#and I was gonna burn it and send it off to him as a tribute

[gomzdrawfr]

a purely self indulgent comic of me visiting the 141 and gifting them present

Gaz - Camera

Ghost - Baymax

Price - Christmas baked goods

angst and mcd ahead :3

Soap - candy cane dagger and bluebells

good night and happy holidays folks

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I love writing pissed off Johanna dialogue!

Content warnings - death (it’s the hunger games)

As much as he wants to chase after you, he can’t. Katniss would kill you and he can’t abandon the plan, not until he can pass off babysitting duty to Johanna.

You spent the evening wandering the jungle, unnerved by every little noise you heard. After you left, you circled back the way you had originally come, hoping the others would carry on in the other direction.

Your arm was still bleeding but you didn’t care. It’s not like any sponsors were lining up to send you stuff. You’ll have to kill a career and steal their supplies using the only weapon you have, the arrow that landed in your arm.

A few hours after dark, the faces of the fallen appear in the sky. None of your allies are on the list so you don’t really care. It’s not like you knew these people.

You opt to go deeper into the jungle, opposite of where Finnick must be. This whole place is starting to look the same, though, and it’s hard to get your bearings.

Hours later, a gong rings twelve times. You don’t have time to ask yourself what it means as the hairs on your body stand up and a large blast of electricity shoots down mere yards away from you.

Lightning.

You have to move. Now. Your ears hurt and panic rises in your throat. They’re here to kill you. You’re gonna die.

Running, you collide with someone, another tribute. They don’t even have time to scream before your arrow is through their neck and their cannon is sounding. Move. Now.

You run until you can’t anymore, scared that something is chasing you. The game makers must have caused the lightning to force you and the other tribute closer together.

There were other canons throughout the night, but you paid no attention to them. You sat under a tree, hugging your knees, trying to ignore the burning in your dry throat and the pain in your arm. Of course Katniss had to shoot your dominant arm.

When the day is bright enough to illuminate your section of the jungle, you decide to head back towards where the lightning was. If another tribute was over there then there may be some food or water close by. Maybe they even had sponsors.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you make it back to where the fight occurred. There’s no trace of it but you know the spot. Your hair stands on edge again and you panic, knowing exactly what this means. The lightning strikes and you bolt, running from whoever must be near.

They’re going to kill you. You’re dead. You need to run faster.

You run downhill, towards what you think is the lake. Despite not being allowed in the ocean for the past five years, you’re probably still the second best swimmer in the arena behind Finnick. If you could lure whoever is chasing you into the water then you could drown them.

Your legs barely make it to the beach, completely drained from your lack of sleep and sustenance. Whoever was following you must have realized your plan and stopped. Maybe nobody followed you at all.

As you make your way out of the jungle and towards the water, you pause, spotting a large group of people a ways down the beach. It’s Finnick and his alliance. Maybe they would give you food, or shoot you. Honestly, who knows?

They spot you approaching and Katniss aims another arrow at you. You’re still clutching the one she shot you with in your hand, ready to stab anyone who comes near.

“Y/N!” Finnick exclaims as he runs over to you. “I was so worried.”

You look over at the group and back at him, silently asking if they’re ok with you being there. He sighs, realizing that Katniss probably isn’t ok with you being there but he needs you with him anyways. He can’t lose you.

“Have you eaten?” he asks. You shake your head no. “We have food and water. Oh! And some first aid stuff for your arm. Katniss is sorry by the way.”

“Skin?” you ask him. Noticing the scabs on his body and the cuts on his face.

“We got caught in some poisonous fog last night and ended up in a fight with some monkeys this morning,” he explains. “I’m alright. Nobody in our group has died except Blight. He hit the force field last night and they couldn’t revive him.”

You hum in response, catching a whiff of the fish Finnick must have caught for the group to eat. He notices your hunger and gently guides you to sit on the edge of the group close to Johanna and far away from Katniss.

“Glad you could join us feisty!” Johanna chuckles as you sit near her. You give her a shrug as if to say that you’re currently indifferent to your existence. She gets the memo.

“Nuts and Volts,” she states. “Have you met fiesty?”

The man and woman look up at the group.

“Yes,” Beetee replies. “I believe we briefly met Y/N at her victory tour celebration in the capital but it’s been many years. It is nice to see you again Y/N, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You guys aren’t letting her stay with us, right?” Katniss asks and you tense up. They need her for their plan. You’re disposable.

“Back off firebird,” Johanna barks. “She’s sticking with us.”

“She tried to kill me!” Katniss exclaims.

“Because you touched her,” Johanna shouts. You flinch at the volume. “Rule numéro uno is don’t touch fiesty. Plus I thought you were a good fighter, Katnip. You mean to tell me you couldn’t win a fight against her? She hasn’t been outside in over five years. She’s practically harmless!”

“Let’s settle down,” Finnick states, noticing you becoming tense due to the yelling. “Here’s your fish Y/N. I’m gonna go grab you some water.” You smile at him in thanks and begin to eat the fish. The smile fades when you notice Katniss watching you eat like a hawk, so you turn around and sit with your back towards her while you eat.

You need to convince her of Johanna’s words. You’re harmless.

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[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 5)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Warning: this chapter contains mentions of the horrors Snow inflicts on ‘desirable’ victors, nothing graphic but could still be upsetting to some readers. Proceed with caution.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Damn it,” Haymitch curses, taking a long swig from his glass.

Katniss is inches away from literally becoming the girl on fire. Sprinting through the raging flames as foliage and trees block her way.

“Why are they doing that?” Y/N tugs anxiously at the sleeve of his jacket.

“She’s too close to the edge.” They need to turn her around, but the fire balls are for show.

“Not now.” The gamemakers have chased her well back into the tree line. “Why aren’t they stopping?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch huffs, “I have as much control over this as you do.”

“We need a sponsor.”

“To send her what exactly? A fire extinguisher?”

Remember who the real enemy is.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N shakes her head, “it’s fine.” Haymitch is direct and abrasive, he does not sugarcoat. There are times when she wants that, needs it even.

“I was dismissive.” For all she was his protégé, she is now his equal. Old habits die hard, the places where they are joined bleed into one another.

“No, you were right.”

Things in the arena have calmed down, Katniss nursing a burn to her thigh. Stumbling back to the river, finding a moment’s relief before the careers and Peeta spot her.

“I’ll keep an eye on things here if you wanna go work the crowd,” if they’re gonna kill Katniss, Haymitch doesn’t want her to watch.

“I’ll wait till it’s done.”

You stubborn thing, let me spare you; just once.

Despite her injury, Katniss scales her way to the top of a tree which the careers can’t seem to shake her from.

“Let’s just wait her out,” Peeta suggests, “she has to come down sometime. It’s that or starve to death. We’ll kill her then.”

Cato contemplates for a moment, “ok.” He shrugs, “somebody make a fire.”

“Now go,” Haymitch insists, “she needs something for that burn. I’ll man the fort. Go, be great.” He pecks her cheek in parting.

Y/N stands, dragging sweaty palms down the front of her dress. Passing the betting pool on her right. They smile and wave. The victor forces her best grin, spotting one of the more generous patrons and locking eyes.

The man shakes his head at the whistling of those beside him. He’s been chosen.

“How’ve you been?” Y/N plucks two champagne flutes off the serving tray as it passes. Their contents a dark blue.

He smirks, accepting the offering. “I know your game, little minx. Tell me what you want.”

“Something for my tribute’s burn.”

“You’d think the girl on fire would be used to it.”

Y/N huffs a laugh.

“How much is this going to cost me?” That’s the real question, isn’t it?

“Two thousand.” Play money for someone like him.

“Greedy, greedy.” He tuts, fishing for his wallet.

“You’ll make double that if you bet on her.”

The Capitol man cocks his head of green curls. Y/N is beautiful, not in the way his wife is. Understated, but never overlooked and though she dresses the part, she will never fit in. Standing out like a neon sign among the masses. A humming live wire. “You seem confident.”

“She’s demonstrated better survival skills than half the tributes from one and two. Besides, you’ve always been generous.”

“Because I like you. Dare I say, we’re friends.”

“We are friends.” You’ve been good to me, kind even.

“Most people here are looking for a bit more than friendship from someone like you. A few of my colleagues would so love to meet you.” It’s not meant to be an insult, but it stings all the same. “Do be careful, little minx. Take my money and run.”

————————————————————————

When Katniss receives the parachute with a note that reads ‘apply generously and stay alive. -Y/N & Haymitch,’ she wonders how far away the arena is from the tribute center. Is it just beyond reach, separated by a dome of tech?

What would her mentors say now, without all of Panem to see? If only she could talk to them, just one more time. To be comforted by Y/N, scolded by Haymitch even. Scooping a bit of goop from the container onto her wound, it soothes the ache. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

Nights are the hardest, in and out of the arena. If a tribute needs something after hours, they’d have to wait until the viewing room opens the next day. Y/N insists the games stay on, the feed streaming to district twelve, broadcast over the exterior wall of their room in the tribute center.

“You gonna fill me in on what the hell’s going on?” Haymitch asks, keeping his distance for now.

“The kids are sleeping, no cannon for a while now.”

“I didn’t mean the games.”

She knows that. “Haymitch.” His name is choked, so different from the way he’s used to hearing it.

His tumbler clunks down on the bedside table. “Come here,” he clambers onto the bed, still fully clothed from the day. “Come here.”

She worms her way into his open arms and sobs. Wracking both of them with the force of it.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, trying to absorb some of her pain.

She cries herself to sleep, even as Haymitch hushes her. Breath hitching in her throat, the terrible way that turns his stomach. When she stills, the front of his shirt caught in her fist, Haymitch dozes off. Waking to the sound of her screams, pushing at him, desperate to free herself.

“It’s me,” he pulls back enough for her to see with her own eyes. “It’s just me.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I love you.

She tells him of her conversation with Cashmere and the sponsor. How afraid she is that pay per views aren’t going to keep these people entertained forever. Eventually they will get tired of watching them, they’ll want to be with them; and neither she nor Haymitch will be able to say no. “If Katniss lives, they’d do it to her too.” Just like Finnick and Gloss and Cashmere, all the others before them. “They’ll do it to her too.”

Haymitch gentles her with pretty lies. ‘He’ll sort this out.’ They will have to pry you from my cold, dead, hands.

————————————————————————

Little Rue, from district eleven, is also quite the climber. Making her way to the tree closest Katniss and drawing her attention to a tracker jacker nest a few feet up. If she’s able to drop it down on the careers, she might take out one or two. At the very least, cause enough of a distraction to get away.

Y/N watches on bated breath as Katniss begins sawing through the branch with her knife. People of the viewing room hiss each time Katniss is stung. Letting out a collective cheer when the hive falls, sending the careers and Peeta scattering. All but Glimmer, who catches the brunt of their stings.

Haymitch shifts. I’ll be damned, you might actually make it out alive, sweetheart.

Peeta circles around, after the cannon sounds, leaving Katniss with the bow and arrow. “Katniss, go! Run! Get out of here. What are you doing?”

She blinks at him slowly, effects of the tracker jacker venom dulling her senses. Putting enough distance between herself and the tree with the body underneath before falling into the brush. Plagued by images of days gone by.

Part 6

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 The Sun Will Rise by vespertineflora

💙 The Sun Will Rise

by vespertineflora (@vespertineflora)

E, Series, WIP, 129k, Wangxian

Summary: For centuries, the villagers surrounding the Qianlian Forest have been beholden to a fearsome creature. A once loved Prince was long ago cursed into a monstrous form, and ever since has required the sacrifice of maidens to ensure the safety of the forest and the people living around it. This forlorn tradition might have continued for centuries longer... but when it comes time for Lotus Pier to send a maiden as tribute, Jiang Yanli is chosen, and Wei Wuxian won't stand for it. His plan is simple; he'll send Jiang Yanli off to live the long life she deserves with her fiancé, and offer himself as a sacrifice to the Prince instead. Kay's comments: Series is marked as incomplete, but feels complete! Part one is the main story and part two is an additional kinky scene added as an extra. This story is incredibly hot and not gonna lie started reading it for the smut, stayed for the plot, because not only are the explicit scenes perfect, but the story is also very compelling and I loved the slowly unravelling mystery aspect of it. I first read this story when it came out and could hardly wait for the next chapter, because I was just so hooked. Here we have Wei Wuxian being sacrified to a mysterious creature in place of Jiang Yanli, only turns out the mysterious creature is plant-tentacle-creature Lan Wangji, known as the Prince, who's not interested in killing Wei Wuxian, but will still make a meal out of him. Slowly but surely, the two of them become closer and Wei Wuxian can't help but want to figure out, what happened to Lan Wangji for him to have turned into this form. Excerpt: Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed, finding that particularly strange, but just as he was about to kneel down and try to loosen the vine from around his foot, he felt something curl and tighten suddenly around his wrist, directly against the skin--his eyes darted down, just barely registering another vine that had grabbed onto him when-- A question seemed to spill into his his mind. He felt... strangely breathless at the unfamiliar sensation of impression, at the way he could almost feel the echo of words that hadn’t been spoken inside of his head, and at the inexplicable sense of familiarity he was left with. He didn’t actually hear anything, there weren't even really words, so much as just sensation... but he somehow knew what he was being asked all the same. It... this... whatever it was that reaching out to him... wanted to know who he was. “Wei Ying,” he gasped out, his words stumbling slightly as he tried to cope with the intimacy of having something pressing a thought directly into his head like this, before realizing what he’d said. “Ah... Wei Wuxian. I came from Lotus Pier. Are you... are you the Prince?” He... he had to be, didn’t he? Or if the legends were wrong, this was at least whatever entity that everyone called the Prince. It felt like a bit too much of a coincidence to expect one spiritual being at a certain location and run into a completely different one instead. There was a hesitation, something almost unsure, before Wei Wuxian felt the flicker of affirmation in his head. “Well, I... know you’re used to something a little different, but... I’m your offering this time,” Wei Wuxian continued explaining, because he knew this thing wanted him to. His heart was already racing again, the fears that had settled in the lull since his arrival immediately reviving, his thoughts spinning as he was immediately left confronting his mortality once more. “Is that... is that acceptable? Will I work for that?”

pov wei wuxian, canon era, alternate universe, fairy tale elements, human/monster romance, fantasy, tentacle monsters, monster lan wangji, tentacles, human wei wuxian, plants, vines, top lan wangji/bottom wei wuxian, eventual romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, angst with a happy ending, mystery, bamf wei wuxian, homesickness, falling in love, bdsm, reincarnation

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[katherinejess]

The Volunteer

The new Hunger Games movie, TBOSAS, reignited my love for the series and Finnick Odair. This started off as an imagine concept but then I just kept adding to it. Now it's a series. Definite slow burn, please tell me what you think if you read it!

