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pixxiesdust · 4 years

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Pieces of You • Kirishima Eijirou

Summary • Sometimes, you see a stranger so captivating that as they disappear from your sight, they take a little piece of you with them. Kirishima learns this all too well over one scorching summer. Little does he know, you learn the same.

Pairing • Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

Word Count • 8.0k

Tags and Warnings • Aged up (early 20s), class 1-A are all sidekicks and haven’t gone Pro yet, fluff, accidental meetings, strangers to lovers.

Note • I had the privilege of joining the summer sfw collab with the wonderful members of bnharem! Feel free to check out other talented writers and their summer-themed works here. There’s also a little reference in this to @justabstractthings’ fic for the collab with Tetsutetsu! A huge thank you to @simplybakugou @sugacookiies @wakaoujisenhime @add-a-teaspoon-of-heroism and @justabstractthings for betaing and providing tons of constructive feedback. This fic wouldn’t be where it is now without them!

–

The first time you meet, it’s raining. You don’t notice Kirishima, but he notices you, and you easily take the first piece of his heart with you.

You quickly slip into the stream of people on the sidewalk, clutching your bag of signed documents to your chest. The sun beats down on your head, heating the humid air, and quickly causing your business clothes to stick uncomfortably against your skin.

The heat is nothing new. Although it is the start of summer, the whole city of Esuha has been burdened by relentless days of a cloudless sky.

But today, with the humidity making the air thick, and with the darkening clouds rolling across the sky, you know that the city will finally get a reprieve from the sun.

There’s a low rumble that lasts for multiple seconds. A little droplet splatters onto your arm, darkening the fabric of your shirt. Another hits the sidewalk. The air is heavy and still. Then the skies open, and water starts to fall down in sheets.

As the rain falls, quickly darkening concrete and asphalt, pedestrians pick up the pace. Some start sprinting for cover, not having the foresight to bring an umbrella. Those who are better prepared pull out umbrellas and don raincoats, energized by the cooling air.

And you?

You stand there, eyes closed and face tilted up toward the sky, disregarding the people that rush around you like the flow of water in a river that is parted by a single stone. The rain falls hard, soaking into your clothes and your hair, droplets splashing onto your face. It’s cold and refreshing and washes away the seemingly endless days of heat. So you smile, lips curling up just the slightest bit as you stay under the downpour, taking in the constant pounding of raindrops hitting buildings, cars, streets.

There’s someone else that is motionless on the edge of the street. Another rock that divides the flow of water. Kirishima stands under the overhang of a skyscraper that lines the sidewalk, people rushing around him to enter the building for shelter. And though he should finish his patrol and return to Fat Gum Agency, he is captivated by the sight of you.

You look so at peace, unlike the others that hurry to get out of the rain. You don’t mind that your hair is now heavy and soaked, that your clothes are clinging to your body.

Kirishima’s lips part as he watches the smile grow on your face, an expression so in the moment that he can’t help but feel a bit like a voyeur, watching creepily from afar. He holds out one hand, stretching it beyond the cover of the building, and huge droplets immediately splash onto his palm.

It’s refreshing, yes, a bit of coolness after the long summer days, but he can’t tell why you’re so fascinated by it.

Nonetheless, a smile grows on his own face as he continues watching you.

Someone bumps into you as they pass by, and you jolt with a start, eyes flashing open. Your eyelashes are weighted down with glittering spheres of rain, and droplets roll down your cheeks. You look down at yourself, taking in your soaked business clothes, and you know that you’ll have to get them dry cleaned or wash them yourself when you get home.

Then your eyes widen at the wet bag in your arms that contains the documents you had gotten signed just minutes ago by a Pro Hero ordering new gear for members of his agency. “The papers!” you cry out. Then you throw yourself into motion, hurrying down the street, no longer a rock breaking the flow, but now part of the stream of pedestrians.

Kirishima watches as you rush away until he no longer can pick you out from the others on the sidewalk. He, too, snaps to attention, realizing that he had been watching you for at least a couple of minutes. “My patrol!” He was supposed to be finishing up!

As he steps into the rain and heads back to Fat Gum Agency, he tilts his face toward the sky, looking at the skyscrapers that stretch up and at the rain that falls down. Warmth blazes in his chest, heating him from within even as cold raindrops hit his skin, and he smiles.

If there’s an extra bounce to Kirishima’s steps as the sidekick returns completely soaked to the agency, well, Fat Gum just grins and doesn’t mention it.

–

The second time you meet, it’s brief. But Kirishima makes a lasting impact on you, and a fragment of your heart is his forever.

You return to Esuha two weeks later with a briefcase of Hatsume’s finished products for Fat Gum, the Pro Hero that had signed those papers that thankfully hadn’t gotten too wet from the sudden rain. The sun is just as bright and hot as it was last time, although there is a bit of a breeze.

Keeping the briefcase in hand, you step through the agency’s doorway and make your way to the receptionist sitting behind a large desk. She looks up at you with a polite smile and asks, “How may I help you?”

“I have a meeting with Fat Gum at one o’clock about some gear that he requested.” You hold up the dark case. It’s nondescript and rather heavy, but it’s better to not advertise what you’re carrying, especially since it’s for Pro Heroes and sidekicks.

The receptionist nods and types something into her computer. A few moments later, she pulls open a drawer and takes out a lanyard with a guest pass dangling from the end of it. “Please take the elevator up to the top floor. He’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Thank you.” You accept the pass, slip it over your head, and head toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby.

Pressing the button with an arrow on it that points up, you step to the side to wait, holding the case in front of you with both hands. A few moments later, the elevator chimes, the doors slide open, and a couple of people exit. You don’t pay them much attention, and you step into the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor.

But then you hear it: a loud, carefree laugh, deep and gravelly at the same time. Your head jerks away from studying the buttons, and you look out beyond the elevator doors. Immediately, you catch sight of a head of spiky, bright red hair, tilted back as laughter travels through the lobby, the person’s shoulders shaking with the force of his amusement.

Kirishima laughs at a comment Amajiki makes, throwing his head back. The other sidekick ducks his head down into the cloak that drapes around his shoulders, and Kirishima grins fondly. His senior has certainly grown more confident in the years since he graduated from U.A, but some things didn’t change.

However, despite his amusement, Kirishima can’t help but turn his face just a little back toward the elevators. He thinks he saw someone familiar waiting by them when he walked out with Amajiki, and Kirishima's eye widens as he catches sight of you, now in the elevator, waiting for the doors to close. His smile turns softer as he thinks back to the first time he saw you—drenched with rain yet looking so at peace.

Amajiki says something, slightly muffled by his cloak, and Kirishima takes his attention off you and responds to the other sidekick. By the time he looks back again at the elevators, the doors have closed, and you are gone.

The sound of the laugh warms you and brings a smile to your face. You assume that he’s a sidekick at this agency, eying the hero gear that drapes over his body and frames his muscles. The stranger turns to talk to the person next to him, another sidekick in a white cape, and you get a glimpse of a sharp jawline and an observant red eye just as the elevator chimes and the doors slide close.

He’s handsome, you think to yourself, closing your eyes and replaying the sound of his laughter in your mind. A shiver runs up your spine, but then you quickly shake your head to clear him from your thoughts. You have a meeting to attend, and your mind certainly didn’t need to be occupied by a red-haired sidekick with a mesmerizing laugh.

–

The third time you meet, it’s awkward and silly. But it makes both of you smile, and both of you have a friend that starts to realize there’s someone who is capturing pieces of your hearts.

Hatsume sits across from you, nursing a hot cup of black coffee in her hands. You don’t understand how she can drink a hot beverage in the middle of summer, although you suppose the cold air conditioning in the coffee shop does help to make it manageable.

You take a sip of your own drink and set it to the side, pulling out a tablet from your bag.

“It’s nice to get out of the workshop sometimes, isn’t it?” you ask as you power up the tablet and start logging in.

The inventor nods. “I just can’t bear to leave my babies alone for too long! Who knows what trouble they’d get into on their own.”

Your lips twitch, but you hide a smile. In the years you’ve worked with Hatsume as a legal business manager for Hatsume's Babies, and even when you both were studying at U.A, you’ve grown used to her references for her inventions. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Mei. Did you remember to unplug the machines you were using?”

She purses her lips in thought, and your eyes widen with worry, but she snaps her fingers as she remembers. “Yep, sweetie, sure did! The lab should be explosion-free when we return. Although…” Hatsume trails off, thinking.

You laugh but return to pulling up the documents you wanted to show her on your tablet. “I’m sure the assistants back at the lab will be able to handle anything that may come up. Now here!”

You turn your tablet so that both of you can see the screen and enlarge the document with your thumb and forefinger. “Since we finished our last client’s order, we’ve already had three others request to work with us. They aren’t all from Pros, but I do think you’ll find some of them interesting and challenging!”

You slide the tablet across the table, so it sits in front of Hatsume, and she scrolls through to take a look at the various requests. “There’s no rush to accept them, especially since we’ve already reached our goal for the month, but–”

“Ooh!” Hatsume squeals, flipping the tablet around so you can see it. “This one just sparks the imagination.”

You take in the request sent in from a sidekick, eyes widening when you see the name. Then realization flashes, and you roll your eyes, but smile at Hatsume. “Very funny, Mei. Although if he heard you refer to his quirk as sparks, he’d blow up in your face—both figuratively and literally.”

She returns your smile, then scrolls down on the tablet to the next request. “I want to do this one, too. Actually, let’s take all three! They’re such exciting projects, I can’t wait to start working on them!”

You take the tablet back and mark down some notes to remind yourself to contact the clients and let them know that Hatsume had accepted their request. “Got it. Anyway, with the last order we completed, and these three that you’ll start working on, Hatsume’s Babies will continue to grow! Before long, we’re going to have the best support equipment in all of Japan.” You grin at her excitedly, spreading your arms wide to emphasize your statement.

Hatsume clasps her hands together in front of her, a dreamy sigh escaping her. “We’ll be known as the best support equipment company all over the world!”

Then both of you look at each other. Hatsume unclasps her hands, and you drop your arms, and both of you start laughing in amusement at your over the top and exaggerated actions.

“Only a couple years out of U.A, yet we’ve already come this far,” you say, before taking another sip of your drink.

“Mhm! And we have a lot further to go.”

Hatsume stretches out a hand across the table, and you grasp it. Eyes flashing in determination, you cheer, “To the top!”

“To the top!” Hatsume echoes, and shakes your hand energetically.

You break apart and start laughing again.

In your excitement and laughter, neither of you notice the figure standing on the other side of the coffee shop window. Kirishima’s trying not to be so obvious in looking, but with the way you’re so caught up in whatever you’re discussing with Hatsume, he doesn’t think you’d notice him anyway.

Kirishima was on his way to meet up with Kaminari, intending to plan a trip to the beach with the rest of his friends from U.A. But as he walks down the busy street, eyes wandering from store to store, he stops short when he catches sight of you. His eyes widen in recognition when he takes in the person sitting across from you. How do you know Hatsume?

Kirishima definitely remembers Hatsume from his first year at U.A; she definitely was memorable at the sports festival. And even after that, he noticed the talent Hatsume had in designing support gear for heroes, and occasionally sought her out to get some upgrades on his costume.

Even now, he still gets parts of his hero outfit from Hatsume, although she’s come a lot farther than a workshop at U.A. She has a full business now, called Hatsume’s Babies, and Kirishima has already heard a lot of positive things from other heroes. That praise is well deserved. Just a few days ago, on that same day that Kirishima had spotted you in the elevator, Fat Gum handed him a newly designed head guard that Kirishima requested. He’s only had it for a few days, but it’s been holding up better than his old one, and it’s more comfortable too.

Though he wants to know how you are so familiar with Hatsume—perhaps you went to U.A. too, although Kirishima wishes that he had seen you before if that were the case—he’s more interested in the way your eyes seem to sparkle as you animatedly converse with Hatsume about whatever is on your tablet.

His lips curve up in a smile as you wave your hands around, mouth moving at a fast pace. Then your arms stretch wide, and a grin spreads across your face. Kirishima’s face feels hot. It’s as if you have some quirk that makes him captivated by whatever you do. He’s stupidly happy to see you so excited, although part of him wishes that he is the reason for your expression.

“Hey, move it, buddy.” Someone runs into Kirishima’s shoulder, and the sidekick stumbles forward a step, bringing him closer to the window of the coffee shop.

Kirishima blinks and shakes his head. “Oh man, what am I doing?” he mutters to himself, running a hand down his face. “Staring isn’t manly.” He hopes he hadn’t been standing on the street, staring, for too long, and he definitely hopes that you and Hatsume didn’t notice.

It’s time for him to go. Kaminari is waiting for him, after all. But as he starts to turn away from the sight of you laughing, you open your eyes and reach out to grab your drink–

–and your eyes lock onto his.

Your mouth falls open, and you seem to recognize him, although Kirishima never would have thought that you remember seeing him at Fat Gum Agency.

Kirishima freezes for a moment, unsure how to react. But then a fond smile spreads across your face—a bit warmer than the usual ones you’d give to complete strangers—and you wave your hand just a little.

He’s pretty sure that his face is as red as his hair, but he gives a toothy grin and returns the wave.

Then another pedestrian brushes past him on the sidewalk, and he realizes that he really has to go, even though you’re just right there, on the other side of the window. He juts his thumb out and points down the street, an apologetic expression settling on his face.

You just nod, smile growing wider, and wave again in goodbye.

Kirishima waves too. He forces himself to turn and walk away, and tells himself to not look back.

He fails, of course, and looks over his shoulder after taking a couple steps down the sidewalk. You’re still looking at him, and when you catch him turning his head, your dreamy smile turns sheepish, and you wave again.

Kirishima grins, faces forward, and continues walking toward his meeting spot with Kaminari.

“You’re late!” Kaminari cries, when Kirishima finally arrives. Though Kaminari was planning on teasing his friend about being late even further, he immediately notices the soft smile on Kirishima’s face.

“What’s with that look?” Kaminari asks. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Is it because of someone special?”

Kaminari is only teasing, and certainly doesn’t expect Kirishima to flush red. Kaminari’s mouth falls open. “It is!” he cries.

“It’s not what you think!” Kirishima protests.

Kaminari slings an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “I think,” he drawls, “you need to tell me how this crush stole pieces of my best friend’s heart, or else I’m going to get jealous.”

As the two of them start walking toward Kaminari’s apartment, Kirishima tells of the three instances he saw you. And after lots of good-natured teasing from his friend, Kirishima sheepishly admits that he might just have a crush on you—a stranger, who somehow captured parts of his heart without even knowing it.

Back at the coffee shop, you’re under similar interrogation by Hatsume, who had easily noticed the exchange between you and Kirishima.

“Kirishima Eijirou?” His name rolls off your tongue, and you rather like the sound of it.

“Yep, that’s him! He’s one of Midoriya’s adorable classmates from U.A!”

“Ah, so I was right.” At Hatsume’s questioning look, you explain further. “I saw him at Fat Gum Agency when I was delivering their order, and he was wearing his hero costume, so I assumed he was a sidekick at the agency!”

“Ooh, is he the reason you came back to the lab with a dreamy look on your face?”

You sputter. “No- I- What- Dreamy?”

A wide smile spreads across Hatsume’s face. She clasps her hands together and leans halfway across the table. “Does someone have a little crush?” she asks in a sing-song voice.

You roll your eyes and flick her forehead, trying to hide the small smile by ducking your head down. “And what if I do?” you ask back.

Hatsume pouts and rubs her forehead, then answers you. “That would be so cute! Almost as cute as my favorite babies. You’ve only seen him twice, yet it seems like he’s taken little pieces of your heart with him!”

