#i feel like if it tributes that stood out more he might have recognized them later

[wxstfulthoughts]

y'all who do we think this was (tbosas chapter 3)

[elysiadjarin]

Day 6: Hand Kink

Day 6 of Kinktober! Already almost a week in, huh… I figured I’d dip into the rich Japanese side of mythology this time. I hope this is an acceptable tribute… Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Trigger warnings for violence mentioned including physical assault, some family abuse dynamics, implied sexual assault (does not actually happen), and mild descriptions of death. Also sexual content including soft dom themes, PinV unprotected sex, entirely consensual.

Tags: Beast Youkai x reader, fox spirit x reader, exophilia, terato

Small Sun Showers

“It’s such a small thing, really.”

You slid the bag you’d brought into the hollow of the old tree. Avoiding the ropes strung around, you carefully sat on the rock next to the tree.

“I brought you some sweet buns, this time, with poppy seeds,” you said, ignoring the comment that had come from the dark hollow. “Since you said you missed some of the herbs.”

The sound of crinkling came from the hole, followed by the sounds of munching. “Attentive to me, as always, sweet one,” the disembodied voice cooed, though a moment later burning orange eyes stared at you from the darkness.

You studiously avoided the gaze, looking down at the grass under your feet. A sliver of shadow from the abandoned warehouse nearby fell over you, giving you some shade from the warm sun. As always, you didn’t respond to the epithets. You never did.

“How is the temple doing?” The voice asked.

“It’s fine,” you answered, almost automatically. “The festival is coming up soon, so everyone is excited.”

“And yet you do not, hmm?” The eyes tilted, as though the head had cocked at her curiously.

Your eyes slid away, more towards the forest beyond the tree. Unconsciously, your fingers tugged at the long sleeves you wore, despite the warm weather.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admitted. “As a Shrine Maiden, I’m supposed to be doing the Miko Kagura. I’ve been practicing, but…”

“You wear long sleeves again.” A hint of suspicion crept into the voice.

Despite yourself, you flinched. “I— I’m just-“

A low growl issued from the tree. “A spirit has been harassing you again, hasn’t it. Why haven’t you called an exorcist? Or told your Father, the Priest?”

You turned your head away. “It’s been contracted by someone else,” you admitted, voice thin. “I… can’t tell Papa.”

A pause. “Because it was bought at a high price.” A sneer laced the voice. “Then how do you plan to get rid of it? You can’t hold it off forever yourself. And it’s already injured you, hasn’t it.”

You shook your head. “I’ll find out a way. I can’t bother anyone else with it.” Your eyes slid closed, the bruises mottled up your arm throbbing.

“Or you could create a contract with something far more powerful,” came the slick purr. “If you’d only break the talisman, I would make a contract with you, sweet one.” The sealed beast offered, for not the first time.

“You are a beast youkai,” you answered, voice steady. “It is against your nature to bind yourself to anyone, much less become the guardian spirit of a small temple.” You reminded both him and yourself.

“Unless we have reason. Even the mightiest of beasts might be swayed by beauty such as yours.”

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you turned your face away. You? As if. The beast youkai only even spoke to you because you gave it food and paid attention to it out of your own loneliness, not because it somehow cared about you. You couldn’t bring yourself to really believe that.

With a soft sigh, you plucked at your sleeves. “What do you want me to bring you next time?”

But the voice stayed quiet for a moment. When it spoke again, something in its voice had changed. “Do you truly not believe me? I do not lie when I say that I would bind myself to you. I would never let you be injured. I would protect you, like your family cannot. I would hold you close,” the voice said, a dreamy tone in its voice, “and I would shower you with everything you deserve.”

You fought the tears that welled in your eyes as you abruptly stood, grabbing your bag. “If you don’t have any requests, I’ll just bring anything,” you interrupted, struggling to make sure your voice didn’t waver.

A sigh, so soft that you wondered if it were only the wind. “A meat bun.”

You nodded, then headed back down the hillside towards home. Reaching up, you angrily smeared your tears from your cheeks, breath hitching on your sobs.

You could never allow yourself to believe the words of a youkai, much less a powerful and dangerous one like him. No matter how sweet his words, how genuine they sounded… Everyone always lied to you. He would be no exception.

You tried to ignore the little part of you that wondered if maybe, just maybe, dying at the hands of the youkai would be better than continuing the misery of your life.

~

“Fouuuund youuuu.” A yawning mouth sprang from the darkness, black eyes fixed with crazed bloodlust on your body.

You dropped to the floor, scrambling across the hardwood to slide towards the doorway. Leaping back up, you ran for your life. Your breaths came fast and shallow as you blindly ran, tripping through the dark halls of the temple. Behind you, you could hear cackling laughter as its talons scrabbled after you.

You reached out your hand, then burst though the main doors, stumbling across the stones out front. Looking up, you froze.

An entire group of men stood in front of you, all staring at you with leering, jeering faces. The one in the front, the one your brain automatically assumed was the leader, stepped forwards.

“Well, well. Would you look at that.” He grinned, his eyes sliding over your shoulder.

Something grabbed your arm, wrenching you back. You stifled a cry, sinking your teeth into your lip as claws brutally dug into the bruises already all up your arm. The spirit held you, its tight grip almost unbearable.

“I guess the boy must really hate his family, huh?” the man sneered, hands in his pockets as he stared at you down his nose. Reaching out with his foot, he kicked at you like some sort of trash. “To think that he’d offer his own younger sister in exchange for his debts.”

Your heart sank. Of course. Your brother who had gotten into debt with the yakuza. Of course he’d offer you: the only girl, the precious little shrine maiden.

Sadly enough, it didn’t even surprise you. But at least now you figured out why the spirit had haunted you in particular so insistently, and how much trouble you were in. Which, you snorted bitterly to yourself, was a lot. Probably at risk of your life, at best.

A wild thought flashed through your head, desperate but somehow… insistent. Your eyes briefly scanned the crowd of men. You were smaller than most of them, and probably in better shape at this point. If you managed to get a brief head start, you weren’t too far away— enough to maybe be able to get there just fast enough. But you’d have to immobilize the spirit first, at least temporarily.

Thickly, you swallowed, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. You had enough. Just enough for one— Your other hand landed on the spirit’s as your eyes flew open. The spirit let out a piercing shriek, letting go of you as the searing spiritual energy burst through your palm. You didn’t hesitate.

Breaking into a dead sprint, you headed straight for the hill behind the temple. Behind you, you could hear the angry shouts of the men as they started after you. You pushed yourself, ignoring it, taking as many shortcuts as you could, heart pounding in your ears as you gasped for air. Your legs were starting to ache, and you could hear them gaining on you; but the warehouse was in sight.

Skidding around the corner, you ran straight for the tree. Your hand reached for the talisman.

When the yakuza men caught up to you, they found you kneeling at the base of the tree, a shattered seal at your feet.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you whispered into the hollow. “Please… if you help me, just this once… I’ll give you myself in exchange,” you promised weakly.

“It’s too late now, little girl,” the boss sneered, starting to step towards you. “You’re coming with us.”

But before he could say anything more or another move was made, a dark mist began to swirl around the area. Shouts of confusion arose as the mist covered everything, too dark to see through, almost too dark to even move in safely. A low, grating laugh spilled from the darkness, just as you felt yourself being lifted up.

Startled, you gasped softly and clung to the solidity you could feel under your fingers. Lips parted, you stared at the familiar orange eyes that slowly materialized in front of you. A wide, fanged grin split the darkness underneath the eyes; and slowly, a body started to emerge from the swirling dark mist.

“Well hello there, my sweet one,” the familiar voice cooed. Long, pitch black hair tied in a low ponytail framed a pale face. The beast youkai, one that you now recognized as a Fox, held you effortlessly in one arm, pulling you close to his chest. He towered above the ground, dwarfing you in every way possible. His entire hand curled around almost your entire thigh.

You swallowed. “H-hello,” you whispered tremulously, not even sure what to think at this point.

“You released me,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you. He leaned forward, and his nose brushed against your cheek as a soft purr rumbled through his chest, reverberating down into you.

Your fingers clenched in his robe, surprise flittering through you that he wasn’t… leaving. Or killing you.

“My brave darling,” the youkai fairly gushed, nosing against you. “Now I can finally fulfill my promise to you.”

“Promise?” you repeated dumbly, mind whirling. What-?

He chuckled. “I told you, didn’t I? That I would contract with you, if you set me free. Protect you, cherish you as you should be.”

He’d actually meant it? What?

“I…” You stared up at his orange eyes, fixed on you intensely. Your breath stuck in your throat as the familiar ache of longing overcame you. Reminded you of your stupidity, falling in love with the beast youkai that you thought would never even glance at you if he were free.

“Of course I’ll do anything for you,” he purred, his tongue flicking out to briefly lick away the tear-streak on your cheek. “As if I would deny you when you offer me the one thing I truly desire more than anything else.” He grinned, eyes sparking. “You.”

And then his fingers tilted your chin up, and your eyes squeezed shut as his lips landed on yours. The kiss was warm and soft, surprisingly so. You could feel your spiritual energy gravitating towards him, could feel it wrapping around him, infusing him, as he made a contract binding him to you and your spiritual energy. He reluctantly let go of your lips, the dizzying kiss making your head spin as you gasped for breath.

“My name is Kaz, sweet one,” he murmured, orange eyes half-lidded in simmering contentment.

Unthinkingly, you repeated the name. “Kaz…”

His eyes glowed. “Now then. Why don’t we start with these filth?”

In the next moment, the mist cleared to reveal that everyone now stood in the empty warehouse. Kaz still held you in his arm, keeping you close against his chest as he stared at the yakuza men starting to reorient themselves.

The boss cursed, glaring at you and Kaz. “Hand her over,” he spat, bristling. “She’s ours.”

But Kaz only laughed, his teeth baring as feral glee glittered in his eyes. “Give you my precious shrine maiden?” he cackled. “Didn’t you ever consider the fact that she is in fact a shrine maiden at a temple, with her own powerful spiritual energy? Enough to make a contract with a powerful beast like me?” He licked his lips. “And your blood… smells wonderful.”

Some of the men started to look wary, clearly leery about the sheer size of Kaz, especially in comparison with you.

Kaz tilted his head toward you, just as he flicked his fingers. A soft sort of puffy cloud materialized beside him, and he gently set you on it. “Stay here while I get rid of these nuisances,” he said gently, his fingers brushing across your cheek. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” With one last sickeningly sweet smile, he turned towards the men. A sword materialized in his hand, practically the size of your entire body.

You looked away, bile rising in your throat. The blood drained from your face as you heard the men screaming, the sound of the carnage making you reach up to clap your hands over your ears. Though you were sure the men were far from innocent or deserving of mercy, the brutality of their deaths was undeniable. A high-pitched, inhuman shriek indicated that the spirit they’d contracted had also been shredded by Kaz.

It made you wonder. How powerful was Kaz, exactly-?

After another moment, you felt Kaz lift you up again in his arm. Eyes flying open, you grasped at his shoulders as he pulled you close against himself again. His other blood-spattered hand still held his sword, but his eyes were adoringly fixed on you.

Reaching up, you absently wiped away a tiny drop of blood off of his jaw. “Thank you,” you whispered. Despite yourself… you felt safe.

His eyes visibly lit up, and his grin widened as he gazed up at you. “Ah, my darling praises me!” You could swear his eyes had hearts in them. “Do I get a kiss?” His grin turned teasing.

You swallowed thickly. “I… I promised you myself if you helped me,” you said weakly. “It’s all I can really give you… besides my spiritual energy—“

Kaz leaned forwards, his face so close that you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “Be my bride,” he whispered, his voice a heady murmur.

You breath hitched. “K-Kaz?” Had you… heard him right-?

