#BECAUSE SHES A WILD ANIMAL AND HES HELPLESSLY WATCHING HER KILL TO SURVIVE

[acoraxia]

You guys don’t UNDERSTAND how cool Su Daji x Erlang Shen is

They’re what could have been.

But she had to die because otherwise Erlang would have kept following Heaven’s orders blindly. It took seeing her death for him to realize that, fuck, maybe he is a pawn for Heaven to manipulate and order around. He watched her get executed for something she was sent to do and it changed the trajectory of his fucking LIFE

ERLANG WATCHED SU DAJI DIE AND DECIDED THERE AND THEN THAT HE WOULDN’T LET HEAVEN USE HIM AS A PAWN ANYMORE LIKE BRO

And the fact that if Erlang’s sister or mother ordered him to kill Daji then he would. Because he loves no one more than he loves his mother and sister. So it wouldn’t have been endless romantic heaps of love— it would’ve been just as tragic

How more poetic can you get

[librivore42]

A beast in the belly

@garnetdawn's illustration of Gale sent me into an angsty brain spin so you all get to suffer with me. Wheee.

Word Count: 703

Warnings: Some violent intrusive thoughts

Arcane hunger is so aptly named, if he does say so himself. A little arrogant to say, perhaps, since he was the one who named it. But one must find pleasure in the little things, even if that means feeling clever about naming the very ill that will eventually take his life.

The very ill he earned for himself by feeling far too clever. There’s an irony in that which he’d rather not examine, even as it stood there in the shadowed corner of his tower. In the long year alone, he avoided its gaze.

It isn’t until now that he realises just how easy Tara and the tower had made things, lonely as it was.

Tav’s wary assistance has done him some good, of course. But it’s been quite some time since they’ve gotten their hands on another magical artefact, and he can feel it starting to claw at him, shredding his resolve.

He’s told the others that the urge is like a forest fire, or a war. Something to keep at bay certainly, but manifesting as a distant, looming danger that he was simply a passive conduit for. It’s felt different, lately. More active. More searching. More savage.

It grows in ways more bestial than he’s ever been used to. It has teeth and claws and the frightening willingness to use both. It is no longer a burning, a frantic urge to be quelled. As he had so aptly, accidentally named it, it comes as a hunger, a starvation that fuels a primal instinct to be fed, to survive.

He refuses to confront the question of how far he would go to sate it. With whom would he bargain, to what degree would he take if it was not freely given? He clutches at the burning in his chest, staring at the wall of his tent, and avoids the question’s eyes as it lurks in the dark.

Alone, wracked with the strange starvation and the certainty that by noon tomorrow he must either absorb something or disappear before he kills everyone around him.

To die alone.

For all his fine statements that he would teleport himself somewhere he would do no harm, he finds the plan falling apart the closer he comes to it.

He doesn’t want to die.

A frightening thought flickers at the back of his mind. Tav. The vivid, violent image of sinking teeth into the sorcerer's skin to inhale the magic in their body. A fragile mortal shell full of potential power, waiting to be cracked.

The thought makes the breath catch on the existing pain in his chest as he struggles to pretend he never thought it at all. It was someone else, something else, not him. He is not violent. He’s not cruel or wicked, he’s just starving. And alone. Afraid. A wounded animal.

No, to call it an animal is inaccurate. It implies that if he gave in to the urge it would be a loss of control, a wildness for which he is not truly responsible. A separation for which he should suffer no consequence. But he knows better. It does not rip the power from his hands and pull him helplessly forward. It simply lurks, whispering darkness that is horribly, terribly pragmatic. Waiting for him to see the sense of it and act.

It’s only to survive.

Time. He has time again.

It’s for the good of everyone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the faint silhouette of Karlach through the tent fabric as she moves around on the night watch. Some of them have been worried about him, rightly so, for he’s kept them at arm’s length all day, uncharacteristically silent. But Karlach still pauses outside his tent as she passes. It’s a good thing to focus on. Because if he sleeps, he’s afraid of what visions might bubble up from the darkest corners of his mind, thrown up by the dying throes of that wounded animal.

First light takes years to arrive. Lae’zel’s voice is a blessed harshness as it cuts through the dawn air, thrusting an amulet into his tent and stalking off with a click of her teeth and without a backwards glance. He nearly sobs with relief as he grabs at it clumsily, presses the cool metal against the burning and breathes freely for the first time in so many days.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

No Tree Survives Alone | Cassian Andor x Bodhi Rook (Oneshot)

Word Prompt: Hope

Words: 3170

Fandom: The OA AU!Rogue One

Summary: Five prisoners who have only each other bond and learn to band together to escape their situation. Despite a wall separating them, Cassian and Bodhi grow to care deeply for each other. After being thrown from the frying pan into the fire, something awakens within Bodhi that changes how he sees himself.

-

“I am the pilot. I am the pilot. I am the pilot.”

Bodhi chanted these words over and over as he curled up on that dusty stone cold floor, his sweat and tears caking his body with dirt. He had hoped that he could make a difference, that this one good deed could turn a small spark into a flame and make things better. But carrying out such a dangerous mission wasn’t as glorious as it panned out to be and that there are many do-gooders that risk their lives to help others, only to have bad things happen to them. Why did Galen Erso give him the message when he was only a simple cargo pilot?

When Bodhi became a pilot, he dreamed that he would be able to be free from the Empire. Every mission, he took the time to appreciate the stars, the planets, moons, and just everything away from this taint that the Empire had spread. He dreamed that he could take him and his family away from it all. He thought he could once he turned his back on the Empire, once he escaped to deliver the message, but now that he was in this cell, it was becoming a foolish dream.

He heard an exasperated sigh from the other cell. “We get it. You’re the pilot. An Imperial pilot, might I add,” the voice boomed out. Bodhi shivered. He was born and raised in Jedha. He had no say when the Empire occupied the planet.

“He is stuck here like the rest of us,” a calm voice interjected, “there is no point in holding that against him.”

“Chirrut is right,” another voice, much rougher and authoritative, said, “We need to focus on figuring out how to get out of here and find Jyn. Pilot, what is your name? How did you end up here?”

“I… I am… my name is Bodhi Rook. I am the pilot sent by Galen Erso to deliver a message to Saw Gererra. I… he didn’t believe me,” Bodhi said, his voice quivering from the crying he had done. The memory of his interrogation with Gererra and being tied down and subjected to the violation of Bor Gullet still fresh in his mind. He didn’t even realized that he was crying again until the voice began shushing him.

“Message?” the man whispered under his breath, then turned back to Bodhi in a hushed voice, “Enough of that. Listen, Bodhi, I need you to calm down. If you want to escape, you’re going to have to pull yourself together.”