“It’s not that dramatic!” you protest. But Hatsume gives you a knowing look, yellow eyes shining, and you sigh. “Okay, maybe you’re right. But it’s not like I’ll see him again.”

Hatsume vigorously shakes her head. “You’ve seen Kirishima twice in five days! With those odds, you should expect to see him pretty frequently over the summer!”

“But- but what if that’s just a statistical error? An outlier?”

“Do you really think that’s the case, sweetie? If you don’t accept that you might have more than just a little crush on him, then I’ll force you to sit through my calculations for the probability of you meeting him again in the next week!”

You gasp in mock horror. “Oh no, not the calculations!” Then you turn serious, although a bit of hope sparkles in your eyes. “I would like to see him again, though. Maybe I’ll be able to talk to him next time.”

Hatsume grins and pats you on the shoulder as she stands up. “Now that’s the spirit! Anyway, let’s get going. I have to get back to my poor babies—they’ve been without me for so long! And come to think of it, I may have left one of my more volatile babies plugged in.”

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly stand up. “Mei!” you cry, picking up your drink with one hand and holding onto your bag with the other. “You told me you didn’t!”

The inventor just laughs, links her arm with yours, and pulls you out of the coffee shop and into the hot summer air.

–

The fourth time you meet, you finally talk to each other. He does something silly and cute, and so do you, so when you part ways, more shards of your hearts have been captured by each other.

Cold waves crash onto the beach, foam rising up on the sand. Seagulls fly overhead, letting out loud cries as they swoop down for morsels of food dropped by the hundreds of people that cover the beach. It seems like everyone has the same idea as you and Hatsume, who you managed to convince to get away from the city and take a well-deserved break.

Except, she’s not actually taking a break.

“You didn’t tell me to leave my babies at home!” Hatsume says as she tinkers with a metallic contraption in her hands.

“I didn’t think you’d actually bring them to the beach!” You throw out one arm and gesture at the waves, the sand, and all the people. It’s your mistake to assume that Hatsume wouldn’t have brought her precious inventions along with her. “Won’t the heat and the sand ruin them?”

Hatsume looks up from her work, eyebrows furrowed. “My babies are built to withstand even the hottest temperatures! A little bit of sand won’t do them any harm. And do you seriously think I haven’t prepped these cuties before coming here?” She pats the side of the invention she’s working on and starts fiddling around with some wires on the inside.

You watch her work with a fond smile on your face. After a minute or two, you get to your feet and step out from the shade of your giant beach umbrella. “Mei,” you say.

Hatsume doesn’t look up.

“Mei!”

Her hands slow, which you know is a sign of her paying attention, so you continue speaking. “I’m going to get something for us, okay? It’s a bit of a walk, but I’ll be back soon. What do you want me to get?”

Hatsume finally looks up from her work. “Orange slushie?”

“An orange slushie? Sure!” As soon as you answer, she ducks her head back down and keeps fiddling with her invention again. “See you soon, Mei!”

You dig out your wallet from your bag, slip on a pair of sunglasses, and start walking across the beach toward the kiosks and small shops a little distance away.

The sand is hot and sifts through your toes whenever you take a step forward. Children race around on the beach, splashing each other in the water. Plenty of people sit under large beach umbrellas, but just as many lie out under the hot sun as they try to build up a tan. The sun shines bright and beats down on your skin, but the breeze from the ocean helps to keep you cool. You really could use some ice cream, though.

When you arrive at the kiosk, there’s already a long line of people ahead of you. You join the back of the line and wait. By the time you get to the front, sweat has beaded up on your forehead, neck, and other places you don’t even want to mention.

You look at the teenager at the cash register, ready to take your order. “I’d like an orange slushie, and uh–” You do a double-take at the small sign someone had taped on the menu board with ice cream flavors on it. “There’s no ice cream today?”

The teenager pulls his lips in a pained smile. “Unfortunately, our ice cream machine broke and won’t be fixed for another day.”

“Ah, okay. Could I also have a...” You read over the menu board again. You just want something refreshing to cool you off, even if it isn’t ice cream. “A strawberry popsicle, please.”

“That’ll be 300 yen,” he says.

You pull out the right amount of money in coins and place it on the counter. The cashier slides it toward himself and counts them, before putting it into the register.

“One moment.”

You stand off to the side to wait for your order, and a couple minutes later, a slushie cup and a wrapped popsicle slide across the counter toward you. “Thank you!” you say as you pick up the items.

Stopping at a nearby table, you unwrap your popsicle and throw the wrapper in the trash can. With Hatsume’s orange slushie in your left hand and your strawberry popsicle in your right, you continue on across the beach.

You slip the tip of the popsicle between your lips, sighing in relief as it cools your mouth. It actually doesn’t taste half bad, even though the food coloring dyes it an atrocious bright pink.

You’re so focused on your popsicle that you barely notice anything that happens around you, until a familiar laugh draws your attention. Your head snaps up, the popsicle leaving your lips, and you scan the beach around you.

Bright red hair catches your eyes. It’s Kirishima, as you expected—as you hoped—and he’s sitting on a beach towel, surrounded by his friends, who all laugh as they watch him press something to the center of his forehead. He takes his finger away, and a small black dot is left behind. Your brows furrow. It’s in a tear shape, and after noticing the pile of watermelon rinds on a paper plate, you recognize it to be a watermelon seed.

His friends are still laughing at him as he stares in front of him in concentration. But as he looks ahead, you’re in his field of vision.

You freeze, your strawberry popsicle a short distance from your mouth.

Kirishima freezes too.

His friends notice, and they turn to see what has his attention, and all at once, five pairs of eyes are locked onto you.

The attention flusters you, especially since you know now that it’s Kirishima and his fellow hero friends—and you know that you’ve delivered gear to the agencies that they all work for.

Since your hands are full with Hatsume’s slushie and your popsicle, you can only manage a nod in greeting.

Then with nearly comedic timing, the watermelon seed on Kirishima’s forehead falls off and lands on his swim shorts. His face grows red, and he quickly picks up the seed and drops it in the pile of watermelon rinds.

“You’re supposed to make a wish before it falls off!” he calls out in explanation. Kirishima’s heart is pounding so loudly that he’s sure his friends can hear it, but his voice is surprisingly steady as he finally talks to you for the first time. “I learned it from a friend!”

An expression of fond amusement spreads across your face. “Hope your wish comes true!”

Out of nowhere—or maybe Kaminari’s fake suaveness has rubbed off on him—Kirishima winks at you and says, “It came true when I saw you!”

Your eyes grow wide, and your breathing quickens. He pulled that off so smoothly that it seemed like he’s practiced it before. But Kirishima blushes again, and his smile turns into a look of embarrassment, so you know that it was completely unrehearsed.

A cold and sticky droplet lands on your hand, and you look down as another drop of pink hits your skin. Your popsicle is melting under the heat of the sun, and you’re pretty sure Hatsume’s slushie is turning into orange-flavored water. You wrinkle your nose at the pink drops. Your tongue flickers out to lick them off your skin, and you lick the popsicle too, from bottom to top, to keep it from dripping even more.

Then, with your mouth around the cold treat, you come to your senses and realize that you’re still standing before Kirishima and his friends.

You pull the popsicle away and let out an awkward laugh, looking down at the sand between you and Kirishima. “Sorry about that,” you say, “but my popsicle is melting on me. I- um- I should get going! Hatsume’s still waiting for her slushie!”

Without waiting for a response, you start walking away.

But Kirishima cups his hands around his mouth and shouts after you, making you stop in your tracks. “Before you go, do I get to know your name?”

You turn slightly. “Make a wish to see me again! I’ll tell you next time!” Then you continue on, hurrying across the sand and leaving Kirishima and his friends behind.

Kirishima watches you retreat, until your figure disappears into the crowds of people on the beach.

His friends snicker at his soft expression, and Kaminari slaps a hand against Kirishima’s back. “Better get another watermelon seed! Let’s see if Tetsutetsu’s method will help you see the love of your life again.”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, still caught up in thinking about how adorable you looked in your casual beach clothes. And your embarrassment at getting so caught up in eating your popsicle was cute as well. Then his mind wanders to the image of your lips wrapped around the pink popsicle, slightly swollen from the cold. Was it unmanly that it made him want to kiss you?

Seeing Kirishima lost in his thoughts, Mina flips her sunglasses up, so they rest on her curly pink hair and leans toward Kaminari. “So that’s the crush you were talking about? You told us that she made Kiri act all dopey when he met up with you to plan this beach trip!”

Kaminari nods in confirmation. “You should’ve seen the look on his face. He might call it a small crush, but there’s no way that’s the case.”

Bakugou grunts and finally joins the conversation. “Can’t believe your crush works for that crazy inventor chick.”

This catches Kirishima’s attention. “Hatsume?”

Bakugou waves his hand in the air dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, if that’s who the inventor chick is. Your crush sometimes brings the finished items to the agency.”

“Oh!” Kirishima says, eyes widening with realization. “So that’s why I saw her at Fat Gum’s, and why she was at the coffee shop with Hatsume.”

“Anyway,” Sero interrupts, holding a watermelon seed between his fingers. “Show us how to make a wish again.” He grins and passes the seed on to Kirishima, who accepts it.

“Okay, okay! I’ll do this until I see her again!” He cheers and pumps a fist up in the air.

“To Kirishima seeing his crush!” Mina shouts, raising a fist too.

“To Kirishima’s crush!” Kaminari and Sero laugh and punch the air.

They all look to the one person that hasn’t joined them.

“What?” Bakugou snaps. “Shitty Hair can see her again without making one of those stupid wishes. You know who she is now, and you can meet her again.”

Kirishima’s eyes widen. “You’re right, Bakubro!”

“Of course I’m right.”

Kirishima gets to his feet and brushes sand off his shorts. “It’s really hot right now,” he says as his friends watch him slip his wallet into a pocket. “I’ll go see if there’s something cold at the kiosk. Anyone want to come?”

His friends look at each other and shake their heads, turning down his offer. Kirishima shrugs and leaves, giving them a quick wave.

As soon as Kirishima has walked far enough that he won’t be able to hear them, Bakugou points at Mina, Sero, and Kaminari, catching their attention. “Hey. Don’t go off and do something dumb. But I know where that crush of his will be in three weeks.”

Everyone’s eyes widen, and Mina squeals, clapping her hands together in excitement. You’re Kirishima’s crush, but now they’re all rather invested after meeting you in person. So they lean in eagerly, and Bakugou starts talking.

–

The fifth time you meet, he finally gets your name. The night ends all too soon, and you have to part ways, but you both ache to meet again.

The venue is crowded with sidekicks, Pros, employees from support companies, and many other types of people who are important and can bring success to one’s career. Although the networking event is mainly for the sidekicks to make connections with already well-known agencies and companies, you and Hatsume were invited to spread the word about Hatsume’s Babies and get some new clients.

So you work your way around the large room, summoning up the energy to hand out business cards from your handheld purse, and talk to as many people as you can, as Hatsume does the same elsewhere.

As you finish up a conversation with a new sidekick that recently graduated from U.A, someone with a head of green hair approaches you. He’s smiling, and a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Izuku! Who picked out your outfit?”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, but I’m glad I ran into you! Is it that obvious that I didn’t choose this?” He gestures to himself, and you take in the black suit with a forest green tie that matches his hair and eyes. Since you’ve gotten to know him through Hatsume, you’ve learned that he doesn’t always have the best sense of fashion. “Ochako helped me pick it out,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it looks good! How is she doing, by the way?”

Midoriya offers his arm out to you. You take it, and let him guide you wherever he wants to take you. “She’s here today, actually, and so is Shouto and Tenya. I can take you to them.”

You nod and smile. “That would be nice! I haven’t seen Shouto since I last delivered his gear to him, and it’s been ages since I talked to Ochako and Tenya in person.”

Midoriya brings you to his group of friends, who all greet you with smiles. You converse with them for a while, catching up on the latest events that happened in their lives. The conversation flows easily with the familiarity of friends, and it doesn’t drain you to talk to them. Your chest is warm, happy to be surrounded by wonderful friends that care so much.

Then a girl with short pink hair appears, wrapping an arm around Uraraka’s shoulder. She looks familiar to you for some reason.

Your eyes widen as it clicks.

“Oh! You’re–”

“I’m Ashido Mina, nice to meet you!” She shakes your hand energetically before moving across the circle of friends to stand next to you. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Kirishima,” she says with a mischievous smile.

“Oh gosh, I hope he doesn’t think I’m creepy or strange or something.”

Mina laughs. “It’s quite the opposite, actually!”

At your hopeful and questioning look, she only winks and says, “That’s not my secret to tell. But you should know that he constantly has a dreamy look on his face, and he’s wanted to see you again ever since the beach.”

“Is he here?” Your voice is bright, and you completely perk up before your friends’ eyes.

Mina nods, an excited smile on her face. “Want me to take you to him?”

You look to your friends, who all wear some sort of amused expression as they look on, and you give them a small wave. “Please excuse me then. I have a stranger to get acquainted with!”

Your steps are bouncy from nerves and excitement as you follow Mina through the crowded room.

Mina suddenly stops and turns around to face you. “They’re on the other side of this group of Pro Heroes,” she says, taking one of your hands in hers. “I just want you to know that Kirishima’s a sweetheart, and I really hope you’re not just here to play with his feelings.”

You know that she’s serious and that she genuinely cares about her friend. You nod solemnly. “We’re only strangers, but I- well, he already means quite a bit to me. I’m here to meet him and get to know him more, and if he wants to continue things further, I would gladly do that. I’m not interested in games, and would never play with feelings.”

“Good.” Mina smiles again, and the mood feels a lot lighter as she starts guiding you around the group of conversing Pro Heroes. “I didn’t think you were the type, but one can never be too careful.”

You return the smile. “It’s great that he has such a wonderful friend like you.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet! I can tell why he likes you.”

Your eyes widen, and Mina giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oops! Was I not supposed to tell you that? Well, anyway, here we are!”

She hooks her arm with yours and pulls you to a group of well-dressed people that you recognize from the beach. Your eyes immediately lock onto Kirishima, whose back is toward you, but you know it is him because of his spiky red hair. You stop moving. His black suit fits him well, hugging his broad shoulders and large biceps. It’s pulled in at the waist, emphasizing his athletic figure.

Mina lets out a soft laugh, and you realize that you’re staring. You look at her, embarrassed. “Don’t tell him, please.”

She only winks at you, which is not reassuring, before pulling you along to the group. Mina clears her throat, catching their attention. “Gentlemen, I brought a guest!”

Everyone except Kirishima immediately grins when they see you, and one of the blondes wiggles his eyebrows and elbows Kirishima to turn around.

Your breath catches in your lungs as he finally faces you. You don’t notice as his eyes widen and his lips part in shock. Instead, you’re focused on taking him in from the front—finally, you can just stop and stare.

He’s wearing a red shirt under his black suit that clings to his muscles and makes his red eyes pop. A black tie is knotted at the base of his throat, but it’s a little rumpled, and he’s clearly pulled on it multiple times throughout the night.

Kirishima is speechless as he drinks in the sight of you in formal attire. He never expected to see you at this event, although he probably should have anticipated that you would be invited. “Wow,” he breathes, eyes scanning you from head to toe and back up again.

Sero and Kaminari snicker from behind him, but even that doesn’t stop Kirishima from staring.

After another silent moment, Mina decides to take the lead. “This is Bakugou, Kaminari, Sero, and I hear that you’re already familiar with Kirishima. Everyone, this is–”

You pull your thoughts together and step forward, offering a hand out to Kirishima to shake. He takes it, even though he’s still rather stunned, and you tug on his hand. He’s not expecting it, so he stumbles a few steps until his chest is pressed to yours. A smile flickers at the corner of your lips, and you lean in so your mouth is by his ear.