“You offered me yourself, darling,” he purred. “So, be my bride. I am contracted to you, aren’t I? So I will be an impertinent beast and ask the shrine maiden to be my bride without shame.”

You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered.

He paused, as though he himself didn’t believe you’d agreed.

Because you both knew that as a youkai contracted to someone with spiritual energy, you had the power to entirely command him to do anything… and deny him anything. Yet here you were, agreeing to be his bride.

“Okay, Kaz,” you repeated, not meeting his eyes. You could feel the color splash across your face.

But in all honesty, it wasn’t as though you really had many other options. Kaz could promise you some sort of safety even against your own family, and his power was certainly enough to protect you against other youkai. It had taken one of the highest-complexity talismans to even seal him away in the first place, and you could already feel through the contract how powerful he was.

The idea of being his bride… wasn’t really disagreeable.

“Darling,” Kaz breathed. His lips gently slid against yours, the touch soothing and almost… grounding. “I’ll be a most devoted husband, I promise,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and decided that you would try to believe.

The talisman had been such a small thing, really.

~

You smiled as you walked down the street, stretching your hand out to gather the raindrops that pattered down and pooled in your palm. The weather had been beautiful, but despite the warm sunshine and hardly a cloud being in the sky, it had still decided to rain.

Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk, you lifted your face and let the raindrops splash against your face in a cooling shower. You loved the rain, the way it seemed to wash away all your heavy worries and soothe the ragged edge in your soul.

A shadow fell over you, and you opened your eyes to see Kaz standing above you, smiling down at you. He leaned down and swept you up into his arm, one hand holding your thigh while the other wrapped around your waist. A startled laugh fell from your lips as you held onto his shoulders.

“Is my darling enjoying the fox wedding?” he cooed.

You flushed, just then realizing the common name for the burst of cloudless rain. You gave him a shy smile, then nodded.

He chuckled. “Should we celebrate, sweet one? I can give you a gift, if you like.” Between one breath and another, he’d shifted you both somewhere else.

You gasped, eyes widening as you saw that you were floating on a soft, wispy cloud, now deep in the forest on the outskirts of town. A place no other people were, where the rain pattered softly against the leaves of the trees and dripped to the undisturbed grasses below. Flowers bloomed beneath your cloudy carpet ride, and you leaned over to brush your fingers through the colorful blooms.

The cloud rose a little, coming to a stop and floating peacefully. Kaz pulled you into his lap, his hands wrapping around your entire waist. He smiled, watching your expressions as you looked around in delight.

“And what do you think of your wedding veil, my darling bride?” Kaz murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against your hair.

You looked down at the long, wispy cloud under you, and smiled. “It’s pretty. Thank you, Kaz.” You tilted your head back to smile at him.

His orange eyes flared, and he caught your lips in a burning kiss that seared through you like foxfire. Letting out a surprised squeak, you grasped his robe, fingers tangling in it for support as he pulled you closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Your head spun as your eyes fluttered closed.

When he finally parted, you gasped a little for air, blinking dazedly. His hand gently slid up your waist and side, sliding to your back, pulling you flush against him. He pressed another kiss to your lips. You realized, with a burst of embarrassment, that the rain had entirely soaked your shirt, plastering it to your body and leaving rather little to the imagination.

“Darling, my darling,” Kaz murmured against your lips, “won’t you let me touch you?” His hands slid down your body, fingers caressing you sensually.

You bit your lip, heat staining your face. It wasn’t fair. He knew your weakness for his hands. His large, strong hands that held you close, admired your body with touch. His calloused, capable hands that protected you, defended you, worked for you.

You nodded shyly, peeking up at him. Your lips parted in a gasp as his hands slid under your shirt, starting to map out your skin. His tongue slid against yours in a soft kiss, almost distracting you from how his hands deftly explored your body.

It almost startled you when your back landed against the cloud, Kaz hovering above you with his hands wrapped around your waist. His robe slipped open, sliding down his shoulders as he observed you with burning eyes.

“So beautiful, darling,” he purred, his hands trailing down to your pants. “Can I touch? Please?”

Shyly, you nodded, one hand over your mouth as you let out a quiet whimper, chest heaving with breath. Kaz’s hands were so broad, so warm… handled you with such a reverent sort of gentility and softness that you couldn’t help but bask in it, melt into it.

A steady purr rumbled through his chest as he kissed his way down your jaw and neck, fingers sliding into your pants and underwear to pull them off. Sliding his hands under you, he pulled your body up against him, lips sliding across yours.

Your hands braced you against his chest as you gasped, feeling his cock land heavily against your stomach. It throbbed against you, but he quickly distracted you as one hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his mouth hot against your skin.

“So tiny and sweet,” Kaz mumbled against your neck, his voice half-drunk. His fingers slid across your thigh wrapped around his waist, and he lowered his hips, pushing you into the plush softness of the cloud. Your mind started to fuzz, entirely focused on the way his hands grasped at you, somehow greedy and gentle all at once, and the way he handled you with that deft confidence yet tender infatuation.

“Kaz,” the moan left your lips before you could quite help it, your entire body humming at every brush of his fingers.

His answering hum was low and amused as he started to gently slide into you, making you gasp and arch. His cock slid into you without resistance. You’d gotten so wet just thanks to his soft touches and gentle attention. He murmured your name against your lips as he slid wholly into you, seating himself inside with a heavy breath.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to somehow ground yourself. Everything had started to go fuzzy, especially as his hands wrapped entirely around your hips and pulled you down onto his cock, his grasp iron as he ground up into you.

His pace, once he started thrusting, stayed steady and almost agonizingly slow. But when you whined, he chuckled and slid his fingers between your lips instead. You let his lithe fingers gently play with your tongue, while his other hand kept you anchored to him.

You could feel the coil inside you steadily growing, getting tighter, closer to the edge. Everything felt so hazy and light, like the solidity of his body was the only real thing, the only think that mattered. Like his hands were the only things that kept you grounded, held you down, safe from drifting away.

“K-Kaz.” Your teary eyelids opened to gaze up at his face.

“Does this please you, my darling?” Kaz murmured, sliding his fingers out of your mouth and down to press against your clit.

“I— I love you.” Your fingers curled against his chest.

His orange eyes widened, then flooded with that pure, infatuated adoration. “I love you, my sweet darling,” he purred, kissing you. “And I am so entirely yours.”

The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you with a force that left you lightheaded and dizzy. The pleasure suffused your entire body until you were gasping, tears streaking down your cheeks as you whimpered.

You finally floated down from your high to the feeling of Kaz’s hands sweeping over you. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. He pulsed inside you, but still kept his pace slow and steady as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck. His hands clenched around your hips, and he let out a groan as he rested his head beside yours. You could tell that he was so close, his hips starting to stutter.

“You feel so lovely, so warm and tight and soft, darling,” Kaz groaned. “Please, can I—“

“It’s okay, Kaz,” you reassured sweetly, voice shy. “You can.”

He jerked one more time, sinking into you with a low groan. His entire body shuddered as he came, pouring into you as he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints. For once, you didn’t mind the bruises.

Pulling back, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, mouth slanting over yours. He poured the love, the gratitude, the adoration between your lips until you felt as though you could drown in it.

“I will always protect you,” he promised against your lips.

And for once, you believed the promise.

It was such a small thing, really.

[huebris808]

Dr. Hofnarr’s Horrible, No-Good, Very Weird 15 Years Of Being Dead.

a tribute to fanon interpretations/character study(?) that was going to be a bonus chapter in a post-canon/au comedy fic im working on! might come back to expand on this when i do start posting it (or if mpn gives him more background story lore that i’ll have to work with aoAHGHOAUGH)

happy madness day! :o)

“Where should I begin… Perhaps at the very beginning? OH! Christoff and I first met years before our Nexus days! Back in our freshman years of college, to be precise! You know, I was actually a theater major before switching to- ... A-Aah, too far back. Much too far... Let’s start from the point where the notes I supplied to you ended then, shall we? After our dissension...”

.. “Good luck, old friend...” ..

The first years on the run from Nexus was stressful to say the least. Hofnarr and Christoff had split up to better their chances of survival. He knew the process would be grueling, having talked to Christoff almost every night about it to calm his nerves. While he played calm for the cameras, Hofnarr truly wished he could have held him close one last time. No communications. No physical contact. Day after day, month after month, nothing. He would be separated from his husband for a very long time…

It wasn’t all bad after a while. He had a comfortable new apartment, went under a new alias, and his questionable new job paid him enough to buy food. His apartment even had cable! He could watch marathons of Slaughter Time whenever he got home! In hindsight, he wondered if that had an effect on his mental state at the time...

Hofnarr had taken the last of his S3LF regulator with him, having shipped them out to an undisclosed location prior to dissension. Dissonance exposure did a number on him and his research team, leaving them to track their “normality” through daily blood tests and injections. While they met their fates early on, Hofnarr had gotten lucky. That is, until the doses began to run out.

Stressful as it was, he knew what he had to do. Hofnarr rushed back to what remained of the labs, knowing it had been abandoned by now. It was ironic, he and Christoff’s work, the work that was turned against them, was the one thing keeping him alive. For days, he worked to make more doses from the materials he brought with him. But there was only so much he could do with limited supplies… Hofnarr made many attempts to prolong the inevitable, lowering his dosage amount, injecting it weekly rather than daily, but he eventually ran dry. 

Refusing to turn to darker alternatives, he felt the only thing he could do at this point is record his final findings through video logs.

“It was… interesting revisiting the footage, to put it nicely. Christoff had actually kept the video files on a drive after he originally found all my things in the lab! I barely remembered what happened back then, so I rewatched them out of curiosity.”

On the first night, Hofnarr recorded a message for Christoff. One filled with sorrow, but also with gratitude. For the time that they spent together. How special he made him feel. All the memories they made together...

On the next, he recorded a log detailing his findings during Project Nexus. The effects of dissonance, the Other Place, what it did to him and his colleagues, everything and anything he could.

The next, he reported on the progression of his symptoms. Fever, brain fog, insomnia, joint pain. He felt like his organs were melting, his skin bursting at the seams.

The next night he saw something and remembered. Scars. The scars on his head. That week he was in the staff hospital. He thought it was a dream but the scars were there. Phobos. Director Phobos brought him somewhere that week. He knew he felt off when he woke up in the office that night. He knew something was off when Christoff asked him where he was. He thought he passed out from over-working. That bastard Phobos. Nausea was replaced with rage as he began to scream, his throat becoming raw. What did he put in him? What the hell did he put inside him!?

On the last recorded log, he was face-down on the ground. Groaning as his body occasionally convulsed. Until the video feed eventually cut off.

His body would lay there dormant, dead, for fifteen years. 

But to Hofnarr, he felt like he was dreaming.

.. “LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR OUR NEXT CONTESTANT!” ..

“Huh?” The doctor sat up and looked around, the area around him pitch black. Wasn’t he sleeping just a moment ago? He got up and took a step forward in the seemingly endless void. “H-Hello? Who’s out there?”

“AWW, DON’T BE SHY NOW! ESTEEMED AUDIENCE, A BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR GUEST; THE UNFORTUNATE DOCTOR HOFNARR!”

A light shined down on him from above. A crowd seemingly began to cheer all around him. He was in the center of what looked like a talk show set. Hofnarr awkwardly scratched the corner of his face. “‘Unfortunate’? W-What do you mean? W-Who are you?”

“FIGHT FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS LATER!” The voice above him called out again. “AFTER ALL, IT’S…!” Hofnarr drowned out the noise while trying to think. It sounded familiar. Like it came from…

Hofnarr’s thoughts were cut short. He looked down at his torso. Terror set in as he recognized an entire stop sign had been lodged through his chest.

“DON’T GET COLD FEET NOW! THE SHOW’S ONLY JUST BEGUN!” 

