#╰ → ｡ tell me things that you’ve done ; hawthorne.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)

first chapter >> last chapter

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You could just tell him. 

You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.

He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear it’ll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. You’re weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.

Maybe that’s just on your end. 

You’ve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like he’s holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, you’ve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. That’s what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesn’t fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache. 

You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one). 

Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escaping—now where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some bandit’s tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death? 

You shudder to think of it. 

In the days since John brought you home, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. It’s as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.

You should’ve just waited them out. It’s clear now, what you should’ve done, but who can argue with the past? You’re sick of telling yourself that there might’ve been another way. It doesn’t change the way things are now. 

There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isn’t looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.

Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away. 

Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. John’s deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesn’t belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.

The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it. 

He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you can’t excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, you’ll have no choice but to belt it out. 

The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of John’s deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and there’s a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house. 

It’s a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“John?” you ask, uncertainly. 

He doesn’t answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line. 

“John?” you repeat, more force behind your words this time. “What’s wrong?” 

“Passenger train up east is about to be robbed,” John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if it’s loaded. “Simon got word.”

“How’d he know before it even happened?” you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids. 

“Informant. He’s got ‘em all over the county.”

Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has John’s other horse saddled up and ready to go.

“When will you—” You can’t finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesn’t answer you. 

You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going. 

John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t fancy havin’ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“Well, you just see here now—”

“You heard me, darlin’—”

“Price,” Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. He’s never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones. 

John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.

“You be good while I’m gone,” John says, casting you one last parting glance.

You screw your lips into a scowl. “Don’t you dare die out there.”

That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.

John’s horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them. 

You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.

It dawns on you that John hadn’t said goodbye either. That has to count for something.

Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.

You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood.  

Kate comes over later that morning while you’re still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.

“Morning!” she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.

She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards. 

“Morning,” you greet tentatively. “Not that I don’t appreciate spending time with you, but don’t you have a store to run?”

Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. “Folks chip in when they have to—I’ve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, what’s the point of owning a business if you can’t take a day off every now and then?”

You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. “Did he tell you to come babysit me?” 

You don’t specify who, but it’s obvious enough.

Her lips flatten. “I offered.”

All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. “They seemed in a hurry to leave. Didn’t think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.” 

“John didn’t do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.”

“My man,” you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. “So he didn’t ask you to come?”

Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. “No, ma’am. Thought I’d just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.”

Your frown keeps getting deeper. “Don’t ma’am me, Kate. And I don’t need your company if you’ve just come to make fun of me.”

“Hand to heart—I came only to make sure you were alright.” Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. “Give me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and I’ll be right back.”

You could almost kiss her for that though. You’d been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you haven’t felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kate’s presence takes some of that stress away. 

Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You can’t seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away. 

You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.

It’s well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. You’d long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you. 

And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.

“I suppose he’s—” Kate says, but you don’t hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat. 

When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill. 

Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across John’s face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation he’d gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadn’t even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home. 

John smiles down at you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

That’s almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadn’t realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry that’d been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees. 

“Are you well?” you ask, throat tight. 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you. 

Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.

“Never better,” he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.

You hear the door open again. “Hi John,” Kate calls from the door.

“Hi Laswell,” John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.

A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. You’re not sure what to read into it, but reading’s never been your strong suit. 

“I’ll see myself out then,” Kate says. “Leave you two lovebirds to it.” Her words make you bristle, but even that isn’t enough to pull your eyes off your husband. 

“Don’t look so put out—Soap’s just down the path waiting to take you home,” John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.

Kate rolls her eyes. “So chivalry’s not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.”

You don’t hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue. 

The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. “You’re hurt.”

He huffs. “Just a sore rib. Nothing worth fussin’ over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. “Your hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.”

John nods. “I’ll put Chiron away and then come in.”

“Chiron?”

“This boy here.” His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mind—another piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name you’ll never be able to shake. 

You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. It’s how you track him from the window. It’s too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now it’s quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds. 

You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale. 

He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesn’t so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that might’ve gotten in. He’s a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles. 

“Do you want me to call the doctor in the morning?” you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room. 

John shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Wasn’t anything too serious.”

You frown. “Are you sure? I don’t want to risk it getting infected—”

He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. You’ve felt them over every part of you—loose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim. 

You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now. 

“It’s not that bad, darlin’,” he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. “Y’did a good job fixin’ me up. You’re a good little nurse.”

“I’m no substitute for proper medical care,” you snip, still frowning. 

“Ah, if I die, I die.”

“That’s not funny,” you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like there’s something new writ large on your face.

There’s a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadn’t noticed until now. Once you notice it, it’s impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away. 

“Now where’s this all coming from?” John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you. 

His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except it’s dark now and there’s not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. You’d be a blubbery drunk anyway; you’ve always been something of a sad sack. 

“I thought you might come back hurt,” you whisper. “And you did.” 

His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. “I’m sorry to make you worry, darlin’. I meant nothing by my words. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. “Well, only if you want to.”

“Don’t get smart with me, wife—”

He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden. 

John sighs. “We’ve been making a right mess of things, haven’t we?”

You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement. 

It’s in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that. 

Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.

There’s love and then there’s thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?

There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You don’t yet know if that’s possible for you, but you’re starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side. 

Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection. 

If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right. 

So instead, you ask, “Can we just put it behind us and move on?”

John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. “Already forgotten.” 

You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you. 

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the hawthorne with the green eyes part 2

pairing: jameson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a night full of fun and games with jameson hawthorne isn’t what you’d intended after going for a little midnight wander but you didn’t regret it

parts: part 1

warnings: none :)

a/n: thanks for the req 🤍🤍 hope you enjoy

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

Strip bowling was exactly what the name said. A game of bowling where you remove an item of clothing if you failed to knock down any pins. It wasn’t difficult to get the hang of, it was difficult for me however to hang on to my clothes. I’d only bowled a few times in my life and on the occasions I had, I was pathetic at the game, but it was for fun then. Now it felt like it was for my dignity.

“Earrings one hundred percent count!” I exclaimed, shoeless, sockless and jumperless. I didn’t know I could be so bad at rolling a semi-weighted ball down an alley.

“No they don’t!” Jameson quipped, wagging his finger at me.

“I’m wearing earrings, like I’m wearing clothes, they count,” I replied stubbornly, unprepared to lose my top or trousers.

“No they don’t,” he shook his head sharply with a dangerous grin on his face.

“You just want me to take my top off,” I snapped, attempting to throw him off.

Colour touched his cheeks, “I want no such thing!”

“Liar,” I smiled mischievously.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged, our roles reversing. Colour in my cheeks and a smile on his lips. My heart raced as I processed what he said. “But don’t lie,” he continued, “you’ve been trying to throw my game off the whole time so I take mine off.”

“I did no such thing!” I mirrored him, with a face of synthetic shock.

“Liar,” he smirked, his voice so dark I wanted to melt.

I laughed lightly.

“Do that again,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“What?” I blurted out, confusion written all over my face.

“That thing, where you laugh and smile and your eyes light up,” he explained smoothly.

I felt a rising warmth in my face and it wasn’t a fever spiking, “why?”

“Because I like it,” he said, his voice so light, so airy there was almost no sound at all.

I took a step towards him and tilted my head up, our eyes glued together and I was unable to pull away. I could sense his hand nearing my waist and I didn’t tell him to stop. It was only then that I realised how badly I wanted this.

“Jameson I-“

“Hey guys!” Xander’s cheery voice is quick to snap me out of my lovelorn trance, “ooo it’s the new girl.”

“It is,” I coughed, wiping my hand awkwardly on my trousers as I stepped away from Jameson, “nice to see you again,”

“Are you playing strip bowling?” he continued, analysing his surroundings, before turning to Jameson with a rueful expression on his face, “without me? Again! Why am I even here anymore?”

“Sorry Xander,” he shrugged, composed as of two moments before nothing had happened at all between us, “I’ll catch you next time.”

“That’s what you said last time and now look,” he protested, “I mean would it kill you to ask me to play?”

“I said sorry,” Jameson defended arms in the air, as if he’s being arrested.

“It’s like that one scene in Frozen,” Xander sighed, “when baby Elsa shuts baby Anna out, you know the whole ‘do you wanna build a snowman’ sequence.”’

“Jameson how could you!” I gasped.

“Right!” Xander said, looking at me, “I knew I liked you.”

“I’m quite likeable I suppose,” I grinned.

“Tomorrow, three am strip bowling,” Jameson said to Xander, “my treat?”

“Throw in snacks and drink and you’re on,” he grinned, nodding.

“Done,” Jameson nodded, “hey Xand, on the topic of strip bowling, I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” he said, with

“Do earrings count in strip bowling?” he asked, shooting a sly smile my way.

I scrunched my nose up at him which only widened his pathetic smile.

“Yes,” Xander responded. My eyes widened and my face lit up. I was unable to form any competent words.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, pointing at Jameson.

“What?” Jameson protested loudly, his face flattened, his smile no more, “since when?”

“Don’t you remember when you pierced your left ear when you were thirteen because you thought it would make you look edgy?” Xander replied, “you wore an earring for 6 months and always insisted it counted in strip bowling!”

“You did what?” I gaped, trying so hard to suppress my giggles.

“Oh shut up,” he snapped at me and rolled his eyes, “thanks Xand.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled.

“Embarrassing me through childhood stories is Nash’s thing though,” he replied.

“He let me trade for an hour,” Xander shrugged.

“So what’s he doing,” I asked.

“Creating a machine with odd qualities whilst simultaneously consuming several blueberry scones,” he said, “…obviously.”

“I should’ve seen that one coming,” Jameson sighed.

“You should’ve, do you even know your own brothers?” he replied in mock offence.

“Sometimes I don’t know,” he shrugged, “honestly you surprise when even when I think you can’t anymore.”

“Well I’ll see you two lobsters later, my eyebrows growing back to much, I need to singe it off again with something explosive!”

He rushed off before I could even respond. This house was mental, but in the best way possible.

I turned to Jameson confused, “Lobsters?”

“That’s what you’re asking about?” he almost laughed.

“Why lobsters?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, hands crammed into his pockets, green eyes making me hallucinate being in his arms even more.

I waited. I waited for him to pick up where we left off, for his hand to actually grip my waist, for our lips to tingle with each others taste but there was nothing. He did nothing. The silence is the loudest force in the room and it made my heartache.

“You used to wear an earring,” I grinned, changing to subject to heal my sinking heart.

“Let’s revisit the lobster debate,” he replied, turning rosy. It was cute.

“Oh no no no, you are not getting out of this one,” I said with a giggle.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” he countered, with a nonchalant shrug.

“So what kind of earring was it, diamond?” I continued, with a smile I knew would probably be annoying him.

“I’m not answering you,” he replied bluntly.

“That’s okay, I’ll just ask Xander, or Nash when they’ve switched back,” I mused.

“They won’t give up that kind of information to a practical stranger,” he scoffed.

“Don’t be so sure, I thought they surprised you every day,” I countered, quoting him.

“You’re annoying,” he scrunched up his nose.

“One of my many many talents,” I shrugged softly.

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warned, with the kind of Hawthorne smirk that was to die for.

I raised my eyebrows, “says the king of cockiness.”

“You’ve known me less than a day,” he deadpanned.

“My inference skills are also incredible,” I winked.

He laughed a little, “what should we do now then?”

“I don’t know, find something else to do?” I said.

“You don’t want to carry on with strip bowling?” he replied

“There won’t be much to strip in a minute,” I scoffed, gesturing to my limited clothing.

“That’s part of the game,” he replied, shooting me a lopsided grin.

“You’ve known me for less than a day,” I mocked.

Jameson glared at me playfully, “don’t quote me.”

“But it’s fun,” I whined, pouting slightly.

“You’re annoying,” he replied, messing up my hair.

“Another one of my many perks!” I responded, ducking under his arm whilst slapping him away.

“How about a game of poker?” he asked, the subject changing so fast I nearly got whiplash.

I’d never been that good at poker. I’d been taught when I was younger, I knew the basic rules but I hadn’t played in years. I was rusty. I remembered the last time I’d played, in a bar at fourteen. I’d snagged myself one hundred dollars. I was praying for the miracle to reensue.

“Are you a betting man Hawthorne?” I raised a challenging eyebrow, one he couldn’t ignore. Avery mentioned that he couldn’t turn down a challenge.

“All Hawthornes are betting men,” he said coolly.

“That sounds risky,” I grinned.

“Not if you don’t mind taking the risk,” he cocked his head to the side.

“Where are your playing cards?” I asked.

He picked up his jacket and shook the sleeve gently, a packet of cards falling into his open hand. I suppressed my shock.

“They’re up your sleeve,” I said dryly, “how original.”

“I think you mean impressive,” he replied.

“If it helps you sleep at night, then sure impressive,” I responded.

“You wound me,” he faked a wince, holding onto his heart.

“Blood goes well with your eyes,” I shrugged.

“Better make a deeper wound then,” he murmured, our faces dangerously close.

“Okay,” I bit my bottom lip, “…I beat you at chess a few hours ago.”

“Too deep princess,” he replied.

“Princess?” I questioned, my eyebrows knotting together.

“What’s wrong with it?” he shrugged.

“It’s not my name,” I said bluntly.

“My apologies Princess y/n,” he grinned, taking a step back to bow before me.

I smacked the back of his head, “you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“I think you’ve already used that line,” he countered, standing up, tentatively touching the back of his head.

“Thought I’d reinforce it,” I said.

“Remind me to teach you how to slap,” he replied, trying to get under my skin, “that was pathetic.”

“I know it hurt you,” I smiled, “don’t be stubborn.”

“Poker,” he sing-songed waving the cards at me as we sat on the floor.

I crossed my legs and watched as he shuffled the cards. He’d probably done it thousands of times, seen as the motions were so fluid, so captivating. Like an illusion. He cracked one of his signature grins my way and then he dealt.

“This isn’t hawthorne poker is it?” I asked, as he finished up.

“No it’s just regular poker,” he replied, “for now.”

His smirk made my insides tingle and my head go a little fuzzy. We picked up our card and he analysed his set sharply. He was on it, he was ready. Unlike when he was playing chess, he was tense. His focus was harder, his intensity was stronger. He was like a raging fire containing in a bottle coated in kerosine.

It was time to play.

***

There was a flash. My head whipped around to look at the window and I dropped all my cards. Thumped rumbled in the distance and I approached the window to see if it was raining. A second flash.

“Lightning,” Jameson mused from behind me, making me jump.

“There’s a storm coming,” I whispered.

“That’s ominous,” he chuckles, his breath is so hot on the back of my neck that it makes me shiver.

“Let’s hope it isn’t our author’s use of pathetic fallacy,” I turned my head so our faces are close.

“Our author?” he furrowed his brows.

“Whoever writes the stories we’re living,” I replied.

“So that’s how you think of things?” he asked, sounding somewhere between amused and curious.

“The things we do, the people we meet, the places we see, it’s all meant to be, someone wrote it for us,” I smiled, “it’s prettier to think that it was in the stars but even if it’s not, it’s all written somewhere.”

“That must be on hell of a book,” he grinned, then said, “you dropped your cards.”

I turned to face him, “I know.”

“You had a straight flush,” he replied. It was true. I had done better than I’d ever done at poker, apparently the miracle workers were on my side today.

“I know,” I nodded.

“And I couldn’t tell,” he said slowly.

“I know,” I repeat, eyebrows raised.

“You were going to beat me,” he stated, “…again.”

First at chess, now at poker, he was getting sensitive.

“I-“

“Don’t say I know again,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” I replied.

“No one has ever beaten me at poker before,” he said.

“I must be extra special then,” I joked.

“I think you’re more than that,” he smiled.

My lips parted, “what?l

“I think you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the green of his eyes too addicting to turn away from.

I was caught off guard. Was this some sort of fantasy? Beautiful. He had just called me beautiful. My heart raced all of a sudden and fireworks went off in my brain. I was too tongue tied in shock and joy to reply.

“Thank you?” I managed to say after a few beats.

No. No. No. No. I cursed myself. I didn’t mean to say that, like that. That wasn’t how it was meant to sound. If there had been a table near by I would’ve whacked my head on it a good few times.

“Tell me you feel it to,” Jameson pleaded, his void a low hum, “whatever the hell this is between us.”

“Oh I can feel it,” I replied, my voice quiet, seductive.

“That makes this difficult,” he exhaled slowly.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t trust myself with you,” he admitted, looking into my eyes, his expression so pained it made me ache.

“Then trust me,” I insisted, taking his hands into mine.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he chuckled lightly, “in the best possible way. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Funny you seem to be doing the same with me,” I giggled.

His face suddenly grew solemn, a look I hadn’t seen a lot of his face, “you don’t want this with me, I promise you I’m dangerous.”

“I like dangerous,” I shrugged.

“Target on my back, run into fire for fun, love too hard kind of dangerous,” he clarified, studying my face for any sign of me changing my mind.

“I’ll reevaluate that statement then,” I said, pausing.

He waited, so still, so quiet that I questioned whether he was breathing.

“I love dangerous,” I whispered, my eyes lighting up.

He only smiled at me then leaned down, cupping my face in his palms. His scent washed over me, delicate and alluring. His lips neared mine and I closed my eyes. The first kiss was gentle and sweet, it was the soft kind of kiss that every girl dreams her first kiss would be. But after that first few sweetened kisses, I got hungrier, I wanted not just to taste him but to indulge in him.

I kissed him harder with a new added passion and he realised I wasn’t messing around, that I wasn’t afraid. He delivered back, not worried to be rougher with his kisses. We moved with the emotion and the intensity of the moment. A fiery feeling ignited my heart. Love. My back hit the wall and his hands found their way to my waist. Pinned by a frenzy of kisses, I suddenly remembered I needed to breathe. It seemed Jameson did to. We pulled away, chests both heaving, hearts both racing.

“Lobsters,” I murmured breathlessly.

“What?” he asked, the most adorable confusion plastered across his soft features.

“Lobsters,” I smiled like an idiot, “they mate for life.”

a/n: people who actually know how to play poker, don’t come at me, I know I need to learn!!

warning you guys now there will be no part 3 😊😊 sorry

thank you for reading 🤍🤍

THE JAMESON CARD BETTER BE HERE SOON 👹👹 IM MANIFESTING IT WITH THIS FIC

TIG masterlist

[lyrakanefanatic]

Congratulations!

A book similar to inheritance games:🎃

☕️: Academic rival jameson hawthorne fic.

🍂: A double date (lyra x Grayson) + (Avery x jameson )

thank you!!

for 🎃, im sure you’ve probably heard this before, but the naturals by jennifer lynn barnes. the plot isn’t exactly the same as it’s about a young group in the fbi called “the naturals” but it’s similar in ways like them solving things like the inheritance games. it’s more similar character wise though, as a lot of characters are very much like the ones in the inheritance games. there’s also the found family trope of ur into that, and also a similar love triangle!!

there’s also another book, called “heiress takes all”, and it’s said to be very similar to the inheritance games and oceans 11. i don’t know what it’s about much, (as i haven’t read it) but im sure if you search it up on amazon or goodreads you should be able to read the blurb!!

for ☕️, im assuming that u mean an au and im so sorry but i am TERRIBLE at writing au’s 😭😭 im also really bad at writing *character* x reader but i can still try and write those, where as au’s are just so hard for me 😭😭 im so sorry but if u want something else done feel free to request it again!!

for 🍂, sure!!