“I can’t,” Bodhi whimpered, his voice muffled by his arm that felt like lead.

“Yes, you can,” the man said firmly. “Get up!”

“I…” Bodhi shifted around until his weight was on his hands and knees, his body shaking from the memory of Bor Gullet wrapping its tentacles around his limbs, trapping him. “I can’t.”

A sigh could be heard from the cell with the man that spoke first. Another voice tutted him. “Please, Baze, be patient with him,” Chirrut said, “we don’t know what that man did to him.”

“What makes you think that this Imperial pilot won’t rat us out once we escape, Cassian?” Baze asked.

“We’re just going to hope that he doesn’t,” the man, Cassian, replied, “that’s all we can do. Bodhi! You can get up. You have to. Get. Up.”

Bodhi sniffed, his limbs shaking as he crawled towards the wall for support. He slowly lifted himself up, leaning against the cold wall and slowly raised his head to look at Cassian through the metal bars. From his voice, Bodhi assumed that he would be a young man, perhaps around his age. Maybe he was, but Bodhi knew that he was looking straight at a man who had seen death enough times to call them his old friend.

“Bodhi, are you with me?” Cassian pressed.

“I… I don’t think I’m much use. I’m just a cargo pilot,” Bodhi said, shaking his head.

“I don’t care if you’re just a cargo pilot. I’ve worked with boys who only knew how to handle farming tools. But you… Galen Erso trusted you with an important message. What is it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see it, but Saw Gurrerra has it, though.”

Cassian exhaled slowly, taking a moment to run scenarios through his head. “If Jyn isn’t here in the cells, she’d most likely be with Saw Gerrerra. He trusts her more. We would just have to see if she finds the message,” he said then grabbed onto the metal bars separating the two cells, “Bodhi, when we do escape, we’re going to need your help in flying off of this planet. Can you do that for us?”

Bodhi met Cassian’s brown eyes that oozed out confidence, as if he was so sure that they will get out of those cells and escape. The longer he stared into his eyes, the more he started to believe that it was possible.

Bodhi took in a deep breath and nodded. “I can fly. I can fly us out,” he said, trying to stand up straighter

-

The next day, the guards struggled to drag in a woman into the empty cell on the other side of Cassian. They had enough of her behavior and slammed the butt of their gun to her forehead, knocking her out.

“Jyn!” Cassian shouted, rushing over to the window bars.

The guards whipped around to Cassian, but he didn’t waiver. In fact, he dared them to try and do anything to him. They spat on the ground and went back to their post, not wanting to waste their time teaching him a lesson.

Cassian saw Jyn stir, a groan escaping her lips. “Jyn,” he called out again, pressing his face against the bars. “Jyn!”

Jyn shuffled around, struggling to sit up on her own. She shifted until she was leaning against the wall opposite of Cassian, her fingers gently touching the area where she got hit. She pulled her hand back and grimaced at the blood. She looked up at Cassian’s hopeful eyes and sighed.

“Well?” he asked.

“I saw the message right before he took it away,” Jyn said.

“And?”

“And, Cassian, it’s too late. Someone must have tipped the Empire off because they got word of stormtroopers in the area.” 

Cassian cursed, pacing around in his cell with a frown. Bodhi’s eyes widened at her words, his heart racing at the idea of being trapped there when the Empire storms through Gerrera’s hideout. Would they kill them on sight? Take them as prisoners and torture them?

“Hey, Bodhi,” Cassian said softly.

Bodhi looked up from his curled position on the floor. He blinked at him with his round eyes, feeling hope seep away from him as the ruckus outside began. They weren’t prepared and they tried everything to break the bars open. They were stuck until the stormtroopers find them.

“We can still make it out of here,” Cassian said.

Bodhi shook his head. “I don’t know anymore…”

“All is as the force wills it,” Chirrut assured them calmly.

“Enough with that force talk, Chirrut, we have to do something,” Baze snapped.

They guards began to yell, blasters going wild in the other rooms. Heavy footsteps made their rounds in each room of the hideout, until two stormtroopers made their way into the cell area. They looked at each other and nodded, taking out a metal rod each and turned them on, electric sparks flying off of them.

“You stay away!” Baze shouted as a stormtrooper approached.

Three more stormtroopers came in, taking a prisoner each. Bodhi watched helplessly as they began to tase Baze, then Chirrut, then Jyn, and then, as Cassian met his eyes, he was dragged out of his cell and tased as well.

-

Bodhi woke up in yet another cell. It was disorienting. The first few days of captivity, Bodhi foolishly believed that he was free, that that dirt and metal cell was all a dream, only to wake up and face reality. This time was different. It looked different, it felt different, and even smelled different, but it was still captivity. At least they had beds, but this time, they were in glass cells where they could see each other, their cells forming an octagon shape.

“Where are we?” Bodhi moaned, swinging his legs off of the stiff bed.

He lifted his head and saw the other captives. Cassian was sitting on his bed, his head hanging low while Jyn was restlessly pacing around. Chirrut was sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed as Baze sat on the floor looking at everyone.

“We’re in an Imperial ship,” Cassian said, running a hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrified? Sore? Hopeless?” Bodhi listed off.

“No, never give up hope,” Cassian began before Jyn cut him off.

“Enough with that, Cassian,” she snapped, “Does your precious rebellion know how to find us? Did they teach you how to break out of highly secured prisons? No, right?”

“The rebellion is built on hope. Without it, we’re lost.”

“And that’s what we are. Lost. Trapped.” Jyn walked over to the glass wall that separated her and Cassian and hissed, “Hopeless.”

Bodhi shook his head, unable to look beyond the bright lights held above their cells, darkness surrounding them both literally and figuratively. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was there. There was something in him that sensed this void of… something. Light. And it’s trying to pull him in, let him succumb to his fears. It was a horrible feeling. Here they were, trapped in glass cages, yet exposed for everyone else to see. Like animals.

“Why glass cages, though?” Bodhi asked, turning around to face Cassian. “Surely, we would be put in a proper prison hold or interrogation room.”

“Don’t give them ideas,” Baze said gruffly.

“Bodhi’s right,” Cassian said, standing up to analyze the room, “There must be something that they want.”

-

Days passed and still nothing. Stormtroopers would rotate, leaving water and some kind of dry food for the five of them, before leaving straight away. When one of them had to relieve themselves, two stormtroopers would follow them to the fresher, making sure they don’t see anything crucial on the way back and forth from the cages.