Part 2 is up!

While District Four had become more of a career district, Cyrena Thalassa did not expect her younger brother to volunteer for tribute when he knew how much she despised the games. She had hope that died when he uttered two little words that seemed like it broke her heart and her mind at the same time. He was only 13. It was only the second year he had his name in the bowl. But when the girl's name was called, it did not stop her from interrupting the girl's first step. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” My voice called across the crowd of people. Titan looks shocked from where he is next to the podium, and I feel sick to my stomach. But I can’t watch him die to the games, to the careers from 1 and 2 who he will try to befriend only to be stabbed in the back or killed in the cornucopia's bloodbath. 

My feet drag my body to the stairs, my eyes lock onto my brother and he is enraged. “What’s your name, dear?” the presenter questions, her eyebrows raising impatiently as I finally take in what she is saying now that she is in front of me.

“Cyrena. Cyrena Thalassa.” I murmur, which seems to send her eyebrows higher as her mouth opens in surprise.

Her face quickly changes as she turns to the crowd “How cute! Family,” she speaks into the microphone. She turns to my brother, “Are you two siblings, cousins?” She trails off, and he looks over at me as he mutters his response.

“She’s my sister.” 

“How wonderful! Your own built-in ally!” she squeaks into the microphone, “Well say goodbye to district four! You two will be getting to experience the Capitol together!”

She ushers us into the building behind us, Titan storming off in front of us. The Peacekeepers close the door behind us, faster than Titan can whirl around to yell at me. “What is wrong with you,” he starts in on me, the presenter quickly moving away from us, “you don’t even like the games and you volunteer just because I do? What, you think I need protection?” he accuses.

“Titan, you’re 13. Nobody your age has won, I am not losing you to the games. I thought you knew better than this!” I yell back at him, anger finally winning over as I look at him. 

He scoffs, “You are the only one who doesn’t like the games! I just didn’t want you to try and stop me, I didn’t think you’d volunteer! There’s only one winner, you or me. How do you expect this to play out, Cyrena?” He pulls his hands across his face. I shake my head at him, the fleeting anger leaving my body.

I notice two people enter the room, recognizing them as the former victors before I state, “I have no intentions of winning.” I turn to the two people who I assume will be our mentors, “Now that we are clear, I’m Cyrena. This is Titan, my brother.”

“So we’ve heard.” the man, Finnick, says, “Quite the show you put on.” 

I level him with a stare, “As the youngest victor in history, I expect you to train him with everything you’ve got. Make him the next youngest victor.” 

He cocks his head, “And what about you? Or do you expect to just do all this and then end up dying at the cornucopia in front of him the first minute in?” The older lady next to him whacks his arm, scoldingly saying his name, which he raises his hand in defeat while still maintaining the same attitude he had, “I’m just saying, without training she’s not gonna make it very far to protect him.”

I cross my arms, “I’m a career and have been training for years, though I was hoping not to have to use any of it, seems like i’m out of luck.” I sigh, deflating a bit “Now do I get to say goodbye to my family before the train?” 

“I was just coming to escort you myself. I never got to introduce myself. Finnick Odair, but it seems you know who I am. This is Mags.” He gestures to the lady next to him, “We are your mentors.” Mags smiles at us softly, giving me a very warm look.

“Now I can take you to your family. Then to the train where Mags will be along with your escort, Koi.” he grins at us, watching Mags slowly leave while holding open the door  for her before whirling back around to us. 

Titan looks over at me before leaving the room quickly as Finnick still holds the door. I follow at a slightly slower pace so I’m behind him and Finnick takes up next to Titan once I’m clear of the doorway. He guides us to another room where our parents and older brother are. 

Finnick leans on the wall of the hallway while I watch Titan go in and give our parents a hug. I stop in the doorway, facing the hall to close the door and catch Finnicks cheeky grin before I shut it. Then I put on a smile and turn to face my family.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 9): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: nothing is the way it was before. there is no future; there is no past. all there is... is nothing. 

wc: 2.1k

tw: light gore

masterlist

“She’s not gonna eat; I already told you that.” 

The sounds of Kaori and Toji fighting just outside of your door leak into your room, but you’re beyond caring. Megumi sits beside you in the sun-lit room, eyes scanning the outdoors, looking for any sign of an animal. You’re tucked underneath a warm, thick blanket, despite the temperature outside being warm enough to cause a little sweat. No, things were better this way. 

When you had come to after blacking out, Toji, Kaori, and Megumi were hovering over you, trying to figure out what to do about the General’s untimely passing. But in the two months since, no one had quite figured out how to bring you back to life. The only thing they could do is watch you slowly waste away and become a shell of your former self. 

Your parents suspect it’s because your princely husband had not sent for you since the war had ended, and you’re grieving a supposed loss. But neither Kaori nor Toji had the heart to admit that this loss wasn’t supposed. It was real. 

Your days are spent in your bed or in the garden behind the house, mind empty as Megumi attempts to watch over you and possibly even cheer you up by play-fighting with his father. But more often than not, you’re reduced to tears, and Toji fetches Kaori because he “can’t deal with crying women”. 

“My lady?” The head maid enters into your room with an orange and onigiri in her hands. “I brought you some fresh fruit from the market. Hamai sends her regards as well.” Hamai - Yuta’s sister and wife of Yuko - had also attempted to visit you, but her grief motivated her to knock on your door, and you couldn’t bear to think of Yuta or Nanami or--

“Thank you,” you croak, and she nods, handing Megumi the two onigiri. 

“Your father said you’d better eat these or he’ll never--”

“‘Feed me again’. I know,” Megumi chants monotonously and takes the rice balls from her hands. “Thank you, Kaori-san.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want any visitors?” Kaori asks for the third time. You cut your eyes to her, attempting a glare. “Hamai would love to come and--” 

“Listen, the lady said no visitors,” Toji gripes, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ve been fighting off a ton of measly looking men who have nothing to say except ‘I’ve come to see Lady y/n’ and honestly, if you invite another person to this damn place, I’ll kill them on the spot.”

You roll away from the two people and look out of the window, remaining silent as Megumi eats his onigiri and stares at the bears and tigers in his book. Kaori and Toji retreat, restarting their squabble as soon as the door closes, leaving you to think about nothing and no one. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re in the garden when Megumi runs up to you, holding a light pashmina to cover your shoulders in the chill of fall. 

“Careful, you might get sick,” he warns, and you accept the article with a smile. 

“Thank you, sweet one.” The child climbs onto the bench you’re seated on, swinging his legs while you stare at the shishi-odoshi in silence. You’re suddenly reminded of the three other sweet children you left back at the camp, and before you can begin to sob out loud, your hand flies to your mouth. 

“Hey,” Toji appears from the house, hands deep in his pockets as he surveys the area. “You alright?” 

“Just fine,” you whisper, pushing back tears and grief all at once. “I just needed some peace and quiet.” 

“Yeah, gardens will give you that.” Toji stands beside the fountain and stares into the water for a moment before turning to Megumi. “There’s a frog out by the lake if you’re interested in--” Megumi hops down from the bench and disappears around the corner in a flash, abandoning you without a worry in the world. You sigh, watching him fade into the distance, and then turn to Toji, who is already staring at you with some unreadable expression. 

“What is it?” you grumble, blinking slowly. 

“Nothing, just…” Toji presses his lips together and looks sky-ward, thinking about his next words carefully. “I know you feel like everyone in the whole world can fuck off since Geto died… but have you ever considered moving on?” You tilt your head to the side, wondering if Toji really ever listened to himself talk. “I mean, yeah this shit is painful, but…” Toji rubs his neck and looks away from you and back to the fountain. “You have to move on at some point.” 

“He told me to wait for him,” you explain, wrapping the pashmina a little tighter and squinting at the shapes in the pool. “I’m going to do just that.”

“Y/n, he’s dead… what good will waiting do? Will you wait your whole life?” 

Your head snaps to Toji and you curl your lip up in disgust. 

“You’ve never loved anyone in this world but yourself and your money,” you spit, standing from your seated position so fast that Toji takes a half-step back. “I don’t imagine that you’d know what I’m talking about.” 

“That’s not true,” he retorts, frowning. “I’m trying to help you, that’s all. I’d hate to see you waste away over a man who can’t even survi--” The pashmina falls from your shoulders as your hand makes contact with his face, the echo of the slap scaring a flock of birds from the surrounding trees into the sky. 

“Speak ill of Geto again, and I’ll make sure those words are your last.” Toji doesn’t touch his bruised cheek as you stomp off, watching you retreat back into the house as he realizes that he let you slap him. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Screams haunt your sleep, fire burns the camp, and you’re running away, holding hands with the children as you dash into the forest. Geto is behind you, fighting off some unknown assailant, but you instinctively know how the dream is going to end.

You trip and fall over a root of a tree, but you yell at the children to escape. They continue running, not sparing you a second glance, but you turn around just as Geto is stabbed through the chest by a spear and falls with his back to the ground.  His head tilts back and he makes eye contact with you, blood pouring out of his mouth as he chokes:

“Wait for me.”

You shoot up in the bed and stumble out of your room through the sliding door that leads to the garden, sweat pouring down your neck and back as you sink to your knees. Your stomach heaves once, twice, depositing yellow bile into the bushes beside the house. The sun is barely up, and as you dry heave, you hear another door sliding open, Toji then Kaori tumbling out of your back door. 

“Poison,” Toji grunts, but Kaori pushes him aside before he can get to you. 

“No, she didn’t even eat anything before bed,” she states, rubbing your back with her cool hands. Your skin clams up as a breeze rolls across the garden, and you shudder violently before your teeth begin to chatter. “Toji, a blanket.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” he gripes, but walks into the house to grab a blanket anyways. When the cloth resta against your back, you feel a little better, but the feeling in your stomach won’t go away. 

“My Lady… talk to me. What’s the matter?” 

“Go,” you shake Kaori off, not wanting to repeat the events of your dream. 

“It’s probably because she didn’t eat,” Toji groans, the stairs squeaking under his weight. “I’ll get her a --” 

“Both of you. Go.” You look up at Toji, mustering your sternest look, and aiming the same expression at Kaori, who walks away from you, head hung low. 

You stay in the garden as true morning crests over the sky, lying on the bench under the bare cherry blossom tree while the skies turn into pinks and yellows, and reds. The image of Geto’s bloodied face wouldn’t depart from your memory and you feel the ache even deeper than before. The ache intensifies until it feels like all of you is just one large hole, throbbing with need and grief.

Nothing could save you. 

No one was coming back for you. 

They were all dead, and there was nothing left of the people you had grown to love and care for. 

It isn’t until your mother walks into the garden that you realize you might have missed your breakfast of an orange and water, but she comes bearing the fruit and you’re set back at ease. You wordlessly allow your mother to sit beside you, lifting your head so it rests in her lap snugly. She pats your hair gently, then inhales deeply, speaking in her normal soft tones. 

“Kaori told me you were sick last night,” she begins, and you nod as if she had asked a question and not stated a fact. “Ever since Geto Suguru died, you’ve been awfully sullen. One might think you had been with him the whole time and not at the Imperial Palace.” You glance up at your mother, and she winks at you. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell your father.” 

“How did you know?” you wonder, and she smiles, wrinkles forming at the edges of her mouth. 

“Well first, whoever the General gets to write his letters needs to brush up on their penmanship,” she laughs, then shrugs. “But it was your face the day that the General was announced dead that I saw you change. It only took me a few days to realize that you were in mourning, not upset that your prince hadn’t sent for you.” 

“Mother, I--” 

“You had every right to keep it a secret, although I wish you hadn’t. It would’ve made my interrogation of Toji much easier.” You imagine your own mother - all of five-foot-four, standing up to the massive Fushiguro with a finger to his chest - and you can’t help but chuckle. “Whatever the General did, I haven’t seen you glowing like you did when you returned since you were a little girl. I’ll have to find a way to thank him for that.” 

You choke out a deep sob, closing your eyes as you think of the lack of tribute, the lack of a funeral, the missing images of him that won’t return to your memory. 

“Though Toji takes good care of you. I haven’t seen that man slack off on his job once since after the announcement. He’s also been very helpful with your father. You know, he would ma--” 

“Lady y/n!” Kaori sprints out of the home, and you both look up to see her flustered expression, wondering what would have her so worked up this early in the morning. “There was a messenger from the Imperial Palace in the square!” she stops in front of you, panting heavily. “The Emperor… has fallen… ill.” When she catches her breath, the head maid can finally finish her statement, and she exhales deeply. “As is custom, his eldest son will be taking a tour of the country. And he’s named this village as his final stop, with your house as his resting place for the time he is here. He’ll be in the village in a fortnight.” You sit up, eyeing the maid carefully. 

Pieces of a puzzle begin to click together in your mind.

“His eldest son is Prince Naoya, correct?” 

“Yes, my lady.” As if sensing your premature plan, Kaori looks you dead in the eyes, daring you to do what she imagines you are already thinking of. 

“And you said a fortnight?” Your mother butts in, squinting her eyes.

“Yes.” 

“Fourteen days to prepare.” you whisper, lifting your head out of your mother’s lap and retreating to the house to find the eldest Fushiguro. Kaori enters behind you, grabbing your elbow before you can open his guest room door.

“What you’re thinking of is suicide,” she hisses, but you shrug. 

“What better way to rejoin Geto than to kill his murderer and then die myself?” you retort, but she slaps a hand over the gap between the wall and the door, blocking you from entering. 

“This isn’t what he would want,” Kaori pleads. “Please, think about what he said.”

“I cannot wait for a dead man, Kaori. Now, let me go.” You yank free from her grasp and enter the guest room, eyeing a lazy Toji lounging by the window. “I need your help.” 

He rolls his head around to look at you and raises a brow. “With what, my lady?” 

“I need to kill a prince in two weeks. Think you can help me with that?” 

“You mean treason?” Toji sits up, letting the book he held in his hands drop to his bed, and hums thoughtfully. “Killing a prince as revenge… putting the Imperial Court into chaos… yeah, I think I can help you with that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something​

[depressedacadamia]

Fight Me Part 2

Summary: Nico prepares for his date but it seems someone has forgotten.

Warnings?: Nothing much. A bit of kissing. Some fluff.

A/N: FJLKJLHGK, I completely forgot that i wrote this and that i was gonna write a part 2. Anyway, my exams are next week and i haven't revised so wish me luck. Little tribute for @thebigqueer and their old blog description of ‘people make fun of me because I’m short but I can reach their knees’ because lateron, Nico embodies that. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! <3 from me!