LYRA X GRAY + AVERY X JAMESON DOUBLE DATE HEAD CANONS:

• lyra and grayson show up a bit late (nothing extreme, just like 5-10 minutes) which surprised both avery and jameson because grayson is never late

• they found out after that it was because lyra wanted to match with grayson last minute and scrapped her whole outfit to match with his ☠️☠️

• they would probably go to a restaurant first, and then maybe go to a second location

• it started with small talk about their lives and days, but then slowly it turned into jameson and grayson seeing who can embarrass each other more by telling humiliating stories about each other from their childhoods 😭💀

• as soon as jameson reached the leather pants story though, grayson switched the topic and stopped with the whole competition

• lyra was curious but left it alone… for now. 😈

• lyra ordered a pasta, grayson ordered a steak, avery ordered fancy fish?? (idfk what they serve at fancy restaurants just think of the most expensive and tasty fish u can buy 💀🙏) and jameson ordered… chicken wings ☠️☠️

• lyra made fun of him for it and then jameson told grayson to break up with her

• in fact, lyra ends up making fun of him the whole night 💀

jameson to the waiter: “can i have some chicken wings please?”

jameson, once the waiter walks away: “I haven’t had chicken wings 3 months!”

lyra, snickering: “you look like you’ve had enough chicken wings for 3 months”

jameson gives her a wounded look and rolls his eyes, turning to grayson: “she’s mean, you should break up with her”

grayson, before he can even finish speaking: “no.”

later again that dinner…

avery: “should we get another side for seconds?”

grayson and lyra shake their heads, but jameson speaks: “can i get one? im still hungry.”

noticing grayson’s raised brow, he sighed: “don’t give me that look. matter of fact, i skipped lunch today!”

lyra, giggling again and muttering in a voice that jameson could just hear: “doesn’t look like it…”

jameson: “LYRA SHUT UP!!”

people ended up staring and as soon as the date was over and they were back at the house grayson called a beat down (just to give him an excuse to beat him up ☠️☠️🙏)

• once they do get back to the house though and grayson and jameson are done fighting, they watch a movie and jameson is secretly side eyeing grayson and lyra the whole time LMAOO

• lyra and avery end up sitting next to each other on the couch with grayson and jameson on the other side and, in whispers, gossip about them

• the boys can’t hear what they’re saying but spend more time trying to listen and hear what they’re talking about then actually watching the movie

• once they’re finished watching the movie, (and by watching the movie i mean lyra and avery gossiping while jameson and grayson try to secretly listen to them) lyra feels bad about all her fat jokes so she slips jameson a packet of gummies with a sorry note attached to them

• the gummies were from xander’s not-so-secret stash and now he officially has a fued with lyra but at least now jameson is going back to liking her 😊😊 (one hawthorne at a time people 😪😪)

THATS ALL I HOPE U LIKED THEM!! 🫶 (and im sorry again about not being able to do the ☕️ one, if you have another one u want me to do thats not about an au just lmk pls 😭)

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 28

This has been a hell of a chapter to write so PLS comment or like if you liked it!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

28. I stand with the Mockingjay

Three days pass and nothing changes. President Snow is being captured in a palace with a beautiful garden, surrounded by his beloved roses and you can’t help but think that Alma Coin is trying to make an example out of it. Presidents should be treated with kindness and respect even after being captured. You can torture civils and guards if you want, but not the President. It’s just a coincidence that she is a president. 

Katniss is always with Prim, she reads her stories and she sings for her, while her mother is catatonic again, staring at the wall for hours. You sometimes talk to Katniss, but you can sense she is desperate, she stares at her sisters for hours and hours and she doesn’t talk to Gale Hawthorne anymore, which means she knows something about the theory about Snow and Coin.

Peeta is a little better. He has to continue the therapy and he spends an awful lot of time thinking he is in the Capitol being tortured, but now he knows that he loves the Mockingjay, he knows he is not in danger anymore and he even remembers some things.

He is a patient of Doctor Aurelius too, but today she wants to see you.

«So, how's it going today? Do you want to tell me something?»

«The nightmares are a little better.» You can tell her that. You have to deny all the other things, because she is on Alma Coin’s payroll and you may like her but you definitely don’t trust her. «And when I wake up Haymitch helps me.»

«Haymitch is your boyfriend.» She asks, but you don’t know why. She knows him, she’s seen you with him.

«Yeah.» You answer her nonetheless, because it’s the polite thing to do. And he hates the term, by the way. He keeps saying he is too old to be anyone’s “boyfriend” and “partner” is more than okay.

«He is a victor too.» She points out, maybe in a sense that tells you “He needs to be helped too”. You know it, every victor should be in therapy, but he in particular is a stubborn mule. Maybe after all this mess you will insist.

«He was my mentor. Like Annie and Finnick. And we fell in love. Are you going to tell me he is not right for me?»

«No, Daisy. You know what it’s right for you. I was just wondering if you thought about what we talked about last time.» 

You thought she wanted to ask you only about the murder, and it would’ve made sense, but Dr. Aurelius wants to know about your life, so you told her about Portia’s offer and how it makes you feel. 

It felt safer than talking about Caius or Clark, at the beginning. 

«He doesn’t know that. It’s not exactly a priority right now.»

«And you still want to go to learn from Portia?» 

«Yeah I mean, I like clothes very much. I like making clothes, you have that perfect image in your head and then you try to sketch it and in the paper it’s not sure, but then you cut the fabric and you sew and you embroidery… and it’s yours. It’s exactly how you wanted and you can have it because you did it. It’s fantastic.» You explain, quickly full with enthusiasm. 

Since you were little you’ve done dresses for your doll, Olivia, with little pieces of fabrics that Holly couldn’t use anymore. She wanted you to learn, because in the district life is hard if you don’t know how to do things yourself. She made you learn how to clean, how to cook, how to hunt (that’s not something you want to do) and a lot of other skills but you really enjoy sewing, you’ve always done it even when it wasn’t a necessity anymore. You used to do it for your friends and for their dolls, when they had them. 

«But you don’t want to stay away from Haymitch.»

You just shake your head, aware this is not right, it’s a person, not an addiction. But you don’t think you would be happy without him. «He hates the Capitol.»

«What about District One or Two? They are very close to Capitol City, so you can take the train everyday.» 

This is actually a good idea. An idea that could save the day, if you survive the last straw of the revolution.

You go out of the psychologist with a great headache and you decide you need to be in your room. Your room is not even yours anymore, you spend all your time at Haymitch’s room or the hospital and Effie is always there with Portia. And here you find her, alone, so you open your arms and you cuddle against her. 

«Friend.» You request with a little pout. Effie and Haymitch can’t resist a pout or big eyes. Then again you always want to snuggle against them and they humour you more times than not, so perhaps they just like to spoil you a little. Their last tribute.

«Of course!» She pats your head. You can only imagine the state of your hair right now. «Is everything okay? Is it Little Prim?» 

«No, she is stable. I just missed you.» You get to be whiny and spoiled with her. When you are with Haymitch he is your partner, so you can ask for a cuddle but you also have to prove to him that you are independent, and if you would try to act like this with Holly she would scream to you to stop it. Effie is different, she enjoys being the big sister and you get to have a holiday from being the strong one all the time.

«Haymitch told me he loves me.» You confess after a while. You don’t even know if you can say that to her, it feels a little like cheating. You don’t completely get people like Haymitch or Perla, so private. When you are happy you want to share it with the world, you want to scream it to everybody and you are glad to hear it from others.

«That’s wonderful news!» She hugs you again. «In times like this I-»

She can’t end the sentence, because two guards burst into the room. The door was closed, so they had a passepartout. They could have entered any time, you realise with a shiver down your spine. District Thirteen is a horrible place. 

«Miss Trinket, President Coin requested your presence for an interrogation.» The guard orders, and you watch her in disbelief. For an interrogation? About what? Effie has been nothing but perfect in this dreadful district since the moment you arrived. Much more perfect and well behaved than you.

«Miss Trinket has immunity.» You get up, shielding Effie with your body. Effie is taller than you, but she is so frightened and you, well, you did the Hunger Games, you are strong. The guards are not impressed, though.

«Not anymore.» Is the only answer you get. 

It makes sense. You got arrested, you don’t have immunity anymore, let alone give it to other people. 

Still, Effie was part of the revolution. Maybe not from the start, but she was. She was the one who said to you to hold on during the Games, she was aware of the plan and she is Cinna’s friend, she is not an enemy. She was a face of the Hunger Games publicly of course, being an escort for Twelve, but so was Plutarch being a Gamemaker.

You try to take their hands off of her, but they immediately out strong you and you see this scared, afraid woman in a grey jumpsuit taken away from you.

No, no, no, not Effie.

«Let her go, she didn’t do anything!» You scream.

«It’s just an interrogation.» The guard tells you, but you don’t believe him. If you let her go you will never see her again, and she doesn’t even have a bracelet.

«She is part of the revolution!»

Just for a moment you think you will hurt that man, but the blonde woman sees the glimpse in your eyes and stops you before you could do anything you would regret.

«Find Katniss or someone who could help us.» She instructs you, so calm despite the situation.

Not Effie. Not again.

You run as fast as you can, but you don’t know who to run to.

It’s Perla who finds you before you could catch her, though. She is still in bad shape and she has bruises all over her body, but she is up.

«They have Cinna.» She pants.

«Cinna?» You ask, worried.

«All the people from Capitol City. Cinna, Portia. Cinna was with me, I was about to leave the hospital and they took him.» She has trouble breathing, her face is so red you want to let her sit down, but you have more urgent problems now.

«They have Effie too.» 

«It doesn’t make any sense! Cinna basically started the revolution! Portia and Effie were part of it. I don’t understand.» She is panicking. You start to think about who you could call for help, because you have no idea. The victors have little power over Coin, and Plutarch never listened to you one day in his life.

You rush into Haymitch’s room, but he is not there, so you try to go into the hospital room to see Finnick, but he has vanished. You don’t get it, you don’t understand and you try not to be scared, but there is no chance Haymitch would have gone without telling you.

He doesn’t know about Effie, you reason. He loves Effie, she is his friend. He will help you.

If he is somewhere. What if they took him too? 

You go to the hospital again, thinking that maybe Finnick and Lora are there, but you only find Mags.

«Mags!»

When you spot the old woman in the hospital you are so relieved. She is still there. The grandmother with grey hair and a sweet smile, who has been in the hospital since she was retrieved. You nearly forgot about her.

Then you remember she doesn’t talk and she barely remembers you.

«Where are all the victors? Where is Finnick?»

She gestures something, but you are too on the verge to understand anything. Fortunately for you, Perla is more intelligent than that.

«They are in a room with President Coin?» She asks, and finally Mags nods.

Snow is captured and the victors are in a room with Coin, something big is going on.

Finally they open the door and all the victor go out. Finnick and Annie storm out of the room so quickly they practically bump into you, and Peeta looks at everyone with sad and judging eyes. When Katniss passes next to you she doesn’t even see you. Perla decides to follow Finnick, and you kinda think it’s the better choice instead of Haymitch, but you have loyalty to him.

Johanna Mason eyes you with a smirk. You don’t know what she has to laugh about. You don’t like Johanna very much, it’s like she brings trouble, and the only times she met you she always smiled at you kinda cruelly. The dark haired girl has been through hell like you, but she’s definitely not your favourite victor. 

Haymitch is the last to exit. His face is blank, but you can sense he is not right and his hands are trembling. He looks like he wants to drink so badly you just want to hug him forever and take him away from this madness. 

«Haymitch!» You call him, and you jump into his arms for comfort. «They took Effie.»

Now everything will be okay. The victors love Effie. They will rescue her one way or another, Haymitch and Finnick always know what to do.

«They did what?» He wants to know, and he is shocked. If he doesn’t know about the imprisonment they didn’t talk about it in the room.

«They took Effie for an interrogation.» You say again. «We have to go, we have to save her. They wanted information from her.» 

«Good.» Johanna gets in the conversation. «She is Capitol.»

«She is part of the Revolution.» You snarl. You almost assaulted a guard before, you can hit a victor now. Actually you want to punch a victor now, a victor like Johanna Mason from District Seven, but you are adult enough to stop yourself. 

«Once a Capitol, always a Capitol.» She talks back. Haymitch must see your expression, because he takes your hand.

You don’t handle well violence under stress.

«Johanna.» Haymitch growls. «Stop it.»

«Oh don’t be such a hypocrite! You voted with us.» The District 7 Victor reveals, and you don’t get it. There was a votation in the room? Is that why Finnick and Annie were so upset with everybody?

«What did you vote for?» You have a bad, bad feeling.

«I’ll explain in my room.» He tries to cut it off, but the woman interrupts his words again with a satisfied grin.

«New Hunger Games.» Johanna explains taking his place. «With Capitol kids.»

New Hunger Games. New… it’s not possible. Coin really thought it was a good idea. Kids from the Capitol being reaped. The Games, the television, the arena. Memories creep in your mind and you have to close your mouth with your hand, free from your boyfriend’s. 

«W-what?» You barely manage to talk. 

This is not possible, this is not true. The Games are part of your nightmares. They are all the victor’s nightmares. They were supposed to end forever.

«Sweetheart…» He searches for your eyes, but you don’t see anything. 

«This is not true. Haymitch would never.» You look at him. «You didn’t vote yes, right?» 

Haymitch is many things, he is an addict, he is rude, he is not gentle and he is rough more times than not, but he is not cruel. He is not one for vengeance on innocent people, and they are innocent people.

You are District Twelve by luck, or the leaking of it. If you grew up in the Capitol, that wouldn’t have made you a bad person. Yes, maybe a spoiled one, but not bad. Not all Capitol citizens are pro games. Not everyone is rich. 

And kids. Kids the same age Snow bombed. Or Coin bombed. Kids the same age you teached for. 

«It’s complicated.»

«Not really. Did you vote yes?» You start to shiver. Your world is collapsing. In these months the war was upon you and you were about to die, but Haymitch was a certainty. A good man. A man of honour. The man you are in love with.

«…Yes.» He sighs.

He tries to hug you, but you take a step back. His touch is weird now, this is not your Haymitch. «Don’t you dare.» You spat. 

Your head is spinning. Other blood, another game, another television show. Nothing is changing from this revolution, just the name of the tyrant. 

«Sweetheart, please.»

«Kids, Haymitch! Cinna’s family. Effie’s family. They are with us. Capitol doesn’t mean Snow… how is that fair?» Ivy is a Capitol kid, you want to scream. The sweet girl you saved, the sweet girl he saved.

«You have to understand-»

You slap his hand because he wants to stroke your cheek and right now you can’t handle his touch. «I don’t have to do anything! Now we save Effie. Then we can discuss.»

It takes hours to finally make them release Cinna and Portia. Coin has no leverage against them, they are part of the revolution since the beginning, and the President just wants to get them out of the way because she wants the Capitol to be the enemy. 

Effie has to stay in the cell for now, for “dubious connections”, but you can pay her a visit. Dubious connection, you don’t have any clue on what it means. Maybe her parents are on Capitol side, or her friends from her past life. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to keep Haymitch and you on track, because she knows you love her.

The room is little and grey, without any window. It’s claustrophobic, tiny, you can’t live in a place like this for more than two hours without screaming. No air whatsoever. There is a - grey - bed and a bucket you really don’t want to know what is used for.

«Darling girl.» She approaches you and she is trying to smile, but you can see she is frightened. 

She is not a fighter. She is a TV host. An escort. Yes, she reaped the names of the kids, but she is not a mastermind, she doesn’t have a great plan, and she is an active part of the revolution you morons.

«I’ll take you out of here.» You promise her, reaching for her hand. She is cold, and you didn’t think about bringing her blankets. 

«You are in danger too.»

«I don’t care, Effie. You will be free.» You smile through the tears. «You have to host me in Capitol City, okay?»

You are scared too. If the new games are real nothing reassures you Coin won’t torture her to get informations or kill her like she is about to do with President Snow. 

«Okay.» She reassures you. «I promise.»

«Good, a promise is always good. You promised. I promised I would outlive the Games and I did it. Don’t break the promise, Effie.»

You hug a little more, until a guard tells you to exit. When you go out of the room you start to walk really fast, because Haymitch is behind you.

«If you just-» He begins, but you are furious this time. No amount of kisses and caresses will fix this.

«If I just what?» You turn around and face him with fire in your eyes. «And what? Your precious mockingjay said yes and you followed her?» This is mean. Katniss is a broken child herself but damn it, she should know better. You are angry at her too. Prim is the same age as Capitol kids. 

«…Yes, but-»

«Kids, Haymitch! Capitol kids are still kids!» You shout, and you don’t care if all the district watches you. You are on a black list anyway, not really beloved by Thirteen. You are definitely the next after Effie. 

«Don’t scream, it’s dangerous.» He whispers and takes your shoulders, but you scoff him away.

«I don’t give a flying fuck! You condemned kids. There will be a new mentor. A new you. A new Effie and a new me, but maybe she will be Prim’s age! Are you ready for it? You will watch it on television, I bet it will be mandatory.»

«Look at me.» He takes your wrist and dear heavens you are about to slap him. «Do you trust me?»

«I trusted you.» You reveal. You trusted him with your life, and you still trust him that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but if he’s doing it to save Katniss he is trading a child for a child. 

«Remember who the real enemy is, Daisy.» He murmurs. 

Coin. He wants to do something about the Coin situation. He probably knows everyone is in danger as long as she is in power. 

Still, he said yes. The risk is too high. If whatever the plan is, if the plan fails, the “yes” will still be active and children will be reaped again. Children are not a price to pay. Children are the spark for the revolution. You don’t sacrifice children if you are not Snow or Coin. 

«You still said yes.» You whisper, trying really hard not to cry. «Are you one hundred percent certain of what you are doing?» 

He is about to lie, you see it on his face, but he closes his eyes. «No. Not one hundred percent.»

So children are a risk he is willing to take. «If anything happens, it’s on you.»

[cowgurrrl]

Imagine reader getting a tattoo of everyone’s birth flower!! Jane, Ellie, Sarah, Charlie and Joel!! She just comes home with a bouquet on her arm. It jus sounds so cute and sweet

Omg i love this!! It also took me a ungodly amount of time to realize what universe we were talking about because I’ve been up since 5:30am 🫠

According to canon, Sarah was born on July 20th, 1989 (happy belated birthday Sarah Bear) and in my personal canon Jane’s birthday is April 7th, 1998 and Charlie’s birthday is August 11th, ~2025, and Ellie’s birthday is ~May 15th, 2009 (unconfirmed but it’s speculated that Ellie was born somewhere between January-May 2009)

Therefore, if we’re going by this chart ^^^ the bouquet would include an aster, a water lily, a sweet pea, a poppy, and a Hawthorne.

I think Cat would’ve done it for you. Even though she and Ellie didn’t work out, she’s still an insanely talented tattoo artist and when you tell her what you want done and why, she can’t say no. And even though you try to keep it a secret, Joel can tell something is up. You eventually spill the secret and he ends up booking a similar tattoo, including your birth flower in his bouquet. You always said you’d never get a matching tattoo with anyone you were in a relationship with but how could you say no when he’s getting a tattoo for your daughter?

The day of the appointment, Joel jokes that he’ll hold your hand through the whole thing if the pain gets to be too much but you’ve given birth. Twice. A little needle is nothing. It would probably be black work (this might be June projecting though because I actually have a bouquet of my siblings birth flowers on my right arm and it’s color and I kinda wish it was black and white but I still like it!!) and when Joel asks how it feels, you shake your head. “Not bad.”

However, after Cat has finished wrapping your sensitive skin and stenciled the design onto Joel’s skin, he freaks out. He doesn’t back out, he wouldn’t, but he’s nervous. Then, it’s your turn to hold his hand and assure him that he’ll be fine. He sits like a trooper and squeezes your hand when Cat goes back over the black work with white shading.

