#for those band kids out there who might not have hear d it yet

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

trying to sleep. my brain is on a feedback loop of the BWAAAAs from the brass section of tyler the creator's "Sticky"

[fumblingmusings]

I'm not sure if you do more modern day things but if you do, would modern day eva be more relaxed in herself and able to let her hair down a bit? I don't know if your eva went through arthurs punk era lmao, but surely by modern day shes at least taking vitamins for what i imagine are many deficiencies and having an audience with the sun at least every now and then, right? For evas sake at least, it might be a good thing that tubercolosis/heroin chic went out of fashion.

Ha! England is much healthier, in my mind it comes back to in snaps and bits and pieces.

First, with that Clement Attlee Labour government and their care into ensuring her people would have some state protection. She's at her poorest and arguably most broken and yet her people have never been so optimistic. Things will be better than before. She lives up to the Land of Hope and Glory, just this once. Her optimism returns.

Then with each colonies independence an elastic band snaps back into place in her head. Her mind is hers and hers alone, and those that do stay with her are largely the ones that want to. She can properly hear her people, and connect with them once again.

Finally, and I love historia-vitae-magistras for this headcanon regarding nations' health being tied to the health of their land, so post WWII there's a whole host of conservation and restorative works undertaken for nature which are continuing still through to today.

Like if you want a feel good video look at the RSPB "re-wriggling" a river in the Lake District and how immediately it improves the land. I mean, you still couldn't pay me enough money in the world to swim in the English channel (so dirty), but it's just so much better than what it was. Like there's fish in the Thames now. Actual fish. It was biologically dead in 1950.

England is beautiful. It may not be the dramatic fjords of Norway or the Alps of central Europe or Ukraine's great fields... but those gentle green hills are worth protecting. Very much.

Also, as someone who is personally forever on monster Vit D pills (healthy levels of vitamin D is between 50 and 125. Mine is 16. LIKE A LITTLE SAD VICTORIAN CHIMNEY SWEEP CHILD AHHHHH T_T) due to an inability to properly process sunlight, I love the idea of nations pulling a Cousin Oskaar and sitting in front of UV light and chugging cod liver oil.

She does have a bit of crisis that you find that over-protected and sheltered kids go through sometimes once they go to college or live alone - all that freedom... now what? But she settles back down again by the time the 90s rolls around, seeing the millennium through quite merrily.

[cntoesussie]

chat im gonna add onto this because yes

obvi the Administrator is the main principal

They treat Pauling (the office secretary) like shit (which is not too far off from canon i think)

They're always pushing work onto her (as per usual)

who would be the counselors? idk

also Scout's Ma also teaches physics there, i don't make the rules

ranking the teachers (mercs) from who has the hardest to easiest classes:

9th - Pyro:

good luck trying to understand what they're saying

it's not that the class is hard, it's just difficult to understand them

this (usually) causes most kids to fail their classes

idk how they haven't gotten fired yet

8th - Spy:

really harsh grader when it comes to assignments and stuff

forget a detail about a character? that's 5 points off your assignment buddy

choke up during a performance? oops, that's another point off

people are scared to take choir and theatre bc of him

but he just wants D E P T H

after all, how're you going to do things accurately if you don't know everything about it?

7th - Soldier:

Okay, when it comes to history with this dude, throw all prior knowledge out the window

he is going to skew your worldview like never before

students mainly get things wrong bc they hold onto things from previous classes

but there's very few written assignments anyways

most of one's grade comes from performance in hands-on activity

oh, your team lost the battle? immediate 60% on the grade

but if you try, you physically CANNOT fail his class

the worst you can get is a 60

6th - Medic:

his class isn't hard, per se

it's just- full of stuff that might make one uncomfortable

he also is very chatty during lessons, which could be distracting

but sometimes, it could be useful to listen, because you can blackmail use the information for later assignments

also, hope you don't mind handling actual organs

5th - Sniper:

i put him here bc he's wildly inconsistent with difficulty

it's mainly dependent on what class he's subbing for that day

but in the classes he actually teaches, he's really laid-back

but in SAT prep, good luck, cuz he treats every day like the day before the test

some people say it's worth it tho

4th - Demoman:

actually pretty good with chemistry (at least, practically)

he teaches it in a way that prevents nerves, which prevents shaky hands, which prevents accidents, which prevents fires, explosions, death, etc.

just don't get blown up

also the textbook is your best friend because it's hard to hear him sometimes

also, he doesn't demand perfection, which is good for those in his band classes

he encourages growth

3rd - Heavy:

generally slow-paced, in-depth

he's a little lax on due dates, mainly because he understands if people have to handle things outside of his class

genuinely likes reading what his class writes, provides excellent constructive criticism, which gives students an incentive to actually care about the class

he also really cares about the students in general, he worries a lil too much if a student's regularly absent or when someone who is almost always there is missing, or if they look like they're having a bad day in general

very strict about cheating, though. they will face no mercy

so, if you're authentic and willing to learn, you're golden

2nd - Engineer:

i don't care what anyone says, this man can TEACH

i think he likes mixing elements of different classes together sometimes

there are several construction projects throughout the year

some of which he kept

he knows how to teach practically, so nobody can really say that 'math is pointless'

only odd thing is that he has a poster like this:

1st - Scout:

yeah, it's gym class, what did ya expect

he ain't the most well-liked gym teacher at first (mainly bc of mandatory participation unless you're hurt, sick, or otherwise absent)

but he genuinely likes his students and wants the best for em

and, as a coach, yeah, he ain't the best

but he cares. a whole lot.

and almost everyone who's had him as a teacher/coach has known him on a personal level

sorry guys im not normal about these people

tf2 mercs except they’re teaching classes at my high school for no reason whatsoever other than that i’m feeling self-indulgent

Scout:

I know his ass would be a gym teacher

either that or a coach of some kind

health class might work too

i’ve seen teachers teach both so it might work out

he might not be the best teacher though

but the class likes him methinks

Soldier:

he’d be a history buff i think

i can just imagine him teaching US history his own way

barely abiding by the curriculum

i think it’d be a lot more hands-on than most history classes

a lot less written work and a lot more reenactments

because yes

he might also be a coach too

but idk

Pyro:

Financial algebra, statistics, and economics :thumbsup:

Demoman:

First thought would be chemistry

but then i was thinking about how he could teach stuff like concert or marching band

i think he’s good with music

not me with the baseless headcanons again

but idc

Heavy

i think he’d be a good English teacher :]

slow-paced, but in-depth

he wouldn’t move on unless everyone got something

i don’t think electronics would be used in his class period

so get ready for some writing

a lot of writing

either that or library science

or Russian (if the school offers it)

Engineer:

okay

engineering is a low hanging fruit

so that’s an option

but have you also considered guitar, geometry (or any core math class really), physical sciences, and/or speech?

i think he could do any of those tbh

he reminds me of my current geometry teacher kinda

he prolly talks to the other math teachers in the hallway about video games and stuff

he’s a dork /affectionate

Medic:

Health, biology, anatomy, sports medicine, forensic science, medical technology, ORCHESTRA

his ass is teaching ALL OF IT

bro has his schedule BOOKED

he’s bouncing around the school

rushing from class to class just like he’s a student himself

he’s an old man, how does he handle it?

cocaine the extra organs he had sewn into himself

how did he pass the background check?

idk

Sniper:

he’s giving substitute teacher

no but imagine your teacher not coming in one day and having fucking MICK MUNDY there instead

he’s either a sub or he teaches stuff like small animal care or herpetology

also SAT prep

i think he’s surprisingly good at taking tests

Spy:

i think he teaches piano

and choir

and theatre

bro is stressed out bc these are such performance-heavy classes

but it’s his fault for taking up all these classes

maybe he needs a bit of Medic’s help with management

he’s out for a couple days and winds up with a bunch of extra organs

[blu-joons]

DATING STRAY KIDS HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Seo Changbin

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Surprisingly Changbin loves affection, he loves to receive cuddles from you or wrap you up in his arms. He might come off as strong, but your affection is very reassuring to him, and always makes sure that he feels loved.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you met at an event, and straight away his eyes were on you. He was desperate to approach you as soon as he saw you, noticing your smile first. All of the boys could tell he was watching you too, pushing for him to make the move and approach you before he regretted missing out on the opportunity to meet you.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

All his confidence disappeared as he made the decision to approach you, no one had ever seen him as nervous as he was when he went over to talk to you. He tentatively smiled when you looked up at him, listening to him closely as he used the advice that the boys had given him to try and impress you. You loved how shy he got around you and the little blush he tried so hard to hide on his cheeks as you gave him your number to call you.

D ⇴ DATES

He loved to try and be inventive with your dates to give the two of you new places to explore. He loves anything physical where he can show off to you and try and impress you, he’ll never let you win at anything, especially bowling and the arcade. He’s not one for sitting down to a meal and being romantic, but if it’s something you like, he’ll do it anyway to impress you, even dressing himself up in a nice suit to really make you smile. Anything that you want to do, Changbin will always make the effort to do it with you.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

You were the first proper relationship that Changbin had experienced, he’d flirted with a couple of girls, that was just his personality, but he never wanted anything serious. When he met you, Changbin knew that he’d fallen in love for the first time, he was always so busy with work, but with you, he’d make the time too. The best thing of all was that you were always so understanding, when he needed you, you were there, but when he needed to be away to focus on work, you were always happy to wait until you could see him again.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

At times he can be quite stubborn if things don’t go his way, but he’ll never blow anything up into a full argument. You learnt pretty quickly how to deal with his stubbornness, and even if he thinks he’s right, you’ll know he’s not. Time is a good thing for the two of you, after he calms himself down, he’s a bit happier to talk things out and take on your opinion. But you’re both good at keeping yourselves calm and not raising your voices too much when you have a disagreement, preferring to keep things relaxed and not too stressful, there’s nothing Changbin hates more than potentially shouting at you.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You knew how proud his parents were of his career, so you certainly felt the pressure to impress them and let them know he was still focusing on work. Luckily, Changbin had talked to them about you constantly, so already they had a good first impression that was only established when they met you and got to know you properly.

H ⇴ HOME

Changbin often felt torn when it came to his home, he loved being at the dorm with the boys, but he was also quite keen to find a place with you and settle down. You hated how he tormented himself about it, and you also knew that the dorm was the place for him as the band continued to grow, which in turn, meant the dorm often became your home too.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

You were actually the first to say those three words after Changbin got whiny during a rare loss on date night at the bowling alley. Everything you tried didn’t work to make him smile, but you knew one thing would get him to smile, and that was it. Of course, as he registered what you’d said, he was quick to say it back to you and give you the tightest of hugs.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He’s very protective of things that are his and so he hates when people get too close to you. He trusts very few people around you as he always likes to keep you safe and make sure that he’s around you to keep an eye on. He likes to be the one to make you smile and happy, and if anyone else does that, he can’t help but feel a little bit nervy. When he feels like he needs to step in, he’s not afraid to pop up beside you and interject and make sure that your attention comes straight back to him to take you out of a situation.

K ⇴ KIDS

The two of you decided quite early on talks for the future were quite far away just yet, but that didn’t stop Changbin knowing that he wanted to have kids with you. There was a lot he wanted to achieve first, but sometimes he just couldn’t help but runaway a little bit with his mind when he thought about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and all of the things that he wanted to do with you.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Changbin is well known for his cheery nature which is why you love to hear his laugh so much. The strong cackle he lets go of always puts a smile on your face watching as he messes around and tries to impress you. Similarly, hearing your laughter is very important to him too, it always reassures him when he knows that you’re happy and that he’s doing his job as a boyfriend to make you smile. Together when the two of you are laughing everybody knows that they’ve got no chance of talking to you both until you stop.

M ⇴ MISSING

He never minded too much about being away from home, until he met you. He never imagined that he’d miss just one person from his life so much, but he did with you. When he’s away from you, whether it’s a day, a week, or a year, he’ll try to be in contact with you as much as possible. Time zones often provide a challenge, so if needed, Changbin will always make sure he is the one that stays up late or gets up really early to be able to call you making sure that you don’t mess up your schedule. He’d try hard to convince you that he wasn’t having a hard time, but you could always tell by the expression on his face that he was missing you.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

You were his little ‘bub,’ he loved to cuddle you and adore you. Similarly, you loved to call him ‘bub’ too when pinching his cheeks or just cooing over how sweet and soft he actually is.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Changbin’s obsessed with your body, especially when you dance around unaware that he’s watching you, he loves watching you let loose and just enjoy yourself.

P ⇴ PDA

He’s not a huge fan of soft affection in public, but that won’t ever stop him holding onto your hand or placing his hand somewhere against your body to keep you close. If there are few people around then he may engage in a bit more affection, or if he’s feeling jealous or insecure, he’ll hold onto you a little tighter to send more of a message.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

His questions normally look for your opinion as no one’s opinion matters more to him then yours. Whether it be a dance, or a song, or prep for filming, he’ll always come to you and make sure that you’re impressed with what he’s done.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Whenever he was on the stage, Changbin would always place his hand in his pocket with two of his fingers out and pressed against his trousers. Whilst everyone else just thought that was how Changbin stood, what it actually was, was a sign for Changbin to let you know you were on his mind. As soon as you spotted him doing it at any event you knew that he was thinking of you, which always put a smile on your face.

S ⇴ SEX

This is by far when Changbin is at his softest, he loves to pay attention your body and shower you with love. Intimate moments are when his hard exterior really drops and he turns into the softest boy. He’s not always one to be dominate, but he does like to be in control and make sure that he’s the one taking care of you and not the other way round. If he’s had a bad day or he’s feeling low, that’s when he’ll look to your touch and attention to make him feel better again.

T ⇴ TEXTS

As already mentioned, whenever he has time away from you, Changbin relies on texts to keep in contact with you. He’s always texting you whenever he has a moment just to check on you and make sure that you’re doing alright.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

If there was one person who could deal with such a big personality, it was you. At times he often struggled to understand how you managed to deal with him, but you did, without a single complaint or a groan.

V ⇴ VACATION

Whenever he had a few days off Changbin liked to go and explore with you, he hated doing things alone, but now he had someone with him he loved nothing more than to travel a bit. It didn’t matter where you were, Korea or beyond, he always loved to take you somewhere and also get some time away from the dorm.

W ⇴ WHINING

He’s a well-known whiner, so whenever you don’t give him attention he will whine and whine until you pay attention to him and give him the love that he wants.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Changbin loves to kiss you in private, he’s very affectionate with you. He loves to trail kisses across your body and make you smile, whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, he’d use kisses as a way of getting you to look at him. He loves being able to shower you in affection when you’re in the comfort of your own space and always make sure that you know how loved and appreciated you are by him.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his everything, the only person he wanted forever to be with.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Just like when he’s awake, when he’s asleep, Changbin loves to have you around and be able to hold you. He can never sleep well without having you around him to look after him and give him the comfort he needs to rest.

---

Masterlist

[perseabethj]

i don't really have an explanation (iv.)

Percy didn’t let go of Annabeth’s hands once they entered in the apartment. It’s not that he thought she couldn’t defend herself if need be, but he didn’t fully trust his classmates -at least, not drunk. He hadn’t wanted to come to the party, but his friends had convinced him that, as part of the swim team, he couldn’t escape socializing forever. He was happy enough with his small circle of friends, but they had let him know that, while they were also happy being just the four of them, they wouldn’t mind surrounding themselves with the popular crowd every once in a while. Percy had felt a little bit guilty because of denying them that, and Annabeth had told him that going out once wouldn’t hurt. He had decided to trust her (he’d been doing that for years and that was the only reason as to why he was still alive), and thus had told Chris Parker, his team’s captain, that he would maybe show up at his party that weekend. It was Halloween, after all, and he felt a little bit silly staying at home during his senior year of high school. He knew high school parties could get a little bit wild, but the moment the door opened and music filled his ears, he was starting to regret his decision.

‘’I know that this is my first party and all that, but are guys supposed to walk around shirtless? Are they even pretending to wear a costume?’’ Annabeth asked to no one in particular, raising her eyebrows.

‘’We’re talking about the sport jocks,’’ Kayla reminded her with a pointed look, pulling at her cheerleader uniform; she'd never be caught dead with one of this seriously, but her sister had been a cheerleader years ago and Kayla wasn't about to spend forty dollars on a costume she would never wear again.

‘’Hey!’’ Percy exclaimed. These were his teammates, after all (he could also recognise some of the guys from the soccer team and some cheerleaders arounds, and he was pretty sure there were also some marching band kids, but he wasn’t about to point that out, since that would only support Kayla’s point).

‘’Don’t act all offended,’’ Annabeth told him, ‘’you spend half of your time at camp shirtless as well.’’

‘’I spend half of my time at camp at the beach, and the rest of my time I’m sweating my ass off because of you or Clarisse, so be thankful I’m wearing my shirt that half of the time and I don’t go to the dining pavilion naked.’’

‘’While most of Cabin 10 wouldn’t probably mind, Mr. D would turn you into a dolphin the moment he saw your naked butt.’’

‘’That he would,’’ Percy answered, laughing as he let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He leaned into her ear playfully and said, ‘’don’t tell anyone, but I miss the guy.’’

His friends looked at them as if they were crazy, but knew better than to question them.

‘’I need something to drink,’’ Matthew told the group. ‘’Do you want anything?’’

Percy and Annabeth shook their heads, choosing to wait before drinking anything at all (Percy also didn’t want to explain to his friends why he didn’t drink alcohol, and Annabeth knew that). Louis said something that sounded foreign to Percy -seriously, a vodka with a twist on the rocks? Couldn’t he simply say vodka? And did he really have to order it with a twist? He’d never understand rich kids-, and Matthew gave him a thumbs up, which was the only thing he could do with the foam cheer gloves he was wearing along with his baseball player costume.

‘’I’ll come with you,’’ Kayla said, looping her arm around his and dragging him across the hall.

Percy looked around the party, trying to decide what to do. He didn’t have to look at Annabeth to know she was doing the same thing, and he also knew she felt more uncomfortable than he did, since she knew nobody but him and his friends.

‘’I just wanted to let you know you made me lose a bet,’’ Louis suddenly said.

They looked questioningly at him and he pointed at them and their clothes.

‘’I had bet that you wouldn’t wear matching costumes,’’ he said. ‘’I didn’t take you for the kind of couple who does, even if you are all lovey-dovey. You both seem too mature for that.’’

‘’We didn’t plan it,’’ Annabeth told him. ‘’I mean, we both knew we’d be wearing this, but we didn’t really plan it. Percy didn’t know if he wanted to come until the last minute and we had no costumes at home, and we both suck at any kind of DIY. We had this at home from before.’’

‘’From before?’’ Louis asked, an eyebrow raised.

‘’We organised a Greek party at camp once,’’ Percy quickly said. ‘’We kept the clothes in case, and they have thankfully come in handy. An actual toga looks more dignified than a sheet, which was what my mum thought we’d be wearing when we told her about this.’’

‘’You have knifes from before?’’

Annabeth laughed and looked at the knife strapped to her arm. She had used the Mist to make sure her dagger stayed like one and Percy had complained that he couldn’t do that. She had then reminded him that walking around with a three-feet-long bronze sword wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do, considering that, if he were to hit somebody accidentally with it, everyone would know it wasn’t plastic when it simply moved through them, which was why he was weaponless.

‘’Who says it’s not a real knife?’’ Annabeth asked enigmatically.

Before Louis could say anything else, Annabeth pulled Percy forward with her and moved towards the dance floor. She could see Louis’s confused face as he walked to the kitchen to find the rest of the group and laughed lightly before wrapping her arms around Percy’s neck.

‘’You shouldn’t do that,’’ Percy told her, but he was definitely holding back a smile. ‘’His head is going to explode one day if you keep making those kinds of comments.’’

‘’It’s not my fault mortals are so easy to fool.’’

He finally smiled widely and brought her closer, his hands on her waist. Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief -between exams, monsters and the typical anxiousness that all demigods carried whenever they stepped onto the street, being at a party with her boyfriend and worrying about nothing at all was a godsend. She could feel Percy’s smile against her hair, since he was laying his cheek on her head, and she could also hear his heartbeat, her ear pressed against his chest. It didn’t matter to them that the song was definitely not a slow one, and so they swayed slowly to the rhythm of a song that definitely required more moving. Percy knew people were looking at them; not everyone knew he had a girlfriend, even if he wasn’t particularly secretive about it, and they made quite a striking pair in their white togas with golden details, golden tiaras and leather sandals.

‘’I love you,’’ he whispered, and Annabeth was amazed at the way he managed to make it sound romantic even in the middle of a techno song.

‘’I know,’’ she answered softly. ‘’I love you, too.’’

When the song finally ended, they separated; it’s not as if they had actually been paying attention to the music playing, but tuning out two loud songs and managing to dance for so long was too much for two people with ADHD.

‘’Shall we go to the kitchen to get some water?’’ Annabeth asked.

Percy nodded and threw his arm around her shoulder again, her arm automatically moving to wrap around his waist. It had made her uncomfortable at the beginning of the relationship how Percy always wanted to be touching her, since she didn’t fully understand why. She had always been the one to hold his hand when she was scared, and it had taken her a while to realise it was because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he never truly believed that she could like him back. Now that Percy knew she loved him just as much as he loved her, his body always found a way to make sure he was touching her; even during the hot summer nights they spent together after the Giant War, he had always managed to wrap his leg around hers or to lay his hand on top of her hip while he slept.

They were greeted by his tipsy friends when they reached the kitchen, who thankfully didn’t question it when Annabeth simply grabbed a bottle of water and Percy a can of coke. Percy was happy with his life at the moment; things might not have been perfect, but they were better than they had been in a long time. His friends liked his girlfriend, nobody was trying to kill him on the regular (he didn’t even care about random monsters anymore; no god or Titan going specifically after him? Are you kidding? A dream ), he was about to have a baby sister, and he hadn’t exploded his school yet. Looking around the group of people surrounding him, he felt a sense of normalcy that he had longed for for a while. Matthew was talking about a different girl he had fallen in love with - ‘’I’m telling you, man, she is the one’’ -, and Kayla was mocking him while Louis laughed quietly and Annabeth laughed with him. He pressed a kiss at the top of Annabeth’s head and brought her even closer, relishing the situation. Of course, good things never lasted forever.

‘’Hey, blondie!’’ John Robinson’s voice called. He tried to grab her arm, but Percy pushed her closer when he felt her slipping away. She didn’t move away from him, but did turn to face John with a steely look in her eyes.

She said nothing, simply arching an eyebrow and defying him to say anything else. Had he been sober, he would have probably walked away -at least, Percy hoped so, since the guy was an asshole, but not stupid-, but he was, very clearly, drunk.

‘’Mind your mouth, Robinson,’’ Percy threateningly said. He saw his friends straightening up from the periphery of his eye, aware that this could lead to something ugly.

‘’You know, blondie, you scared me pretty badly the other day at the meet,’’ he said, slurring his words, ‘’but it was so hot that I jerked off to it when I got home.’’

‘’That’s enough,’’ Percy exclaimed, moving forward and raising his fist before being pulled back by Annabeth.

‘’Stop it!’’ she yelled. She turned to look at him and put one hand on his chest, the other holding his hand and forcing him to look at her before she whispered, ‘’I can do this myself. Besides, you don’t want to be taken off the team.’’

She turned again to look at the laughing John, who was now making fun of Percy. They had attracted a crowd and people were anxiously whispering, both excited and afraid of a fight breaking out.

‘’Man, she must be really good in the bedroom for you to be so submissive.’’

‘’If you don’t shut up, you’ll be breathing through your mouth for the next six weeks,’’ she calmly said.

‘’Oh, come on, blondie, are you being tough because you know it turns me on?’’

He raised his hand to touch her hair, but Annabeth used her left hand to push his arm away and, then, raised her right fist and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards, holding his nose and screaming in pain. His voice was the only one in the kitchen; everyone had gone silent the moment he tried to touch her, expectant of what was about to happen.

‘’You bitch!’’

‘’Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, you big baby,’’ she said, not even holding her hand or caring about her knuckles. She bent down and smiled happily, patting his foot. ’’Be thankful I didn’t dislocate your shoulder, because that’s my speciality. You can ask Percy. It turns him on when I’m tough, too, but, unlike you, he actually gets to do something about it.’’