The words echoed in Hofnarr’s mind as he frantically tried to pull it out, his vision growing muddled, his hands slipping with blood until…

He blinked.

No stage. No sound. No pain.

Nothing around except for a single white door in front of him.

He stood up again, cautiously reaching for the doorknob.

When he entered he seemed to be in a vintage styled home. It was a kitchen with checkerboard flooring, a table with two chairs, and cheerful music playing through a small radio. It smelled of pastry and medical equipment. Suddenly, there was a knock coming from the door. A familiar voice called from behind it.

“I’m home, dear.” “J-Jeb?!”

Hofnarr rushed towards the front door. Christoff wasn’t trapped here too, was he? “Jeb! W-where are we!? What is this place? What happened to-”

As he opened the door, the clapping returned.

His husband was there, briefcase in hand, his face replaced with a black hole dripping with an unknown inky substance.

He slowly began to back away as “Jeb” moved closer.

The applause, the laughter, was deafening.

Before he could question or run away, Hofnarr was hit by something. His vision blurred, but refocused to be face-to-face with something. It seemed to be a shadow of himself. He tried to run again, but was pinned down by his doppelganger. The clone raised a clawed hand above him and then...

Like waking from a nightmare, Hofnarr quickly sat up once again. He gasped for air, dripping with cold sweat.

Was this really happening? Was it finally over? Was he free?

And then the spotlight focused on him again.

“It… got very surreal. Despite fight after fight, death after painful death... I would suddenly be somewhere else! There was a gameshow, our old apartment, a cat cafe, a... strip club of sorts, a tea room filled with these small armless doodles I used to draw on my research notes trying to offer me snacks… One time there was a sort of singing contest, but I won’t bore you with the details of that one. But when I wasn’t in those places, I felt like I was fighting for my life. It felt like an eternity! And the strangest part of it all? It… it became addicting.”

At first, he felt as if Hofnarr used all of his energy, physical and emotional, to fight back. It reminded him too much of his escape from Nexus. But as time went on, he focused less on escaping and more on surviving. The more he fought, the more he began to lose himself. He was anticipating what sudden whiplash of combat would be thrown at him next. He chuckled at the thought of what excitement would be heading his way. He wanted more. The fights became too slow. Too predictable. Too boring. He began toying with whatever was thrown at him. Turning his shadowy hunters into the hunted. Why let his audience watch the same old fights all the time?

Suddenly, the fighting stopped.

Why? 

He was having fun, wasn’t he? He grew impatient.

“WHAT’S THE HOLD UP!” He yelled into the void, seething with anger. “AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO BE FIGHTING? ISN’T THAT WHAT I’M HERE FOR?!”

He stomped his foot down, lodging something out of the ground.

The stop sign.

He looked over it curiously. How familiar…

Grabbing hold of it, quick flashes of memories appeared to him.

Nexus, the Science Tower, Phobos, the Other Place… 

A man with long hair standing next to...

Hofnarr… 

Who was that? Was that him?

No…

Only Tricky remained.

Footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the abandoned lab. Heels quickly clicking, cautiously stopping every so often. A lone Nexus Core agent entered through one of the doors.

Perfect timing.

“HAY! YOU THERE!!” A voice stuttered and glitched out, reverberating through the emptiness of the lab. The quickly soldier whipped their head around. “YEAH! YOU, STUPID. PLAY WITH ME!!”

“Who’s there?” The agent pointed their magnum towards the noise. “Show yourself!”

Gladly. The cackling figure emerged from the shadows, posing with a peace-sign, causing the agent to recoil. He grinned, slowly moving towards the cowering goon on the ground. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Who are you!?”

They couldn’t kill him.

“FIGHT FIRST. ASK QUESTIONS LATER! AFTER ALL…” 

CAN’T KILL CLOWN.

“IT’S MURDER TIME!”

..

“My body had been there, regenerating and repeating the enmeshment process for years. And by the time I woke up, I was a completely different person. I became a creature of unfiltered impulse… A personification of chaos itself.”

The room grew silent before Hofnarr spoke up again.

“I-Is it horrible to say it was… kind of cool?” He said with a nervous chuckle, twiddling his fingers.

2BDamned was quiet for a moment. They recalled the many times they had to stitch their comrades back together due to Clown Moments. They placed their head in their palms and let out a sigh.

“... You have the right to your own opinion.”

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

BONUS: songs i was listening to on loop while working on this instead of doing my damned writing assignment. Enjoy

lady gaga ft. dorian electra - replay

vestik - tricky's vengeance ft. monocronic

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

~~

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

~~

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

~~

~~

~~

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG 15 Imposter Syndrome Part 11

This is during day 4! Tagging: @sparkles-and-hens, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @maple-writes (also thanks for Volt!), @pen-of-roses (also thanks for Reine!), @thoughts-of-nora, and @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Hugo!)!

I ran the whole way until I found Reine climbing down from a tree. I skidded to a halt and took a second to catch my breath before I spoke. “Something—something happened. I think my crew is compromised.”

She froze. Shit. I completely screwed it up, didn’t I? “Compromised? Are you sure?”

“They haven’t sent a parachute. They’re probably captured. Or at least my mentor is. I’m—I’m sorry.” Shit. I was crying. I looked away from her and quickly wiped the tears away.

“Alright. Alright. Goodness! No, no we can still…why would your mentor be captured?” She shook her head, muttering to herself. “Or rather do you think they know about a plan to escape? And that’s why?”

“My mentor…I helped hide her from a Capitol official who wanted to use her. The problem is, she had to go back to be a mentor, and the Capitol official still wants her. I had already decided that we wouldn’t lose her to save the mission. So, the whole crew might have been captured as well. I don’t think they know about the plan.”

She nodded. “That’s…not good, that’s not the right word. Oh forget it. We’ll need to adjust some stuff slightly, but. I think…we can still get everyone out? The weak spot is still there, and oh, and there’s a cave that goes pretty far and the cameras only extend so far and most of those were already knocked out.” She leaned against a tree and didn’t seem to be talking to me. Still, I had to help to make up for what happened. “I hope this isn’t his fault. He couldn’t have learned anything about that, didn’t have the time. Right?”

I kept looking at the ground as tears kept threatening to spill out of my eyes. “No. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I didn’t have a good enough plan. I put everyone in danger because I wanted to do this. I should have prepared more. I should have…” My voice cracked, and I shut up as I wiped away more fucking tears.

“Hey! No, don’t think that,” Reine said roughly. “If anything you probably prepared as much as you could given the circumstances.” Couldn’t agree with that. “And at the very least you wanted to save and help people which speaks far more to your character than many hu-people I’ve met in the past. This could be a number of reasons, a hundred come to my mind on my end alone.”

She was sweet, trying to make me feel better. I took a deep breath and nodded, not really meaning it. “What do I need to do to help fix this?”

She took a deep breath too. “We’ll need to get out as many trackers as possible more quickly now, and start getting people to safety. There’s the cave, I hope it’ll be enough, but it’s not far from the weak spot. And stay alive, as always. Past that, we just keep adapting. That part never really ends sadly. And I think,” She winced. “One of us needs to be near the end of getting the trackers out. Meaning we’re close to the last so we can stay as visible as possible until we don’t have much more of a choice?”

I nodded. It would make sense for me to do it. I fucked this all up anyway. “I’ll do it. And I won’t fuck it up this time.”

“You didn’t the first time. But alright, when I see an opportunity, I’ll take mine out. We’ll do this alright?” She hesitated and then patted my shoulder and tried to smile. I just nodded and left. She probably didn’t want to look at me any more than she had to right now.

*

So, to get my mind off my crew and everything going wrong, I set my sights on smashing as many cameras as I could today. I was just finishing up a nice, perfect radius when I heard voices. A smile tugged at my lips when I recognized them. Volt and Atwater. Time to distract myself some more.

I pulled out my token and uncollapsed the collapsible hat, putting it on my head for a grand entrance. I could pretend everything was fine. Uncle Graem taught me how.

I got within hearing distance in time to hear Volt speak. “Sponsor. An old client of mine. I thought she’d be pleased to watch me die but seems like she may have had a change of heart for some reason or another. Don’t know how long that’s going to last though.”

She had to be talking about Indigo Carmine. In the information I had found on her, Volt had been mentioned. Before I could make a comment about that, though, Atwater spoke. “Depends on whether the donor heart was a good match, usually.”

Shit. He was way too clever. A laugh escaped my lips, and I forced myself to walk forward. They would have already heard me anyway. I smiled at both of them, my eyes lingering on Volt. “Oh, you must be talking about Indigo Carmine.” Atwater just stared at my hat.

Volt didn’t seem to be pleased with my sudden entrance. She jumped and whirled toward me in an obvious attack stance, but she stopped herself. “How do you know that?”

I smirked. “An information specialist let me know all the juicy details of Dear Ms. Indigo’s past.” I paused. “Anyway, how are both of you doing?”

Volt paused before leaning back against a tree with the longest of sighs. “I’ve been better to put it briefly.”

Atwater took a step back away from me. Rude. “You know…this’s the second time you’ve conveniently stepped in on one of my conversations here in the Arena. What gives? I’m just trying to get by, and you keep making it complicated. For what? Huh?”

I missed these two so much! I winked at him. “Because I just love your company so much! And hey, if you want to get rid of me, you could join the escape group, and I won’t bother you again.”

“I think the nature of the request logically means we have to be around each other more and you get more opportunities to bother me. You don’t even know me. I’m just the jerk that goes around messing things up. How did you even know I’ve been busting out cameras around here? Or d’you just think you can go around talking about escape and the Gamemakers won’t send in the acid rain to shut you up? Argh…” He looked between me and Volt. “What’re you gonna do?” Towards Volt. “Join her or what?”

I grinned. “What a coincidence! I, too, was destroying cameras around here! They can’t hear anything we say. And maybe I wouldn’t bother you if you joined!”

Volt just closed her eyes with a groan. There were bags under her eyes. “At the very least it seems she’s done some research.” She glanced over at Atwater. “I don’t know what to believe, but since we seem to be together yet again it might not hurt to stick together. See what happens.”

He stared at the water bottle in his hand. “I’ve never believed in anything. And look where that’s got me.” He looked up at me and squared his shoulders. Oh boy! “You’re a little bit…much.” Understandable. “But you remind me of someone I eventually got to tolerate. That didn’t come out great. The point is, I want out of here. I’ve got places I still want to see. I’ve got ideas. Bad ones. I…can maybe help. Anyway, if she thinks it’s a halfway decent idea…Well, I don’t know if I can trust anyone, but I trust her judgment. This could be a trap, but so could anything.” He spread his arms. “Ya got me. Now what?”

Oh shit. I was going to cry again. The first friends I had made of the tributes, and they were finally joining me. Reine could get them all out, and I…well, I could be considered just baggage. But for some reason, they actually believed me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. I grinned and hugged both of them. They both just kind of stood there, and I mentally noted that they probably didn’t like hugs, so I stopped quickly. “I’m so glad! Come on! I’ll show you to the camp. Don’t worry. We’ve already smashed all the cameras around there too.”