Read Part 1 on tumblr       Read parts 1 and 2 on A03

It was 7:30

Will was late.

“Hello?” Nico turned around. “Anybody here?”

The sun was going to set in around an hour and half and somehow, the sky was already getting darker. Nico could feel the sun's rays getting weaker and the warmth slowly draining away.

He had a small bag clutched in his hand with a collection of his favourite mythomagic cards and a couple of sandwiches and some bottles of juice. It certainly wasn’t a banquet but at least it was something and Nico had assumed that Will would have had a tiring day after working in the infirmary during a day of capture the flag ( The Ares kids were always involved).

He lifted his wristwatch to his line of view to glance at the time, noticing that the time was moving annoyingly fast. If it continued like this, it would be sunset and Nico would have officially been stood up. He could feel his chest prickling in anxiety from the idea- that all along it was a sick joke, made only so everyone could make fun of him.

“Hello? Anybody?” It was almost eight and Nico was getting agitated. Sure it was normal to be a bit late, even if it was a date that Will had asked him on but 45 minutes? 45 minutes late to a date? Nico was finally so sick of pacing behind his cabin like a loser, he worked up the nerve to march over to the infirmary to give Will a piece of his mind.

As Nico entered what he believed to be the infirmary, he questioned if he was in the right place. Then it hit him. The infirmary was so crowded, Nico couldn’t even recognise it. It was full of campers, from many different cabins, all covered in injuries and blood. This room, to surgeons, was like candy but with blood, which as Christina Yang had said- was way better,

That was only, of course, if you weren’t meant to be on a date with your cute ex-patient.

To Will, the sudden influx of patients infuriated him. He was meant to be having the best date of his life with Nico but instead, he ws here treating all these stupid injured buffalos who were too incompetent to prevent themselves from being injured.

“Next time, if an Ares kid threatens to break your leg, you should take them more seriously,” Will sighed as he finished the cast on the Athena camper’s leg. Weren’t these ones meant to be smart, Will thought.

His eyes searched across the infirmary, for the next most urgent patient; as head of the Apollo cabin, he was in charge of the infirmary which at first had sounded great. Now, he realised, it was not.

He was about to assist on setting a broken arm but he saw another healer get there first and simultaneously, he saw a very recognisable set of onyx eyes that came with a stunning appearance.

Nico was wearing black skinny ripped jeans with a chain hanging by the waist of it. His stygian iron sword that never left his side was being held to his waist with a skull strap and Nico’s eyeliner was absolutely perfect. Winged and angelic, his eyes were standing out like never before. Nico had been a bit nervous about wearing eyeliner outside of his cabin, but after much persuasion from Hazel, Jason and Percy, he had agreed to wear it.

Will thought he felt his mouth drop. But then, he felt his heart drop. Why was Nico in the infirmary? Was he involved in the fight? Was he hurt? Will rushed over to Nico, pushing through the injured masses, ignoring their shouts and snaps of discomfort. He waded through them like thick oceans of blood until he managed to spot Nico’s hand, decorated with expensive looking rings.

“Nico,” Will gasped, his eyes running up and down, scanning his body for injuries. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Nico’s winged eyes squinted. “ What am I doing here? Did you forget?”

Will’s mouth opened and then closed again, his brain clearly racking for what he had forgotten.

“Our date. You were meant to meet me an hour ago,” He mumbled, raising his wrist to his face, checking the time once again.

Will’s face dropped, his expression ghostly. “ No! No, no, I can’t have forgotten- it wasn’t today. I could have sworn it wasn’t today.” He turned to Nico. “ It wasn’t today, right?”

“It was today.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s a good response, at least,” Nico murmured, kicking his boots at the bloodied tile floor.

“I'm so sorry. I got hoarded with patients, like hoarded. The Ares kids had some new weapons made today and the Hephaestus kids thought it would be fun to mess with them. Somehow the Athena kids got involved and I think there are some Dionysus kids who got involved just for the drama.” Will grabbed Nico's hands, squeezing them with such intensity, Nico feared they might break.

When Nico looked at Will’s face at that moment, he knew he was going to say ‘yes’ to whatever was about to be asked of him. Whether Will just wanted some gum or if he wanted to burn the entire world; there was something alluring in those eyes that Nico could simply never deny. “Nico, fuck, please give me another chance. I know I shouldn't have stood you up like that and I really wasn't planning to. It’s just, we got so many patients all at once that it completely slipped from my mind and-”

“-I’m not mad. A bit annoyed, yes, but I get it. You have people to fix. Go do your job.” Nico paused for a moment. “But one thing. Next time you almost stand me up, a note or a messenger would have been nice.”

Will frowned. “I thought I sent a note?”

Nico paused again. Did he send a note? Nico’s memory racked- did anybody come to give him a note? He couldn’t distinctly remember it.

The only thing he remembered was someone running to his cabin, panting and him slipping himself into the shadows, avoiding whichever body had come wandering into his domain- he had not been in the mood to interact with anybody other than Will (Or maybe Hazel or Annabeth because they always knew what to say and when to say it).

Woops.

“Oh, That note you mean. I might have hidden from the messenger in the shadows…” Nico trailed off, looking everywhere but Will. Expecting a loud scoff or perhaps a jeer, Nico could feel his hands clenching up, ready to get him out of this situation. But when he heard a little giggle and saw Will giving him a genuine little smile and holding out his hand, he couldn’t help but be surprised.

“I know that I’m currently meant to be working but I guess taking a little break couldn’t hurt. Besides, I haven't eaten a proper meal all day and those sandwiches look delicious.”

Nico happily let Will lead him to the room reserved for the staff who were in this case, just the Apollo kids. But then he stopped.

“You haven't eaten all day? Will, what the hell? You were nagging me the entire of my stay here to eat and you don't even do it yourself?”

“I do eat, it’s just sometimes, I forget to because everybody is being stupid and trying to fight their healers,” Will huffed as he grabbed a sandwhich and stuffed a bite into his mouth.

“What idiot tries to fight their healers?” Nico asked as he took a sip of juice. They were sitting in the corner of the ‘staff room’ which in reality was just the back room. It just had 2 bare beds for quick resting and back up medical supplies. There was a bare sink and a couple of cupboards which were most likely empty. The freezer however, had several pints of ice cream.

“Oh who tries to fight their healer? Must I remind you of your behaviour every time you're in this infirmary?”

Will opened a pack of chips that he had managed to snag from one of the other healers; he doubted they’d notice. Well, he hoped they wouldn't notice.

“I can’t be that bad.” Nico batted his hand in the air, his hand reaching over to Will’s pack of chips and stealing one. Will smacked his hand and gasped, showing his mock offence.

“Oi! Those are mine!”

“Says who?” Nico argued. “ I happen to know you stole them!”

“Yeah but finders keepers!”

“I will fight you for those chips,” Nico snarled. Will, smiling wickedly, held his front; not in the least intimidated by Nico's violent demeanor.

“Perfect, now we finally fight. After all, I did tell you that I’d fight you later when you were recovering.”

“I’ll turn you into ashes.”

“Nu uh, I don’t think so. Remember I have regeneration,” Will boasted. They were both now standing, their food abandoned on the table.

“If I remember correctly.” Nico moved forward for the attack, “You told me you wouldn’t fight me because you knew I would win.”

Will gave a smirk. “You were ill. I couldn't tell you the truth.”

Nico squinted his eyes and waited for Will’s punch. He didn’t expect for Will to be waiting for his; Oh right, Will always fights defensive

But then he realised that this could be used to his own advantage. He went in for an attack, his leg going round to kick the back of Will’s knees, making him buckle to the floor. Nico was aiming to disable him from moving, not hurt him.

I may be short, but that just means I can reach your knees.

Will let out a rueful laugh, the game was on. Just as when Nico went to grab Will's arm, Will used his other arm to grab Nico and used all his strength and Nico’s momentum to flip Nico onto his back so that when Nico looked up, He saw Will's smiling face.

Nico rolled away, quickly forcing his way up. They both stood facing each other, none of them throwing a punch or a kick. They were dancing around each other, around their feelings. Nico ran into Will and used every force in his favour to force Will to fall onto the bare bed behind him. They landed safely with an oomph and immediately Nico got to work in immobilising him.

Nico quickly straddled Will, trying to grab his arms but Will, while not the fastest, was relatively strong. He managed to grab Nico’s arm, stopping him from being trapped. He then used all the strength he could summon from his abdominal muscles and managed to flip Nico so that it was him holding both of Nico’s arms above his head, effectively pinning him to the bed.

Nico struggled but Will was too strong. He had tried to flip Will back onto his back but it was too hard so he settled for trying to wrestle his wrists out of the blond boy's grasp. They were panting and their faces were close enough that they could feel each other's warm breath on each other's face.

Nico felt his eyes being drawn to Will’s lips and then his ocean blue, like eyes. It was a magnet being drawn across Will's face and Nico had no choice but to follow it everywhere. From the perfect slant of his cupid’s bow at his lips and the fullness of his lips to the half lidded eyelids that covered his deep eyes. The eyes that we're currently analysing Nico’s face, in the same way he was doing to Will’s, right this moment.

Will felt Nico’s wrists stop resisting as much in his grasp as his eyes slowly drifted to his own. Their eyes locked. Ocean Blue met Onyx. The sea had met the depths of the earth and it was only the roaring sound of their own blood being pumped ferociously by their hearts that acted as the soundscape of the ocean as Will lowered his lips to meet Nico’s in the most tentative of kisses.

Their lips brushed gently, as a taster and then, Nico slipped one of his supposedly trapped wrists out of Will’s hands and slid it around Will’s neck, pulling him to deepen the kiss. Will’s face felt heated as he moved his hands from above Nico’s head to cup his face; he could feel the heat radiating from it.

They broke apart- only for a second- but alas, even that felt like too much. Their lips found each other again, even in the darkness of the room, due to sunset and yet they were only in the dark for a matter of seconds. Nico, despite having his eyes closed, could feel the soft glow of Will’s skin.

“Hey Will, Where did ya g-” The startled young healer was stunned before cringing immediately at their older brother.

“-Oh god, Will, My eyes! My eyes have been scarred, dear, good gracious Gods, Help me!”

Nico’s hands flew to Will’s chest, pushing him off while Will himself made an attempt to scramble off Nico. They keyword there being attempt, because the next thing he knew, Will had stumbled and managed to trip Nico into falling face first into Will’s chest, straddling him and thus making their situation so much worse.

“What do you want?” Will groaned at his younger sibling, as Nico climbed off him, slowly burying his face in his hands out of embarrassment.

“You have another patient to fix.” The kid was now holding his hands over his eyes- something that deeply irritated Nico.

“Oh calm down, it’s not like we were doing anythi-”

“-Nico!” Will cried. “ Go out and find someone to cover for me. Tell Kayla she’s in charge; I’m off for the night,” Will declared as he grabbed Nico’s hand, kicked open the back door and fled into the early night with Nico, hand in hand.

[hockeysweetheart]

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

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games  

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire 

3 In Mockingjay  ( and Some)  

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

 Here is a sort form of the Kisses. 

The Hunger Games 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

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

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

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)  

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

Now Bonus ones 

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

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

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

1. The surprise Kiss  From Gale That snow knew about 

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

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

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

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

Bonus ones 

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

So their grand total is 6... 

In the Hunger Games  ( Book) 

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

Chapter 19, 

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

A little Later on Chapter 19 

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

Chapter 20. 

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

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

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

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

Chapter 22

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

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss) 

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

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

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

Chapter 23 

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

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

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

Chapter 24

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

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

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

Chapter 26. 

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

Chapter 27

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

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

Chapter 27. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catching fire 

Chapter 3

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

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

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

Chapter 4

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

Chapter 5

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

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

Chapter 6 On the way home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 12

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

Chapter 13

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

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

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

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

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

Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

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

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

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

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

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon 

Chapter  19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20  Cpr is a kind of kissing 

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE  Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26  

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18 

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19 

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

 Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales   Kisses will be added below 

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

[w-h-4-t]

Oh Sweet Maker, there’s two of them

Basically @mfmoonbear​ has an OC (an elf mage named Yelisavita Lavellan) and so do I (an Qunari elf mage named Fen’Harel Adaar). Now they’re here together in a story. A n g e r y co-Inquisitor AU here. Rivalry +100.

They get along. Sometimes.

LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

***

Due to its Andrastian nature, Skyhold was more than just a battle fortress. It was also a tribute to the Maker; the garden was often peaceful as the Chantry mothers swung censures while muttering the Chant of Light. However, Skyhold was also a refuge for all kind of people, including the polytheists of the Dales. 

“DIRTHAMEN’S SHADOWY NUTSACK WHAT THE FUCK”

One such example rang through the courtyard as four pairs of feet kicked up dust mid-run. There was a race happening, as usual, between two very competitive people, both dubbed Inquisitor. Yelisavita and Fen’Harel got along well enough at first. Though their time together in Haven was drought with cat fighting they grew to mutually respect each other.

That, however, did nothing to stop their competitive nature. 

It all started as a simple ‘race you to the War Room’ which was turning into an all-out mage battle royale. Both Harel and Yel made their way up the steps leading to the Main Hall, shoving each other before Harel caught the small elf in a headlock.

“YOU CHEATING BASTARD!” she screamed, making her face as red as her Valaslin, “LET ME GO!!!”

Harel switched her tactic, looping her arms around Yel before throwing her from the steps, “Make a barrier this time else you’ll get some bad bruises!” 

Giggling like an ass, Harel continued up the stairs, hopping over several steps at a time before she felt something cold take hold of her legs. At once, the Qunari elf listed forward before catching herself, attempting to yank her legs from its new icy prison.

“You little fuckin-” Harel started.

“Fucking what? Cheater? I didn’t cheat first, remember?” Yel interjected with a smile as she jogged back up the steps, taking her time before stopping by Harel, “Aw is the Dread Wolf stuck? Do you need help puppy?”

A menacing stare shot from the half-Qunari as her body began shaking. Soon enough, the ice began hissing as little wisps of flames licked out from Harel’s skin, eating away the ice.

“I’m a mage too, you fuck,” Harel growled

Yel simply smiled, coating her hand in a slick sheet of ice before reaching up to pat the angry co-Inquisitor’s cheek, “Uh-huh, I see that. Have fun with that ice, it’s extra reinforced for shitheads like you.”

Flinching at the cold touch, Harel pulled back before focusing to burn the ice away; Yel jogged up the stairs, only turning around for one second to mouth I win.