And then you whisper your name.

Somehow your voice comes out with no hint of the butterflies in your stomach, and it definitely makes Kirishima more than a little flustered. When you pull away, his cheeks are dusted in pink, and his eyes are wide and glazed over.

“I- I’m Kirishima Eijirou,” he says. His eyes widen. “And Mina just told you that, so–”

“It’s okay, Kirishima.” You smile at him, warmth and amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’m sure you’re just surprised that your watermelon seed made your wish come true.”

His name rolls off your tongue smoothly, and he likes the way it sounds with your voice. It takes him a few seconds before he pulls himself together and gets out a response, this time with a bit more confidence, his voice low and a little rough. “I would’ve made a thousand wishes if that’s what it took for me to see you again.”

Now it’s your turn to be flustered, and you duck your head down.

Kirishima, confidence growing by the second, gently tilts your chin with a calloused hand to look into his crimson eyes. “Since I can finally put a name to the face, would it be manly for me to ask if I could see you again?”

You smile at him, raising a hand to grasp onto the one he has under your chin, gently stroking your thumb across the back of his hand. “I’d love that.”

Bakugou coughs, making both of you jump. He sticks his hands into his pocket and scowls at you both. “I’m not gonna stand around and watch this lovefest you’re putting on.”

“If you don’t like it, no one’s stopping you from leaving,” you immediately shoot back. Then your eyes widen in horror as you realize that you just snapped back at one of Kirishima’s friends.

But Kaminari, Sero, and Mina grin widely, and Mina wraps her arms around you in a side hug, making you move away from Kirishima. “That was great!” she squeals.

You look at her out of the corner of your eyes. “T-that was?”

Bakugou steps in front of you, looks you up and down, and then nods. “You’re not afraid to stand your ground. You’ll be fine.”

Kirishima grins at you. “Looks like Bakubro approves!” His smile is wide, and his eyes are bright, and you can’t stay upset.

“I do have to go, though. I’m supposed to keep networking for Hatsume’s Babies, and as much as I enjoy everyone’s company, I can’t stay in one place for too long.”

You don’t like the way Kirishima’s face falls, but then he pastes on another smile that’s less bright and more forced. You frown, then look through the clutch you’ve been carrying around all night, taking out one of the business cards you’ve been passing out all night, and grabbing a small pen as well. You flip the card over to the back and write down your cell phone number, then tuck the pen back into your clutch.

You reach out and take his hand, turning it over to his palm faces up. Placing the business card on his palm, you curl his fingers over it, and pat his hand with a soft smile. “Text me, okay? Then we’ll be able to plan to meet up instead of you having to wish for it.”

Kirishima’s smile brightens, and he withdraws his hand, tucking the card into his suit’s small pocket right above his heart. “I’ll text you soon!” he says.

You step back and nod. “I’ll hold you to that!” Then you look at his friends, who have been eavesdropping rather obviously, and you smile. “It was really nice to meet you. I hope to see you again in the future.”

Mina laughs and waves. “Don’t be a stranger!”

Kaminari and Sero nod and wave too, saying some variation of “See you soon!”

Bakugou just nods, but his red eyes aren’t narrowed in a glare, so you’ll take that as a win.

You wave to them and take one last look at the redhead, whose eyes are soft as they watch you interact with his friends. “Bye, Kirishima.”

You turn from then and walk away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Kirishima and his friends are quiet for a long moment, then Sero shakes his head and mutters, “Dang. Kirishima, you’re one lucky guy.”

Kirishima looks at his friends, who all give some form of agreement to Sero’s statement. He laughs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, I am.”

–

The sixth time you meet, it’s as if you’ve known each other for a long time. You’ve spent hours texting and have gone to bed late because you were so engaged in a conversation over the phone. So when you finally arrange a time to meet at a cute bakery in Esuha—just as friends, you both decide, to get to know each other more—you’re not as nervous as you are excited.

When it’s time to go, you do so with a bit of sadness in your heart. You feel a bit more empty, and Kirishima does too, but both of you have gained another piece of each other’s heart.

–

The ninth time you meet, it’s your first official date. Butterflies turn somersaults in your stomach, but they calm when you finally see Kirishima. The two of you take the train to a town by the coast, and though the train ride takes an hour, there’s not an awkward moment between you both. By the time you arrive, the sun casts everything in a golden hue, and your excitement grows as Kirishima leads you to a grassy cliffside that looks out at the endless expanse of the sea.

He sets down his picnic basket and spreads out a blanket, holding out a hand to help you sit with an excited grin on his face. You enjoy a dinner under the setting sun that paints the sky in pinks, oranges, and golds, and dessert under the silver stars that glimmer from the midnight blue sky.

Your heart is full when you return home, and you each settle down on your beds with a content smile. Though your bed feels just a bit empty, thoughts of him keep you company until you drift off to sleep.

–

The twenty-seventh time you meet, it’s Christmas Eve. Kirishima’s classmates from U.A. have rented out a couple rooms at a karaoke place, and Kirishima invites you as his plus one. He waits for you at your front door, and a huge grin lights up his face when he sees you.

When you walk into the karaoke room, hand in hand, Kirishima’s classmates cheer and hoot and point at something above you. A sprig of mistletoe hangs from the doorframe, green with white berries, and everyone chants for you to kiss.

Kirishima protests, saying that you don’t have to kiss in front of everyone if you don’t want to, but you turn to him, grab fistfuls of his jacket, and pull him toward you so your lips meet.

Everyone cheers and whistles, but you don’t hear them. You only focus on Kirishima’s mouth brushing over yours, on his lips that soften as he deepens the kiss. Breathless, you reluctantly pull away, and smile at the blush that dusts his cheeks.

He drops you off at your home way past midnight, and both of you stand in front of your door for many minutes, laughing and kissing and basking in each other’s presence. When Kirishima finally pulls away from you and walks away to return to his apartment, you touch your swollen lips and smile softly.

You realize that he’s taken more pieces of your heart with him, and you’d gladly let him have the whole thing.

–

The two hundred and forty-second time you meet, it’s been three years since he first saw you in the rain, and Kirishima drops to one knee. At this moment, you realize that you’re in possession of his whole heart, and he is in possession of yours. It started from a few small slivers, but now, he has all the pieces of you in his gentle hands.

You smile at him through the tears that well up in your eyes.

You say yes.

#kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #bnharem #bnharem collab #bnha oneshot #boku no hero academia #bnhabookclub #bnha x reader #type: text #type: fanfic #fanfic: reader insert #fanfic: one-shot #fanfic: pro hero verse #type: anime #anime: boku no hero academia #ch: kirishima eijirou #my writing #my writing: fic

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gummy-dummy · 3 years

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Hi everyone! This is my first fic on Tumblr, it's just here, for now, I'm excited and kinda nervous too, my native language it's Spanish and I'm trying to be better at English so sorry for the grammars mistakes, I hope you like it, dear reader.

Warnings: Probably bad grammar or mistakes, swearing, mention of knives, mentions of death, kinda cute, kinda soft, confused Dabi, he doesn't know but he a softie.

It was pretty late when Shoto and I started doing our night patrol, it had been 3 months since we graduated from the UA in the hero course, the first 4 of the class were invited to work at Endeavor’s agency, Deku, Dynamight, Shoto and me, Artemis. We were the new pro-heroes with the biggest expectation from the public.

Endeavor wasn't the best at talking but I trust him, also thanks to him I don't have to worry about rent, the agency offered departments near the agency, and the rooms in the agency’s building were comfortable enough, usually, the new group was Split into two for patrol, Deku always had to go with Dynamght, he was the only one who can keep up with Bakugo’s shit, Shoto and me, we already were pretty Good Friends, I even can say we are each other’s confidant, it was a pretty nice night shift together, the absence of noise and people (and Bakugo’s shit), made it go smoothly as always. We are used to talking about everything, in the streets we could say anything, and no one more than us knew what secrets lay between us. There were secrets that Shoto didn’t want his father to know, not that he cares, but just to protect the people that he loved.

The current number one hero thought that the friendship we share will eventually become a love story, but oh boy, little did he know. Shoto had romantic feelings for another hero, I am pretty much the only person that Shoto has physical contact with, hugs and rest on each other shoulders, that's why his dad thinks of us that way. I don’t have family near where we are but the Todoroki family accepted me as one of their own since Endeavor thinks that I and Shoto are together we had to explain to Shoto’s siblings and Mom that he was in love with someone else, they didn’t care at all.

Suddenly the cold wind of the night started to get weird, making the residual trash of the city blow roll in the air, we both started to run there to know what was happening, at the moment we got close enough a black and purple substance started emerging from nowhere, it was a warp, the kind that the League of Villains has Access to, Shigaraki Tomura came out first, being followed by the tall, half-burned popcorn (as Shoto and I like to call him) Dabi, Toga right behind them with other 3 members.

I summoned my light arrows on my bow, I shoot an arrow at the leader and the tall man with black hair just disintegrates it with his blue fire. Like it was nothing.‘What are you doing here?’ Shoto asked the team of villains, Shigaraki just started to laugh ‘We came to get some groceries, what the fuck he is trying to do? Distract us?

I just rolled my eyes and said ‘Yeah well, here, you have something to add to your list I quickly prepared my bow with a new arrow, this time a stronger one, that can’t be destroyed so easily. The amount of power that this one has, with the purple hue and the energy that makes everything feel like an earthquake made the leader of the team look at it with fear in his eyes, Dabi tried to take it with his fire, but nothing happened, the arrow just started to follow all of Shigaraki’s moves, so again the man in front of him tried to catch it with his bare hands, oh what an error was that. The indentation that my arrow left on his right hand wouldn’t heal properly at all, not till I gave the order to my arrow to disappear in the wind.

Dabi just looks at me, while the others started to attack us he just stayed on the side, watching every move I make, (with) Shoto work pretty well with each other, we know our quirks and how to enhance each other's quirks.

There was a lady that appears to be new into the league, I never saw her before, she started to shoot mini grenades from her hand, making me jump to the side to avoid it, one laid between my feet, I didn't notice it until it hit me if that thing blows I die.

I'm going to die here.

The last thing I heard was a scream, Shoto screaming my real name, and then... darkness.

The next thing I know is that I'm in a completely white room, very small, I'm chained to one of the sides of a small bed, being forced to stay seated on the cold floor, if I am in one of the League facilities why they want me here? the murder of a new pro-hero would be an accomplishment by the league, why don't make it while I sleep? it would be something to make all the world feel unsafe, make all the heroes feel in danger. I hear the noise of the door opening, someone calls my name.

Dabi, that jerk, wait he was the one that saved me, at the moment the grenade exploded he just took my arm and yanked me out of the way, and took me in the warp with him.

"Hey Hawkeye!", he looked different than the night of the attack, just with his t-shirt and trousers, not his usual jacket, he looks more laid back than when fighting. He started to look preoccupied while I think how to escape, I'm not responding to him.

"Shit, no, did they do something while I was gone? Hey look at me, can you hear me? oh, these little shits are going to pay, I told them not to touch you" I just roll my eyes and say "What the fuck do you want from me you extra crispy fried ass?" he just stares at me confused for a couple of seconds and says "I'm not- Hey don't talk to me like that I'm your savior, remember? maybe I would let them do things to you, maybe I could take this food and let you starve".

He has a plate in a hand and glass with what appears to be fruit juice on the other. "Why would you feed me? do you know that keeps me alive, right? why didn't you kill me already?" I'm really confused, isn't better to kill someone while they're asleep, or this mother fucker want's to torture me. "That's because I don't want to kill you, dummy hero". Then why did he bring me here? what is the league planning to do to me? so I ask what the league wants from me.

"What makes you think there's a plan behind this?"

"Why else would a fucking villain kidnap a pro-hero if not to use them for something?"

"Well, there's nothing behind this, no one knows why I have you here actually I don't even know why I did it, but you were going to die and I just acted"- oh he should let me die, I'm gonna kick his pretty face when I get the chance.

"What do you want? you know it was going to be easier to kill me while I was unconscious, right?"

"Why do you keep telling me to kill you?"

"This is why"- there's a thing that not a lot of people know about my quirk, the bow, and the arrows are just a form I use it to be more precise, that doesn't mean that's the only thing it does.

With my both hands tied I conjured a little of my energy to make a knife to set me free, I break the cloth that keeps me hand-tied to the bed, throwing a punch at his face, he doesn't move I'm trying to get Dabi down but he is just there, he is not moving or trying to attack me at all, looking at me with sadness in his eyes.

"Hey what the fuck, why don't you attack me? aren't you afraid that I'm going to beat your ass?"- He looks like he is in pain but doesn't fight back.

"I know you could," he says with a sad smirk, what's happening here? by a couple of times, I saw him before he never acted this way.

"Can you please just calm down, let me talk, and I'll let you go if you want"

I intertwined my eyes with him, a beautiful blue, exactly the color of his flames, I don't know why, but I want to hear what he has to say, he looks so sad, but also a little surprised when I sit at the small bed. It looks like he never thought I actually would hear his reasons.

He kicks gently the plate with the food by the side and sits on the little makeshift bed, the bed is so small that we can't avoid our knees touching, he doesn't try to tie my hands again, I could conjure a big weapon, maybe just a simple bat and then scape, I know I can win, so why am I anxious to hear him? he looks at me a couple of seconds, lets out a loud breath, and starts talking.

"Well, when you attacked me, I caught one of your arrows right?" he looks at me and I nodded "Look" he shows me his left hand, inviting me to take his hand on mine.

It's rough, more than calloused, the years of him using his quirk took a lot out of his hands, they were burned, when I touched him I thought it would hurt, but he just opened his eyes a little more in surprise and looked at me again.

"Ok you have your hands burned, what about it? it's your quirk right?" he lets out a little smile that if I wasn't looking at him this close probably would have missed it. "Yeah they're burned, I don't have feeling on them, even if I take something with force or catch anything, can't feel it."

I'm starting to understand what's happening here, but I want him to tell me anyways "Yesterday, when you shot your arrow when I caught it I-"why does he look so nervous? "I felt it, I felt the pain of the arrow, and I felt you, well, your quirk, whatever it is, I just felt your touch"

What I am supposed to say about that?- "I'm sorry?" I say confused "No no it's okay I just want to know how you did it" I don't know why I have the desire to touch him again, I need to help him, he is a villain, a cute one if I say so myself but a villain nonetheless. A villain very dangerous that just wants the world to burn, but look so lost, with the same face you see on a lost child on a Mall

"I don't know, my quirk it's just based on energy, I don't know where it comes from, It just appears when I want to and takes the form I need, I used to lost control over it a lot," I say while moving my fingers letting the violet ribbons go around my hand "Now I can control it using it as weapons, the one that makes me feel more comfortable is the bow and arrow, that way I can control it a little more, but I pretty much can conjure anything" He nodded and looks at my hand.

I show him again, letting a little ball of my energy dance between my fingers and let it go, I made it stay in one of his hands, he started playing with it, like a child with a new toy that was waiting to get for Christmas day, a smile started to appear on his face, not a cruel one, that he usually used, this one was of happiness, he looks handsome, the scars on his face makes him feel unique. I'm not sure what I'm doing till I come back to my senses, I'm catching his face between my hands, he just looks at me surprised.

I run my thumbs right below his eyes, he leans into the touch and closes his blue eyes.

"You know that I can attack you now and escape right?" "I know, but you don't want to do that, I am right?"

He is, he is sure about it and I am too, but why? he probably has me here to lend information about heroes, but he isn't asking anything about it.