[sinceileftyoublog]

Steve Earle & Florence Dore Live Show Review: 10/23, Stoughton Opera House

BY JORDAN MAINZER

James McMurtry once told me that Steve Earle “gets his political point across without making it a sermon.” During Saturday night’s acoustic solo show at the Stoughton Opera House in Wisconsin, Earle gave a masterclass in such performance. Though he railed against guns, union busters, and the Israeli government--just as any average angry self-described liberal might if they, too had a microphone and a stage--Earle posed his thoughts and contextualized his songs in observational humility. Though he played some of his best-known diatribes, like “The Devil’s Right Hand”, it was his more recent material that stood out. Earle wrote music for the 2020 play Coal Country about the 2010 Upper Big Branch Mine disaster in West Virginia; it received an extremely limited run in 2020, shortened due to the pandemic. Those songs, however, would make up Steve Earle & The Dukes’ excellent Ghosts of West Virginia (New West), released last year. With both projects, Earle was inspired after perceiving that America “stopped listening to each other.” And before you could roll your eyes at something that on the surface seems like substance-free both-sidesism, Earle proved his chops, explaining how WV is truly a “purple state” due to the prevalence of unions, and how we’ll “never solve jobs and the environment until you talk about them together.” In other words, unlike so many politicians, Earle’s opinions are fully formed from his experience talking to folks in earnest. That he seemed to be genuine in speaking to an audience about his experiences brought the McMurtry quote full circle.

Still, it was Earle’s actual singing and playing where the empathy came to life. “It’s About Blood”’s first verse contains the line, “Goddamn right, I’m emotional,” and by the end, when Earle read the names of all 29 miners who died in the disaster, he was out of breath. He clearly wasn’t acting when he entered the headspace of someone like Tommy Davis, who lost a son, brother, and nephew in the explosion. He felt it. Earle lost his son Justin Townes Earle last year, to whom he paid tribute on this year’s J.T., an album of mostly covers of Justin’s songs. Yet, the night was so emotionally intense with Earle telling other people’s stories, that if he hadn’t ended his set with Justin’s “Harlem River Blues”, you might have forgotten about J.T.

Earle also revisited stories from his past, many about love, many more about heartbreak. “This goes out to whatshername, wherever she is,” he quipped before singing "Feel Alright”. “Same girl, different harmonica,” he joked while switching instruments before “Goodbye”. The way he sang, grumbling before or after songs, or even within lines, worked as a way for him to transition into new moods or modes of thought. Of course, sweet tunes like Washington Square Serenade’s “Sparkle and Shine” and blues shuffle “You’re the Best Lover That I Ever Had” found their place alongside lovelorn bitterness. “Women argue which song is about who,” Earle said, before revealing, “The truth is they’re all about me.” Clearly, that he’s able to recognize an inherent navel-gazing in songwriting allows him to overcome it, something on display on Saturday whether he was singing about girls that have done him wrong or victims of capitalist greed.

In that sense, Florence Dore was the perfect person to open for Earle, admitting that “disastrous relationships made for great songs” but learning to move past the tendency to showcase catastrophe. Instead, she played songs about her mother, her grandmother, her daughter, and menopause. Perhaps she changed in part because of what’s been going on in her life for two decades: Dore has one album to her name, 2001′s Perfect City, and is set to release her long-awaited follow-up in January. (The recording and vinyl pressing have been delayed due to the pandemic.) In between then, she wrote a book, put on a conference at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, became a board member at the Bob Dylan Institute, taught, and married and had kids with Dukes drummer Will Rigby. If what she performed on Saturday was any indication, her new album will be reflective and funny and semi-biographical, while hopefully still finding room for a little acid. 

[perry-flynn]

Death and Flowers || BHG ||

Perry Flynn; Legion member, inventor, not a killer. 

(tw; knife mentions, stabbing, blood, death) 

Rose Whitman 

It was late. Or early. She couldn't really tell, but the sun wasn't up yet and that's all that mattered. The lack of sight made her nervous, but she was on watch so she kept sharp. This part of the forest was eerily noiseless, aside from the unintelligible whispers that she did her best to ignore. She wasn't going to give any of the Gamemakers the satisfaction of luring her to her death with something as stupid as that. So she sat and watched and listened while her new allies slept. A bit later into the night, when the sun was just starting to bring light, she heard a voice. One she knew. "Rose! Help, where are you?" "Rose, please!" "Help me!" It was Seb. Immediately she sprung up, trying not to jostle the sleeping Dot and Wendy on either side of her. The blonde winced at the pain of the tightening in her leg. It was patched up, mostly, but the muscles were still tense. She knew better than to call out. Instead, Rose followed the voice deeper into the forest, alone. 

Perry Flynn

It had been a day, and Perry already felt sick. Frankly he thought he was lucky already to have made it this far. He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't want to kill anyone. But he had to, right? Only way out.  Perry wasn't cut out for a blood bath though, he knew that, he had to find people on their own. All he had was his brain, a hammer, and a handful of nails in his back pocket. There was the sword too, he'd strung that up as part of a trap, because there was just no chance he could swing that thing about in any useful way. That made the hammer his up close killing tool though, which was a grim reality he was trying hard not to picture. He'd been trying his best to stay on his feet, hardly sleeping- he was good at that, up at all kinds of hours inventing stuff usually, he could function well enough tired- seeking out anyone that might make an easy enough target for him. There was a group of girls, only one awake, and Perry watched from afar for a while, trying to figure out how to lure her away from the others. In the end he didn't have to, something else drew her away. Her leg was bandaged. Perhaps the injury would make her an easy target. Immediately, Perry hated himself for the thought. Still his grip tightened around the hammer, and he followed quietly as he could manage as she headed further into the trees.

Rose Whitman 

Following the voice led to nowhere. She traipsed through the underbrush for what felt like hours as the voice of her fellow District Six kept getting further. She wouldn't even have made it this far if not for him and his brother. (After all, it was their personas she used to charm the people of the Capitol) Before the girls had hunkered down for the night, they got a plethora of gifts from sponsors. It allowed Rose to really clean out her wound with alcohol and take the knife out. She had it in her hand now. It was kind of morbid to think about. This knife that could potentially save her life as she stalked around alone at night surrounded by enemies was exactly the knife that left a permanent mark by being jabbed inside her.  She looked from the serrated blade to the wetsuit sleeve from a fallen tribute makeshifted into bandages around her thigh. Without help from others, she wouldn't be here. So she owed it to anyone not specifically trying to kill her to help them out. But Sebastian wasn't here. There was no one around to save except herself. Rose felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she heard the shifting of low hanging branches behind her. Her grip on the hilt of the blade tightened as she turned quickly and swung it out at whatever was creeping up on her. 

Perry Flynn 

She looked young. Younger than him, anyway. Perry didn't recognise her. Maybe he should, but the days of interviews and such before the games were nothing but a panicked blur to him now. She wasn't district 3, that was all he knew. So he kept going, because someone had to die and if he stood around wondering who she was and what kind of family she had outside of this hell then he was going to loose his nerve and then probably his life. He felt bad, but he'd feel worse if he could remember her name. He couldn't throw the hammer with any sort of accuracy. The nails, maybe, but they were more useful as a tool than a weapon. They certainly wouldn't do any damage long range. His chest felt tight and his hands were sweaty. This wasn't him, he couldn't do this. He couldn't kill a girl in the forest in the middle of a death match. But here he was trying anyway, because desperate men do terrible things. He had to get home. There was so much still to do. He crept up slowly, quieter than he'd ever been in his life. Quiet until he stumbled, grabbing a tree branch to avoid hitting the floor and making a loud noise. The trees made enough noise of their own though, and Perry hardly even had the time to realise he'd fucked up. The girl turned, and slashed at him with a knife he hadn't even seen. For a moment they were just two strangers staring wide eyed at each other. There was a white hot pain flashing across his neck. A strange gurgling sound broke the silence, and it took Perry a moment to figure out that he was making the sound. He lurched forward and fell to his knees, girl forgotten so quickly as he watched blood splash against the grimy forest floor. "No one cares." He heard. "No one cares that you're dying." It sounded like his mother. 

Rose Whitman 

Rose only did it on instinct. She didn't mean to. Her body reacted before her mind did. It all happened so fast, like when she punched Seb before... She saw the ripple of blood flow down his front, the man who was following her. Her wide doe eyes filled with tears as she met his. It was horrifying to look at, let alone know that it was your handiwork. The knife wielding hand was covered in his blood and shaking. She recognized him as one of the guys from District Three when he fell to his knees, gurgling and choking on his own blood. Rose just stood there. Paralyzed over her first kill. Then the voiced that had silenced for only a moment chimed back in. Telling lies. She knelt down and put her free hand on his shoulder and whispered, just for them to hear, "That's a lie. Don't listen to it... I care, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. But I have to go, I gotta--" she couldn't bear to stay longer and acknowledge what she'd done, as much as she wanted to stay and comfort the man. Rose left him there to die. Willing the tears to not come as she heard a cannon mere minutes later. 

Perry Flynn 

They were all just trying to survive. Perry couldn't be mad. Even if he wanted there were other things occupying his mind. Imminent death. The blood he could feel dripping down his chest. Imminent death. Everything hurt. Which meant nothing really did, because it was all he could feel. He couldn't breathe. Then she was in front of him. Saying... Something. He fought to focus. I care. I'm sorry. I have to go. With what little control he had left over his actions, Perry tried to shrug her hand off his shoulder, hoping she'd understand the gesture for the encouragement he meant it and not as scorn. He wouldn't want to watch anyone die, either. As she turned to leave, Perry gave in and crumpled to the ground completely, curling in on himself. He tried to remember what the girl- the girl, he didn't even know her name- had said over the vicious whispers he could still hear all around him, until he couldn't hear anything at all.

[hockeysweetheart]

So I asked this question Earlier. Do you think that Katniss was in love with Gale the romantic way. 

Easy answer no. I do beileve she loved him as you love her friends. But there were just no sparks there.  Okay this will be a super long thing. I’ll add all  chapters and pages below 

Lets dig into this.  

So at the start of the book they meet up in the woods on the day of the reaping This is Katniss Discribing Gale ( This is after they talk about running away Katniss blurts out I am never having kids, Eating bakery bread  Gale said he would have kids ect...  

Chapter 1 Page 10 The hunger Games 

This Conversation feels all wrong Leave? How could I leave Prim, Who is the only person in the world I’m certain I love? And Gale who is Devoted to his Family. We can’t Leave, so why bother talking about it? And if we did... even if we did... where did this stuff about having kids come from? There’s NEVER been anything romantic between Gale and me. When we met, I was a skinny 12 year old and although he was only two years older. He already looked like a man. It took a long time for us to even become friends, to stop haggling over every trade and begin helping each other out. 

 Besides if he wanted Kids, Gale won’t have any trouble finding a wife. He’s good-looking, he’s strong enough to handle the work in the mines, and he can hunt. You can tell by the way  girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find.

Page 38- 40 Chapter 3 The hunger Games 

( Now this is when Katniss is saying goodbyes and Gale says goodbye)

Finally Gale is here and maybe there is nothing Romantic between us, but when he opens his arms . I don’t hesitate to go into the. His body is familiar to me- the way it moves, the smell of wood and smoke, even the sound of his heart beating I know from quiet moments on a hunt- but this is the first time I really  feel it, lean and hard-muscled against my own.

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," says Gale. "It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think," I say. "So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," he says. "You know how to kill." "Not people," I say. "How different can it be, really?" says Gale grimly. The awful thing is that if I can forget they're people, it will be no different at all. The Peacekeepers are back too soon and Gale asks for more time, but they're taking him away and I start to panic. "Don't let them starve!" I cry out, clinging to his hand. "I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I  - " he says, and they yank us apart and slam the door and I'll never know what it was he wanted me to remember.

Pages 109 to 112 Chapter 8 The Hunger Games 

When they first met. Please note this is Before Peeta confessed his Love for Katniss. 

I had been struggling along on my own for about six months when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sun- day in October, the air cool and pungent with dying things. I’d spent the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly warmer afternoon wading in shallow ponds har- vesting katniss. The only meat I’d shot was a squirrel that had practically run over my toes in its quest for acorns, but the an- imals would still be afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home, lugging my burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards away was another. I recognized the twitch-up snares because my father had used them. When the prey is caught, it’s yanked into the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I’d been trying to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn’t help dropping my sacks to examine this one. My fingers were just on the wire above one of the rabbits when a voice rang out. “That’s dangerous.”