Oh that fucking does it.

Summoning every drop of magic in her bones, Harel blasted the ice chunks away, scaring quite a few people and earning a far away cheer from someone in particular.

“BEAT HER ASS!!!!” Sera yelled from the tavern rooftop, “SORRY YEL BUT I’M ROOTIN’ FER THE TALL ONE!!!”

Hearing the aftermath, Yel turned around slowly, green eyes shining with surprise. Harel shook the chips of ice from her feet before giving her signature wide-eyed, wide grin. 

“You heard her,” Harel said as she began clomping up the stairs, “I’m gonna beat YOUR ASSSSSSSS!!!!”

Now,  Yelisavita was a powerful and highly dangerous mage. She survived a great deal of trauma and death. Crawling out of Haven’s ruins, she proved she was indeed walking in the Maker’s Light despite being an Alienage elf. 

In that moment, however, Yel was a fennec in the eyes of a hyena. One would think she’d be careful now that she’d angered the other mage.

“Says the idiot caught in a simple ice spell.” Yel antagonized before leaping away, breaking into a sprint. 

Summoning another bout of magic, Harel brought forth ice, Faade Stepping in a blue blur past the stairs and into the Main Hall. Unfortunately for Harel’s dumbass, Yel had caught on, Fade Stepping in tandem past her. 

Varric had to hold down his many Merchant’ Guild letters as the two flew past, his hands gripping the many pages tightly, “HEY! Can’t a dwarf do some paper mache in peace?”

Back to shoving each other, Harel and Yel scrapped with Yel’s hands around Harel’s horns and Harel’s own trying to push the elf away.

“NO!” they shouted together at Varric, on the same page for once.

The black bones of Harel’s horns began to smoke as Yel funnelled fire into her hands.

‘YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Harel said before finally pushing her off, “Did you just try to burn off my fucking horns??!!!”

Harel in turn pushed the office doors open, noticing the absence at the desk before breaking into a sprint. Kicking in the office exit, Harel opened the door just in time to see Yel cracking the War Room entry open. 

Using the opportunity, Yel took off once more, diving through the Ambassador’s office towards the War Room.

“GET BACK HERE!!!!”

Instead of saying some crude quip, Harel continued running, pulling magic from her body once more to Fade Step, meeting Yel halfway as she flew forward in a blue streak. The Alienage elf turned back at the last second, her green eyes once again wide in surprise as Harel leapt forward, grabbing Yel and sending them both tumbling through the door. They rolled, pulling each other’s hair and scrabbling like wet cats before someone cleared their throat.

“Good day, Inquisitors,” Cullen said, raising his voice to cut off the tail end of their argument, “I see everyone is in high spirits.”

For a moment, the two stayed the way they were with Yel’s hands around Harel’s throat and Harel’s hand pushing Yel’s face back. 

Releasing her grip, Yel pushed Harel’s face back, shoving her into the ground before getting up. She gave a great smile as she dusted herself off, moving to take her place at the War Table. 

“Good day, Commander,” she said with a smile, a light blush painting pink shades around her Valaslin. 

Cullen smiled back, gripping the pommel of his sword before looking away, also blushing just a bit.

“FUCKIN-” Harel shouted as she moved off the ground, interrupting what was supposed to be a lovely moment, “I will put my foot so far up your a-”

Another throat cleared, this time, from the very end of the War Table. 

“Harel,” Josephine assuaged, “I will kindly ask that you show a modicum of decorum. Thank you.”

Scrunching up her face, Harel looked between Yel and Josephine, at first settling on the elf’s smug grin before staring at the lovely Antivan. 

“Lucky little fuck,” Harel muttered as she took her place next to Yel, “Damn fuckin lucky that Josie’s here or else I’d-”

“You’d what? Cry at me, wolf?” Yel replied, her smug grin only growing wider.

And once again, the flames of rivalry grew, fanning into an inferno as static crackled in Harel’s palms and fire spun around Yel’s body. 

“YOU ARE NOT CHILDREN” Leliana shouted, clapping her hands, her eyes glistening like vicious sapphires, “So for Andraste’s sake, stop fighting like infants! Behave yourself!”

Yel and Harel differed in many ways but there was one thing they agreed on. Leliana was scary and when that Orlesian had enough of their shit, it was time to stand straight, shut up and do their job.

“E-emerald Graves,” Harel stuttered, looking at Yel, “Thinking we could go to the Graves to do...do that thing…”

Yel nodded before staring at the map, trying her best not to look up at Leliana, “We should go to the Hissing Waste’s actually but sure….sure….The Graves sounds...important too.” 

At the opposite end of the table, Josephine sidled up to Cullen, finishing the last flourish of her letter before whispering, “ Our paramours continue to be interesting, do they not?” she dips the quill in ink, writing another line, “However, it would be preferable if they did not fight so much. It is indeed troubling for our reputation when they scrap in the public eye.”

Cullen sighs as he looks at Yel, watching her brush back a strand of strawberry blonde hair before pushing a map marker away from Harel’s hand, “ They’re not so bad, Ambassador. My sisters and I fought in a similar way, but because we hated each other. I think they’ll be fine.”

Turning away from her clipboard, Josephine looked at Harel who continued trying to pick up the map marker, only to have it shoved away, “Perhaps you are correct. Maybe they are growing to be friends.”

“IF YOU PUSH THAT MARKER ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR ON ANDRUIL’S SWEATY TIT’S I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!!!!”

“Oh, you want to lose again, pup? Don’t go crying to your prissy little bedbuddy -I mean no disrespect Ambassador- ” Yel stops for a moment, looking at Josephine before turning to Harel once more, “when I tan your hide faster than you can say Mythal.”

“Inquisitor-” Cullen starts before Harel shoots a glare at him.

“Don’t even try it, Curly!” 

“DON’T TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT!” Yel shouts back, giving the taller half-elf a shove.

And once more, a fight broke out in the War Room as all three Advisors watched the pair roll around on the floor. One would say they were akin to a wolf and a lioness fighting when in fact they were just two aggressive nugs duking it out.

Today was just one of those days where they didn’t get along more than usual. Hopefully, soon they’d be back to some kind of mutual idiocy with Yel on Harel’s shoulders, steering the half-Qunari around by the horns before they’d both fall down some hill.  

Josephine and Cullen, though different in many aspects both thought the same thing as they watched their other halves fight.

Maker help me and my competitive girlfriend. 

[whyamiinopmhellagain]

The Wrath of the Dragons

Metal Bat Reader Insert

**Trigger Warning, Major Character Death, Skippable Brief Torture Scene, Grieving**

This is for my friend, @opmheadcanons​. This gets heavy, I hope you like it. And thanks to @fatherwhump​ for letting me dump samples on you.

I also want to put out there. If anyone else is struggling, please, reach out and let me write an insert for you. Writing is a way for me to deal with my inner demons, and allowing me to project my struggles onto yours, and sympathize helps me cope. Please, do not hesitate to ask!

Their heart is pounding as they watch a pick-up truck collapse onto the civilians below it. All of the ability to give warning and spread information is now destroyed, so nobody knows where they are supposed to go, or what they’re supposed to do. It doesn’t matter anymore. Giant, scaly beasts were storming the city, knocking over buildings with their talons as if they are toddlers enjoying the terror they caused, knowing there is much glory to gain.

They keep running, even though their legs are slowly turning into jelly, and their vision is beginning to blur. Suddenly, someone grabs them by the waist. They wanted to squirm out of their grasp, but their legs had already been overworked. The second they get comfortable with their fate of being captured, they feel their capture push their head up so they both could lock lips. It was bruising, and rough, but it was passionate and familiar.

“Sorry to do this to you, sugar.”  He looks them dead in the eyes. “But, I wanted a chance to say goodbye, in case I don’t make it out of the shit show.” 

“You will.” They force themselves to say. “I love you, Badd.” 

“I love you too, (Y/N).” He starts to leave the alleyway. “And bye the way,” He shouts from halfway down the street. “Tell Zenko she’s gonna take over the world!” 

“I will baby!” They poke their head out from the alleyway. 

“Now, get that pretty little ass of yours outta ‘ere!” He smiles back at you, as he charges straight towards the seven dragons in the sky. 

Selfishness was eating them up inside. They desperately wanted to bring him back to their embrace, and kiss him one last time. Their mind drifts off to a time when he comes back; battered, beat up, and bruised, but safe. His eyes scan the crowd for them. When he sees them, he comes barreling over, kissing their face. They bring him his little sister, as he watches her cry of joy. The crowds begin to scream as he leans in for a tender, loving, kiss that says “I’m so glad you’re okay, and happy you’re in my life.”

A rusty pipe lands right next to them, causing them to realize where they are. They sprint off to see where he went. The orange beast’s flames turn the nearby park, and everything in it, to ash. The yellow one bashes a nearby office building with its tail. The green one roars, sending violent sound waves that harshly permeate the area.  

“ATTENTION HUMANS!"  The red beast growls. “If you want us to leave, you must agree to our terms!” Time stops for a minute. 

“Okay!” Badd shouts from the distance. “You punks have caused enough destruction already! We surrender! Whaddya want?”  

“We demand a sacrifice.” It continues. “It must be a powerful member of your species. He must be able to give us power, so that we can sacrifice it to our king. Then, and only then, will we leave.” A gasp spreads around the room. 

Badd takes a glance around at the surrounding area. City T had just been annihilated. So has City X, City V, and City W. There was nothing left of them but debris, ash, and corpses. City S was next. 

He knew what he had to do to stop them. 

“Alright, I volunteer.” The people part the way for their savoir to walk into his fate. Tears start welling up in their eyes. Their mind is begging him for him to not do this. Stay with them, just for long enough to grow old, start a family, watch Zenko graduate, get married, quit this stupid job, or for just one last, proper kiss goodbye. 

“Thanks for the ice cream, Badd.”

“No problem, baby. You deserve it.” He swings your arm over their shoulder. “You deserve the world. Hell, the universe!” 

“I thought I deserved the universe!” 

“You do too, Zen.” He picks her up with his other arm. “I’m going to do everything to give it to you. Both of you.” 

They don’t move. 

“Alright! I’m here!” Badd shouts. As he stands, the largest beast comes down, its royal purple wings softening his landing. One of its claws probes Badd’s chest. He presses it harder and harder, and they know Badd is doing his best not to scream.

“If we take this one, we can stop our slaughter for the next ten billion years!”

“Really, your majesty?” The red one says.

“Hey Scales, can we get on with this? Do you need me or not?” 

“Yes, we do.” The beast propels himself upwards. As the crowd awaits the event, Badd slowly raises his bat. Once his arm is fully extended, he lifts his pointer finger, pinky and thumb. The monarch of the beasts throws his arm back, charging a purple orb.  

“Stay strong everyone!” Badd addresses the crowd. 

“I’ll always be with you!” He stares directly at them. 

The orb comes crashing down, muffling his screams. All of the beasts have gathered to see their sacrifice writhe in pain. Badd can’t even see his shaking limbs as they give out. He feels his skin burning, as his cries of pain become weaker and weaker. He knows that his muscles and bones are next. He doesn’t waste his energy trying to save himself. He just thinks of the happy moments in his life on Earth, and the reason he was doing this. 

His gut told him it would all be worth it. 

----

The orb disintegrates, and nothing is left of the S-class hero. 

“HUMANS! WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR TRIBUTE! WILL WILL NOT BOTHER YOU FOR ANOTHER 10 BILLION YEARS.” The purple beast takes to the skies, and the rest follow. They sprint over, shaking and panicking to find something, anything remaining of their love. 

“NOOOOOO! WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM?” They sob over the area where he should be laying. 

---

They lie in his queen sized bed. Everytime they tried to roll over and go to sleep, they couldn’t stop themselves from glance over to the other side, expecting to see his ruffled, black mop, the mesmerizing rise and fall of his chest, and his bulky muscles finally relaxing next to them.  His soft snores would normally bother them, but today, it would put them to sleep. It would give them the closure that everything would be okay, and that tomorrow, they would wake up in a cuddle puddle with his sister in the middle. He would kiss their nose and forehead, and recount the tale of his glorious victory of taking down an above dragon level threat as he made them breakfast. This couldn’t have happened. He couldn’t have been gone. Dragons don’t come from the sky demeaning sacrifice! He should be alive! He deserves life more than most of the heroes! He was 17! He had a very healthy and happy relationship! A bright future! A sister to care for! Instead, his sister was wrapped up in their arms, protecting them from the grief as long as they could. She had already seen enough, and she was only ten years old. The death of parents, and then her brother, the sweetest, kindest, toughest man they had ever met, was going to take a toll on this young girl's mind. She was tough, though. She fought for what she wanted. She was the spitting image of her brother, with a touch of her own grace She would make it through this. They knew they had a new job.

They needed to soften the blow as much as they could. 

---

Zenko had woken them up crying. 

“(Y/N)! I can’t sleep!” Zenko sniffles. 

“Me either, Zenko.” They lie. 

“I want my brother back!” She wails into their chest. 

“I want him back too, love.” 

“I want him to take me shopping! And make me mochi! And cake!” 

“I understand Zenko, darling. But, you have to get some rest.” They stroke her hair lovingly. It was the exact same color as her brother’s.

“WHY (Y/N)-chan, WHY?” They go quiet for a second.  

“You deserve the world. Hell, the universe!” 

“I thought I deserved the universe!” 

“You do too, Zen.” He picks her up with his other arm. “I’m going to do everything to give it to you. Both of you.” 

“He wanted to give us everything.” They look down at her puffy eyes and red cheeks, hugging her closer.

“Let’s make him proud.”

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

This for you, Forrest. I haven’t had the personal experience of grieving in my life, so I kind of went with my gut on writing this. I’m sorry if this is inaccurate, let me know, and I’ll fix it. You write some of the best headcanons for the fandom, and your little shitposts bring me joy. I understand that sometimes I may come off as annoying in private messages, but you seem very chill, and have quite a bit of wisdom to you. This makes your super enjoyable to be around.  Feel free to talk at any time. Thank you for all the good you bring. We’re happy to have you here! 

Requests Open! *Unedited*

[superman86to99]

Superman #83 (November 1993)

Funeral for a Friend: uh, that one Green Lantern supporting character who died when Coast City got blown up (Joe? Gary?). In this issue DC’s superheroes pay tribute to the tragedy of Coast City while also deciding what the hell to do with the giant engine that’s now in its place. Weird early ‘90s Hawkman! Dr. Fate with boobs! Already-slightly-psychotic Hal Jordan! EVERYONE IS HERE.

(Nice one, Guy.)