"No, I don't want to, why? did you get me drugged or something?" I say smiling at him for the first time "No, Toga tried to get a little bit of your blood but every time she wanted to get a needle into your skin, a purple energy, your energy, surrounded you, Shigaraki wanted to use real knives but I- I didn't let them hurt you, I didn't want them to hurt you".

And to end: this is the first chapter, it's gonna be probably 2 o 3 chapters, I'll probably add some warnings if needed.

Love

Gummy.

#boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia #mha x y/n #bnha dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi fluff #dabi my hero academia #dabi x reader #gummythoughts

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youngerdrgrey · 3 years

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better me than him (you know, sisters) // a Black Widow fic

About: SPOILERS FOR BLACK WIDOW (2021) // Yelena says, “Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high.

or, an alternate scene for Black Widow, where Natasha talks to Yelena after the kitchen table breakdown instead of Alexei. + read on ao3

Yelena shirks out of Milena’s touch. She snatches up the vodka from the table and turns for the bedroom. Natasha struggles to find the words to respond to her. Some kind of explanation for disappearing, or some way to take back what she said about the reality of their mission together. But it was a mission. It had to be.

“Yelena.”

Yelena doesn’t break her stride. “No.” The door clicks shut behind her. Tense air makes breathing harder. Natasha parts her lips for a bit of extra oxygen. Zones out and misses the moments where Alexei and Milena exchange words. When Alexei goes to move though, Natasha lifts a hand to stop him.

“I’ll go.” At least then Yelena can’t say Natasha never did anything for her. Yelena probably doesn’t remember that Natasha had held a gun to the soldiers who tried to take Yelena away. What does that matter when Natasha failed, right? Without another word, Natasha goes after Yelena into the guest bedroom.

Yelena’s already on the floor with the bottle of vodka in her hands. Her knees bent up to her chest, her elbows just barely on top of them — she looks so small. Defiant. Natasha closes the door behind her.

Yelena looks too tired to glare. “I came in here because I didn’t want to talk.”

Natasha calls, “Bullshit. All you’ve done since we met up is talk. Talk about feelings and futures and our pasts.” She can’t quite tell if her voice sounds disparaging or wistful. Lonely or yearning for whatever part of Yelena still thinks they could be a family.

“We have a lot of time to make up for,” Yelena snaps back. “Or we would, if any of it were real.”

Natasha takes a sharp breath in. “Come on. I do not want to sit here, holding your hand when there are other Widows out there who need us. Drekhov is still alive and ruining their world.”

Yelena gestures to the door with her vodka bottle. “Go then. It’s what you do best.” She won’t look right at Natasha’s eyes. She glares at her forehead, or her chin. At the walls that Milena has looked at for who knows how long instead of looking for either of them. “You left me. You left the Widows. You even left the Avengers to hide out in the middle of nowhere in a camper with a barely functioning generator. You called Mom Milena a coward. But all you do is run and kill and hide from anybody who tries to care about you.”

“And you care about me?” Natasha doubts that. Why would Yelena still care? Yelena was six the last time they really saw each other. Sure, they crossed paths a few times on missions, but the Red Room took great care to make sure they wouldn’t fall back into old patterns. “Because of some assignment?”

Yelena screams, “Because you were my sister! You-you were someone to look up to! Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high. “They told me again and again that Widows are not a family. But I beat your records, and I thought, ‘One day, she will call me on beating her. She will want a rematch. She will want….’”

“You.” Natasha finishes in a whisper. Yelena grinds her teeth and sends her gaze back down to the vodka bottle. “Even if I did want to know you, that’s not how things are done.”

Yelena takes a swig. “You broke your Accords like a week after signing them. Rules are nothing to you. If you want to lie to yourself to make yourself feel better, then go ahead. But do not lie to me like I am a child. I stopped being one the moment you let them take me.”

“I was a child too, Yelena. Dad—” Natasha cringes at the slip. “Alexei knocked us both out. You can’t keep holding onto this.”

“Tell me what I should hold onto then. Hmm?” Her lips curl into a sad snarl. “I have a vest and some memories of-of handstands in the dirt and chasing after your bike because I was too little to have my own.”

“You crashed your own,” Natasha corrects. “We found it before we were supposed to. I tried to teach you how to ride, and you slammed into the garage door. Woke them both up.”

“Great, another wrong memory.” Yelena shakes her head. “It could have been you.” Yelena snorts like the pigs. A sad, strangled sob follows.

Natasha gives Yelena her privacy and averts her eyes. Maybe that’s the cowardly choice here too. Shield herself from Yelena’s emotions. Pretend that… pretend that none of this hurts her too.

Natasha’s not the one who gives the big speeches. That’s Steve’s department. He stands there with his broad shoulders and his bright eyes, and he talks like he’s still that scrawny kid who couldn’t back down from a fight. But he understands what it feels like to be out of place. He made her feel less alone. He made her feel like she was actually helping people. She was an Avenger. Or, like Yelena said, ‘the trained killer little girls call their hero.’

“Do you remember when I first dyed my hair? Probably not. You were, like, four.” Natasha chuckles, and she wonders for the first time if Milena and Alexei are listening in. She walks over to sit beside Yelena. “Milena did it as a science experiment. We used kool-aid to temporarily dye my hair blue, and you got so scared that the blue on your tongue from drinking it would never go away. So I drank a bunch to turn my tongue, and so did Milena. By the time Alexei got home, my whole head was bright blue, and so were our lips and a little bit of your nose.”

The memory makes Natasha laugh, and when she chances a glance across her shoulder at Yelena, she can see the deep knit of the younger spy’s eyebrows. Yelena doesn’t remember, does she? Doesn’t know about some of the little days that made all the other ones that much more bearable.

Natasha clears her throat. “After Budapest, I had my own life again. And I wish I could say that I felt free. But I felt exactly like I did in Ohio. Like someone was waiting to rip me back out of what little peace I could find. So, I did the only thing that I could think to do. I went to the store and bought a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a shit ton of blue kool-aid. And I dyed my hair in the S.H.I.E.L.D safe house into the grossest shade of purple that I have ever seen in my life. Clint has pictures somewhere, I’m sure. They’re….” Embarrassing is a word, but they’re the first look at her trying to take her life back.

She’d thought about getting a tattoo back then. She’d gone to a parlor and had flipped through the books of available designs for an hour. Clint had waited with her, making smart ass comments about placement and goading her into making a decision. His personal favorite had been an arrow that he swore would look amazing on the side of her neck. But those permanent changes didn’t feel like her. Not like recreating the memory did.

“I have no idea what they made you do, or what they took from you. We’re going to get the others out, and then you can do whatever you want, Yelena. You never have to talk to me, or Milena, or Alexei again. You can make your own family. Make some new memories. Those days in Ohio, they don’t have to be your best ones.”

Yelena’s lip trembles. She pouts around the emotion. “What if….” She exhales slow, and even that shakes. “What if I wanted that? The… ‘Don’t slouch,’ and the embarrassing parents.”

Natasha lets her voice drop into its raspiest. “They are pretty embarrassing.”

“She raises pigs. Who does that?” Yelena laughs.

Natasha blinks her red-rimmed eyes and nudges her shoulder into Yelena’s. “You and your vest, you fit right in.”

“Don’t be jealous. I could show you where I got it. Make a day of it maybe.” Yelena’s watery eyes find Natasha’s, and they’re so damn hopeful. They ask what Yelena won’t. What if Yelena wants Natasha too? What if they could be sisters again?

Natasha reaches for the vodka bottle, and Yelena hands it to her without question. “Maybe. Once we stop Drekhov.”

“And you get the others,” Yelena adds. “The witch needs new clothes. She looks like a tourist.”

Natasha snorts. “I’ll be sure to give Wanda your fashion advice once she’s off the raft.” They might get along actually. Both younger women, lost a lot as kids, used as violent weapons, but now they’ve got a second chance. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if Yelena tagged along. She’d make a few bad jokes. Get Steve to laugh whenever he comes out of hiding. God, if they ever make up with Tony, he would have a field day at finding out Natasha has a sister. “Do a good job on this mission, and maybe I’ll let you meet them. No autographs though.”

Yelena shoves Natasha’s leg. “I don’t want autographs from your friends.” She pauses to reconsider. “Hm, maybe Captain America. Alexei would shit himself.”

“Did you hear him in the bathroom earlier? He probably already did.”

Yelena groans, and the only thing sweeter than the laughter to follow is the small smile she gives to Natasha. Like maybe there’s still something in Natasha worth looking up to.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice comes out more serious than she intends it to. Yelena lifts an eyebrow as she waits. “You were always the best of us, you know that?”

The words make Yelena’s lip tremble again. Her nose pitches up, and she sniffles before putting on her best Widow smirk. “That’s why I beat all your records.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Сука.”

Yelena pushes herself up from the floor. “I’m not a bitch.” She reaches her hand out to pull Natasha up. Natasha accepts the assist.

“You’re a brat; that’s what you are.” Natasha leads the way back out of the bedroom.

“What are little sisters for?”

Hope. Not that Natasha would admit that part. Way too sentimental, way too honest. She sticks her tongue out instead. Yelena understands though. It’s what they do. Or at least, what they could do, if they keep showing up instead of running away.

"Tell me when you figure it out, okay?"

notes: Natasha is her (foster, mission) mother's daughter, in more ways than one, and Yelena should say it.

I also want to thank you all for the very warm reception to my other Black Widow fic. I have at least one more in the chamber. You are welcome to send in requests, and if any speak to me, I will do my best to write them. Mostly, I just care about this family a lot. Go figure. Let's talk about them. Or anything else in replies/reblogs/asks.

#black widow #black widow spoilers #natasha romanoff #yelena belova #black widow fic #mine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu: mine #black widow (2021)#yelena black widow

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Five (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali and Rosé officially enter the arena.

A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing comments on the last chapter! It really does mean a lot to me, especially because this one has been a little challenging to write. I'd really appreciate any feedback you have on this chapter!

Denali opens her eyes to gray.

The arena is gray and wet, mist falling over the damp grass, fog curling around tall trees and a massive cliffside. A chill bites at her, but Denali doesn’t mind. She might even have an advantage here. The warmer districts don’t know this cold, wet weather, but Denali knows the cold like an old friend.

Rosé coached her for this part, said to find a bow and whatever she could grab, but not to go in too deep or engage in any fights. After that, her first priority is getting far away and finding water.

Denali repeats it to herself, avoiding how the other tributes tower over her. The gong sounds, and she runs—

“Denali!”

Rosé’s voice brings her back, and the world around her isn’t wet, but grassy, with forest all around. Pine hits her nose, and it reminds her of the hours in the woods back home, her dad showing her which plants were safe to eat. The odds just might be in her favor this year.

Rosé is on her platform a few feet away, and the Cornucopia looms in front of them, an enormous golden horn stuffed with weapons and supplies. The others are spread in a circle around the Cornucopia, waiting for the gong that releases them.

The gong sounds.

“Denali, run!”

Denali doesn’t think twice. Her boots fly over the grass, the other tributes just blurs in her vision. She reaches the Cornucopia seconds before anyone else, and in those seconds, she finds what she needs: a bow and a quiver stuffed with arrows. The quiver is a comforting weight on her back, the bow warm in her hand, and if it wasn’t for her pounding fear she could almost convince herself she’s back home. She grabs a backpack and two knives in another heartbeat before footsteps and shouts erupt.

The tributes have arrived.

Most brush past her, deeper into the Cornucopia, where the best stuff is--weather-proof tents, huge bags of food, medicine. Part of Denali wants to join them, but there are always a lot of deaths at the Cornucopia, and she has what she really needs. She can’t get killed on the first day.

Blood suddenly splatters over Denali’s boots, and she sees the District 7 man hit the grass with a knife in his back. Denali tugs it free and adds it to her weapons, running towards the woods. She can’t see Rosé among the bodies at war with each other, and her heart skips a beat at the thought that something happened to her--

A distinct flash of red comes on her side, and Denali almost crumples in relief. Rosé has a sword and two spears, plus a backpack. And better yet--four full water bottles. Denali doesn’t want to know what she went through for those.

“You good?” she asks Rosé.

Rosé nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

They go for hours, switching between walking and jogging, trying to get as far from the Cornucopia as possible. They haven’t run into any dangers yet--no murder-wasps or anything--and Rosé doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. They don’t want to be complacent, and they keep pushing themselves, not even stopping to check their supplies, taking only the smallest sips of water. Rosé’s grateful for all that running with Denali--she probably would have dropped by now without it.

When the sun sets, bathing the arena in a golden light so warm and peaceful it almost makes you forget where you are, they finally stop. They’re in a clearing, and Denali arranges thick bushes and leaves to cover them.

“Let’s see what we have,” Denali says, and they lay out their stuff.

A sword, two spears, a bow, thirty arrows, three knives, four water bottles, a tiny first aid kit, six packs of dried meat, matches, and a sleeping bag.

“Damn, we did good,” Rosé whispers. “I got a freaking plastic tarp and a sword I didn’t know how to use for my first round.” She doesn’t want to get overconfident yet--it’s still day one, after all--but there’s comfort in knowing they have stuff, in not ending the first day so hungry and thirsty it hurts.

Denali nods, splitting up the food, and it’s almost nice in their little hiding spot. If they weren’t in the arena, if they both weren’t constantly looking around for danger, it’s a place Rosé might like to be. Berries even fill the bushes, ripe and juicy-looking.

“You think we can eat those?” Rosé asks. Denali taught her the most common edible leaves and plants when they trained, but Rosé’s never seen berries like these.

Denali almost jumps in the air. “Do not eat those, Rosé. They’re nightlock, they’ll kill you instantly. If we--if we get separated or anything, promise me you’ll remember.”

“Promise,” Rosé says. She’s quiet after that, and it’s because of what Denali said. If we get separated. Rosé’s been with Denali so much lately that she can’t imagine her not being there. She did fine on her own last time, and figured she’d be on her own again this time. But they’ve somehow crawled back into each other’s lives, and Rosé doesn’t want to do this--doesn’t want to be here--alone. The thought of them getting separated, of losing Denali in the arena, is enough to make her sick.

The anthem cuts across the dark sky, and they look up to see the images of the tributes that were killed today. It starts with the man from District 3 and ends with the woman from District 11. Ten dead tributes ticked off on Rosé’s fingers. Pretty high for day one, but not the highest. She knows she should feel something, but she doesn’t. She didn’t even learn their names. It’s easier that way.

“Twelve more left besides us,” Denali says.

“Glad all that math help I gave you paid off,” Rosé teases, and Denali smiles big enough to show her dimples. God, those dimples. Rosé forgot how much she missed them. She grabs the sleeping bag and hands it to Denali. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Wake me in four hours.” Denali slides into it with a white-knuckled grip on her knife and her bow within arm’s reach. She keeps twisting in the bag--Rosé figures she’s right on Denali being afraid to sleep around people--but eventually settles down, exhaustion winning over.

It’s too dark to see much, and quiet enough to hear Denali’s gentle breaths. Rosé doesn’t think any tributes will attack tonight--they’d only be putting themselves in danger attacking in the dark--but she wouldn’t put it past the Gamemakers to spring something. Rosé is sure she keeps hearing noises, every muscle tense in preparation of an attack. The only thing that eases the tension is closing her eyes and listening to Denali breathe. It centers her somehow, helps Rosé figure out what she’s really hearing and what her mind is making up. As long as Denali’s here, as long as she’s breathing, Rosé is okay.

