been skilled enough to wipe out the whole Uchiha clan single handed at 13, Gai could only imagine how much more deadly Itachi would be now.

He needed to strike hard and fast if he had a hope of surviving, a hope of getting back to Kakashi. He had to get back to Kakashi.

Still carefully avoiding Itachi's eyes, Gai opened the first three gates and felt power, energy and strength rush through him.

Itachi didnt move. Didnt stand. Didnt even speak. Was he that sure of himself? That sure that he could stop Gai before Gai had a chance to cut him down?

It felt off. Gai scanned Itachi's body. Noted a rapid, pained breathing, dried blood on his clothes. Was he injured? Or was that the blood of the citizens of Konoha.

For Itachi to show up so soon after Pein's attack was too much of a coincidence to dismiss.

"Your not going to kill anyone else, Itachi. As the leaf's blue beast it's my duty to stop you here and now."

Still Itachi didnt move, "you're right."

Gai gathered himself, his courage, swearing that he wouldn't lose this fight. If anyone stood a chance here, to stop Itachi before he could sow more devastation, it was Gai.

Itachi's words registered late.

"Y-your not? Hey now what kind of trick is this? Stand up so I can fight you!"

Finally Itachi moved, but it was just to shift in his chair to find a more comfortable position.

"No."

Gai frowned. He didnt know what to make of this. Kakashi might have. Or Shikaku or Shikamaru. All he knew was that Itachi was one of the most wanted rogue ninja of the hidden leaf, a mass murderer.

It must be a trick. That was the only answer. Gai wouldn't fall for it. He raised his fist and started a charge.

He expected Itachi to move out of the way. Expected him to launch a counter attack. Expected him to do something. But as Gai rushed in Itachi just bowed his head. Seconds before he impacted, when it was clear Itachi really wouldn't raise a hand to defend himself, Gai changed the angle of his blow, instead connecting with the wall of the house and coming to a stop with his arms up to protect himself from falling debris.

Once the house settled again, Gai turned to face Itachi again.

This time he really looked at him. He hadn't been spared from the falling rubble. A fresh line of blood trickled down from a new gash on his temple. His head was still bowed, eyes closed. His skin was pale, his face sallow and gaunt. It was strange, so far removed from the bright young man he'd thought Itachi to be before-

"Why didn't you strike?"

"I wont harm an opponent who wont defend themself." It was one of his rules, something he would never compromise on.

"That didnt stop me." the words should have been intimidating, a stark reminder of what Itachi was capable of. But the way he said it caught Gai off guard. There wasnt any darkness in the words, just a blatant admission of fact.

"No. It didnt."

***

Itachi wasnt sure if he was trying to provoke Gai into launching another attack at him or if he was just tired of denying what had happened.

He'd heard someone moving rubble outside the house he had found to take shelter in. He'd assumed it was another root agent. Not that it mattered. He could hardly stand, much less run.

When Gai had pulled the rocks aside, Itachi had made his decision that this was where he stopped running. Of all the people who might have caught him, he was thankful it was Gai. He'd always held Gai in extremely high esteem and it was leaps and bounds from being taken down into Danzo's root headquarters deep beneath Konoha where he would likely never see daylight again.

"Why are you here, Itachi."

Itachi could hear the struggle in Gai's voice. A conflict in Gai between the desire to take down a dangerous enemy and whatever it was in him that had made him pull his strike.

"The roof fell in while I was sleeping." He knew it wasnt the answer that Gai was looking for, that Gai's question had nothing to do with why he was in this specific building, but Itachi was also honestly too tired to care. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead against them.

Silence. No footsteps, so he knew Gai hadn't moved.

"If you aren't sure about fighting me, then you can call the ANBU. They'll thank you for handing them such a high value target."

"An S ranked rogue shinobi." Gai said flatly.

Itachi nodded.

"A clan killer."

Itachi nodded again.

"A heartless, cold blooded murderer."

Itachi sat limply.

"Why are you here, Itachi."

Itachi sighed, "I'm tired. Are you going to attack me?"

"I told you, I wont fight someone who wont defend himself. Will you fight?"

Itachi breathed as deeply as the pain in his chest allowed.

"No. I'm done fighting. I've spilled too much blood and I wont spill any more."

Itachi heard a soft scraping of fabric and he opened his eyes a sliver. The green blurry shape was now sitting across from Itachi, his own legs crossed, facing Itachi.

"Why are you here?"

"Why do you care what my answer is? What will it change?"

Another beat of silence. But when Gai's answer did come, it surprised Itachi.

"Maybe nothing. But the Itachi I remember and the Itachi that sit before me do not strike me as the monster who slaughtered the Uchiha. Maybe you are that. But if you aren't, isnt it worth the chance that what you have to say might change something?"

This time it was Itachi's turn to let the silence linger.

He was done running. He was done fighting. It was time for Itachi to face his truth and let the rest of the world deal with him how they saw fit.

"It's a long story." Itachi warned.

"Then I suppose you ought to start."

***

When he was done, Itachi suggested that Gai blindfold him. He suggested Gai bind his hands and feet too, but Gai had refused, insisting that he believed Itachi, that he trusted Itachi. He agreed to the blindfold with the knowledge that it would prevent immediate action by the remaining uninjured jonin as Gai helped Itachi back to camp.

Gai hoisted Itachi, who was too weak to stand on his own power, and slung the young man's arm across his strong shoulder.

As soon as Gai was sighted there were shouts for a medic. Those shouts died as Gai and Itachi came closer and people began to recognize him past his loose hair hanging around his face and his eyes covered. A heavy silence fell over the camp at the center of the rebuilding process. Itachi didnt need to see to feel the massive amount of chakra around him and feel the stares of hundreds of Konoha ninja and civilians.