Meanwhile, Lex Luthor Jr. is also sneaking around Engine City, supposedly to prevent it from falling into the ocean and killing some of Aquaman’s friends, but in reality he just wants to look into the Cyborg Superman’s computer to see if he can find a recipe for making kryptonite. As the heroes argue about what to do with Engine City (Hal says drop it into the water, screw the fish), some leftover Warworld aliens start attacking them, like the holdout Japanese soldiers who never found out WWII was over.

The attack precipitates the city’s fall into the water and the heroes have to think fast to prevent a fish holocaust. Their solution is for all the Green Lantern-related characters (Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, Alan Scott, Alan’s daughter Jade) to “detoxify” the debris with their powers before it falls into the ocean. And it works! These guys should totally open a carpet cleaning business.

As for Lex Jr., he does find the recipe for kryptonite inside the crumbling city, but just as he’s about to write it down (he wasn’t carrying any floppy disks, apparently), Supergirl yanks him out of there to prevent him from burning alive. What an unsupportive girlfriend. Anyway, Superman then takes some of the debris and builds a giant memorial for Coast City’s 6,999,999 anonymous lost souls, and Gary. Sweet Gary. You will be missed.

Creator-Watch:

If the art looks different that’s because this is the first issue inked by Joe Rubinstein, ending Brett Breeding’s classic two and a half year run as Dan Jurgens’ main inker (so classic that it feels a lot longer than that). Breeding will be back for Superman/Doomsday: Hunter/Prey and other stuff, though. As for Rubinstein, Don says: “At  the time, I had trouble with the transition, being soused to Brett Breeding’s finishes over Jurgens’ pencils, but looking at it now, the art looks great. It doesn’t look as smooth or blocky as Breeding’s finishes, but Rubinstein’s hatchier style serves Jurgens pretty well, even if it takes some getting used to.”

Plotline-Watch:

At the start of the issue, Superman goes to pick up Batman to take him to Coast City, only to find him wearing a different costume, acting differently, and sounding like a different guy. That’s because that’s not really Bruce Wayne in the suit anymore, but the replacement he got after Bane broke his back. That’s right: freakin’ Psi-Phon and Dreadnaught.

Superman gives a speech about how superheroes must work together to prevent another tragedy like Coast City from happening, but when Guy asks him if that means he’s going back to the Justice League, he’s like “uh, not yet.” Wisely, he’s gonna wait for Grant Morrison to get there first.

Hal Jordan’s characterization in this issue is interesting. In Green Lantern #47 (which came out the same month), he’s bummed about Coast City but still hopeful and serene, while here he’s already going Parallax on us. Wonder if Dan Jurgens knew more about what DC was planning for Hal than the other comic’s writer.

There’s a cute scene where Superman is flying by Kansas on his way to Coast City and quickly drops some flowers for Ma Kent. (That, or Flash picked this moment to hit on a random older woman.) 

Former TV exec/crime boss Morgan Edge has released an autobiography where he trashes the Daily Planet’s Cat Grant for using her sexiness (and, you know, sex) to get dirt on him and send him to jail. He also accuses Cat of being a crappy mother to her son Adam. He kind of has a point there, because what kind of mom would let her kid play with an Atari in the early ‘90s?! The SNES and the Genesis were already out!

Believe it or not, Morgan Edge’s pervy dad in that screenshot above isn’t the creepiest thing in that scene. Don: “Very spooky how the guy dangling outside of Cat’s apartment goes without mention. An ominous foreshadow of one of the very few missteps of Jurgens’ run.”

But the most ominous part of the issue is at the end, when Clark Kent accepts Jimmy Olsen’s offer to become roomies, since Clark lost his apartment on account of being dead and all. Don wants you to know that “Jimmy is still in that towel by the way” in the scene below. I hope.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patrons Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, and a warm welcome to Samuel Doran! Last month our patrons got to read an article about Superman’s bizarre first Elseworlds appearance ever, the Kamandi: At Earth’s End miniseries, and got a veeeeeery early look at this post you’re reading right now (since Don finished his part way before I did mine). Right now I’m preparing this month’s Patreon-only article, which involves Superman wearing pointy ears and Luthor wearing make up. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99

Oh, and in case you missed it, we’ve been posting Don’s new commentary for older issues on the Patreon as free posts (click above and scroll down to see them). EVEN MORE from Don after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

Another classic issue, and such a nice wrap-up to the "Death and Return" storyline (as well as being a much-needed check-In on the DC Universe at  large).  We start with the cover, and it’s a very good one, letting the  reader know right away that it’s a big team-up issue.  (It also is a real showcase for 90s costume design, and how weird the JLA lineup was at this point).

The opening splash is a neat image of a rarely seen pairing, Superman and Commissioner Gordon.   Jurgens draws James Gordon a little heavier and more Pa-Kent like than I’m used to seeing him, but it’s still neat to see him interacting with Superman. A page  later, we get another rare pairing—the returned Superman with the imposter Batman, Jean-Paul Valley.  The tension in the interaction between “AzBats” and Superman comes across well in their exchange, as does Superman’s doubts about who he was really speaking to.

It’s a dreamy looking Superman crossing the country from Metropolis to Coast City, and I daresay that they’re trying to channel Dean Cain a little as he approaches Kansas.

The best panel of the issue though is the two page spread  of all the heroes gathering at the wreckage of Coast City, and there’s so much to love here.  The body language, and facial  expressions speak volumes about each of the characters:  Superman looking swashbuckling and upbeat, Green Lantern brooding like a man barely holding on, Green Arrow all attitude and shadow.  Just a great spread.

Another cool image is Aquaman showing up late, and emerging very royally in protection of his ocean (undercut masterfully by a legitimately funny couple of lines from Guy Gardner).  Page 14’s Hal Jordan is a great drawing, and this whole storyline seems like a table setter for the "Emerald Twilight" story coming up.

The sequence of a firelit Luthor  at the computer is a good look at his madness, but it does beg the  question of just how little Supergirl seems to take in.  He was JUST talking aloud  about Kryptonite, and she emerges seeming not to hear.  The image of  Supergirl flying Lex away as he struggles against her psychic grab is a  good one, even if her uniform is depicted as a little clingier than I imagine it to really be.

Superman floating above his obelisk with his arm in front of  his face like Dracula is a cool look, even if it is a little dramatic.

Lastly, the image of Clark turning up the stereo is a good one, even if his hair length is wildly  shorter here than in Coast City (and I usually dislike it when they  mention real world bands, as it comes off trying too hard to be hip).

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  have to love how meta it is to have Superman outright saying that Batman is dressing more “threatening” these days,  on page 2.  I guess he couldn’t come right out and say “you have an  extreme new look, and it’s totally badass! Batman the next generation!”

Last  we saw of Supergirl she was storming out of the party on Lex’s Zeppelin after Lex II was getting all horned up at  the sight of Lois Lane, but it appears here they’ve mostly patched  things up as they fly to Coast City.

More meta-stuff: Jimmy clunkily complimenting Lois on her new hair by saying she “oughta be on TV or something!”.   This whole exchange is very expository, really, “Clark must be pretty mad… though he’s busy worrying about where he’s going to bunk…”  Anything else to get in there, Jimmy?

The harshness some of the heroes have for Lex Junior seems a little out of place, especially since he’s still known to  most of the heroes as an ally from "Panic in the Sky", and the "Doomsday"  storyline.  Superman’s comment was borderline, but where is all this  anger Flash is showing coming from?

Being  as familiar as we are with these writers, there are certain phrases or ideas that a certain writer will go to way,  way too often.  Byrne had a number of stories where Superman would  “ionize” something with his heat vision, and it occurred to me that  maybe he just liked that word.  I would submit that Dan Jurgens likes the word “atomize”.  It was used by the Cyborg  Superman when talking about Doomsday, and is used a bunch just in this issue.

I find it hilarious that Hawkman appears so prominently in this issue, but doesn’t get any lines.  This issue is an  interesting time capsule—I had almost forgotten about the de-aged  Starheart powered Alan Scott era.

Speaking of lines, they don’t give Captain Marvel much to do in this issue, but I always like seeing him, even if his only contribution is the odd “Holy Moley!”

Colouring error on page 12, where Hal’s ring has a red centre (maybe the colourist had Alan Scott’s red and green look on the brain?)

A raging Hal standing by Green Arrow is a sad foreshadowing of their confrontation to come in Zero Hour.

[areiton]

important days

Irondad & Spiderson, with a heavy dose of sad feels

~*~

year one

  He drinks the first year. 

The grief--not his, but the grief of the world--is still thick, so thick the entire world broke under it. They begin, slowly, to put the world back together--but the first anniversary of Snap…

The world went silent, a delicate hush of grief, and exploded into a ball of fury, almost a week of riots and destruction that later--later he would be aware of. 

But this year, he isn’t. This year, he sits in a quiet empty apartment in Queens, on a lumpy twin bed, with a bottle of Scotch and drinks until he can’t stand, until his eyes go blurry with more than just tears. 

This year he sits on his child’s untouched bed and drinks until he passes out and lets the world burn beyond his grief. 

  year two 

  Morgan wakes him. Pepper offered to take her, to give him space to grieve. It felt wrong, somehow, to send his newborn away while he grieved his son. 

Besides--the memorials were done now, the world pulled to some kind of rights, enough that SI was dedicating the Wall in New York. 

She invited him--even Steve reached out and invited him, in the weeks before. 

“I’m not ready for that,” he says, and its apologetic, almost. But firm. He holds Morgan, tight, tighter than he should, this precious child he loves so much it hurts, sometimes, and Pepper’s eyes go soft. Gentle. 

Morgan wakes him, and she coos, quiet fussing as he stares at the ceiling and breathes through the pain. It’s been two years since his son died. 

Two years and it still hurts. 

In her crib, Morgan gives a sharp, high pitched squeal, giggles. 

He pushes himself from his bed and goes to her, desperate suddenly to see his little girl, to hold her. 

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, lifting her gently and kissing her hair. It's baby fine, soft just the way Pete's was. "Let's get you breakfast." 

He thinks, as he plays with her and listens to the silent cabin, that it might be time to start talking to his daughter about her brother. 

  year three 

  He's alone on the third anniversary. He isn't drinking and gods knows he hung up his suit--but there's something broken in him and it's driving Pepper away. 

No. Not something . Someone. 

He goes in the middle of the night, drives into the city, to the memorial. It stretches for two city blocks, rows of stone and sidewalk and neatly placed benches. 

There are flowers in clumps on the ground, left behind by the grieving. 

It takes him no time ar all to find the right marble slab and the name. And then he stares at it, up and up and up, and lets all the grief well up. 

And the guilt. It's been three years and the guilt never gets any easier. 

"It isn't replacing you to love them and be happy," he says, a confession in the dark like so many of Peter's had been. "It doesn't mean I love you less or miss you less.  But I gotta think--you'd want that. For me to be happy." 

There is no answer--but there doesn't need to be. He sits there, in the shadow of his son's grave and allows the grief to swamp him, one last time. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he'd call and apologize and beg her to come home. He'd call the therapist she found and Rhodey and put away the grief and hug his daughter. Tomorrow. 

Tonight, he mourns his son. 

  year four

  He takes Pepper and Morgan on a picnic the fourth year. He's retired now, pulled completely away from what's left of the Avengers. 

He doesn't get called, anymore, for anything more than an emergency in R&D. And he knows, distantly, that around the world there are memorials happening, a day of grief and remembrance. 

He watches Morgan, tottling after Happy, giggling and reaching for a bright red ball. He leans against Pepper's hip, and watches the clouds moving lazily against the bright blue sky. The world is beautiful, now. Not in the cities, where so much was left forgotten and rotting in place. But here, where the world is recovering, where it's bright green and impossibly blue and brilliantly alive.  

"I wish he could see this," he whispers, closing his eyes against the well of grief. Pepper's fingers are gentle in his hair and Morgan is laughing and he can hear the familiar sound of Rhodey's repulsors. 

All that is missing, all that will always be missing, is his boy, his Peter, loud and happy and alive. 

  year five 

  It's quiet. 

Five years gone, and not quite the anniversary of the Snap, the memorials have less and less people every day. 

The world is healing, slowly, learning to navigate around a hole of grief. Everyone lives with them, now. The person shaped space where half of the universe once lived. 

His is shaped like Pete. And he's learned to live, to navigate the hole of grief, to avoid the pitfalls and live. 

He even sets aside his guilt, some days. 

But today. 

He breathes and touches the stone, the sharp cut of his name.

"We're gonna fix it. I--I'm so scared, kid. But I'm gonna fix it. I'm gonna bring you home."

He walks away and grief follows like a familiar friend and hope--for the first time in five years, he feels hope. 

  the first year 

  There's a memorial. 

It sits in the middle of two city blocks, where once upon row and rows of marble slabs stood, neat and orderly and listing the Lost. 

Now it's a vast open space, and a small statue sits in the center. He knows what it looks like without getting closer. And he can't get closer, not today, with the memorial crowded around to lay tribute to Ironman. He watches from where he clings to a nearby building, wind tugging at him, tears burning in his eyes. 

The Lost wear grey, a sea of it in the color, a black hole of people he saved. 

Near the statue, a little girl stands with a tall, slender redhead. He watches until the Iron Legion fly overhead, and then swings away. To an apartment in Queens and a man with graying hair and tired, happy eyes and a hand that’s red and gold and reaches for him, tugs him into the dusty empty living room, eyes checking to make sure he’s ok, he’s unhurt. 

Peter thinks Tony won’t ever stop doing that, for him and Morgan.

“We don’t have to watch the memorial, kid,” Tony says, and Peter looks at him. 

“Was it hard, while I was gone?” 

Grief spasms across his face, so raw and real it makes Peter’s breath catch, and he curls into Tony’s side, almost begging for comfort and sighing as his arms come around him. He feels safe, when Tony’s next to him, like Tony would never let anything hurt him. 

He looks at the memorial, where the entire world grieves for him, where Pepper and Morgan stand and pass off a lie, and thinks--he wouldn’t. 

Tony would die--had and came back and willingly faked his death again--to keep him safe and close. 

Peter reaches for the remote. They’ve both had enough of important days and memorials and grief. “Trek or Wars?” he asks and Tony smiles against his hair. 

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 24/?

Role-reversed!AU (Song[Xiao]Xue): “Love at First Sight”

[villain!SL/investigator!XY]

[title is from a Kylie Minogue’ song and from nowhere else fight me]

[so. me is embarrassed to say this but. the idea comes from an Italian movie of the late 90’s.]