“Denali, wake up,” Rosé says softly after four and a half--she gives Denali some extra rest; she probably won’t know--agonizing hours. She’d tap her shoulder, but something tells her it’s not a good idea. Definitely not, because Denali immediately shoots awake and her knife hits Rosé’s chest. Even with the tip there, Rosé’s reluctantly impressed at how good Denali’s sight and aim are in dim moonlight.

“It’s just me. Rosé.”

Denali inhales sharply, yanking the knife away. “I--Rosé, I--I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rosé understands. She’d shoved Lagoona after a nightmare once, her brain convinced her sister was a threat.

Rosé crawls into the sleeping bag and feels Denali’s unease seep over her. Besides her family, she never has anyone around when she sleeps. What if something happens? What if they’re attacked before Denali can do anything? What if she has a nightmare in front of Denali? She doesn’t know if they’re on camera, but that won’t look good in front of the Capitol. They want strength and toughness from their tributes. Waking up screaming from a nightmare will only hurt their cause, make them question Rosé’s strength, and she can’t do that.

But she’s tired, really tired. The sleeping bag is surprisingly plush, so thick she can’t even feel the hard ground beneath her. Everything is warm and soft, and though she tries to fight it, she sleeps.

---

The sun wakes Rosé before Denali does.

Day two in the arena, and Rosé resists the urge to burrow back into the sleeping bag and sleep until it’s over.

“I was just about to wake you,” Denali says. She’s ready to go, bag on and weapons in hand, and Rosé thinks Denali gave her some extra rest too, paying back the favor. “There should be a water source nearby,” Denali continues.

Rosé nods and follows, trusting Denali to guide them. Rosé’s world was one of icing and sugar and butter, of kneading dough and sweating in front of hot ovens. But Denali knows forests better than anything, her childhood made of branches and trees and plants. Rosé is amazed at how she keeps track of it all. Those water bottles won’t last forever, and if anyone can find water here, it’s Denali.

They continue through the woods, and again they don’t encounter anything. It has to be deliberate. The Gamemakers want to lure them into a false safety so the danger is that much more frightening when it does come. Rosé doesn’t want to think about what they might send.

She makes a mental map of the arena as they go. The forest seems to be the largest part of it, leading to another large valley, and then the mountain. Not an obviously threatening arena, and again Rosé thinks it was a choice. When faced with tributes who’ve seen so many different arenas with so many different dangers, leave them guessing about what to expect. A basic arena like this could accommodate anything the Gamemakers want to unleash.

But nothing is unleashed the second day, and they trade uneasy sleep shifts.

---

Day three brings the first threat--a group of lizards in bright neon colors that roam down a tree when Denali and Rosé are resting. They're definitely a Capitol hybrid, and Denali isn't sure if they're poisonous, but she doesn't wait to find out. Five arrows, five dead lizards, before they even know what hit them. It's almost comforting, in a way, to have something to fight against for a few seconds. Instead of just wandering the arena and waiting.

They decide to move on in case more lizards come, and see the District 4 tributes crossing the field.

Denali freezes, grip tight on her bow. They're out in the open, and she could get them both before they even hear her arrows whistling by them. Two less tributes to worry about. More odds in their favor. But they're defenseless. No threat at all, just walking along. Denali knows that they'll have to be killed eventually if she wants to win. She just doesn't want to be the one doing the killing. At least not unless they try to kill her first.

She lowers her bow. "Rosé, I don't think I can do it. I'm sorry." She hangs her head, expecting Rosé to tell her she's being stupid, or get mad at her for blowing an opportunity most tributes would literally kill for. What if Denali's lost her nerve? Will she be able to kill when her life really is on the line, when she really has to?

But Rosé just nods. "It's okay."

And they move on.

---

By day four, Denali is on edge. She flinches at every rustle, every snapping of a twig, but they haven't run into anything or anyone since District 4. Two tributes die, cutting it down to ten more besides them. They’re at the halfway point, and that surely means something big is coming. The Gamemakers won’t leave things alone this long, won’t let the tributes stay separated. This suspense, this tension hanging over their heads, while intentional, has to break at some point, to the interest of the viewers and horror of the tributes. Something has to come.

And on day four, it does.

Denali senses the change in the air before the rain comes, reaching her hand up to catch a drop.

It sizzles against her palm.

“Run!” she barks at Rosé, cradling her singed hand to her chest.

Burning rain pelts off their jackets as they tear through the woods. The material offers some protection, but tiny drops make their way over Denali’s hands, on her face, down her back. She hisses against the burning, and Rosé curses beside her as they try to find dryness. In one direction, gusts of wind almost bring Denali to her knees, ruffling her jacket and making the rain pound down, and she glimpses a thick spiral in the distance that she numbly realizes is a tornado. A fucking burning rain-tornado combo. The Gamemakers really want their money’s worth today.

“There,” Rosé pants, and Denali realizes a valley to their left is perfectly clear. They sprint into it, collapsing on the grass, and Denali can’t even look at the blisters on her hands. There’s a plant that helps burns, her father told her, she just has to remember--

“Aloe!” She runs to the leaves. She finds the plant and cuts it with her knife, letting the cool gel soothe her hands and face, sighing in relief. She cuts more and takes it to Rosé, who’s bent over in the grass so no one sees her face screwed up in pain.

“Rosé, it’s okay. I can help.” She places the gel on Rosé’s hands, ignoring the tingle in her arm at the touch.

“Can I do your back?” Denali asks gently, and Rosé only hesitates a second before she nods.

Denali lifts Rosé’s shirt and jacket, letting her hands trace up the hard muscles of her back as she spreads the gel over her blistered skin. She keeps her touch gentle, not wanting to cause more pain, and she knows this has to be on camera and exaggerates her touches, makes herself seem extra caring, even if she hates herself for it.

“Let me do yours now,” Rosé offers.

Denali freezes. For the briefest second, her ankle tightens with the grip of the girl from District 4, but Rosé isn’t her. Rosé is only trying to help, not hurt, and Denali nods, even if she hasn’t asked for help in years. It would blow their cover if she refuses anyway. She holds her breath as Rosé moves her shirt, not letting herself tremble or show pain in front of the Capitol.

“I’m gonna put it on now,” Rosé says. Denali sighs when the gel hits, grinning when Rosé scolds her to stay still. She hasn’t had someone care for her like this since her mother died. In seconds, the pain is gone, and they watch the rain. Denali wonders how long they’ll be trapped here. Not to mention that finding aloe seems too good to be true. Too suspicious.

“Some rain, huh?” Rosé mutters.

“Don’t forget the tornado,” Denali laughs bitterly.

“Wait.” Rosé stills, ear toward the rain. “Do you hear something?”

Denali doesn’t hear anything before five tributes sprint into the clearing. The storm was clearly meant to send them into one dry spot, and even with the burns, a windswept tribute from District 1--Denali thinks his name is Castor--launches himself at her with a sword. It’s too late to string her bow, and he’s too close--but Rosé jumps in front of her, the sword cutting across her leg as she swings her own sword at him. Metal clangs as they go at it, and Denali can’t even process that Rosé just saved her life before the woman from District 4 comes at her. Denali grabs a spear that Rosé dropped and blocks the woman’s arm, sinking the point into her chest a second later. The woman hits the grass, and cannon fire joins the noises of battle.

“On your left, Fox!” someone yells. The voice is too deep to be Rosé, and Denali realizes it’s Finn from District 4, currently locked in battle with the man from District 8. She barely has time to thank him before the woman from District 1 pounces at Denali, nails clawing at her neck. Denali blocks her just in time. The world is sweat and blood and heaving breaths, and Denali just hopes Rosé is still alive.

The fight ends as suddenly as it started, when Denali stabs the woman and looks around and realizes the rain has stopped, and there’s no one left to fight. The man from District 8 escaped into the woods, but the clearing is littered with dead tributes from Districts 1 and 4. Her bloody hands still grip the spear, just in case. Her arm is trickling blood, and her neck stings with scratches from the woman grabbing at her, but she’ll survive. She hardly feels it, hardly feels anything, really, as she looks around. And Rosé--Rosé is still standing, thank God, limping over to Denali. The gash on her leg is huge, soaking her pants with blood, but she’s alive, and Denali’s knees almost buckle in relief.

“Are you okay?” Denali asks. “We gotta get out of here, then we can bandage your leg.”

Before Rosé can speak, a wheeze sounds from the ground, and they dart toward the noise. It’s Finn, clinging to whatever life he has left. The man from District 8 must’ve got him. As she looks at him lying there, golden hair stained red, she finds the numbness fading into emptiness, emptiness that swallows her heart. Sparing his life yesterday had been for nothing. But deep down she knew it would be. There's no escaping the fate of the arena. He had been kind, had offered her an alliance she barely considered, had warned her of an attack even when she killed his fellow tribute. And now he’s dying. Would things have been different with an alliance? Would they have protected each other? Would he have become a friend that she would inevitably lose? He was going to have a baby, she remembers, but hearing it in the training room and remembering it now are two different things, and she wishes she didn’t remember. She understands why Rosé avoided the other tributes and didn't talk to them, why she tries to avoid the Games entirely.

“You said he was having a kid,” Rosé says quietly. Her normally wary eyes seem sad.

It’s not a question, but Denali nods anyway.

Finn wheezes again, letting out a hoarse please. Please what, Denali has no idea, and watches in confusion as Rosé approaches him. She can’t mean to kill him--he’s good as dead. Instead she crouches down, takes his hand, and begins to hum something. It’s a simple melody, one that sounds like a lullaby. Denali understands--Rosé can’t help him, no one can, but at least he won’t be alone. Denali kneels with her and just listens, goosebumps on her arms, and pretends she’s somewhere else. Somewhere she never had to do this. Somewhere the two women she killed today never attacked her in the first place.

The cannon sounds, and they leave the clearing in silence.

---

They don’t talk again until that night.

They bandage each other up and eat some fruit Denali found as they walked, lost in their own minds. Rosé’s eyes finally lose that far-off look as she eats, though she keeps turning her apple over and over like she’s never seen one.

Denali doesn’t know what to say. The cold side of her has already calculated that six other tributes remain--both from District 2, both from District 8, the woman from 7, and the man from 9. But how can she focus on who’s left after this afternoon?

They both jump when two parachutes appear.

The first contains a medicated cream, one that instantly starts healing their burns and soothes any remaining pain. The second is a platter of bread and fish, clearly from District 4, the fishing district, and Denali knows it’s because of what Rosé did for Finn. She swallows the lump in her throat, resenting the part of her that’s so hungry it wants to grab the food and shove it down without a thought. Another part of her doesn’t want to eat it at all, doesn’t want this reward when there’s blood on her hands. They don’t deserve this. They weren’t even friends with him, didn’t do anything to help. But Rosé made his last moments easier, and maybe that counts for something.

“I almost don’t want to eat it,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows she feels the same way.

“I know. But I think it’s disrespectful not to,” Denali says.

Rosé nods. She turns her head, because there’s clearly a camera on them, and thanks District 4 for their gift. They split the food and eat slowly, savoring each bite.

The silence continues until the anthem ends, and Rosé nudges the sleeping bag toward her.

“I don’t really feel like sleeping,” Denali admits.

“Me neither. Nightmares are a bitch.”

Denali had long assumed Rosé had nightmares, given that the lights in her house are on almost any time Denali wakes up in the night. Denali’s not worried so much about dreams--it’s more that she’s sure she won’t be able to sleep and will just be lying in the sleeping bag with nothing to do but think of today’s deaths, or how Rosé protected her. Denali’s come to rely on her, to enjoy her company, and today just proved how close she is to losing Rosé and doing this on her own.

“Things seem...different now,” Denali says.

“It feels more real,” Rosé says simply, because she understands.

Denali nods. “We left while everyone fought at the Cornucopia. We didn’t see the other deaths. But this time...”

There’s a difference between watching someone die and killing them yourself, and it’s a difference only a few people fully understand.

“We did what we had to,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, because it is true. She never wants to kill just to kill, only when she has to in order to live. And being in the arena again makes her realize how much she wants to live. She wants to go home and and watch the sunrise each morning instead of just ignoring it on her runs. She wants to invite Kandy and Kahmora over for dinner, and talk to Jan and Lagoona again, wants so many people in her house that she’ll need a whole new set of coffee mugs. And she really wants Rosé to be part of it. Maybe she can. Somehow.

Denali doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and she can tell Rosé doesn’t either, from how she’s picking at her sword.

“I--I’m glad we both made it,” Denali says. “I’m glad I’m here with you. Thanks, by the way. For saving me back there.” Her subconscious knows it's a good thing to say strategy-wise, to prove the romance, but she really means it. She’s used to fighting tooth and nail for what she wants, not anyone helping her or protecting her. She didn’t have an older sister running to the stage to save her from the Games, didn’t have an alliance in the arena last time. She really is grateful for Rosé.

“So am I,” Rosé says sincerely. “And you don’t have to thank me. We look out for each other, okay?”

“Yeah. What was that thing you were humming?” Denali asks before she can stop herself.

Rosé looks down at her lap. A shaft of moonlight falls over her face and bathes her in silver, and Denali’s heart skips a beat. “It’s a lullaby my mom used to sing us. I don’t actually know all of it. We were usually asleep before she finished. But I never forgot the melody.”

“Oh.” Denali’s mother wasn’t one for singing. She told stories instead, old fairy tales of princesses and knights that Denali used to fight sleep to hear the end of. Sometimes her father would join in, and when he died, Denali lost not one but two storytellers. Her mother became a half-finished story after losing him, one that ended abruptly eleven years ago. Denali’s hand goes to her necklace, but she meets empty space.

No. No no no--

“What’s wrong?” Rosé asks.

Denali hadn’t realized she was speaking aloud. She doesn’t answer, instead digging through their bags while her heart pounds. She’s making too much noise as throws aside knives and food packets, but she doesn’t care because it’s gone--

“Denali,” Rosé says, and her calm voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom's necklace. It’s gone. I must’ve lost it in the fight.” Denali remembers the woman from District 1 clawing at her neck. She must have torn off the necklace in her struggle, and Denali didn’t notice among the chaos. Now it’s gone and she’ll never get it back, when she has so little of her mother at all, and she angrily forces back the tears stinging in her eyes. She won’t cry. Not in this arena.

“I’m sorry. It's your mom's, right?” Rosé asks quietly, and Denali nods. “Tomorrow we can go look for it. It could still be in the clearing.”

Denali knows it’s a long shot, but the mere offer—an offer to go back into danger for something that’s not physically necessary—stirs something in her chest. It’s more kindness than she’s been offered in years, more kindness offered without any reward expected, just like Rosé sneaking cookies into her bag, and it’s too much to take. She mumbles a thank you and crawls into the sleeping bag, explaining that she’s tired after all. It’s an excuse to not look at Rosé, at the concern in her eyes, because Denali can’t bear it. No one has looked at her like that in years. She feels too exposed, just like at the interview, and looking at Rosé is impossible when every part of her is raw and laid bare.

Surprisingly, sleep comes easy, and it brings not nightmares, but dreams of Rosé.

---

The sound of trumpets wake Rosé the next morning, after a restless sleep of tossing and turning. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and sweat ran down her neck all night even though it was cool outside. Her head kept swimming with images of the fight, but what really kept her awake was her confusion over Denali. Why couldn’t she look at Rosé, and why did she throw herself in the sleeping bag minutes after saying she didn’t want to sleep? Maybe it was the stress of losing the necklace. Maybe she wanted to hide in the sleeping bag so no one saw her cry. The necklace is obviously a touchy subject for Denali, and she’s probably just stressed. They both are. Rosé won’t pry.

She sits up and rubs her eyes with a groan. “What’s with the trumpets?”