I jumped back several feet as Gale materialized from be- hind a tree. He must have been watching me the whole time. He was only fourteen, but he cleared six feet and was as good as an adult to me. I’d seen him around the Seam and at school. And one other time. He’d lost his father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I’d stood by while he received his medal of valor in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. I remembered his two little brothers clutching his mother, a woman whose swollen belly announced she was just days away from giving birth. “What’s your name?” he said, coming over and disengaging the rabbit from the snare. He had another three hanging from his belt. “Katniss,” I said, barely audible. “Well, Catnip, stealing’s punishable by death, or hadn’t you heard?” he said. “Katniss,” I said louder. “And I wasn’t stealing it. I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything.” He scowled at me, not convinced. “So where’d you get the squirrel?” “I shot it.” I pulled my bow off my shoulder. I was still using the small version my father had made me, but I’d been practic- ing with the full-size one when I could. I was hoping that by spring I might be able to bring down some bigger game. Gale’s eyes fastened on the bow. “Can I see that?” I handed it over. “Just remember, stealing’s punishable by death.”

That was the first time I ever saw him smile. It transformed him from someone menacing to someone you wished you knew. But it took several months before I returned that smile. We talked hunting then. I told him I might be able to get him a bow if he had something to trade. Not food. I wanted knowledge. I wanted to set my own snares that caught a belt of fat rabbits in one day. He agreed something might be worked out. As the seasons went by, we grudgingly began to share our knowledge, our weapons, our secret places that were thick with wild plums or turkeys. He taught me snares and fishing. I showed him what plants to eat and eventually gave him one of our precious bows. And then one day, without either of us saying it, we became a team. Dividing the work and the spoils. Making sure that both our families had food. Gale gave me a sense of security I’d lacked since my father’s death. His companionship replaced the long solitary hours in the woods. I became a much better hunter when I didn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly, when someone was watching my back. But he turned into so much more than a hunting partner. He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice inside the fence. In exchange, he trusted me with his. Being out in the woods with Gale . . . sometimes I was actually happy. I call him my friend, but in the last year it’s seemed too ca- sual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But, of course, I don’t want that. I don’t want him in the arena where he’d bedead in a few days. I just . . . I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must.

I think of the eleven flashing under my name last night. I know exactly what he’d say to me. “Well, there’s some room for improvement there.” And then he’d give me a smile and I’d return it without hesitating now. I can’t help comparing what I have with Gale to what I’m pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale’s motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter’s. It’s not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mu- tual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other’s survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that?

Now through out the Games Katniss does Question How Gale would feel about all this like the Kissing, The being in love with Peeta for an act. ( only everyone knows it’s aha not an act.) 

Catching Fire.  

Catching Fire Chaper 1 Page 9.  

Basically saying how painful It was for Gale to see his best friend in love with someone else. 

Hazelle nods “ That’d be good. Gale means to, but he’s only got his Sundays. and I think he likes saving those for you” I Can’t stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It’s stupid. of course. Hardly anybody knows me Better then Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I’m sure plenty of people assumed that we’d eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark , announced he was madly in love with me, Our romance became a key strategy for Peeta. I’m not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing put painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how. on the Victory Tour. Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again.

Catching Fire Chapter 2 Pages 23- 28. 

Now this is when Snow  basically tells Katniss he can kill Gale and that Katniss goes into the kiss ( the surprise one)

"Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say.

"At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say.

"But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say.

"I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?"

"I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off.

"Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday."

If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ...

It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen.

After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games.

So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods.

The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games.

I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset.

Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink.

We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was.

Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone.

Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home.

That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday.

I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened.

Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way.

This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. “Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."  

Chaper 7 Pages 93-101  Catching fire 

 Basically talking about running away and then Katniss can’t leave Peeta or Haymitch and  Gale is angry about that But Prior Gale is happy to run away with her Says He loves her... but HA. ( we all know how that worked out) 

Then I sit on the tiny concrete hearth, thawing out by the fire and waiting for Gale. It's a surprisingly short time before he appears. A bow slung over his shoulder, a dead wild turkey he must have encountered along the way hanging from his belt. He stands in the doorway as if considering whether or not to enter. He holds the unopened leather bag of food, the flask, Cinna's gloves. Gifts he will not accept because of his anger at me. I know exactly how he feels. Didn't I do the same thing to my mother? I look in his eyes. His temper can't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. I could take hours trying to explain, and even then have him refuse me. Instead I go straight to the heart of my defense. "President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," I say. Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. "Anyone else?" "Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families," I say. It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. "Unless what?" "Unless nothing, now," I say. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily into the fire. After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. "Well, thanks for the heads-up." I turn to him, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on someone. We're all going to be obliterated no matter what. "I do have a plan, you know." "Yeah, I bet it's a stunner," he says. He tosses the gloves on my lap. "Here. I don't want your fiance's old gloves." "He's not my fiance. That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves. They were Cinna's," I say. "Give them back, then," he says. He pulls on the gloves, flexes his fingers, and nods in approval. "At least I'll die in comfort." "That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened," I say. "Let's have it," he says. I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay. Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust. I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming. "Well, you really made a mess of things," he says. "I'm not even done," I tell him. "I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours," he says. I take a deep breath. "We run away." "What?" he asks. This has actually caught him off guard. "We take to the woods and make a run for it," I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said - " He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy. "Hey!" I protest, but I'm laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. "Okay, let's run away," he says. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?" Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders. "I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you," he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!" "You're sure?" I say. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you - " "I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure." He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why. I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next... you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. "I know." It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. "I know! And you... you know what you are to me." It's not enough. He breaks my grip. "Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know." I can see him swallowing his disappointment. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. "My mother's going to take some convincing." I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. "Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative." "She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you," says Gale. "I hope not." The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. "Haymitch will be the real challenge." "Haymitch?" Gale abandons the chestnuts. "You're not asking him to come with us?" "I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd - " His scowl cuts me off. "What?" "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," he snaps at me.

"They'd torture them to death, trying to find out where I was," I say.

"What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?" he asks.

I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. "Then he stays."

"You'd leave him behind?" Gale asks.

"To save Prim and my mother, yes," I answer. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come."

"And me, would you leave me?" Gale's expression is rock hard now. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter."

"Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense," I say.

"Suppose she doesn't, Katniss. What then?" he demands.

"Then you have to force her, Gale. Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" My voice is rising in anger as well.

"No. I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing your wedding. You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted. I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta. How's he going to get out of that one?" says Gale.

"Well, with an uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" I shout.

The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate - the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. "There's an uprising in Eight?" he says in a hushed voice.

I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets - " I say.

Gale grabs my shoulders. "What did you see?"

"Nothing! In person. I just heard something." As usual, it's too little, too late. I give up and tell him. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and the Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back. ..." I bite my lip and struggle to continue describing the scene. Instead I say aloud the words that have been eating me up inside. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would've happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too."

"Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people - you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been - "

"Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!" I say.

"That's why we have to join the fight!" he answers harshly.

"No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" I'm yelling again, but I can't understand why he's doing this. Why doesn't he see what's so undeniable?

Gale pushes me roughly away from him. "You leave, then. I'd never go in a million years."

"You were happy enough to go before. I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about - " No, I can't throw Peeta in his face. "What about your family?" "What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be about just saving us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me. "You could do so much." He throws Cinna's gloves at my feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol." And he's gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it's mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. I sink down next to the fire, desperate for comfort, to work out my next move. I calm myself by thinking that rebellions don't happen in a day. Gale can't talk to the miners until tomorrow. If I can get to Hazelle before then, she might straighten him out. But I can't go now. If he's there, he'll lock me out. Maybe tonight, after everyone else is asleep ... Hazelle often works late into the night finishing up laundry. I could go then, tap at the window, tell her the situation so she'll keep Gale from doing anything foolish

Catching Fire Chapter 8.  Pages 115-116 

I don't know exactly what my mother means by things starting again, but I'm too angry and hurting to ask. It's registered, though, the idea of worse times returning, because when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. Who could it be at this hour of the night? There's only one answer. Peacekeepers. "They can't have him," I say. "Might be you they're after," Haymitch reminds me. "Or you," I say. "Not my house," Haymitch points out. "But I'll get the door." "No, I'll get it," says my mother quietly. We all go, though, following her down the hallway to the insistent ring of the bell. When she opens it, there's not a squad of Peacekeepers but a single, snow-caked figure. Madge. She holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. "Use these for your friend," she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "They're my mother's. She said I could take them. Use them, please." She runs back into the storm before we can stop her. "Crazy girl," Haymitch mutters as we follow, my mother into the kitchen. Whatever my mother had given Gale, I was right, it isn't enough. His teeth are gritted and his flesh shines with sweat. My mother fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into his arm. Almost immediately, his face begins to relax. "What is that stuff?" asks Peeta. "It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," my mother answers. "I didn't even know Madge knew Gale," says Peeta. "We used to sell her strawberries," I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. "She must have quite a taste for them," says Haymitch. That's what nettles me. It's the implication that there's something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don't like it. "She's my friend" is all I say.

Catching Fire Chaper 8  Pages 116-119 

This is after Gales whipping and Did we just whitness Katniss having a mid life crisist at age 17. Because  she is like “ Gale is mine I am his bull shit” 

Alone in the kitchen with Gale, I sit on Hazelle's stool, holding his hand. After a while, my fingers find his face. I touch parts of him I have never had cause to touch before. His heavy, dark eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw and finally work my way to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped. His breath warms my chilled skin. Does everyone look younger asleep? Because right now he could be the boy I ran into in the woods years ago, the one who accused me of stealing from his traps. What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely committed, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave. For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

Catching fire Chapter 9 Page 120 

Someone gives my shoulder a shake and I sit up. I've fallen asleep with my face on the table. The white cloth has left creases on my good cheek. The other, the one that took the lash from Thread, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he's been watching us awhile. "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now," he says. "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running - " I begin. "I know," he says. "There's nothing to explain." I see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. The blue shadows under his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. Couldn't have been long. I think of his agreeing to go with me yesterday, his stepping up beside me to protect Gale, his willingness to throw his lot in with mine entirely when I give him so little in return. No matter what I do, I'm hurting someone. "Peeta - " "Just go to bed, okay?" he says.

Catching fire Chapter 12 pages 169-170 

I'm hoping she's wrong. I haven't had time to prepare Gale for any of this. Since the whipping, I only see him when he comes to the house for my mother to check how he's healing. He's often scheduled seven days a week in the mine. In the few minutes of privacy we've had, with me walking him back to town, I gather that the rumblings of an uprising in 12 have been subdued by Thread's crackdown. He knows I'm not going to run. But he must also know that if we don't revolt in 12, I'm destined to be Peeta's bride. Seeing me lounging around in gorgeous gowns on his television ... what can he do with that?

Catching fire Chapter  13  Pages 178-179

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

Catching Fire Chaper 13 ( Later on) Pages 185-186 

Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares. It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me. One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he even admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate." "Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be a happy little victor all by myself." "And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale. I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted ... "Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say. I know he didn't mean the question literally, but this is as much as I can honestly give. Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it. To me, there's no point in talking about things that might have been. Even if I had killed Peeta in the arena, I still wouldn't have wanted to marry anyone. I only got engaged to save people's lives, and that completely backfired. I'm afraid, anyway, that any kind of emotional scene with Gale might cause him to do something drastic. Like start that uprising in the mines. And as Haymitch says, District 12 isn't ready for that. If anything, they're less ready than before the Quarter Quell announcement, because the following morning another hundred Peacekeepers arrived on the train. Since I don't plan on making it back alive a second time, the sooner Gale lets me go, the better. I do plan on saying one or two things to him after the reaping, when we're allowed an hour for good-byes. To let Gale know how essential he's been to me all these years. How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage. But I never get the chance.