She stood up and searched for Percy’s hand blindly, who had already extended it to take hers before she was even up. There was still an angry look in his eyes, but there was a troublemaker smile that she adored adorning his face.

‘’Do you want to stay for another song, or should we go home?’’ She asked, ignoring the glances everyone was sending them.

‘’Home,’’ Percy said, smiling. ‘’Definitely home.’’

They started moving towards the door, people moving to let them pass. Just before they were out of the kitchen, Annabeth turned around and smiled sweetly at his friends.

‘’Are you coming?’’

Silently, they followed them, making a mental note not to bother Annabeth or Percy if they didn’t want to end up with a broken nose. Once they were out on the street, Annabeth broke out laughing, and Percy followed. Matthew, Kayla and Louis couldn’t help but laugh as well, and they knew they looked like a group of drunk teenagers, but they didn’t really care.

‘’That was even better than when you judo flipped me,’’ Percy said once he calmed down, using his finger to dry the tears off his face.

Annabeth laughed and elbowed him on the side before pressing her face against his chest. His arm was once again around her shoulders, and they looked just as happy as they had when they had first arrived at the party.

‘’What an uneventful night, though,’’ Annabeth said quite seriously, but with a soft smile on her face.

Percy hummed and nodded, and his friends couldn’t help but wonder what was an eventful night for them. They knew, however, not to ask anymore.

[ethanharli]

Paring(s): Kageyama Tobio x Top Male Reader.

Warning(s): NSFW (SMUT), Cursing, Bottom Kageyama, etc etc.

DNI; if you use she/her pronouns.

________

Piercing blue eyes stared up at me with hesitation and determination, a usual combo if you ask me but the first year was practically shaking in his shoes as he opened his mouth every few seconds to peak, only to snap it back closed right after. "Relax Kageyama, there's no need to worry just take your time" I smiled, we had been standing here for a little while after practice ended cause Kageyama said he needed to speak to me, but the poor kid just couldn't utter out a single word. "Um Senpai I uhm-!" A sigh soon escaped past my parted lips, shaking my head slightly at the setter who merely tilted his head at me in confusion.

"Kageyama, you know you can just call me by my name right? I don't care much for the honorifics" I spoke softly, sending the shorter male a lazy smile as he nearly jumped out of his skin- for what reason I do not know but the sight of pink dusting over his cheeks clearly caught my attention. "Yes Senpai!" He shouted, causing me to sigh in defeat, we've been at the whole 'call me by my name' thing for a month or so now, but he is very insistent on calling me Senpai for some reason and unlike Tanaka and Noya, I don't have a thing for it. "Hey Kageyama if you don't mind could we take this to my house? I need to check on my sister before she heads off to a friends house since our parents are out for their anniversary" I asked, glancing towards my watch.

I swear Kageyama's ears burned as he swayed a bit at the mention of coming to my house, so in an attempt to steady him I reached out, gently taking his arms in my hands. "Whoa you okay there?" My tone dripped with worry while I looked him over, not noticing the way he shuffled closer, wrapping his fingers around the front of my shirt. "I-Im alright.." He muttered out with a silent gulp, it wasn't until his gaze met mine that I realized how close we were, "Right, yeah that's good" I whispered, feeling a sudden pull from the way he looked at me, blue eyes swirling with a wanting I haven't seen in a long time.

I couldn't help when my gaze shifted towards his lips, my own tongue unconsciously drawing over mine as I wondered how they'd taste. Nearly jumping from the sudden thought I pulled away from the first year, watching as he blinked himself out of the trance, and with a sheepish grin I scratched at the back of my head. "Anyways! Shall we get going?" Kageyama only nodded and followed along side me, while a pretty pink blush still adored his features, "You know you can tell me anything right? I won't laugh nor judge you" I spoke, hinting at earlier when he tried to tell me something.

Even though the sudden topic was to also keep my mind off what happened only moments ago, "I know it's just-" He quickly cut himself off, sending me a nervous glare before shifting it back towards the ground. Kageyama had been acting weird lately, well, only around me at least. I don't know if he thought I wouldn't notice, even though it's pretty hard not to, he always talked to me a bit more than the others, asking for me to practice with him when no one else could, he'd even show up to my last class and ask if I wanted to walk with him to the club room. However, he's distanced himself from me recently, he'd basically run away or make up some excuse to get away from me, but I've also realized that his face would flush whenever speaking to me, and that his gaze would linger on me a little longer then usual.

"It's alright you can take your time, I don't bite" Unless you want me too.

Shaking my head I quickly squashed the thought, as I walked up to my house, opening the door so Kageyama could walk through, "Th-Thank you" He muttered out, quickly shuffling inside. With a quiet chuckle I walked in after him, "You can head up to my room if you'd like, it's up the stairs, first door on the left" Kageyama just nodded and headed up stairs while I headed towards the kitchen, already knowing my sister would be in there, most likely eating away at the cake I made yesterday.

And turns out I was correct, cause there she is, hunched over the counter with a mouth stuffed with chocolate cake, getting crumbs all over her shirt, and being the lovely brother I am I just had to say something. "I don't think your girlfriend would want you to eat her out with cake all over your teeth" I spoke with a smile, trying not to laugh when she nearly choked on it, "You asshole! S-She's not my girlfriend!" Skyla gasped, trying to get some air back in her lungs while I dug my finger into the cake frosting, licking it off right after. "Hey you know I don't judge, but seriously I think you should brush your teeth first" I winced as she punched my shoulder, heavily glaring at me with her icy blue eyes.

"Don't talk to me like that when you brought a guy home! We both know what you're thinking about if its him" I merely rolled my eyes, as I remembered all the times I talked to her about Kageyama, it's pretty obvious that I like him by now and technically shes not exactly wrong. "Okay okay I get it, just run along now" I huffed, sending her a small smile as she grabbed her bag and ran out the door, while I made my way towards my room.

"Hey sorry for taking so long" I chuckled, shifting my gaze around the room only to find Kageyama's eyes widened, staring at me like a deer caught in headlights. He stood by my closet shirt discarded on the floor, only to be replaced by one of my hoodies that was way to big for him, he looked so small in my clothing, but so god damn adorable I had to turn away to cover the sudden blush that even caused my ears to burn. "Ah! S-Sorry! I'll-" I quickly cut him off my shutting my door with a little more force then I intended, "It's okay! No need to worry, anyways would you like to watch a movie or something?" I asked, quickly trying to change the topic before I did anything I might regret later.

Kageyama merely nodded his head, fumbling with the strings of my hoodie. After a few moments of awkward silence I got a movie on, deciding to pick 'Before I wake' since horror movies seem to keep me at peace, however Kageyama quickly sat next to me on the bed, shuffling so close he was practically in my lap, it's not that I minded it though. Yet when the first jump scare appeared he jumped into my lap, gripping on tightly to my shirt with his legs wrapped around my waist, nearly forcing a groan past my lips from the sudden pressure.

"Hey Kagey-"

"Tobio."

"Huh?" I blinked, hesitantly moving my hands to his waist to keep him in place. "C-Call me Tobio" He stuttered out, looking between my eyes as mine almost immediately moved to his lips, "Tobio.." I whispered, loving the way it rolled off my tongue, and apparently he loved it to, from the sudden shiver that ran down his spine, and the way his grip on me tightened. "Please [Y/n], please kiss me" He whimpered, as I captured his lips with mine, feeling the restraint leave my body at the sound of his moans. His fingers instantly wove through the back of my hair, tugging hard enough to where I couldn't help but groan while I dragged my tongue across his lower lip, pushing my tongue past his parted lips, earning a soft moan from the setter.

The heat of his mouth was to addicting, letting my tongue roll over his teeth and the roof of his mouth, causing him to grind his hips into my own. My mouth instantly latched onto his jaw as my hands moved to his hips, keeping the movement going just so I could hear the occasional whimpers that emitted from his throat against his will. "S-Senpai!" My eyes narrowed at the name, letting out a husky growl while I dragged my hand up his thigh and towards the waistband of his shorts. "C'mon Tobio, even now you decide against saying my name?" I hummed, pressing my lips to the spot behind his ear, feeling him shudder under my touch.

"I guess that's alright.." I smirked, running my hands under the oversized hoodie in order to pull it off him, letting it drop to the floor as I leaned forward, pressing Kageyama's back to the bed, "Cause I'll have you screaming it in no time." I didn't give him time to respond, catching any words he had with my lips, slowly gliding my hands up his athletic build, loving the way it felt beneath my finger tips. I couldn't help but lick my lips at the sight of him beneath me, it was something I definitely hoped I got to see more of, slowly I slipped my hand past the band of his shorts, running my fingers over his twitching cock that forced a shiver down his spine, causing my pants to tighten uncomfortably from the intoxicating sight.

"O-Off" He whimpered, tugging at the bottom of my shirt which I gladly pulled off, watching as his eyes took in every detail of my upper body, those beautiful piercing blue eyes now darkened with desire, a desire I happily shared. With a lazy smirk I brought three fingers towards his lips, narrowing my eyes as he happily took them in his mouth, slowly dragging his tongue up my middle finger, letting my mind wonder what it would feel like to have my cock in his mouth instead. With a quick shake of my head I pulled my fingers away to tug off his shorts, throwing them somewhere in the corner of my room.

We could do that some other time.

Bringing my lips to his ear I kissed it softly, resting my other hand on his hip, "This'll hurt a bit alright? I'll move when you're ready" Kaageyama merely nodded, eagerly bucking his hips up in anticipation that caused me to chuckle softly until I pressed my middle finger to his entrance, slowly sliding it in. Kageyama's nails dug into the skin on my back, letting out soft whimpers as I kissed his forehead and his lips, trying to distract him from the feeling, which seemed to work since he wiggled around, letting out a breathy moan. Carefully I started to pump my finger inside him, trying to be gentle since it seemed like his first time, "M-More!" He whimpered, dragging his nails down my back in a slow motion that forced a groan past my parted lips. Granting his wish I slipped in another finger, moving them in a scissoring motion that caused him to cry out, and soon enough I found the special spot I was looking for that had him screaming.

Pulling my fingers out I ignored his disappointed whine and unbuckled my pants, pull them off along with my boxers, only for Kageyama to wrap his leg around my hip in attempt to pull me closer to him, "H-Hurry." His plea sounded like music to my ears, loving the way he begged for me to take him and for a moment I thought about teasing him, but quickly pushed the thought away as I pushed my cock inside him, groaning at the way his walls tightened around me."S-Senpai!" He gasped out, taking in deep breaths in order to calm himself down while my eyes darkened from the name, "Pl-Please move.." He whined, trying to move but my grip on his hips tightened, keeping him in place.

"What's my name?"

My voice deepened as I spoke, earning a moan from the setter beneath me, desperately trying to get some sort of friction, but I wouldn't allow it until he complied. "[Y-Y/n] please.." With a satisfied smirk I slowly rocked my hips, giving him the pleasure he was begging for while I pressed my lips to his neck, biting softly at the side of his neck before my hands moved under his thighs, pushing them forward so I could get more access inside him. The sudden movement forced a small whimper to emit from his throat, but it was when I hit his prostate that he arched his back, screaming out my name as his nails dug deeper into my skin.

Keeping a mental note of where it is, I repeatedly hit that spot, while letting out soft moans of my own as his walls tightened around me, drawing my climax closer, so with that thought in mind I wrapped my hand around Kageyama's cock, pumping it slowly while running my thumb over the slit. "[Y/N]! F-Faster! Pl-please, I'm close!" Kageyama pleaded, moving his hips in rhythm with mine as I smirked down at him, taking in the details of his sweat drenched hair that clung to his face, his eyes snapped closed tightly, as his body shuddered beneath me when I picked up the pace, slamming into him just to hear those sweet high pitched whimpers.

"[Y/n]!" He screamed, while his nails pierced the skin on my back, but I didn't mind it much as he cummed in my hand. "Just a little more" I groaned feeling my own orgasm draw closer, with a heavy breath I moved to pull out, just to feel Kageyama's legs keep me in place, "C-Cum inside.." He stuttered, hair bouncing with every thrust I made until I finally stopped when I came inside him, sending a shudder through his body once more as my muscles tensed.

I fell beside him since I didn't want to crush him under my weight, trying to steady my breathing before turning my gaze back towards him. "Are you okay?" My voice was barley above a whisper, and luckily he still managed to hear me, "I-Ive been wanting.. To do that for so long" He chuckled in a breathy tone, opening his eyes a bit to smile at me. My heart fluttered in my chest and I drew him closer to me, letting him cuddle up against me even though my body feels all nasty and sweaty.

"Do you want to wait or take a shower now?" I groaned, pressing my nose into his hair.

"Mm, later.."

With a final nod I kissed his forehead, wrapping my arms around his waist protectively, "You're mine now."

"I was hoping you'd say that.."

[doc-pickles]

does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes

Alex comes back to the loft to see Jo but is met with more than he bargained for.

so i wrote a thing.... i know I've said a million times that I wouldn't write a birth scene but uhhhhh here we are. anyways enjoy... or don't... xoxo nina

It’s dark and stormy outside as Alex approaches the loft, the Seattle winds whipping around him as he jogs up the stairs. The route is familiar, one he’s walked a thousand times before, but it feels different this time. He pauses outside the door, wondering if he should actually knock or not. Finally, he does, knocking twice before stepping back and waiting for Jo’s answer. Her car was parked out front, meaning she was at home and not at the hospital. He knocks a second time, thinking maybe the thunder has made it hard to hear.

“Jo? You home?”

There’s a pause and some shuffling before Jo’s voice floats towards him, “Alex?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Alex lets out a sigh, leaning his head against the door. “I know you probably don’t want to see me.” “You're right.”

“But I drove all the way from Kansas and I’d really like to see you,” there’s more silence from the other side of the door as thunder rumbles overhead. “You still there?”

“Yeah I’m here,” her voice sounds strained as Alex listens intently. “You left me, what are you doing here now?”

Alex lets out a heavy sigh. He knew she would ask why he had come back after over half a year away but he still didn't feel like his answer justified any of his actions, “Because I messed up Jo. I never should have left, I should’ve told you as soon as I found out about the twins. I should have given you a say in our divorce. There’s a lot of mistakes I made but leaving you was the biggest one.”

“Alex…,” even through the barrier between them Alex can tell that Jo is crying,

“I just realized that while I love being a dad I didn’t want to do that without you by my side,” Alex can hear Jo let out a sob as he leans closer to the door. “Will you let me in please?”

“I’m still mad at you,” Jo clarified.

“I know.”

“The power has been out for three hours and the phone lines are down because of the storm,” Alex can hear Jo unlocking the door, his heart racing. “I haven’t been able to call anyone.”

“Why does-”

“Just… Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

The door finally slides open and Jo and Alex are face to face for the first time in seven months.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Alex could barely make out Jo’s face with the lack of light but she immediately reaches for his hands, squeezing tightly, “Jesus Christ Jo! What the hell?”

Jo doesn’t answer straight away, doubled over in pain as she lets out a groan, “Just shut up, I’m trying to count and you’re distracting me.” “Count what,” Alex’s question is answered as Jo stands up, taking a step towards him. “Oh… That’s what.”

From the small amount of light in the hallway Alex can clearly see Jo, her eyes wide and questioning as she looks up at him. His eyes drift from her face down her body and rest on her protruding stomach.

“I’ve been in labor for hours but I couldn't call anyone because of the storm,” Jo bites her lip, blinking back tears. “I just figured I could deliver her myself but you showed up right on time.”

Alex only hesitates for a moment before jumping into action as if he’s been preparing for this for nine months and not mere minutes.

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Six minutes, they have been for almost an hour.”

“Do you have a bag packed?” “In my car.”

Alex makes quick work of grabbing Jo’s keys and locking up the loft before helping Jo downstairs and into the car. They ride in silence for a few minutes before Jo finally speaks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex glances over at Jo for a second, watching as she traces her fingers across her stomach, “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I never called you. I’ve had the better part of seven months to call and tell you,” Jo chokes the words out as a swell of tears forms in her eyes “I knew how you felt about Izzie keeping your kids from you and I was just going to do the same thing. I was ready to raise our daughter alone because I was mad you left! I’m already a terrible mother.”

“You're not a terrible mom Jo,” Alex reaches his hand out to grab Jo’s, squeezing tightly. “And I’m not mad at you.” “You’re not?”

“Of course not,” Alex parks in front of Grey Sloan, killing the engine and turning to Jo. “I know we have a lot to talk about but I think we have more important things to worry about right now.”

Jo nods, taking Alex’s hand that’s reached out towards her. She follows him silently towards the entrance of the hospital, stopping just short of the sliding doors.

“Are you having a contraction?”

Jo shakes her head, pulling Alex closer to her as she stares up at him, “Are you really back? You’re not leaving again?”

“Not without you two. I can’t miss any more of this,” Alex places his hand against Jo’s on her belly, the other one coming up to cup her cheek. “When I said leaving Seattle was my biggest mistake I meant it, baby or not. Leaving you is my biggest regret.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Jo leans up and presses her lips to Alex’s, a chaste kiss as rain continues to fall around them. Jo pulls back after a moment, leaning her head against Alex as she lets out a groan.

“Let’s get you inside, those have been getting closer.”

Given the storm and the fact that it was almost midnight, they make it to the L&D floor with ease. Carina’s brows furrow as soon as she sees Jo, a reprimand hot on her lips, “Jo you should be at home resting, you’re not on call tonight.” A gasp leaves Carina as she notices Alex standing next to Jo, “Oh! You finally called him?”

“No he just has impeccable timing,” Jo squeezes her eyes shut, leaning forward onto her knees. “My contractions are four minutes apart and I was dilated to an 8 when I checked an hour ago.”

Both Carina and Alex stare at Jo with wide eyes at her revelation. Alex knows she can handle pain well, but he wouldn’t have guessed she was so far along in her labor.

“You should’ve been here hours ago,” Carina chastises as she waves over one of the nurses on the floor. “Can you get Doctor Karev settled in room six?”

“You kept your last name,” there’s a tone of surprise to his voice as Alex settles his hand on Jo’s back, following the nurse down the hall. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t want to have a different last name than the baby,” Jo shrugs as she takes the hospital gown that the nurse has offered her, slipping into the bathroom to change into it. “And I might have forgotten to file the divorce papers.”

Alex is about to respond when Jo lets out a startled gasp followed by the sound of liquid hitting the floor. Jo waddles out of the bathroom, eyes wide as she and Alex stare silently at each other.

“Was that..?”

“I need to push,” Jo takes a few steps forward, leaning over the hospital bed as she let out a loud groan. “That’s a lot of pressure.” “Let me get Carina.”

“Don’t leave unless you want to miss your daughter being born,” Jo reaches her hand out to stop Alex from leaving, grabbing his hand in her own and squeezing it tightly as she let out a loud groan. “Oh god, you weren’t kidding about the big head thing.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Alex rests his hand against Jo’s back, applying pressure as she let out another pained noise. “What can I do for you?” “Catch.”

Alex moves quickly, barely catching their daughter as Jo gives one final push. Carina walks in then, a chuckle escaping her as she helps Jo knot the bed, “Looks like you started without me. How’s the bambina doing papa?”

“She’s perfect,” Alex lets out a wet laugh as he cradles the baby in his arms, a small cry sounding from her. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

+

“I don’t have a name picked out.”

Alex looks up from the sleeping baby in his arms to Jo who’s just woken up, “Why not?”

“Nothing sounded right,” Jo shrugs, concentrating on her fingers. Alex notices the silver band on her left hand that she’s twirling around nervously. Her wedding band sparkles under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room despite the missing engagement ring it usually sat with. “It didn’t feel right to pick something so important without you.”

“Jo-”

“Not calling you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every single day since I read that letter I’ve wanted to call you, even more so after I found out I was pregnant,” Jo swipes at the tears collecting on her cheek and it takes everything in Alex to not lean forward and wipe them away himself. “But you left Alex and you never even asked me how I felt.” “I would’ve hopped on the first flight back if you called.” Jo throws her hands up in exasperation, “I didn’t want you to come back just because we have a baby together!”

“It never would have been about that Jo! I love you!”

“Then why? If you love me why did you leave me?”

“Because I was scared,” the baby in his arms stirs but Alex quiets her quickly, lowering his voice when he speaks again. “I was terrified of being a shitty dad and losing you and my kids at the same time. I didn’t want to hurt you, Jo, I never have, but I thought one painful goodbye would be better than months of arguing and heartache and watching the life we created crumble into pieces. I didn’t want that for us, I couldn’t ruin us like that. I wanted to protect you but I ended up hurting both of us in the process and hurting this little one too. I’m sorry Jo, neither of you deserve this. I just ended up becoming the shitty dad and husband I was trying so hard not to be.”

The room is silent as Alex keeps his eyes on the sleeping baby in his arms, not wanting to look at Jo just yet. When he finally does, she has tears running down her cheeks, “Jo I-”

“Come here.”

“Are you gonna hit me?”

“No you idiot, I want to kiss you,” Jo let out a laugh, wiping at her eyes again. “I missed you so much.”

Alex squeezes in next to Jo, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead, “What about Juliet?”

“Mmm she does kind of look like a Juliet,” Jo runs her finger across the newborn’s cheek. “How about Juliet Alexandra?”

“I already have one kid named after me, I don’t need another. Besides,” Alex grins as he leans down to press a kiss to Jo’s lips. “You did all the heavy lifting on this one. What about Juliet Brooke?”

Jo silently nods, settling easily into Alex’s embrace as they both stared adoringly at their daughter, “Perfect. Welcome to the world Juliet Brooke Karev. We love you so much already.”

[vesperlionheart]

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move. For KisaSaku. :D

KisaSaku & a belated happy birthday for @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth!

(Sort of a companion fix to This One)

‘In matters of inheritance in the land of Kirigkure, the country is old and small enough to cultivate its leftover practices from the oldest days, when Kiri citizens had to fight tooth and nail to protect what was once only a small fishing inlet. Their monarchy equivalent is selected from the previous ruler and approved by a majority vote from the three departments.’

“It shouldn’t count until an official hearing is held to conclude such matters,” Sakura grumbled to mostly herself. Mei was the least sympathetic out of all her supporters when it came to Sakura’s mood and opinions on her stupid country inheritance.

When Mei heard Sakura’s grumbles she only giggled and added another ‘grievance’ scroll to the ever increasing pyramid of incoming missives that would need to be addressed by the end of the day. “Honestly, you have no one else to blame but yourself. What did you expect would happen when you arrived on our borders with all of Tsunade’s tutelage and the copy nin’s keen sense for seeing underneath the underneath? You thought we’d let you go?”

Speaking of Kakashi made Sakura remember the old man’s poor advice: “Just go and check them out. Get in a few fights, drink a little and show them how terrible of a leader you would really be.”

That had worked out terribly.

While Sakura was legally considered a citizen of Kiri, she had grow up outside its boarders and adapted to the culture of the Fire Country where it mattered to have manners with strangers. Her strategy had been to walk in with a buzz and a beer in hand, provoke a shop keep, fight a swordsman-a legendary swordsman-and curse her way out of town. Everything had been going tremendously well, except actually it hadn’t. Kiri was wet in more ways than one and Sakura had unwittingly impressed more than just a few curious eyes with her tolerance of the local booze. Shit talking was seen as a greeting amongst Kiri locals, and fighting might as well have been synonymous with hugging.  

“They’ll kick you out soon enough and you’ll be back home before you know it.”

For not the first time, Sakura lamented Kakashi’s backhanded advice. When she berated him about it later on he only congratulated her on the revitalized economy, the updated hospitals, and all her efforts towards dismantling the caste system. Sakura’s protest that she never meant to do any of that fell on deaf ears.

The trial month was nearly over and plans had already been made to install her as their Mizukage, a position that would put her on par with her one time teacher, the Hokage in the Land of Fire. There was a lot of pomp and ceremony the elders were caught up in that pushed back the actual initiation-but the decision had been made and Sakura’s will was not enough to reject the concessions of the Trident-or the three seats of the Mizukage’s cabinet.