Showing the girls is emotional. Seeing them all together is even worse. It’s fun to imagine having months of celebrating birthday after birthday, all your girls being born back to back. When they died, you knew you would carry their memories with you for the rest of your lives. Seeing them surrounded by the people you’ve found since their deaths soothes a burn in your chest. It’s not gone, but it doesn’t hurt quite as bad.

Who knew two little tattoos would be able to give you that much peace?

[brightbeautifulthings]

Hello, lovelies! Tell Me Something Tuesday is a meme created by Rainy Day Ramblings and currently hosted by Because Reading Is Better Than Real Life, That's What I'm Talking About, For What It's Worth, Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell and Offbeat YA. It provides weekly discussion prompts on various book and blogging topics with optional participation. You can sign up for prompts here.

This week’s prompt is: What are some of your favourite indie/small pub authors/books?

I adore this prompt because I have SO many small/indie press books that I love that don't get enough attention. It's the saddest thing to love an incredible gem of a book and know it’s not getting the proper hype. I was going to try to narrow this list down to five (and then ten), but these all deserve my love and recognition, so here are ten indie/small press books you might not have heard of, and two you probably have (although if you've spent any amount of time on my blog, you’ve probably heard me screeching about all of them before).

The Art of Escaping by Erin Callahan (Amberjack Publishing) I could scream forever about Callahan's writing. She's easily one of my favorite small press authors, and I would read anything she ever published without question. A very well-done YA contemporary coming-of-age story about authenticity and friendship, with barely a hint of romance.

Dream Keeper by Amber R. Duell (The Parliament House) Why why why haven't more people read this book? It's A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) meets Rise of the Guardians (2012), complete with Sandman and Weaver, a sweet romance, and some truly spectacular world-building. I haven't stopped raving since I read it.

The Goblins of Bellwater by Molly Ringle (Central Avenue Publishing) There isn't enough goblin fiction out there, in my opinion (and I've looked), but this is easily my favorite of what I've read. It's a paranormal romance with complicated characters and a gorgeous setting, where goblins are pure and simply the villains-- no sexy goblin king here.

The Shadow Glass by Josh Winning (Titan Books) Speaking of sexy goblin kings. Hi, hello, have you heard me screaming about this book too? Fans of 80s nostalgia fantasy like The NeverEnding Story (1984) and Labyrinth (1986) will find so much to love about this. It’s basically a spiritual sequel to those films about what happens when we grow up and don't believe in magical worlds anymore--and how much we still need them, even as adults. Complete with talking puppets!

Daphne by B.C. Johnson (self-published) Technically, this is a horror novella set in the Deadgirl universe, but it's my favorite in the series, and I don't think readers unfamiliar with the other books will have trouble following it. If you need a violent, lesbian harpy in your life, with a blend of Greek/Norse mythology and a body count, this is for you. You had me at eat them alive.

Smoke and Key by Kelsey Sutton (Entangled Teen) Yet another book I can't believe more people haven't read. It's such a strange, gruesome little afterlife story with a dash of romance, like The Corpse Bride (2005) without the slapstick humor or the singing. Exactly my kind of weird.

The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch (Hawthorne Books) A gut-wrenching and beautifully crafted memoir about what happens to women in particular when we don’t fit the labels our culture has made for us. Fans of Cheryl Strayed will adore it.

After Always by Barbara J. Hancock (Entangled Teen) Sometimes the blend of paranormal and romance hits exactly the right note, and this book nails it. I adore the haunted house setting and the lovely, atmospheric writing, but I stayed for the excellent character arc of Lydia both grieving her lost boyfriend and realizing he wasn't good for her.

Theories of Forgetting by Lance Olsen (Fiction Collective 2) If you like experimental fiction at all, you absolutely need to read some Olsen. While I feel it's not quite as thematically whole as Calendar of Regrets, it might be a bit more accessible. It's smart and easy to read if not to understand, since while there are a lot of big concepts in here, the writing itself isn't overly complicated (also assuming you can decide where to start, since both sides look like the back cover of the book-- good luck!).

We Told Six Lies by Victoria Scott (Entangled Teen) This is a weird, fucked up little thriller about a toxic relationship, so of course that's exactly why I love it. The characters are complex, codependent, and completely unaware of how badly they behave, and the plot is tense and mysterious. One of my favorite underrated YA thrillers.

Not Your Sidekick by C.B. Lee (Duet Books) We've reached the part of my list where you've probably heard of these books, but they're well-worth mentioning, especially for superhero fans. Great characters, fun world-building, and excellent queer representation across the board.

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic (self-published) You knew this was going to make the list, right? This book is so immensely popular on Tumblr that sometimes I forget it was a self-pub. I've read and reread it so many times, and the characters are so compelling, the story so immersive, that once I've started the first, I can't stop until I've finished the trilogy. Well-deserving of its hype.

[chorusfm]

Josh “DANGO” Cellan of Amber Pacific

This past week I was able to schedule a Zoom call with Josh “DANGO” Cellan of Amber Pacific to discuss the band’s returning single, “Young & Reckless.” We also chatted about the legacy of the band and their key albums, their plans for touring, key memories from the band’s height, and what the future holds for Amber Pacific. The band were recently signed to Manic Kat Records and more new music appears to be on the horizon. Thank you so much for your time today. Let’s start first by discussing your great new returning single called “Young and Reckless”, which comes out this Friday. What went into writing this track, and how cathartic is it to be releasing music again as Amber Pacific? Man, it’s really exciting. Thanks for having me on to talk about it. Will’s our main songwriter on all the records of Amber Pacific, he writes almost everything, and he’d been writing the last few years, and we stayed in touch. We’re all really good friends, but we sort of talked about, what if we do new music again? What if we look at this idea? And then I kept telling everybody, it’s our 20th anniversary, and I was pretty nostalgic about it as well, and sort of pushing for let’s do a few shows. Let’s celebrate the idea that it’s been 20 years since our first album came out. And so he started writing and then sending us stuff. And we were just like, “Whoa, Will, this is some of the best stuff you’ve ever written! We need to do this stuff. We need to record it”. So we started talking through the process of what could that look like? Where would we do it? How would we do it, all kinds of details in general. And so we finally decided this summer, let’s pull the trigger and start doing it. So we started to work on it. And I live in Nashville, the other guys are in Seattle. We ended up agreeing on Nashville being the place to track it all. So the guys have been flying down back and forth. And the cool thing is, we’ve been able to do some stuff remotely as well, and it’s just been a really fun process to do again. So yeah, the first single comes out soon, and I don’t want to say too much about it, but it sounds very much like Amber Pacific, but 20 years later, with a little, newer twist and newer production, newer sounds and ideas, but it’s still totally in the vein of what people would expect us to do in like our band. You’re not going to hear it and think it sounds like Coldplay or something. It still has a very much sound in the pop-punk world, which is what we were going for.  Yeah, it sounds good! I got an early listen to it… Oh, I want to know then, what do you think about it?  I love it! I think it’s very authentic to what you guys have done in the past, and also provides a clear indication of where you guys can move forward. Well, good. Thank you! I appreciate it, and people are gonna have different opinions on it. Some people may or may not like it, but people who did love us back in the day are gonna say, “Yeah, it sounds like Amber Pacific.” And hopefully we win some new fans, which is the goal, because there’s been this huge resurgence of pop-punk in the last year. What have you noticed from fan interactions online since you guys have started to kind of reboot yourselves for this new era? Man, it’s been really rewarding to see people even the last few shows. We’ve been doing a handful, and we just played a festival with Story of the Year and Yellowcard and Hawthorne Heights, and talked to some of those guys. And, we’re around 40, they’re around that age, and seeing how fans interact with us at shows, but especially online, you see more so many people are just like, I never got to see you play, and I would love a chance. But probably the most amazing thing I’ve heard at shows is we played Tulsa last weekend, at Kane’s ballroom, and it’s a pretty iconic place. So we played there with Sum 41 we had, I mean, there must’ve been 10 or 15 people who were like, “I saw you guys play here last time. I was so excited to see you again.” And… https://chorus.fm/features/interviews/josh-dango-cellan-of-amber-pacific/

[brattybaddiee]

Phoebe Chapter 2

Nothing had made that night easier.

Not my rash decision or the reaction of the press. Not the approval of the most popular guy in my high school. Not the drugs in my system.

And definitely not my parents initial indifference to paparazzi chasing me home.

Dad was just as he always was. It didn’t directly affect him at the time so he didn’t care. I doubted he would’ve noticed my bed being empty the next day if he hadn’t busted into my room and yanked me out of bed at noon.

“What the HELL did you do last night Phoebe?!” I was dragged down the stairs of our massive home and thrown onto the couch with the full fury of my Dad’s anger raining down on me the whole time.

Not only was my Mom here, having the audacity to look pissed like she hadn’t spent the whole of my graduation night with her little gold digging boyfriend, but the entirety of Dad’s ‘crisis team’ was here too.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at my blurred out tits on the television as newscasters berated my parents—especially the blacklisted Matthew Hawthorne for letting his daughter break speed limits and engage in nudity at such a ‘tender age’.

“This is what you dragged me out of bed for? You really think my tits are doing any more damage to your image than what you’ve done yourself? That’s fucking hilarious Matt.”

My response seemed to only make his face more red with anger than it already was. One of his aides hid their laughter behind their hand but I knew everyone was thinking the same thing…except my parents. They would see this as another strike against their planned “comeback”.

No coming back from on set sexual harassment claims straight from the young aides that came in and out of Dad’s trailer, Star struck from his talent and looks—until they weren’t.

Mom just wanted someone to support her side projects. Men. Plastic surgery. Shopping. It’s how she coped I suppose.

“You know how hard it’s been to claw my way back into the good graces of the elite here?! This is my JOB, Phoebe. And if I may remind you, one you enjoy the benefits of. So I would appreciate it if you started behaving like you’re grateful instead of the annoying little prick you are.”

The aide that had been laughing winced at that. Yeah, me too. Wouldn’t let him see that though. Never would let anyone see how their words hurt me.

“You know what Pop’s? You put yourself on that black list by fucking girls from a position of power like they had any choice but to let you. Quit acting like you’re innocent. You knew what you were doing.”

My Mom stalked forward, her fake boobs bouncing as rage for “her husband” filled her face. We all knew she was acting. Her only rage was her cash cow turning into a filthy pig instead. Before I could react she lifted her hand and back handed me across the face.

Everyone but my Dad gasped.

I winced. “How dare you speak to your father like that! He’s done nothing wrong and I can’t believe you would say otherwise!!”

Rage boiled up my chest and burned across the stinging slap to my face that I knew would bruise from the rocks on her hand. Paid for by Dad’s ‘talent’. Raising my hands I grabbed her fake boobs and pushed her out of my face.

“Don’t you dare touch me you WHORE!! You were too busy getting fucked by someone five years older than me to bother showing up at my graduation last night!!!!” She stumbled back dramatically and clutched at her chest like I had shot her. The dumb shallow piece of shit couldn’t even respond. How had I come from such self-centered people?

Standing up I flipped both my parents off and laughed. “You know what? Fuck you both all the way up the ass. I’m done. You’ll be lucky if you EVER see me again.”

And with that, I turned on my heel and started walking up the stairs as they both started clamoring for me to stop. I ignored them. The last thing I said I threw over my shoulder with a satisfied smirk full of bitterness.

“If any reporter asks for my side of the story Dad, I’ll be sure to tell them every little detail. Have fun coming back from that.”

Leaving them with mouths open and rage in their expressions, I packed my bags, and left. I didn’t care about anything anymore—especially them.

I’d blow my whole entire life up if it meant I could feel anything real.

[tokyonarjtas]

new theme y’all !! i’m finally using the theme sky made inspired by violet and i’m in love i hope y’all love it too. i also redid my navi so there’s a lot more links !! and lastly, here’s a slight tag dump... ( still have to add a bit more to my muse page but this works for now )

[love-anddeepression]

Jealousy-Pin Hawthorne x reader

This is Part-1

Requested-Nope

Warnings- Jealousy? Insecurity, wanting to stab someone, sad reader, sad Pin, language, death of a horse (not graphic. part of backstory), this is a bit dramatic for a Free Rein fic. not proofread.

A/n- This is a self-indulgent fic and does not follow the timeline of the show, i’m pretty sure I don’t know what I’m doing.

Summary- Y/n is jealous of Zoe

Tag: @thatfangirl42​

Damn her, damn her for being so perfect. Damn her for getting everything you ever wanted.

Damn her for taking away Pin, your best friend.

Damn her for taking away Raven, the only thing that reminded you of Diana.

Damn Zoe Philips.

Flashback

It seemed as if the world stopped moving.

Your mare, Diana broke her leg.

She had to be put down.

“ Y/n, we have to.” Pin said, “ Diana is in too much pain, do this for her.”

You couldn’t, how could you? The black mare was the one thing that made you happy. She was the sweetest, most loving creature, even Raven liked her, and he hated everybody.

Pin knew how much you loved Diana, and how much she loved you. It broke his heart, because not only was he devastated over Diana, he knew how much she meant to you. You never had the best relationship with your parents, so you decided to come here, to live with your relatives. Diana was there for you, she made you laugh, she’d chew your hair, and she trusted you, more than anyone.

“ Pin, I can’t! She can’t die! She won’t! She’ll heal and we’ll all be fine.” you replied.

Sighing, he came over you and took your hand.

“ Y/n, Diana is in pain, if you love her, you have to let her go, I’m so sorry Y/n/n. Please do this for her. Relieve her from her pain.” 

Sobbing, you nodded and he pulled you into a hug.

“ Shhh, cry all you want sweetheart. Let it all out. Everything’s going to be alright.” he kissed your head.

~~

Pin helped you get over Diana’s death, bit by bit. He introduced you to a new horse Shadowfax. That was when you realized you loved him.

You thought he loved you too, after all, he was closest to you. Always defended you from Mia, you both always rode together, and he liked having you around.

How wrong you were.

Everything changed the day Zoe found Raven.

Raven, who liked you the most, went and bonded with Zoe. 

Pin seemed to hate her at first. But you saw the was he looked at her when he thought no one noticed. 

You thought you could physically hear your heart break.

So you distanced yourself. From Pin, from your relatives. From Becky and Jade. 

You only focused on riding. 

~~

“ Y/n’s acting strange lately. Have you noticed Becky?” Jade asked her best friend as they were hosing down Bob.

“ I’ve noticed Jade, we should talk to her.” Becky agreed

“ She’s been getting better and better at riding everyday. She’s going to make the under-18 team. I bet you.” Jade nodded towards you, who was practicing , “ and she’s not talking to Pin either. I found that so strange! They’re so close! and Pin really likes her!”

“ Let’s talk to her after she finished practicing.” Becky suggested.

“  Yes, let’s.”

~~

“ Well, that didn’t go well at all.” Becky grumbled.

“ Agreed.” Jade replied.

You gave short answers and when they prodded you, you snapped at themm clearly angry.

“ Pin’s the only one who’ll be able to talk to her.” Jade said.

“ What’s up guys?” Zoe came up to them.

“ Y/n.” they said in unison.

“ Oh. what happened?”

“ She’s not talking to any of us.” Becky explained.

“ Yeah, I found it weird. Pin keeps talking to me about her, he’s getting worried. She won’t talk to him.”

“ He needs to go talk to her!” Jade exclaimed, “ I can’t see my friend like this! She’s only focusing on riding, tiring herself out everyday and not talking to any f us!”

“ Pin needs to talk to her! I ship them so much! I can’t let that ship sail!” Becky groaned.

“ Becky! Jade! Calm down. I’ll talk to Pin and tell him to talk to Y/n.”

~~

God, you wanted to stab Zoe, like just lodge a knife in her stomach and watch the-

“Woah! Getting a little ahead of myself there!” you said to yourself. But what else was there to do.

You felt bad for snapping at Becky and Jade and wanted to go apologize to them. So you made your way to the stables and there you found Pin..and Zoe.

They seemed to be talking quite seriously and Zoe looked around before whispering something in his ear.

You couldn’t take it.

Head up, chin out and fighting back tears, you walked past them to Shadowfax’s stable to tack him up. 

“ Shit.” Pin whispered.

“ Go! Talk to her!” Zoe pushed him towards you.

Taking a deep breath, Pin made his way to you.

“ Hey Y/n/n.” he said, coming to pet Shadowfax.

“ Hi.” you reply.

“ Are you okay? You’ve been distant lately.” 

“ I’m fine, thank you for asking. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go practice.” you lead your horse out and quickly made your way to the training area. (i don’t what it’s called).

Pin followed you and took your hand, you pulled away and didn’t look at him, missing the hurt on his face.

“ Shouldn’t you be with Zoe?” you ask him, voice bitter.

“ Zoe? Is this what all this is about?”

“ Like I said Hawthorne, I have to go practice. Good day.” you walked away..

“ Dammit!’ Pin shouted after you left.

~~

After your practice and rubbing down Shadowfax, you made your way to the cafe. You were pushing yourself a bit too much, and walked home tired and on the verge of fainting everyday.

You went inside to find Becky at the register. Good, you still wanted to apologize to her.

“ Hey Becky!” you call out, making her eyebrows go up.

“..Hey Y/n.” she replies.

“ I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry for how I snapped earlier. I don’t know what’s gotten into me these days. I hope you can forgive me.” you apologize.

Becky smiles before reaching out and giving you a small hug from across the counter.

“ I forgive you, now lemme get you a cupcake.” 

~~

“  I just want to know, why are you not talking to us anymore? What have we done? What have I don-”

“ Pin! Stop talking to yourself in the mirror and come down! I need your help with dinner!”

“S-sorry coming dad!” Pin yells and runs down to the kitchen.”

-----

“Y/n, please just tell us!” Jade coaxes.

Clenching your jaw, you refuse to look at them. They started prodding you with questions again and you almost snapped at them.

“ Please, we just want to know what’s going on with our best friend.” Becky puts her hands on your shoulders,

“ Me?” you scoffed, “ isn’t Zoe your best friend.”

Becky glanced at Jade.

There, That’s the reason

“ Y/n, we like Zoe a lot, but she could never replace you. You’re our best friend too! and Zoe’s really nice, but she isn’t you, no one is . We love you!” Jade hugged you from behind.

Tears start forming in your eyes and you hastily blink them away.

“ I’m so sorry. I was such a bitch to both of you.” you hold their hands.

“ Hey, it’s ok, we forgive you.” they sandwich you in a hug.

~~

“ So, what’s the deal with Y/n? She isn’t coming over anymore?” Ted asked Pin,

“ I don’t know dad, she isn’t talking to me, she just glares at me and tells me to go play with Zoe instead of wasting my time.” Pin grumbles.

Ted starts chuckling, clearly understanding what’s going on.

“ Dad, why are you laughing?” Pin questions, unamused.

“ Oh son.” Ted gasps, “ you’re so oblivious.”

“ What do you mean?”

“ Pin, Y/n likes you, and she’s jealous. The same way you were jealous of how much time she spent with Marcus, she’s jealous of the how much time you spend with Zoe. Go now. Talk to her.”

“ What?” Pin asks, a little stunned.

“ Go Pin!” Ted shoves him out.

~~

“ I was jealous, I thought that you didn’t want to be around me anymore. I thought you preferred Zoe and I wouldn’t be surprised, she is lovely. But the truth is, I love you Pin, god I love you.”

“ You know, if you want to practice confessing your love, it’s best not to do it where someone else can hear it.” Marcus’s voice comes from behind you.

“ Oh shit.”

[dreme-inc]

Carol, Maggie, Michonne, Alpha , Andrea reacting to a female reader who has fainting spells fainting against them/in their arms?