Now the only time she Mentions Gale in the arena is when  Peeta pretty much  is reminding her  value alive. That her Family and Gale needs her.  and Other then that She did say her personal goodbyes since she has no intent on coming back alive and the Jabber jay attack. But that’s it. She didn’t think of him when Peeta nearly died. or  when Peeta said that Katniss was pregnat and Already Married. Nope her thoughts were okay well oh shit now what. Okay play it cool loll.  

 Mockingjay   Chapter 2  Pages  27- 31 

After a while, the door opens and someone slips in. Gale slides down beside me, his nose trickling blood. "What happened?" I ask. "I got in Boggs's way," he answers with a shrug. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose. "Watch it!" I try to be gentler. Patting, not wiping. "Which one is he?" "Oh, you know. Coin's right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you." He pushes my hand away. "Quit! You'll bleed me to death."

The trickle has turned to a steady stream. I give up on the first-aid attempts. "You fought with Boggs?" "No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose," says Gale. "They'll probably punish you," I say. "Already have." He holds up his wrist. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. "Coin took back my communicuff." I bite my lip, trying to remain serious. But it seems so ridiculous. "I'm sorry, Soldier Gale Hawthorne." "Don't be, Soldier Katniss Everdeen." He grins. "I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway." We both start laughing. "I think it was quite a demotion." This is one of the few good things about 13. Getting Gale back. With the pressure of the Capitol's arranged marriage between Peeta and me gone, we've managed to regain our friendship. He doesn't push it any further - try to kiss me or talk about love. Either I've been too sick, or he's willing to give me space, or he knows it's just too cruel with Peeta in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case, I've got someone to tell my secrets to again. "Who are these people?" I say. "They're us. If we'd had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal," he answers. "I like to think Twelve wouldn't have abandoned the rest of the rebels back in the Dark Days," I say. "We might have. If it was that, surrender, or start a nuclear war," says Gale. "In a way, it's remarkable they survived at all." Maybe it's because I still have the ashes of my own district on my shoes, but for the first time, I give the people of 13 something I have withheld from them: credit. For staying alive against all odds. Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Population decimated, no possible ally to turn to for aid. Over the past seventy-five years, they've learned to be self-sufficient, turned their citizens into an army, and built a new society with no help from anyone. They would be even more powerful if that pox epidemic hadn't flattened their birthrate and made them so desperate for a new gene pool and breeders. Maybe they are militaristic, overly programmed, and somewhat lacking in a sense of humor. They're here. And willing to take on the Capitol. "Still, it took them long enough to show up," I say. "It wasn't simple. They had to build up a rebel base in the Capitol, get some sort of underground organized in the districts," he says. "Then they needed someone to set the whole thing in motion. They needed you." "They needed Peeta, too, but they seem to have forgotten that," I say. 

Gale's expression darkens. "Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire's clearly President Snow's idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta's mouth."

I'm afraid of Gale's answer, but I ask anyway. "Why do you think he said it?" "He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He'd put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there's still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right." I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. "Katniss...he's still trying to keep you alive." To keep me alive?And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren't killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we'll both be allowed to live - if I play it right - to watch the Games go on.... Images flash through my mind: the spear piercing Rue's body in the arena, Gale hanging senseless from the whipping post, the corpse-littered wasteland of my home. And for what? For what? As my blood turns hot, I remember other things. My first glimpse of an uprising in District 8. The victors locked hand in hand the night before the Quarter Quell. And how it was no accident, my shooting that arrow into the force field in the arena. How badly I wanted it to lodge deep in the heart of my enemy. I spring up, upsetting a box of a hundred pencils, sending them scattering around the floor. "What is it?" Gale asks. "There can't be a cease-fire." I lean down, fumbling as I shove the sticks of dark gray graphite back into the box. "We can't go back." "I know." Gale sweeps up a handful of pencils and taps them on the floor into perfect alignment. "Whatever reason Peeta had for saying those things, he's wrong." The stupid sticks won't go in the box and I snap several in my frustration. "I know. Give it here. You're breaking them to bits." He pulls the box from my hands and refills it with swift, concise motions. "He doesn't know what they did to Twelve. If he could've seen what was on the ground" - I start. "Katniss, I'm not arguing. If I could hit a button and kill every living soul working for the Capitol, I would do it. Without hesitation." He slides the last pencil into the box and flips the lid closed. "The question is, what are you going to do?" It turns out the question that's been eating away at me has only ever had one possible answer. But it took Peeta's ploy for me to recognize it. What am I going to do? I take a deep breath. My arms rise slightly - as if recalling the black-and-white wings Cinna gave me - then come to rest at my sides. "I'm going to be the Mockingjay."

Mockingjay  Chapter 3 Pages 39-41 

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

"We're not cousins," Gale and I say together.

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

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

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

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

"No," says Coin flatly.

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

"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," she says.

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

Mockingjay Chapter 4  Pages 53-55. 

We hunt, like in the old days. Silent, needing no words to communicate, because here in the woods we move as two parts of one being. Anticipating each other's movements, watching each other's backs. How long has it been? Eight months? Nine? Since we had this freedom? It's not exactly the same, given all that's happened and the trackers on our ankles and the fact that I have to rest so often. But it's about as close to happiness as I think I can currently get. The animals here are not nearly suspicious enough. That extra moment it takes to place our unfamiliar scent means their death. In an hour and a half, we've got a mixed dozen - rabbits, squirrels, and turkeys - and decide to knock off to spend the remaining time by a pond that must be fed by an underground spring, since the water's cool and sweet. When Gale offers to clean the game, I don't object. I stick a few mint leaves on my tongue, close my eyes, and lean back against a rock, soaking in the sounds, letting the scorching afternoon sun burn my skin, almost at peace until Gale's voice interrupts me. "Katniss, why do you care so much about your prep team?" I open my eyes to see if he's joking, but he's frowning down at the rabbit he's skinning. "Why shouldn't I?" "Hm. Let's see. Because they've spent the last year prettying you up for slaughter?" he suggests. "It's more complicated than that. I know them. They're not evil or cruel. They're not even smart. Hurting them, it's like hurting children. They don't see...I mean, they don't know..." I get knotted up in my words. "They don't know what, Katniss?" he says. "That tributes - who are the actual children involved here, not your trio of freaks - are forced to fight to the death? That you were going into that arena for people's amusement? Was that a big secret in the Capitol?" "No. But they don't view it the way we do," I say. "They're raised on it and - " "Are you actually defending them?" He slips the skin from the rabbit in one quick move. That stings, because, in fact, I am, and it's ridiculous. I struggle to find a logical position. "I guess I'm defending anyone who's treated like that for taking a slice of bread. Maybe it reminds me too much of what happened to you over a turkey!" Still, he's right. It does seem strange, my level of concern over the prep team. I should hate them and want to see them strung up. But they're so clueless, and they belonged to Cinna, and he was on my side, right? "I'm not looking for a fight," Gale says. "But I don't think Coin was sending you some big message by punishing them for breaking the rules here. She probably thought you'd see it as a favor." He stuffs the rabbit in the sack and rises. "We better get going if we want to make it back on time." I ignore his offer of a hand up and get to my feet unsteadily. "Fine." Neither of us talks on the way back, but once we're inside the gate, I think of something else. "During the Quarter Quell, Octavia and Flavius had to quit because they couldn't stop crying over me going back in. And Venia could barely say good-bye." "I'll try and keep that in mind as they...remake you," says Gale. "Do," I say.

Chapter 5  Mockingjay pages 63-64 

Gale, who's not usually much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking about the makeover. I know it's his attempt at smoothing things over. We argued last night after he suggested I'd left Coin no choice but to counter my demand for the victors' safety with one of her own. "Katniss, she's running this district. She can't do it if it seems like she's caving in to your will." "You mean she can't stand any dissent, even if it's fair," I'd countered. "I mean you put her in a bad position. Making her give Peeta and the others immunity when we don't even know what sort of damage they might cause," Gale had said. "So I should've just gone with the program and let the other tributes take their chances? Not that it matters, because that's what we're all doing anyway!" That was when I'd slammed the door in his face. I hadn't sat with him at breakfast, and when Plutarch had sent him down to training this morning, I'd let him go without a word. I know he only spoke out of concern for me, but I really need him to be on my side, not Coin's. How can he not know that? After lunch, Gale and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet Beetee. As we ride the elevator, Gale finally says, "You're still angry." "And you're still not sorry," I reply. "I still stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?" he asks. "No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion," I tell him. But this just makes him laugh. I have to let it go. There's no point in trying to dictate what Gale thinks. Which, if I'm honest, is one reason I trust him. 

Mockingjay Chapter 6 Pages 81-82 

Fulvia Cardew hustles over and makes a sound of frustration when she sees my clean face. "All that work, down the drain. I'm not blaming you, Katniss. It's just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him." She snags Gale, who's in a conversation with Plutarch, and spins him toward us. "Isn't he handsome?" Gale does look striking in the uniform, I guess. But the question just embarrasses us both, given our history. I'm trying to think of a witty comeback, when Boggs says brusquely, "Well, don't expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear." I decide to go ahead and like Boggs.  

Chapter 9 Mockingjay Pages 116 -118

Come morning, I stick my forearm in the wall and stare groggily at the day's schedule. Immediately after breakfast, I am slated for Production. In the dining hall, as I down my hot grain and milk and mushy beets, I spot a communicuff on Gale's wrist. "When did you get that back, Soldier Hawthorne?" I ask. "Yesterday. They thought if I'm going to be in the field with you, it could be a backup system of communication," says Gale. No one has ever offered me a communicuff. I wonder, if I asked for one, would I get it? "Well, I guess one of us has to be accessible," I say with an edge to my voice. "What's that mean?" he says. "Nothing. Just repeating what you said," I tell him. "And I totally agree that the accessible one should be you. I just hope I still have access to you as well." Our eyes lock, and I realize how furious I am with Gale. That I don't believe for a second that he didn't see Peeta's propo. That I feel completely betrayed that he didn't tell me about it. We know each other too well for him not to read my mood and guess what has caused it. "Katniss - " he begins. Already the admission of guilt is in his tone. I grab my tray, cross to the deposit area, and slam the dishes onto the rack. By the time I'm in the hallway, he's caught up with me. "Why didn't you say something?" he asks, taking my arm. "Why didn'tI ?" I jerk my arm free. "Why didn'tyou , Gale? And I did, by the way, when I asked you last night about what had been going on!" "I'm sorry. All right? I didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell you, but everyone was afraid that seeing Peeta's propo would make you sick," he says. "They were right. It did. But not quite as sick as you lying to me for Coin." At that moment, his communicuff starts beeping. "There she is. Better run. You have things to tell her." For a moment, real hurt registers on his face. Then cold anger replaces it. He turns on his heel and goes. Maybe I have been too spiteful, not given him enough time to explain. Maybe everyone is just trying to protect me by lying to me. I don't care. I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it's mostly for their own good. Lie to Katniss about the rebellion so she doesn't do anything crazy. Send her into the arena without a clue so we can fish her out. Don't tell her about Peeta's propo because it might make her sick, and it's hard enough to get a decent performance out of her as it is. I do feel sick. Heartsick. And too tired for a day of production. But I'm already at Remake, so I go in.