Denali shrugs, seeming back to normal. “Must be an announcement. Maybe because there’s only eight of us left? We’re at the last third.”

Rosé can’t believe sixteen people have died, that they’re already at the final eight. It feels like ages and yet like no time at all has passed.

“After we win this, I should be a math teacher,” Rosé says, heart lightening when Denali smiles. Announcements are usually done to bring tributes together for a big bloodbath. Though the rain accomplished that yesterday. Maybe this is something different.

Rosé listens as the announcer explains an unprecedented rule change. In light of three full teams remaining, the most ever at the eight-tribute-mark, both tributes from the same district will be winners if they are the last two alive.

“Does that mean…”

“It does,” Rosé answers. If she and Denali are the last two standing, they’ll both win.

“We can do this. We can really do this.” Denali leaps to her feet, all the sorrow from last night gone. Rosé hesitates, a dark part of her wondering if there’s a catch, or if this is a trick. But they can’t just announce something like this and take it back, not when the audience will expect a team victory. Not when the audience will expect a District 12 team victory, because the parachutes last night just prove that they’ve succeeded, that their love has won over the crowd. They can win this, and the audience is rooting for them.

Rosé nods. “Let’s move, before they send more rain.” She hauls herself up, but a sudden pain explodes in her leg. The world spins around her, blackness closing in on her vision. She hears Denali saying her name but she can’t answer, can’t do anything but close her eyes and let the darkness take her.

#rpdr fanfiction #s13 #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw violence #tw blood #tw injury #tw minor character death #concrit welcome

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captaincartervalues · 4 years

Note

My Stubborn Alien (for the fic title thing)

“Jus truuusst me, Lena thi- thisis a greaaat idea!” Kara empathically waves her hands.

“Kara, you’re drunk and this is most definitely not a good idea.” Lena replies matter of factly.

“Imnot drunk. Yooou’re drunk.”

Lena shakes her head at her girlfriend in exasperation.

“N Ssure it is! S’its what the peeople want. ANd it’s gunna be gREAt for ma image! No more ‘Oh Supergirl’s sooo uptight’ or ‘Oh Supergirl is toooo muchofa goodie tooshoes’ or ‘out of touch with the people’!” Kara airquotes.

Lena raises her eyebrows and tries to conceal her smirk.

“Imma be hip! Imma be wit da people, LenAa!” Kara reaches out to boop Lena’s nose as she’s making her last point. “Supergirl is CoOl Ssupergurl is sFun! Thhiss is gonna show everyone that. Okay? Okay.”

“Does this have something to do with the article Andrea had William publish this week?” Lena asks gently.

“NooOoo.”

“So this has nothing to do with her saying Supergirl isn’t the kind of hero you wanna have a drink with?” Lena presses.

“Uhh noo.” Kara insists defiantly. “It’s about the gAys!” Kara comes up with.

“What?” Lena laughs out.

“Nia said Tiktok is on the rage and the gays love it! And I wannabe something the gays love toooo” Kara points out.

“Darling, I’m pretty sure the gays already love you...”

“Yeeaaaahh BUT do they knooow I love them back?! Isdunno... Isss why I need Tikstok!” Kara exclaims as if her reasoning is flawless.

Lena looks at the innocent face on her drunk girlfriend and knows they’re going to be in trouble tomorrow. “There’s no talking you out of this right now, is there?”

“NOpe!” Kara smiles triumphantly.

Lena sighs as she acquiesces “Fine.”

Kara jumps up and down with exuberance.

“But I’m not taking any of your complaints when you regret this tomorrow.”

———

Kara wakes up with a decent hangover, which wouldn’t be so bad, if she didn’t also wake up to an empty bed and no Lena to snuggle.

With a pouty face and her eyes half closed, Kara glacially shuffles out towards the kitchen and freshly made coffee. Although, she quickly realizes her and Lena aren’t alone this morning when she hears a whispered conversation.

“Alex? What are doing here so early?” Kara inquires as she excitedly spots the donuts her sister must have brought over.

“Oh you know just catching up with my future sister-in-law about how your night was.” Alex says sharply.

Kara brushes past the sister-in-law comment and looks skeptically at Alex as she eats her second donut. “It was fine. Pretty low key.” Kara says with her mouth full.

Alex scoffs “LOWkey?! Mmm and how much of it do you remember there, Kar?”

Kara looks to Lena with questioning eyes but Lena won’t quite look at her as she chuckles behind her coffee cup. “Most of it...I mean I don’t really remember going to bed once we got home but -”

Lena bursts out laughing at Kara’s unassuming admission.

“This isn’t funny, Lena.” Alex chastises.

“I mean it kind of is, Alex. Come on, it wasn’t that bad in the end” Lena argues.

Kara cuts Alex off before she can argue back “What wasn’t that bad?”

“Oh why don’t we just show you superstar!” Alex quips.

Lena takes pity on Kara’s still confused face and pats the seat on the couch next to her “You’re gonna want to sit down for this one, honey.”

Kara takes the offered seat as Lena hands her phone over to Kara after opening the Tiktok app. Kara’s mouth immediately drops when she sees herself in her Supergirl suit on the screen.

“Oh no!” Kara gasps.

“Oh YES.” Alex digs. “Go on, press play.”

Kara presses play and immediately regrets it as she watches herself stare back with ‘sexy’ eyes and lick her lips before lip syncing:

“I wanna put you in 7 positions for 70 minutes. You get it babe. You got a lot on your mind and I want to ease it up and lick it and slip it in. You do a light scream on the ice cream when I scoop it and dip it in.”

“Oh. My. Rao.” Kara groans as she presses pause to stop the video. “Why am I seducing the camera in my Supergirl suit?”

“That’s a great question, isn’t it Kara?” Alex jabs sarcastically. “Lena?”

“You said it was trendy and that the TikTok gays would appreciate it.” Lena offers.

“Why didn’t you stop me??” Kara whines.

“I tried!” Lena defends. “You told me it was homophobic and a hate crime not to post it!”

“I am never drinking Vahorian Rum again.” Kara says as she sinks into the couch.

“You said that last time.” Alex mocks.

Kara glares at her sister before attempting her patented optimism. “Okay, so I made a TikTok as Supergirl last night. At least it’s just this one video with only - um” Kara checks the phone “3.6 million views...”

Kara sighs, “It could be worse.”

Alex and Lena exchange a knowing look and Kara’s eyes go wide.

“I made MORE than one video?!?” Kara postures.

“Try like six.” Alex huffs disapprovingly.

“Oh Rao!”

“Weeelllll, she only posted six...” Lena adds.

“OH RAO!” Kara groans. “Show them all to me now.”

The three of them proceed to watch all of Kara’s drunkenly produced TikToks from the night before.

“Ayyyoooooo bisexual check!”

Kara doesn’t even know how she manages to roll the sleeves and pants of her supersuit but she watches herself do it before putting a beanie and chucks on, grabbing her ukele, and topping it off by replacing her cape with a bisexual flag.

“I don’t even have a bisexual flag!” Kara blurts.

“You do now.” Alex points to it draped over the dining table.

Kara looks at Lena baffled.

“You said it was ‘essential’, yelled ‘brb’, and came back with the flag and some candy before I could open my mouth.” Lena explains.

Kara sighs and scrolls to the next video.

“Ayyyoooooo everyone thinks my cousin is hot check!”

This video turns out to be just Kara rolling her eyes and shaking her head with embarrassment in front of a bunch of pictures of Kal in his Superman suit. Most of the comments on the video are either ‘well they ain’t wrong doe’ or ‘not as hot as you Supergirl’ and Kara isn’t sure which she hates more.

The next one starts with Kara and Lena standing next to and looking at each other with background music and the caption ‘whenever Lex tries to take over the world’ and ends with them not missing a beat as they turn towards the camera and lip sync:

“What kind of fuckery is this?”

“Okay this one is kind of funny.” Kara cautiously proclaims.

“Yeah I liked that one too.” Lena admits with a smile.

“Should have said ‘whenever Lex does anything’.” Alex corrects. They all burst out laughing at that.

With the mood slightly lightened, Kara scrolls to the next video.

“Ayyyoooooo jawline check!”

Kara is already cringing again as she anticipates watching herself show off her jawline but is surprised when the camera flips to Lena rolling her eyes as Kara’s hand turns her head to its profile to hype up her girlfriend’s impeccable jawline.

“I’m so sorry” Kara says sheepishly.

“It’s okay, babe.” Lena reassures her as she presses a quick kiss to Kara’s lips.

“I mean...Lena’s jawline was made for this trend sooo...” Alex concedes.

Lena rolls her eyes again as Kara shrugs, “She’s not wrong, babe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just watch the last one you posted because it’s Alex’s and mine’s favorite.” Lena says as she and Alex laugh in anticipation.

“Oh no.” Kara sighs before scrolling.

Music plays as she watches stock images of Superman, the Flash, and the Arrow pop up before Kara appears and lip syncs the last line with a cocky grin:

“These boys ain’t shit.”

“Oh my - Lena! How could you let me post theeeese?” Kara tries again.

“Listen,” Lena starts “you’re very stubborn when you’re drunk and it took everything I had to keep you from posting the other videos!”

“Do I even want to know?” Kara questions.

“I do!” Alex says taking a little too much enjoyment in Kara’s suffering.

Lena pulls out another phone.

“At least you guys were smart enough to use one of Supergirl’s burner phones and not your personal phones.” Alex says.

Lena tosses Alex a side eye. “Do I look stupid to you?” Lena asks rhetorically. “I also added extra layers of encryption to the app and the phone just in case.”

“Well I don’t know! You were stupid enough to fall in love with this idiot.” Alex mumbles as she points toward Kara.

“Normally I would be offended, but after last night, you might have a point.” Kara says.

Lena pulls up the the drafts she refused to let Kara post.

The first one is Kara floating with Lena in her arms in a bridal carry and the caption ‘when you save Lena Luthor from an attack’. Kara is looking at Lena before she turns to the camera and lip syncs:

“I think. You know. Where this about to go.”

Drunk Kara added some eyebrow raises and a wink before kissing Lena at the end.

“Okay it’s probably a really good thing you didn’t let me post this.” Kara admits.

“You think?!” Alex chastises.

Kara clicks on another video in the drafts to avoid Alex’s judgmental gaze.

This video is Kara and Lena standing in from of the camera facing each other as Kara lip syncs to her:

“You say we’re just friends....”

Kara smiles and pans to the camera. “But friends don’t know the way you taste.”

Kara smirks as Lena’s mouth drops and she goes to stop the recording immediately.

“OHkay I did not need to see that last one, Lena!” Alex complains.

“You asked for it.” Lena shrugs.

“She’s right. You did.” Kara backs up her girlfriend.

Alex glares at them both. “You two are lucky no one pieced together where you were or who you are!” Alex scolds as she points at Kara.

“I think it helped that Supergirl and I have a known working friendship.” Lena admits. “No one questioned why she was drunk and with me.”

“What has been the overall reaction to these?” Kara inquires.

“Honestly, it’s been mostly positive with most fans loving the content and an inside look at playful Supergirl.” Lena explains.

“Though there have been some critics questioning why a hero would get drunk at all with the responsibilities you have.” Alex levels. “And some negative responses from parents about the appropriateness of some of the content.”

Kara sighs resigned to the damage she has done.

“But. On the positive side, you were right!” Lena adds with encouragement.

Kara tilts her head quizzically.

“The gays LOVED it and they loved that they now definitively have a shot because you like girls!” Lena teases.

“Oh Rao! I can not believe Supergirl came out as bisexual on TikTok! Kate got an incredibly well written and thoughtful article on what it means to her and the world that Batwoman is gay and I got thirst traps! THIRST TRAPS!” Kara groans.

Alex shakes her head and Lena tries to hold back her laughter.

“I can’t believe you let me do this, Lena!”

“Hey, I told you it’s not my fault! You’re one stubborn alien when drunk.”

“But I’m your stubborn alien and you’re responsible for me.” Kara counters with a whine.

Lena sighs as she takes Kara into her arms. “You are my stubborn alien...with a drunken propensity for thirst traps.”

———

Kara embraces her drunken mistakes and utilizes her newly created TikTok fame to connect with the people and kids of National City on a more human level. She does PSAs and educational material in her videos as well as more lighthearted fun ones that people love.

She also managed to convince her superfriends to be in videos with her. The most liked videos on her page are the ‘flip the switch’ videos she’s done with the other heroes where the light goes off and they swap costumes. It started with Dreamer when Nia told her about it and convinced her to do it. Then Kara got Barry to do one (pretty easily) and then Sara, Killer Frost, J’onn, Mia, Constantine, and even Kate (after a lot of convincing). She also roped Kal into doing one with her old suit so he ended up in a skirt. That one is definitely her fav.

Generally, Supergirl’s official account has veered aware from making any more thirst traps, but that doesn’t seem stop other creators from making raunchy thirst traps about Supergirl.

Though, after some time and much convincing from Lena, Kara releases the last video in her drafts from that first drunken night.

“They say drunk words are sober thoughts” a sober Supergirl says as she shrugs and the video cuts to the clip of her drunk sprawled out upside down on the couch “Women are just like...sooooo HOT”

A lot of women liked that post.

#my stubborn alien #give me a title and i give you #a ridiculous fic i had too much fun writing #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercrack #my fic #anon aks #ask me stuff

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taiko-cat · 3 years

Text

hoppip 4 | BNHA x Reader

“Oh, I’ve got to go to class now,” you insist, trying to avoid the group of reporters. “Really, I need to go.”

You can’t manage to push through, and you’re stuck in the flood of bodies and questions about All Might.

“Fuck off!”

Bakugou parts the sea of reporters and storms through the gates of UA, and you follow quickly behind him. Practically skipping next to him, you try and strike up conversation.

“You’re a lot better at dealing with people than I am. I get overwhelmed so easily. I want to be an underground hero when I grow up, so I should take a few tips from you!”

He clicks his tongue. “Why don’t you fuck off, too, extra,” he spits.

You falter a bit, standing still, before jogging to keep up with him.

“Hey, we’re gonna be heroes together. Let’s get along!” you suggest.

“I don’t want to get along with a lowly extra like you.”

You frown. “You might not want to, but you might need to get along with at least somebody. It’s going to get lonely if you keep this up.” You worry for the boy.

He stays silent and doesn’t acknowledge you, grumbling to himself and ignoring your presence.

“Hey, I’m [Y/N] [L/N], but you should call me [Y/N] since we’re friends now,” you tell him. “Let’s train hard together. I want to fight you.”

Finally, something that piques his interest. “Oh? I’ll beat you to a pulp if you really want me to,” he growls, smirking.

When you get into class, you keep chatting to him. You try to keep your voice lower than usual and less peppy so he doesn’t get annoyed. He doesn’t really say anything back, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up, so you take it as a win.

“Oi,” he cuts you off, and you glance at Aizawa-sensei entering the classroom. You sit forwards and wait for the rest of the class to quiet so class can begin.

There’s still a few conversations going when Aizawa-sensei speaks up, but they quickly fizzle out.

“Hope you’re rested from yesterday’s battle trial. I watched the tapes and evaluated your marks. Bakugou.” Said boy sits up. “Stop acting like a kid. You’re wasting your own talent.”

“I know,” he forces out.

“And Midoriya. Do you plan on destroying your arm every fight? If you keep telling me the same excuse, I’ll expel you.”

“Yessir!”

“Now, let’s get on with homeroom notices. I’m sorry to spring this on you all, but…”

The tension shoots sky high.

“We need to pick a class president.”

“Finally, something school-like!” Kirishima cheers.

Everyone shoots out of their seats with raised hands, insisting they want to be the class president. Even Bakugou is fighting for the position in his own loud way.