A fainting spell and hiding an injury from them. Carol, Maggie, Michonne, Andrea, and Rosita (no explicit gender mentioned). Alpha is missing because I don't know too much on her character, so sorry. Please enjoy, friend :) Please forgive, too, but I hope it was worth the wait ❤️‍🩹😔😊

Will you catch me if I fall? ⟻

⟼ Carol

If you're prone to fainting, she's likely more aware of when it'll happen than you do. She does keep a closer eye on you, but by the time you could even realize being unwell, she's at your side with hands on your arms- gently holding you and steadying you before your chance to fall. She's your anchor, really.

The first time you fell into her arms, she, like quite a few of these females, was very business. Get you somewhere safe and her thoughts swear to anyone out there listening you better be alright when it's all over. Reminded you and herself you're in good hands because you're in hers; she'll keep you safe, she promises.

Peletier is understandably quite angry when she discovers you hiding an injury. She speaks in a light scold, any injury no matter if deemed insignificant needs to be brought to light. If saying it's to the group's safety isn't enough, she'll say it's to her own peace of mind then.

⟼ Maggie

She's very worried, but if you're alright with it, very open and responsive to learning. Is it a condition? Is there anything she can do to ease the burden on you? She's very understanding and without judgement, and while it'll admittedly be a bit of a challenge, she'd fight anyone who dared bring it as a reason to leave you behind. It'll be tough, but you're both tougher, together.

You're in her arms when you fell the first time, and she is panicked, but it's interestingly conveyed. On your sake, she's aware you'd want her to concentrate on the safety of everyone, but you're a priority to her regardless. She's commanding the others quite effectively whilst fueled by adrenaline to carry your body (in whichever position is appropriate and realistic to your body definition, of course :)). Stay with her, love.

Greene's annoyed when she finds the injury you've been hiding but it doesn't show when she's speaking to you. It's only really referred to if you ever consider doing it again. Please, tell her these things, she'd plead to you if she must. She wants you to say because she needs to get you both out of a situation if it arises.

⟼ Michonne

Much like Carol, she is incredibly aware and very observant. Fainting doesn't even have to have happened to you before and she's beside you, questioning if you're alright or if you need a break. She either keeps you in her peripherals or stays close enough to brush her fingertips on your arms in gentle reassuring touches, sharing small stolen smiles with you all the while.

What she does doesn't match what she thinks as she catches you fainting straight into her arms. On the outside, she's very calm. On the inside, she's fighting against the worry pooling in her gut. Not again, not again. She's tearing through the horde, and if you could see her, you'd likely fall in love all over again if it weren't such a dreary circumstance.

Hawthorne understands. She recognizes what you're trying to do really, is the way she starts the conversation concerning your hidden wound. She tries telling you these times aren't the same as they once were. She laughs a little then, and shakes her head affectionately. The world surrounding you both is changing, while her love towards you never will.

⟼ Andrea

She's very business but you're aware she means well when she starts her questioning on what's best to do if you have fainting spells. Even if it didn't appear so to anyone, she's softer when it comes to you, and listens intently on your preferences and suggestions should you fall anywhere. People're going to use this against you, she's no fool, and so she needs as much information as she can if she were to protect you.

Is just so stunned and caught off-guard the first time you fall down, crashing into her arms... why? Who did this to you? Admittedly, her brain is on pause as she watches you for only a moment, but it's one of those to seem like a long time. She never thought she'd have one happen, but she sees you resting peacefully despite everything, and it doesn't sit well. If she could protect you from the world.

Concealing a wound could cause an argument because it boils down to it scaring her. You managed getting injured and even then wanting to hide it from her, and it hurts. It's a time seeing her really vulnerable. Please don't do this, you're smarter and better than this.

⟼ Rosita

Very much like Maggie and Andrea, is interested in speaking on what it is and what can be done. Is there anything she can do? Anything you'd prefer her to do when you're unwell? She'll make it work for you, somehow.

You can see the concern on her face the first time she spots you starting to fall. She's running towards you before she's had a chance to think. Noticing when no one else did, and the next moment you're safe in her arms. It proves to drive her more than it distracts, and her first move is finding you someplace safe. Everything else, the why, the when, the what, it'll all wait until you're both in a better circumstance.

Espinosa is a little lost at first since she's hit with a lot of thoughts at once when she finds your hidden injuries. It's a combination of being shocked because she respects you as much as she respects herself (you two're the couple to beat) and not knowing the reasons why you'd try to hide from her. She'd tell you, please tell her because she'd despise it if she heard of your wounds through someone else. It meant she wasn't with you right away. Any reason for hiding pales compared to what you two have.

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.” 

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.” That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of  competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have 

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been! 

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... 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. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful 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. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] 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. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really 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. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. -  Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By Your Doorstep (Part 5)

Summary: Sam moves back to town and under Dean’s roof meanwhile the reader learns more about Dean’s hesitancy in certain areas of their relationship... 

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of accidents, PTSD, past sexual assault, injury

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

_________

Reader’s POV

“Uh…” you said the next morning as you found a strange man in the kitchen. He spun around and you recognized the face. “Sam?”

“Y/N,” he smiled. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you said. You walked over and he gave you a hug. “You get in town early for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, something like that. Dean said he might be out and to just let myself in,” he said. “Sorry, I thought I had the house to myself.”

“It’s fine,” you said, tugging Dean’s shirt down a little, grateful you at least had put a bralette on underneath. “He took my sister to an appointment. They should be back soon.”

“Cool,” he said as you went to make yourself a cup of coffee. “So um, I actually was going to surprise you guys today with some news. Well, you and Tessa.”

“What’s that?” you asked, grabbing your favorite mug.

“I’m moving back to Lawrence,” he said. 

“Really? That’s great. He misses you so much,” you said.

“Yeah. Got a job at the big firm downtown. McKluskey & Associates,” he said.

“I heard really good things about them, at least when I worked at Hawthorne I did.”

“Oh Hawthorne is the worst,” said Sam. “They dump paralegals all the time.”

“Yeah. I was one of them. But I’m doing really good at Dean’s office. I just finished my first certification so I get a little pay bump for that,” you said.

“Nice. I know he loves getting to pop in and see you during the day, even for a minute. You’re very cute in scrubs apparently,” chuckled Sam. “I actually was going to talk to you about this but um, I was going to see if I could move in here for a bit while I look for a place. Is that cool with you? It’s totally okay if you’re not. I get it if you and Dean want your own space.”

“I’d love for you to stay, Sam,” you said with a big smile. “I really would like to get to know Dean’s family, his real family.”

“I’d like to know his new family,” he said. You both turned when you heard the front door open, Tessa giggling.

“I don’t believe you old man.”

“I am thirty one you little shit,” laughed Dean. “I so have been skydiving!”

“He definitely has,” said Sam. Dean poked his head out from the foyer and gave you both a big smile. “Hey De.”

“Sammy! You managed to get those days off work early?” asked Dean. He slipped out of his boots and jacket, quickly walking into the kitchen with a bag in his hands. He set it down on the counter and gave his brother a hug, Sam shrugging. “What?”

“Got that new job. Starts next month. I was wondering if I might still be able to crash here with-”

“Of course,” said Dean, quickly looking at you.

“I already told him it was cool,” you said, Tessa slowly walking inside. She set her starbucks cup down on the counter and got out her breakfast burrito. “Tessa this is Sam. You’ve said hi to him once or twice on the phone.”

“Hi,” she said quietly, looking at Dean.

“Sammy would you mind giving us a real quick second alone?” asked Dean.

“No problem,” he said. He excused himself to the bathroom and you got out your breakfast from the bag, Dean giving Tessa a nod. “Go ahead.”

“I want to see a different therapist,” she said. You sat back and looked at Dean. “If that’s okay.”

“What happened today? I know Dean sat in on your session.”

“I didn’t particularly like some of the comments the doctor made,” said Dean. “Tessa’s eighteen, not five. I think she should start going to a doctor for adults. Tessa’s not been happy with him for awhile she mentioned. I have a colleague from my med school days that specializes in young adults.”

“Tessa why didn’t you tell me you don’t like the doctor.”

“Because you say I have to go no matter what,” she shrugged. “I know there were only a few that we could get covered too.”

“I have a new health plan and we’re definitely going to switch you over to somebody different,” you said.

“Dr. Ketch is good. I used to use him when I was around here,” said Sam, walking back inside. “I was gonna call him up myself, try to get a spot in again.”

“I was thinking of Arthur for Tessa actually,” said Dean.

“Why do you go to therapy?” she asked Sam.

“Lots of reasons,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone in this house has so no need to by shy about it.”

“I’ll call Arthur,” said Dean to you. “It’ll be better for her Y/N.”

“You’re the doctor,” you said. You unwrapped your food and started to eat, Dean digging into his own meal while Sam sucked on some kind of green smoothie.

“Are you like a health freak?” said Tessa with a mouthful of food. Sam sipped some more and shrugged. “Good. He won’t touch my ice cream.”

“Oh I love ice cream,” smirked Sam. “I wouldn’t count on it being safe around me.”

“Are you teasing me?” she asked.

“Am I?” said Sam, slurping his smoothie again. Dean rolled his eyes and whacked the back of Sam’s head. “Ow.”

“She’s tougher than you, Sammy. I’m sure you two will harass each other to death,” said Dean while he ate.

“Mhm,” he hummed as Toast ran in through the doggie door. “You have a dog!”

“Yeah. This is Toast,” said Tessa. She leaned down and unclipped his vest, Toast rushing over and sniffing Sam. “That’s Sam. Don’t let him eat my ice cream.”

Toast barked and Sam looked at her.

“His vest isn’t on. You can pet him,” she said. 

Ten minutes later Sam was in the backyard with Toast and Tessa, tossing around a ball and smiling like a little kid.

“Well we won’t have to worry about those two getting along I don’t think,” said Dean as you watched out the back window.

“I wasn’t too concerned. I know her sessions are private but what exactly happened today.”

“We talked a bit about how she feels about me being a part of your lives. She does like me, she cares about me even. But she’s still getting to used to sharing you with someone else. Tessa’s doing fine aside from an uptick in nightmares recently. Her doctor was very negative though. He doesn’t help her reframe things. I’m not a therapist but even I can do a much better job than he was. We talked after on the way to get breakfast and I think it’d be better for her to go to someone that helps her progress more, handle things on her own in healthy ways. Tell me to shove it if I crossed a line but it’s my honest opinion.”

“If Tessa thinks she wants to try a new doctor then I am all for it,” you said. “I’m glad you went with her after last night and everything.”

“She’s your sister...but…”

“I know. You watch her back and I’ll watch Sam’s?” you said. He smiled and nodded. “So I was thinking...you know how we were talking about that taking care of you thing last night?”

“Yes?” he said. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I was wondering if I couldn’t give you a little spa night tonight. A nice bath, massage, a fresh pie…”

“Mmm, that does sound nice,” he said. “But that sounds a bit extravagant.”

“Trust me?” you said. He threw his head back but sighed. “Good boy. You’ll love it. I promise.”

“How was your bath?” you asked that night, Dean’s skin all warm and soft as he laid on his belly in a pair of black boxer briefs in the bedroom.

“Nice. My skin feels all smooth. I should use the tub more often,” he hummed. 

“You definitely should. I’m gonna give you a back massage now, okay? I’m gonna use a bit of some special lotion with oil in it,” you said. 

“Go for it,” he said into his pillow. You straddled his back and squirted some lotion onto your hands, rubbing it in a bit before you put your hands on his back. You worked him slowly for a few minutes, Dean’s muscles tensed more than you realized. After a while he loosened up and you slid your hands to his lower back, Dean tensing once again. 

“You okay? I didn’t hurt anything?” you asked.

“I’m okay. Just don’t take off my underwear,” he said.

“I’m not going to. I’m almost done and then I’ll get your feet,” you said. You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, Dean closing his eyes. He was still for the most part, his feet not too bad and his back was all dry by the time you told him he could roll over. He didn’t move though and you figured he was comfortable where he was.

You washed up your hands in the bathroom, whistling as you came out, the bedroom empty.

“Dean…” you said, the back door open. You stepped outside, Dean standing by the railing and looking at the backyard. “Dean it’s cold out.”

“I need a minute,” he said. You went inside, taking a seat on the bed, Dean coming inside a few moments later. He wouldn’t look in your direction and you took his hand when he crawled back on the bed. “Thank you for the massage. It felt very nice.”

“You’re welcome.”

He moved his hand away and you looked across the room. 

Only to have a pair of boxer briefs be dropped in your lap. You turned your head and Dean was laying back on the bed, naked, his face red. 

“Dean, what-”

“I’m not going to get over this if I don’t try and I don’t want to be scared of you so...there,” he said. You smiled and laid back, bringing your head over close to his. 

“Want me to get naked too?” you asked.

“No. I uh, think he’ll get excited down there and I’m not...ready for that,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, cuddling as close as you dared. You laid an arm over his waist and he eased, his fingers toying with your hair. “Proud of you.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“No but somebody hurt you so I know this is hard for you and I’m proud of you for facing your fears.”

“It’s not as bad as you think,” he said. “It was just...judgement free zone?”

“Always,” you said.

“I got stupid. I’d had a little too much. I let...I let the chick I was with tie my hands together, to the headboard at the motel we’d stumbled into. I shouldn’t have done that with a stranger. It was fun at first and everything and then I mentioned...fuck it, I said sometimes I like when a girl sticks a finger up there, like the tip when I’m getting a blowjob and it can feel good, you know?”

“I’ve met guys that like that. Nothing wrong with that,” you said, kissing his arm. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

“I told her a tip of a finger. At most.”

“What happened?”

“She stuck a whole lot more than a tip in. Without prep. She didn’t care that I told her to stop. She did what she wanted after that and I was so freaked out and it hurt that I just...laid there until she was done and untied me and I never saw her again.”

“She assaulted you.”

“I did ask her to do it.”

“You asked for a tip of a finger, not whatever she did not to mention you said to stop. I don’t blame you one bit for being scared Dean.”

“I’m not scared of you,” he said. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, nuzzling his shoulder. “I’m just not ready for somebody else to touch me like that yet.”

“That is so okay,” you said. “I got you a little present.”

“I don’t need presents,” he said.

“I think you’ll like it. Stay right there,” he said. You got up and walked over to the closet, slipping inside and pulling out a bag. You carried it out to the bedroom, Dean sitting up on the bed.

“I hope you like it,” you said. You gave him the bag and he unwrapped it, smiling as he took out the new onesie and nice boxer briefs. “They’re supposed to be really soft and comfortable.”

“I love it, Y/N,” he said. “I’m gonna wear this thing like all day tomorrow.”

He took out the boxer briefs and tugged them on, smiling to himself.

“Oh wow, these are great. They’re so soft and comfy,” he said. He ran his hand over his thighs and nodded. “I know I’m okay with you. Give me a little more time is all.”

“Take all the time in the world. I don’t like you cause I want to have sex with you. I mean I do want to but it’s not why I want you,” you said as you sat back down.

“Why do you like me?” he asked. You shrugged and he tucked your hair behind your ear. “Cause I helped you guys out?”

“Because you’re kind...and you understand not being ready to be a parent...and you make me smile for the first time in two years. I missed being happy.”

“Me too,” he said. “I am very much down for a cuddle though.”

“That I can certainly do, Winchester.”

“Tessa…” you said as she was pulling on her boots by the front door the next afternoon. “Did you finish your history paper?”

“Yes,” she groaned. She put on her jacket and grabbed her purse. “Can I go? Hailey’s waiting.”

“Home by seven at the latest,” you said. “You have school in the morning.”

“I know,” she said, hooking up Toast into his vest and leash. “Later!”

“Have fun,” you said. She waved and took off with Toast, nearly knocking Sam off his feet as he came inside. “Careful, Tess.”

“Sorry, Sam,” she said, taking off with Toast outside. 

“No problem,” he said. You sighed and he chuckled, kicking off his sneakers. “That Tessa’s friend? Expensive car for a high schooler.”

“Hailey’s dad owns a string of car dealerships. Plus her mom’s a doctor so they’re kinda rolling in it,” you said.

“True. I’m in the market for something new myself. You’ll have to give me the name,” said Sam, padding into the kitchen for a drink.

“Anytime. We always got a friends and family discount. Maybe we can sneak that in for you,” you said. “By the way, what happened to Dean? I thought he was working out with you in the garage.”

“I think I went a little too hard for him,” chuckled Sam. “He was laying on the floor last I checked.”

“Try not to kill my boyfriend, Sam,” you said with a smile.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I was gonna apartment hunt this afternoon if you’re interested.”

“Why don’t you stay here a little longer?” you asked. “If you want.”

“I don’t want to get in your and Dean’s way. You moved in not long ago yourself. I’m sure you guys want your space.”

“We have a barely eighteen year old living with us that’s gonna be here for a long time. Space isn’t really an issue,” you said. “And that was...we needed to get out of our old house. You’re so not in the way.”

“I’ll hold off for a bit then,” said Sam with a nod. You smiled and went out to the garage, Dean laying on the floor with his eyes shut.

“You alive there?” you said as you squatted down and poked him.

“I am never, never, never, working out with that psychopath again,” he said. He peeled open an eye and you ruffled his sweaty hair. 

“Well I think Sam’s gonna stay here for awhile so you may have to suffer some more,” you said. 

“Really? Good. I’d like him to stay. I think he was concerned about getting in your guys way though.”

“We can share,” you said, wiping your wet hand on his shirt. “Plus you’re extra hot all sweaty like that.”

“Am I now?” he smirked.

“Yes. Sweat is how you cool off so you must be extra hot. I thought you were a doctor, Dean,” you teased. He rolled his eyes and ran his hand over his face, wiping it on your arm. “Gross!”

“If I had the energy I’d give you a noogie,” he said. He sat up and leaned forward, stretching himself out. “I didn’t realize I was out of shape.”

“You’re really not. Sam’s a skinny little rail and all muscle that’s into running and that high intensity stuff. I bet you can bench press more than Sam any day,” you said. 

“Yeah but he’s still pretty healthy. I am a doctor. I ought to practice what I preach.”

“Dean. You’re healthy and hot. I mean, work out with Sam if you want but don’t cause you think you have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said.

“Why don’t you do yoga with me tomorrow?” you asked. “It’s more fun than you think.”

“Sure,” he said as you helped him sit up. “I was thinking maybe once I’m not all sweaty I could…”

You both turned your heads as you heard a dog howling loudly. Your stomach dropped as Dean quickly got to his feet. He walked out of the garage and to the end of the driveway before he took off running.

“Call an ambulance!” he shouted back. You ran inside and looked for your phone, Sam watching you run around.

“Are you-”

“Sam give me your phone!” you shouted back. He took his from his pocket and tossed it at you, before you were rushing out to the garage. You jogged outside and to the end of the driveway, Sam already running down the street along with a few other people that were outside to the two cars that were smashed together a few blocks down.

You sprinted down, the voice on the other end of the phone saying help was already on the way.

“Tessa,” you said as you got up to the accident, Dean sitting with her and Hailey on the side of the road. She was crying hard, Dean holding onto her but he gave you a smile. 

“She’s okay. Few bumps,” he said. You became aware of the dog whimpering and turned around, Sam helping get Toast out of the backseat. He was hurt, badly from the looks of it. “Y/N. Take Tessa and I’d call Hailey’s parents too. Tell the paramedics and any doctors she sees about the previous accident, medications, the seizures, all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you said as you sat and he stood. “Where-”

“I got my own patient,” he said as he took off his shirt. He tossed it to Sam who started using it to put pressure on one of Toast’s injuries. “Sammy, I’ll grab the car.”