With nothing to do, the five of them talked, being careful of being too specific, telling each other about themselves. They sat in the corner of their cells so they could face each other. Chirrut and Baze were guardians of a monastery that were in ruins when the Empire took over Jedha. Jyn was the daughter of Galen Erso, the man that created the Deathstar and sent Bodhi on the mission to deliver the message. Cassian was a captain that specialized in espionage in the rebellion, often accompanied by a reprogrammed Imperial droid who he lost contact with when he got captured.

“And what about you, Bodhi?” Jyn asked.

“Nothing much to say,” he said, ducking his head. He automatically reached for his goggles as his usual nervous habit, but he remembered that they took that away from him. “I became a cargo pilot for the Empire to support my family and see the stars… I really miss the stars right now. Anyways, Galen, your father, helped me defect, giving me a message to deliver and help the Rebel Alliance. I don’t know if that will happen now… Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“There is no need to apologize, Bodhi. The force has plans for you. I can feel it,” Chirrut said with a small smile. From then on, a camaraderie was formed.

-

A few days later, the large door hissed open, a heavy presence entering the room. The others stiffened, slowly parting away. Bodhi shivered, feeling this weight pressing down on his body. Heavy breathing through a voice modifier could be heard circling the cells along with his heavy boots. It was unmistakably and horrifyingly Darth Vader.  

“One of you,” Darth Vader rumbled, “holds promise of wielding the force. I intend to find out.”

“That’s why you have us in here?” Jyn spoke up, raising her chin. “Because you can’t tell who’s a Jedi?”

Darth Vader walked over to her cell. Even Jyn couldn’t help but take a step back. “Foolish girl, you don’t need to be a Jedi to be force sensitive. All of you radiate the force within you, but one of you is the strongest. When I find out who, I intend to teach them the way the force should be wielded using the dark side.”

He circled the cells again, then stopped in front of Bodhi’s cell. Bodhi stumbled back, his hands reaching out behind him to steady himself against the glass wall.

“It’s okay. Stay calm,” Cassian whispered behind him.

Bodhi turned his head, seeing Cassian’s face only centimeters away. If the glass was gone, he would be able to feel the heat radiating off of him, his breath against his face, and he would be able to grab his hand for support. For now, all he could do was press his palm against the glass and look into his eyes. Cassian tried to maintain a calm demeanor, pressing his own palm over Bodhi’s on the other side of the glass.

“If you come willingly, your friends will not be harmed,” Darth Vader bargained, a gloved hand held out, lowering the wall that caged Bodhi in using the force.

Bodhi shook in fear, pressing his palms so hard against the glass that he thought the wall was breaking under his touch. He didn’t know why the Sith Lord thought that it was him that had the force. Not once did he used it, or at least he thinks he hadn’t used it.

He heard Cassian gasped. “Bodhi,” he whispered.

“What?”

“You stay away from him!” Jyn shouted at Darth Vader.

He raised a hand and force-choked her. “Silence, girl.”

Bodhi’s eyes darted between Darth Vader and Jyn as she struggled to breathe, her hands clawing at nothing at her throat. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears, blocking out the sound of cracking behind him.

“Let her go!” Baze began to shout, pounding on the wall.

“Come with me, Bodhi Rook, and I will let your friends go,” Darth Vader repeated, extending his other hand out towards him. “Or I shall grab you by force and execute your friends.”

Cassian backed away slowly, watching Bodhi as he shook until his hands tightened into fists. “Let them go!” Bodhi yelled, louder than anything the others had heard from him, the glass walls shuttering from an unknown force.

“Bodhi?” Cassian called out, sensing a brewing energy around him.

“I will not go with you!”

The glass shattered around them, a force sending Darth Vader back. Bodhi stumbled from the sudden outburst as he tried to catch his breath. Baze quickly grabbed Chirrut and guided him away while Cassian rushed to check on Jyn as she collapsed to the floor. She took a moment to regain her breath before shouting, “Let’s go!”

“We don’t know the ship’s layout,” Cassian reminded her, fearing they won’t reach the ship in time.

“I thought rebellions were built on hope. Just use the force,” Jyn said, using Cassian to lift herself up.

“I don’t think the force works like that. Bodhi, let’s go!”

“Right,” Bodhi said, snapping out of his daze.

They rushed out of the room and was met by endless identical corridors. They tried to use logic, thinking of where the cargo hold would be on a ship like this. Stormtroopers would come out from around the corner, but with Bodhi’s newly discovered powers, they were force-pushed away.

From sheer luck, they were able to find the cargo hold, making a beeline towards a cargo ship left from a recent shipment. Bodhi let his friends go ahead first, his new power giving him strength and confidence that he never knew he had, as he turned to face the incoming swarm of stormtroopers.

They loaded onto the cargo ship and got the engines running. Cassian rushed out, looking for Bodhi with wide eyes. “Bodhi, let’s go!” he shouted.

“Go ahead, I’ll hold them off,” Bodhi said, pushing a group back.

“Are you kiffin’ crazy?”

“Please, Cassian, go.”

Cassian growled, hitting the side of the ship before taking over the controls. He lifted the ramp and readied for flight, his mind kept going back to Bodhi. The pilot had been this scared and timid man that didn’t believe he was of any value to the rebellion. To Cassian, there was no such thing of no value as long as they dedicate themselves to the cause. Bodhi was a kind man that worked with the Empire to survive. To think he had this much power dormant within him. But no matter how powerful Bodhi may be, Cassian still wants to protect him.

“Cassian, what are you doing? Bodhi’s back there,” Jyn said.

“I know, Jyn! Don’t you think I want to be down there with him?” Cassian snapped, glaring at her. Jyn pursed her lips, knowing he wasn’t angry at her, but the situation. Cassian sighed. “He wanted us to go ahead. I’m sure he’ll catch up soon.”

The team managed to gain a good distance between them and the main ship when TIE-fighters appeared behind them. Cassian cursed, speeding up the ship and finding a way to lose them. If the TIE-fighters were after them, then what happened to Bodhi? The ship rattled, the TIE-fighters gradually gaining up on them as the cargo ship took another hit.

-

Bodhi managed to break away from the stormtroopers and steal one of their ships, taking the TIE-fighters down as he went. From the condition of the cargo ship, he knew they would have to land somewhere to make it. With more stormtroopers honing in, Bodhi could not follow, only hold the TIE-fighters off until they were at a safe distance.

Flying a TIE-fighter came almost naturally to Bodhi, making him wonder if he would be better in an X-Wing. He fought until they stopped coming, the main ship giving up, not wanting to waste any more time. Bodhi knew it was just the beginning.

-

“This is why I need you guys,” Bodhi said, standing in front of a group of rebels, safe at a rebel base, “I need you guys to help me get back to them.”

Princess Leia looked over at her brother and her friends, then nodded. “You brought us the message that could help take down the Deathstar. It’s the least we could do in return,” she said.