Mei made up the executive branch of the Trident, while the seven swordsmen made up the military branch. Yagura was the head of Economics and the mouthpiece of the Elders who weighed tradition against advancement. Sakura’s job would be to balance all three of their voices and carry the responsibility of any decision they came up with. Only a 3 to 1 vote could overrule a Mizuekage’s executive orders.

“Have you chosen your Second Shadow, yet?” Mei asked.

“I’m actually hoping that if I don’t that this whole party thing can get called off,” Sakura sassed back to Mei, already half finished with the next scroll and all but made up on her finial verdict for the request it presented.

“Have you looked at my boy?”

“Chōjūrō is a sweet kid and will make a fine swordsman one day,” Sakura answered diplomatically.

“But…?”

Sakura looked up and glared. “He’s as shy as an Angel Fish and he still somehow came up with the idea, completely on his own with no help from anyone, to wait for me in my hotel room in a silk robe and slippers and nothing else.” Sakura’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I don’t take kindly to attempts of coercion.”

“The kid just wanted your favor and you would hold that against him?” Mei playfully teased.

“I didn’t appreciate it, Mei. Don’t bully your boy into my bed.”

Mei rolled her eyes and picked through the finished missives Sakura had set to the side. “He needed the encouragement. He wouldn’t have done it, even though he wanted to, without some help.”  

“I’m not like you, I don’t enjoy robbing the cradle.”

Mei snorted. “Okay then, babe, tell auntie what your type is?”

Sakura paused and looked up over her next scroll. “Why?”

“Can’t you just believe I’m curious? Why do you have to sound so suspicious of every one of my questions? I’m honestly just curious.”

Sakura’s expression turned blank but Mei didn’t seem to care. “Sure, and my answer would have nothing to do with an attempt by you and the elders to set me up with a nice local boy who will convince me to stay. Suuuuure.”

“So if you’re not interested in our little prince, what abut the naughty type. Suigetsu doesn’t have anyone right now.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me to stay, not scare me off. That starfish can’t keep a relationship on lock for more than a month for a reason, and it isn’t the fault of any of his partners.”  

“So the naughty type is a turn off. What about the daddy type?”

Sakura’s face made an expression of horror. “Gross.”

“Not literally a daddy, don’t look at me like that. You might be surprised so don’t knock it till you try it. I’ll put that down as a ‘maybe’ for now.”

“Please don’t.”

There was a knock on the door and Sakura shouted out for them to enter before Mei could even turn around. A half second later Sakura realized her mistake when she saw Mei’s gloating face. The office already felt like it was Sakura’s.

Damn.

“What?” Sakura barked a bit rudely when Yagura stopped in front of her desk.

 “There’s an issue with deployment.”

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t Kisame and Zabuza usually the ones who tell me what’s shit with their nin?” Sakura dropped her scroll and leaned back in her seat before waving for him to continue. “What is it?”

If Yagura was bothered by her rude address he didn’t let it show on his face and he never let it carry over into their conversations outside of work. “More of the Kaguya raiders are making issues for the settlements but we don’t have the resources to send out anyone to deal with it. Kisame and Zabuza are both off on missions you approved.”

“This really requires an S ranked response?” Sakura asked, knowing there were few others who could do what Kisame and Zabuza did. If Yagura was asking for either of them he deemed the threat S ranked.

“I’ve already written up the details of the response we’d need.” Yagura produced a thinner scroll and Sakura took it as it passed over her desk.

“If we didn’t have one of the swordsmen on this we’d need at least two dozen nin and we just don’t have those kind of numbers right now.”

“What’s the best we can do?” Sakura asked while rolling back in her chair to check the chart on the wall with a dozen different secret symbols that helped keep her up to date on the military numbers. It showed how many nin of different rank were deployed, how many were wounded, how many were undercover, and how many were available for deployment. It still took Sakura a minute to decipher everything on the chart but she would have it like a reflex by the end of the month.

“Eight.”

Sakura made a face. Eight was a really low number and it was her fault they were in this situation in the first place. She had gambled and played the number game with her nin. Kiri always needed a coalition of soldiers to defend it in case of invasion, and so even if there were over two dozen shinobi at home, she couldn’t touch those.

“Kisame is due back this afternoon, how time sensitive is this issue?”

“It depends on how much the lives of these colonists matter. They’re notorious for skirting on tax payments and regularly sell their produce to rival groups before our citizens.”

“But they are our citizens,” Sakura clarified. They lived outside the walls of Kiri and were largely bitter old marsh farmers and fishermen, but they were culturally more Kiri than Sakura.

“It would be a shame to loose their assets,” Yagura honestly answered. “The Kaguya clan would only grow emboldened if they took over the rest of this territory for themselves.”

Sakura was already standing, pulling off her robes. “Mei, tell Kisame to head over to the settlements as soon as he gets here, even if he’s on fumes. Just the sight of his big blue mug will send some of them running.”

“What are you doing?” Mei asked, eyes wide.

“I’m dealing with this. I still have my rank from Konoha. I should be sufficient with these four,” Sakura said while showing off the mission scroll with her name and four others filled in. “I’ll let them know personally. Yagura will-”

“I understand. I’ll stand in until you’re back.”

“You can’t leave, you’re our Mizukage,” Mei agrued. “That’s against customs. If you fall-”

“I’m not Mizukage yet and you still can’t tell me what to do,” Sakura warned before stalking out of the office with hands itching for a fight.

Hours later her Kabutowari was soaked with blood on both ends, both the hammer and the axe head had been fed enough blood and savagery to sate its appetite for carnage. Sakura was proud of their success and how cheep it cost. Not a single soul on her unit had been seriously wounded or lost and that was quite an accomplishment considering the Kaguya attacked in bands of eight to twelve.

“It’s cause we got to fight with our Mizuekage that our moral was so high,” old man Jinin cheered, looking ready for a stiff drink and maybe an audience who could listen to his tall tales and elaborations on the day’s battle.

Haku came up beside Sakura and touched her elbow to get her attention and she leaned in while he whispered the status of the nin’s health along with the injury inventory. It was a new step Sakura wanted utilized when units emerged from battle. If hospital records could be updated with a complete list of all injuries-including those treated and healed on the battlefield- it would help in future diagnostics.

Haku had helped develop the program and sell it to the other medic trained min. He had been invaluable in helping roll out new changes and on the battlefield his skill set had complemented her fighting style well, since he was more of a long range fighter while Sakura liked to deal damage up close.

“We’re good to go then,” Sakura sighed. “I’m tired. Someone treat me to hot saké once we’re back,” she playfully whined only to get a roar from the men and women on her team. 

Haku kept close to her side and walked with her until they got to the natural mist. Sakura gave the signal and the rest of her team blurred into the fog and took off like birds in a dive, unseen and deadly.

“You wanted to ask me something?” Haku queried.

Sakura was about to say yes but something else caught her eye and she pat Haku’s back in dismissal. “It can wait until after we’re back. I need to catch Kisame up but I’ll see you at the Drunken Whaler.”

Haku turned and saw Kisame emerging from he fog with the blood and grime from his last fight still stuck to his uniform. The two locked eyes and Haku nodded first before taking off.

“So, are you slipping for any particular reason or are you just getting old?” Sakura teased while approaching Kisame.

“Hey, no jokes about my age when my boss orders me to pull a double shift. Slave driver actually expected me to do some good here. Shows you what she knows.”

“Maybe she just wanted you to see what she could do, ever consider that?” Sakura teased back, shouldering her Kabutowar’s axe end on her shoulder while she carried the hammer half with an idle swing in her left hand. The weight never bothered her but she wondered how her weapon would react to a new pair of hands.

“How willing are you listen to your bad ass boss?” Sakura asked.

“You mean my hard ass boss?” Kisame teased back. “Dunno, it depends on the request. Does it involve drinking?”

“Eventually all decisions and requests involve drinking, but not yet. We can get sloshed at the Drunken Whaler with the rest of them but before we get that far…” Sakura rolled the axe head off her shoulder and held it out. “Wanna trade?”

Kisame whistled low and reached up to rub at some of the blood on his chin with the heel of his hand. The twilight was creeping in but the clouds were heavy and low so everything shaded in tones of gray and diluted yellow. Sakura saw a fragment of that sunken gold color in Kisame’s shark eyes when he looked at her weapon, but she wished he’d been looking at her.

He reached over his shoulder and rolled Samehada off his back, letting the bandages drop. The trade off was as natural as any other tradeoff would be between the swordsmen. If the seats hadn’t been filled Sakura might have replaced Haku as a swordsman, since she had a legendary blade and he didn’t. If she had been a swordsman she might have had the chance to do this earlier and with more than just Zabuza’s Kubikiribōchō, but she wasn’t a swordsman and this wasn’t a guaranteed thing.

“Thank you,” Sakura said before Kabutowari finished leaving her hand.

“Careful with him, Samehada can-oh, ya know, never mind. He’s a bitch that’s roll over for anyone with tasty chakra, I shouldn’t have worried for ya,” he chuckled while watching the handoff.

With issue, Sakura held the massive blade level and admired its scale pattern in the gray twilight. There was a delightful shiver as it sucked on her chakra and swallowed it down like a drunk with fine wine. Sakura could feel it purr not unlike how Kabutowari would in her mind once they were linked.

“Let’s see how you like this,” Sakura cooed before swinging Kisame’s blade against the wind and  stepping into the dance she had first learned for Kabutowari with minor adjustments since she was wilding Samehada in one hand. She felt it tense and almost cut at her hand but settled down as it realized what she was playing at.

Samehada cut into the fog and then shaved it down into a finer mist before wrapping it up around Sakura the way the first swordsmen would, back in the old days when chakra was still too wild to name and gods dared to walk amongst the children of men.

Through the mist and over her shoulder Sakura could see Kisame have fun on his own, dancing through the same steps with her two handed Kabutowari, showing mastery of the finer points in spite of his bulk. At first glance Kabutowari seemed too heavy and burly a weapon to expect any delicacy with, but if one wanted to unlock it’s full potential they would have to know more than just the brutal steps that wrought the most damage, they would need to know how to dance and make both the axe and hammer sing.

She watched Kisame twist through her steps like a ghost of her old master’s memory and watched, transfixed, as he let go of the axe side to swing around and snap back with perfect timing.

“Jealous?” the voice in her mind purred. Samehada helped himself to a drop more of her chakra as she paused in her steps.

“No, I know Kabutowari is my blade and he’ll return to me in time. There’s no reason to be jealous of your master for handling my blade so well.”

“Didn’t mean Kabutowari,” Samehada chuckled so deeply it made Sakura’s mind feel like a cavern with no end. A half second later she realized what Kisame’s blame meant and she giggled, almost manic at the implication.

“No,” she hissed through his stifled giggle. “No way, not you too. Leave me alone and let me have my fun.”

“Don’t see a reason you can’t have it both ways,” Samehada teased, poking at her palm but doing no real damage.

It wouldn’t hurt her if she could hear its voice and give him her chakra to sip on, but even if tried she’d be able to heal such a modest attack. There wasn’t any real danger to her from Samehada, but she felt unbalanced by his words enough to step out of the old steps and swing the monster blade down against the earth with a surge of chakra that split the earth.

She heard his excited cheer and delighted cackle as he served as the conduit to her legendary chakra release. Sounding almost drunk it asked for her to do that again but Kisame was already laughing at her and that was the only sound she could pay attention to.

“I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” Sakura said with a tired laugh, hopping over to Kisame’s side with his sword. The exchange was easier this time but before Kisame could press Kabutowari into her hand their fingers touched enough for Sakura to feel where all his blisters had hardened into callouses. Even down the sides of his fingers she could feel the evidence of his devotion to the blade and she wondered, wickedly, what it would feel like to be handled by hands like that.

“Naughty,” Samehada purred to her before their link was severed. Sakura felt her face roar with heat and embarrassment, which she tried to play off by jumping back with Kabutowari and a nervous chuckle. Her weapon purred in confusion and almost understood but Sakura sealed him away into one of her pocket dimension before he could scream out the truth like an echo in her mind.

Damn, dirty thoughts-this was all Mei’s fault for planting the seeds in the first place.

Sakura ran her hands through the fog and then combed them through hair, grateful for the cool the almost night allowed. She knew she didn’t have a ‘pretty’ blush like some other girls. She went beat red and it was almost impossible to hide.

“We should head back, we’ve held back long enough the others might get worried. Plus, I wasn’t exactly quiet just now,” Sakura said.

“Aww boss, don’t make this old man run all the way back after I ran all the way out here only to be late,” Kisame playfully whined.

“What, you want to walk back. That’ll take forever,” Sakura said.

“Not for the whole while, but we can run off later. Can’t we just take it easy for a little while?” he asked.

Only because he asked Sakura agreed.

After a minute Kisame spoke up. “So the word going around is that you haven’t picked a second yet. Don’t you have any ideas or is no one willing to take on the load? You’re kinda a slavedriver.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“What are you thinking about.”

Sakura made a face, not knowing if he was teasing or being serious with his question. “It’s so different compared to Leaf, I mean this second almost feels like a marriage partner according to Mei, and it’s kinda serious enough that the thought process is similar. You pick someone and then they’re with you the whole time, nearly day and night, and that’s similar to how Shizune was for Tsunade, but…I don’t know, the cultures are different.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Kisame chuckled. “When Kiri loses a kage it’s tits up and everything goes to shit real quick-we know because we’ve seen it more than any of the other hidden villages. More assignations mean more hard lessons learned.”

“But does it have to be one person? Tsunade had ANBU who were rotated out all the time.”

“Yeah but that’s such a shit idea here. If I wanted to kill the Hokage I’d just impersonate an ANBU and wait in rotation until I was alone with-ah, don’t give me that face, I’m just saying hypothetical things.”

“It’s not so easy to infiltrate ANBU.”

“You say that like we haven’t ever done that,” Kisame snorted and then when he saw Sakura’s face he laughed. “Nothing so bad, boss, nothing so bad! You’ll see for yourself when you get access after inauguration, but those ain’t your people no more. You are ours.”

There were a few too many things making Sakura’s gut church with complicated feelings. What Kisame said about belonging to Kiri was right and it hurt, not because she hated being accepted, but because of what it meant for her ties to everyone back home-back in Konoha. Tsunade and Kakashi were her teachers but they couldn’t call her their disciple anymore. For the sake of the future of their foreign policy, Sakura had watched as the steps were taken to cut her off from the village hidden in the leaves until there was only one place she could run to. It wasn’t a vicious thing and there was nothing personal about it. Sakura actually understood why they did what they did-changing out the codes and locking her out of accessing ANBU updates.

Kiri was supposed to be her home now…her village.

“Boss?”

“You know you can call me by my name when it’s just us,” Sakura said instead, trying to sound annoyed so he didn’t misunderstand the meaning of her words and think she wanted him to speak to her familiarly. “Boss makes me feel like an old lady.”

The other feelings that made her gut churn came from the last thing he said to her. “You are ours.” Someone once said the people in Kiri were a people who knew loss to well to share decently in the future, thus they were a possessive people who coveted many things.

“Then Haruno kun-”

“Haruno kun?” Sakura sputtered. “What are you my uncle? No-ugh, you’re-oh man I had a teacher who would call me Haruno kun in school back when we were in the academy. You’re banned from the ‘-kun,’ if you’re gonna tack something on at least make it sound cute.”

“Sakura chan?” Kisame playfully called out, pitching his voice high and squeaking out the title.

“Never mind, I take it back, just Haruno or just Sakura, but nothing else. Gosh, I thought someone said that in Kiri they didn’t have manners or shit. Just call me whatever, I don’t care,” Sakura said even though she cared.

“Then Haruno, who do you think would be a good candidate for second. You’ll pick from the swordsmen right? Where else would you go?”

“Mei wanted me to go with her boy Chōjūrō but can you see that working out?”

“That jellyfish?” Kisame hooted. “He’s as shy as an Angel Fish. You’d eat him alive for breakfast.”

“I live to entertain,” Sakura mocked with a silly bow. “But you’ve got a point about pulling from the swordsmen. What would that do to your seats? Would you replace whoever left or take in someone new?”

“Maybe Chōjūrō,” Kisame joked.

“He’s an excellent fighter, he just doesn’t have a future in politics,” Sakura defended. “I could see him growing into that role.”

Kisame watched Sakura a half minute longer before saying anything new. The sun was half sunk into the horizon and all the mist seemed to choke on dying colors as they waded through the distortion.

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

“I have ideas but I don’t want to have ideas since I don’t like this whole set up. If it was up to me and the elders didn’t insist on tradition, I’d just have the Seven of you on rotation as my guard.”

Kisame made a thoughtful sound. “That could work as a back up, but you know how those old tradition fogies are.”

Sakura rubbed at her neck and looked ahead. “I need a drink. Race you back?”

“Ah, but I’m all tired from-” Kisame never finished his sentence since he chose that moment to flash step forward and take off running. Sakura cursed and raced behind him but came last and ended up having to buy a round for everyone at the pub.

When Kisame woke a week later he was wide eyed and energized, which was a rare thing for him these days. He normally hated mornings but the sight of his fresh dress uniform hanging up was enough to make him remember why today was such a big deal. It wasn’t just any other day, it was Sakura’s inauguration.

The whole of Kiri was hyped as fuck for a new Mizukage like Sakura, one who revitalized their economy and recovered their crumbling hospital system. The fact that she was the wielder of Kabutowari made it feel like a long lost child coming home from the war with spoils to share with the whole country. Sakura felt like she had always been theirs, like Kiri had always been her home. Even when she had been trying to piss people off and get out of the inheritance she had fit in too well. Her brash personality and strong convictions made her-

“Perfect,” Kisame said out loud, a little too caught up in his thoughts.

He grimaced a the sound of his thoughts and moved to wash up before dressing for the day. He needed to finish waking up or else he was bound to say something else equally stupid. Today was too important to look like a fool.

In short order he was as handsome as he’d ever get with an ugly mug like his and dressed for the occasion. Samehada fit into the latch carrier on his back and outside he saw the others waiting in the courtyard to the mansion where Sakura would start her procession.

Already, people were filling the streets in hopes of catching an eyeful of their new Mizukage on her first day on the job. Some were selling flowered crowns and wreaths as the newest trend had been to emulate Sakura’s flowery good looks. Young girls were cutting their hair like her and boys were dreaming about an impossible future among the swordsmen because of her. There was a building that had been painted with a modest mural of Sakura trees and different blooming flowers in celebration. The love his people had for her was everywhere.

“You’re not late,” Suigetsu taunted.

Kisame punched the younger boy in the face, ignoring both Suigetsu and his brother in favor of seeking out Zabuza. “Hey, you hear anything yet?”

“No one here knows who’s getting the nomination, that hasn’t changed,” Zabuza answered.

“Did you sign the consent form?” Haku asked, lookin up at Zabuza first and then Kisame. The consent form was basically a way those with the qualifications could put their name in the hat that Sakura could pull from.

“On day one, brat. Why, you didn’t?”

“I…I mean I eventually put my name in for consideration. I think I’d do well at it,” Haku answered, steeling his words towards the end even if he kept glancing back at Zabuza.

Between the seven of them, the only one Kisame seriously considered a challenge was Zabuza when it came to winning Sakura’s second. The pair of them were the strongest, arguably, and had a good working relationship with others. But, between the both of them, Kisame knew he was the only one who had been on Sakura’s side since day one when she first arrived. Even if Zabuza had been won over and was loyal now, no one had been in Sakura’s corner like Kisame.

Kisame thought his chances were good.

“Get in your dame spots,” Ameyuri snapped with a dangerous edge. Since Sakura had cured Ameyuri’s disease the kunoichi was near fanatical in her devotion to Sakura. When Kisame pretended to drag his feet Ameyuri snapped her sharpened teeth at his face and he backed up with a chuckle.

The doors to the mansion opened and the elders filtered out before Yagura and Mei. Yagura and Mei paused at the top of the stairs before joining the elders in the courtyard where their respective bodyguards were stationed. That’s when Sakura emerged at the top of the stairs to the mansion and the moment Kisame thought his heart was going to stop. 

The robes had never looked so good on anyone before. Underneath the white and blue folds a soft dress of flaring gray and white, detailed with pearls and accented with a thick mother of pearl gorget around her neck, like the kind samurai would wear of a heartier material. It was ceremonial but Sakura wore it like armor.

The bells on her hat tinkled as she descended the steps and took her spot at the head of the group. Her painted lips were pressed into a hard line and her jaw was set with determination, but she still looked soft where it counted.

Kisame caught her eye at one point and it made his smile grow when the corners of her eyes crinkled for him.

“Haruno Sakura…” one of the elders began.

The ceremony lasted no longer than twenty minutes before Sakura was told to turn around and address the others. “And in line with the traditions of our ancestors, I will honor them with this choice and accept a second. Should I ever fall may their strength be measured by the gods and men,” she recited perfectly. Then she locked her lips and held up a hand before adding, “and in addition to a second I will be installing a rotating support guard for the Mizukage, with the blessing of the elders who safeguard our traditions. Every member of the Seven Swordsmen will rotate into the role of a tertiary figure of my inner circle, behind my second.”

Beside him Ameyuri gasped in delight, suddenly filled with hope that even if she wasn’t chosen she would still be able to serve her idol.

“Mizukage, your pick for second shadow?” one of the elders prompted.

Sakura nodded and the bells on her hat tinkled. “For my second shadow I have chosen Yuki Haku to serve me. Yuki Haku do you accept?”  

That…didn’t… make sense. Kisame snuggled to hear what Sakura said next as Haku approached her and knelt before accepting the mother of pearl pin with the symbol of Second Shadow. Haku said something back to her, maybe in thanks, but all Kisame could hear was the rush of blood in his ears as his gut churned in a grief he couldn’t understand.

[straymackerel]

Congrats on 500 followers!!! could i request no.15 with Dazai plz? i hope you have a nice day/night!

dazai + mencolek (indonesian, n.) the act of tapping someone on the opposite shoulder from behind to fool them.

➽─{hi, hello, nice to meet u!!! hehehe this prompt tho 🙈 i will admit i was tempted to go the obvious route~}─❥

Working alongside Dazai Osamu is a rollercoaster to say the least. He’s slothful, insensitive, and morbidly self-destructive. He pawns off his busywork, manipulates those closest to him, and constantly flirts with death. Hell, he’ll flirt with just about anything. 

It’s so unfair, you think to yourself, trailing behind your coworkers as they survey the vicinity. How did this bandaged bully become my greatest weakness? You drag your feet through the Yokohama shipyard, pretending to look around as best you can─anything that’ll keep your eyes off the tall brunette in front of you. It doesn’t work for long.

You’re not the biggest fan of Dazai’s wanton ways; no doubt he’s strung along dozens of victims with his coquettish behavior. Given the way in which you were welcomed into the Armed Detective Agency, it pains you to see him tease and toy with others. When you first joined, he actually made you feel special for once... but little did you know that he played with pretty much everyone’s hearts. Upon finding out, you were crushed.

It is no simple task, however, to go about ignoring a man like Dazai. You note the tilt to his head, the sway of his trench coat. The manner in which his hands reside in his pockets, the way that his legs sweep the ground with swagger. It confuses you to no end─you should be absolutely sick of the sight of this shameless womanizer. Instead, he’s instilled a sense of jealousy in you. The sneaky bastard. The fact of the matter is you’re bitter over a guy who was never even yours.

Despite yourself, you crack a smile. After all, Dazai gives you something to look forward to at work. You can pretend that, even for just a few moments, that someone so flighty could be into you of all people. There’s an endearing quality to your daily interactions, even if you truly are the rule rather than the exception. He loves to make you laugh─is that really so bad? You suppose for a second that you’d feel even worse if he treated you differently, distantly. It might make you feel excluded or even... undesirable.

Still, a part of you wants to get back at him─some way, somehow. As the band of detectives starts to drift apart, a cheeky idea suddenly crosses your mind. You wait for the majority of the group to advance before springing your plan into action: just the tiniest act of retaliation against a heartbreaker unaware.

It’s a simple but theoretically effective trick: you’ll creep up on one of his sides, hold your breath, and tap his other shoulder. Yet, as you reach out to his left he turns clockwise, already aware of your exact location. You don’t get the chance to so much as graze him.