[which is to say that: (1) Italian comedies are rarely my thing bc they are (pardon my French, I don’t feel like switch to Italian rn) problematique most of the times; (2) it’s been 10 or so years since I last saw this particular movie and even if at the time I liked it I was probably sixteen at the time so... not the best judge also my memory is shit for actual plot points; (3) internalized homophobia runs in the Italian film industry; (4) it deals with criminal gangs and, even if the movie makes fun of them, it is still a sore topic in my country so... I’m not gonna go in detail for this ficlet. it is, in fact, just a prompt; (5) also there is a cop character and... well, I changed it into a private investigator bc fuck it; (6) ignore me, I’m emotional tonight.]

*

Married off. Him. To a lovely girl, for sure, but with a penchant for pickpocketing and letting her mouth run at the most inconvenient of times. The wedding is in six months. Song Lan has to laugh at that.

But Mother has been almost too complacent with him for the longest time, allowing him to play his games and get it on with too many women for him to care to keep track of. He may or may not have disrespected some of them and their powerful families in the past for being a serial womanizer. There’s a logic behind it, of course, but since his eye surgery he cannot seem to remember what that could have possibly been at the time.

The worst of all being that he doesn’t remember why he ever found women attractive in the first place. People of the Baixue Clan tried to cheer him up to no avail for months. They took him to brothels, called in his favorite rent-girls, tipped them extra, brought him out of town on vacation to distract him, but... nothing.

He feels like crying sometimes. He’s done. Broken. Nobody will ever take him seriously anymore now that he’s nothing but his mommy’s boy. Forget for a minute that his mother is keeping the entire Yi City in check by enforcing her law on other clans. Let alone that her word has ruled over rascals and rogue hotheads for decades just by letting them hear her name. BaoShan Sanren would have not forgiven him for turning down the daughter of a competing family, that’s for sure.

Sometimes Song Lan looks down at himself, dressed in ridiculously flashy buttondowns open at the collar, with black jackets and fitting trousers, embezzled shoes on his long feet... and he wants to shriek. He hates everything about himself and he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t recognize himself anymore, almost as if his mind had changed about everything he believed to know.

At least he can see again. That should be enough, right?

*

It should have seen it fucking coming, Xue Yang knows this much.

A bullet to the heart would have hurt him less, but it’s been a year since his husband’s death and he’s done. He’s fucking done. Throwing himself away like that, recklessly accepting new cases one after the other just because. He’s got nothing to come home for anyway.

But as he disinfects the slash of a dagger on his shoulder, he wonders if there’s more to life than this. A dirty bathroom where he and his husband used to shave in the morning together before work. A stuffy apartment filled with unwanted memories. Mold on the ceiling, laughter rising to the sky every night before Xiao XingChen died. Before everything else left with him.

Xue Yang flinches when the alcohol stings badly on the cut and he chugs some vodka down for good measure as he prepares to stitch the gaping wound back together. The flame scorches the needle until it becomes almost white and he wonders, not for the first time, how it would feel to just... stop. He cried so much he doesn’t have tears left anymore.

The last time he saw his husband’s beautiful face it was at the morgue, where a dispassionate woman in white had asked him to confirm his identity. She asked him if he had formally agreed to put his husband’s name on the list of organ donors. He refused in the beginning... and then thought about it. About what his righteous husband would have wanted him to do.

Letting go of him –of any part of him, really– so soon tore him apart.

Since there was nothing left of Xiao XingChen, it was just right for not a single thing of Xue Yang to be left in his wake as well.

Well, aside from the pain. But that was to be expected after all.

He had never deserved anything but pain in his life.

Fuck that. Fuck that shit.

*

Mother asked him to look for a mole in the group, but he found a mere nobody snooping around in their area instead. Searching for what, he doesn’t know. But, as he crowds the other man in a dark alley behind the secret entry of their club, Song Lan cannot help himself from staring.

The laundromat from where their regular patrons usually enter to play is open 24/7, the flickering light coming from its open door casting just... the loveliest shadows on the younger man’s face. He’s shorter, much shorter than him. Possibly in his early thirties. Dressed nicely with a gun pointed at Song Lan... but he doesn’t care.

It’s almost as if something has fallen back in its original place and Song Lan is filled with elation. He has never felt more relieved or happy in his life. It feels like a second chance at life, an opportunity he doesn’t want to let slide through his fingers this time around.

He grasps the other man’s hand holding the gun and directs it upwards in a swift move. A bullet cuts through the air as he pushes the shorter man up to the laundromat window, neon lights dancing on Song Lan’s face. Soon people from the club will rush to his aid, knowing full well that he’s out looking for a snitch. He doesn’t have time, so he takes a good look at the person at his mercy.

He knows him.

And he falls in love, immediately.

*

The shot still rings in his ear, the gun burning in his outstretched hand, now caught in a vicious grasp. Xue Yang flinches as he looks up and gets ready to defend himself. He was just following a useless son of a bitch lying to his wife about not playing cards and losing all of their money. He would have never thought it would turn so bad so soon. Usually he gets away quickly enough, running for his life as usual...

...but this is different.

His gaze meets Xiao XingChen’s eyes and he freezes on the spot. He would recognize them anywhere, the same glassy quality to them, the same softness around them. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Because the one in front of him looks nothing like his husband.

And yet he knows him.

He knows what it feels to be looked with fondness and longing by one Xiao XingChen.

Fuck, he missed that.

He missed that so much.

*

[additional nonsense under the cut, bc. I am me]

[the original movie is a comedy, but I saw this post while I was writing the prompt and now it’s a fucking urban-noir kind of deal baby!]

[am I procrastinating another ficlet (slowly turning into a 20k monster bc I’m stupid) by writing this prompt instead? no. what are you talking about?]

[i wanted SL to have a family, but I had no idea what the people at the Temple would have looked like or acted around him, so I imagined BaoShan Sanren hoarding children as she goes (which is canon anyway) but she’s a villain in this bc I’m an asshole.]

[SL is the only one of her children to have an actual father, hence he’s the only one with a last name different from Sanren (which I know is a title but let. me. live. *kissy face* :* :* :* many thanks.]

[I offer Lan QiRen as a tribute for fatherhood, even if I know SL’s surname is written like “mist”, while the Lan Sect is named after the character for “blue”. but let me dream.]

[also I just like the idea of SL’s auntie or big sister being WWX’s mother for no other reason that this is a silly prompt and I need to fill these additional notes with something vaguely resembling a plot.]

[if you want another role-reversed!au check this other (wangxian) prompt of mine. then check all the others and have fun.]

[in the movie there was a scene where the widower runs on a horse to save the man he (begrudgingly) has come to care about from his wedding.]

[for the majority if not the entirety of the movie the widower sees something of his dead wife in the criminal (who received the wife’s eyes through transplant) and denies any attraction to him until the end... even if he runs away with him.]

[the criminal has changed since the transplant and became somewhat a decent person. in the end he runs away with the widower.]

[I wanted actual romance, not plausible deniability, thanks. hence this stupid prompt someone might like, maybe.]

[if you write something based on this prompt (the most angsty or hurt/comfort-y the better, but also fluff or *coughs*smut*coughs* is good) send me an ask. I want to read it! :D]

ok now I go back to my 20k-and-counting monster fic. bye!!

[salutmonmec]

EVEN THE DEAD DESERVE A SONG

an Elu Hunger Games AU

ao3 link

Lucas has been in love with the same boy since he was five years old.

Now, he will be forced to fight him to the death.

What a fucking nightmare.

CHAPTER 4: EVERYBODY HERE IS WATCHING YOU

Lucas jerks awake, bolting upright, chest heaving as he tries to gulp air into his lungs. One hand clenches a fistful of bedsheet, the other flies up to clutch at his heart, rubbing circles in his sweat soaked t-shirt. He squeezes his eyes shut to try and gather himself. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. He opens them, looking around his room, out the giant window to his right. His breathing evens out. I’m okay.

The dark voice in the back of his mind decides to make a reappearance. Are you?

Shut up.

He glances at the clock, it’s a little after eight in the morning. They will arrive in the Capitol soon. He rolls himself out of bed to go change clothes, pointedly ignoring the bubble of anxiety growing in his chest. His reaping clothes had been folded neatly on the chair next to the door, perfectly pressed. He picks up his Dad’s shirt, sniffs it. Soapy and fresh. No ounce of home left. Lucas shimmies into his black jeans, shrugs on the shirt. As he buttons the wrists, he notices the lack of black coal dust in the seams. Not even a speck. A small wave of sadness washes over him as he looks in the mirror. It’s funny, how you can look the same despite the world being pulled out from under your feet. He runs a hand through his ridiculous nest of hair, but it just flops back over his large eyes. He thinks of Eliott’s effortlessly messy mane, that somehow always looks good no matter what he does. Asshole.

The thought brings the events of the night before crashing into his brain, and he feels his cheeks warm as he shoves his feet into his shoes.

Eliott, the moonlight lighting up his eyes and sharpening his cheekbones.

I hate eating alone.

The nerves in his fingertips lighting up like a wildfire when he accidentally brushed Eliott’s hand, both reaching for a piece of bread.

We can have each other’s backs, if you want.

Their breath mixing in the little space between them, heads turned together where they lean against the doorframe, Lucas feeling sad and terrified and hopeful all at once.

A sharp knock on the door brings him back to reality. He is tying his shoes. Right.

“Lucas! Breakfast is out, if you want something!” Daphné trilling voice echoes through his cabin, muffled only slightly by the door in her way. Lucas stands as he hears the clack of her heels descend down the hallway. He throws a hand through his hair in a last ditch effort, and heads out into the dining car.

He hears Eliott before he sees him, the smooth cadence of his voice, low from sleep.

“... we need to actually promote ourselves? Talk to people?”

“No,” Emma. “tributes can’t speak to anyone outside of the group. It’s done almost entirely through both your performances in training, and when you get in there, the Arena.”

Her eyes flick from Eliott to Lucas as he walks into the room, a waffle half hanging out of her mouth.

“Oh look, our sleeping beauty has finally awoken!” Lucas rolls his eyes at her, which only encourages her slander. She chuckles. “You gonna play nice this morning, pipsqueak?”

He scans the table. No bottles in sight. He raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s still early.”

Emma smirks, buttering up another waffle. Lucas grabs one himself, sliding into the seat next to Eliott, who leans over to bump his shoulder. Lucas struggles to keep an indifferent face, failing miserably. Eliott smirks, shooting him a subtle wink.

“Emma was just talking about sponsors.”

She flicks her eyes up from her plate, raising her eyebrows as she points her butter knife at Lucas lazily. “Know anything about them?”

He has the waffle half in his mouth already, but he answers anyway. “A little.”

She lets out a humorless laugh, grabs the syrup. “People always think its the fighting skills that keep you alive in there, and to some extent they’re right. Once the canon blows, the fighters make themselves known right away, and those that can’t run away fast enough are gone before a minute is up.” She shoves a giant piece in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Lucas sets down his fork, stares at her. “After that, most will die from exposure.” She shrugs, flicks her eyes over both of them. “Dehydration, starvation, infection, and don’t forget wildcards in the arena environment. Fires, avalanches, rockslides, storms, floods.” Her voice wavers slightly on the last word. She clears her throat. Lucas almost feels sorry for her… almost. She’s still a piece of work.

“When you’re in there, anything can happen. There is no way you can prepare for everything. And that’s where the sponsors come in. Medications, water filters,” She holds up a piece of waffle with her fork, “even one of these bad boys could be the difference between survival and death.”

Lucas crosses his arms, leans back in his chair, raising his chin in her direction. “So how do we get them? People aren’t exactly tripping over themselves to cheer for District 12.”

Emma takes a big gulp of orange juice, wiping the excess with the back of her hand. She looks at the glass, clearing wishing it was something stronger. She crosses her arms and leans back, mirroring Lucas’ posture. Eliott continues eating, looking between them.

Emma smiles like a cat, unsettling and almost feral. “Funnily enough, we may not even have to work that hard. My source in the Capitol called last night, and apparently, you two are already the talk of the town.”

Eliott chokes on a piece of watermelon. He coughs hard, and Lucas slaps him on the back, making him breathe. Once he gathers himself, he narrows his watery eyes at Emma, cheeks red. “The hell do you mean?”

Emma leans her elbows on the table, coming in closer. She lifts her eyebrows once, smirks. “The Reapings were pretty boring this year... all except one.” She waggles her brows up and down while Lucas looks at her, horrified. The fucking Reaping, I almost forgot. “So first, we have pretty boy over here,” she gestures a hand over to Eliott, “who oh so valiantly sacrificed himself for his sweet baby sister, District 12’s first ever volunteer. Half of the older Capitol women are already in love with him.”

Eliott leans back in his chair, looking scandalized. “That’s fucked up.”

Emma chuckles. “Welcome to the Capitol, sweetheart. But anyways, then pipsqueak over here hits the floor just before it ends.” Lucas cringes, running his hands down his face as he feels a flush creeping up his neck. Eliott gets to be a hero. Me, the weak idiot. Nice. Sounds about right.

She shrugs, grinning. “Let’s just say, you two make quite a pair. What we have to do is keep up the intrigue, make sure people keep talking about you.” Her face turns serious in an instant, giving Lucas a bit of whiplash. “Now... can either of you fight?”

Lucas and Eliott glance at each other, and Daphné chooses then to pop her head into the room. She is wearing her curls loose today, but her jacket sleeve looks suspiciously fluffy. “Boys come look! We’re almost there. You can see the whole skyline!” She twirls back out of the room, gone in a flash of bright blue.

Eliott smirks at Lucas as he turns back towards Emma, who just shakes her head in exasperation. She waves a hand towards the door half-heartedly, rolling her eyes.

“Go, we’ll talk later.”

They scramble out of their chairs, breakfast forgotten. Eliott makes it into the hallway first, and Lucas follows close behind as they make their way to the observation car. Just before they reach it, Eliott stops in his tracks, laughing as Lucas slams face first into his shoulder blades. A giggle rips its way out of Lucas chest, and he uses both hands to shove Eliott through the doorway. He’s still cackling. Dick.

Daphné sends them a questioning smile, but gestures elegantly toward the window. Her jacket is, in fact, a giant mess of blue feathers, billowing around her like some kind of parakeet. Lucas tries not to stare, although the jacket is, without a doubt, screaming for attention. He turns slowly toward the giant window, mouth dropping open before he can gather himself.

It’s... huge.

At least four times the size of District 12. At least. The skyscrapers are surrounded by mountains, each building shimmering with a metallic finish. It reflects the landscape like a mirror, hazy and warped. The morning sunlight bounces off each tower, almost blinding. It’s cold and strange and beautiful. A long walk from the tiny houses and wooden storefronts of home.