“Draven doesn’t want us to be going on these kinds of missions,” Shara reminded her.

“Then we’ll go rogue,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, that’s more of my language,” Han said, smirking.

“We’re not using the pile of garbage.”

“Whoa, wait-”

“Alright then. Rogue One it is,” Bodhi said, adjusting his new goggles on top of his head.

[politicallycorrectinnocentteen]

The Art of Spanking

Title – The Art of Spanking – featuring a special tumblr user :p

Summary – Imogen is annoyed with Tom being so very timid on bed���and long story short everyone ends up at the door of a professional spanker.

Inspired from a prompt by Mars, “Who’s down for some murder? Any ILB grouping”  

------------x----------------x------------------x------------------------x-------------------------------

“Since WHEN is there a professional Spanker in Pine Springs?” Tom cried in awkwardness, “AND WHAT IS A PROFESSIONAL SPANKER ANYWAY?!”

Imogen just hushed Tom with her brows furrowed, an annoyed look sketching at her face.

“You need to learn Tom.” She glared at him,” I am tired of having to constantly nag you go cross your limits.” With a puff, she continued, “And that’s why we are here. Today you either learn how to spank hard and properly, or you go home with a broken hand.”

“B-But I- “

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THE BUTTOCKS LAST TIME!”

Tom gulped. Imogen’s mad. Really mad.

“Ok…that aside,” Tom tried to look away, his face red,” Why are THEY ALL here??” He accusingly pointed his finger at Parker, who coughed and looked at Vance as if he was the most interesting thing in the world (he actually was), his cheeks red after Imogen’s latest remark. To Vance’s other side was Danni, frowning and tapping her foot impatiently.

“Because she wants all of your lovey-dovey couple moments to be recorded,” said Vance as he started the recording of handycam and flashed Tom an amused grin.

“THIS IS NOT A LOVEY DOVEY COUPLE MOME- “

Tom abruptly stopped as he heard Imogen cough warningly. He gulped.

“I just asked Vance to come. Rest all tagged along.” Imogen shrugged. But Tom knew better. Tom knew that Imogen knew that if Parker and Danni come to know that Vance is coming then they both will come.

“Danni, seriously? I thought you had your shift at café”

“Girl code. Always be there for your sisters.” Danni smirked. Tom knew better. Its more of self-service than sister-service for her right now.

“And you Parker? You are the frickin Chief of Town-“

“Do you really want to be stuck alone with Imogen, and her constant support Danni without any support for yourself?”

No…Tom definitely did not want that.  He looked at Imogen. The only way out seemed to convince her – but she seemed mad and last attempt did not go well at all. But he has to try one more time…

“If you want me to…learn,” Tom felt his face grow hot and sweat beads forming on his forehead, “I-I will learn…but why here.” He then points out to the huge canvas with a painting of Pink Peppercorn which was garlanded, the incense sticks burning around it filling the room with a weird odour.

“Does it look in any way like…like…” he just shakes his head and continues,” Who the heck worships a peppercorn?”

“Quiet child!” A stern voice came from inside, as a hooded lady in her fifties entered the room, carrying a bowl of boiling water.

“Back when there was famine all around, and humans could not eat food because it tasted so bland and tasteless…” she kept the bowl on the table and started stirring some white powder into it, “The Great Goddess Bhavf gave birth to bright pink peppercorns so that humans can cook, use pepper and hence survive on Earth.” She then turned to the Tom, “So, who is the disciple who seeks training here.”

Tom’s eye almost twitched on that, and he wouldn’t have waited for that lady to finish before running for the door. But Imogen’s face was stern. And Imogen made it very clear she’d skin him alive if he did not learn today.

Why are girls so frustrated due to bedroom life?

“Tis he, Lady Mars!” Imogen pointed at Tom.

Mars moved to Tom, and without warning grabbed his arm, pressing it hard.

“Hmmm….” She then moved her hands to his tummy and gave a hard pat.

“EXCUSE ME!” Tom shouted but was immediately hushed by Mars.

She then gave another hard pat to his back, then another to his thighs and finally to his chest.

“No abs, no biceps,” her gaze then fell below his tummy, “And no meat either.”

“WHAT THE – “

“Quiet son! We have no time to waste. You are in an extremely dire situation!” She then turned to the group, “So, who wishes to volunteer?”

“Me.” Imogen nodded, and was led to the wooden bed in front of them.

“Be on your all fours, hips raised upwards and back arched downwards. Yes, like that! It makes your butt seem bubblier Ho-Ho-Ho”

Parker and Tom faces flushed at that while Danni watched Imogen’s pose hawk-eyed, taking notes.

Mars then grabbed Tom and pulled him to Imogen’s buttocks.

“Now, we shall begin.” She said as she closed her eyes and folded her hands, deep in meditation.

…

…

…

“Can we just spank and get over with it- “

“QUIET CHILD!” Tom’s objections were immediately voiced down by her angry tone. “Do you think slapping the buttocks is that all spanking is?” She glared at him.

Well, it technically was…

“That’s why you have a lot to learn. Spanking…is a holy art known to many but mastered by few.”

She was back to her calm mode, and then looked at Imogen’s buttocks with her deep eyes.

“The first step is to sensualize this. Feel the passion in your partner’s buttocks with all your senses.”

“EXCUSE ME WHAT?!” Tom cried, and helplessly looked at Parker, Vance and Danni who merely looked away from him.

“First sense is sight.” Mars started. “Drink your partner’s buttocks with your eyes.”

Parker choked on his own saliva on hearing that. He definitely felt out of place there. How in the hundred worlds they all ended up there watching Tom be sensual with Imogen’s buttock? He tried to look away, and focussed his eyes on Vance, who seemed to be equally shaken up as well.

Poor Vance!

“You both!” Mars chided pointing towards Parker and Vance. “Your auras are killing everything! Why are you both so awkward about something so intimate and beautiful like spanking?” She asked.

“We-uh-We…actually--“

“Just imagine you doing this with your lover’s buttocks. You will be one with the auras then. And this will also save you multiple trips to me.”

As if we are EVER coming back here… Parker snarled in his mind. Just then he noticed that Danni has stepped back a few steps and is admiring Vance’s goods as all his attention is in recording the video.

He glared in her direction which was easily ignored. Ultimately giving into the temptation he also took a step back and-

“Good. Good.” Mar’s shout broke him from the trance, “I see you did not look away at all from your target.” She complimented Tom. “Remember, you can also remove the clothing, if any, in the bedroom.” She winked at him and Tom swore he’d be having multiple nightmares. Multiple.

“Now, the next sensation,” Mars successfully had everyone’s attention in the room, except Vance of course, “…is sound. Hear what your partner’s buttock wants!”