“Hey, Shouji, why don’t you do it?”

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. You laugh at the look.

“I mean it!”

“Why don’t you do it?” he asks back.

You hum. “Don’t wanna!”

Iida speaks up. “This position is an honoured role! The only truly worthy leader will emerge from a democratic choice, reflecting the will of the people! We shall settle this by vote!”

“It’s still too early to have developed any trust in each other,” Tsuyu says.

“And everyone will just vote for themselves!” Kirishima adds.

“And that’s why the people who do get multiple votes will truly be fit for the job. Is that alright, sensei?”

Aizawa-sensei is already tucking himself into his sleeping bag. “As long as you decide by the end of homeroom, I don’t care.”

You grin at Shouji, and he thinks you look like a smug puppy. It’s kind of cute, if he’s being honest. You scribble down Shouji’s name on a piece of paper and fold it in half, then give it to Iida, who puts it in a box.

The results are shown on the board, nearly everyone having one vote, but Midoriya having three and Yaoyorozu having 2.

“Who the fuck voted for Deku?” growls Bakugou.

“Not me, I voted for Shouji! Shouji, why didn’t you vote for yourself,” you whine.

“Because I voted for you,” he replies simply.

“Ack! You got me!” You put your hand over your chest as if you’ve been struck by an arrow.

“You made it too obvious…”

“So, the class president is Midoriya, and the vice-president is Yaoyorozu,” Iida laments.

“Ah man, so close,” Yaoyorozu mutters to herself.

You smile at the girl and give her a thumbs up. “Go Yaoyorozu!” you cheer.

Her face flushes, and she nods at you.

With that out of the way, classes continue as normal. You’ve found that it’s really easy to pass notes with Shouji. You can write a note on your desk and place it at the edge, and he can look at it with his quirk. Then, he can discreetly pass you notes back down low and place it on the edge of your desk without the teachers noticing.

You tell him about a new controller you got, which is your favourite colour and has little cat ears on it. You got cute little joystick covers, too, and put a sticker of your favourite Pokemon on it. He asks you about the Pokemon, and you doodle a little version of it for him, and he tells you he thinks you’re good at drawing.

When you mention that you have to be good at stuff like that in order to design the Pokemon blueprints, he just tells you he thinks that makes you even more skilled.

“Dear listener [L/N], what’s got you all red in the face? What’s the answer to this question?”

“U-uh! One moment, Sensei.” You search the English dictionary in your mind then answer. “The answer is #2, because ‘than’ is used comparatively, so the sentence makes sense when you use that word,” you reply.

“Correct! Now, onto the next lesson…”

‘Damn you, Shouji!’ you scribble.

He huffs, amused.

When the bell finally rings for lunch, you continue on your conversation from the notes you were passing.

“I’ll have to print out the blueprints for a Pokemon for you, one time. They look super cool, at least I think so.”

“It sounds like it takes a lot of work,” he says.

“Kind of. Hey, do you want to sit with each other at lunch again?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, Bakugou, you’re invited too!” you say. “Come sit with us, okay? We won’t bother you too much,” you assure.

“Shut up,” he hisses, but follows a few meters behind you and Shouji nonetheless.

“Anyway, I think today I’ll try the sashimi, and I think you should try the takoyaki!” you say. “We can try all types of new foods here, I’m excited. Usually I just eat instant ramen.”

“You do seem like the person to eat instant ramen,” Shouji comments.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is this you saying I’m cool? Do cool people eat instant ramen?”

“No, but little gremlins do.”

“You pain me.”

“My dearest apologies.”

“That sounded like the most dear-less apology ever. Excuse me, could I get that sashimi? Thank you, Lunch Rush!”

He offers a thumbs up and then takes Shouji’s request.

You sit down at a table, and Bakugou slams his lunch tray a seat away from you. The empty seat is one you’re sure no one would have the balls to fill, so you take it as Bakugou eating with you.

Neito and Kendo join you three soon, and you show Kendo a few figurines.

“These are my Eeveelutions. I can summon them instantly with these figures. Pick one, and I’ll conjure them immediately!”

“Ooh, I like this one,” she says, holding a little Espeon.

“Espeon it is, then. Espeon, I choose you!”

“This is Espeon,” you introduce. “She’s a princess and a half.”

She hops on Kendo’s lap and sits properly, and Kendo pets her. “Her fur is so smooth,” she says, gasping.

“She grooms herself by peeing on herself,” you tell her.

“What?!” Kendo instantly takes her hands off, and you laugh.

“I’m kidding, I just wanted to see how you’d react,” you say. “Don’t worry, her fur is just naturally like that.”

“It better be!”

“Sometimes I think [Y/N] grooms themselves by peeing on herself,” Neito says.

Kendo and Shouji chuckle.

“That’s so mean! I groom myself better than you ever could, greasy hair haver. I bet you take a shower once a week,” you say, sticking your tongue out.

“I can see it,” Kendo confirms, scratching Espeon’s chin.

“It’s like if---”

BEEP

SECURITY LEVEL 3 HAS BEEN BREACHED

STUDENTS, PLEASE PROMPTLY EVACUATE

You immediately stand up in panic. “Espeon, good. Come back.” She returns to you with a glow. “Let’s stick together, okay?”

Only Shouji hears you, and he nods to you. Staying in the back, you let everyone else flood the halls while you stay back. Bakugou sticks back, too.

“Hey, you think we’ll be alright?” you ask.

“No shit we’ll be fine. It’s fuckn UA,” Bakugou replies, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re right. There are so many heroes here, the intruder would be messed up instantly. I wonder what’s going on?”

“It’s okay!” you hear Iida shout, and you can see him standing up on the Exit sign holding the pipe for dear life. “It’s just the press!”

He continues on and assures the crowd they’re safe, but that only riles you up more.

“Hey, Bakugou? Shouji?”

He grunts.

“Do you really think it was just the press? I mean, we’d know if someone bad intruded and they made a big scene about it, but what if they didn’t? Make a big scene, I mean. Like they snuck in.”

Bakugou doesn’t have a response and opts to ignore you.

“I hope not,” is all Shouji can say with full honesty. Because he’s not sure, either.

Returning to the classroom takes a while, but when everyone is finally back and seated, Midoriya announces he’s giving the Class President title to Iida. You think it’s well deserved, but you also think Midoriya is doing it to also ease his own nerves about the position. A win-win scenario overall, you think.

____

“Class dismissed, go home,” Aizawa-sensei grumbles as the bell rings. The rest of the class filters out of the classroom, and you deliberately pack up slowly. You take extra time to ‘review’ your notes before closing your notebooks and take extra time to organise your pencil pouch. Once you’re the last one in the class, you approach Aizawa-sensei.

“Sensei?”

He looks up at you from a stack of papers. “You can call me Aizawa.”

“Right, Aizawa-sensei. I have a question for you,” you say. “Is now a good time?”

“Not getting any younger.”

“Of course! Uhm, is there a way you can help me find a capture weapon like yours? I want to learn to fight better without my quirk, and since you use your quirk and your athleticism in tandem, I thought maybe you’d have some tips.”

He sets down the papers and stands up, rolling his shoulders. “Go change and meet me in the Gym Delta.”

“Yes, Sensei!”

You change even faster than usual and rush around to find Gym Delta, eventually swooping through the doorframe and meeting Aizawa-sensei.

He’s stretching on a mat, and he nods to you. “You need to learn basic hand-to-hand combat, first. I wish this was an actual class, but oh well…” he says.

“Sensei, I was just wondering, is it okay that you’re helping me like this?”

“You were the one who came up to me. I’m simply helping a student who wants to be better. Now start stretching.”

“Yes, Sensei!”

You stretch your legs and arms to warm up, then Sensei tells you to come at him with everything you have.

You lunge forwards and throw a punch to his throat. He dodges, grabs your outstretched arm, and flips you over and slams you on the ground.

“Ow!”

“You suck.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here! To get better! Please let me go now!”

He helps you up and you roll your shoulders.

“We’re going to continue doing this for an hour. Got it?”

“Yes, Sensei!”

So, going headon doesn’t work. I have to be quicker, otherwise he’ll take advantage of the bigger hitbox with my arm outstretched.

You feign a punch to the gut, then retract your arm and sidestep to kick him in the legs. He steps back, and you regain footing quickly, expecting him to attack.

“I’m on defense here. Just keep attacking,” he says.

“Yes, Sensei!”

You take a large step forwards and nearly knee him in his side, but he grabs your leg and flips you over again.

“Again.”

“Yes, Sensei!”

An hour passes quickly, constantly trying to come up with new strategies and combinations of moves to try and even land a hit on Sensei. You do, kicking him in the shins a few times, but that’s all the damage you manage to do.

“I’m attacking now,” he says. “Defend with all you’ve got.”

“Don’t I get a break?” you pant.

“Do you want one?”

You think for a moment. “Yes, Sensei.”

“You know your limits, go get some water and rest. You have 10 minutes.”

“Yes, Sens---”

“If you say that one more time, I’m going to rip my own hair out.”

Your excitement softens, and you offer a tiny smile. “Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

You jog out and grab your water bottle, taking sips and trying to steady your heartbeat. You walk back into the gym, finding Aizawa scrolling on his phone, leaning against a wall.

“Ready?”

You nod.

He sets his phone aside and lets you get in a defensive position before attacking. Within just a few seconds, you’re on the ground again.

Unlike attacking, you do get better at defending. You get to the point where you can hold Sensei off for nearly a minute before he wipes you.

“You need to get good at defense. You’ll find a weapon to improve your attacking. You’ll also need to work on your stamina so you can use your Pokemon in tandem with you fighting.”

“Yes, Se---Ah. Right. Like how you use your quirk with you fighting?”

He nods. “Come on, I need to give you something.”

You follow him into the teacher’s room, where he takes a seat at his desk. He looks through a bunch of files in a drawer before pulling a piece of paper out and scribbling on it.

“This is your new training regimen. You can use the facilities in Gym Delta for weightlifting everyday after class. 5 days a week, take the weekends off to let your muscles rest. Got it?”

“Thank you, Sensei.”

He hands you the paper, and you scan it over. It’s a lot, admittedly, but you decide right then and there that you’re going to be able to handle it. You nod, determined, and look him in the eye.

“Aizawa-sensei, I’m going to work hard to become a hero. Please continue to help me!” you say, bowing deeply. “Thank you!” You catch the attention of the few teachers in the room.

“Yeah, yeah. Run along now. You’re going to fight me every Friday so I can check in on your progress. If you need any help, let me or another teacher know.”

You grin widely. Aizawa sighs; you’re doing that thing where you radiate light, and his eyes can’t take it. His heart struggles to take it, too. He’s not used to that heartwarming feeling so often.

You rush home and copy the regimen down on a nicer sheet of paper, decorated a little better. With this, you’re on your way to becoming a pro hero. You smile at your own choice to approach your teacher, pleased with your confidence.

You want to call Neito, but you know he’s usually busy with homework around this time, so you decide to message Kirishima.

hey! this is [Y/N], I was wondering if you wanted to do some training with me?

He replies within a few minutes.

sounds good, send me the details and im all in.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #todoroki x reader #midoriya x reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader

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wiccan-succulento · 4 years

Text

Aconitum Napellus

*This is a POISON.

(I know a lot of this is medical terms and may be hard to understand- I basically look up every term I come across. I’ve included definitions for most, but not all. I have tried finding my list of sources, but I have lost them. I have NOT personally had experience with this; therefore, some information may be slightly off, or not accurate according to new studies. Feel free to add new information, definitions, or facts. I am NOT a health professional.)

Common Names: Aconite, Monk’s Hood, Wolf’s Bane, Blue Rocket, Queen of Poisons, Soldier’s Helmet, Devil’s Helmet, Mouse Bane, Leopard’s Bane, Women's’ Bane, Brute Killer, Dog Killer

Native to: Central and Western Europe, Asia

Toxicity: Severe. All parts of the plants are toxic, especially the roots and root tubers

Poison will enter the body through contact with skin, contact with broken skin or wounds, ingestion, consuming any part of the plant.

The taste of the poison is a very bitter one, followed by a burning of the mouth and possibly esophagus, then numbing of the mouth.

Toxins in the plant include:

Aconitine- cardiotoxin (heart toxin) and neurotoxin (nerve toxin)

Mesaconitine

Hypaconitine

Side Effects can take a few minutes to a few hours to show.

Side Effects Include:

Abdominal Pain

Nausea

Vomiting

General Numbness

Partial Paralysis

Respiratory Paralysis

Paresthesia- abnormal sensation of the skin (tingling, numbness, chilling, burning, prickling) with no apparent physical cause

Diarrhea

Bradycardia- abnormally slow heart rythym

Hypotension

Chest pain

Palpitations

Sinus tachycardia- elevated sinus rhythm characterized by an increase in the rate of electrical impulses arising from the sinoatrial node (group of cells in the wall of the heart’s right atrium). In adults, sinus tachycardia is defined as a heart rate greater than 100 beats/min (bpm)

Ventricular ectopics- extra heart beats originating in the bottom heart chambers

Ventricular tachycardia- fast abnormal heart rate

Ventricular fibrillation- rapid and erratic electrical impulses of the heart

Defective color vision

The main causes of death are refractory ventricular arrhythmias & asystole. The severity of the toxins are related to the onset of rapid heart rhythm changes

Preexisting health conditions, old age, pregnancy, and breast feeding may amplify the side effects.

Overall in-hospital mortality is 5.5%

Antidotes & Remedies-

It has been reported that the effects of aconite can be buffered/eliminated by various alchemical methods.

Management is supportive, including immediate attention to vital functions and close monitoring of blood pressure & cardiac rhythm.

Inotropic therapy** is required if hypotension persists. Atropine*^ should be used to treat bradycardia.

Aconite-induced ventricular arrhythmias are often refractory to direct current cardioversion & antiarrhythmic drugs.

Available clinical evidence suggests that amiodarone & flecainide are reasonable first-line treatment.

In refractory cases of ventricular arrhythmias & cardiogenic shock, it’s most important to maintain systemic blood flow, blood pressure, & tissue oxygenation by early use of cardiopulmonary bypass.

The role of charcoal hemoperfusion to remove circulating aconitine alkaloids is not established.)

The early use of cardiopulmonary bypass is recommended if ventricular arrhythmias and cardiogenic shock are refractory to first-line treatment

**An inotrope is an agent that alters the force or energy of muscular contractions

*^ Atropine is a medication used to treat certain types of nerve agent and pesticide poisonings as well as some types of slow heart rate, and to decrease saliva production during surgery

Reducing toxicity-

Boiling, steaming, or soaking the plant may reduce toxicity due to the toxins being heat sensitive alkaloids. Since the toxic effect of raw aconite can be buffered/eliminated altogether by various alchemical methods, early Chinese medical texts focus much attention on processes involving the production of processed aconite. This includes procedures with special growing & harvesting techniques, special processing techniques, & herb combining techniques that blend the processed root with other foods and medicinal substances to safeguard against negative side effects.

Ancient Chinese herbalists espoused a distinct concept of space referred to as “daodi yaocai” (herbs grown in a proper location). This concept is especially used when dealing with a variation of the Aconitum Napellus plant.

Li Shizhen and other ancient authorities of Chinese materia medica invariably state that “the best [aconite] is produced in Mianzhu in the region of Shu (northern part of today’s Sichuan province). Although aconite plants can also be found in other areas, they are unsuitable for treating disease.” A Song dynasty account gives a description of this particular region that is still known for producing China’s only “genuine” aconite

The Chinese materia medica contains about 70 recorded types of post-harvest processing techniques aimed at reducing the toxic potential of aconite. The toxic effect of aconite stems from its alkaloids, especially aconitine. Since this ingredient is sensitive to heating, the processes of roasting, boiling or in most recent times, pressure-steaming, can reduce the effects of most alkaloids. Ancient Chinese texts specify that before heating, the aconite tuber should be peeled with bamboo knives. This labor-intensive technique has been abandoned in the modern production of medicinal aconite.