You are going to die here.

Lucas swallows down the thought, looking down at his feet. He notices movement to his left, and his eyes flick to it. Eliott is rubbing absently at his bracelet, eyes glued to the view. Lucas watches his thumb trace along the blue braid, gently, reverently. They are close enough that if he lifted his left hand a bit, his fingers would brush his. A tight ache spreads through his chest as he turns his head back towards the window, eyes threatening to water. Not now.

He inhales a shaky breath, too loud. Eliott glances down at him, eyes tight with concern. Before he can say anything, Lucas turns quickly on his heels, walking back towards his room, the proximity to Eliott suddenly suffocating. As he turns down the hallway, he rolls his shoulders, back burning with an imprint of grey-blue.

----

Panic is choking him.

He can’t breathe.

Tears force their way out of his eyes.

He can’t see.

His whole body shakes as he hugs his knees on the floor of his room.

He can’t move.

You are going to die here.

He hiccups, gasping for air. He shoves his head between his knees, refusing to let himself hyperventilate. Get it together, get it together, get it together.

He thinks of his mother, her kind smile, always a little sad no matter how hard she tries to hide it.

Don’t let them overwhelm you.

His chest opens, and he sucks a breath in, heart pounding wildly in his ears.

Minute by minute.

He squeezes his eyes shut, counts slowly, pacing himself.

… 56, 57, 58, 59, 60.

He lifts his head, sight twisting with vertigo. He hugs both arms around himself until it passes, pulling his shirt sleeves over his hands to wipe at his eyes as soon as the room stops spinning. The panic subsides slowly, leaving him numb and exhausted as the knots in his muscles loosen. He leans his head back against the foot of his bed, closes his eyes, trying to think of anything that would make him forget about the shitty hand he’s been dealt.

His mind moves to a messy head of tawny hair, as it often does, and blue-grey eyes that shift colors depending on the light. Scrawny knees and elbows, usually scrapped, that grew to be lithe and strong. Memories flash through his head like a picture show, and suddenly he’s ten again, running out his front door like his life depends on it. Tears pour out of his eyes, streaming behind him as he sprints. He can’t remember what he was crying about. Something stupid, probably. In the year after his Dad died, he cried a lot more often than he smiled. That he could remember.

Lucas throws himself against the market warehouse wall, sinking slowly down until his butt makes contact with the ground, sobbing into his arms where they rest on top of his dirty knees. He was small for his age, even then.

After crying himself out, he turns his head to the side, sniffling, wiping his nose on his dusty sleeve.

He sees him then. Eliott. He’s leaning against the railing of his front porch steps, sitting and reading a book. He had angled himself toward the sun, short-clad legs stretched out in front of him. One hand gently resting on the stomach of baby Camille, whose little feet wiggle around where she lays on a blanket next to him. Lucas thinks he looks way older than twelve, but maybe it’s just the fact that not very many twelve-year-olds hang out with babies.

If Eliott notices his presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes furrowing as he quickly turns the pages of his book. Suddenly, he grins, wide and bright, laughing soundlessly to himself. Lucas feels himself smile slightly, a gut reaction. He wishes he could go over and sit with them. Maybe Eliott would show him what’s making him laugh.

No. He doesn’t care about stupid, crying ten-

“Lucas?”

Daphné’s muffled voice through his closed bedroom door startles him, shaking him out of the memory.

“We are pulling into the station! Come out to the door in the dining car, we are going to head straight into the tribute building!” Her heels click on the floor as she walks away, and pulls himself up off the ground, head pounding. He looks out the window, and- holy shit.

The entire platform is flooded with people, security pushing them behind a barrier. He can faintly hear the cheering, faces covered in colorful makeup and crazy hairstyles craning their necks to catch a glimpse. Eliott was right. They do look like aliens.

Panic starts to rise in his throat again, but he swallows it down, ignoring the prick in his eyes. Lucas moves to the mirror, sighs heavily at what he sees. Red eyes, lips chapped and swollen from where he was biting down. Hair floppy and knotted. Shirt rumpled, sleeves wet from rubbing at his eyes. There isn’t much he can do, it’s his only outfit. He has nothing else. At least they already think you’re a weak loser, so this look won’t be too much of a surprise.

He braces himself, walking out of the room to head to the door. Daphné and Emma are in an animated discussion about something, Eliott standing awkwardly next to them, hands behind his back. His head snaps over to where Lucas emerges from the hallway. Their eyes meet for just a second, Eliott’s small smile quickly vanishing, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

I must look worse than I thought.

Lucas keeps his eyes down, walking quickly over to them, wringing his hands. He can feel Eliott’s eyes on the side of his face, but he refuses to look over. Daphné notices his arrival, and she claps her hands together, pulling the boys in closer. If she notices his disheveled appearance, she doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright, so the crowd is a bit crazier than we thought, but thanks to Emma’s source, we were able to call in extra security last night. People are just so excited to see you guys!” She laughs, high and shrill, reaches out to pinch both their cheeks. “I just knew you boys were special!” Emma rolls her eyes, but doesn’t hide the amused expression on her face.

Daphné waves a hand, signaling the Peacekeepers to open the door. “We are going to move single file, following the path they have opened for us to the Tribute Center. I’ll head out first, then Emma, then Lucas, and Eliott, you bring up the rear. We don’t have crazy far to walk, so if you are feeling nervous, just keep moving and we will be out of it in no time. It’s actually good that you are getting some crowd experience right away, it will be even worse later before the Tribute Parade.” She whirls, takes her place in front of the open door. She waves enthusiastically at the crowd, who starts screaming wildly.

Lucas swallows, takes a deep breath, moving into place behind Emma. Eliott shuffles to his spot behind him, leans down to whisper in his ear, the warmth of his breath making Lucas jump slightly.

“Are you going to be okay?”

He turns his head, nodding, not trusting his voice. Eliott nods back, but doesn’t seem convinced. Lucas doesn’t blame him.

Daphné and Emma file out, and Lucas slowly follows, popping his head out the doorway. He sees the faces of the people against the barrier, mouths open wide with joyous screams. As he and Eliott reveal themselves, the screams turn deafening. Cameras flash, blinding in the enclosed space of the platform. Lucas plasters a fake smile on his face, but his feet refuse to move. He vaguely registers Daphné beckoning him forward, but his legs have stopped responding to his brain.

A pair of warm hands come down on his shoulders, rubbing lightly. He sucks in a breath, eyes flicking over the crowd as Eliott moves his lips to his ear again. He speaks low, only for Lucas.

“I’ll be here the whole time.”

Lucas lifts his hand to touch Eliott’s briefly, squeezing his fingers, grounding himself. It’s just a walk. You can do this. He moves one foot forward, then the other, finding a rhythm. Eliott moves smoothly behind him, hands still on his shoulders. He can’t see his face, but he can imagine it split with his megawatt smile, eyes crinkled, face warm and open. The knot in his chest loosens slightly, and before he knows it, he is faced with the giant glass door of the Tribute Center. Emma pulls it open for him, and he and Eliott are shoved inside by the Peacekeepers following them, the door slamming shut.

The sudden change in volume makes Lucas’ ears ring painfully, and he clenches his jaw, trying to make them pop. Eliott lifts his hands from his shoulders, his right one sliding along his upper back as he steps around him. He tilts his head, scanning Lucas’ face. He mouths the words. You okay? 

Lucas’ cheeks heat up, the only reaction he is apparently capable of when Eliott looks at him for more than one second. He sends him a soft smile, nods. Eliott smirks in response, throwing an exaggerated wink at him. Lucas rolls his eyes, hip checking the taller boy, who only smiles wider. Idiot.

Daphné, who had been checking in with the purple-haired young woman who was manning the reception desk, comes clacking back over, her heels echoing even louder than usual on the marble floor. She throws a feathered blue sleeve towards them. “Okay sweeties, your hair and makeup artists are on their way down! They will clean you up a bit before you meet your stylists for the games, and then they will get you ready for the Parade this afternoon. I’ll come pick you up for it later! Try…” she narrows her eyes at Lucas, “to behave yourselves. You are representing District 12 now.”

She gives them a dramatic wave before heading out one of the back doors, followed by two Peacekeepers. Lucas turns, noticing Emma still standing with them. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Are you getting a makeover too?”

Eliott coughs, obviously hiding a laugh. Lucas grins at him. Emma rolls her eyes.

Two girls round the corner by the reception desk, both seeming to be around Emma’s age. One has white hair, and strangely, white eyebrows, which make her look slightly unsettling. She is rail thin, with purple contacts that make her eyes look terrifyingly doll-like. The other girl looks significantly more normal, long brown hair cascading behind her, blue eyes, and a kind face. She is actually quite beautiful, in a sweet way.

The white-haired girl speaks, her voice high and child-like. “We’re here for Eliott! I’m Celia, your make-up artist,” she jabs a slender thumb in the other girl’s direction, “and this is Manon, your hair stylist.”

The pretty girl, Manon apparently, sends a wink in Emma’s direction, who blows her a kiss in response.

Oh. Okay.

Eliott moves toward them, reaching out to shake both their hands. Celia giggles a bit, her cheeks pink. Manon smiles warmly at him, putting a hand on his back to guide him forward. Eliott glances back over his shoulder, finding Lucas eyes, looking a bit nervous. Lucas sends him his most reassuring smile, ignoring the twisting sensation in his gut. You’ll see him later. Get a grip, Lucas.

When they disappear around the corner, Lucas pivots toward Emma, eyebrows raised. Her eyes are still watching the place where Manon disappeared, biting her lip. She notices his stare, rolls her eyes at him for the second time in five minutes. “Not a fucking word, pipsqueak.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

Emma shakes her head, turning towards the door that Daphné left through earlier. “You alright if I go?”

Lucas looks behind him to see a man and woman walking his way. Part of his team, he presumes. He turns back to Emma, giving her a dorky thumbs up. She rolls her eyes at him again before heading out the door. That’s three times now.

The man and the woman reach him then, and Lucas gets a better look at them. They are both surprisingly young, again around Emma’s age. The boy has blonde hair, slightly long, but styled to look polished. Half of his face is taken up by a round pair of glasses. The girl next to him is short, hair piled on top of her head in a nest of bright blue. Her round cheeks are covered in freckles, and she smiles widely. “You must be Lucas.”

He shakes their hands, smiling shyly at them. “Yup. I apologize in advance for my annoying hair. It sort of has a mind of its own.”

The boy laughs loudly, grinning at him. “Shouldn’t be a problem, I consider myself a hair wizard. I’m Arthur, by the way.” He looks at the girl, who is still smiling at Lucas. Arthur clears his throat, and her eyes widen, shaking herself out of her own head. “Right, I’m Alexia. Your make-up artist, obviously.” She giggles softly, gesturing for Lucas to walk with them. “Not that you are going to need much. You are quite the stunner, Mr. Lucas.”

Lucas blushes furiously, not quite sure how to respond to that. Arthur pats him on the back, looking sympathetic. He leans over to speak low in his ear. “She’s a little crazy, don’t worry about it.”

“I heard that you little shit!” Alexia swats at him, but Arthur gracefully dodges it, laughing his ass off. The pair start walking, turning around after a few steps. Lucas is still standing where they left him. He glances between them, forcing himself to relax. Arthur gives him an encouraging smile. Lucas smiles back, appreciative of his kindness. His feet finally move, and he joins them, matching their strides as they round the reception desk. A set of double doors open for them, and Lucas takes a deep, shaky breath.

No going back now.

[pinestripes]

Favorite Moments from TAZ: Balance, in No Particular Order

(I’ve been wallowing in my grief over finishing Balance for a bit now, and I thought I could make a tribute by listing some of my favorite moments from the campaign! It should be noted that there will be SPOILERS AHEAD and that some quotes might be paraphrased slightly. Also, I haven’t listened to the liveshows yet.)

The guys’ delighted laughter as Griffin reveals that Barry’s back.

Actually, every time they have big reactions to his reveals. The sheer dumb confusion and then the whooping and clapping when the first loop in the Eleventh Hour happens. Justin’s quietly horrified reaction to finding out Lup made the Umbra Staff. Clint’s confused laughter and incredulous “Anyone?” when Griffin asks who he summons from the bond engine. 

“I, and a team of other people, created this world.” “Gary Gygax?”

The guys tormenting Jenkins in Murder on the Rockport Limited, after which we find out the guy is a literal murderer (and not, in fact, a “sh*tty wizard”).

The entire exchange at the bottom of the well in the Gerblins arc. “Can anybody levitate?” “I think we just live at the bottom of this well now.”

“No dogs on the moon. They just run right off the damn thing.” "Should you say it, or should I? ...No dogs on the moon!”

“[Stephen] swims around in his tiny bowl. And he loves me.” 

The sheer comedic gold that is the scene where Taako convinces Garfield to give him the sword--the perfect buildup, Griffin’s soul leaving his body as he realizes what’s happening, the other guys losing their minds as they too realize it.

Arms Outstretched, of course. And the sort of reprise of it in the finale. 

Speaking of the finale--I’m a massive sucker for “Hey, the gang’s all here!”-type finales, where everyone we’ve ever met in a series shows up in the end and pays a role. And the TAZ finale does this SO WELL, with the music, and how it always makes sense in what’s happening in the scene. It’s so satisfying. 

“You know we’re going to have to talk about your sister being a lich, right?”

Lup’s introduction. 

Lup’s return, from the long pause, to Justin snapping the staff, to Clint’s “Attaboy!” to “YOU’RE DATING THE GRIM REAPER?”

When the guys all simultaneously respond to the question “What’s the best type of advertising?” with “Word of mouth” in Wonderland after episode after episode of them asking people to and thanking people for telling others about the podcast. 

Killian reacting to Magnus cutting off Merle’s arm.

Magnus eating the Philosopher’s Stone, and Griffin subsequently being adamant that Travis deal with the consequences of his actions.  

The guys starting their second loop in Refuge and immediately messing up so badly that Justin almost has Taako shoot them all and end the loop right there. 

Magnus’s. Pep. Talk.

Lucretia in the Candlenights episode. “Hot diggity sh*t, this is a baller cookie.” “Magnus, this is the nightmare scenario.” “Booyah.”

Taako suddenly deciding stealing is wrong in the Goldcliff Trust. “This isn’t a dungeon; people do business here!”

Merle’s bit about the traveling forward/backward in time 9 seconds in the finale had me laughing so hard I was wheezing and crying. My roommate had to check on me and make sure I was okay.

I love Davenport and his sheer delight at piloting the Starblaster again. “Dance for me, buddy.”