“I was wondering what you were doing back there, keeping all to yourself,” he says, a knowing smile spanning his face. You draw back into yourself, surprised. You were sure you were being quiet enough.

“How did you..?” your mouth hangs wide open. He chuckles, clearly amused.

“I may not look the part, but I’m quite keen. I’ve been a detective for some time now,” he replies, all gleaming eyes and teeth. “Besides, it’s you after all.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Your lips press together in a fake pout, much to his obvious delight. 

“What can I say? I pay attention,” he says, tossing his hands out of his jacket and into the air. “I know you.” 

At first you laugh it off, assuming the worst. He’s kidding. He never means any of it. But then he pauses to say in a low, sober voice: “No, seriously. [Y/N], I see you.” 

It’s not much, but it may be the most direct Dazai has ever been with you. Cheeks heating up, you turn away, a sheepish grin plastered to your face. You hear him shuffle in his clothes; could it be? Is he actually nervous, too? The truth escapes you before you can bottle it up again: 

“Is that so? I always I assumed that you didn’t.”

[thelastspeecher]

D R A M

The title of this post is actually what I named the Word doc that I wrote this up in.  This write takes place in an AU inspired by a post that said something along the lines of “supervillain winds up marrying the ex-spouse of their superhero archnemesis”.  I saw that post and was like “time to make another version of the Superhero/villain AU”.  So here you go.

——————————————————————————————

              Stan slid into his regular stool at the bar. At the sound of soft muttering, he looked over.  He raised an eyebrow.  Normally, no one sat next to his stool.  But today, a young woman sat there, staring morosely at her drink and mumbling something.

              “Hey, hot stuff,” he said cheerfully, leaning in. She held up a hand.  Light glinted off the golden band around her ring finger.

              “I’m married,” she said dully.

              “You don’t sound too happy about it,” Stan remarked. She glared at him.  “I call it like I see it, toots.”

              “Don’t call me ‘toots’,” she snapped.

              “Fine.  What should I call you, then?”

              “By my name.”

              “Which would be…?”

              “…Angie.”

              “Angie.”  Stan held out a hand.  “I’m Stan.” Angie shook the offered hand. “So, what brings a troubled wife to my favorite dive?”

              “My dick of a husband,” Angie groused.  She slumped over the bar.  “I swear…some days he acts like a completely dif’rent man than the one I married.”  Tears shone in her voice, along with a distinct southern accent.  She picked up her drink and pulled on the straw.  It rattled in the ice at the bottom of the otherwise empty glass.  “And I’m all out.”

              “I’ll cover it.  What’s your drink?”

              “Long Island iced tea.”

              “Oof.  Maybe I shouldn’t get you a second one of those.  Those are a bad decision in a glass.”  Angie straightened, her eyes boring into Stan’s.

              “I can handle my liquor, sir.  I bet I can handle it better ‘n you can,” she snarled. Stan held his hands up.

              “Okay, okay, I believe you.  Man, you’ve got claws, don’t you?”

              “Maybe.”

              “Heh.  I like a woman with a bit of fight in her.”  Stan winked.

              “Still married.”

              “To that dick?  Why?”

              “He treats me right,” Angie mumbled into her drink. “…Sometimes.”

              “Sometimes?  What about the rest of the time?”

              “He tries to get me to quit my job and be a housewife.”

              “Why?”

              “If I knew, I’d tell ya,” Angie said with a shrug. She tapped the rim of her glass. “So, about that drink…?”

              “Hey, barkeep?” Stan called, flagging down the bartender.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one corner of Angie’s mouth turn up, into a ghost of a smile.

-----

              Stan had just about finished putting his boots on when his favorite coworker, Undertow, stormed into the locker room.  He watched with a raised eyebrow as Undertow tore open his locker, muttering under his breath.

              “You’re in a mood today,” Stan commented.  Undertow sighed.  He looked back at Stan.  The crew’s general policy was to keep masks on at all times in HQ, since there were some new heroes with telepathy who might be able to take a peek at a villain’s memories.  Undertow’s outfit had a full cowl, rather than a domino mask like Stan’s, but even partially obscured, he had one of the most expressive faces Stan had ever seen. And at the moment, Undertow’s expression was frustrated and saddened.

              “I thought she was fin’ly goin’ to leave him,” Undertow said.  Stan’s second eyebrow raised to join his first.

              He’s pretty damn upset.  Normally, he keeps that accent in check.

              “Who?” Stan asked.

              “My sister.”

              “You have a sister?”

              “Two.”  Undertow sat on the bench next to Stan.  “But the one I’m speakin’ of is my twin sister.”  Stan racked his brain for any hints about Undertow’s background.  As someone without villainous family connections, he wasn’t privy to information that some of his coworkers had.  But he remembered hearing once that Undertow came from a long line of villains.

              “Is she…in the trade?” Stan asked.  Undertow shook his head.

              “No.  When we were younger, she wanted to be.  But she decided not to, when she started datin’ the feller what became her husband.” Undertow scowled.  “Her husband’s a real piece of shit.”

              “Did he prevent her from being a villain?”

              “Nah.  He don’t know ‘bout our fam’ly bein’ full of villains.  But he’s on the straight ‘n narrow, and wouldn’t have liked his wife to be breakin’ the law.”  Undertow sighed heavily.  “As it is, he don’t really like his wife doin’ much of anything.  Which is why my sister needs to dump his sorry ass.”  Undertow rubbed his face.  “And I thought she was goin’ to do it this time.  But she didn’t.”

              “What happened?”

              “They had another argument about how he wants her to start poppin’ out kids.  She don’t want to yet, ‘cause she feels like takin’ maternity leave right now would cripple her career trajectory.  And his response was that she won’t need maternity leave, ‘cause she can just quit her job.  He keeps pushin’ that issue over ‘n over.  He don’t like her workin’.”

              “Sounds like a douche.”

              “He is!  And after that fight, she came to my house fer a shoulder to cry on.  I did my best to sway her, but she still went back to him once she’d calmed down.”  Undertow groaned loudly.  “Honestly, at this point, I can’t think of a single thing that’d get her to leave him.”

              “Maybe I should make a pass at her,” Stan joked. Undertow snorted.

              “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.  You’d be better fer her than what she’s got right now.”

-----

              Stan went to the bar every night, hoping to see Angie again, but it took a month before she showed up.  This time, she arrived after he did, visibly in tears. She made her way to the stool next to Stan’s and sat down.  Faint breezes danced around her, kicking up her caramel-colored hair.

              Is…is she a super?  I knew she was something special.  Stan wordlessly slid her his whisky, which she downed in one swallow. He winced.

              “Your husband again?” he asked.  Angie nodded morosely.  “Well, at least he lasted a month before he pissed you off enough to make you drown your sorrows.”

              “Nah, I just went to my brother’s last time,” Angie said hoarsely.  “He’s got real moonshine, and I wanted somethin’ strong.”

              “If your brother’s got hooch, why are you coming here?” Stan asked.  Angie slid Stan’s empty tumbler back to him, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

              “I…wanted to talk to you.”

              “…Really?”

              “Yes.”

              “Look, lady, I’m not a marriage counselor.”

              “I know.  But you don’t have an agenda.  My brother does.  My whole fam’ly does, all my friends do.  All they say is ‘leave him’.”  Angie met Stan’s gaze.  Her eyes were a bright, brilliant blue, swimming in tears.  “I just need someone to listen.”

              “I can do that, but you’re gonna have to pay for another whiskey for me first,” Stan said.  Angie managed a watery chuckle.

              “Fine.”  Angie waved over the bartender and ordered herself a Long Island iced tea and another whiskey for Stan.

              “All right,” Stan said once his drink was in hand. “What’s going on?”

              “My ma became a stay-at-home mother when I was a tot.  She kept house and raised six kids-”  Stan coughed roughly.

              “Six kids?” he croaked.  Angie nodded.  “What the-”

              “We’re Catholic.”

              “Ah, okay.  Carry on.”

              “Props to her.  It’s a rough job to have, and I don’t look down on it.”  Angie slammed her hands against the counter.  A wind picked up, rattling the old beer advertisements on the wall.  “But it ain’t fer me!”

              “Lemme guess.  Your husband wants you to be a stay-at-home mom.”

              “Yes.  Which I knew. But this time- this time, he brought my ma into it!  Told me that I’d be good at it ‘cause my ma clearly was.  I just-”  Angie gestured wordlessly.  “How- how could he think that’s a compliment?”

              “Probably ‘cause he’s so dead set on you doing that,” Stan said with a shrug.  “He’s already decided you’ll do it, so he’s already started complimenting you on it.”

              “…That makes sense,” Angie said softly.  She groaned loudly.  “Why is he like this?”  Stan shrugged.  “I want to stay with him, to get him to change his mind-”

              “That’s not your job.  Your job is-”  Stan frowned. “Wait, what do you do?”

              “I’m a zookeeper.”

              “Your job is to keep zoos,” Stan said.  Angie furrowed her brow, like she couldn’t decide whether she was amused by Stan’s phrasing or not.  “Not to drag your husband out of the fifties.”

              “But I’m his wife.”

              “And?”

              “I’m s’pposed to help him change.”

              “What if he doesn’t want to change?” Stan asked. “What do you do then?”  The winds that had entered the bar with Angie abruptly died down.

              “…Yer right.”

              “I am?”

              “He don’t want to change.  He don’t want to listen to me.  I can’t force it, I shouldn’t have even tried.”  Angie dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and stood to leave.

              “Hey, uh wait-” Stan started.  Angie looked at him.

              “Yes?”

              “I, uh, I never got your last name.”

              “It’s Hillcrest.”  Angie slid her wedding ring off and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “But not fer long.”  She paused for a moment, watching Stan, then leaned in and placed a gentle peck on his cheek.  With that, she left the bar.

              Stan stared at the door long after she had gone, his mind running a mile a minute.

              Did I just get her to break up with her husband?

-----

              Stan walked out of the shower and headed for his locker to get dressed in his civvies.  After he had his pants on, Undertow entered the locker room and went for his locker as well.

              “Hey,” Stan said.  Undertow grunted.  “Is it your sister’s husband again?”

              “Hmm?”  Undertow turned around.  “Oh, no, she finally dumped him.”

              “Really?  Good for her.”

              “Yeah.  But she’s got a new beau, and she insisted on dinner with him tonight.”  Undertow sighed.  “I’m not looking forward to it.”

              “Is he a dick, too?”

              “Don’t know.  Haven’t met him.”

              “Ah.  I get it. You don’t wanna meet your sister’s new man just yet.”

              “No, I do not.”

              “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not looking forward to dinner tonight, either,” Stan said, slipping on his T-shirt. “I’m meeting my girlfriend’s brother for the first time.”

              “Oof.”  Undertow looked at him sympathetically.  “Don’t worry too much, Flamethrower.  You’re a great guy.”

              “Thanks, but I dunno if her brother’s gonna think that. My girlfriend says he can be a bit tough.”  Undertow walked over to Stan and clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

              “I’m sure it’ll go great.”

              “Hopefully,” Stan muttered.  Undertow smiled at him.

              “If her brother doesn’t like you, he’s a damn fool.”

-----

              Stan walked up to the address Angie had given him. When she divorced her ex-husband, she had moved in with her twin brother, Lute. ��Apparently, Lute was thrilled to have her with him again.

              I get it, though.  That twin bond is strong.  Stan stopped in front of the door.  He took a deep breath and knocked.

              “Comin’!” Angie called.  Stan felt some of his nerves disperse at the sound of her voice. The door opened, revealing the beaming face of his girlfriend.  “Stanley!” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you so much fer agreein’ to this.”

              “You said it’s important, so…”

              “It is,” Angie said softly.  “It really is.”  Her eyes lit up.  “Oh! And, um, remember how ya told me that yer not exactly…on the side of the law?” she said, her voice low.  Stan nodded.  Telling Angie he was a villain had been nerve wracking, but she had proven herself once again to be the best possible girlfriend and taken it in stride. “Well, the reason I took it so well is ‘cause I have a lot of fam’ly members who ‘re in the same career.”

              “Wait, really?”

              “Yep!  Lute’s one of ‘em.  If things go well tonight, I can prob’ly convince him to put a good word in fer ya, get ya moved up in the ranks a bit.”

              “You really think so?” Stan asked eagerly. Angie nodded.  “That would be awesome, Ang.”

              “Just be charmin’, okay?”  Angie messed with his shirt.  “But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

              “Hey, Angie, the oven just beeped!” a voice shouted. Stan’s head whipped up.

              That almost sounded like Undertow.

              “All right, I’ll come take care of it,” Angie called back.  She kissed Stan on the cheek.  “Come on in and take a seat in the livin’ room.”

              “You got it.”  Stan kissed the top of her head and entered the house, following the hallway until he arrived at a cozy living room.  He took a seat on the brown couch.  Shortly after, a young man that looked eerily similar to Angie entered, holding a glass of water, and took a seat next to him.

              “So, um…” the man said.  He cleared his throat.  “Yer Stan?”

              “Yeah.  I’m guessing you’re Lute?”

              “Yessir.”

              “Nice to meet you,” Stan said, holding out a hand. Lute shook it, visibly reluctant. “Angie speaks pretty highly of you.”

              “She does the same fer you.”  Lute cleared his throat again.  “What do you do?”

              “I sell used cars.”

              “Used cars?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan shrugged.  “It’s just to make some dough while I work on my passion projects.”  Lute eyed Stan with interest.  Much like when he had heard Lute’s voice earlier, Stan was reminded of Undertow.  Something about the look in Lute’s gray eyes was eerily familiar.

              “Passion projects?  Like what?”

              “Oh, uh, I’m keeping them to myself until they work out,” Stan said.

              Don’t wanna spill just yet that I want to become a villain full-time.

              “Ah.”  Lute seemed disappointed.  He looked down at his glass of water.  After a moment, he spoke again.  “You a super?”

              “Yeah.  You?” Stan asked without thinking.  He fought back a wince.

              Angie just told you he was a villain, of course he’s a super, you dumbass.  Lute smirked. The water in his glass shot up, hovered as a sphere for a split second, then zipped around the room before returning to his glass.  Stan’s jaw dropped.

              “Whattaya think?” Lute asked snidely.

              “…I think you’re a super,” Stan said.

              Shit, it is Undertow!  How did I wind up dating my coworker’s twin sister without realizing it?

              “Yup.”  Lute winked. “Better yet, I’m a mask.  Give ya twenty bucks if ya can guess who.”

              “Lute!” Angie scolded from the kitchen.  Lute groaned.

              “Fine, I’ll drop it.”  Before Stan could think of what to do with the information that Lute was Undertow, the villain in question spoke again.  “So, ya sell used cars.  What’s yer education like?”

              “Uh, high school.”

              “That’s it?” Lute asked.  Stan nodded.  Lute frowned. “My sister has a-”

              “Doctorate in herpetology, I know,” Stan said.

              “And you don’t think it’s odd at all that someone so educated is with someone who only graduated high school?” Lute pressed. Stan shrugged.

              “It just means that she’s smart enough for the both of us,” he said airily.  Lute froze. His eyes began to frantically search Stan’s face.

              “…What did ya just say?” he whispered.

              “That Angie’s smart enough for both of us,” Stan said.  A memory abruptly surfaced of a conversation he’d had with Undertow a few days ago. He had mentioned his relationship, as well as the discrepancy between his education and his girlfriend’s.  And Undertow had simply replied that Stan’s girlfriend would have to be smart enough for the both of them, then.

              “Hmm.”  Lute leaned back, still staring at Stan.  “Say, yer a super, right?  What kind?” In lieu of a verbal response, Stan snapped his fingers.  A flame burst to life on his fingertips.

              “Whattaya think?”

              “Flamethrower,” Lute whispered.  Stan extinguished the flame.

              “Undertow.”

              “Yer- I-”  Lute dragged his hands down his face.  “Consarnit!”

              “Yeah, I gotta admit, finding out that my girlfriend’s twin is my favorite coworker is pretty weird,” Stan confessed.  Lute groaned.  “But you seem to be taking this way harder than you should be.”

              “It’s just- yer my fav’rite coworker, too.”

              “You make that sound like it’s a problem.”

              “It is.  I like ya, Stan, which is goin’ to make it difficult to be hard on ya.”

              “Wait, what?” Stan asked.  Lute sighed.

              “I have to be hard on ya to make sure yer all right fer my sister.”

              “What?  Come on, man!”

              “My sister just got out of a bad relationship. I don’t want her to wind up in another one right off the bat.”

              “You know me.  I’m a good guy.  I treat Angie right.”

              “That’s what I thought ‘bout Max,” Lute said softly. “Hell, we’d been friends since we were in diapers.  I thought he was a decent sort.  So when he ‘n Angie started datin’ in high school, I didn’t bat an eye.  I should’ve.  If I had, maybe I could’ve stopped Angie from needin’ a divorce.”

              “Lute.”  Stan and Lute looked up.  Angie had entered the living room.  She crossed over to Lute, knelt in front of him, and placed a hand on one of his knees. “Don’t blame yourself.  The only person to blame is me.  I should’ve left the minute he became a hero, and I was goin’ to have to abandon the dream of followin’ the fam’ly tradition.  But I stayed.  Even when he started raggin’ on me ‘bout how I needed to be a more traditional wife.”

              “You were in a toxic relationship,” Lute said softly.  “Yer not to blame.”

              “The only person to blame here is your dick of an ex-husband,” Stan said.  Angie and Lute looked over.  “Lute’s right, Angie.  It’s difficult to leave a toxic relationship.  My mom’s proof of that.  But Angie’s right, too, Lute.  It’s not your fault, either.  Sometimes…sometimes people start out good, but then they get worse.  Even if you had been hard on Max when he started dating Angie, things still could have played out the way they did.”

              “Yeah,” Lute said.  He sighed.  “Yer right, Stan.  We should be blamin’ Max, not ourselves.  Especially since he’s apparently a hero.”  Lute directed the statement at Angie, who paled.  “Banjolina, what’s that about?”

              “Banjolina?” Stan mumbled.

              “I didn’t share information either way,” Angie said tartly, getting to her feet.  “I ain’t a snitch.”

              “Ya won’t be tellin’ us what his hero name is, then?” Lute asked.  Angie shook her head.  “Hmph. Guess we’ll just have to figure it out on our own.”

              “Speaking of secret identities,” Stan said, “why didn’t you warn us that we already knew each other?”  Angie grinned.

              “I might not have ever gotten into the villainy game, but that don’t mean I ignore the chance to stir up some mischief.” Something in the kitchen beeped.  “Oh, I’ve got to get that.”  She rushed back into the kitchen.

              “Given what ya just said and what I already knew about you,” Lute said slowly, “I’ll drop the protective big brother speech.” Stan leaned back.

              “Cool.  I mean, no offense, but you’re not as intimidating as you think you are,” Stan replied.  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Whatever.”  He leaned closer to Stan.  “Between the two of us, I think we could figure out which hero it is what broke Angie’s heart and trapped her in a bad relationship fer years on end.”  Stan nodded.

              “I agree.  That motherfucker needs to get a firm ass-kicking.”

[hockeysweetheart]

So This post will be about the realitonship Between  Peeta And Katniss this will be a long one  PART 1... Catching Fire and Mockingjay will be in another post

Peeta Mellark! Oh, no, I think. Not him. Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to its owner. Peeta Mellark.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn't matter. Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. We don't speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He's probably forgotten it. But I haven't and I know I never will. It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for school, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one. On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope. I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck. All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain. There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life. By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions. We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere if I'm trying to slit his throat.  

Can I just say How much Peeta must be like Oh my god yes I am with the  girl I love. But how will I tell that when we are trying to kill each other 

I have misjudged him. I think of his actions since the reaping began. The friendly squeeze of my hand. His father showing up with the cookies and promising to feed Prim. did Peeta put him up to that? His tears at the station. Volunteering to wash Haymitch but then challenging him this morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed. And now the waving at the window, already trying to win the crowd. All of the pieces are still fitting together, but I sense he has a plan forming. He hasn't accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me the bread, is fighting hard to kill me.

"What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city.  

IS CINNA A Matchmaker  and The others because shit I be dammed. 

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.  

Just you wait soon you’ll see  What Peeta’s Plan will be. 

Then Peeta totally covers for her... and They go talk on the rooftop about it and Peeta does... 

Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." He's asking for an explanation, and I'm tempted to give him one. We both know he covered for me. So here I am in his debt again. If I tell him the truth about the girl, somehow that might even things up. How can it hurt really? Even if he repeated the story, it couldn't do me much harm. It was just something I witnessed. And he lied as much as I did about Delly Cartwright. I realize I do want to talk to someone about the girl. Someone who might be able to help me figure out her story.

  Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right? "They were from here?" he asks, and he secures a button at my neck.  ( UMM SURE “ friends”  do that Katniss... 

"It's getting chilly. We better go in," he says. Inside the dome, it's warm and bright. His tone is conversational. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" "Yes. Do you know him?" I ask. "Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other," he says. "No, we're not related," I say. Peeta nods, unreadable. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?" "Yes," I say, observing him carefully. "So did your father. He brought me cookies." Peeta raises his eyebrows as if this is news. But after watching him lie so smoothly, I don't give this much weight. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta's house gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out of the room. "He knew your mother when they were kids," says Peeta. Another surprise. But probably true. "Oh, yes. She grew up in town," I say. It seems impolite to say she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread. We're at my door. I give back his jacket. "See you in the morning then."   

Okay Peeta I see what your doing...  Seeing if anything Is going on between Katniss and Gale... I totally almost missed this. 

When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the table. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" I ask. "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. I exchange a look with Peeta. "I don't have any secret skills," he says. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I never thought about Peeta eating the squirrels I shot. Somehow I always pictured the baker quietly going off and frying them up for himself. Not out of greed. But because town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse. "You can coach us together," I tell Haymitch. Peeta nods. "All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch. "I can't do anything," says Peeta. "Unless you count baking bread." "Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch. "Not really. But I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow." "And you're good?" asks Haymitch. I have to think about it. I've been putting food on the table for four years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father was, but he'd had more practice. I've better aim than Gale, but I've had more practice. He's a genius with traps and snares. "I'm all right," I say. "She's excellent," says Peeta. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." This assessment of my skills from Peeta takes me totally by surprise. First, that he ever noticed. Second, that he's talking me up. "What are you doing?" I ask him suspiciously. "What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," says Peeta. I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "Tell him that. That's not nothing." "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," he shoots back. "He can wrestle," I tell Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." "What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" says Peeta in disgust. "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I can hear my voice rising in anger. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" bursts out Peeta. "Oh, she meant you," I say with a wave of dismissal. "She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is," says Peeta. That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta's eyes and know he isn't lying. Suddenly I'm behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I sound eleven years old when I speak. "But only because someone helped me." Peeta's eyes flicker down to the roll in my hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." "No more than you," I say. Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." He runs his fingernail along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me. What on earth does he mean? People help me? When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with, things changed. I'm a tough trader. Or am I? What effect do I have? That I'm weak and needy? Is he suggesting that I got good deals because people pitied me? I try to think if this is true. Perhaps some of the merchants were a little generous in their trades, but I always attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides, my game is first-class. No one pitied me!

I glower at the roll sure he meant to insult me. After about a minute of this, Haymitch says, "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?" "I know a few basic snares," I mutter. "That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch. Peeta and I nod. "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training." I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam. I sit on the bed, hating Haymitch, hating Peeta, hating myself for mentioning that day long ago in the rain. It's such a joke! Peeta and I going along pretending to be friends! Talking up each other's strengths, insisting the other take credit for their abilities. Because, in fact, at some point, we're going to have to knock it off and accept we're bitter adversaries. Which I'd be prepared to do right now if it wasn't for Haymitch's stupid instruction that we stick together in training. It's my own fault, I guess, for telling him he didn't have to coach us separately. But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? but a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

 OH MY GOD someone stop me before the whole freaking book is on this 

Okay I am skipping the training the Katniss shot an arrow at the gamemakers scored 11 bla bla read that in the book  and to Peeta asking to train alone. 