The guys headed back towards home, Tessa burrowing her face in your shoulder.

“Toast is gonna die,” she said, wrapping her arms around you. 

“Sh,” you said, holding her close. “The boys are gonna do their best to get him help, okay? Don’t worry about it. Hailey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, holding her wrist with her other hand. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear, Y/N.”

“That’s debatable,” mumbled Tessa. You hugged her and glanced over to the man sitting on the other side of the street, some people over with him.

“It’s okay. We’ll make sure you guys are okay and everything, I promise.”

Dean’s POV

“How’s he doing?” asked Dean as they got stuck in traffic. Toast was still howling and whimpering in Sam’s arms in the backseat when Dean checked his mirrors. “Fuck it.”

“Dean,” said Sam as Dean pulled onto the shoulder and drove up to the light, taking a right on the red and speeding down the road. 

“It’s fine. Vet is right around the corner.”

Two Hours Later

“Mr. Winchester,” said the nurse, popping into the waiting room. Dean and Sam both got up and followed him through a pair of doors into the back of the office where a doctor in scrubs was walking out of another room.

“We can’t save the leg,” said the doctor. “It’s shattered, muscle’s been shredded, veins are-”

“Is Toast gonna live though?” asked Dean.

“He should. He is banged up pretty good but no signs of major damage aside from his leg. We’ll amputate and get him on meds. If he does well he can go home tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” said Sam.

“You want to go through with the amputation then?” they asked.

“Of course,” said Dean. 

“The bill is going to be around four thousand for the procedure,” the doctor said. She waited and Dean stared at her, blinking slowly.

“I don’t care how much money it is. Fix my dog,” said Dean. The doctor went back inside while Dean got a bill for the service, Sam pursing his lips when Dean returned.

“Y/N’s gonna want to pay that.”

“Y/N ain’t gonna know about it,” said Dean, shoving his wallet back into his pocket.

“Dean.”

“Her sister was just in another car accident, Sam. She’s freaking the fuck out right now I’m sure. Besides, Toast is a living creature. He’s their family and he’s starting to be mine too. Can you imagine if I had to ask my patient’s families if they wanted to go through with life saving treatment cause it’s expensive? I put it on an installment plan. I won’t even notice.”

“Does Y/N’s insurance cover it?”

“Not something like this. If it was your dog I’d be doing the same thing,” said Dean. “Toast is gonna be alright and that’s all that matters so don’t say a word about this to either one of them.”

“Can he still help Tessa? With a leg gone?”

“I don’t know if he’ll meet the legal requirements of a service dog or not after this but that dog loves her. He’s still gonna watch her back, maybe a bit slower now is all. Y/N and Tessa are gonna have to decide if they want to get another one or not. She’s been going close to a year with no seizures though.”

“That’s really good, isn’t it?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. It doesn’t mean she won’t ever have one again but it means she’s doing good. Toast could probably handle things fine on his own, depends on what they’re comfortable with.”

“That kid’s pretty tough.”

“I know she is. She reminds me of you a lot.”

“Y/N reminds me of you. Except nicer,” chuckled Sam.

“I wasn’t your maid. You could pick up after yourself,” said Dean, leaning back in his chair. “They’re miles ahead of where we were.”

“She know we knew her dad?”

“Yeah. She knows he helped but not the extent of things.”

“Ever think it’s funny, you ending up with the her of all people?”

“No actually. Our families seem to fit together is all,” said Dean.

“I can second that,” said Sam, Dean’s stomach rumbling. “I’m gonna go grab some food for us. Call if anything happens.”

“Will do, Sammy.”

Reader’s POV

“Hey,” you said later that night, the guys returning home. Tessa popped up from the couch, rushing over. She teared up when she saw no Toast and Dean shushed her.

“There’s good and bad news. Good news, Toast is gonna pull through,” he said. She sniffled and looked to Sam then back at him. “Bad news...he lost a leg. He won’t be able to be a true service dog anymore.”

“I don’t care. Where is he? When can I-”

“He’s recovering from his surgery. The vet said it’d be a few days before he can come home. Tomorrow night at the earliest,” said Sam. “Maybe we can see him tomorrow after school?”

“Tessa’s staying home tomorrow but we’ll definitely get you over to see him,” you said. 

“Good. You need to stay home and rest, Tess,” said Dean.

“The hospital didn’t even take me. I got a few bruises,” she said. Dean crossed his arms and Tessa rolled her eyes. “I wanna go see Toast.”

“Toast is resting and I don’t speak dog but you are the most important thing in his life and I know he wants you to rest too,” said Dean.

“But I’m fine.”

“Come here,” he said. He grabbed her arm and ducked outside, talking to her on the front porch as Sam ran his hand through his hair.

“Which leg?” you asked. “Toast.”

“His front left one. He’s got some stitches on his body. He’ll be okay.”

“She still needs a service dog,” you said. 

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow. I’ll keep an close eye on her until we figure something out,” said Sam.

“Don’t know what we’d do without you boys,” you said. You shut your eyes and he gave you a hug. The door opened, Dean and Tessa returning inside. You glanced over to him but he just smiled. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just had a little talk,” said Dean. “Now off to bed and turn off your alarm. No school tomorrow, okay?”

“Night,” she said. She jogged upstairs and you heard her door shut softly, Dean taking a deep breath. He took a seat on the couch and closed his eyes.

“She alright?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah. I just...put things in a different perspective for her. Your perspective. She’s gonna go a little slower for the next few weeks. Toast is gonna need her to look out for him until he gets used to things.”

“I know she didn’t have a concussion or anything and it’s been a while since she’s had a seizure,” you said. He smiled as Sam went to the kitchen, returning with three beers. “Thanks.”

“No problem. They wouldn’t have let you guys come home if she wasn’t cool, right?” asked Sam.

“Let’s just watch her carefully for the time being. She might not need a service dog but she’s only going to get more independent and a year from now she’ll be in college and she’s gonna be on her own more. I told her she’s gotta think about that,” said Dean. 

“Is that boyfriend Dean or doctor Dean talking?” you asked.

“It’s I care about my girlfriend’s little sister Dean,” he said. “Trust me. If I had doubts, I’d be calling for her to get a service dog lined up tonight. I think it’s a peace of mind thing right now. She can change her mind later if she wants.”

“It’d give me peace of mind,” you said.

“Yeah but take it from someone who was the younger sibling, let her choose if she wants it or not,” said Sam.

“Alright. Maybe...maybe Toast can get a prosthetic and still go places with her at least,” you said. “Or maybe he’ll be okay on just the three legs. Just slower.”

“I think she’s much more open to that,” said Dean. You nodded and sipped your beer, taking a deep breath. He threw his arm over your shoulder and tucked you into his side, kissing the top of your head. “She’s a tough kid and Toast is a tough dog. They’ll be okay.”

“She deserves a break,” you said. 

“You both do. It’ll turn out alright, sweetheart. I promise.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

[disorganizedkitten]

Every now and then I look back at this blog and the entire Miraculous Focus on it and I feel bad because I've stepped back except for Felinette and Maribat, pretty much, and there's stuff that hasn't been finished yet, but I always tell myself it will be because I am pedantic and barely ever delete things.

Anyway. Today is not the Rewind And Finish All Projects Miraculous day, although that day will probably be pretty Miraculous in and of itself 😉👉👉

Anyway, no this is me publicly claiming my twin/wbwl aus because they bring me joy and I wanna shout into the void for all who echo.

Titles and summaries under the cut-

Are these gonna be in chronological order? Only until Connor appears. If you don't know, Connor features in almost every branch of this chart and those bounce around.

Cobra Lily- Inspired by The Farland Files and a fic that's since been deleted and was also based off Farland Files; What if, instead of fighting against each other and the system, the abandoned children teamed up?

 Eden's is not the only place Iris has ever known. But it is the one she knows the most.

 Fished out of a building after a small town massacre and shipped across the country for long-term placement three days later, Iris has no ties to her dead-or-worse birth family.

 Instead, Iris has Eden. Among the children, the name is an inside joke.

 Jacinta Peréz, Florine Dupont, Clemencia Doe, Kamal Doe, Aletris Carson, and Hana Griffith call it their Garden of Eden.

 The Garden is a good enough family anyway.

Hydrangea- Cobra Lily but I looked at it and myself and said why is the vibe so different genderbent, can I do this with a male Harry? The answer is yes.

Cobra Lily but instead of Iris Doe, future Dark Lady and friend of Charlie Potter, we have Hawthorn Doe, living dark artifact and secret metamorphmagus.

(Not) Our Parents (' Children)- I have so many explanations for this so maybe check the NOPC tag when you're done but for now 'WBWL au sautéed in found family and drizzled with chaos'

This is a story you know. In a sense.

 Let’s try this, shall we? Once upon a time, there was a little boy destined to save the world- oh goodness I sound dramatic. Nevermind. You know that part. You know about the child soldiers and split souls.

 So what about what you don’t already know? You don’t know of two little boys who decide to save the other instead. You don’t know the secret to immortality. And you may not know, however cliché it sounds, just how useful love can be.

 They say the pen is mightier than the sword, and a wand can be both and neither. So let’s say love is stronger than hate - because it can be, of course. Let’s say… you can choose people you’ve already been given. Let’s say the only ties that matter are those you give power to- let’s say the only way anything has power is if you give it that power.

 Now let’s say there are children. There are children in the 1500s and there are children in the 100s and there are children in the 1900s. There are children raised in war who wish for peace.

 None of them have succeeded. Adversely, many of them have.

 [Cathy, get to the point.]

 [Timothy, get out of my office!]

 [It’s our lunch break, Catherine. I was told to ensure you ate.]

 [Thank you, Sally. Let me finish first, right?]

 [Sure, but we’re watching.]

 [Timothy, I’m recording, shut up.]

 Let’s say that once upon a time a war was fought, and maybe it’s been won. Maybe it hasn’t been. But there are people living in its wake.

 Black clawed his way out of a cave and won. Riddle threw three killing curses and left that many survivors. Potter cheated Death. Nott watched values degrade and mourned it. Peverell kissed her daughter goodbye. Lestrange laughed as she went to prison. Granger prayed to never see war. Warren died screaming. Zabini betrayed his beloved. Norman choked on smoke and ash. Weasley looked over a battlefield and saw the living overlay the dead.

 Because this is what Weasley saw, darling readers. Their children? They do better.

Mathverse/It's Only Right As A Math Problem- Okay from NOPC onwards we are in Connor Potter territory and I love him. This is a conglomeration of deleted scenes turned into a new universe from NOPC

Wherein Harry is traumatized but pretending he's not, Connor definitely does not have possession problems, and Bryony has decided that becoming a Dark Lady is a wonderful career choice.

 Once upon a time, children chose kindness, but war chose children.

 Or-

 The adventures of a horcrux and his necromancer, set to the background of proper wbwl tropes.

A Conspiracy of Errors- I was thinking of Hydrangea meeting NOPC and Sorrel and Hawthorne insisting very stubbornly that Harry Potter is dead. I wanted to try smth.

 On October 31st, 1981, The Dark Lord Voldemort broke into the Potter’s home and killed James and Henry Potter. Lily and Connor Potter survived, if barely.

 Two months later, Lily Potter remarries Jacob Black and adopts his son, Hadrian.

 Nine years later, the half-brothers reach Hogwarts. For years things haven’t quite added up, but it’s been negligible because that’s just what home is like. Their parents are trying to shelter them from something or other.

 Of course, once they see how history views their family, every dodged question and untrue answer is suddenly cast in a much more sinister light. Connor and Harry are going to get to the bottom of this, even if it breaks them.

 Meanwhile, Lily and James Potter fret over their children’s sparse letters and choppy attitudes.

Incubus- Horcrux thoughts go brr

The Students of Hogwarts will tell you that the Potter twins are needlessly affectionate.

 They're wrong.

The Boys Who LiVeD- I don't remember :v:

 Lily Potter is going to raise her children. That’s non negotiable. War won’t stop her, a dark lord won’t, and death will try.

I have a couple others but they're all really lose, like two sentence things. /shrug

[javistg]

A Second Chance CH 3.

It’s been almost two years since I posted Chapter 2 but Chapter 3 is finally ready!

I want to dedicate this chapter to @mega-aulover, @567inpanem, @katnissdoesnotfollowback, @hutchhitched, @justajjfan, @thegirlfromoverthepond, @booksrockmyface, @albinokittens300, @animekpopxx, @alliswell21, @alwayseverlark, @nightlock-1989, @katnissmeowverdeen, @mandelion82, @norbertsmom, @rosegardeninwinter, @everybirdfellsilent, @thelettersfromnoone, @mrspeetamellark, @taylerwrites, @ameliaodair, @everlark-always, @emilia206 and everyone else who joined this year’s @everlarkficexchange. 

Thank you all for bringing inspiration back into my inbox, for reminding me of how fun it is to create something and to share it with this wonderful fandom.

Also, @theeverlarkingmoose this chapter is for you. Your words of encouragement made me want to go back and re-read what I had written. Everything started falling in place after that ❤️ 

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

To read from the beginning, you can go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTER 3.

The tribute train speeds along, silently hovering over the tracks on its way to the Capitol.

Alone in her compartment, Katniss cries. The hope and joy from the previous day are gone. Sorrow and defeat fill her heart as she sits on the bed.

Clutching a bag full of frosted cookies against her chest, she tries to come to terms with the fact that the unthinkable has happened again.

Covering her eyes from the glaring summer sun, an effervescent Effie Trinket walked onto the stage and pulled Prim's name out of a giant glass bowl.

For the second time in her life, Katniss stepped forward and volunteered to take her sister's place.

The crowd parted to let her through. Prim cried. Gale carried her away.

A silent District 12 saluted their tribute. Haymitch interrupted the proceedings with his drunken antics, and a rattled Effie called out Peeta's name.

After finishing the Treaty of Treason, the mayor prompted the tributes to shake hands.

Sorrow, pain, and an unexpected dash of hope danced in Peeta's eyes as he looked straight at her and gently squeezed her hand. Comforted by the gesture she no longer confused with a nervous spasm, Katniss squeezed back.

The goodbyes at the Justice Building were just as bad as she remembered them.

Katniss had thought it would be easier. She had imagined that knowing she had a real shot at coming back would help her be more convincing, more generous.

She wanted to be kinder to her mother --who had already proven she was strong enough to keep on going while Katniss was away-- and to leave her sister with a sense of certainty, with a bit of hope to cling to.

But, as soon as Prim started crying, Katniss's fears took over, and her resolutions melted as quickly as a blanket of snow.

In the end, history repeated itself, and Katniss used up most of her time going over all the practical stuff Prim and her mother needed to know. Right before the Peacekeepers barged in, the three Everdeen women hugged and promised, once again, that they would try their best.

Once her family left, Mr. Mellark delivered his cookies. The baker was just as quiet this time around, but Katniss didn't mind. Instead of fretting over his intentions, she was grateful for his generosity and kindness.

The door opened again, and Madge came in like a whirlwind, holding out the mockingjay pin and talking about district tokens.

"I'll bring it back," Katniss promised as her friend leaned in to fix the bird to her dress.

Madge kissed her friend's cheek. "I'm counting on that."

Madge had barely left the room when Gale walked in.

His eyes were dark and stormy, but when he opened his arms, she walked straight into them.

Their breakfast that morning hadn't been as pleasant as the one she remembered. Instead of joking around and talking about escaping into the woods, Gale had been surly and quiet.  

To Katniss's relief, he hadn't mentioned Peeta or her stroll around the Meadow the previous afternoon. It didn't matter. His contribution to the meal, a day-old tesserae grain roll that could have only come from the Hob, spoke louder than any words ever could.

Gale Hawthorne hadn't been in the mood to stop by the bakery that morning.  

"Listen," he said, stepping away from their embrace to look at her face. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

Katniss smiled. There he was, her friend, her partner, the man who was willing to put his own feelings aside, like he'd done in Thirteen, to help and support her.

No matter what, Gale had her back. Even if he wasn't thrilled with her right now, he would keep her family safe.

"You know how to kill," Gale insisted as they discussed strategies.

"Not people," she muttered.

"How different can it be, really?" A grim remark uttered in a moment of despair. She had never liked it but, after surviving two arenas, it made her furious.

"It's incredibly different!" Katniss yelled. Anger and dread danced in her veins as she remembered where she was headed to. "I'd be killing a person, Gale! A person! I'd be erasing their thoughts, their dreams, their—,"

"Listen," Gale grabbed her by the shoulders, "Catnip, you can't think that way. Not in the arena. You need to remember, only one comes out, right?"

Only one. The words were oddly familiar. Numb, Katniss nodded.

"Say it,” he pressed.

"They have to have a victor," Katniss whispered. Looking up into Gale's silver eyes, she repeated, "Only one comes out."

"That's it, and you can be the one. You can be the one who comes home, back to Prim, back to your mother. Because that's all that matters, right? They are all that matters."

"Right."

Pulling her back into his arms, Gale lowered his head to her ear and whispered, "You can do this, Katniss. Just… promise me, you won't let anyone distract you."

Anyone. He meant Peeta, of course. But Peeta wasn’t a distraction, he was her mission.

Clinging to his embrace to soak up his warmth, she promised, “I won’t.”  

A Peacekeeper walked in.

Always the nonconformist, Gale asked for more time. He was granted none.

"Don't let them starve!" Katniss cried out, panicked, as her friend was escorted out of the room.

"I won't!" Gale vowed. "You know I won't!"

XXXXX




By the time Effie comes to collect her for supper, Katniss's tears have dried up.




Resigned to her fate, Katniss follows her escort through the narrow, rocking corridor into the dining room where Peeta sits, waiting for them.




At the sight of him, Katniss's breath hitches. This is the Peeta she knows best. Capitol clothes, winning smile, and a touch of… heartbreak in his eyes.




That wasn't there earlier, Katniss thinks. What happened? As Peeta's eyes flit away, she suddenly remembers. His mother.




Yes, Mrs. Mellark just told her youngest son that he's not good enough to come back from the arena.  




She wants to run to his side, to wrap her arms around him, press a kiss on his forehead, and soothe his pain away.




She wishes with all her heart that she could tell him that the Witch and her bitterness don't matter, but she can't. Instead, she bites her lip, takes the empty chair by his side, and waits for Effie to start giving instructions.




The supper comes in courses. The starter, a thick carrot soup, is followed by a green salad.




Katniss is reaching for the platter with the lamb chops and mashed potatoes when Peeta leans into her side and casually says, "So… when you said you'd be at the back…"




Surprised, Katniss glances back at him. The teasing glint in his eyes brings a smile to her lips. "I guess I meant the front," she says, stabbing a lamb chop with her fork and dropping it on her plate. With a coy shrug, she adds, "I confuse them sometimes."




Peeta's retort is interrupted by Effie's shrill voice. "Oh! Are you two friends?"




Katniss freezes, but Peeta quickly comes to her rescue. "Not really," he says, ladling a dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate, "we go to school together, that's all."




Effie takes this news with a polite nod. Just as they're about to finish the main course, she speaks again. "At least, you two have decent manners," she says. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."




Katniss narrows her eyes. Over the last couple of years, she's come to appreciate Effie, but her comment still disgusts her. So, once again, she makes a point of eating the rest of her meal with her fingers and wiping her hands on the tablecloth when she's done.




Bewildered, Effie straightens up in her chair, pursing her pink lips in shocked disapproval.




Good, Katniss thinks with a satisfied smirk. Things are just as they should be.

XXXXX




Katniss's first day in the Capitol is almost an exact replica of her previous one.