“Dafaq?” Tom blurted out loud. What is he to do? Shove an ear down Imogen’s butt-

“Spiritually! Hear it spiritually, of course.” Mars grinned evilly as her eyes suddenly lit up, “Though if you have any other related fetishes you can always satisfy them in the bedroom.” “She winked, “And let me take this opportunity to remind you that we have the best hotel deals around here. Ho ho ho ho ho!”

“Anyway,” Mars continued seeing no one paying attention to her promotion, “The next sensation is smell.”

As Vance recorded every second of Tom’s horrified expression after hearing that, Parker scooted closer to Vance and whispered, “What if she farts?” A muffled laughter attracted their attention and they noticed Danni, despite herself, laughing at Parker’s question as well.

“Parker…” Vance started,” You know that the handycam is recording everything. Imogen’s gonna be so so mad later when she watches this…”

“NO, YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME- “

Danni’s laughter grew and now she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Poor Parker,” she exclaimed as she hugged her stomach.

“Cease with all this kidding at once!” Mars scolded the group, “Why do you think dogs smell the butts of their partners?  And let me tell you, they enjoy a lot better sex life than some men have to offer… “she then trailed off. Returning back from her thoughts with an eye roll, she continued, “Anyway, the next sensation is…taste.”

Parker and Danni’s breath hitched as their not-so-innocent eyes were glued at a common desired object.

“Don’t get to excited child,” Mars put her hand on the shaking Tom, “all this you can practice in the bedroom, and let me remind you that we have the- “

“Most exclusive, cheapest and best deals of hotels. Thanks for that!” Danni completed her so the “matter” can proceed.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!” Mars laughed, “Glad I helped.” She winked at Danni.

“The final sensation, Ahhh” she let out a wanting breath, “is touch.” She said. “Hit her a rock hits the ground after falling from a cliff.”

Tom, still trembling, barely manages to touch his hand on Imogen’s butt.

“SEE” Imogen started, “That is the source of all the problems! He, needs to release!”

“Yes child. Release.” Mars calmly said, “RELEASE THE WILD ANIMAL INSIDE YOU WHO WANTS TO MATE.” She screamed murder all of the sudden.

Any desire for mating was long extinguished from Tom’s head – all that remained was a vague awkward fear and desire to run. Before he could be back from his trance himself, Mars grabbed Tom’s hand, and-

THAP!

She forced Tom’s palm to hit Imogen’s butt with such speed that the entire room resounded with the echo of impact. Imogen immediately screamed, in a mix of pleasured pain which Tom swore made him hard in his pants. He gulped.

THAP!

This time Tom hit, a lot less impact that Mar’s practiced hand, but still enough to arouse Imogen.

“And that’d be $1000.” Mars smiled at Imogen, “A free room as well if you promise to tell your friends about how good it is here.” She smiled.

“Deal.” Imogen said, getting up and hitting her lips on Tom’s, like strong magnets stuck to each other, as she dragged him out of the door. The room was again filled with awkward silence, as Vance recorded till the last moment of them exiting the door. He was about to stop it, when-

“$1000 for just this?!” Parker started. “I just don’t understand! You guys saw Imogen? What fun is in getting spanked?!”

Spanking, Parker knew was very much fun as he himself imagined doing that to Vance more often than he ‘d ever admit to. But getting aroused by getting spanked was completely alien to him!

“There is a lot of fun…in getting spanked…” Danni coughed as she tried to answer.

Vance pretended to be a statue as he made a god-save-me look because internally he was so dead and so numb from the awkwardness that he stopped feeling anything fifty minutes ago.

“Care to explain?” Parker retorted.

“Do you really want to know?” Danni rolled her eyes.

“I do.” Parker said, firm and smug because he could see easy victory. There is no fun in getting spanked.

“Would you do anything for that?” Danni asked, challenging Parker.

“YES.” Parker muttered.

Suddenly, he is pulled by Mars and thrown off at the bed. She then pulled his butt up with an expert hand. Vance was about to ask that what in the actual hell was going on when-

“Your resolve moves me child.” Mars said, a dark and fiery look in her eyes. Parker looked at her with a confused look.

“You desire to know, and hence will know you shall!”

“Wha- “

THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP!

Danni’s eyes went wide in horror and Vance gulped, the handycam getting every moment of recording as Mars spanked Parker’s buttocks hard as if firing a Machine gun. When she is done, Parker is barely able to breath.

“Lets …get going.” Vance rushes to Parker’s side and picks him up from one arm. Danni supports him from other, a sympathetic look in her eye as they both drag Parker away from there.

“Don’t forget to come back kids! I can show you all how to have a good time! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!”

“Ok, is anyone down for some murder right now.” Parker gritted his teeth as Danni watched him with an amused look.

“DON’T FORGET TO RETURN KIDS! HO! HO! HO!”

Those three swore to never return.

---------x------------------x---------------x------------------x----------------------x-----------------

BONUS 1

“How are you feeling Parker?” Vance asked.

“It... feels burning. Its paining and I am pretty sure its all red with her handprints now…”

“A good lesson to keep your frickin mouth shut.” Danni spoke up.

Parker just ignored her and continued to groan in pain as he tried to walk – without getting any fabric of his jeans and underwear to touch his butt, because God forbid!

“Parker…how will you shit in morning now?” Danni suddenly asked, laughed at Parker’s expense.

“DANNI!” Vance chided.

“Vance, just think!” Danni says, and Vance finds himself giggling despite his resolve.

“Really guys?!” Parker huffed, “You know, you are an ass Danni Asturias!”

“Thankfully not your ass - because it got destroyed” She retorted and gave Vance a high five, they both laughing uncontrollably there while Parker just glared at her.

“Well, I think you are a strong independent man who can take care of himself.” Danni declared. “So why not you take your jeep and go take a rest home, while me and Vance stop by for some coffee?” She then giggled, “We’d invite you as well, but you can neither sit nor shit. “She broke into full laughter, and moved on grabbing Vance by the arm.

Parker gritted his teeth, and turned around rubbing his temples – only to find Mars looking at him from a distance with a rose struck between her teeth. She winked flirtatiously at him.

He shivered.

“VANCE! DANNI! DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND PLEASE!!”

----------x-----------x-----------------x-------------------------------------x--------------------------

Tom and Imogen were in bedroom, with Imogen setting up the DVD player.

“Why do we not just start the act? “Tom asked.

“This thing is supposed to turn you on! I specially asked Vance to record us for this reason.” Imogen giggled. She opened the video file in the player, and because she wanted to skip the initial boring part, she immediately jumped to the middle of the video-

-to the part where Parker is getting spanked…

She has a dafaq look on her face when-

“Imogen…” Tom starts behind her. She gulped, this is looking bad!