The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one's talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" "That's right," says Haymitch. "You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and cat at the same time," I say. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. "What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember. Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there would have had to been trust first. Between Peeta and me. And trust has not been part of the agreement. We're tributes. But the boy who risked a beating to give me bread, the one who steadied me in the chariot, who covered for me with the redheaded Avox girl, who insisted Haymitch know my hunting skills. was there some part of me that couldn't help trusting him? On the other hand, I'm relieved that we can stop the pretense of being friends. Obviously, whatever thin connection we'd foolishly formed has been severed. And high time, too. The Games begin in two days, and trust will only be a weakness. Whatever triggered Peeta's decision  -  and I suspect it had to do with my outperforming him in training  -  I should be nothing but grateful for it. Maybe he's finally accepted the fact that the sooner we openly acknowledge that we are enemies, the better.  

Ha no sweety he has a bigger plan he doesn’t want you to know yet. 

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

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

Okay How Katniss shows her love is this 

After the anthem, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I make sure to veer into a car that does not contain Peeta. The crowd slows our entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, so we have only each other for company. No one speaks. My elevator stops to deposit four tributes before I am alone and then find the doors opening on the twelfth floor. Peeta has only just stepped from his car when I slam my palms into his chest. He loses his balance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. The urn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Peeta lands in the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands. "What was that for?" he says, aghast. "You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" I shout at him. Now the elevators open and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia. "What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice. "Did you fall?" "After she shoved me," says Peeta as Effie and Cinna help him up. Haymitch turns on me. "Shoved him?" "This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" I answer. "It was my idea," says Peeta, wincing as he pulls spikes of pottery from his palms. "Haymitch just helped me with it." "Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" I say. "You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own." "He made me look weak!" I say. "He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch. "But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I say. Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" The smell of wine on his breath makes me sick. I shove his hands off my shoulders and step away, trying to clear my head. Cinna comes over and puts his arm around me. "He's right, Katniss." I don't know what to think. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid." "No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia. "She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, tossing away a bloody piece of the urn. My cheeks burn again at the thought of Gale. "I don't have a boyfriend." "Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?" The words are sinking in. My anger fading. I'm torn now between thinking I've been used and thinking I've been given an edge. Haymitch is right. I survived my interview, but what was I really? A silly girl spinning in a sparkling, dress. Giggling. The only moment of any substance I hail was when I talked about Prim. Compare that with Thresh, his silent, deadly power, and I'm forgettable. Silly and sparkly and forgettable. No, not entirely forgettable, I have my eleven in training. But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers. And if the audience really thinks we're in love. I remember how strongly they responded to his confession. Star-crossed lovers. Haymitch is right, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol. Suddenly I'm worried that I didn't react properly. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" I ask. "I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush." They others chime in, agreeing. "You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," says Haymitch. I'm embarrassed about my reaction. I force myself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you." "Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "Although it's technically illegal." "Are your hands okay?" I ask. "They'll be all right," he says.  

Okay I have to admit that was kinda sweet  but Honey Pushing him  yeah hes gonna love that.  

There  Nerves of the Hunger Games talk is kinda cute I will admit  but Then its like wtf 

My feet move soundlessly across the tiles. I'm only yard behind him when I say, "You should be getting some sleep." He starts but doesn't turn. I can see him give his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." I come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail. "Are they in costumes?" "Who could tell?" Peeta answers. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?" "Couldn't turn my mind off," I say. "Thinking about your family?" he asks. "No," I admit a bit guiltily. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." In the light from below, I can see his face now, the awkward way he holds his bandaged hands. "I really am sorry about your hands." "It doesn't matter, Katniss," he says. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." "That's no way to be thinking," I say. "Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and. " He hesitates. "And what?" I say. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only. I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not." I bite my lip feeling inferior. While I've been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" I ask. "No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to. to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta. "But you're not," I say. "None of us are. That's how the Games work." "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?" "A little. Only. no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" I say. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" he asks angrily. He's locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer. I take a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." It's like a slap in the face. His use of Haymitch's patronizing endearment. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve." "Wouldn't surprise me if you do," says Peeta. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," I say. Then I turn and leave the roof. I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of a doze, imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Peeta Mellark in the morning. Peeta Mellark. We will see how high and mighty he is when he's faced with life and death. He'll probably turn into one of those raging beast tributes, the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them. 

Okay The 74th Games ( shit this is long) 

   When suddenly I notice Peeta, he's about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance, still I can tell he's looking at me and I think he might be shaking his head. But the sun's in my eyes, and while I'm puzzling over it the gong rings out. And I've missed it! I've missed my chance! Because those extra couple of seconds I've lost by not being ready are enough to change my mind about going in. My feet shuffle for a moment, confused at the direction my brain wants to take and then I lunge forward, scoop up the sheet of plastic and a loaf of bread. The pickings are so small and I'm so angry with Peeta for distracting me that I sprint in twenty yards to retrieve a bright orange backpack that could hold anything because I can't stand leaving with virtually nothing. 

  An argument breaks out until one tribute silences the others. "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" I almost fall out of the tree. The voice belongs to Peeta 

Thank goodness, I had the foresight to belt myself in. I've rolled sideways off the fork and I'm facing the ground, held in place by the belt, one hand, and my feet straddling the pack inside my sleeping bag, braced against the trunk. There must have been some rustling when I tipped sideways, but the Careers have been too caught up in their own argument to catch it. "Go on, then, Lover Boy," says the boy from District 2. "See for yourself." I just get a glimpse of Peeta, lit by a torch, heading back to the girl by the fire. His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait he's limping somewhat. I remember him shaking him his head, telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all along, all along he'd planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had mid him to do. Okay, I can stomach that. Seeing all those supplies was tempting. But this. this other thing. This teaming up with the Career wolf pack to hunt down the rest of us. No one from District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they're the Capitol's lapdogs. Universally, solidly hated by all but those from their own districts. I can imagine the things they're saying about him back home now. And Peeta had the gall to talk to me about disgrace? Obviously, the noble boy on the rooftop was playing just one more game with me. But this will be his last. I will eagerly watch the night skies for signs of his death, if I don't kill him first myself. The Career tributes are silent until he gets out of ear shot, then use hushed voices. "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." Is he? That's news. What a lot of interesting things I'm learning about my friend Peeta today. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." It takes me a moment to register that the "her" they're referring to is me. "Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" "She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke." "Wish we knew how she got that eleven." "Bet you Lover Boy knows." The sound of Peeta returning silences them. "Was she dead?" asks the boy from District 2. "No. But she is now," says Peeta. Just then, the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?" The Career pack sets off at a run just as dawn begins to break, and birdsong fills the air. I remain in my awkward position, muscles trembling with exertion for a while longer, then hoist myself back onto my branch. I need to get down, to get going, but for a moment I lie there, digesting what I've heard. Not only is Peeta with the Careers, he's helping them find me. The simpleminded girl who has to be taken seriously because of her eleven. Because she can use a bow and arrow. Which Peeta knows better than anyone. But he hasn't told them yet. Is he saving that information because he knows it's all that keeps him alive? Is he still pretending to love me for the audience? What is going on in his head? 

  But it's too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I'm helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta's face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side. "What are you still doing here?" he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he's been dipped in dew. "Are you mad?" He's prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. "Get up! Get up!" I rise, but he's still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. "Run!" he screams. "Run!" Behind him, Cato slashes his way through the brush. He's sparkling wet, too, and badly stung under one eye. I catch the gleam of sunlight on his sword and do as Peeta says. Holding tightly to my bow and arrows, banging into trees that appear out of nowhere, tripping and falling as I try to keep my balance. Back past my pool and into unfamiliar woods. The world begins to bend in alarming ways. A butterfly balloons to the size of a house then shatters into a million stars. Trees transform to blood and splash down over my boots. Ants begin to crawl out of the blisters on my hands and I can't shake them free. They're climbing up my arms, my neck. Someone's screaming, a long high pitched scream that never breaks for breath. I have a vague idea it might be me. I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death. Sick and disoriented, I'm able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life. 

  The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name. 

I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there's almost no one left. Peeta, who's been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I've had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other's life now we'd be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute who didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case  -  being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12  -  it's an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors. 

Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued to it, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Peeta! Peeta!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down. My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks. "Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds. "Close your eyes again," I order. He does, and his mouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off." Peeta smiles. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying." "You're not going to die," I tell him firmly. "Says who?" His voice is so ragged. "Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," I tell him. His eyes open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "Did Cato cut you?" I ask. "Left leg. Up high," he answers. "Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say. "Excellent," he says. I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say. "One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway. "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out? "No more rolling?" he asks. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. It's hard to know where to start. He so caked with mud and matted leaves, I can't even see his clothes. If he's wearing clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right? I've got two water bottles and Rue's water skin. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour the third over Peeta's body. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail. "Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. "You must be hungry." "Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That's when I know how sick he is. "Peeta, we need to get some food in you," I insist.

"It'll just come right back up," he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" he asks.

"Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Cato's sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst of all, the smell of festering flesh.

I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the skill nor the courage to face. But there's no one here but me. I try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when handling particularly bad cases.

"Pretty awful, huh?" says Peeta. He's watching me closely.

"So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well."

I've left on Peeta's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg. what on earth can I do for that?

"Why don't we give it some air and then. " I trail off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" says Peeta. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.

"That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Peeta.

"We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance.

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

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

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

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

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

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

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

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

After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?" he asks.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.

"You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory. "What's he sent you so far?"

"Not a thing," says Peeta. Then there's a pause as it hits him. "Why, did you get something?"

"Burn medicine," I say almost sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite," says Peeta.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," I say.

"Because you're just alike," mutters Peeta. I ignore it though because this really isn't the time for me to be insulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse.

I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this."

But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream. When Peeta's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration.

"Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say.

"I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue.

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him.

"But I  - " he insists.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," he whispers.

I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth.

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!"

And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance.

Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.

"Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

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. I automatically look around for a good tree to nest in before I realize that's over. At least for a while. I can't very well leave Peeta unguarded on the ground. I left the scene of his last hiding place on the bank of the stream untouched  -  how could I conceal it?  -  and we're a scant fifty yards downstream. I put on my glasses, place my weapons in readiness, and settle down to keep watch. The temperature drops rapidly and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. It's toasty warm and I snuggle down gratefully until I realize it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic. I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on the fact that by teaming up with him, I've made myself far more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered to the ground, on guard, with a very sick person to take care of. But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I'm just going to have to trust that whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one. When the sky turns rosy, I notice the sheen of sweat on Peeta's lip and discover the fever has broken. He's not back to normal, but it's come down a few degrees. Last night, when I was gathering vines, I came upon a bush of Rue's berries. I strip off the fruit and mash it up in the broth pot with cold water. Peeta's struggling to get up when I reach the cave. "I woke up and you were gone," he says. "I was worried about you." I have to laugh as I ease him back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?" "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night," he says, still serious. "Clove? Which one is that?" I ask. "The girl from District Two. She's still alive, right?" he says. "Yes, there's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface," I say. "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five. How do you feel?" "Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," he says. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag. and you." Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten," I say. We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though. "You didn't sleep," Peeta says. "I'm all right," I say. But the truth is, I'm exhausted. "Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens," he says. I hesitate. "Katniss, you can't stay up forever." He's got a point there. I'll have to sleep eventually. And probably better to do it now when he seems relatively alert and we have daylight on our side. "All right," I say. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me." It's too warm for the sleeping bag now. I smooth it out on the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notice. Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. "Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep. Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Peeta's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive but better rested than I've been in days. "Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," I say. "For what? Nothing's going on here," he says. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot." This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. That's when I notice how dry his lips are. I test his cheek. Hot as a coal stove. He claims he's been drinking, but the containers still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap the leg. My heart drops into my stomach. It's worse, much worse. There's no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see the red streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked, it will kill him for sure. My chewed-up leaves and ointment won't make a dent in it. We'll need strong anti-infection drugs from the Capitol. I can't imagine the cost of such potent medicine. If Haymitch pooled every donation from every sponsor, would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go up in price the longer the Games continue. What buys a full meal on day one buys a cracker on day twelve. And the kind of medicine Peeta needs would have been at a premium from the beginning. "Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," I say in an unsteady voice. "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win," I say. "Yes, that's a good plan," he says. But I feel this is mostly for my benefit. "You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," I say. "Don't light a fire," he says. "It's not worth it."

The sound of the trumpets startles me. I'm on my feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash, not wanting to miss a syllable. It's my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected, he's inviting us to a feast. Well, we're not that hungry and I actually wave his offer away in indifference when he says, "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately." I do need something desperately. Something to heal Peeta's leg. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," says Claudius. There's nothing else, just his words hanging in the air. I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. "No," he says. "You're not risking your life for me." "Who said I was?" I say. "So, you're not going?" he asks. "Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," I say, helping him back to bed. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there." "You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going. He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says. Anger flushes my face. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!" "I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," he says. "You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," I say. "Then I'll drag myself," says Peeta. "You go and I'm going, too." He's just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods. Even if a tribute doesn't find him, something else might. He can't defend himself. I'd probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion will do to him? "What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" I say. He must know that's not an option. That the audience would hate me. And frankly, I would hate myself, too, if I didn't even try. "I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go," he says. We're at something of a stalemate. I know I can't argue him out of this one, so I don't try. I pretend, reluctantly, to go along. "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!" I snap at him. "Agreed. Is it ready?" he asks. "Wait here," I say. The air's gone cold even though the sun's still up. I'm right about the Gamemakers messing with the temperature. I wonder if the thing someone needs desperately is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. And actually doesn't taste too bad. Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don't know what fever does to people. He's like listening to Haymitch before the alcohol has soaked him into incoherence. I give him another dose of fever medicine before he goes off his head completely. As I go down to the stream to wash up, all I can think is that he's going to die if I don't get to that feast. I'll keep him going for a day or two, and then the infection will reach his heart or his brain or his lungs and he'll be gone. And I'll be here all alone. Again. Waiting for the others. I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parachute, even though it floats right by me. Then I spring after it, yanking it from the water, tearing off the silver fabric to retrieve the vial. Haymitch has done it! He's gotten the medicine  -  I don't know how, persuaded some gaggle of romantic fools to sell their jewels  -  and I can save Peeta! It's such a tiny vial though. It must be very strong to cure someone as ill as Peeta. A ripple of doubt runs through me. I uncork the vial and take a deep sniff. My spirits fall at the sickly sweet scent. Just to be sure, I place a drop on the tip of my tongue. There's no question, it's sleep syrup. It's a common medicine in District 12. Cheap, as medicine goes, but very addictive. Almost everyone's had a dose at one time or another. We have some in a bottle at home. My mother gives it to hysterical patients to knock them out to stitch up a bad wound or quiet their minds or just to help someone in pain get through the night. It only takes a little. A vial this size could knock Peeta out for a full day, but what good is that? I'm so furious I'm about to throw Haymitch's last offering into the stream when it hits me. A full day? That's more than I need. I mash up a handful of berries so the taste won't be as noticeable and add some mint leaves for good measure. Then I head back up to the cave. "I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream." Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet." "Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth. "No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?" "Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go. "They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgivable. I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me. It doesn't matter. The rest of Panem can.

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house gently pulls me toward consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware that my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother's, and I'm scared. "Katniss," it says. "Katniss, can you hear me?" My eyes open and the sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mother. I'm in a dim, chilly cave, my bare feet freezing despite the cover, the air tainted with the unmistakable smell of blood. The haggard, pale face of a boy slides into view, and after an initial jolt of alarm, I feel better. "Peeta." "Hey," he says. "Good to see your eyes again." "How long have I been out?" I ask. "Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood," he says. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything." I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily. "You're better," I say. "Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick," he says. "By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone." He doesn't seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I'm just too beat-up and I'll hear about it later when I'm stronger. But for the moment, he's all gentleness. "Did you eat?" I ask. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet," he says. "No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon," I say. "Not too soon, all right?" he says. "You just let me take care of you for a while." I don't really seem to have much choice. Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin. "Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," he says. There's a clap of thunder, and I see lightning electrify the sky through an opening in the rocks. Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head an upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rock above me

The memory of the feast returns full-force and I feel sick. "He did. But he let me go." Then, of course, I have to tell him. About things I've kept to myself because he was too sick to ask and I wasn't ready to relive anyway. Like the explosion and my ear and Rue's dying and the boy from District 1 and the bread. All of which leads to what happened with Thresh and how he was paying off a debt of sorts. "He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" asks Peeta in disbelief. "Yes. I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain," I say. "And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it." "It's like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that," I say. "The bread? What? From when we were kids?" he says. "I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead." "But you didn't know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then," I say. "Why did you, anyway?" "Why? You know why," Peeta says. I give my head a slight, painful shake. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing." "Haymitch?" I ask. "What's he got to do with it?" "Nothing," Peeta says. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" But the thought only upsets me. "I think we would like Thresh. I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve," I say. "Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to," says Peeta grimly. I don't want Cato to kill Thresh at all. I don't want anyone else to die. But this is absolutely not the kind of thing that victors go around saying in the arena. Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears starting to pool in my eyes. Peeta looks at me in concern. "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?" 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. "I want to go home now," I say. "Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it," lie says. "Okay?" "Okay," I whisper. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch." "I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?" he says. What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite ii brings us? The Games themselves? I don't know, but I'm ion sad and tired to ask. It's evening when Peeta wakes me again. The rain has turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Peeta has placed the broth pot under the worst one and repositioned the plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to sit up without getting too dizzy, and I'm absolutely famished. So is Peeta. It's clear he's been waiting for me to wake up to eat and is eager to get started.

ither that or he's got very generous sponsors," says Peeta. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread." I raise my eyebrows before I remember he doesn't know about the message Haymitch sent us a couple of nights ago. One kiss equals one pot of broth. It's not the sort of thing I can blurt out, either. To say my thoughts aloud would be tipping off the audience that the romance has been fabricated to play on their sympathies and that would result in no food at all. Somehow, believably, I've got to get things back on track. Something simple to start with. I reach out and take his hand. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," I say mischievously. "Yeah, about that," says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. "Don't try something like that again." "Or what?" I ask. "Or. or. " He can't think of anything good. "Just give me a minute." "What's the problem?" I say with a grin. "The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," says Peeta. "I did do the right thing," I say. "No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?" I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who. who worries about. what it would be like if. " I fumble. I'm not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. "If what, Katniss?" he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one's business but mine. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don't get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it's just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta's been distracted. "I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," he says.

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Peeta's not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking. "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. Peeta wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve." 

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta's voice stops me. "We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then." "You're right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!" I say regretfully. But I don't. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls  -  they even sent us silverware and plates  -  savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. "I want more." "Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving," Peeta says. "Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour." "Maybe not that long," says Peeta. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me. no competition. best thing that ever happened to you. " "I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. "Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing." I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me to keep up the act. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" I ask him. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you," he says. "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," I say. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," he says. That's right. If we win, we'll each get a house in the part of town reserved for Hunger Games' victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most of the others have never been lived in at all. A disturbing thought hits me. "But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" "Ah, that'll be nice," says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games' tales." "I told you, he hates me!" I say, but I can't help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. "Only sometimes. When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," says Peeta. "He's never sober!" I protest. "That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire," says Peeta. "On the other hand, Haymitch. well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." "I thought you said I was his favorite," I say. "He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." I know the audience will enjoy our having fun at Haymitch's expense. He has been around so long, he's practically an old friend to some of them. And after his head-dive off the stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. By this time, they'll have dragged him out of the control room for interviews about us. No telling what sort of lies he's made up. He's at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to be ready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he's holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to keep us alive. It's funny. Haymitch and I don't get along well in person, but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts. Like how I knew I must be close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasn't something to ease Peeta's pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance. He hasn't made much effort to connect with Peeta really. Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl of broth to Peeta, whereas I'll see the strings attached to it. A thought hits me, and I'm amazed the question's taken so long to surface. Maybe it's because I've only recently begun to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity. "How do you think he did it?" "Who? Did what?" Peeta asks. "Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?" I say. Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers. Haymitch is sturdily built, but no physical wonder like Cato or Thresh. He's not particularly handsome. Not in the way that causes sponsors to rain gifts on you. And he's so surly, it's hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him. There's only one way Haymitch could have won, and Peeta says it just as I'm reaching this conclusion myself. "He outsmarted the others," says Peeta. I nod, then let the conversation drop. But secretly I'm wondering if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we just might have the wits to survive. Maybe he wasn't always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. Year after year after year. I realize that if I get out of here, that will become my job. To mentor the girl from District 12. The idea is so repellent, I thrust it from my mind. About half an hour has passed before I decide I have to eat again. Peeta's too hungry himself to put up an argument. While I'm dishing up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky. "There won't be anything to see tonight," I say, far more interested in the stew than the sky. "Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon." "Katniss," Peeta says quietly. "What? Should we split another roll, too?" I ask. "Katniss," he repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore him. "I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," I say. I see Peeta staring at me. "What?" "Thresh is dead," says Peeta. "He can't be," I say. "They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," says Peeta. "Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything," I say. I push him away from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glimpse of Thresh's picture and then he's gone. Just like that. I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me run because of Rue, who died with that spear in her stomach. "You all right?" asks Peeta. I give a noncommittal shrug and cup my elbows in my hands, hugging them close to my body. I have to bury the real pain because who's going to bet on a tribute who keeps sniveling over the deaths of her opponents. Rue was one thing. We were allies. She was so young. But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh's murder. The word pulls me up short. Murder! Thankfully, I didn't say it aloud. That's not going to win me any points in the arena. What I do say is, "It's just. if we didn't win. I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." "Yeah, I know," says Peeta. "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." He nudges a plate of foot into my hands. "Eat. It's still warm." I take a bite of the stew to show I don't really care, but it's like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us." "And he's got supplies again," says Peeta. "He'll be wounded, I bet," I say. "What makes you say that?" Peeta asks. "Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory," I say. "Good," says Peeta. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out." "Oh, she's fine," I say peevishly. I'm still angry she thought of hiding in the Cornucopia and I didn't. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her." "Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," says Peeta. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times." "Me, too," I admit. "But not tonight." We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

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?"

"Not us," I say. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," Peeta says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate to him. "All this?"

"We'll earn it back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my finger. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners."

"Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!"

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I'm laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

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. 

We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

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

The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg  -  well, you're naturally going to make some noise. But even on the smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. And I mean loud loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him. "What?" he asks. "You've got to move more quietly," I say. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius." "Really?" he says. "Sorry, I didn't know." So, we start up again and he's a tiny bit better, but even with only one working ear, he's making me jump. "Can you take your boots off?" I suggest. "Here?" he asks in disbelief, as if I'd asked him to walk barefoot on hot coals or something. I have to remind myself that he's still not used to the woods, that it's the scary, forbidden place beyond the fences of District 12. I think of Gale, with his velvet tread. It's eerie how little sound he makes, even when the leaves have fallen and it's a challenge to move at all without chasing off the game. I feel certain he's laughing back home. "Yes," I say patiently. "I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter." Like I was making any noise. So we both strip off our boots and socks and, while there's some improvement, I could swear he's making an effort to snap every branch we encounter. Needless to say, although it takes several hours to reach my old camp with Rue, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. As we stop to rest and drink water, I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt, but then he'd be left with only a knife to defend himself against Cato's spears and superior strength. So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion. "Katniss," he says. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game." "Only because your leg's hurt," I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem. "I know," he says. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." "Not if Cato comes and kills you." I tried to say it in a nice way, but it still sounds like I think he's a weakling. Surprisingly, he just laughs. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That's what I want to say, but I can't. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. "What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help." I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Cato is a long way off. I teach him a bird whistle  -  not a melody like Rue's but a simple two-note whistle  -  which we can use to communicate that we're all right. Fortunately, he's good at this. Leaving him with the pack, I head off. I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta's roots, this will be enough for now. As I travel the short distance back, I realize we haven't exchanged signals in a while. When my whistle receives no response, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it. But where is he? "Peeta!" I call out in a panic. "Peeta!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. Fortunately, I pull my bow at the last second and it sticks in an oak trunk to his left. He jumps back, flinging a handful of berries into the foliage. My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" "I found some berries down by the stream," he says, clearly confused by my outburst. "I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?" I snap at him. "I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," he says. He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That's when I feel that I'm trembling. "I thought Cato killed you!" I almost shout. "No, I'm fine." Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Katniss?" I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?" "All right!" he says. "All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" I say. I turn away from him, go to the pack and open a fresh bottle of water, although I still have some in mine. But I'm not ready to forgive him. I notice the food. The rolls and apples are untouched, but someone's definitely picked away part of the cheese. "And you ate without me!" I really don't care, I just want something else to be mad about. "What? No, I didn't," Peeta says. "Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," I say. "I don't know what ate the cheese," Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, "but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?" I would actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapse to the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. I should have known the moment I saw the missing cheese. Peeta has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above." I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's." "What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?" In answer, I hold out the berries.

Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance.

Okay I skipped to the   Mutt Part with Peeta and Katniss ( After Catos down on the ground)  

I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding as badly as ever. All our supplies, our packs, remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts. I have no bandage, nothing to staunch the flow of blood from his calf. Although I'm shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control. Peeta's face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I've seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don't have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It's risky business  -  Peeta may end up losing his leg  -  but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lay down with him. "Don't go to sleep," I tell him. I'm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I'm terrified that if he drifts off he'll never wake again. "Are you cold?" he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It's a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice. "Cato may win this thing yet," I whisper to Peeta. "Don't you believe it," he says, pulling up my hood, but he's shaking harder than I am. The next hours are the worst in my life, which if you think about it, is saying something. The cold would be torture enough, but the real nightmare is listening to Cato, moaning, begging, and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him. After a very short time, I don't care who he is or what he's done, all I want is for his suffering to end. "Why don't they just kill him?" I ask Peeta. "You know why," he says, and pulls me closer to him. And I do. No viewer could turn away from the show now. From the Gamemakers' point of view, this is the final word in entertainment. It goes on and on and on and eventually completely consumes my mind, blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow, erasing everything but the present, which I begin to believe will never change. There will never be anything but cold and fear and the agonized sounds of the boy dying in the horn. Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I'll go completely insane. He's fighting it, probably more for me than for him, and it's hard because unconsciousness would be its own form of escape. But the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can't let him go. I just can't.The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.Finally, I hear him whisper that the sun is rising. I open my eyes and find the stars fading in the pale light of dawn. I can see, too, how bloodless Peeta's face has become. How little time he has left. And I know I have to get him back to the Capitol.Still, no cannon has fired. I press my good ear against the horn and can just make out Cato's voice."I think he's closer now. Katniss, can you shoot him?" Peeta asks.If he's near the mouth, I may be able to take him out. It would be an act of mercy at this point."My last arrow's in your tourniquet," I say."Make it count," says Peeta, unzipping his jacket, letting me loose.So I free the arrow, tying the tourniquet back as tightly as my frozen fingers can manage. I rub my hands together, trying to regain circulation. When I crawl to the lip of the horn and hang over the edge, I feel Peeta's hands grip me for support.It takes a few moments to find Cato in the dim light, in the blood. Then the raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where his mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is please.Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into his skull. Peeta pulls me back up, bow in hand, quiver empty."Did you get him?" he whispers.The cannon fires in answer."Then we won, Katniss," he says hollowly."Hurray for us," I get out, but there's no joy of victory in my voice.

A moment  not matter what I will always Watch

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." There's a small burst of static and then nothing more. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it. "If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt  - Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. "No," he says. "Do it." Peeta limps toward me and thrusts the weapons back in my hands. "I can't, I say. "I won't." "Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," he says. "Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two. "You know I can't," Peeta says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth. "No, you can't kill yourself," I say. I'm on my knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto his wound. "Katniss," he says. "It's what I want." "You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out. "Listen," he says pulling me to my feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around. We both know they have to have a victor. Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country. If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were. My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you  -  the tributes of District Twelve!"  

And we are not done Yet...

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

I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight and find them strong and steady. Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch. It's what all of us tributes wore in the arena. I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear to greet my team. I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Peeta. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him. He must be all right or the Avox girl wouldn't have said so. But I need to see him for myself. "Peeta!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness. Effie. I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall  -  Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic. Effie's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were pearls. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice Portia is absent and get a bad feeling. "Where's Portia? Is she with Peeta? He is all right, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out. "He's fine. Only they want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony," says Haymitch. "Oh. That's all," I say. The awful moment of thinking Peeta's dead again passes. "I guess I'd want to see that myself." "Go on with Cinna. He has to get you ready," says Haymitch. It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. The hospital then is far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened, and a handful of guards stand on duty. No one else is there to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind and there's a heavy, tight place in my chest. 

When the elevator doors open, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them, too, although not like I was to see Cinna. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affectionate trio of pets at the end of a particularly difficult day.

Okay I know this part doesn’t really have Peeta in it but It’s super important 

Haymitch's eyes shift around my musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. "But nothing. How about a hug for luck?"

Okay, that's an odd request from Haymitch but, after all, we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. Only, when I put my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing his lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem," says Haymitch.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. "So, what?"

"Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions." Haymitch pulls back and adjusts my hairband. "Got it, sweetheart?" He could be talking about anything now.

"Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?"

"Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there."

"But you think I'm not?" I say, taking the opportunity to straighten a bright red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into.

"Since when does it matter what I think?" says Haymitch. "Better take our places." He leads me to the metal circle. "This is your night, sweetheart. Enjoy it." He kisses me on the forehead and disappears into the gloom.

I tug on my skirt, willing it to be longer, wanting it to cover the knocking in my knees. Then I realize it's pointless. My whole body's shaking like a leaf. Hopefully, it will be put down to excitement. After all, it's my night.

  The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. 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.

All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Peeta  -  his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them. Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Peeta and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths. The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead. Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Peeta really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison  -  dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies  -  until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. 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. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion  -  whose head will he place it on?  -  until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's. That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished. Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice. Peeta and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door. "Why can't I talk to him?" I ask. "Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, you're on air at two."

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least. Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I. come in. "Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" "Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say. "Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat. "I'm not good at talking about myself," I say. "Nothing you say will be wrong," he says. And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak. Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

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

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

"Perfect," he answers.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us.

The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta's arm around my shoulders feels alien.

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

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

"Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes.

"What's he mean?" Peeta asks me.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out.

"What? What are you talking about?" he says.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say.

"Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

"It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.

I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through?

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

[just-a-writing-fan]

Stark Contrast Ch2

Warnings: abuse, drug use, drug selling, sexual abuse, underaged girl making drinks, drinking, cursing, fire

Pairing: none yet

"Y/N, stay here or walk around just do whatever and leave me alone," your mom walks away into the crowd at the party. "Mommy, I was telling you what happened." "Okay, okay, what happened Honey?" She tries to sound as though she cares. "Dakota-" "Yeah, yeah, that's nice," she rushes off once she spots what she came here for. It was the white powdered stuff she liked.

You looked around, this place, this party was filled with glamorous people, gowns and heels and diamond tennis bracelet and Chanel watches with gold bands and diamonds inside, perfectly personally tailored suits. You were nine but you knew things. Like you knew how to make a mean mixed drink or two, you knew this stuff wasn't Goody powder like she said because when you asked her if you could have some for a headache she said no, and you knew how to play piano, you knew how to fix things and you knew brands. Brands that you would never wear, although you did dream of it. You looked around, several women were decked out in Versace, some in Louis Vuitton, some Dolce & Gabanna, Chanel, the men were as well; thier wrists choked in Rolexs and shoes shined to perfection. You had to let your eyes wander in admiration. You hoped someday you might wear a dress that pretty or wear rings like those on your fingers. You and Essie had a dream wedding journal with cutouts from magazine adds and you promised each other someday you would go to each other's weddings. You must have been very distracted noticing those things because the next thing you knew you had fallen and landed on your butt.

"Hey kid, I'm sorry," a man was above you and offering you a hand. You glance up, your eyes stretch. It was him. The man in the polaroid picture. Dolce & Gabanna, red and floral; black velvet lace rose print paired with shiny black shoes. Did he choose that? You noticed his hair and his eyes, bark brown hair spiked to perfection and big brown eyes, thick lashes. "Need help up?" You nod and accept his hand, "Thankyou," you smile. "Sure thing, who are you here with?" "My mommy" "Okay, be careful," he smiles and someone must have called him over. "Ey! Tony! Come show us what you' got man!" "Coming," he goes to the man with a hearty chuckle.

You don't know why you took out your flip phone and started recording a video. Maybe it was excitement that this was your first phone Dakota had gotten you and your sister, or maybe it's just that you think this Tony might be something to you. You start recording him at a table, his smile literally was lighting the room, his laughter seemed contagious to everyone around him. He was so happy from the outside, from what anyone here would assume. Did your mom know he was here? Is that why she came? No, she didn't even know your dad's name, it was the "Goody Powder" she wanted.

"BECAUSE IM WANTED! WAAANTEEDD! DEAD OR ALIVE!! IM A COWBOY!" Tony sang at the top of his lungs after he bent over and snorted some of that white stuff. "ON A STEEL HORSE I RIDE!!"

"Come on," your mom comes up behind you and grabs your shoulder, "let's go. Mommy, it's him." "Ahuh, yeah," she wipes the cocaine off of her nose. "Mommy, can I tell you what Dakota d-" "Y/N, just please shut up."

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

"Esmeralda, you are my favorite you know that?" You watch Dakota whisper into her ear, again, as the three of you made dinner. "What about me?" You butt in. "Oh, you are my Babygirl," he comes over to place a kiss on your lips. "What's that?" You point with your head to the test tubes and things he had scattered all over the table. There were needles as well, giant rubber bands.

"oh, those are your mom's," he replied shortly. "No, those are hers," Essie points to some pills and a few needles in the living room on the coffee table.

"Alright, it is a science project. I'm making something that not only will pay rent this month, but, it will be revolutionary! I'll be loaded," his face is taken over by a giant toothy smile as he speaks through his teeth so as to not wake your mother who was passed out on the sofa again. He holds a test tube up and clanked his finger onto the glass and swishes the liquid in it around then kisses the bottle. That smile still there among the thick stubble on his face. "Go wash up and put on something pretty ladies, I'll finish up dinner then I will take care of you two and wake your mom up so we can eat."

"What should we wear?" "The little numbers I bout you last week," Esmeralda grabs your arm and pulls you to the bedroom. Your attention was watching Dakota while he put corks onto the test tubes and put them into his tool box for work.

"Girls! It's been 15 minutes! I'm ready and if we don't hurry the food will get cold!! Let me see my pretty girls!!"

Your sister stepped out first, wearing the skirt he bought her, "pull it up some, turn around," she does as told and he smiles, "you young lady are going to school wherever you want. Sit on my lap," he says as he finishes cooking.

"What?" Your mom sat up, holding her forehead. "I need a smoke," she lights a cigarette and let's her arm fall limp over the side of the couch.

"Y/N, come help me season this," you nod and join him by the stove. He moves you in front of him, "you aren't wearing what I bought you," he whispers near your ear through gritted teeth as he pulls your hips tight and presses your backside against him, "I'll take care of you later-," you knew that tone. "Wait, what is that?" You hear him sniff the air so you do the same. "Shit! Essie, run!! Get out, go!!! Lana!!" He forgot all about what was going on. The room was in flames.

You turn to find the living room to be the source, "Essie, get out!!" "Not without you!!" "I'll be right behind you!!" Dakota had woken your mother and gone downstairs. "What happened!?" "Mommy's cigarette started a fire! Get out!!" You ran downstairs coughing just as all the neighbors were.

"Girls alright?" "Yeah, yeah we're fine. Y/N, are you okay?" "I have to go get him," you find yourself remembering something you had forgotten. "Who!?"

"A dog! Really!? You ran into a burning building for a dog!!!?" Your sister scolds you. You said nothing and placed the dog down and watched it run back to your neighbor.

"Thankyou, thankyou," you can only nod and the local paper reporter surrounded you for photos. "How old are you!?" "12?" You cover your eyes from the flashes. "Why did you go back in!?" "I had to get him."

[cuthian]

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure Chapter One

Hi everyone

New to the fandom, so please, be kind :D

I aged up everyone by two years for plot related purposes. I wanted the boys just a little older, so they were nineteen when they died, Julie is now seventeen.

I have no idea when I'll have more chapters for you, but I'll try to get it out as soon as I can! :D

Lots of Love, Annaelle

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure

“When Someone You Love Becomes a Memory, the Memory Becomes a Treasure.” —unknown author

-------

ONE

“Blessed Are Those Who Mourn, For They Will Be Comforted.”

—Matthew 5:4

JULIE

“You sure you want me to do this?”

Julie glanced at Reggie, who was bouncing up and down on his toes beside her, looking at the apartment door in front of them with a mix of breathless excitement and trepidation.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I wanna see her, I wanna know.”

Julie smiled lightly and barely resisted the urge to pat him on the arm. The last thing they needed was Reggie becoming temporarily corporeal when she was about to knock on his little sister’s door. “Okay,” she nodded, turning back towards the door. “Okay.”

She’s rehearsed what to say a million times since they’d found out Reggie’s little sister still lived in L.A. from Luke’s mom, since Reggie had begged her to give her the same kind of closure she’d helped Luke and his parents find.

She’d always been a little weak for Luke’s puppy eyes, but she hadn’t been prepared for Reggie’s.

Especially when the other boys had backed him up—they’d all known and babysat Reggie’s little sister. They all wanted to know what she was like as an adult; she’d been only nine when the boys had died.

Reggie had no idea what’d happened to their parents, no idea how they’d have reacted to their estranged kid dying at seventeen, no idea if they’d transferred their aggression from him to Maggie, and he needed to know. He needed to know she was okay.

He’d insisted on coming alone with Julie—hadn’t even let Luke come along.

Julie was pretty sure Luke had been as surprised as she was, but neither of them had fought him on it. Probably because Alex had sworn he’d sit on Luke to keep him where he was.

“I’m gonna knock,” Reggie said breathlessly, holding his hand up to the door, freezing less than an inch before his knuckles made contact with the wood. “I am.”

“Go on,” Julie told him kindly. “You can do it.”

“Right,” Reggie breathed. “Right.”

The sound of his knuckles rapping on the wooden door echoed through the hallway, and she could hear footsteps on the other side of the door, and Julie felt almost as nervous as Reggie undoubtedly did.

She could hear Reggie suck in a breath he didn’t need and hold it when the door swung open.

The woman on the other side of the door didn’t look anything like Reggie, and it kind of threw her. “Uh,” she said, blinking at the tall, dark-skinned woman in surprise. “Hi. My name’s Julie; I’m looking for Maggie? Peters?”

“Oh, sure,” the woman said, stepping to the side and holding the door open. “Come on in, I’ll get her.” She walked inside without waiting for an answer and Julie and Reggie exchanged a wary look before following her inside. “You one of her new artists?” The woman called out over her shoulder as she walked further into the apartment.

“Uh, no, I—” Julie began, but before she could continue, a second woman walked into the room and Reggie gasped sharply beside her.

And this… this had to be Maggie.

She and Reggie didn’t look a lot alike, but there were definitely similarities. They had the same kind of glossy dark hair—although hers was much longer than Reggie’s—with light, green eyes, and when Maggie smiled at the other woman, Julie recognized the tilt of her lips, because she’d seen it on Reggie’s so many times before.

“I didn’t know we had company,” Maggie told the other woman, slipping her arm around her waist and leaning in to peck her cheek. Reggie gasped again, but Julie couldn’t risk looking at him now.

“This is Julie,” the other woman said. “She said she’s here to see you.”

Maggie turned to her, smiling the smile that made her look so much like Reggie it almost hurt, and said, “Well, what can I do for you, Julie?”

“Uh,” Julie said again. “I, uh… Did you used to have a brother named Reggie?”

That, evidently, took Maggie by surprise. “Yeah,” she nodded eventually. “I do—I did. How did you—”

“I live in the house where he and the band used to practice,” Julie said, repeating the same half-truth she had told Luke’s parents. “Some of their things were still there, so… I went through it, and I found…” she pulled the little bracelet with cheap plastic beads and several instrument charms from her pocket. “I found Luke’s parents pretty easily, and they told me about other family members, and I thought you might like to have it back.”

Maggie’s eyes were wide and filled with tears as she stared at the tiny bracelet—Reggie had told her he’d made it for Maggie’s ninth birthday, that they’d all made it, because she loved listening to them play, loved telling people that her big brother was in a band, and that Maggie had given it to him for their big performance at the Orpheum, as a good luck charm.

He’d forgotten it in the garage when they’d left for the Orpheum.

Reggie, now standing a few steps closer to his sister, was watching her eagerly, almost hungrily, his eyes red with unshed tears even as she stepped towards Julie, hand outstretched for the bracelet.

“I’d forgotten,” she whispered. “I forgot he had this.”

The bracelet looked tiny in her hand, clearly meant to fit a child’s wrist.

“Tell her I love her,” Reggie rasped, and when he turned to look at Julie, she saw that tears were running down his cheeks. “I don’t care how, just make it up, just please. Tell her I love her.”

Julie nodded jerkily, hoping the other two women in the room hadn’t noticed, and said quietly, “He must’ve loved you a lot. I mean,” she hesitated when Maggie looked up with eyes as teary as her brother’s, “I found a couple of songs too, and I could tell they were written for a kid, so I assumed…”

Before Maggie could respond, a high-pitched cry rang out from one of the rooms in the back of the apartment and both women turned to look at the door in sync.

“Babe,” Maggie said in a shaking voice. “Please go check on Reg, I need—”

“Yeah,” the other woman said immediately, running her hand down Maggie’s side in a tender, comforting gesture. “Yeah, of course.”  She glanced towards Julie with an unreadable look before turning and disappearing through one of the doors at the other end of the room. The cries—a baby’s cries, Julie realized belatedly—ceased a moment later, and she could vaguely hear humming.

“You named your baby Reggie?” she blurted without thinking, without really stopping to think that this was a woman she didn’t know at all.

She ignored Reggie’s stunned, “I’m an uncle?” and focused on Maggie, who still wasn’t looking at her.

“Regina,” Maggie replied without really taking her eyes off the bracelet in her hand. “Although we end up calling her Reggie more often than not, so I guess, yeah.” She snorted a rather wet laugh and added, “I don’t think he’d ever have forgiven me if I named my kid Reginald. He would have hated it.”

“I would’ve,” Reggie said wetly, wiping his hand across his face. “I really would’ve.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Julie whispered. “That you’re remembering him like this.”

Maggie looked up at her again, a little oddly, and now that Reggie was standing right next to her, Julie was struck for the first time just how much they did actually look alike. “I’m sorry,” Julie said, “I know that was—out of line, I just…” she shrugged. “I’ve spent so much time in that garage, in the same room that they did, sorting through their things… I feel like I know them.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se.

She did feel like she knew the boys—although the fact that she could talk to their ghosts did help.

Maggie’s expression softened a little. “I get that. Is there—is there a lot? I mean, is there more?”

“Uh,” Julie stuttered, “I mean, yeah. It’s mostly junk though. A bunch of clothes that I was gonna give to Goodwill, notebooks with songs… I gave those to Luke’s parents. Not much else.”

Maggie nodded shakily. “Okay. Well, if you… if you find anything else, can you—”

“Of course,” Julie nodded, pulling out her phone. “Do you want me to add your contact info?”

Maggie nodded and took Julie’s phone, tapping in her contact info while Reggie looked at her with wide eyes. “I don’t wanna go yet,” he pleaded, looking up at Julie desperately. “Keep talking to her. Please.”

Julie took her phone back from Maggie, desperately searching for something to say when her eye fell on a picture hanging in the middle of the wall. It was very clearly the boys, but they were younger than she knew them—younger than they’d been when they died.

It was just the three of them, with a little girl—who Julie assumed was a young Maggie—sitting in the middle, holding a guitar that was very nearly bigger than her. The three boys were clearly all helping her hold it up, and all four of them were grinning at the camera with wide, happy grins. She’d never seen them smile quite like that.

“Is that them?” She asked, gesturing towards the picture.

Maggie looked over her shoulder at the picture before she turned back to smile at Julie. “Yeah. Yeah, when they were... Fifteen, I think. I was five, so yeah. Fifteen.”

Four years before they’d died.

No wonder they looked so young.

They’d barely been more than kids themselves.

“Can you—would it—would it be okay if you told me a little more about them?” She asked quietly, still staring at the photo of her bandmates when they’d been younger.

She was, actually, so busy staring at the picture that she didn’t notice the puzzled look Maggie shot her before she stepped up beside her to look at the picture. Reggie was too busy glancing at every other picture in the room, trying to catch a glimpse of what his little sister’s life had become, to notice the look too.  “What do you want to know?” Maggie finally asked.

“Just…” Julie hesitated. “Anything. What were they like?”

Maggie smiled wistfully. “They were thick as thieves. I can’t remember a time that Luke and Alex weren’t there, so… I know they’d been friends since kindergarten. Well, Luke and Reggie at least. I think they met Alex later on, but that was before I was born.”

“We met Alex in third grade,” Reggie piped in. “He beat up a bully for me.”

Julie smiled despite herself.  

“They were always singing and making music,” Maggie continued. “Ever since I could remember. And when they formed the band, and Reggie had to babysit me, I’d usually just get to sit and watch them. I never minded.” When Julie looked at her, she saw that tears were running down Maggie’s cheeks again, but she was still smiling a small wistful smile. “I loved watching them practice.”

She suddenly laughed and said, “I had a crush on Alex when I was little. I even asked him to marry me when we were both grown-ups.”

“Awe,” Julie chuckled. “Did he say yes?”

“No,” Maggie smiled, shaking her head lightly. “No, he was really sweet about it though. Told me that he didn’t like girls all that much, but that if he was ever going to like one, it would definitely have been me.” She laughed wetly again and added, offhand, “I caught him and Reggie kissing a little after that, and then my father—” she cut off and shook her head with a sad smile before she whispered, “I definitely had to believe him after all that.”

“What?” Julie blurted, glancing towards Reggie, who looked both flushed and horrified.

“You saw that?” He squeaked, even though he knew his sister couldn’t hear him.

Maggie chuckled. “Yeah, I… it was surprising to me too. I always thought Reggie was a little sweet on Luke, the way they were together, but then…” she shrugged helplessly. “I guess Alex and Reggie spent so much time together that the idea of them makes sense too. It’s one of the things I guess I’ll never really know. I also distinctly remember being devastated to find out that not only did Alex not like girls, he liked my brother instead though.”

“It’s a cute story,” Julie choked, trying her hardest not to turn to Reggie and shout, because how did she not know about this yet?!

“I guess, yeah,” Maggie nodded. “He wrote country songs for me. Luke hated them, but he’d play the ones Reggie wrote for me anyway.”

“He didn’t hate them,” Reggie pouted.

They fell silent, staring at the photo for a minute before the other woman—Maggie’s wife, she assumed—walked into the room, cradling a swaddled baby in her arms. “She won’t settle,” she said, walking up to Maggie with an apologetic smile. “I’m thinking she wants her momma.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Julie said immediately, although Reggie pouted. “Thank you, for… answering my questions. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

“Thank you,” Maggie said. “For bringing me—just thank you.” She reached out to shake Julie’s hand, pausing in the middle of the handshake with a puzzled expression. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Julie,” Julie replied. “Julie Molina.”

“Julie,” Maggie repeated. “Thank you, Julie.”

Julie nodded jerkily and smiled before turning and walking out the front door. Reggie followed her, although he could probably have stayed a little longer if he wanted to.

She waited until they were outside before she grabbed Reggie’s jacket and dragged him off into an alley. “What the hell, Reggie? You and Alex? What about Willie? What about Luke?”

Reggie gave her a wide eyed look and sputtered, “Wha—there’s nothing—what about Luke?”

Julie raised an eyebrow at him. “Reggie. You are about as subtle as a brick. I know you’re in love with him.”

“Wha—no–I’m not—” Reggie spluttered, before he heaved a sigh. “Does Luke know?”

“No,” Julie scoffed. “Only ‘cause he’s the only person who’s actually more oblivious than you are.” Reggie blinked at her and she heaved a sigh, letting him go and taking a step back.