Mockingjay Chapter 9  Pages 127-130

As we trudge back through the woods, we reach a boulder, and both Gale and I turn our heads in the same direction, like a pair of dogs catching a scent on the wind. Cressida notices and asks what lies that way. We admit, without acknowledging each other, it's our old hunting rendezvous place. She wants to see it, even after we tell her it's nothing really. Nothing but a place where I was happy, I think. Our rock ledge overlooking the valley. Perhaps a little less green than usual, but the blackberry bushes hang heavy with fruit. Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key. There's no District 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took away all of that, and I'm on the verge of losing Gale as well. The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us. How can it be that today, in the face of 12's horrible demise, we are too angry to even speak to each other? Gale as good as lied to me. That was unacceptable, even if he was concerned about my well-being. His apology seemed genuine, though. And I threw it back in his face with an insult to make sure it stung. What is happening to us? Why are we always at odds now? It's all a muddle, but I somehow feel that if I went back to the root of our troubles, my actions would be at the heart of it. Do I really want to drive him away? My fingers encircle a blackberry and pluck it from its stem. I roll it gently between my thumb and forefinger. Suddenly, I turn to him and toss it in his direction. "And may the odds - " I say. I throw it high so he has plenty of time to decide whether to knock it aside or accept it. Gale's eyes train on me, not the berry, but at the last moment, he opens his mouth and catches it. He chews, swallows, and there's a long pause before he says " - beever in your favor." But he does say it. Cressida has us sit in the nook in the rocks, where it's impossible not to be touching, and coaxes us into talking about hunting. What drove us out into the woods, how we met, favorite moments. We thaw, begin to laugh a little, as we relate mishaps with bees and wild dogs and skunks. When the conversation turns to how it felt to translate our skill with weapons to the bombing in 8, I stop talking. Gale just says, "Long overdue." By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer.

Mockingjay Chapter 11  Page 158 

"Can we have a coffee?" asks Finnick. Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet. Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. "Want a sugar cube?" he asks in his old seductive voice. That's how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. "Here, it improves the taste," he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup. As I turn to go suit up as the Mockingjay, I catch Gale watching me and Finnick unhappily. What now? Does he actually think something's going on between us? Maybe he saw me go to Finnick's last night. I would've passed the Hawthornes' space to get there. I guess that probably rubbed him the wrong way. Me seeking out Finnick's company instead of his. Well, fine. I've got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and a camera crew's waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow's got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he wants.

Mockingjay Chapter 13 Page 185-186

Gale must have been released from the hospital this morning as well, because I find him in one of the research rooms with Beetee. They're immersed, heads bent over a drawing, taking a measurement. Versions of the picture litter the table and floor. Tacked on the corkboard walls and occupying several computer screens are other designs of some sort. In the rough lines of one, I recognize Gale's twitch-up snare. "What are these?" I ask hoarsely, pulling their attention from the sheet. "Ah, Katniss, you've found us out," says Beetee cheerfully. "What? Is this a secret?" I know Gale's been down here working with Beetee a lot, but I assumed they were messing around with bows and guns. "Not really. But I've felt a little guilty about it. Stealing Gale away from you so much," Beetee admits. Since I've spent most of my time in 13 disoriented, worried, angry, being remade, or hospitalized, I can't say Gale's absences have inconvenienced me. Things haven't been exactly harmonious between us, either. But I let Beetee think he owes me. "I hope you've been putting his time to good use." "Come and see," he says, waving me over to a computer screen. This is what they've been doing. Taking the fundamental ideas behind Gale's traps and adapting them into weapons against humans. Bombs mostly. It's less about the mechanics of the traps than the psychology behind them. Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival. A water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater destruction. Endangering off-spring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent. Luring the victim into what appears to be a safe haven - where death awaits it. At some point, Gale and Beetee left the wilderness behind and focused on more human impulses. Like compassion. A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well. "That seems to be crossing some kind of line," I say. "So anything goes?" They both stare at me - Beetee with doubt, Gale with hostility. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being." "Sure there is. Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta," says Gale. Cruel, but to the point. I leave without further comment. I feel if I don't get outside immediately, I'll just go ballistic,  

Mockingjay Chapter 14  Pages 196-200

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mockingjay Chapters 14 and 15 Pages 200-  206 

Gale, who is too restless to sit at the table for more than a few hours, has been alternating between pacing and sharing my windowsill. Early on, he seemed to accept Lyme's assertion that the entrances couldn't be taken, and dropped out of the conversation entirely. For the last hour or so, he's sat quietly, his brow knitted in concentration, staring at the Nut through the window glass. In the silence that follows Lyme's ultimatum, he speaks up. "Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut? Or would it be enough to disable it?" "That would be a step in the right direction," says Beetee. "What do you have in mind?" "Think of it as a wild dog den," Gale continues. "You're not going to fight your way in. So you have two choices. Trap the dogs inside or flush them out." "We've tried bombing the entrances," says Lyme. "They're set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done." "I wasn't thinking of that," says Gale. "I was thinking of using the mountain." Beetee rises and joins Gale at the window, peering through his ill-fitting glasses. "See? Running down the sides?" "Avalanche paths," says Beetee under his breath. "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequence with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it." "We don't need to control it if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut," says Gale. "Only shut it down." "So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" asks Lyme. "That's it," says Gale. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft." While everyone considers the plan, Boggs flips through a stack of blueprints of the Nut and frowns. "You risk killing everyone inside. Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best. Nothing like what we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainsides. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped." "They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," says Beetee. "Not if we blow it up," says Gale brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. No interest in caging the prey for later use. This is one of his death traps.

The implications of what Gale is suggesting settle quietly around the room. You can see the reaction playing out on people's faces. The expressions range from pleasure to distress, from sorrow to satisfaction. "The majority of the workers are citizens from Two," says Beetee neutrally. "So what?" says Gale. "We'll never be able to trust them again." "They should at least have a chance to surrender," says Lyme. "Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they fire-bombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here," says Gale. By the look on Lyme's face, I think she might shoot him, or at least take a swing. She'd probably have the upper hand, too, with all her training. But her anger only seems to infuriate him and he yells, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!" I have to close my eyes a minute, as the image rips through me. It has the desired effect. I want everyone in that mountain dead. Am about to say so. But then...I'm also a girl from District 12. Not President Snow. I can't help it. I can't condemn someone to the death he's suggesting. "Gale," I say, taking his arm and trying to speak in a reasonable tone. "The Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident." Surely the words are enough to make anyone from 12 think twice about the plan. "But not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he retorts. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?" Back in the old days, when we were nothing more than a couple of kids hunting outside of 12, Gale said things like this and worse. But then they were just words. Here, put into practice, they become deeds that can never be reversed. "You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," I say. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?" "I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them," he replies. "And if I were a spy in there, I'd say, 'Bring on the avalanches!'" I know he's telling the truth. That Gale would sacrifice his life in this way for the cause - no one doubts it. Perhaps we'd all do the same if we were the spies and given the choice. I guess I would. But it's a coldhearted decision to make for other people and those who love them. "You said we had two choices," Boggs tells him. "To trap them or to flush them out. I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them." "Heavily armed, I hope," says Gale. "You can be sure they'll be." "Heavily armed. We'll take them prisoner," agrees Boggs. "Let's bring Thirteen into the loop now," Beetee suggests. "Let President Coin weigh in." "She'll want to block the tunnel," says Gale with conviction. "Yes, most likely. But you know, Peeta did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and...I think it's at least worth a conversation," says Beetee.

Mockingjay Chapter 15 Page 207 

Gale's plan exceeds anyone's expectations. Beetee was right about being unable to control the avalanches once they'd been set in motion. The mountainsides are naturally unstable, but weakened by the explosions, they seem almost fluid. Whole sections of the Nut collapse before our eyes, obliterating any sign that human beings have ever set foot on the place. We stand speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone thunder down the mountain. Burying the entrances under tons of rock. Raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackens the sky. Turning the Nut into a tomb. I imagine the hell inside the mountain. Sirens wailing. Lights flickering into darkness. Stone dust choking the air. The shrieks of panicked, trapped beings stumbling madly for a way out, only to find the entrances, the launchpad, the ventilation shafts themselves clogged with earth and rock trying to force its way in. Live wires flung free, fires breaking out, rubble making a familiar path a maze. People slamming, shoving, scrambling like ants as the hill presses in, threatening to crush their fragile shells.

Mockingay Chapter 17 Page 244 

"I told you he hated me," I say. "It's the way he hates you. It's so...familiar. I used to feel like that," he admits. "When I'd watch you kissing him on the screen. Only I knew I wasn't being entirely fair. He can't see that." We reach my door. "Maybe he just sees me as I really am. I have to get some sleep." Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

Mockingjay Chapter 19 Pages 267-268

The dinner whistle sounds, and Gale and I line up at the canteen. "Do you want me to kill him?" he asks bluntly. "That'll get us both sent back for sure," I say. But even though I'm furious, the brutality of the offer rattles me. "I can deal with him." "You mean until you take off? You and your paper map and possibly a Holo if you can get your hands on it?" So Gale has not missed my preparations. I hope they haven't been so obvious to the others. None of them know my mind like he does, though. "You're not planning on leaving me behind, are you?" he asks. Up until this point, I was. But having my hunting partner to watch my back doesn't sound like a bad idea. "As your fellow soldier, I have to strongly recommend you stay with your squad. But I can't stop you from coming, can I?" He grins. "No. Not unless you want me to alert the rest of the army."

Mockingjay Chapter 19 Page 274

I move to Gale, press my forehead into the body armor where his chest should be, feel his arm tighten around me. We finally know the name of the girl who we watched the Capitol abduct from the woods of 12, the fate of the Peacekeeper friend who tried to keep Gale alive. This is no time to call up happy moments of remembrance. They lost their lives because of me. I add them to my personal list of kills that began in the arena and now includes thousands. When I look up, I see it has taken Gale differently. His expression says that there are not enough mountains to crush, enough cities to destroy. It promises death.

Mockingjay Chapter  23. Pages  328-329 

We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep. A few hours later, I slip back into consciousness and become aware of a quiet conversation. Peeta and Gale. I can't stop myself from eavesdropping. "Thanks for the water," Peeta says. "No problem," Gale replies. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." "To make sure Katniss is still here?" asks Peeta. "Something like that," Gale admits. There's a long pause before Peeta speaks again. "That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her." "Well,we never have," Gale says. They both laugh. It's so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they're not. Never have been. Although they're not exactly enemies. "She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice. "No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her." There's a long pause. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then." "You couldn't," says Peeta. "She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life." "Well, it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose." Gale yawns. "We should get some sleep." "Yeah." I hear Peeta's handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. "I wonder how she'll make up her mind." "Oh, that I do know." I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."

Mockingjay Chapter 24 Page 275

A chill runs through me. Am I really that cold and calculating? Gale didn't say, "Katniss will pick whoever it will break her heart to give up," or even "whoever she can't live without." Those would have implied I was motivated by a kind of passion. But my best friend predicts I will choose the person who I think I "can't survive without." There's not the least indication that love, or desire, or even compatibility will sway me. I'll just conduct an unfeeling assessment of what my potential mates can offer me. As if in the end, it will be the question of whether a baker or a hunter will extend my longevity the most. It's a horrible thing for Gale to say, for Peeta not to refute. Especially when every emotion I have has been taken and exploited by the Capitol or the rebels. At the moment, the choice would be simple. I can survive just fine without either of them.

Mockingjay  Chapter 26  Pages 366- 367 

There's a tap at the door and Gale steps in. "Can I have a minute?" he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other's reflection. I'm searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol's help? "I brought you this." Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. "It's supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war." "What if I miss?" I say. "Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?" "You won't miss." Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder. We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You didn't come see me in the hospital." He doesn't answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?" "I don't know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it's true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.

"That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I'll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn't the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can't, I'll just have to deal with the pain.