Her prep team scrubs and strips every inch of her body, removing all her hair and leaving her like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.




Later, when Cinna walks into the room, Katniss rolls her hands into tight fists and, somehow, manages to stop herself from lunging into his arms.




XXXXX




The carriage ride around the City Circle is a huge success.  




While Portia is busy extinguishing the last of the artificial flames, Katniss reluctantly lets go of Peeta's hand.




"Thanks for keeping hold of me," says Peeta massaging his hand, "I was getting a little shaky there."  




"It didn't show," Katniss tells him. "I'm sure no one noticed."




"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," he replies, looking boldly into her eyes, "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."




Then, he does it again. He flashes her that smile, the one she knows he saves just for her, genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness.




Warmth rushes through her, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely. She used to feel so vulnerable whenever this happened --like Peeta was in control, and she couldn't trust herself around him-- but she knows better now. Peeta's not trying to manipulate her, he's just paying her a compliment, and he's damned good at it!




No warning bells go off. No thoughts of hidden agendas, or strategies, or games cross Katniss's mind. Only joy and affection propel her as she stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, right on his bruise.




XXXXX




When Katniss notices the red-headed Avox at the dinner table later that night, she doesn't even flinch.




With watchful eyes, she follows the girl's movements and tries not to think about Darius —or the way he looked at her the last time they saw each other in that same room.




Taking a bite of her cake, Katniss glances back at Peeta and wonders —just for an instant— if he ever saw what Effie called the "matching set" while Snow kept him captive.




The thought is too painful to even consider, so she stops poking at it and goes back to the conversation around the table.




Later, as she lies in bed looking at images of a slow trickling stream projected on her wall, she silently berates herself for her silence. Her original reaction hadn't really hurt anyone, but it had led to Peeta covering for her and showing her the rooftop garden.




She longs to go there now. It's the only place where she can breathe, and she's sure Peeta's there already, looking down unto the Capitol skyline. But how can she join him when no one in this timeline has shown her the way?




The answer is so simple it makes her laugh. The terrace isn't exactly hidden, and Peeta knows she's an illegal hunter who sneaks under an electrified fence every day. He won't question her if she says she just stumbled upon it while exploring the apartment.




Katniss steps into the cool, windy evening air. Twelve floors down, the Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. It's a familiar sight by now, but it still fills her with wonder.




Peeta's already there, standing by the railing at the edge of the roof. His eyes widen when he sees her approach.




"How did you find this place?" Katniss asks, trying her best to sound surprised.




"Cinna showed me," Peeta says. "You?"




"I did some exploring."




Katniss reaches his side, and they both turn to look out onto the skyline.

"You can practically see the whole city," Peeta says.




They stand there for a few minutes, enjoying the show of flickering lights, listening to the wind chimes behind them and the noises from the city below.




They're standing so close together that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. A little closer and I would smell his scent, she thinks, hoping she could wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shirt.




"A penny for your thoughts," Peeta asks.




Startled out of her reverie, Katniss laughs, "A penny? Is that the going rate in town?"




Peeta shrugs. "I guess. It's just something my grandmother used to say."




She's heard this before, back on their victory tour, but she still asks, "Which grandmother?"




"Grandma Mellark. She had tons of sayings, one for every occasion. She died when I was ten, but I still remember some of them." After a short pause, he asks, "How about you? Do you remember your grandparents?"




"No. I never met them."




Peeta turns towards her. The earnest curiosity dancing in his eyes tugs at her heart. "Never?"




Katniss shakes her head. "I know my mother's parents ran the apothecary up until a few years ago, but we never went there. I might have seen them on the street, but…"




"And on your father's side?"




"They both died before I was born. I don't know much about them, just that they knew a lot about plants and that my grandmother loved music. My dad used to say that she could remember any song after only hearing it once and that she had a beautiful voice."




Peeta's hushed words are almost lost in the din of the wind chimes, but they reach her all the same. "Just like yours."




She's about to contradict him but, when she looks up, her mind goes blank. Peeta's looking back at her with a tenderness and warmth that still haunts her dreams.

“I don’t sing,” she hears herself say.




"But you used to,” Peeta says, “back when we were little.”




It's almost like being back in the cave. Her skin tingles, her heart soars.

Flustered, Katniss asks, "You remember that?"




Peeta looks away. His cheeks turn beet red as he softly admits, "I do."  

Her heart's hammering madly against her rib cage now.

For an instant, she thinks he's going to tell her the story again, the one about their first day of school and the teacher asking her to sing; but he does no such thing.

Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Peeta straightens up and pushes himself away from her and the railing.




Disappointed, Katniss turns away.

Deep down, she's also relieved. As much as she wants to regain the closeness she once shared with Peeta, she knows they're not ready yet.




Unlike her, Peeta doesn't know what their future holds. He likes her well enough, but they're training for the Games. He still needs to keep his distance from his district partner.




Satisfied that she's done plenty for one night, Katniss stretches her arms over her head and fakes a yawn. "We should get some rest," she says.




"Yeah. Tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day!"




Katniss laughs. Peeta's impersonation of their escort has always been pitch-perfect.




They climb the stairs together. When they reach the corridor that leads up to their rooms, Peeta whispers, "Good night, Katniss."




The words wrap around her heart, soothing her like no morphling ever did. She's still savoring them when she whispers back, "Good night, Peeta."




XXXXX




It's a little before ten when Katniss and Peeta step out of the elevator and into the Training Center. The other tributes are already there gathered in a circle around Atala, the head trainer.




As soon as the tall woman starts to talk, Katniss tunes her out. She's heard the little speech twice already. She doesn't need to listen to it again.




Beside her, Peeta lets out a small sigh.




He's frustrated, Katniss thinks. She considers reaching out to squeeze his hand but stops herself, knowing that Peeta probably won’t welcome the gesture right now.

She can’t blame him, not after the morning they've had.




The discussion over their individual skills at breakfast had been slightly less contentious this time around, but not by much.




After mentioning Katniss’s abilities, Peeta had still brought up his mother's hurtful parting words.




Katniss had been less cagey. She had managed to keep the bread incident out of the conversation, but Peeta's comment about the effect she had on people had —once again— raised her hackles. Not because she had felt insulted, lile the first time, but because she’d been reminded of everything she’d lost.




As she saw the old Peeta willing to give his life for her, she couldn’t help but think of the other version of him; the version she had left behind in District 13. That Peeta hated her. He had gone through hell and back to be with her and now he wanted her dead.




Who knows? She bitterly told herself after Haymitch dismissed them. Maybe this magical effect of mine doesn't last very long. Maybe, one day, the whole country will wake up and hate me too.




XXXXX




While Atala reads down the list of the skill stations, Katniss can't keep her eyes from flitting around the room.




Marvel. Clove. Cato. Fox-face. Thresh. Rue.




Her chest tightens. These are the faces that haunt her dreams. The voices that echo in her nightmares.




Katniss bites her lip to keep from screaming. Her palms are clammy, her heart is racing, but she doesn't move an inch.




This is the hardest thing she's had to do so far, and she needs to get it right. She can't let the others see her distress.




Slowly averting her eyes, she reminds herself, My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back.




Katniss breathes. In. Out. In. Out.




Her heart rate is almost back to normal when she finishes. I came back to make Snow pay.




She's still lost in her thoughts when Peeta nudges her arm and makes her jump.




His expression is sober. "Where would you like to start?"




Katniss looks around at the Career Tributes who are already showing off, clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons with a knife or an ax.




"Suppose we tie some knots," she says.




"Right you are," says Peeta.




XXXXX




They spend their morning trying out different skills.




Now that she knows what type of arena awaits her, Katniss realizes that the stations are full of clues. The kinds of ropes they use at the knot-tying class. The mud, clay, and berry juices available in the camouflage section. They all seem so obvious now that she knows they'll be going to a forest.




When they reach the medicinal plants' section, Katniss stops short. The last time she was here, she practically skipped it, but she's on a different mission now, so she walks in and makes sure Peeta follows.




A big screen shows pictures of plants with a brief description underneath.




Katniss flips through the crisp images until she finds what she's looking for: the leaves Rue used to treat her.




"These are great!" she enthusiastically tells Peeta. "They fight off infection, bring down swelling, and numb the pain. They're handy when you've been stung by insects or bees. You have to chew them up into a pulp and spit them on top of your wound."




Peeta wrinkles his nose. "Spit them?"




"Yeah," Katniss confirms, "Otherwise, you won't release their properties. My mother would use other methods, but…" Lowering her voice, she adds, "Sometimes you don't have a lot of options when you're out in the woods."




Apparently satisfied with her answer, Peeta nods. After glancing around to make sure no one is listening, he whispers, "Have you been stung many times?"




"Only twice," Katniss admits, "I immediately pulled the stingers out and put the leaves on top. It wasn't so bad."




Peeta's eyes are locked on the screen as he says, "Maybe I should stuff my pockets with these if I ever find any in the arena. You know? Just in case."




"It won't hurt," Katniss agrees, holding on to the hope that he will do just that.




XXXXX




On the second night of her training, Katniss decides to go back to the rooftop.




Peeta is already there. He's sitting on a bench by the flower beds with a sketchpad propped up against his bent knee. The little bundle of pencils she gave him back in District Twelve rests by his side.




She can tell he's distracted, so she clears her throat to make her presence known.




"Hey!" Peeta calls out. He looks tired, but his smile is sweet and welcoming.




"Mind if I join you?" she asks.




Peeta pats the empty seat next to him, and Katniss walks over.  




A small sigh escapes her as she sits down. Her daytime routine hasn't been as tiring this time around, but she's still beat.




"Nice pad," she says.




"It's Portia's," Peeta runs his fingers along the edge of the paper in a reverent caress. "She said I could borrow it."




Anticipating her next question, Peeta tilts the pad in her direction.




Katniss gasps. The angle of the image is one she cannot place, but there's no doubt in her mind, Peeta has painted her woods.




Reaching for the corner of the pad so as not to smudge his drawing, she asks, "Where is this?"




"It's the view from my house."




Katniss narrows her eyes, the bakery is in the center of town, but Peeta hasn't included any buildings in his picture. "Your house?"




"There's an attic that we use for storage. I like to go up there sometimes. It's higher than most buildings in the district, so you get to see all the way out into the woods."




Katniss stares at the drawing and tells herself not to cry, but it's not easy. Not when Prim and District Twelve are so far away, not when Peeta is opening up to her in ways he never did before.




"Do you like it?" Peeta asks.




The nervous tremor in his voice tugs at her heart; she reaches for his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I do! Peeta, it's extraordinary! Prim's right. You're very talented."




Peeta shakes his head and accepts the compliment with a quiet, "Thank you."




Letting go of him, Katniss settles in her seat, resting her back against the wall and stretching her legs. Nodding to his pad, she says, "Go on. Don't let me interrupt."




Peeta starts drawing again.




Katniss watches, mesmerized, as his hand dances over the paper, making the blank page bloom with delicate strokes of color.




They stay like that for a while, side by side on the bench, wrapped in peaceful silence, enjoying each other's presence and silently wishing for more time.




XXXXX




As soon as the anthem is over, Katniss makes a beeline out of the Training Center lobby and onto the elevator bank. Moving swiftly, she veers into a car that does not contain Peeta.




The crowd slows the entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones. Soon, Katniss finds herself alone with only other tributes for company. No one speaks.




The elevator stops to deposit four tributes before she's alone. One quick breath is all she has time for before the doors open on the twelfth floor.




Peeta has only just stepped from his car when she slams her palms into his chest and pushes him towards the wall.




Peeta loses his balance, but the wall breaks his fall. A few inches away from him, an ugly urn filled with fake flowers stands on its pedestal, untouched.  




With Peeta safely out of harm's way, Katniss grabs the urn and smashes it on the floor, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces.




Good, she thinks as she takes a step back, I've always hated the damned thing.




"What was that for?" Peeta says, aghast.




"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss yells at him.




Before Peeta can say anything, the elevators open, and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia.




"What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice as she notices the broken urn and Peeta slumped form against the wall. "Did you trip?”




"No," says Peeta pushing himself off the wall to straighten up, "Katniss broke it after she shoved me."




Haymitch turns on Katniss. "Shoved him?"




"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Katniss answers, "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"




"It was my idea," Peeta cuts in. "Haymitch just helped me with it."




The hurt in his eyes guts her, but she can't back down now. This is how she reacted the first time around, and as hard as it is, she knows she has to stick with it.




"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she yells.




"You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."




"He made me look weak!" Katniss says.




"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch.




"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she says.




Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived…"




As Haymitch prattles on about sponsors, Katniss tunes out. She doesn't need to be convinced of anything. She already knows their strategy is the right one.  




As soon as Cinna steps into the conversation, Katniss softens. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she grumbles.




"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.




"She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, eyes locked on the shattered urn.




Katniss fixes him with a deadly glare. "I don't have a boyfriend."




"Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?"




As the words sink in, an old familiar darkness envelops her. This, right here, is what has caused so much pain between them.




Even after all this time and everything they've been through, she has never been able to tell Peeta how she feels about him. Just as she's never told Gale that he's nothing more than a dear friend.




This silence, this reticence, has hurt Peeta over and over again. It's the reason why he pushed her away after their first Game and why President Snow was able to twist his mind and convince him that she was a mutt programmed to kill him.




I need to do better, she thinks. This time around, I need to do more.




Feeling all eyes on her, Katniss turns to Cinna and asks, "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?"




"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."




The others chime in, agreeing.




"You're golden, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."




Worried that she's going to burst out in tears, she forces herself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you."




"Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "The urn got it worse."




Portia and Cinna's goodnatured laughter diffuses the remaining tension.




"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch directing everyone towards the delicious smells wafting in from the dining room.




XXXXX




The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as her bare feet reach its tiled surface, she sees his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol.




There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns. Katniss knows she could slip away now without Peeta noticing her; he wouldn't hear her over the din, but that's not what she wants.




Her feet move soundlessly across the tiles. She's only a yard behind him when she says, "You should be getting some sleep."




Peeta starts but doesn't turn, just gives his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."




She comes up beside him and leans over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. Squinting to get a better look at them, she asks, "Are they in costumes?"




"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." Turning to her, he asks, "Couldn't sleep, either?"




"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says.




"Thinking about your family?"




"Not exactly," she admits a bit guiltily. After going through two arenas, she's not as worried about Prim and her mother as she once was. She knows they can cope without her. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."




Facing him, she says, "I really am sorry about before."




"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta says.




"I was just upset that you would share something private like that…"




Peeta nods. "I know."




"And, also… I just don't get it. I mean, why would you give me an advantage like that? You're going to need sponsors too, you know?"




Peeta shakes his head. "It won't make a difference. I've never been a contender in these Games. Not really."




Katniss reaches for his hand. "Peeta, that's no way to be thinking."




"Why not? It's true." With the gentlest of touches, Peeta runs his fingers over the back of Katniss's hand. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and . . ." he hesitates.




With a small squeeze, she silently encourages him to continue.




"I don't know how to say it exactly," Peeta finally says. "Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?"




Katniss swallows thickly.




Once upon a time, she stood there and told him that she didn't understand and —most importantly— that she didn't care. But she's a different person now. She knows exactly what he means and why it matters.




Although she knows what he's getting at, she still needs him to complete his thought. Shyly, she asks, "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"




"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta.




Her chest tightens at his words. Being back in that moment with him reminds her of everything that’s gone wrong in her life.

Before her mind can wander back into the dark recesses of her pain, she says, "The thing is, Peeta, you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work."




"OK, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?"




Katniss nods. She sees, she knows, she understands. What's more, she still can't believe she was ever so blind.




She inches closer to him so he can hear her over the ruckus of the city and the wind chimes.




In her mind, she repeats the little speech she's prepared for this moment. Every year they throw us in an arena and tell us to kill each other, and we do it. But there's a part, deep inside of us, that they don't own, a part that refuses to be pushed around and that will stand up and say, "enough, this is a line I won't cross."




But, once she opens her mouth, the words that slip from her lips are quite different, "I don't have a boyfriend."




Peeta blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"




Katniss bursts out laughing. "I'm sorry, I just…" Bewildered, she covers her face to hide her embarrassment and silently reprimand herself for losing her focus.




With a shake of her head, she straightens up. Her earnest eyes meet Peeta's. "I get what you're saying. They are forcing us to fight for our lives, but they don't get to decide how we go about it, right? We do. At the end of the day, it's up to us. We choose who to attack and who to help, when to face danger and when to hide. "




Peeta nods. "Right." Looking out into the sprawling city, he adds, "I just hope I can make the right choices, you know?"




Katniss sighs. “Yeah, me too.”




Leaning against the railing, Peeta tilts his head to look at her. The playful glint in his eyes is something she hasn't seen in a very long time. "So, you don't have a boyfriend."




Katniss shakes her head, chuckling at the absurdity of the topic.




"What about the guy who took your sister away at the reaping?"




"That's Gale."




"Uh-huh," Peeta's head bobs up and down as he nods. "And Gale is…"




Katniss looks up at him. He's so open, so pure, right now that all her thoughts about plans and strategies melt away. "He's just a friend," she says.




Peeta's smile forms slowly, warm and genuine, a little flirty even. It makes her whole body tingle. "Just a friend, huh? Does he know that?"




Katniss's jaw goes slack. Back in the day, she would have answered with a resounding "yes, of course, he does" but, that answer doesn't really fit the situation. She knows that now. So, instead of throwing her righteous indignation at him, she asks, "What do you mean?"




Peeta shrugs. "I don't know. It's just… I thought you had something with him."




Genuinely intrigued, she asks, "Why?"




"Um," Peeta fills his lungs with crisp Capitol air. As he pushes it out, he says, "You seem to spend a lot of time together. Whenever I see you around town, you're either with him or with Prim. I used to think he was your cousin or something. You favor each other. But then... there was the look."




Katniss frowns. "The look?"




"Yeah." Peeta's shy smile makes another appearance. "He kept glaring at me the other day when we met up by the Meadow." The shocked expression on her face makes him chuckle. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."




"Well," Katniss reaches for the end of her messy braid and begins twisting it around her finger. "I wasn't focusing on him."




Peeta's lips part, but no words come out.




Blushing, Katniss turns to face the city again. "Gale and I hunt together. Our families are close. That's it."




Peeta's gentle touch on her elbow gets her attention. Kind, soft eyes gaze straight into hers when he says, "You know, Katniss, what I said earlier—,"




Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses him, stopping his words.




It takes Peeta half a second to react. In one fluid move, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him.




His lips meld with hers in a slow, sweet dance.  




After months of pain and sorrow, Katniss finally feels joy. Closing her eyes, she forgets the world and kisses him with abandon.




Peeta's free hand makes its way to the back of her head, where he buries his fingers in her hair to keep her there, rooted in his arms, anchored to him.




Elated, Katniss hums her approval.




This kiss is like the cave and the beach all rolled into one. It's like every happy moment they've ever shared together, every smile, every touch. It's like coming home after a long day, like finding her soul.




That familiar stirring inside her chest, warm and curious, comes back to life. It fills her entire being with want and need, pushing her to explore more. Blindly, she follows.




Holding on to his broad shoulders, Katniss pulls him even closer, pressing herself against his chest until she can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, beating against her own.

Smiling, Peeta begins raining kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.




Her skin tingles. Her pulse races. Her heart soars.




I'll keep you safe, she promises, holding on to him like she did back at the beach, back when they were surrounded by mutts and enemies and lies.

With one long sigh, Peeta finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers while they both catch their breaths.

In that brief moment of glorious harmony only one thought goes through her mind. Peeta. Every heartbeat is like a reminder. He's back, he's here, he's mine.