“So you and Alex?” She prompted.

Reggie sighed. “It wasn’t… okay, so we didn’t start out as a real serious thing, you know? It was right after Luke and Alex broke up and we kind of just fooled around when we felt like it.” He wrapped his arms around himself and admitted, “We tried dating a few years after we first started fooling around but it didn’t—it didn’t work out.”

He shrugged a little helplessly. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was really happy for him when he met Willie.”

“Wait,” Julie shook her head, “Luke and Alex dated?”

“Oh,” Reggie frowned. “Yeah, for like a year when we were sixteen. It’s how his parents found out he was gay. Or,” he amended, “it’s why he decided to tell them in any case. They decided they were better off friends, but it still took Alex a while to get over it.”

Julie nodded slowly. “There’s so much I don’t know about you guys yet,” she finally said in a small voice.

Reggie presser forward and slung an arm around het shoulders. “That’s ‘cause we’ve known each other for fifteen years, Jules. It’s like we don’t know everything about you and Flynn and Carlos yet.”

He shook her playfully. “Give it some time.”

Julie laughed. “I guess.” They started walking again and she looked up at him, feeling a little apprehensive. “You happy we went to see her?”

“Yeah,” Reggie said slowly. “Definitely. Thanks, Molina.”

Julie grinned and pressed into his side. “No problem.”

This… this she was the least she could do.

-------

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[snkpolls]

SnK Episode 61 Poll Results (for Anime Only Watchers)

The poll closed with 164 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Manga Readers’ poll, click here.

Anime only watchers, beware of spoilers if you venture over to the manga readers’ poll results.

---

RATE THE EPISODE 142 Responses

Episode 61 received even better reception than episode 60 did for anime only viewers, with all votes leaning 3-5 on the rating scale, none of our respondents seemed let down by the episode! 

AMAZING!! not action heavy this time, but the information i gained  was a big insight on what’s to come! lots of things are gonna go down and i’m s c a r e d. ready for next sunday 😈🔥

It was fire 

I really loved this episode, better than the last episode. Animation quality was on par with movie quality. MAPPA is giving us their best, ALL HAIL MAPPA.

1 word. Awesome

I love the pacing on this episode and the small details in it. 

Give me more!!!

bruh

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WAS YOUR FAVORITE SCENE/MOMENT? 142 Responses

Reiner monologuing about the 104th at the dinner table took front and center seat this week with 43% of viewers favoring this scene the most. Trailing behind, 16.9% enjoyed the scene where Reiner meets up with the Warrior Cadets, and 9.9% enjoyed seeing the human forms of the Cart and Jaw titans for the first time.

WE FORGOT TO ASK LAST WEEK D: WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING SCENES/MOMENTS FROM EPISODE 60 WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 142 Responses

Last week, the highest percentage of people (at 30.3%) enjoyed Reiner’s, “I’m sick and tired… of walls.” 19% favored the scene of Zeke’s scream turning Eldians into titans. 17.6% were most hyped up over Reiner and Galliard wrecking Fort Slava.

MAPPA WENT ALL OUT WITH THE CINEMATOGRAPHY IN THIS EPISODE. WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THE CINEMATIC PANS AND ROTOSCOPE ANIMATION? 142 Responses

Overall, 75.4% of the total vote went in favor of the animation this week, with 33.8% of viewers stating they felt as though they were watching a movie, 32.4% enjoying the fluidity, and 9.2% enjoying the upgrade from the stiffer animation in the previous season. 10.6% felt the rotoscoping and cinematic shots were a little too over the top for an anime, and 10.6% are indifferent. A small handful aren’t enjoying the cinematic animation at all. 

Hated the rotoscope, loved everything else.

It was a bit off-putting at first but I've grown to really like it

it was different but i liked it! it was cool. reminded me of some anime movies i’ve seen, though unique in it own sense

Thought it was great and fluid just at some points like the scene with udo on the docks felt a bit choppy.

Beautiful work, it honestly felt like I was watching a movie. From cinematography to shot framing to the animation. A dialogue heavy episode felt exciting, which is amazing.

I really liked the animation

The animation is so glowy

NOW THAT WE’VE GOTTEN TO HEAR A LITTLE MORE OF THE NEW OST TRACKS, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE SOUNDTRACK SO FAR THIS SEASON? 142 Responses

People are overall enjoying the new music so far, with 41.5% feeling it really compliments the change in atmosphere and 35.9% REALLY enjoying the songs and finding their usage very good. 9.9% feel they’re just ok while 7.7% miss the music being composed solely by Sawano. A smaller handful aren’t enjoying the new music.

They DEFINITELY bring the right vibes lol. again, different, but i like it!

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE CLOSEUP OF ZEKE’S MOUTH? 141 Responses

In our first of a series of unnecessary crack questions, 31.9% find Zeke’s mouth closeup to have been pretty cool animation. 24.8% are very concerned about Zeke’s treatment of his lungs (do shifters get lung damage?). 20.6% didn’t care about Zeke’s mouth at aoo, while 14.2% would welcome a smooch from him. A handful of people just think it’s gross, lol.

Fucking hate zeke smh 🙄

He smokin a spliffy 😂 not no ciggy 

what chapstick using??lmao.  it was a cool scene

WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ABOUT ELDIAN ASSES? 140 Responses

Eldian asses didn’t turn out to be too controversial, with the majority (42.1%) just wanting to know the details of Zeke’s secret ass wiping technique. 10.7% just think Eldian asses are neat, and another 10% are more enthusiastic about some nice Eldian asses. 25.7% are confused about the question’s inclusion, and 11.4% don’t understand why this was asked at all.

DO YOU WANT REINER TO GIVE YOU A HEAD PAT? 140 Responses

In a close race, 42.1% of respondents would be thrilled to get a nice head pat from Reiner! 41.4% apparently don’t, and just wanna know what the heck the pollsters are smoking while writing up these questions. 11.4% do NOT want Reiner head pats. :(

ZEKE SEEMS TO BE KEEPING HIS ROYAL LINEAGE A SECRET FROM MARLEY DESPITE HIS LOYALTY TO THEM. ANY IDEAS WHY YOU THINK HE IS? 139 Responses

Zeke, the “wonderboy” (as General Calvi puts it) who sold out his own parents, has never been doubted by Marley in terms of his loyalty. Yet, for some reason he seems to be keeping his royal bloodline a secret from them. When we asked why that is, over half of respondents (56.1%) state that they are suspicious of Zeke and his real motives, believing that he is plotting something under Marley’s nose. 25.2% feel that he doesn’t want them to know he’s royal so that they can’t abuse his power, and 12.9% think he simply doesn’t let them know so that they won’t kill him. 

I forgot he was royal 

maybe they will force him to continue the bloodline through children, or maybe he will get used or killed

Well if they dont know hes got a hereditary advantage over both his predeccesors and succesors, he'll always be recognised as the best beast titan and heaps better than my boy Colt.

WE LEARNED IN THIS EPISODE THAT FALCO’S LAST NAME IS “GRICE.” DO YOU THINK THIS WILL HOLD ANY SIGNIFICANCE? 139 Responses

32.4% of respondents don’t remember anyone named Grice. To recap, “Grice” is the name of the person who recruited Grisha Yeager into the Restorationist group, and is the one who was kicked off the wall for the restorationist titans to chase after once they were transformed by Marley. For those that did remember this seemingly random person, 52.2% feel that this relation will be brought up again and have importance to the story, and 12.9% feel it doesn’t really mean anything other than being a neat little detail. 

I feel like you asking this implies that there’s something to it

Not sure yet. But, Falco and Colt seem to be really caring and aware of how the Marlyeans treat Marly-Eldians (at least compared to the other warrior candidates). Also, when we saw their parents they seemed kind too, showing lots of concern for Colt. Maybe they learnt what the former restorationist/other Grice was doing and his cause of death and sent their kids to the warrior program for the same reason Grisha and Dina did Zeke? My bet is Colt & Falco are the restorationist Grice's nephews?

YOUR REACTION TO THE CART TITAN BEING A CUTE WOMAN? 140 Responses

Pieck deserves a colorful pie chart, and she got one! 25.7% say she’s best girl, 22.9% think she’s utterly adorable. 13.6% of viewers already knew about Pieck before getting to this point and were unsurprised. At a tie, 11.4% of voters think that it’s amazing, or they were shocked to find out that the quadrupedal nightmare titan is really just a short, cute woman.

I worked it out last episode since the armbands appeared to indicate the 'type/status' of Eldians, but I was a bit surprised last episode I thought from the trailer the red bands may be special lineages i.e. Ackerman, Oriental clan, and Riess/Fritz. Still think she may be from the oriental clan though since the only characters we've seen with a similar appearance to her are Mikasa and her mother.  

she kinda shawty 👀 but she looks scary too

WE WERE FORMALLY INTRODUCED TO MORE CHARACTERS THIS WEEK, SO WE WILL ASK AGAIN… WHICH NEW CHARACTER IS YOUR FAVORITE SO FAR? 143 Responses

Last week, Falco was the most favored of the new cast with only 40% of the vote. This week, he shoots up over 10 percentage points, with 50.3% of viewers feeling the most positively toward him. Pieck comes in second with 17.5% of the vote, and Gabi is hanging on with just 12.6% of the vote. Colt and Galliard are trailing just a little bit more behind them. 

Gabi best girl

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE FATE OF YMIR? 144 Responses

While we did get teased about Ymir’s fate in Season 3, seeing the scene in full can definitely have more of an impact. 37.5% of respondents have accepted the notion of Ymir dying, and feel that it was a decent end for her character, all things considered. 22.9% are in complete and total anguish over her fate, and 20.1% are simply just disappointed and had hoped to see more of her. A very small percentage think that this is actually a red herring, and that Ymir is somehow still alive somewhere.

Already saw this in season 3

Appropriately grim and realistic given what lengths Marley will go to in order to protect themselves 

I am in so much pain please euthanize me that’s my wife

i didn’t really like her anyway so it’s fine(but it was still a bit sad) 

Kinda hate crimey considering shes the only OUT (@jean) charcter. Nah jk. Like wasnt shocked tho coz we saw Galliard last ep

Let's fucking GOOOOOO

Galliard will NEVER replace Ymir, I already hate his bitch ass

So Galliard really is a replacement scrappy eh? I already hate him JUST for that.

TURNS OUT THAT GALLIARD IS MARCEL’S BROTHER. DO YOU THINK THIS WILL BE SIGNIFICANT? 143 Responses

Over half of respondents (52.4%) believe that Galliard’s relation to Marcel will have significance at some point. 32.9% think that it might, but don’t want to say either way. A small percentage feel it’s just a detail that won’t matter. 12.6% have completely forgotten who Marcel is (to refresh your memory, Ymir ate him before RBA attacked the walls).

DO YOU THINK THE MAN WEARING THE ARMBAND INCORRECTLY WILL BE IMPORTANT? 144 Responses

At 73.6%, the majority of viewers are eyeing the random amputee soldier who Falco briefly helped out, believing that he will be important in some manner moving forward. 13.9% believe that it’s just a random soldier, and the scene maybe meant more in terms of showing Falco’s kindness. 12.5% aren’t sure what to make of the amputee soldier at all.

LAST WEEK, WHEN ASKED WHO WILL INHERIT THE ARMORED TITAN, THE MAJORITY PICKED FALCO. AFTER THIS EPISODE, WHO DO YOU THINK WILL INHERIT THE ARMORED TITAN NOW? 143 Responses

Falco is still the most favored to inherit the Armored Titan from Reiner with the percentage of people believing he will jumping from 37.6% to 48.3%. 21.7% are still confident that Gabi will ultimately be the one who gets to eat Reiner. 28.7% believe that neither of them will inherit Reiner’s titan at all.

DO YOU THINK THAT REINER REALLY BELIEVES THE PARADISIANS ARE DEVILS? 143 Responses

The overwhelming majority of respondents don’t believe that Reiner really means what he says when he calls the Paradisians “savage, heartless devils.” Only a small percentage feel he does really means what he says, and a handful of others aren’t sure.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT REINER WITH WHAT WE’VE SEEN IN THIS ARC SO FAR? 143 Responses

The majority of viewers feel very positively about Reiner and are enjoying seeing more of him, with 46.2% stating that Reiner is really starting to grow on them, while 26.6% already liked Reiner from the start. 18.2% are beginning to feel more empathy for Reiner, although they still aren’t huge fans, and a smaller percentage don’t like him and haven’t been swayed by the narrative as of yet. 

Always seemed like there was lots to him, enjoying the furthered development into his psyche :) 

he’s so hot omg. i feel so terrible cause he’s clearly suffering from ptsd and his disorder too. he seems torn. i do like how he is playing a major role so far. 

I’m in love with Reiner and always have been

Meh

Reiner became 1000% hotter after his life fell apart

REINER AND GABI ARE REVEALED TO BE COUSINS. THOUGHTS? 142 Responses

36.6% of respondents were genuinely shocked to learn that Gabi and Reiner are cousins. 21.8% feel more invested in Gabi’s character arc after knowing this information. 19% were already spoiled on this, and 15.5% don’t really care about it at all. 

Kinda thought she wanted to fuck her cousin lmao

Makes me horrified how casually they talk abt eating Reiner

They had the same last name so I figured they must have had some relation.

Yee haw

GABI QUESTIONS REINER AFTER HE TALKED ABOUT THE 104TH, ASKING IF PEOPLE ON PARADIS WERE ALL BAD. DO YOU THINK SHE CAN OVERCOME HER BRAINWASHING TO SEE THAT PARADISIANS AREN’T EVIL? 143 Responses

The majority think that there is a possibility for Gabi to see things from a new perspective over time. 40.6% aren’t completely sold on it yet, but also believe that it’s within the realm of possibility. 32.9% are very confident that this is the direction her story arc is going to take, and 26.6% think that nothing will be able to undo years of brainwashing for her.

THE TYBURS ARE SAID TO BE AN AFFLUENT FAMILY THAT HOLDS THE WARHAMMER TITAN, BUT HAVE NEVER BEEN INVOLVED IN ANY CONFLICT. WHY WOULD THEY WANT TO GET INVOLVED NOW? 139 Responses

While we still don’t know much about the Tybur family, we thought we’d check in and see what preconceived notions viewers may already have about them. 27.3% believe the Tybur family feel the same as Marley and see Paradis as a threat. 30.2% think that the only reason they’d want to get involved in the conflict is if they get something about it. 41.7% think that the Tyburs are super sus and ultimately will have their own agenda for attacking Paradis. 

They got the good life already, why battle?

WITH AN ATTACK ON PARADIS BEING IMMINENT, HOW DO YOU THINK REINER WILL REACT WHEN HE RETURNS TO THE ISLAND? 139 Responses

We’ve seen Reiner struggle over the weight of his sins in previous seasons, with Ymir even pointing out that he has developed a type of “split personality” to cope with the horror he forced onto the people of Paradis. With the prospect of returning to the island, we asked how you think Reiner will handle the situation. With the highest percentage, 32.4% of respondents feel that Reiner’s mental state will make him completely ineffective if he returns to Paradis. 28.8% think he may even completely switch back to his “soldier persona” once he faces his former comrades again. 26.6% believe that he will keep himself together and stay focused on the mission handed to him. 9.4% think he will find a way to avoid going back altogether. 

Honestly, don't know.

I wouldnt say ineffective, probably just ina daze of sorts. Like hes not fully in the moment.

Idk if he is even gonna go

Not Sure

I hope my boi Reiner makes it through!

REINER FLASHBACKS NEXT WEEK! ARE YOU EXCITED TO FINALLY GET THE WARRIORS’ BACKSTORY? 142 Responses

The vast majority are happy to be finally getting the Warriors’ backstory in the next episode, with 69% feeling overwhelmed with excitement about it, and 19.7% just happy to finally be getting to this point. A smaller percentage don’t really care about learning their backstory and a handful of people are actually dreading it. 

I loved the baby warrior flashback and can’t wait for next week.

ON A SCALE OF REINER TO ZEKE, HOW EAGER ARE YOU TO GET BACK TO PARADIS? 141 Responses

While there is a handful of people who are enjoying the new perspective and getting to know these new characters in Marley, the majority of viewers are (unsurprisingly) eager to see what’s going on with the original cast after the 4 year time skip and the cliffhanger at the ocean in season 3. A message from manga readers: we know your pain, just hang in there!

This arc isn't really doing it for me. The story is only interesting when it focused on the 104th.

If their goal is to make me sympathize with the Warriors it ain't working, I frankly don't give a crap about their sob stories and want to see Eren and friends wreck shit for them

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

Animation and graphics quality is amazing. The sea was CGI too which feels a bit too detailed compared to other things. The plot and vibe is amazing. I like the WW2 style of things. There are so many interactions coming just the thought makes me hyped up. I can easily rewatch it and notice new details and i enjoy it too. Feels really packed and intense.

Solid, loved the animation props to MAPPA, cant wait to see Reiner's character development.

Kinda just people walking around with HELLA ptsd.  Overall kinda vibey Very reminiscent of seas 3 part 1. I will say kinda tgf about these knew kids accept Colt, just wanna see the ogs and Jeans side part. I also HATE Reiner but.........dare I say.....he's growing in me???? Not gabi tho 

Great episode, the trailer's beginning to make a lot more sense now. I didn't expect that guy with the long blonde hair declaring Eren as the enemy (from the trailer) to be part of the Tybur family (maybe I'm wrong here but he looked identical to one of the Tybur family members in the photo Zeke showed.) I assumed he was maybe the Marley leader haha. I think he may be the warhammer titan but it's hard to tell at this point. Regarding the Tybur family, another curious thing is how they are celebrated internationally not just domestically for their help during the great titan war. I am curious whether Marley only treat the Tybur family well because if they didn't that would create issues globally? It seems like the Tybur's have lots of power. But, I wonder if the war hammer titan will be a letdown... I thought it would be the 'big boss' of the titans but after learning that titan doesn't go through training like the other titan shifters and never fought I feel like it's a 50/50 on whether the shifter will be strong or not... I also feel like the guy Falco spoke to was Eren, and this could hint at Eren noticing and possibly trying to indoctrinate Falco? and he was possibly watching Reiner talk to the kids? That was probably Pieck though. Curious how Pieck's father was shown but not mother, he also didn't look like he was from the oriental clan maybe we have another Mikasa on our hands (half Ackerman/Oriental clan) that would be cool, maybe a little bit fanservicey tho.

I like that the focus is on world building right now

I’m just so excited to see what’s coming next

It was friggin awesome but I’m curious on who fell off the roof 🤔

Who is the guy who jumped and died ? :(

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 138 Responses

Thank you again for participating! We’ll see you again next week!

[rosierocks30]

Hidden Ch.4

Chapter 4: Don’t let go of me

Levi was sipping a cup of warm tea while sitting on the bench where his subordinates and comrades eat their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He stared at his wedding ring for a long time. He still couldn’t believe he’s married. Can he be a good husband to Historia or a great father to his unborn child? HIs insecurities started to creep on him. The captain knows for sure if their union was out to the public, it would be chaotic. The noblemen would be pissed off that the queen is not single for one of their sons to take their place as king. Huh...king? Is he now king? Honestly, he never cares about titles and certainly, he doesn’t care about them now. Levi is a man of action; ready to be put in the field to protect and kill anyone harming his growing family. Tch, Kenny probably would be intrigue as fuck if he was alive now. The raven haired man remembered the last conversation he had with his uncle. That time he found out who he really is. An Ackerman. Kennedy made sure to tell Levi enough about their family’s legacy and what became their downfall. 

“You and that other girl are the last of our bloodline. Continue our once great family name...I still don't’ regret the way I raised you. You turned out ok for a scrawny brat when I found you next to your dead mother.” The older Ackerman coughs blood. “Damn, I don’t have much time left. Anyways kid, don’t forget our ancestors are guiding you and the girl...you two will never be alone.” Levi watched as his uncle took the last breath and closed his eyes as death took him away.  

Levi still had Kenny’s death fresh on his mind. It wasn’t that long ago when Levi and his squad rescued his wife and that Yeager brat. Speaking of Jager, he’ll add cleaning chores in the morning. While lost in his thoughts, one of his subordinates, Jean Kristein stops in front of him while regaining his breath from running. “Sir, Commander needs you in the meeting room. It’s urgent.” The light brown haired man did a salute then ran back. Levi gets up to neglect his tea and rushes towards the meeting room. Once he reached there, Commander Hange and most of his squad were already there to gather around Hange. All of their faces have a similar confused but also concerned expression. “What the hell is going? Kristein said it was an urgency.” The captain glares at his commander. “So I got a report that Her Majesty is missing and the intels believe a group of Zeke followers, The Jaegerist, are involved in the kidnapping of Queen Historia. Her Grace ordered a carriage to meet the Premier Zackely for the news of Eren Jaeger's betrayal of joining his brother’s cause. Both the MPs and the Garrisons are in a man hunt to find the queen before it’s too late especially in her condition.” When Hange finished speaking, the room was so quiet that a pencil was dropped. On the other hand, Levi was shaking in trying to conceal his rage. His wife is kidnapped? It wasn’t that long he saw her. Why the fuck did she left the castle at this late hour?! He wants to go find her now and slay that hairy titan bastard and Eren for kidnapping Historia. Oh Walls, Historia please you better stay alive for me and our kid.

So many fears in his thoughts running in his mind. He didn’t realize the chair he was gripping broke from the rage he tried to conceal. “I’ll put an end to both shitheads.” His tone was dark and cold which it left most of the soldiers here in this room shivering. They rarely see their captain like this. The captain of the Survey Corps was about to walk away, but Mikasa ran in front of him to stop him as she gave the man a death glare. “Captain, I won’t allow you to harm Eren. We didn’t get to hear his side of his story.” Levi Ackerman scoffs like he’ll believe that bullshit. He already made up his mind. Slaughter the Jager brothers and their followers then rescue his queen. “Move aside, Ackerman. If you know what’s best for you.” He threatened his subordinate. “Is that a threat, Captain?” her tone mirrored his. Both Ackerman in a standoff ready to attack. The room is thick with tension from those two. Hange finally intervened before things got ugly. “Alright that’s enough for both of you! Levi and Mikasa stand down, and I order you as your commander. Save your hostility for the enemies. Levi, I need you to be level head if we are going to find the queen and bring her home safely. Can I count on you, Captain?” The commander was stern when she glared at both the Ackermans. Mikasa obeyed her superior and withdrew herself from attacking the captain. Levi was conflicted at first, but deep down Hange was right. He needs to get his shot together if they want to rescue Historia. He sighs in defeat. “Tch, yes.” This made Commander Hange pleased. 

“Alright, I already sent the letter to the officials to volunteer in searching for the Jaegarists. Once we find where their hideout is located, we’ll make a stregistic plan to save the queen.” She said as everyone listened. “Ok, have everyone get ready for this mission.” Most of the soldiers nod and go to get ready for the mission. Levi was about to leave, but his commander stopped him. “Levi, wait. I know this news is shaking you to the core, but please have a clear mind, you have a better chance saving your wife. Believe me, I’m upset and worry for her and the baby. Have faith in us. We’ll get her home.” He takes in her comforting words. Yes, he was being irrational before. The only person who understands what he’s feeling is Mikasa even though he was so close to attacking her for being in his way. His head turns to glance Hange and gives her a nod as a thanks then he goes to gear up for the rescue mission. Once most of the Survey Corp soldiers were ready, They all went to meet up where the Mps and Garrisons were located. 