"Where is Lord Fifth?"

"Thats-"

"Where is Lord Fifth!" Gai roared at whoever had spoken.

"She's in the hospital tent. There was an incident."

"Danzo" Itachi mouthed the word. It was just like him to take advantage of a time of crisis in the village.

"Then find me Kakashi. Go."

Itachi let his mind tune out the mindless buzz of the camp as Gai directed someone to bring the Jonin together. His fate would be decided soon, based on the truth. The whole truth.

For better or worse, Itachi was home.

[bennybentacles]

Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven

Grace Hargreeves

Grace Hargreeves, our mother. our mother did everything for us. she made us feel loved in a house that didn't allow emotions to grow, made us feel safe in a place full of threats and she made us feel alive in the place that slowly killed all of us.

our mother did everything for us, from making our bed to bandaging our wounds. our mother is very caring, always offering quick hugs and a kiss on our foreheads whenever our father wasn't looking, because i know if our father knew that our mother has been giving us affections our mother will be in a very big trouble. because of this fact, all of us has learnt to treasure every bit of affection that our mother had managed to sneak in, from the cute arrangements of our breakfast food to the tight hugs that she gave whenever anyone of us had managed to see her on the hallway

the kraken was the closest to our mother. the kraken spent almost all of his free times helping our mother with her every task despite our mother telling the kraken that he should've spent his free times playing with all of us. the kraken always listened to our mother and everytime our mother tried to reinforce some rules that we weren't obeying the kraken would threaten us, saying that we should listen to our mother if we didn't want to get stabbed. on nights, our mother had to bid the kraken goodnight the last because the kraken always hogged our mother, pulling every tricks that he had for our mother to give him longer hugs and kiss his forehead twice. our mother would always give the kraken's little request and when our mother noticed that she spent the most time saying goodnight to the kraken they came into a compromise

our mother did a lot of things for the house. she did the cleaning, the cooking and she also helped all of us get ready for the day. until today it still amazes me whenever i think of the fact that she used to do her chores and more in her high heels and not once did she ever lose her balance. our mother is very graceful, her name truly fitting her. our mother always wore her dresses and her high heels that always made the most comforting sound against our floorboards, signalling that she is the one who is checking on all of us and not our father.

our mother is also very smart, she knew a lot of topics and because of this when we were required to learn various topics she started tutoring us. i remember how she would enter our classroom and how a smile would always be placed on her red lips, as if she wont spend the next few hours teaching us even though we don't have the motivation to learn. our mother never got mad at us when we didn't get her lessons quickly and she would always adjust her teaching methods instead of forcing us to learn with the methods that clearly won't work for us.

when the boy ran away, our mother argued with our father and told him that he should call authorities because her son is missing yet no matter how much our mother tried to tell our father to alert people of his missing kid, our father never yielded and i remember how our mother, in the following days, failed to remember that the boy never came back. she used to call the boy for dinners and she used to arrange food for the boy and she only stopped once pogo talked to her. i do not know what they have talked about but after that, our mother stopped calling for the boy

our mother tried to stop the sèance from diving deep into his addiction and there are times where she had managed to coax the sèance into sobriety, a feat that only she had achieved. our mother used to hug the sèance through his withdrawal, never seeming to give up on the sèance despite the fact that everybody else did. our mother always welcomed the sèance with her open arms even when the sèance broke his promise to our mother once again and got high and i think if our mother didn't coddle the sèance maybe he would've eventually stopped using .

our mother taught me how to play violin. we used to spend hours together poring over music sheets and i remember how she would always correct my every mistake and not even once did i feel stupid when she was teaching me. when i got too frustrated with my lessons and i would cry and ask to stop she never told me to stop crying and continue to play, which i know is what my father would've done if he was the one who was teaching me and to this day i am thankful that my mother is patient enough that she never gave up on me.

when the horror got into his accident, our mother and pogo did everything to save him and i remember how our mother pulled us all aside and calmly told us that we deserved to know the truth and told us that the horror has a slim chance of surviving and we should brace ourselves for every possible outcome. i felt thankful for our mother for telling us the truth instead of lying about the horror's condition and making us hope. when the horror died, our mother was the one who had tried to revive him and i remember how our mother tried to process that one of her child died again and i remember how the kraken hugged our mother, seeking for comfort.

our mother couldn't arrange the horror's funeral because she had to console everybody and try to make the sèance sober for the horror's funeral, and sadly no matter how hard my mother tried she hadn't managed to be successful that time. our mother stood on the side when our father turned his eulogy for the horror into another lecture for everybody. and i remember on how she had to usher us inside after we are left alone on our courtyard, all of us receiving a hug from our mother and yet somehow that hug didn't manage to bring warmth into my soul

when the sèance ran away i heard my mother saying that she wish that the sèance would be safe our there. weeks later our mother took one look at the horror's statue and went back into our home, a clear sign of her hate towards the monument that our father built. when i packed my bags and went to our mother to bid my farewell i remember our mother telling me to stay safe and to never return because she fears if i return our father may not let me our of the mansion ever again. i hoped i could've ran away with our mother and lived a normal life with her finally being free from our father but sadly we couldn't because spaceboy stayed and our mother refused to leave him no matter how much the kraken and i begged her to leave.

i have never seen my mother again and her last memory that i have of her was her trying to keep my safe. i wish i can see my mother again, and everyday i hope that she stayed well so that we can meet once more. our mother did everything for us, loved us so badly and it is a shame that she can only do so much to protect us from our father.