There is emphasis on the removal of the salt used for preservation of the aconite tubers after the harvest before they are brought to market. After the harvest, the unprocessed aconite root will decay rapidly (within a week) unless it is immediately immersed in brine. Brine immersion will embalm the root during the time when the entire year’s harvest is waiting for the typical step-by-step detoxification process consisting of skin removal and the application of heat. Traditional paozhi techniques specify that all brine is removed from the raw aconite slices before steaming or baking them, by soaking and rinsing them repeatedly in basins of fresh water. Seasoned Fire School practitioners, i.e. the contemporary scholar-physicians Drs. Lu Chonghan and Liu Lihong, have observed that industrial aconite production during the last two decades has flooded the market with high salt content aconite slices. To most kidney deficient patients, this significant salt residue in most pharmacy grade aconite (70% in most contemporary aconite products) is harmful and may be partially responsible for some of the side effects associated with aconitine alkaloids in the pharmacological literature. In addition, it has become common practice in recent years to remove the root peel by immersion in hydrochloric acid, defying the stringent alchemical experience of aconite detoxification garnered during the last two millennia.

Medicinal Uses -

Medicinal applications of aconite were not fully explored until the 18th century when Viennese physician Anton Stoerck published his clinical observations about benefits of the “internal use of aconite in humans” in 1762. Alleged therapeutic uses include treatment of joint & muscle pain. As a tincture applied to skin, it’s claimed to slow heart rate in cardiac patients. Other claimed uses: reduction of fevers & cold symptoms. Some take it by mouth for facial paralysis, joint pain, gout, finger numbness, cold hands & feet, inflammation, painful breathing & fluid in space surrounding the lungs (pleurisy), certain heart problems (pericarditis sicca), fever, skin diseases, & hair loss. Aconite is also used as a disinfectant to treat wounds & promote sweating. Some apply aconite to skin in liniment as a “counter irritant” for treating facial pain, joint pain, & leg pain (sciatica). Aconite root contains chemicals that may improve circulation, but also contains chemicals that can harm the heart, muscles, & nerves

History-

Aconitum Napellus was used in ancient times as poison on spears and arrows for hunting and battles. The tips and (possibly) shafts pf arrows were covered with the poison so anyone helping a wounded soldier may get poisoned as well by skin contact.

As wolfsbane, it was believed to repel werewolves and wolves. The poison was placed in raw meat which would kill wolves attacking livestock.

Ancient Romans used it as a method of execution.

In Hong Kong, aconite is the most common cause of severe poisoning from herbs. In Asia, toxicity is related to the use of aconite in traditional medicines. In western countries, aconite poisoning is associated with consuming the plant

Supposedly used in times of war by retreating armies to poison enemy water supplies. Generals would realize the poisoning and be forced not to pursue the enemy.

The poison was placed on the tips of harpoons to kill whales more easily.

The murder of Percy John by his brother-in-law, Dr. George Henry Lampson, was carried out using aconite

“If [aconite] sap is condensed by simmering, it is called Shewang (Shooting Net) and used to kill wild animals.” The 5th century Daoist hermit Tao Hongjing elaborates further: “When the sap of the raw [aconite] vine is extracted by mortaring it to a pulp, and then concentrating it by simmering, the paste yielded from this process is called Shewang. Arrows dipped into it can be used by hunters to shoot wild animals; when hit by such an arrow, an animal will fall to the ground after 10 steps. If a human is struck by such an arrow, s/he will die as well, unless the poison is swiftly neutralized by an antidote.

Known Cases

Very low margin of safety between therapeutic and toxic doses of aconitine.

A 66-year-old female with no known heart disease obtained Aconite from an herbalist. She was instructed to make tea with it to treat her osteoarthritis*. About 90 minutes after consuming the tea she developed numbness of the face, arms, & legs. Rapidly followed by nausea, weakness, & chest pressure. In an Emergency Room, she was found to have an abnormal heart rhythm. After 4 hours of treatment with drugs & electrical shocks to her heart, a normal heart rhythm was restored.

* most common form of arthritis. It occurs when the protective cartilage cushioning the ends of bones wears down over time

There are cases of poisoning in which people intentionally swallow Aconitum napellus they grow because of claimed therapeutic effects. A 21-year-old male acquired Aconitum napellus plants after reading a book on herbal medicine. He ground up the dried roots & filled capsules with the material. He took 1 capsule daily for several months to treat anxiety. (No symptoms were reported during that time) In order to increase the effects one evening, he swallowed 3 capsules and went to sleep. Five hours later he awoke with generalized numbness, nausea, diarrhea, dizziness, chest pain, shortness of breath, & defective color vision (seeing purple). It was believed that early symptoms went unnoticed because he was asleep. In an ER, his heart rate was 43 bpm, and he had an abnormal heart rhythm. Plasma concentrations of aconitine supported poisoning by A. napellus. He spent 48 days in the hospital.

SOURCES: N/A, my list was lost when moving my information to a new document. I know for a fact I have spanned at least 6 websites, and 2 YouTube videos (only one of which was helpful) as well as the materia medica of John Henry Clark

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cloud9in · 4 years

Text

Food and Games

Summary: Bea and Veronica are paired together to bake a cake. Neither of them know how to bake, and neither of them want to address the elephant in the room.

Pairing: MC (Bea) x Veronica

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Uh none..well a little frisky behavior

Tags: @samanthadalton @satrinadia @kamilahsayeet2063

I also don’t know how to bake a cake so I apologize in advance if I fucked that up lol.

“Do you seriously have to film us baking this V?”

Bea stood behind the kitchen island, a frown plastered on her face as she stared at the girl with her phone out. Thanks to Poppy, they were both in charge of baking a cake and extra goodies for the annual Zeta Banquet. Bea had first refused to do it, mainly because Poppy had asked her, and good things never happened when the blonde came looking for a favor. Well, “looking” is an understatement, she practically barged into Bea’s dorm and demanded the girl to show up the next day without question. The brunette wanted to give Poppy a mouthful on what “knocking” was, but the mention of Veronica had caused her to perk up in curiosity. Bea had only spoken to the vlogger a total of two times and it was never enough to get Veronica to actually look at her. Or so she had assumed. But Bea had always caught herself staring at the girl for too long, her eyes wandering down her toned figure. And when they locked eyes, maybe it lingered for too long, but it was never enough.

Bea couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing that she was now alone with her crush. Emphasis on crush because Bea was falling hard for Veronica. She didn’t know if it was because of her looks, or the way she bites her lip in concentration while trying to get the perfect angle, or the captivating smile that revealed small hints of dimples whenever she would laugh. Whatever it was, Bea knew that she was in trouble because there was no way she could resist herself around the hazel-eyed girl.

“It is completely necessary for me to film this. Are you not aware of what I do for a living newbie?” Veronica rolled her eyes dramatically, adjusting her hold on the selfie stick. “Rule number one of hanging around Veronica: you will be filmed.”

Bea raises an eyebrow, a subtle smile plastered on her face. She leans against the island, placing a finger under her chin in thought, “oh so you make the rules huh?”

The brunette had figured if she was going to be here for quite a while, why not make it fun? Judging by the playful smirk that Veronica gives her, she was on the right track. Maybe they would get closer after this task, Bea could only hope.

She watched as Veronica lowered the stick and slowly inched around the counter until they were face to face. The close proximity brought scorching heat, but when Veronica cupped Bea’s chin and tilted her head forward, it was enough to knock the air out of her lungs. The brunette tensed in anticipation, her hand just barely grazing the skin of her waist that was exposed by her crop top.

Veronica smiled sweetly, watching how easily Bea became flustered. She decided that two could play this game.

“I do in fact make the rules...and I also like to be in control.”

The Zeta girl nearly choked with laughter as she witnessed about seven different emotions dance across Bea’s face. She leaned more heavily against the brunette until her lips were only a whisper away from her ear. “You know what?”

Bea could feel a jolt of electricity run across her whole body but it was quickly subdued by the hot breath of the girl against her. Is this actually happening?

“...What?”

Veronica gently stepped back and turned her head in the direction of the grocery bags on the counter

“...I think I’m going to get the ingredients out, why don't you preheat the oven for me?” With a sly smirk she started unpacking the bags, leaving Bea standing there in shock. Another minute passes before the brunette finally gets her heartbeat to steady, turning towards the stove. “Okay...this should be simple. Just click some buttons Bea.”

Veronica quirks an eyebrow after noticing her visible struggle, she sighs quickly losing patience. “Just press the arrows until it says 374°F, and preheat it for at least 20 minutes.” Bea gave her a sheepish (but thankful) smile before getting back to the task. The two girls had made some progress with preparing the batter, and Bea was given the job of lining the pan with parchment paper and butter. Simple enough right? Nope. It was clear that neither of them had any experience with baking a cake, and Veronica wasn’t pleased at all. “You seriously don’t know what else to add in this mixture? You didn’t learn to bake at the farm? I mean you tended chickens for a reason right…?”

Bea huffs with frustration before wiping her palms against her forehead. “Excuse me?! That makes zero sense V....”. The brunette wanted to yell at the girl but that wouldn’t help the predicament they were in. They were running out of time and had to bake a total of eight Bundt cakes for the banquet. Bea had been so wrapped in her thoughts that she almost missed a giggle erupting from the other side of the kitchen. She shot a glare over at the Zeta. “What’s so funny?”

Veronica held on to the cabinet knob for support as her giggles turned to full blown laughter. She pointed to Bea’s face before her eyes widened with mischief, without another blink she grabbed her phone and started filming her partner. Bea was completely oblivious to what was happening until catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror across the room. The brunette stared in horror as pure white flour was smudged generously on her forehead. She whipped her head back to the flash of the camera and sprinted forward, “don’t you even dare...” Veronica screamed with excitement as she hit the “live” button on Pictagram.

“Here we have a wild Bea in her natural habitat!”

A goose chase had begun in the kitchen. Bea tailed Veronica around the island while everyone on the other side of her screen watched the pursuit. If the brunette hadn’t been the one subjected to humiliation, she would find this whole scene funny as hell. But the simple fact that this video would make its way onto the T, and into Poppy’s hold, made her groan internally. Bea felt her calves start to burn as she kept running around in a circle. This was silly, what the hell were they doing? She started to laugh carelessly, a bright smile on her lips as Veronica continued her commentary. “She won’t stop chasing after me! Someone call animal control-”

*CRASH!*

A loud noise causes the Zeta girl to stop in her tracks and look behind. The bowl of chocolate batter was splattered all over the ground as Bea held her ankle tightly, her face scrunched up in pain. Veronica set her phone down and immediately rushed to her side, “Oh my god Bea, are you okay?!” She began to panic, reaching out to caress her bruised skin. The scene before her was so touching that Bea was almost guilty for what she was about to do, but revenge was inevitable. As soon as Veronica looked the other way, the brunette grabbed a goop of batter and dabbed it across her cheeks. Normally, Bea would fear for her life, but the look on the Zeta”s face was worth every bit of the potential lecture she would hear later. It wasn’t like Veronica would actually beat her up for it, I mean what's a little chocolate gonna do to her perfect face? The normal coolness in Veronica’s hazel eyes were now a challenging glare, and Bea knew she was done for.

“Oh you are so dead for that...”

The brunette had braced herself for a real impact this time, but the only thing she felt was a warm, sticky layer of chocolate coat her nose, neck, and cheeks. Bea gasped loudly, looking up to see a very smug Veronica trying to scoop up more dough. “Oh it's on!”

The two girls dodged and lunged at each other with fistfuls of cake residue. Veronica barks out a laugh, “I can’t believe I’m allowing this to happen right now..” Bea only smiles before grabbing a hold of the girl’s waist and pushing her roughly against the counter. She pins her arms in place and leans in with a smirk, “and to think you caught none of it on video..” Bea bites her lip to hold in a laugh as she watches Veronica eyes widen in realization. “My phone! The viewers are still probably on-”

Bea grabs her waist tighter with one hand, the other reaching behind her neck.

“They can wait, first I want to do this.”

If you asked Bea to describe the first thing that comes to mind when hearing the word “heaven”, she would tell you about this exact moment. Every touch, every taste, every sound made her feel like she was on cloud nine. Her lips had crashed against Veronica’s as they fought for dominance. A sharp squeeze to Bea’s backside caused her to falter and let the other girl’s tongue slip into her mouth. She pushed Veronica until her back was almost painfully digging into the table top as their tongues tangled. A desperate moan escaped from the Zeta as Bea captured her bottom lip, sucking off the rest of chocolate batter and releasing her lip with a pop. She pulled back to look into her hazel eyes, glazed and teary with want. Veronica grabbed Bea by the neck and slowly licked her tongue up the trail of the sweet mix, earning a gasp of approval by the brunette.

“You like that don’t you?”

It took all of Bea’s self respect to not submit to her right then and there. She grinned, looking towards the stairs and back at Veronica. Before she could respond, a ringtone fills the air of the kitchen, pulling them both out of their lust filled trance. Veronica rushed to her phone and saw Poppy displayed on the caller id.

“Shit...”

She let the call ring out and noticed that her live ended randomly. Well maybe they couldn’t hear what went on in the room. Maybe. If so, Veronica would never hear the end of it.

She sighed, floating back to reality. “Crap, Poppy is going to be pissed that we haven’t made any progress...”

“Well...you were too much of a distraction..” Bea glanced over at her with a brazen look. She didn’t know how much Veronica’s viewers had heard, but it was the last thing on her mind. Her lips throbbed with need as she felt the lingering kisses that Veronica had previously assaulted her with. It seemed as if the Zeta could read her mind, eyeing her with a knowing look and blush.

“...Well we could always order the Bundt cakes, Poppy’s too dumb to know the difference...and we’ll have more time to kill...”

Veronica had stepped closer once more, and so did Bea. The brunette didn’t know how she ended up in this position, but she didn’t mind it one bit. Not when Veronica is giving her a look that only a predator would give its prey. With one last survey of the messy kitchen, she turns to Veronica with fire in her eyes.

“I like the sound of that…”

#playchoices #queen b #veronica lombardi #mc x veronica #choices stories you play #yeah if you wanna be added to perm taglist #lemme know #I'm still cringing at my attempt to talk about cooking

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

Photo

Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire

3 In Mockingjay ( and Some)

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES. ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek)

Here is a sort form of the Kisses.

The Hunger Games

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games)

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here)

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one)

5. Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return.

7. Katniss just wants the Games to End and they Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more.

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss.

12. They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food.

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do what you want

14. So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone

15. This one is when they Both said listen if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss.

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the rewatch of the games

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras. and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden. She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured. And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie.

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies

7. The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one)

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t have as many kisses).

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two

Now Bonus ones

1. Catching Fire After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.

so grand total is 30 kisses on all platforms the books and the movies.

So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too

1. The surprise Kiss From Gale That snow knew about

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses Katniss on the Cheek

Bonus ones

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena,

So their grand total is 6...

In the Hunger Games ( Book)

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

Chapter 19,

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand, “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit)

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss)

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22 ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in)

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

Chapter 23

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.

Chapter 26.

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27.

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home.

Chapter 9 I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says.

Chaper 11 Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. ��We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11 They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon

Chapter 19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20 Cpr is a kind of kissing

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales Kisses will be added below

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

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