Meanwhile…

The queen’s eyes open to see the room is dark. The only light that shows is the long line crack giving her a bit of light.. She looks around to see if there’s anything to give her clues of the location. Carefully, the pregnant queen walks by the crack of the light and hears mumble conversations. She listens to identify one of them as that bastard, Eren and a deeper voice she can’t identify yet. Her ear pressed against the hard surface to listen better to the conservation. “Do you have to be a bit rough on her? She is carrying a child, Zeke.” He was interrupted by his brother. “Ah yes, the queen is carrying an heir. How befitting for her already thinking about the future of the royal bloodline. No one knows who she chose to be the father of her child.” Eren said. Zeke nods. “We are going to make her confess.” The older Jaeger smirks with malice. “Why is it important we know who the man spread whore herself to? Probably it's a nobody or a fat nobleman.” Eren said, still feeling bitter and hurt from Historia’s rejection earlier. “Don’t be an idiot little brother. If it was either someone who's nobody, she might have said something, but what Yelena told me, little Historia was determined to not let it slip. So I’m giving you the opportunity to get answers from her or I’ll have Yelena to do it. She will give a fast result so don’t screw this up, Eren.” On the other side of the doors, Historia gasps from their conversation. Her mouth covered to stop making noise. It was too late when the doors opened to reveal Eren and his brother, the infamous Zeke Jaeger, the holder of the Beast Titan. The queen already started to slowly back away from those two. “I see you’re awake now, You’re Highness. Forgive me on the lack of hospitality. We rarely have guests here.” He chuckles while seeing the young queen backing in fear like a trapped puppy. Once her back is pressed against the edge of a wooden table, she glances to see a pair of scissors. Historia grabbed the scissor and held it in front of both brothers so they wouldn't come near her. 

“Stay back. Don’t you dare come closer!” She tries to hide the panic in her voice. “Now now Historia, let’s not be reckless. I promise my fellow followers and I will not harm you. You’re more valuable alive than dead. Think of your child. Do you want your distresses to lose the baby?” No, she doesn’t, but all she wants is to leave and be in the arms of Levi to feel safe. As her grip becomes loose, Eren quickly grabs the scissors from Historia. Now she’s defenseless. “Speaking of your unborn child, it's better you tell us who’s the father of your heir?” Zeke observes to find any detail. He spotted a wedding banded around her marriage finger. “I see you are married. Such a disappointment you didn’t invite me. Your only family.” Zeke still smirks. Historia glares at her so-called relative. “We’re not family! To me you’re just a mad stranger.” Her tone was full of venom. “So that’s the reason you don’t love me? You gave your heart to someone else!” Eren abruptly interrupts her. The blonde haired woman raised her brow at him. “Why does it matter if both of you want to know my husband’s name? He’s not your concern.” Historia said. “Don’t give me that bullshit! It’s one of the higher ups? Or someone who I might have known. Definitely not Ymir unless she can magically impregnate you.” Eren said sarcastically and laughed. The queen didn’t see what was so funny about this. While playing the tips of the scissors blades, Eren steps forward to the woman he loves. Zeke was intrigued about what his younger brother was planning to do. Historia was still when the scissors were poking gently on her neck. “E-eren..please d-don’t.” Her whimpers made Eren feel a bit powerful because she’s at the hands of his mercy. “You know, we just need you alive for the plans of you holding the Founder’s Titian. I can just cut your belly to get rid of your baby. That would be the fastest way right?” He smirks and watches how those beautiful blue ocean eyes widen in terror. “But I love you too much to cause you pain. So I suggest telling me or I will do as I say. Don’t test me.” He glares. Eren hates what he’s doing to her. Seeing her in tears, breaks his heart but this is necessary. To make her submit and be obedient when the time is right. “I’m sorry I- I can’t…” Her sobbing eyes look at the green eyed man. 

He growls in frustration. “Seriously Historia?! Why are you protecting your so-called husband’s identity? If he’s some useless guy then you have nothing to fear.” Now the scissors traces down to her belly and slowly and pressure enough for her to freak out. “No! Please I will tell you. I promise to tell you, but both of you will not harm me or my child after revealing his identity.” She now has her hands covering her baby bump to protect it. “Good, that’s more like it. So this guy must be a big shot huh?” The titan shifter looks down at the crying queen. “Alright, we promise you and your child won’t be harmed.” Zeke said and both waited for the queen to speak. “Eren, you have met him countless times...he is in your squad.” This got Eren his attention. “He’s part of Levi’s squad? Hmm, don’t tell me, is Connie or Jean for that matter?” He was in disbelief. “It’s neither. He’s the strongest of all of us including you.” Eren tries to pretend her insults did bruise his ego. “The only strongest would be Captain Levi.” He stopped when she stayed quiet again. Zeke suddenly pins Historia to the wall by choking her. “I get it why you wanted to conceal his identity after all Captain Levi Ackerman is the father of your baby and your husband.” Historia eyes widen while struggling to be released. “Zeke! Let her go! We gave her our word.” Eren tried to convince his brother to let go of the queen. “Don’t you see brother, this whore is carrying an Ackerman. A royal with Ackerman blood will bring doom to us titans and the Eldian’s curse.” 

“How is that a bad thing? We would be all free from being persecuted by the whole world! We won’t be seen as devil spawns and any baby will not inherit the burden of a titan shifter if one of the nine Titans doesn’t get passed on to a successor.” She tries to reason with Zeke. The older man shook his head in disagreement. “No no, the Ackerman is already a bloodline of titans but in human forms! With our royal blood mingle with an Ackerman it will create an offspring powerful enough to destroy our people and the world.” Zeke explains to the queen and Eren agrees with his brother which Historia doesn’t believe what Zeke had said about her child will bring doomsday. “Are you saying my baby will be an abomination?” The blonde hair woman feels enraged by this nonsense. “What full of shit! If that is what it said, show me the prophecy?” She tested them. “It doesn’t matter that you believe it or not. The baby must be terminated.” A woman named Yelena was running to them in despair. “Zeke, the MPs and the Survey Corps are here! We have to go.” Yelena pleads with them to start leaving before they are caught. In the background, you can hear fighting going. Historia takes this opportunity to scream loud to signal where to find her. “Levi! I’m here!” Then her mouth was covered by Zeke as he pressed the sharp object on her neck. “I’ll cut your womb and let that abomination rotten here. So be careful.” Zeke signals his followers to start walking away from the room and goes through hallways. Just when they were about to escape, the exit was blocked by the notorious Captain Levi Ackerman. Zeke went bewilder when he saw him. The scissors were pressed harder which drew a little bit of blood from Historia. Behind them were Mikasa, Jean and Armin. “Eren!! Please don’t go, come back to us. We’ll forgive you. It’s all a misunderstanding right?” Mikasa shouts to beg the person that means everything to her. “Eren, don’t go with him..” Even Armin was begging. 

“Zeke fucking Jaeger, I’m still planning to cut you into tiny pieces. Let the queen go!” The captain growls in anger. His squad position to ready attack. Zeke let out a crazy laugh then gave Historia to his brother. “Make sure she doesn’t escape.” He said. Eren holds her now. Historia starts to wiggle to have enough space to escape while Zeke pulls the scissors apart into two small blades and posts ready to fight. “Levi...Levi, I’m sorry.” The queen looks at her husband and lets more tears fall. Levi hated seeing his wife in tears. It kills him that he’s useless at the moment. Eren knows they won’t be able to escape. “Let’s make a deal. If you let us go, we’ll give your wife back.” Zeke was not too happy but he can see why his brother did it. The rest of the squad were shocked at the news of what Eren said. Levi has to snap them back to reality. Time is precious. “Oi, snap out of it all of you. There will be no distractions. Got it?” His subordinates nodded. Levi doesn’t want the deal but having Historia in his arms safely from them is more important than his bloodlust for vengeance. “Fine, you got yourselves a deal.” He signals his comrades to give the area a big space for the brothers to escape. Before  Historia was released, Eren grabs her chin to press his lips onto hers and roughly kisses her. Of course, both Ackermans were not happy. Historia screamed in displease from the kiss. Her arm became free and slap hard on Eren’s cheek. “You asshole!” The titan shifter chuckles while rubbing. “It was worth it.” Quickly, he starts running away along with his brother and so,em of the followers. The queen was looking down at the ground taking all in from everything that had happened. She felt her hand pull. Before she said anything, Levi stopped her. “Shh it’s fine. I’m glad you are safe. You’re now safe.” He wrapped his arms around her which she longs been wanting to ever since from the kidnapping. Both lovers embrace their hugs not caring they are being watched. A cough interrupts their moment. “Um not to kill the mood but we’re confused on what’s going on between you two and now Jaeger.” Jean spoke while others nodded. Mikasa was too quiet with a broken heart. Armin was comforting her. Mikasa was too tired of Eren not noticing her feelings. Maybe this time she needs to let go of Eren for good. She hopes Carla’s spirit will understand her for breaking the promise. While the two couples were about to explain, Historia felt a discomfort on her abdomen. “Ahh.” She placed her hand on her baby bump and crouch a bit. “What’s the matter with you?” Levi looks concerned. Historia looks up at her husband, but passes out as Levi catches her in his arms and carried. Most of the squads were for her. “Let’s get her to a doctor quickly.” Levi ran the exit as his team followed him.  

Disclaimer: I don’t own the franchise or anything related to Attack On Titan.

[fimflamfilosophy]

Characters Akimbo, and How to Create Them

A long time ago, I wrote an article called “OCs Akimbo and How to Make Them”. This was in the golden age of the internet when people still owned their own websites and we walked uphill, through the snow, both ways because it was good for our glutes. We didn’t need to be fed a constant stream of memes produced by bots in Malaysia because we were not yet living in a post-ironic, dystopian future where many are forced to work from home or not at all. The joy came to us naturally in those times, and a “meme” was a thing that saved bandwidth, so you couldn’t spam them – bad memes were a waste of money and a waste of good internets.

But that article has been lost, swallowed up like so many other web-ventures of old by the insatiable beast known on Walstreet as FANG (Facebook, Amazon, Netflix, and Google; Netflix is in there because the acronym is rude otherwise). Also, people don’t write articles anymore. They’re too efficient and only run ads at the top and bottom of the page without interrupting what you’re trying to read, unless the author is one of the sub-human monsters that puts ads in the middle of his articles and makes you scroll past them just to get the rest of his insipid opinion. Rest assured, my insipid opinions come without ads in the middle. And likely without ads at the top or bottom, either, because maybe only a hundred people will read this and that’s worth about $0.01 today.

So characters! You want to make a character! Put your hands down, we’re not taking questions until later, so for now we assume you’re reading this because you want to make a character for something. I don’t really care what. Whether it’s for a roleplaying game, which has become more in vogue recently thanks to the show “Stranger Things”, I hear, or because you want to present yourself as a foxy cat-girl getting busy with a catty fox-man in your dirty, filthy Discord group.

If you’re designing a character for amorous roleplay, I assume the reality is that you are fundamentally playing yourself, with all the same excruciating hang ups and personal insecurities, except as an animal. But suppose you didn’t want to play as yourself? How to go about that. Well, there are several ways of thinking about it, but since I’m the author, I will use my tyranny of the mic to write as though my perspective is the only valid one.

You Choose Your Shirt, You Choose Your Life

We’ll start with the basic way to make any character and have it work. Figure out how they feel, and then play everything around coping with those feelings. No, seriously, it’s the simple banality of human existence and anything else you can think of is just going to be taking a back seat to whatever your personal psychosis is. That’s all you are – a wet sack of flesh with crippling mental problems and a strategy to overcome them.

To put this in terms you shouldn’t understand, think of how you choose to put on a shirt in the morning. Maybe you choose the shirt because it says something on it, or because you like a specific color, but how do you know you like that color? How do you know you like the band, or the terrible joke you should be embarrassed to wear in public? When asked these questions, many people will try to draw a string of logic. They’ll say that red is a dominant color, or they want to support their favorite musician, or they’re being post ironic and the point of their joke shirt is that it’s not supposed to make anyone happy.

But these are all falsehoods. Every time you put on a shirt, you don’t actually examine the whole wardrobe on an intellectual level and compare their relative advantages and disadvantages on factors as minute as color. People who do such a thing are considered to be obsessive compulsive, which is considered a disorder because they are barely able to make choices. The more time you spend trying to logically examine such a thing, the less able you are to do anything. The truth is, you pick your shirt on a whim because you feel like it, and you like the color red because it reminds you of succulent berries, or your monkey ancestor’s big red ass, or something. The insistence that red is a “power color” is just something people make up.

Many snap decisions come down to your lizard hind-brain and your feelings. People argue that their intellect is so huge, this is no longer true for them, but emotions actually control most of our decisions because emotions work quickly and easily. If you see something and it makes you scared, or angry, you react accordingly and right away. You don’t have ten minutes to evaluate the sight of a snake and determine based on its colors and head shape whether or not it’s venomous. If your kid climbs a tree, you don’t get to do a lot of math about their weight and the height they’re climbing at before you get nervous. Your instincts and your emotions are the same thing, and it’s how you make the majority of your choices.

There are some exceptions, when you have time, where you can try to evaluate facts and figures and try to let that shape how you feel about something, but in this day and age I’m sure everyone has had enough heated political arguments to realize that for many people, feelings can be difficult to change. In fact, much logic is only presented to specifically alter your feelings, and not necessarily to provide you with more comprehensible information. Ultimately, even things you spend a lot of time thinking about eventually get processed on an emotional level.

The Past and the Future are the Same Thing

So what does all this mean for making a character? Well, let’s divert into a little anecdote. I enjoy role-playing games as a hobby, and learned to play in a group that enjoyed a lot of theater and acting. We often shunned systems that were heavy on rules and templates, and focused mainly on having dynamic character personalities with clear motives, then playing those games around those characters. This made running games fairly easy for the guy in charge, because all he had to do was invent a colorful cast of faces for the group to interact with, and then see who they hated the most, then go from there.

But most groups are not especially fond of acting. Dungeons and Dragons is handily the most popular roleplaying system out there, and it’s no coincidence that it’s also one of the most restrictive in terms of describing your job within the group and telling you what you’ll learn as the game progresses. In D&D, the fighter fights, the wizard wizzes, the rogue steals everyone’s money and has to do everything in secret or otherwise the whole rest of the table declares a spot check every time he does literally anything.

And it was while running a game with a D&D sort of group that I first encountered a player who had written four pages of backstory for their character. Just to reiterate, I learned to play with a group that focused entirely on character motives and acting, and I had never been given a four page backstory before. Once we had enough experience, my old group could typically sum up a character backstory verbally, in a few sentences. It would be easy to remember and you wouldn’t write it down because all the important details were short.

There’s something to delve into regarding brevity, but to focus on this four page character – none of the backstory made sense or really conveyed how the character felt about anything. This character, as far as I can recall, obtained magic powers because he walked down an alleyway, was accosted by cultists, the cultists cast a spell, the cultists exploded, and then the character could cast magic. I think he may have also been some kind of zombie, but I don’t remember because it wasn’t an element that was integral, except, I believe, the player used it as justification to hide their magic powers. They were embarrassed about being undead, or something, and even though the rest of the group was doing magic, the character thought their magic would be linked to their lack of pulse. It wasn’t even useful magic – it was the ability to throw fireballs, so hiding it was the best possible way to make the character non-functional.

The rest of the writing was irrelevant. There was information about family history, past work, blood type – whatever – I barely remember it because it was frosting with no cake. The player never wrote a character. They wrote an expository list of events that were all linked to one person without any sort of personality. That is, the player never really understood how this character felt, or how that shaped their life, and it’s clear they hoped that by writing enough things, eventually a character might take shape. As though you might learn a lot about a man by listing what kinds of weeds were growing in his back yard, or by listing the cities he’s lived in, or by listing a chronological sequence of events the person was present during.

This player, and frankly nobody, should ever require a four page back-story for a character. When it comes to writing a character, the core element of who they are, the past, present, and future are all the same. If this person has anger problems, they probably have a pattern of lashing out, and solving their life’s problems by being too frustrating to deal with. If they’re timid, they probably have a history of conflict avoidance. If they’re smooth talkers, they think they can talk their way through everything. Whatever emotional way people engage with the world around them, they’re likely to behave like that through their past, present, and future. You can know who someone is in the present and know who they’ll be in the future without examining an in-depth historical report of their past. Indeed, how else could we interact with other humans if this weren’t the truth?

People get confused easily, and will quickly insist that the backstory makes the character because they see on TV, constantly, stories about the past. A show will say, “this man is like this because of something that happened to him years ago”. But what you have to realize is that when TV does it, and when it does it well, it’s not the past that defines the character. The past events being described are conflict. Say it with me: CONFLICT. Not character.

Conflicting Over Conflict

Conflict is what a character reacts to, and it drives the story forward. So let’s consider, if you were to show a character’s past, how is that story structured. Well first you begin with a character, right? Because without the character, how do you know how this person will react to conflicts? You don’t. So the character is designed before the backstory. So what is this story of the past? It’s a story about some conflict and how the character interacted with it.

If your character in the present is a knife-wielding maniac, then one plausible story about their past would be when they were confronted by a problem that was solved by stabbing the problem. What this shows you is that the character moved towards this behavior of violence, and it worked for them so they kept doing it. Over time, they came to believe that most problems could be resolved by stabbing things, and that’s just how they live now, but it still takes a specific kind of person to try stabbing something the first time.

If you imagine a violent person, you may also imagine they tried conflict avoidance and it didn’t work. Perhaps they tried being confident, and they were quickly ground down. Finally they resorted to violence and achieved success, but that may have been after a long progression of abuse, which is why they also don’t form personal attachments or trust anyone. These looks at the past can add a lot of flesh and explanation to why your character feels certain ways about certain things – why they feel their life’s coping strategies are the best ones. That’s why when you see them, a good story of the past gives the viewer the feeling that they’ve developed a better sense of who the character is.

Whether the past defines the character or the character defines their past is a chicken and the egg question, and something you as a writer would have to decide. There’s no one answer and there are good ways to go about both approaches, so long as you know who your character is before you start doing any writing at all. Because whatever you write, the event you describe will merely be a conflict, a moment, and how the character reacts to that conflict tells a viewer who that character is.

In and Out of Character

Speaking of role-playing games: you’ll find the overwhelming majority of players are on about the same level as those guys pretending to be cat-girls in their filthy, unspeakable Discord group. That is, most people just play themselves, but with a gimmick. They play themselves, but with a stutter, or they’re french, or a they’re a cat-girl, or a they’re a samurai, or they’re a robot; they can be anything, but not anyone.

This gets a bit more into acting, which actually does play in to every work of fiction. To act properly, you need to be able to put yourself comfortably in the mind-space of your character and behave as though you only know what your character knows. The generations-old story of the rogue that steals from the party is a great example of the challenge at work here.

Imagine you’re facing a lot of life-and-death situations back to back with somebody, but this person is also slippery and difficult to trust. They never let you down openly, but they’re constantly wrangling you into bad contracts that benefit them, and you think they might be embezzling the group’s funds. In terms of writing a story, this is a good opportunity for conflict. A good role-playing group can handle this on the fly, while a typical role-playing group absolutely can’t.

A typical role-playing group always has the same response. Whenever the rogue tries to skim a little money off the top, the whole table rolls “spot checks” to catch the thief in the action, and then prevent him from stealing there in the moment. This is what the people playing the game regard as an enforcement action to prevent stealing – as long as the whole table rolls, someone is usually going to roll high enough to catch the rogue before he gets away with it. But how does every character in the game know to be hyper vigilant all of the sudden? Well, they don’t, and just rolling dice at people isn’t how we solve conflicts like this in the real world.

A good group will actually start to develop suspicions they’re being stolen from only after it happens, as they do their accounting and realize they’re short some cash. They may suspect the rogue, but they rely on him to find and disarm traps, and he’s somewhat irreplaceable. So the conflict now becomes trying to solve that problem without simply executing the rogue on a mere suspicion. The other players have to go out of their way to try set some bait or catch the rogue in the act, and if they prove what he’s done, then there can be a punishment. If the rogue keeps getting away with it, perhaps the party starts establishing rules to try to cull the potential for stealing, and now the rogue has to work around these new restrictions.

The second group is more nuanced and more believable. They’re facing a conflict and trying to figure out a way around it, instead of just using game mechanics to stop it entirely. And while this may seem like it begins and ends with roleplaying groups, the logic here works for most every other medium. You can never just have characters behaving as though they know things they aren’t supposed to know, and the way your characters react should follow the fundamentals of how they feel. Characters react to what they know, not what the audience knows.

Another example that would follow closer to other fiction is the following: quite recently I played a super hero game as a “reformed villain”, which basically meant I was playing a villain. The main hero died, leaving a vacuum in leadership, and at the same time a new, young hero joined the group. My villain character quickly swept in and began mentoring this fresh, young recruit, introducing him to as many morally gray aspects of the job as possible. Using deception to get closer to villains, fighting people who were too insane to know better, sometimes even doing lasting harm to ordinary people in the heat of the moment.

As the game went on, the group demonstrated that being a super hero was a very fine line that was difficult to apply idealism to, but my villain never quite killed anybody. He maimed people. He once dressed as a pizza delivery guy and threw a pizza so hard it knocked somebody unconscious. He sold hotdogs on the street without a permit. All while mentoring this kid and showing him the advantages of tap-dancing on that fine line.

Until the villain did kill somebody. A super scientists who was building deadly “Iron Man” style suits for a gang of terrorists used an ejection seat to try to escape the scene, and the villain threw his shoe. The shoe was thrown so hard, it caused the scientist’s head to burst like it’d been hit by a cannon ball. It all happened in the blink of an eye, against the wind, as the ejection seat rocketed off at dizzying speeds, and the villain claimed the murder was not intentional, even though it was clear at the table that I, the player, the author, had killed the scientist on purpose. It’s something I’d done as a snap decision in reality, because I thought the scientists was dangerous and it seemed in character to make that choice.

What ensued was much less in character. The young ward my villain had been mentoring turned on him instantly and carried on, from that point forward, as though the villain had intentionally killed an innocent man. He used the justification that my villain was very accurate and “never missed”, even though my villain missed his aim plenty of times throughout the adventure. He did not respond to any argument about the potential threat of the scientist, or about the very real possibility of an accident in the heat of the moment.

The player knew it was on purpose. The player felt his naive young character was a fundamentally good person. Ergo, he and the villain were now at mortal odds and could never reconcile. It’s a delicate situation and something that some actual writers could fall into, where the audience is shown the intent behind an ambiguous situation, and somehow the characters come to the same conclusion the audience does even though the characters don’t have the same information.

In television, this is sometimes due to run time limitations. Perhaps the character was supposed to gather more evidence before coming to the conclusion the audience was given, but the evidence gathering was cut to save time. But in a book, or a roleplaying game, there’s really no excuse. Everything should be handled based on what the character knows, and not on what the audience – or in this case the player – knows. At least if you’re a purist. I will be honest and admit there have been some popular works of fiction where characters side with the audience in spite of, in narrative, not even having the same moral system as the audience, let alone their knowledge of the plot.

What you actually should have between the villain and the ward, is a major point of conflict. Not in that the ward knows the villain killed someone on purpose and has an issue with it, but that he doesn’t know if the villain intentionally killed someone. That, in and of itself, is a very real moment of awakening to anyone with idealistic opinions on a job that entails violence and apprehension. It requires soul-searching, and even coming to the conclusion that the villain did kill someone and that it was wrong revolves around a complex set of emotional and moral beliefs.

Such a moment is pivotal to a character. It puts them at their lowest point, where they question all they know and all they ever wanted. Where they doubt everything. And how they come out of that situation? That’s the character’s arc. Denying them of that arc, and simply using the audience’s knowledge to make a fast choice obliterates the character’s development and robs them of an opportunity to tell a story within themselves and to their audience. Using the audience’s knowledge is quick, and keeps you on the same page as the viewers, but it is dirty and tells a less interesting tale.

And Your Point Is…?

So like I mentioned at the start, none of this is actually universal. Some stories are more event-driven, and expository writing can be fascinating as well. You really could write a tale about a sequence of events so long as the events were interesting and kept the audience reading, so a strong character isn’t even always necessary. But for what it’s worth, I think knowing how to make a character in such simple terms makes the whole process of writing much easier. If you know your character, you know how they’ll respond to conflicts, so every story is as easy as thinking up a conflict.

But hey, it’s also true that in some settings, trying to follow the rules of a good character or a good story may hurt you. A lot of role-playing groups will shun that type of thing because they’d rather roll dice at the rogue, and they think the person playing the rogue is in the wrong for trying to skim money from the party, because these people aren’t playing characters, they’re playing a game. They don’t care about an opportunity to have a character conflict with the rogue, they want their money, damnit. The fact they have nothing to spend it on in 5th edition D&D is another matter entirely.