Glancing up, she finds his eyes, dark and dazed, and she knows. Whatever this is, Peeta feels it too. He always has.  




"Katniss—,"




"No," she interrupts again, placing her fingers on his lips to quiet him. She hates what she's about to do, but she doesn't have a choice.




She takes a step away from him and immediately feels lost. "You have a plan for tomorrow, right?"




Peeta's face falls at the sudden reminder of why they're there. He nods.




Reaching forward, Katniss brushes the hair back from his forehead in one last tender caress. "That's what you need to focus on, OK? Just think about—,"




"Staying alive?" Peeta finishes, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.  




Katniss cups his cheek. "Exactly." Her heart skips a beat when he leans into her touch, but she still insists, "This doesn't change anything that happens tomorrow, Peeta. It can't."




"I know," he says, covering her hand with his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "It just changes everything that's happened until today."




Katniss bites her lip and nods. Peeta's right. Even for her, things are dramatically different now. There's so much more at stake. She knows where they stand, and she's no longer running away from him and the things he makes her feel.




Rising to the tips of her toes, she kisses him one last time. "See you tomorrow," she says.




Then, she walks away.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Every Little Thing.

Part 3!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1 and read Part 2 here! This is the last part sort of. I’m planning on an epilogue of sorts though!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 8681

The next time you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the shadow of an unknown person looming over you. Your instincts are screaming danger and without thinking about it, you start fighting your way out of their hands. They are trying to restrain you, so you fight back harder. You can’t stop hearing the lamp crashing on your head. It’s reminding you over and over of the danger you are in. Your self-defense training kicks in when the person wraps an arm across our chest. Afterwards, you think it should have occurred to you that the person wasn’t really fighting back so much as trying to calm you down, but you’ll blame your poor observational skills on adrenaline. It just all happened so fast.

You form your hands into “large claws” as the instructor called them in class, and swiftly shove them between your body and the arm of the attacker. Gripping the arm, you throw your weight diagonally forward, curling your body in toward your left knee. You end in a one legged kneel, having thrown the person over your shoulder. The thud they made upon hitting the floor was highly satisfying, until you looked down and recognized the face.

 Derek Morgan was staring at you from his new found position on the floor, you kneeling over him with a slightly crazed look in your eye. You would start apologizing, but you are so stunned you don’t move until Morgan gets up and guides you back to the couch.

 Apparently the team had been trying to reach you or Reid for a while. Neither of you answered, for reasons that were obvious now, so the team rushed over to check on you. Nobody mentions how you just threw Derek over your body as if he were a ragdoll. It doesn’t seem like the time to be joking around.

 You tell them everything you can remember, starting with everything you told Spencer about the man you recognized and ending with the sound of the lamp cracking over your head. You’re surprised you didn’t cry through the whole story. Maybe you’re out of tears, physically unable to produce any more because your tear ducts dried up. If Spencer were here he’d tell you some fact about how your tear ducts never really dry out, your body just becomes dehydrated and water is diverted to more essential tasks.

 At the thought of Spencer, a few tears do spring to your eyes. “Why would he take him? I was right here! He could’ve just taken me and been done with it. Oh, god. I was right there and I couldn’t stop him. No, no, no no no nonono.” You can feel all the signs of panic setting in, but you don’t have the power to stop them on your own. The team is trying to help you. They are, but you don’t hear them. You’re too worried about what is currently happening to Spencer.

 It feels like time has slowed down. It’s like you’re swimming through syrup, desperately trying to stay above the surface, but the liquid is heavy and it’s sticky and it’s pulling you down. You hear what people are saying to you, but the words don’t make sense in your brain. They might as well be talking to a toddler, because all you can do is babble incoherently and point at the pieces of lamp on the ground.  

 You are relieving the same two scenes over and over. The look on his face when you made eye contact in the park. Then the sound of the lamp hitting your skull in the dark. The look on his face. The sound of the lamp. The look. The sound. His face. The lamp. It’s repeating in a never ending cycle. Your brain is moving so fast, you’re combining the two experiences. Logically, you know it was way too dark to see him holding the lamp, but you can see it clear as day in your head.

 He’s walking across the room. He stops to pick up the lamp. He’s got both hands wrapped around it, as if he needed all the force he could possible create. HI lifts it above his head, and crash- wait. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand!

 “The lamp!” Your exclamation is so loud, Hotch looks as if he could’ve been surprised.

 “He hit you with the lamp. We know.” Morgan’s voice is soothing, but your brain is moving through everything too fast to listen. You must look certifiably insane.

 “No, the way he held the lamp.” Your brain is moving too fast for the words coming out of your mouth to catch up.

 “You said it was too dark to see anything. How do you know how he held the lamp?” JJ looks confused more than anything at your behavior.

 “I don’t. I mean, I do. I don’t know.” You’re being pulled back to the couch again. It’s as if the syrup has you in a bubble. You’re moving at a different frequency than the rest of them. You’re in a daze, not speaking as clearly as you are thinking.

 “Y/N.” Hotch says your name with such a commanding presence, you’re focus is returned to the team. They’re staring at you with various expressions. Rossi looks so concerned you can’t help but think of the song you started for him. He really is the parental type. The rest of the team wear expressions that perfectly balance confusion, concern, and worry. Except for Hotch. He looks as stoic as ever, but there is a glint in his eye that seems to indicate he’s worried. “What about the lamp?”

 “You’re right. I didn’t see the lamp in his hands. It was too dark.” This clears the confusion, but the concern and worry haven’t left their faces. “I can picture it though. And in my head, he was holding the lamp like I would hold a mic stand if I was trying to adjust the height.” You mime the grip in front of you. “That’s a weird fucking way to hold a lamp. So, why would I picture that?” They give you sympathetic looks, but nobody has an answer for you. 

You’ve risen from the couch to pace back and forth across the room. The team starts speculating where the unsub would’ve taken Spencer, but you’re not listening. You are so sure there’s a reason you picture the lamp like that. You aren’t paying attention to them, and they aren’t paying attention to you. At least, that’s what you thought. You’re practically muttering to yourself when you figure it out. “I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand.” Hotch must have ears like an elephant because his head instantly swivels in your direction. You make the briefest of eye contact, a small smile forming on your face as you dart back toward the team.

 “You’ve seen him before yesterday?” Hotch asks, cutting off the conversation currently going on between the agents. The group turns toward you, just realizing you’re no longer walking in circles talking to yourself.

 “Yes. Yes, I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand. That must be why I pictured it like that in my head. The lamp I mean.” Hotch gives you a gentle nudge, encouraging you to reach a conclusion. “He works on the crew. His first show was the Louisville show.” Morgan already has Garcia on the phone, narrowing down the names for newer hires only.

 “That’s still 42 names.” You can hear her nerves through the phone, and you’ve only met her once.

 “Right, we hire a lot of new people for the US leg of the tour. It’s usually the biggest part.” You try to remember anything else about this man, wishing you had Spencer’s memory.

 “Y/N, what else can you remember about him?” JJ’s words are gentle, but the look in her eyes is anything but. It is her best friend that’s missing.

 “I don’t know. He’s never talked to me. I tried to introduce myself once and he just awkwardly ran away. The other crew guys he was working with, though they said something though.” You start tapping the side of your head, trying to recall the memory from nearly a month ago. “They said he’s been like that since he started. A little shy, I mean. They thought he was star struck.” You know they said something else, but it feels like you’re trying to catch individual grains of sand. You can just barely see them before they land in the water, fading away. “His name! One of them said his name. Jake or John or something with a J.”

 “Three names.” The hope was evident in the way Garcia said the two simple words.

 “What are they? I know they said his last name too, it’s just harder to remember because I didn’t talk to him personally.”

 “Jacob Hawthorne-“

 “No, it’s not him. He works in lighting, great guy. Cute kids.”

“Jordan Crawford”

 “No, he’s a set designer. I talk to him all the time about switching things up between shows.”

 “Last one, Joshua Gr-“

 “Graves! Josh Graves That’s the name. That’s him!”

 “Y/N, stay here. Agent Anderson will make sure you’re safe.” You can still hear his commanding voice as he leaves the room with the rest of the team. “Garcia, look for addresses where he-” The door swings shut, cutting you off from the rest of the information.

 You gave Agent Anderson a small wave, asking if he wanted coffee or tea. You were still trying to be a good host, even if the room was a crime scene.

 Crime scene. Suddenly, the idea of staying in this room any longer made you feel physically ill. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and a baseball hat, grabbing your keys as you headed for the door. Before Agent Anderson, or Grant as he introduced himself, could speak a word of protest, you had the door open.

 “I can’t be in that room anymore. We can go wherever you want, I just can’t stay there.” He nodded in understanding, but still looked nervous at the idea of ignoring Hotch’s order to stay put.

 The elevator doors opened to a mostly deserted lobby. You instantly walk over to the small café tucked into the corner. The barista recognizes you immediately, reaching for a bag as if you had already ordered.

 “Ms. L/N, a man ordered this for you earlier. He said to give it to you as soon possible, but I didn’t want to wake you up since it’s still so early.” She has a sweet smile on her face, one you try to return but fail miserably.

 “Thank you.” You’re far too stressed to worry about who ordered you a pastry before 5:45 in the morning on a day you were definitely not planning on being up this early. Agent Anderson, though? He was suspicious.

 As you sat down in the arm chairs just outside of the shop, he politely asked for the bag.

 “Why?” You said it with genuine confusion, but apparently he wasn’t actually asking. He had the bag open and the contents dumped onto the table in a matter of seconds. A blueberry muffin, you’re favorite, and a napkin topple onto the surface of the table in front of you.

 “Are FBI agents trained to waste perfectly good muffins?” It’s hard to hide the slight mirth in your voice as you stare at the muffin that rolled of the table and onto the floor. Grant must not have heard you, or maybe he just chose to ignore you. He was still looking at the napkin. He took a picture on his phone before finally returning his attention to you. Of course, now your attention was trained on the napkin. It was your turn to move quickly, sliding it over to you and holding it out to prevent him from taking it back. The message on it was written in sloppy, rushed handwriting, but it was still legible.

 “You belong with me. Not him.”

“His story is bound to have dust on every page when I’m done with him.”

“The slope was treacherous, the path reckless.”

“Do you think there’s enough blank space for him?”

 You aren’t proud of the first thought that popped into your head. It was true, but you still would’ve liked to think your first thought would somehow tell you where Spencer was. Or at least be about Spencer, but no.

 So rude of him to use my own lyrics for this. 

 You moved passed it quickly though, ignoring the fear you felt at seeing an unreleased lyric in front of you. There must be some sort of clue in the note. Why would he leave it for me if he doesn’t want me to find him? Grant managed to snatch the napkin out of your hand, but you had already read it. The damage was done.

 “Y/N. You cannot leave this hotel. The team will find him. They know what they’re doing.” His words were a warning. One you intended to ignore.

 “Fine. I’m going to get another muffin.” You tried to sound normal, but that’s probably what gave you away. Nobody would sound normal in this scenario. It didn’t matter if he figured out your plan though. You had a distraction for him. You waved at the barista as you walked into the shop.

 “Hi, can I get another muffin? Accidentally dropped mine, whoops!” You smiled at her in a conspiratorial kind of way before leaning closer. “By the way, my friend over there” you nodded toward the agent who hadn’t taken his eyes off you as you walked away, “he thinks you’re cute. You should go talk to him!” Before you knew it, she was out from behind the counter, waving to her colleague to get you a muffin. She stood right in front of Grant, twirling her hair, but more importantly blocking his view of you.

 You didn’t wait for the muffin. You slipped out the side door that lead straight to the main street, repeating the clues in your head. Dust. Treacherous. Blank Space.

 Somewhere dirty, dangerous, and empty?

 Ideas are flying through your head, but they don’t make any sense. The clues aren’t specific enough to tell you everything. It has to be somewhere you’ve been. Realization hits you as if a piano just fell out of the sky.

 The arena. There was a staircase and some back rooms that were closed for construction. Dust, check. Unsafe conditions, check. Empty rooms, check. That has to be it.

 You hail a cab, texting Hotch once you are on route to your destination. You know he’s going to tell you to stay put, but you want to make sure he knows where to go.

 “The arena. They were doing construction.” You put your phone on airplane mode before returning it to your bag.

 You expect to arrive at the arena to see it surrounded by black SUVs and police cars, but everything is eerily quiet. You must have beaten them there somehow. You pay your driver before walking up to the main doors. It seems like the best plan of action is to get inside and then find the construction zone. Weirdly enough, the front door is unlocked.

 The sound of your shoes hitting the floor echoes in your mind as you wander through the building. It should be a fairly straightforward path, but you’re all turned around. Everything feels different. It’s no longer the nervous butterflies you get right before you perform. The syrup is coming back, only this time it’s pulling you in every direction except for the one you want to go in. You’re fighting your own sense of self preservation. Your brain is screaming at you to leave. You aren’t trained for this. You’re barely trained for anything that doesn’t involve music. But there is a part of you that still feels like this is all your fault. Maybe if you had just talked to him that day things would be different. You could’ve prevented all of this. Maybe…

 The sound of Spencer’s voice pulls you forward. He sounds like he’s in pain, but the words are powerful.

 “She’s not going to come. Even if she does get the note, there is no way the FBI would let her anywhere near the building.”

More guilt overwhelms you. It’s as if, all at once, the extreme stupidity of your actions hits you. You are putting Spencer’s life at risk. Hell, you are endangering the lives of any agent who has to walk into this building to protect you. You don’t know what will happen to Grant. You left him behind when all he was trying to do was protect you. You made it so he couldn’t do his job properly.

 Your body leans into the nearest wall with a soft thud. You barely heard it, but it was apparently loud enough for Joshua.

 “Someone’s hear.” His voice sounds playful, as if he’s really enjoying this. “Let’s hope for your sake it’s her.” You’re frozen in place as the footsteps grow closer and closer. You can’t hide. You can’t run. You can’t do anything except wait for him to walk around the corner and see you standing there.

 Seeing him again isn’t like you thought it would be. You thought you’d be angered. Mostly, you’re just tired. Multiple panic attacks in one day could do that to a person. You also probably had a concussion that was influencing how you processed the emotional side of everything going on.

 Seeing Spencer was different than expected as well. There was no huge wave of relief at discovering he was relatively unhurt. You felt relief, but it was like a tiny puddle surrounded by an ocean of guilt and sadness. There was mostly guilt, and no matter what anyone said before it felt different now. He was only in this position because of you. If he had not have been the one to go undercover, he wouldn’t have been targeted. And, it was your brilliant idea that landed him undercover in the first place.

 He looked so panicked at the sight of you. A flurry of emotions ran across his face before settling back into a carefully controlled blank stare.

 You wanted to run to him, but you couldn’t move. Yes, Josh was holding your arm in a grip sure to leave bruises, but your legs also felt like jelly. You kept thinking over and over that you shouldn’t have come. That you are only making everything worse. That everyone else’s jobs are so much harder now that you’ve put yourself here. Spencer must see it written on your face because the first thing he says after you enter the room is “It’s not your fault.”

 Hearing it from him, you’re almost inclined to believe it. All you can do is nod, tears springing to your eyes.

 Josh isn’t pleased with you sharing any sort of a moment with Spencer. He somehow tightens his hold on your arm, drawing a slight yelp from you. You try to remember what Hotch told you that first night. It feels like it happened months ago, but maybe you can talk your way out of this by remembering something useful. Or at least talk Spencer’s way out of it. You’ve been listening to him talk about profiling for the past week, time to put your skills to the test.

 “I’m here now. You can let him go.” You don’t know who is more shocked at your words. Yourself, Josh, or Spencer. You’ve never seen Spencer speechless, but apparently you trying to talk down a psychopath who is obsessed with you and rapidly devolving is enough to manage the feat.

 Josh pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants. He throws you into the wall before angrily pacing through the room.

 “Josh, look at me.” It takes everything in you to pretend like this is a script. As if you are playing a role in a movie. “You have me. We can be together, but you have to let Spencer go.” He’s staring right into your eyes, trying to read your thoughts.

 “You’re lying. He has to die, or he’ll always come between us.” He slowly raises the gun, not quite pointing it at any one, but enough to cause your heart rate to soar.

 “Josh, think about it. I’ve known you for so much longer than I’ve known him.” You nearly choke on the next words that come out of your mouth. “He’s not important to me. Not like you.”

 “STOP LYING TO ME. I KNOW WHAT I SAW.” Oh no. No no no. He’s frantically waving the gun around the room as you inch closer to Spencer. You notice movement near the door you came in, but you don’t have time to investigate. When Josh aims his gun at Spencer, you don’t think before you act- a recurring theme with you today. With all the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk for the first time, you jump in front of Spencer right as the gun goes off.

 You’re not sure if it’s an echo but you would’ve sworn you heard two resounding bangs instead of just one.

 Spencer catches you as you fall to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound in your abdomen.

 “Spence,” you take a shuttering breath, trying to gain the strength to talk to him.

 “Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He turns to yell at someone out of your view. “I need a medic! Now!” He sounds just as panicked as he looked earlier.

 “I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand when he tries to interrupt you again. “I’m sorry, for coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” you couch a bit as you try to get the words out. “For everything.” You know he is remembering your heartfelt speech to him and Morgan from a few days ago, or at least you hope he is. The last thing you say before your vision fades to black feels so random in comparison. “Don’t blame Grant.”

 --

“Spence,” your breathing is choppy and rough, contrasting the smooth skin beneath his fingertips as he assesses your wound.

 “Shh. Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” His thoughts are running wild with everything he wants to say to you, but he can’t get anything meaningful to come out. Instead he’s yelling for a medic, frantically looking at all the faces of his closest friends. “I need a medic! Now!” He can hear the panic in his voice, but no amount of training or profiling knowledge can get him to control his emotions.

 “I’m sorry.” He tries to interrupt you. To tell you it’s not your fault. That you did everything right. That Josh’s profile said he wouldn’t back down without a fight. Anything, but you squeeze his hand and he can’t breathe, let alone speak. “For coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” he leans in closer, wishing he could do anything to stop your pain. “For everything.” He can’t help but replay your previous conversation with Morgan. Tears are falling down his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 “Don’t blame Grant.” It takes him the entire ride to the hospital to understand why you mentioned Anderson. Even with your brain shutting down from a lack of blood flow, you were still trying to make sure nobody was blamed for your actions.

 He barely listens to the EMTs and the hospital staff as he watches them wheel you back through the all too familiar ‘Authorized Personnel Only” doors.

 Spencer doesn’t bother to hide his emotions when the rest of the team arrive. He doesn’t have the energy in him to muster enough energy to hide how he’s feeling from the group of profilers. They all come to the same realization simultaneously. Spencer is a wreck. There’s no other way to describe it. He spent hours in the waiting room before anyone could even convince him to wash your blood off his hands.

He just keeps thinking about how he didn’t get to say goodbye. Hell, he didn’t really say anything. You were bleeding out in front of him, having just jumped in front of a bullet to save him, and still you had more strength than he did in the moment.

 Another few hours later and he still hasn’t said a word. JJ’s tried. Derek’s tried. Hotch, Penelope, and Emily tried. Nobody can get through to him. He’s either pacing back and forth or staring at a wall. Of course, his mind is racing, the words just don’t come out of his mouth.

 He thinks about how much he hates hospitals. He goes over how germ-ridden every surface is, how much money is spent on healthcare in America, how many people are pronounced dead in hospitals- and then he cuts his own train of thought off.

 He thinks about the statistics of gunshot wounds next. He’s hyper focused on how clean shots with an exit wound are less lethal, but yours didn’t have and exit wound so that meant you were less likely to survive- and again he cuts himself off.