“Tom! Wait- “

“I AM SO MUCH DONE NOW!” he kicks off his slippers and trudges out of the door angrily. Imogen’s shock slowly turns into anger towards Vance.

Vance will pay for it.

--------------x-----------------------x-----------------------x-----------------------x------------------

FAQ

Q1. Why Mars? Ans: It was her ask! :p  Q2. Do you not fear for your life? What if Mars reads it? Ans: Dont worry! My trusted sources revealed that she is veryyy busy with RoDAW and hence very, very far behind in her reading list and hence I am safe and...I WILL LIVE TO WRITE ANOTHER DAY, DONT WORRY!

Tag List - @xxpoptartsxx2005 @thefanfictiongeek @ev-enx @marmolady @selectta @zeniamiii @watamidoing @pixieferry @save-me-the-last-dance @scrappysheep @strangerofbraidwood @choiceanon @bhavf @mkiss723 @pbmychoices @hotchocolatelovesyou @heatay74 @griselda1121 @walkerisbae @rayssa10-blog @sherjules @aurorasemery @crabs-are-vengeful-creatures @brightpinkpeppercorn @nighthunternik @flammingred @danniasturiass @strangelycami @fluffy-cat-whisper @politicallycorrectinnocentteen@drakethesunattuned

[mzyrimworld]

Duster Part 12: Quadrum 12

Last time the colonists decided to open that mysterious chamber in the mountain, losing one life and several body parts. But also a couple got engaged! Will there be a marriage this quadrum, and will they get far enough to start making prosthetics?

Firstly it seems that the one female husky has gotten pregnant, though we can’t be certain which of the three male huskies will be the father yet. Given everything that Jethro has suffered, it would be nice for him to get a pup or two if possible. Perhaps they could replace him as Henry’s service dog if anything worse happens to him?

And now it’s wedding time already! It’s coinciding with a solar flare so the base has interesting mood lighting for the occasion. Zeiph and Lucya are sleeping from their night shifts, but hopefully they’ll get up for the ceremony itself.

Vas and Morales aren’t such romantics, but everybody else stood close to watch.

It’s nice and all, but does anybody else feel more tension with this happening where it is? How long until something terrible happens to one of them?! It would be a wonderful story if they could make it safely off the planet at the end of the series, but that’s a lot easier said than done... Feels more likely this footage will wind up in one or both of their death montages.

Perhaps there’s good cheer going around, because that evening they manage to convert one of the three prisoners, making them colonist fifteen. Green Jay seems to have a pretty typical tribal background, but has some useful passions and some ability at shooting, so they could come in handy.

Meanwhile, as mentioned, the prosthetics research is really coming along. We have four missing ears, one missing eye, and one missing kidney that could all do with replacing. Safely, if possible...

Blight’s broken out amongst the animal fields, but fortunately they’re a long distance away from most of the colonist crops and it isn’t spreading that far. They’ve got plenty of bales of hay too, so the animals should be fine.

The colonists have also figured out how to build a communicator to trade with ships off world - but don’t get any ideas, audience; this is a dangerous area of space to meddle with. Anyway, they’re also building a storage area for things they want to trade, though they may not need to as much once they’re crafting their own prostheses.

Speaking of which, Zeiph is working on a replacement ear for one of the four candidates, and being invaluable to the colony in general. Though it turns out this stuff is not cheap, and they’ll probably need to trade just to get the necessary plasteel and components to build more.

It’ll also be interesting to see who gets this implant, as all four of the oldest colonists are missing an ear. Lion is always happy to get a prosthetic and isn’t one of the originals, but she’s married and Steroid would probably be devastated to lose her in surgery. But are our original colonists willing to risk death to regain a bit more hearing? I guess we’ll see.

Another research done, and another quandary, because this means somebody could receive the painstopper they have in storage, but who should get it? A lot of colonists have some pain from old scars... Maybe one of the fighters?

The new research bench and multi-analyser are just charging through these technologies, with Frenchy in the day and Zeiph often at night. The colony could be getting close to moving on again, but perhaps it would be worth staying just to keep getting these researches done? I’m not sure if they can carry all these benches on with them.

Another prisoner is won over, taking us to sixteen colonists now. Emu Trobo doesn’t look to be ideal. He has some medical skill but doesn’t seem to like it, his personality looks to be terrible, and you may recall that he’s got some brain damage from the escape attempt last quadrum. Perhaps the colony can use some cannon fodder?

The colony gets a trade request and, hold on a minute, I’m not sure what bluefur is... Muffalo pelts? That’s a lot of muffalo pelt, too. Not sure how many muffalo they’d have to kill for that. None of the colonists are super bonded with any of the muffalo, but I don’t think they have the heart for that.

This is the state of the animals, by the way. I suppose I can see why they might think the colony might be willing to rid itself of some of the muffalo. You can also see that the only pregnant animal now is Kilo the husky, so the gender separation has worked!

Huh. A whole meteorite made of jade. That should be worth some value, maybe they can trade some off-planet?

Welcome back to another installment of Julio getting helplessly chased around by wild animals. The pig’s already taken a shot from Zeiph’s gun, but it’s still gaining on Julio...

Somehow he managed to let the pig into the base behind him too. This might have been amusing, but Julio is still the colony’s best medic and they’ll probably need him if they want to safely install the prostheses, so hopefully somebody will intervene shortly.

That’s a lot of injuries, though they shouldn’t be permanent. At least it wasn’t a rabbit this time. Perhaps they shouldn’t let Julio out of the base at all.

Between all the cleaning, Henry’s still been working on art, and we know what this very touching piece is going to end up next to...

Oh dear, it seems that some people never learn... Just as the colonists are getting close to converting him too.

Ugh, looks like there might be a second order for a prosthetic eye. I don’t know what the guy expected, though he made it slightly further than last time, at the expense of an eye and a lot of blood.

And this is the guy who got infected twice before, so of course he’s infected again. Hold on... I’m being told that missing a kidney makes that more likely, so maybe that’s why, but his luck could run out one day!

More prosthetics research done. If you’re going to risk your life, you would want the best!

And Zeiph is determined to deliver the best to whoever winds up getting this ear.

And that’s the end of the quadrum! A quiet one after all the drama last quadrum, a good recovery time for the colonists to get fixed up and maybe think about their next base. But will people survive receiving Zeiph’s shiny new prostheses next time? We’ll see!

Finals stats:

Henry: Such art, so skilled

Zeiph: Building prosthetics!

Frenchy: SCIENCE!

Steroid: Married!