The guys coming up with silly and perfect reporter names and newspaper titles to ask questions at the beginning of The Stolen Century. 

The big, triumphant way Griffin goes “Let’s roll initiative!” in the finale, followed immediately by Mort Garson’s incredible music. 

Everything Angus does ever. 

The scene with Taako teaching Angus magic. “Can--can I get tickets?” “Why don’t you conjure them yourself, Mr. Wizard?”

When, in Reunion Tour, Angus says something about his books and Travis says he loves Angus and Justin says “Precious” in his Taako voice which means IT WAS IN CHARACTER AND CANONICAL. 

Lup freaking apologizing for destroying the macaroons Angus made. 

The Tom Bodett thing is just. So dumb. But so funny. I love it.��

Taako calling Barry “Barrold.” 

Fisher loving the carved wooden ducks is SO CUTE. 

“Griffin, can we please deal with the Fullmetal Alchemist situation I currently find myself in?”

“Who?” goiehioewgasd;

The Junebug scene, with the music, gives me chills. 

“Those are the arms that have held my wife!” 

Merle choosing Lucretia to go with him to the spa in that lunar interlude because it’s so good for character stuff but also is unintentionally heartbreaking when you think about it much later??

Cassidy becoming mayor of Refuge. 

Magnus deciding to break into the BOB’s prison. I’ve never been a DM, but I could feel Griffin’s sheer frustration and exasperation in my very soul.

Okay, no, I actually need to talk about Arms Outstretched. I usually don’t feel much dread or fear when watching/reading/listening to things because I’m like “it’s fictional, no one’s in any actual danger, there’s more books/episodes after this, it’s going to be fine” but this scene made me feel absolutely horrified dread the instant the Animus Bell rang anyway. 

“Taako’s rushing in!” “Magnus follows him?” “Merle’s good out here.” “What’s going on?!”

“Hello, my name is Elder Merle!” THUNK

Magic Brian’s death. “I cast magic missile on him again.”

“Between the fan and the fancy umbrella, I’m one seventeen-inch waist away from being Scarlett O’Hara.”

The tantrum Taako throws when asked to get on the Elevator of Tomorrow in Crystal Kingdom, and of course his subsequent GLEE when Magnus and Merle get attacked after using it. “Taako--that’’s me, hi--I’m done with elevators. Never again! ...Don’t do it, I swear to god. You will not like how this ends. I will burn a spell slot on you. I give no sh*ts.”

Lucas, sadly: “My lab!”

The endless tormenting of Leon. “Yeah, he is no longer functioning. You have thoroughly broken this man.” “I win!”

Justin finding out about Lup’s existence and immediately having Taako call her Lulu. 

“That’s real low [max HP]!” “Is it? Is it, Griffin?”

“See, there’s magic in a bard’s song. They call it inspiration, and it tells the listener what they need to hear right when they need to hear it. And right now, you hear it too. The message in the music heard round the world. You hear Johann’s voice, telling you, ‘You’re going to have to fight. And...you’re gonna win!’”

“Hear that babe? We’re legends.”

“This should go without saying at this point--Taako is DELIGHTED.”

“My name is Magnus Burnsides.” “Marchis Burchsins.” “Yep, nailed it. Got it in one.” 

When Merle has the choice to sacrifice his memories of his kids’ births in Wonderland and immediately decides to take the penalty.

The bit in the second Story and Song where the guys keep putting off getting in the Starblaster and keep having little moments with all the other characters, and Griffin gets so annoyed that he tries to get them to move along using the NPCs. “No, totally. Let’s save the world, then 420 blaze it. Can we gooooo?”

Lucas, also sadly: “I got a splinter.”

“Our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives, and with each moment we spend with those people. But, too often we neglect that part of ourselves in favor of others. And by the time we realize just how important it is, we find ourselves with fewer folks around to practice with.”

“Did you enjoy the adventure?” “Of course!”

“Oh, yes, small prophecy is easy. I burp and a small prophecy happen.”

“Let me tell you a story about the time we fought three ogres, and I got punched so hard I almost died. You remember? You were up in some kind of weird laser firing potions willy-nilly, Magnus was pulling the arms off a robot, and I got punched so hard I almost died! I’m not about to throw down with a giant crab while you’re armed with just a terrible Scottish accent, and Travis doesn’t even have his shield! I’m out!” 

“It all started when I met the most beautiful elf, and the bravest cleric...”

“Not all exits are made equal. Some are beautiful, and poetic, and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.”

“I’ll be having my body back, you undead f***.”

“We’ve chosen the perfect person for this. It’s like sending a mildly eloquent piñata in!”

“Let ‘em know, kid.” 

“The late Merle Highchurch rolled a five.”

“You’re going to be amazing.”

...And every single moment that demonstrates what phenomenal entertainers and storytellers the McElroys are. Thank you, guys, for an experience unlike any other. 

[the-gayest-dump]

A half-orc and his ax. Chapter 2: Unlikely allies and enemies.

   Ox counted the supplies he had gained from his trip to Warwick while following the road. Bandages, various medicines, and a whetstone in case his ax needed sharpening after the battle was done. He didn’t have any currency the town used so he had to barter with pelts and meats from previous hunts.  

  Soon enough he found the fort the townspeople described to him. From the outside, almost the entire fort seems to be made of stone with a wall slightly higher than the towns but only a few wooden archer towers were at the front to protect the main entrance. A large stone tower rose from the center of the fort that seemed to be the main building. The only way Ox could see to get in would be through the door as even if he could make a ladder he would be shot down from it in an instant. 

   He grabbed his ax off of his back and mentally prepared himself for the coming fight before walking to the main gate. He could hear the archers nock their bows as he approached and heard a man's voice yell “Unless you’re here to pay tribute to the next ruler of Rosela you’d best fuck off before you become more holes than person!”

   Ox analyzed his soon to be opponent. Poorly made and loose leather armor covered his vital areas and a simple wooden bow was aimed at Ox’s chest. Clearly, the leader hoarded the best weaponry. This would be a nice stress reliever for Ox but not a very challenging battle. He stared into the eyes of the archer that spoke to him and simply replied “Ox is here to kill all bastards and send skulls to nice town.” Instead of continuing their pleasant conversation the archers started letting loose their arrows. Ox was able to dodge into the archway and take advantage of a weakness he had noticed from afar. With the towers only protecting the front they had no way to shoot into the archway that held the gate and with no bandits on the ground, all they could do is wait for Ox to cut down an entrance or open the gate and meet him head-on. The brute started to make himself angry as he attacked the door. He thought of the death of the battleborn tribe, the casualties these bandits must have caused Warwick, and most of all how scared the little one must be without her mothers and surrounded by bastards. 

   After a few strikes, the bandits chose to meet him head-on. Several cowbells had been rung as a makeshift alarm. They grouped up at the gate before opening it but Ox was ready. He charged through the wall of fighters and went straight for the archers that had gone to the back to pelt him down while he fought the swordmen. The archers fired the arrows they had prepared and tried to get their daggers ready while the swordsmen got back up but they were not quick enough. Arrows pierced the berserker's sides but he could barely feel them as his rage took over. Running into the line of archers a quick spin of his ax took off two archers heads. As their corpses fell three daggers tried to get to his heart but were too low. A kick to the chest sent the one in front of him back and knocked down a swordsman who had just gotten up and two slices finished off all but the one archer who was now running towards the tower to alert their leader.

   With the archers dealt with the swordsmen surrounded Ox. This area was too open and not good for what Ox had planned. He charged forward and swung as hard as he could at a smaller bandit causing them to fall over and make an opening for him. The swordsmen probably missing their archers ran after the brute as he went up the stairway to the wall the archers had threatened him from. With the staircase acting as a funnel it was much easier to cut the ones in front down as others tried to take their place. Some were smart and tried to go to another staircase to flank him but it was on the other side of the gate and with their forces divided it was simple work to slaughter the rest of them. 

   A primal roar forced Ox’s attention to the base of the tower as his target glared daggers at him. He had a chance to get a closer look at him from here. Scales covered six feet of this humanoid that were white as fresh snow. Sharp talons covered the leader's hands and feet but only three fingers and a thumb held onto his weapon of choice which was a greatsword with a red gemstone in the hilt. Unlike his underlings, he wore steel armor across his chest and lower body but did not cover his face, hands, or feet presumably to make use of his talons and sharp jaw. 

“You’ve got talent Orc I’ll give you that. No wonder all my other camps fell to you and your damned tribe. But your killing spree ends here! I’m the descendant of a white dragon! I’m gonna make you a nice ice statue for my bedroom! You’ve got no tribe to back you up, no help coming to save you, and I’ve got no mercy!” he gave another roar as he charged up the stairs to meet Ox head-on but he was ready. An overhead slice was blocked by the long handle of Ox’s ax as he kicked him back to make space. He didn’t go as far as the archer had and instead of predictably charging again the chief instead opened his jaw as a blizzard came from it freezing the stone under him as it threatened to swallow Ox whole.

   He was not prepared to dodge and instead threw himself off the wall where he painfully fell on his side. As he tried to get up the chief jumped off with his sword held high hoping to bury the sword in his heart. A roll saved him as the landing forced some of the ground to give way to the energy of his impact. As the chief got his weapon free Ox was able to stand and slice his side. A startled cry came from the bandit leader as he got his sword free and retaliated with a swing at the berserker's arms. He thought he could safely dodge the attack but his legs felt strangely heavy and could not move them well. A quick look down showed he had not completely dodged the breath attack as the torn parts of his boots and pants showed bright red skin and his legs felt unusually cold and slower than the rest of his body 

   “You’re fucked now orc! That cold is gonna spread through you like a wildfire! Even if you kill me you won’t have enough time to get back to Warwick for a cleric! You’re dead meat! So do us both a favor and just die already!” A quick swing aimed to take Ox’s head off but he was able to crouch down and used the force of coming back up to swing his ax up into the bandits face cutting it in half through the center. As his blood sprayed across Ox’s body they both fell to the ground. He took off his boots and searched through his bag. Quickly now what could be used to stop the cold? Herbs used to stop bleeding? No, Pills to stop the pain? No. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing! He could feel the cold going up his legs and to his heart as he searched. Ox couldn’t die now. He wouldn’t die now! He got angrier and angrier thinking of the little one still trapped in the tower. Who would know to come here and save her? Who would know the bastards are dead and travel is safer now? He screamed his anger to the skies as his body quickly went through hypothermia and passed out. 

   Cold...Everything is so cold. Where is fire? Ox wants fire like at home camp.....Warm? What is warm? Is there a fire? It felt like the sun had started shining brighter, hotter. Ox opened his eyes but quickly closed them again as blinding light assaulted his eyes. He could hear faint chanting from a soft voice. 

“Marisol bless this stranger with your healing light. Let the dragons cold evil breath be filled with the warm love from your heart. Grant him life upon this day so he may keep safe those who praise your name”

   The light grew stronger as warmth returned to Ox’s body. He could feel his legs again and opened his eyes once the light had faded to see a woman with long blond hair in steel armor with a strange symbol on it standing next to him with her eyes close holding her hands together. She opened her eyes to reveal light blue eyes with a kind soul behind them. Almost as if her happiness radiated out of them. 

“Yay! You’re safe! I worried I had come too late and would have to bury you on your final battlefield. Oh. Apologies. My name is Hana. I’m a cleric or Marisol and I came to help you in your fight but it seems the fighting has already stopped. Do you need a hand?”

   She lowered her hand and Ox gently grasped it and let her help him up. “Ox is Ox. What was light? How did happy one know of Ox?” 

   “Oh. My wife is the head of the guards in town. When she said there was a newcomer to town I wanted to meet you but you had already left. I asked her what you were in a hurry for and when she told me of the bounties you took I knew no one could handle Alasar alone. It seems you almost proved me wrong if only you had not been touched by his magic breath” She said looking at the pool of blood that surrounded the leader's corpse. “As for the light that was Marisol’s healing light. As I said I’m a cleric and spread her love around the world...Or at least I used to before I settled down in Warwick. Now help heal the town of Warwick and lead prayers.”

   “Why light goddess help Ox? Gods hate Ox. Gods let Battleborns die after killing bastards.”

   “Battleborns?” She said looking along Ox’s body and seeing his clans burnt banner along his belt. She gave a shocked gasp and looked up at him “You’re with the group that was killing bandits and returning stolen property a year ago!? Everyone at Warwick has been wondering what happened to them.” Remembering the burns on the banner and Ox’s words she lost her excitement “Oh. I’m sorry to hear about your camp. Were there any survivors?”

   “Only Ox. Ox try to keep battleborn war against bastards going but is hard without tribe.”

   “Well how about we get Sylis and your trophy to town so you can be rewarded and we’ll make sure you’re properly rewarded for your work. I’ll let you do the...uh....’ honors’” she said pointing to the leader. 

   He took the hint and quickly cut off the dragonborns head as Hana looked away and he cut a hole for it to hang on his belt. They both entered the tower which was showed clear signs of being left in a hurry. The first floor was a dining hall with now cold food all around. Going up a floor was the bandits training area where recently used arrows still stuck out of training dummies made of hay. Finally, the third floor was what they were searching for. The chief's room. Trophies of humanoid heads littered the room with what must have been a luxury bed for them but was just a regular inn bed at the far wall of the room.  Near the bed, chains were bolted into the wall and a half-elf girl with dark brown hair was staring helplessly at the ground. Hana began walking forward but the brute's arm stopped her in her tracks. 

   “Shh. Ones captured by bastards afraid of loud noises. Let Ox help.” His entire personality seemed to change before Hana as he carefully stepped towards the girl. Sylis flinched as she heard his footsteps and looked up at him with fearful eyes “Are...Are you here to hurt me? I promise I won’t talk back again I just want to know if my parents are ok!” Ox gave a gentle “shhh” as he came closer. She looked away from him in fear. 

   “Be still.” He warned her. Ox held his ax high and cut the chains binding her. The little girl looked at her freed hand in shock and looked at the brute who was now sitting next to her. All she could do is hug him and cry. She cried to her what seemed like days and went on about how the bandits had abused her for fun and she just wanted to go home. She cried herself into exhaustion and fell asleep him Ox’s arms. He gently picked her up and walked out of the tower with Hana. Hana was shocked at how well this giant of a man could handle the little girl. How someone who had cut a Dragonborn's face in half and took on a bandit camp by himself could also be so gentle and caring for someone in need was beyond her. 

   With the girl safely in his arms and the leader's head not so safely dangling off his belt Ox and Hana returned to Warwick for some well-deserved rest.