 He’s begging his brain for happier thoughts. Anything that won’t lead him down the rabbit hole of statistics and how likely you are to die. He clings to the first memory that pops into his head. The night he first saw you.

 Hotch, Emily, and Spencer arrived at the arena while the show was still going, if the fireworks were any clue. Normally, one flash of a badge would get the team through any checkpoint, but security at this place was no joke. They called to confirm the identities of the agents before escorting them to the head of security.

 That’s when Spencer saw you for the first time. Hotch was arguing with the head of security, a woman named Carrie. Emily was interjecting, trying to convey how important it was that the three agents speak to you immediately without giving away any details about the case. Spencer, if not for his eidetic memory, would have no idea what had been said. His attention was drawn elsewhere when you ran off the stage.

 He knew it was the last song of the night because of what Carrie was saying. It was clear to them she was stalling the team, so you could finish the show everyone was there to see.

 You had a bright smile on your face, but it seemed off to Spencer. There was a slight sadness in your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to ask you why. The feeling perplexed him. He’s never been a social butterfly, but your presence was captivating.

 He watched your smile transform into genuine happiness when you slid your arms into a new jacket for the final performance, and he wanted to ask about that to. He wanted to learn everything he could about you.

 He would’ve thought his heart had skipped a beat when you made eye contact, but he knew logically he would’ve required medical attention had that actually happened. The moment was brief. Your expression, although still happy, transformed into slightly quizzical when you glanced at the three agents. He watched as you thought about who they could be before discarding all thoughts from your mind to focus on the grand finale. He kept watching as you ran back on stage, the smile only growing in size and authenticity when you looked out at the crowd.

 He replays that memory in his mind, all the while ignoring the concerned glances and attempts at conversation from his friends. He desperately clings to the way he felt during that 30 second interaction.

 He doesn’t understand the feelings that started in that moment. It’s like as soon as he saw you, something in him shifted. He can’t explain it. He’s not blind. He saw the smirks and subtle glances the other profilers were giving when they saw him interact with you. He was just as surprised by his willingness to comfort you, both emotionally and physically. He’s never been one for touching people he doesn’t know. There’s too many germs. But with you, everything is different... With you, he wants it all. Every little thing. 

 Spencer has never believed in love at first sight. He’s always been too practical, has always thought too logically. But, after the tenth time reliving that moment, he still has no other explanation for the desire he felt. The desire he still feels to learn everything there is to know about you.

 All week, he’s chalked it up to his inquisitive mind. He’s always loved learning, so that must have been what was happening here. He’s never spent any considerable amount of time with a musician before, so it’s only natural that he would want to learn from the experience.

 That’s a much easier explanation to accept than love. People can’t fall in love in a week. Even if it was a week spent nonstop with each other. But something in the back of his mind was screaming at Spencer to tell himself the truth.

 And so he did. And it only confused him more. He’s a man of science. Proving theories with facts, not emotion. Of course, he’s always wanted to be in love, but life has shown him again and again that it wasn’t probable for him. That’s why he nearly fell out of the chair he was in when the realization dawned on him.

 “I haven’t had enough time.” It’s barely a whisper, but all his friends are right there hanging on his every word. They wear cautious expressions, as if he could be easily spooked back into silence.

 “Enough time for what, kid?” Morgan’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. Even in his most calming moments, Derek always puts power behind his words. It’s why he’s so good at helping people, but this is different. He can tell Spencer is hurting, and he doesn’t want to spook him back into complete silence.

 “I’ve barely scratched the surface. I have so much left to learn.” Although he’s still whispering, Spencer’s voice is growing more frantic as he looks between the concerned and confused faces staring back at him. His brain is moving too fast to really explain the thought process going on inside. He can’t put into words how it wasn’t love at first sight, but rather the desire to love you. He saw you and just knew he could love you. That desire to learn everything about you somehow turned into love in the span of a week. Before he can fall even deeper into the rabbit hole he’s found himself in, Spencer is jolted out of his head by the feeling of Rossi’s hands gripping his shoulders.

 “I know, kid. You’ll have more time.” Rossi’s words are so confident, Spencer has no choice but to accept them as fact. His heart slows back down to a normal pace. His breathing becomes more regular. His legs stop bouncing. His hands stop fidgeting. And he accepts the comforting words from his family.

 --

 You’re running. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here. But you know you’re running.

You feel at ease. You don’t know why. You know it to be true though. You feel safe. Peaceful.

 You try to look around. Try to figure out why you’re running. Are you running toward something? Away from something? For fun? It feels fun.

 You hear voices. It sounds like laughter. Slowly, you put the pieces together.

 You’re in your backyard. Playing with your children. Yours and Spencer’s children. There’s three of them. All girls. The youngest is 4. The other two 6. Twins. You have twins with Spencer. You bask in the joy of it all.

 You’re running because you’re playing tag. With your daughters and Spencer. He’s got the all teamed up against you. It feels unfair, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

 There’s a song playing in your head. One you’ve never heard before. It’s beautiful though. So happy. You’ll have to write it down. Find out if you’ve written it in the moment or if you are simply remembering it from long ago.

 You still can’t remember how you got here. All you remember is dark. And cold.

 Dark and cold. Dark. Cold. A gunshot.

 The memory is foggy, but it’s there. The scene in front of you changes. The song is still playing. Its positivity doesn’t match the scene.

 It’s like you’re watching a movie. Spencer is holding you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You want to go back.

 Back to your kids.

 Back to being happy with Spencer.

 Back to running. Playing. Being in love.

 Then you hear beeping. It’s quiet at first. Drowned out by the song in your head.

 Then the song is getting quieter. The beeping getting louder.

 Then the song is gone. You can only hear the beeping.

 You remember everything when you open your eyes. It comes back to you like a wave crashing over your head, dragging you back into the ocean.

 Instead of focusing on the trauma, you focus on the song.

 It only takes 30 seconds for you to find your phone on the table next to your bed, open it to the voice memos app, and start recording.

 You sing as much of the song as you can remember. It’s not hard since the feelings behind it are so strong. The first verse comes from the forth night you spent with Spencer. You couldn’t sleep so you convinced him to get coffee with you. It didn’t take much convincing for the coffee part since he’s pretty much addicted to the stuff. It took some convincing for him to agree to where you wanted to go though. You wanted to go back to his favorite coffee shop, but he said you could just get some in the hotel. You managed to convince him to go though. He insisted on driving since he now knew you didn’t like it much. The gesture did not go unnoticed. You knew he didn’t like driving either.

 The chorus, second verse, bridge, and breakdown are jumbled, but they’re all there. It’s harder to get it right because it’s not coming from memories of you time with Spencer. It’s coming from what you hope to do with him. After a few tries, you’ve got the whole thing in order.

 You lay back in your bed, the song replaying in your mind as you fall back asleep.

 --

5 hours and 42 minutes. It’s been 5 hours and 42 minutes since you were wheeled into surgery. Every member of the team has gone up to ask about your condition at least once.

 The nurse they’ve been bombarding with questions walks into the room and immediately all eyes are on her.

 She escorts the team out of the waiting area into a private room before she says anything. “Since Ms. L/N is a high profile patient, we have a certain protocol to follow. All I can tell you right now is that she’s out of surgery, and she’s stable. Her security team is on the way and will need to approve any and all visitors. Once approved, her doctor can give you more information.” And then she leaves before any questions can be thrown at her.

 Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief when they hear that you’re stable. That relief is replaced by frustration when they realize they have to wait to see you. Especially for Spencer. If he could walk more than two steps in this tiny room, he’d be pacing it. Once he starts rambling, not a single team member dare to interrupt him.

 It must have been 25 minutes of fidgeting, mumbling, and checking their watches before Carrie walked into the room, interrupting Spencer’s rant.

 “I don’t see why our badges aren’t enough proof that we can- Carrie. Finally, can we go see her now?” Based on the look in Spencer’s eyes, anything other than an affirmative answer would not end well.

“Spencer, of course. I just had to confirm your identity in person. It’s standard procedure when she’s in the hospital. For safety reasons. The doctor should be coming in any minute and she can take us to her room.” As if on cue, the doctor walked in.

 “Hello everyone, sorry to keep you waiting. Ms. L/N’s surgery went very well. The bullet was removed and all the internal bleeding was stopped before it got too bad. As you know, we’ve got her in a private room. She can have visitors, but limit it to one or two people at a time. Do you have any questions?”

 Spencer knows somewhere in his mind that he should ask the doctor everything about your condition, but he can barely keep it together enough to shake his head no. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now.

 “Alright, follow me to her room.” A parade of agents, along with Carrie, follow the doctor down twisting hallways to the private wing. “Now, remember one or two at a time. Last I checked, she was still asleep.” Spencer’s gaze drifts from the doctor to look at you through the window. At first glance, he would’ve sworn your eyes were open, but when he looked back again they were closed.

 “Once I go in there, I’m not coming back out until she’s awake.” He turned to the rest of the group.

 “Spence, it’s okay. You go in. Let us know when she’s awake.” JJ gave him a reassuring hug before her and the rest of the team wandered back to the waiting room.

 Spencer and Carrie walked in slowly, as if any sudden movement could hurt you. For the first time in his life, Spencer’s mind was completely empty.

 There were no statistics. No miscellaneous facts. Nothing.

 He looked at you, asleep in a hospital bed after you saved his life, and he allowed himself to just feel.

 It took a strange amount of concentration for him to only feel. His brain wants to butt in with statistics about the surgery or to count your breathing so he will notice any change in the pattern. But, he blocks it out. For you.

 He sits down in the chair beside your bed, grabs your hand in his, lays his head on the side of your bed, and feels everything.

 He feels all the love he’s been denying for the past week. He feels all the relief of knowing you are okay. He feels all the pain of watching you slip away from him. He feels everything he’s ever blocked out with numbers and statistics. And it’s exhausting. To feel so much at once.

 Without thinking about it, he feels his eyes grow heavier with each added emotion.

 Love.

Relief.

Pain.

Sadness.

Greif.

Anger.

Fear.

Gratitude.

Happiness.

 Just the prospect of being happy is heavy enough that Spencer falls asleep.

 The first thing he notices is that he’s running. He’s chasing someone. But not like he normally has to. No. There’s no unsub. Nobody is in danger. He’s playing a game. With children. His children. His and Y/N’s children. He has three daughters. The twins are older, around 6. The youngest is 4. They are helping him chase their mom. His wife. He’s built quite a future for himself in his head. He listens to the sounds of laughter, memorizing each individual’s laugh.

 He feels something squeeze his hand and he’s awake. Groggy, but awake. He wants to go back to the dream. To remember what pure happiness feels like.

 Then he remembers where he is. And why he’s there. The grogginess is gone. He’s alert in an instant. He’s looking at you, but you aren’t focused. You’re mumbling under your breath, looking for something in the sheets with your one free hand.

 “My phone. Where’s my phone? Was it real? Did I dream it?” You seem so flustered, and he can’t fathom why your phone could be so important, but he finds it for you nonetheless.

 “Thank you!” He watches as you rapidly open your phone, intently staring at the screen as if it might disappear.

 “What are you-” Before he can finish the thought, a voice- no, your voice is playing from your phone.

 “It was real…” You are clearly in a daze, but the happiness in your voice is contagious. Suddenly Spencer is smiling, pulling you closer to him as the lyrics to your song play in the background. He peppers soft kisses over any piece of skin he can reach. Your giggles fill him with even more love. Even more happiness.

 When the two of you finally separate, he asks the first question he can think of. “When did you write this?”

 You think back to your dream. The love. The joy. The pure happiness. You feel Spencer brushing the tears off your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. “It came to me in a dream. I… I guess I woke up earlier and I wanted to remember it. The dream. The song. It was all so beautiful. So happy. You were there. And then when I woke up I just recorded everything I could remember.”

 Spencer is looking at you with such adoration that you almost feel shy. You want more than anything for that dream to be a reality. Not right away obviously, but in the future for sure.

 “It’s beautiful.” His words are soft and low.

 “It’s about you.” If you weren’t in a hospital bed, you might be inclined to think you were still in a dream. “About us.”

“I love it. I love you.” Spencer whispers the words into your skin. Almost like it was involuntary, it slipped out like a breath.

 “I love you too.” He kisses you again, before the sound of the door opening breaks you two apart.

Carrie rushes in when she sees you’re awake, not realizing the moment that had just occurred.

 “Oh, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re okay!” She squeezes you lightly in a one armed hug, the other hand carrying a tray of coffees and a paper bag. “I brought coffee for Spencer and a scone for you!”

 “Well, I hope you poured a mountain of sugar into it. He likes it sweet.” You turn to smile at the man only to find him already looking at you.

 “Only as sweet as you.” You laugh at the cheesiness of the moment, but you blush anyway, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Carrie, for the coffee. I should go let the team know you’re awake.” He kisses your forehead before he walks out of the room.

 “Oh honey, you have a lot to fill me in on.” Carrie is looking at you with the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. She has been your head of security for 4 years, and the two of you have become close friends through all the crazy experiences. Although, nothing as crazy as this.

 “What do you mean? I told you I thought he was cute…” You really have no hope of hiding this from her, but you can mess with her a little bit.

 “Yeah, but kissing you on the forehead? Calling you sweet in the corniest of ways? What’s going on? Tell me!!” You could leave her hanging, but you are really feeling the need to gush.

 “I wrote him a song. In my dream. I think it conveys everything pretty clearly.” You play the song for her, again remembering how you felt in the dream. When it’s over you’re nearly in tears again.

 “It’s stunning. Just so beautiful. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy.” You can tell she’s nervous about something, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what.

 “Carrie, don’t worry about me. I really think he’s the one. I’ve never felt this strongly, especially so fast. And I know what you’re thinking, fast might not be good, but we’ve spent so much time together. I mean, think about it. How long does the average date last? 2, 3 hours? At that rate, we’ve already been on roughly 37 dates! And that’s if you don’t count the hours we spent sleeping, which we also did together!”

 Carrie snorts at that. “Yeah, sleeping.”

 “No, I mean actually sleeping.” You try to stress the point. “He kissed me once, but the rest of the time was spent getting to know each other, writing songs, him working on the case, and sleeping. Eyes closed, pajamas on, sleeping.”

 Her eyes soften, the smile on her face widening before she responds. “Okay. I won’t worry… too much.” You’re just about to tell her about the dream when the door opens again.

Penelope comes storming into the room with flowers and a teddy bear, whisper shouting about how happy she is that you’re okay. Just before you turn to give her your full attention, you can see Derek and Spencer talking in the hall.

 --

 “Come on Pretty Boy, what’s going on there?” Derek’s wearing his usual smirk for whenever Spencer’s love life is concerned.

 “What do you mean?” Try as he might, Hell would have to freeze over for Derek to stop this line of questioning.

 “I mean, I see how you look at her. Hell, we all watched you fall apart in the waiting room. What’s the deal? C’mon man, fill me in!” Spencer doesn’t know how to describe it. He doesn’t know how to convert the emotions he’s recently accepted into words, so he tries something else.

 “She wrote me a song.” Spencer’s words are wistful. He’s transported himself back into dreamland. Back to the kids and the games. Back to happiness.

 “Kid, it’s more than that. She wrote all of us songs.” Derek’s words cause the dream to sleep away yet again. .

 “No, well yes. Although technically we wrote that song about me together. I mean, she wrote me an entire song. In a dream.” This time, Derek replies too quickly for him to slip back into the dream.

 “Reid. You’re not making sense. You dreamt that she wrote you a song?” Derek’s words are comforting, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to help Spencer convey his emotions without pushing him too far.

 “No. She said after her surgery, she had a dream. About me. About… us. The song was playing in the background.” Derek nods, finally understanding his friend.

 “Okay, so what was the song about?” Again, his words are soft.

 “Us. The time we’ve spent together and the time she wants us to spend together in the future.” It’s taken Derek this long into the conversation to realize why Spencer seems so out of it. He’s happy. He’s not faking it. He’s not hiding behind statistics. He’s just happy. Plain and simple.

 “And that’s what you want to?” He can’t help but smile, really truly smile, at the pure look of adoration that Spencer wears when he looks through the window at you.

 “More than anything.” Derek pulls him into a hug. Normally, hugs like this are typically reserved for when they just saved each other or after a particularly bad case. This case, although involving Spencer’s kidnapping and a trip to the hospital, had a rather positive outcome.

 “Good. You deserve it man.”

 --

  A few days later and you are itching to leave the hospital. You’ve been working to reschedule your tour dates so you can fully recover before performing again, but even with that it’s incredibly boring to be stuck in the hospital for so long.

 “Good news. You can leave the hospital tomorrow!” Spencer walks in, followed by the rest of the BAU team. They’ve been taking turns visiting you, something you suspect Spencer asked them to do, but you don’t really mind. You’ve actually become good friends with most of them.

 “Yay!” Before too much celebration can occur, you’re passing out USBs to each team member. “I’m glad you’re all hear. I managed to record some preliminary versions of your songs! Listen to them whenever you’d like, or don’t that’s cool too. Either way, I’ll make sure to get you the properly recorded versions when I get a chance to go into the studio. I included some thoughts about other inspirationsas well, so don’t feel bad if there is a lyric that doesn’t really match you.” The majority of the team give you thanks and endless praise before Hotch clears his throat.

 “Our songs? Did I miss something?” You chuckle at that. The man clearly doesn’t miss anything ever.

 “Nobody told you? The first day I met you all, Pen asked me to write a song inspired by her. Trust me, it wasn’t hard. She’s a fountain of inspiration. Then when I was waiting for Spence to get back so we could go to the hotel, I came up with one or two for everyone!” You can’t tell if Hotch is more or less concerned now than when he was out of the loop.

 “So I have a song? What is it?” The rest of the team can’t hide their smirks. It’s clear they never get to see their boss act this nervous.

 “Well, it’s on the CD!” He groans at the idea of waiting when everyone else already knows. “But, since everyone else got a sneak peak, I’ll give you one too. Wasn’t it beautiful running wild till you fell asleep? Before the monster’s caught up to you… It’s okay, just wait and see. Your string of lights is still bright to me. Oh, who you are is not where you’ve been. You’re still an innocent.” You give everyone a minute to think about the lyrics before the silence is too much for you to take.

 “I’m sorry if that’s weird! It’s just, the first time I saw you, and there was this look in your eyes. In all of your eyes, but yours the most.” You are looking straight at Hotch. “Like you’ve been through some really terrible things, and maybe you had to do some things that can be hard to deal with. But, that doesn’t make you a bad person or anything, ya know? That’s where the inspiration came from…” You can’t tell if your rambling helped or not. The profilers are so hard to read. Pen is subtly crying near the side of your bed, so you pull her in for a hug. Before you know it, the rest of the team is joining in.

 “It’s not weird at all. You are pretty good at reading people, ever consider becoming a profiler?” Hotch is clearly trying to lighten the mood, but his expression conveys how much he appreciates the song.

 “I think this will be my first and last case. Clearly I’m not that great at talking down the bad guy.” You shudder to think of putting yourself in that position again.

 “From what I heard, you did a pretty decent job. The ending was exactly what we expected unfortunately. Plus, you can definitely hold your own. I heard you flipped Morgan over your shoulder like a ragdoll.” Rossi’s comment earns laughs from the entire group.

 “Please, I just caught him off guard. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face afterwards.” Again, the groups laughs. “I just wanted to thank you all. For protecting me, but also for visiting me so much. You really know how to see the positive side of things.”

 “Anyone willing to jump in front of a bullet for Spencer is definitely a friend of ours.” JJ chimes in.

You can’t help but truly smile at the team. It seems you’ve found yourself another family, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

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