Lion: Married! Also: give her the prosthetics. All the prosthetics.

Lucya: Would also like prosthetics.

Nobreitra: Just a new eye would be great, thanks.

The colony overall: Gained two colonists, and a lot of research

[readbookywooks]

PART I "THE SPARK"

1. I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air. My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at this moment, the odds of scaling a tree before they attacked are not in my favor. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rock beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can't fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I've been dreading for months. By noon they will all be at my new house in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to my every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Cinna, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games. If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it is the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children I have killed... The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg has been asleep for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I've been in the woods three hours, but as I've made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. It doesn't matter for my mother and little sister, Prim, anymore. They can afford to buy butcher meat in town, although none of us likes it any better than fresh game. But my best friend, Gale Hawthorne, and his family will be depending on today's haul and I can't let them down. I start the hour-and-a-half trek it will take to cover our snare line. Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the line and hunt and gather and still get back to trade in town. But now that Gale has gone to work in the coal mines - and I have nothing to do all day - I've taken over the job. By this time Gale will have clocked in at the mines, taken the stomach-churning elevator ride into the depths of the earth, and be pounding away at a coal seam. I know what it's like down there. Every year in school, as part of our training, my class had to tour the mines. When I was little, it was just unpleasant. The claustrophobic tunnels, foul air, suffocating darkness on all sides. But after my father and several other miners were killed in an explosion, I could barely force myself onto the elevator. The annual trip became an enormous source of anxiety. Twice I made myself so sick in anticipation of it that my mother kept me home because she thought I had contracted the flu. I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don't know how he stands it. Well ... yes, I do. He stands it because it's the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both our families now, and he won't take a single coin. It's even hard for him to let me bring in meat, although he'd surely have kept my mother and Prim supplied if I'd been killed in the Games. I tell him he's doing me a favor, that it drives me nuts to sit around all day. Even so, I never drop off the game while he's at home. Which is easy since he works twelve hours a day. The only time I really get to see Gale now is on Sundays, when we meet up in the woods to hunt together. It's still the best day of the week, but it's not like it used to be before, when we could tell each other anything. The Games have spoiled even that. I keep hoping that as time passes we'll regain the ease between us, but part of me knows it's futile. There's no going back. I get a good haul from the traps - eight rabbits, two squirrels, and a beaver that swam into a wire contraption Gale designed himself. He's something of a whiz with snares, rigging them to bent saplings so they pull the kill out of the reach of predators, balancing logs on delicate stick triggers, weaving inescapable baskets to capture fish. As I go along, carefully resetting each snare, I know I can never quite replicate his eye for balance, his instinct for where the prey will cross the path. It's more than experience. It's a natural gift. Like the way I can shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one arrow. By the time I make it back to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun is well up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of the fence and come up in the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My old home. We still get to keep it since officially it's the designated dwelling of my mother and sister. If I should drop dead right now, they would have to return to it. But at present, they're both happily installed in the new house in the Victor's Village, and I'm the only one who uses the squat little place where I was raised. To me, it's my real home. I go there now to switch my clothes. Exchange my father's old leather jacket for a fine wool coat that always seems too tight in the shoulders. Leave my soft, worn hunting boots for a pair of expensive machine-made shoes that my mother thinks are more appropriate for someone of my status. I've already stowed my bow and arrows in a hollow log in the woods. Although time is ticking away, I allow myself a few minutes to sit in the kitchen. It has an abandoned quality with no fire on the hearth, no cloth on the table. I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared with now, when I am so rich and so famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol. A wailing at the back door demands my attention. I open it to find Buttercup, Prim's scruffy old tomcat. He dislikes the new house almost as much as I do and always leaves it when my sister's at school. We've never been particularly fond of each other, but now we have this new bond. I let him in, feed him a chunk of beaver fat, and even rub him between the ears for a bit. "You're hideous, you know that, right?" I ask him. Buttercup nudges my hand for more petting, but we have to go. "Come on, you." I scoop him up with one hand, grab my game bag with the other, and haul them both out onto the street. The cat springs free and disappears under a bush. The shoes pinch my toes as I crunch along the cinder street. Cutting down alleys and through backyards gets me to Gale's house in minutes. His mother, Hazelle, sees me through the window, where she's bent over the kitchen sink. She dries her hands on her apron and disappears to meet me at the door. I like Hazelle. Respect her. The explosion that killed my father took out her husband as well, leaving her with three boys and a baby due any day. Less than a week after she gave birth, she was out hunting the streets for work. The mines weren't an option, what with a baby to look after, but she managed to get laundry from some of the merchants in town. At fourteen, Gale, the eldest of the kids, became the main supporter of the family. He was already signed up for tesserae, which entitled them to a meager supply of grain and oil in exchange for his entering his name extra times in the drawing to become a tribute. On top of that, even back then, he was a skilled trapper. But it wasn't enough to keep a family of five without Hazelle working her fingers to the bone on that washboard. In winter her hands got so red and cracked, they bled at the slightest provocation. Still would if it wasn't for a salve my mother concocted. But they are determined, Hazelle and Gale, that the other boys, twelve-year-old Rory and ten-year-old Vick, and the baby, four-year-old Posy, will never have to sign up for tesserae. Hazelle smiles when she sees the game. She takes the beaver by the tail, feeling its weight. "He's going to make a nice stew." Unlike Gale, she has no problem with our hunting arrangement. "Good pelt, too," I answer. It's comforting here with Hazelle. Weighing the merits of the game, just as we always have. She pours me a mug of herb tea, which I wrap my chilled fingers around gratefully. "You know, when I get back from the tour, I was thinking I might take Rory out with me sometimes. After school. Teach him to shoot." Hazelle nods. "That'd be good. Gale means to, but he's only got his Sundays, and I think he likes saving those for you." I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It's stupid, of course. Hardly anybody knows me better than Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance became a key strategy for our survival in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy for Peeta. I'm not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing but painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how, on the Victory Tour, Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again. I gulp my tea even though it's too hot and push back from the table. "I better get going. Make myself presentable for the cameras." Hazelle hugs me. "Enjoy the food." "Absolutely," I say. My next stop is the Hob, where I've traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates at least a dozen laws and is punishable by death. Although they never mention it, I owe the people who frequent the Hob. Gale told me that Greasy Sae, the old woman who serves up soup, started a collection to sponsor Peeta and me during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. I don't know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena was exorbitant. But for all I know, it made the difference between my life and death. It's still odd to drag open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil. As an afterthought, I buy three bottles of white liquor from a one-armed woman named Ripper, a victim of a mine accident who was smart enough to find a way to stay alive. The liquor isn't for my family. It's for Haymitch, who acted as mentor for Peeta and me in the Games. He's surly, violent, and drunk most of the time. But he did his job - more than his job - because for the first time in history, two tributes were allowed to win. So no matter who Haymitch is, I owe him, too. And that's for always. I'm getting the white liquor because a few weeks ago he ran out and there was none for sale and he had a withdrawal, shaking and screaming at terrifying things only he could see. He scared Prim to death and, frankly, it wasn't much fun for me to see him like that, either. Ever since then I've been sort of stockpiling the stuff just in case there's a shortage again. Cray, our Head Peacekeeper, frowns when he sees me with the bottles. He's an older man with a few strands of silver hair combed sideways above his bright red face. "That stuff's too strong for you, girl." He should know. Next to Haymitch, Cray drinks more than anyone I've ever met. "Aw, my mother uses it in medicines," I say indifferently. "Well, it'd kill just about anything," he says, and slaps down a coin for a bottle. When I reach Greasy Sae's stall, I boost myself up to sit on the counter and order some soup, which looks to be some kind of gourd and bean mixture. A Peacekeeper named Darius comes up and buys a bowl while I'm eating. As law enforcers go, he's one of my favorites. Never really throwing his weight around, usually good for a joke. He's probably in his twenties, but he doesn't seem much older than I do. Something about his smile, his red hair that sticks out every which way, gives him a boyish quality. "Aren't you supposed to be on a train?" he asks me. "They're collecting me at noon," I answer. "Shouldn't you look better?" he asks in a loud whisper. I can't help smiling at his teasing, in spite of my mood. "Maybe a ribbon in your hair or something?" He flicks my braid with his hand and I brush him away. "Don't worry. By the time they get through with me I'll be unrecognizable," I say. "Good," he says. "Let's show a little district pride for a change, Miss Everdeen. Hm?" He shakes his head at Greasy Sae in mock disapproval and walks off to join his friends. "I'll want that bowl back," Greasy Sae calls after him, but since she's laughing, she doesn't sound particularly stern. "Gale going to see you off?" she asks me. "No, he wasn't on the list," I say. "I saw him Sunday, though." "Think he'd have made the list. Him being your cousin and all," she says wryly. It's just one more part of the lie the Capitol has concocted. When Peeta and I made it into the final eight in the Hunger Games, they sent reporters to do personal stories about us. When they asked about my friends, everyone directed them to Gale. But it wouldn't do, what with the romance I was playing out in the arena, to have my best friend be Gale. He was too handsome, too male, and not the least bit willing to smile and play nice for the cameras. We do resemble each other, though, quite a bit. We have that Seam look. Dark straight hair, olive skin, gray eyes. So some genius made him my cousin. I didn't know about it until we were already home, on the platform at the train station, and my mother said, "Your cousins can hardly wait to see you!" Then I turned and saw Gale and Hazelle and all the kids waiting for me, so what could I do but go along? Greasy Sae knows we're not related, but even some of the people who have known us for years seem to have forgotten. "I just can't wait for the whole thing to be over," I whisper. "I know," says Greasy Sae. "But you've got to go through it to get to the end of it. Better not be late." A light snow starts to fall as I make my way to the Victor's Village. It's about a half-mile walk from the square in the center of town, but it seems like another world entirely. It's a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in. Nine stand empty, as they always have. The three in use belong to Haymitch, Peeta, and me. The houses inhabited by my family and Peeta give off a warm glow of life. Lit windows, smoke from the chimneys, bunches of brightly colored corn affixed to the front doors as decoration for the upcoming Harvest Festival. However, Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the grounds-keeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at his front door, knowing it will be foul, then push inside. My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anyone in to clean and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder. "Get up!" I say loudly, because I've learned there's no subtle way to wake him. His snoring stops for a moment, questioningly, and then resumes. I push him harder. "Get up, Haymitch. It's tour day!" I force the window up, inhaling deep breaths of the clean air outside. My feet shift through the garbage on the floor, and I unearth a tin coffeepot and fill it at the sink. The stove isn't completely out and I manage to coax the few live coals into a flame. I pour some ground coffee into the pot, enough to make sure the resulting brew will be good and strong, and set it on the stove to boil. Haymitch is still dead to the world. Since nothing else has worked, I fill a basin with icy cold water, dump it on his head, and spring out of the way. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair ten feet behind him and wielding a knife. I forgot he always sleeps with one clutched in his hand. I should have pried it from his fingers, but I've had a lot on my mind. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve and turns to the windowsill where I perch, just in case I need to make a quick exit. "What are you doing?" he sputters. "You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come," I say. "What?" he says. "Your idea," I insist. He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?" "I couldn't shake you awake," I say. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta." "Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out. I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part. Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It's not until he's handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?" "No, I ate at the Hob," I say. "But thank you." My voice doesn't sound like my own, it's so formal. Just as it's been every time I've spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. "You're welcome," he says back stiffly. Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." He's right, of course. The audience will be expecting the pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who can barely look each other in the eye. But all I say is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Then I swing out the window, drop to the ground, and head across the green to my house. The snow has begun to stick and I leave a trail of footprints behind me. At the front door, I pause to knock the wet stuff from my shoes before I go in. My mother's been working day and night to make everything perfect for the cameras, so it's no time to be tracking up her shiny floors. I've barely stepped inside when she's there, holding my arm as if to stop me. "Don't worry, I'm taking them off here," I say, leaving my shoes on the mat. My mother gives an odd, breathy laugh and removes the game bag loaded with supplies from my shoulder. "It's just snow. Did you have a nice walk?" "Walk?" She knows I've been in the woods half the night. Then I see the man standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfected features and I know he's from the Capitol. Something is wrong. "It was more like skating. It's really getting slippery out there." "Someone's here to see you," says my mother. Her face is too pale and I can hear the anxiety she's trying to hide. "I thought they weren't due until noon." I pretend not to notice her state. "Did Cinna come early to help me get ready?" "No, Katniss, it's - " my mother begins. "This way, please, Miss Everdeen," says the man. He gestures down the hallway. It's weird to be ushered around your own home, but I know better than to comment on it. As I go, I give my mother a reassuring smile over my shoulder. "Probably more instructions for the tour." They've been sending me all kinds of stuff about my itinerary and what protocol will be observed in each district. But as I walk toward the door of the study, a door I have never even seen closed until this moment, I can feel my mind begin to race. Who is here? What do they want? Why is my mother so pale? "Go right in," says the Capitol man, who has followed me down the hallway. I twist the polished brass knob and step inside. My nose registers the conflicting scents of roses and blood. A small, white-haired man who seems vaguely familiar is reading a book. He holds up a finger as if to say, "Give me a moment." Then he turns and my heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.