 Chapter 27 Pages 384 385 

  Over the eggs, I ask her, "Where did Gale go?" "District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television," she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. "I'm going hunting today," I say. "Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she answers. I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart's parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale's old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, "Did they find anyone in there?" "Whole family. And the two people who worked for them," Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she'll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight. Shoveling the ashes into my mouth. "I thought maybe, since he was the mayor..." "I don't think being the mayor of Twelve put the odds in his favor," says Thom. I nod and keep moving, careful not to look in the back of the cart. All through the town and the Seam, it's the same. The reaping of the dead. As I near the ruins of my old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The Meadow's gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug, and they're lining it with bones, a mass grave for my people. I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn't matter, though. The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

[holidaywishes]

not all monsters do monstrous things...

Part 1: The Victor

  Summary of Series: Delly Cartwright lost her best friend, Peeta, to the games. Now, the one that took him seems to have a soft spot for her.

  Summary of Chapter: Cato wins the 74th Hunger Games but during his Victory Tour, he comes face to face with his actions. As well as a young girl who he can’t seem to get off his mind

  Warning: Some fluff, some angst, some violence

  Author’s Note: No, this was not requested but who cares. It’s my blog and I’ll write what I want 😂. I reblogged this post like a year ago about writing for Cato and Delly after reading something on FanFiction.net with them as a pairing but it didn’t conclude/continue and I wanted more. Thus, I’m writing my own take on Tumblr. I’m going to do my best to keep it has original as possible but there’s a chance I’ll use things from the story I read. So, any similarities to plot go to the original author of They Caught Fire from fanfic.net (go check it out, it’s pretty good!) Also, for some reason, there aren’t really any Cato/Hunger Games GIFs in the search bar so I found this on Google. Don’t @ me. I tried to find the owner but it wouldn’t bring me to the page. I’m not claiming it, just using it for this until I pick a graphic.

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Cato’s P.O.V.

  Seeing the look on the Mellark boy’s face as you pushed Katniss off the steel Cornucopia was supposed to make you happy. It meant you were the victor after all. Yet, as he stood in front of you, you could see the pain in his face. No trace of fear, just pain. He lost the girl he loved and you knew the feeling all too well. You took one step toward Peeta and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say I won’t fight you, before he jumped after The Girl On Fire.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen!” The voice of Claudius Templesmith boomed through the arena as the mutts disappeared and you were left alone, “I am proud to present to you, your newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Cato Berenger -- the tribute from District 2!” You watch as a hovercraft appears overhead and begins to descend into the arena, dropping a ladder for you to clutch onto and take you back to the Capitol. Whoever is there -- doctors, aids, Capitol attendants -- swarm you in preparation for the interview you’ll soon be having with Caesar Flickerman. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life, it was a priority at your parents Training Centre

  “You win the games by sheer force and brute strength, fine. But it means nothing, nothing, if you can’t connect with the audience in those interviews. They have to love you. They have to respect you. You are their victor.” Your mothers words rung through your ears and you took a deep breath before your mentor found you and explained what was happening; you didn’t pay attention for most of it though, considering you already knew.

  “Cato!” Wade, the former victor and your mentor, yelled to you, “are you listening to me?”

  “I know what to do, Wade, I’ll be fine.” you sneered

  “There’s something that you need to understand, boy,” he snaps back, forcing himself to block your path as you try to walk away, “the interview is one part of a thousand things that will happen within the next few months. The interview is easy, it’s fun even, it’s a celebration of you and your strength. That’s easy for us in Two, but the Victory Tour is where your world changes. Where you’ll realize what a monster you’ve become”

  “I did what I had to, to survive!” you yelled

  “WE ALL DID!” He shouted back, “but I’ve never quite seen someone as callous, as monstrous, as you. And neither has anyone in the districts you visit. They’ll stare blankly as you speak to them, cheering only when they fear their lives may be in danger, but they won’t appreciate your words. You killed their children, their families, their friends. You won’t deserve their kindness and they won’t show it to you. Especially not in the outer districts -- 11 and 12. Not after what you did to that little girl in 11 and 12′s precious ‘Girl on Fire.’ And after the tour is over, what comes of you? Nothing. Until you get to be in my position. A mentor for the next soldier who volunteers to sacrifice himself for President Snow.“ His words were venomous, you couldn’t deny that, but you didn’t understand why. Being a victor is all that we’d trained for in District Two, so why has he not been more grateful for his survival, you wondered. He notices the confusion on your face before continuing his ‘lesson,’ “You think being a victor is this wonderful life, right? Fancy houses and clothes, attention from the most beautiful girls in the District and glamourous parties in the Capitol; that’s what you imagine right?”

  “I--”

  “It’s like that for a while,” Wade interrupted you before you could finish your thought, “it is. And then you realize, you’re lonely. You’re completely alone. The shine of being the victor wears off quickly, especially when there’s a new batch of tributes lining up to fill your shoes. What made you special to them soon becomes a distant memory but what never fades, no matter how hard you try, are the screams from the people you killed. The blood you spilt. The faces of the families you had to look into and say ‘we thank you for your sacrifice.’”

  “So what do you suppose I do?” you said through bared teeth

  “Unfortunately,” he scoffed, “there’s not much you can do. You have to be who the Capitol wants you to be. Who you’ve trained to be. I just wanted to prepare for what’s to come.” You absorbed his words as you made your way to the waiting area before you entered the stage for your interview, hearing the booming music for Caesar’s introduction as he excitedly greeted the audience, before allowing for cheers for your team. When the plate rising you up, you adjust your suit jacket and put on a cocky smile, the one that the Capitol audience was so used to seeing, so you could charm the faces in the audience as soon as they could see you.

  “CATO BERENGER! Our newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaimed, outstretching one arm to showcase you as you walked on the stage, “Welcome Cato!”

  “Hi Caesar” you smile

  “So, how are you feeling?” he asks, listening intently

  “I feel good. I feel like a victor!” The audience cheered and Caesar let out a congratulatory chuckle

  “Well that’s good!” he said, “isn’t it?” directing the question to the audience before turning back to you, “I must ask about your District Partner, Clove. You seemed quite upset about her death.”

  “Clove was... a dear friend. We grew up together,” you fought the urge to say you’d trained together, as it was technically illegal and the Capitol officials would be furious, “she was a talented competitor and I will miss her.”

  “Did you... love her?” he pries, leaning forward in his chair and you think about his answer for a moment. If you answer truthfully, that you loved Clove with your entire heart, then the audience might find you monstrous for letting her die when she called out to you. If you lie, and say that she was like a sister to you, they might question your authenticity

  “I did,” you admitted, “but not in the way you may be implying. We were not the Star Crossed Lovers as those two from District 12 tried to portray themselves as. I loved her like a sister, as family.” The conversation shifted quickly and Caesar made jokes, keeping the atmosphere light-hearted before the inevitable death toll was displayed on screen and the murder of 23 children was broadcast. Three hours of footage from the past 18 days. From the pre-arena events to the bloodbath that saw so many die so suddenly. They showed your death count, as well as Clove’s, before taking a moment to share the small girl from 11′s death and Katniss’ song. You weren’t sure why, as it wasn’t in keeping with your story, but nevertheless, there it was; every note of the solemn song she sang to the dying child. Soon enough, they show your win on the Cornucopia, how you easily flung Katniss from the top and how Peeta jumped after her; An act they portrayed as cowardly. The anthem plays again and the seal appears on screen as President Snow is introduced, taking the stage with a young girl who carries the crown on a red cushion. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the same space as Snow and you can smell a hint of blood, covered by a thick layer of roses. He gives you a maniacal grin, as if he has something planned for you, before he congratulates you on your triumph.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, this years victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaims once more and you wave to the crowd before being led off the stage, onto the train to take you back to District Two. Home. It feels so distant now. So much so, that you hardly recognize it. Wade was right, the first month or so was parties and affection from nearly everyone you came in contact with, but then you’d get tired of it and lock yourself in your mansion in the Victor’s Village. Preparing yourself for the Victory Tour and what ordeals would await you there. When it was finally time for you to leave, to make your way to District 12, Wade told you to prepare yourself for absolute silence.

  “When I went to District 12, even though their tributes deaths weren’t by my hand, they treated me as if they were. As if I’d directly starved them or butchered them. They treated me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even worth their breath, and I didn’t kill the only volunteer their district has had in years, so imagine how they’ll treat you.” He sneered his words before buttering a piece of bread

  “Maybe they won’t be silent. Maybe they’ll cause a commotion” you scoffed

  “You don’t want that” Wade replied sharply

  “Why not?”

  “Any trouble caused with you around won’t look good. Whether you cause it or not. You should still try to act as though each district is important, because they are.”

  “Who says I wouldn’t?”

  “If you want commotion, you’re saying you don’t care about their lives.” You nodded in understanding at Wade’s words just as the train pulled up to District 12. A dirty, grimy, colourless place that was as quiet as a ghost town. Nothing like your home district. You looked to Wade who shrugged at you, as if to say ‘this is it,’ earning a sigh from you before continuing on your way to the square. You were able to watch as the citizens of the coal district filed into the square, noticing the worn faces from those who had to work every day of their lives to the fresh faces of the children who had been more fortunate than their older counterparts. Your eyes found their way to the front of the crowd, just below the stage, where the families and friends of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen stood. Immediately, you recognized Primrose Everdeen, the sister that Katniss had volunteered for; she looked so frail and innocent, no wonder the district and the Capitol was invested in Katniss’ story. There was a face that you didn’t recognize, however, on Peeta’s side

  “Who’s that?” you asked Wade as you pointed to a small blonde girl with pale skin who stood beside Peeta’s brothers, “Peeta didn’t have a sister did he?”

  “No,” Wade said simply, smirking at your sudden interest in a District 12 girl, “that’s Delly Cartwright. She was Peeta’s best friend. She was his Clove.” You didn’t quite register the words at first but when you did, you could only scoff at his words, refusing to reply. You’d, of course, been prepped on what to say to the crowd but when you stepped on stage, you became tongue-tied.

  “I would first like to thank you for coming out today,” you knew they had no choice, but the words were scripted and you had to say them, “this is not an easy speech to make. The lives you’ve lost will be, uhm, will be felt by--” you looked up at the audience once, clearing your throat to force yourself to continue, “will be felt by the Capitol. Your sacrifices are -- will be missed.” You tried but stopped when you heard a small sob escape the audience, connecting it to Prim, who buried her face in the chest of a tall, dark haired boy. You were told to keep things distant, clean, and not mention the tributes by name but you couldn’t help it. Seeing the families faces changed things. Like Wade said it would, “Katniss was incredibly smart and, with the way she treated Rue, I could tell she had a big heart. Peeta had remarkable strength,” you turned to Peeta’s family, catching the stare of the blonde you’d seen before, “but for all his strength, he was kind, truly.”

  “You’re a murderer!” The dark haired boy yelled out

  “Gale stop,” clutching onto him, pleading him to stop, “please”

  “You don’t care about them. You don’t care about us!” You couldn’t apologize, the tour would be ruined and the Capitol would think their victor was weak, but what could he say to this boy shouting at you from the audience, pushing away the young girl Katniss had volunteered for. How could you stop this from becoming the commotion Wade warned you would mean you didn’t care about their lives

  “The Captiol thanks you for your sacrifices. Peeta and Katniss will be mourned.” Suddenly, the boy lunged at you, the one you heard was called Gale, a name that sounded familiar to you but you couldn’t quite place it. You knew you couldn’t be on the stage for much longer, so you turned to walk away but heard the sound of heavy footsteps sprint toward you

  “GALE!” a voice screamed out. At first you thought it was Prim, due to the high pitched tone of it but there was a different cadence to it, “GALE DON’T!” the voice repeated, causing you to turn around just in time for a fist to fly towards your face. You managed to miss it but when you pulled your arm back to return the fist, you caught sight of Wade telling you not to.

  “Don’t!” he shouted just as a fist connected with the side of your face. There was frantic movement as the Peacekeepers rushed to take Gale away and his family, as well as Katniss’, ran after him while you were pulled behind the curtain.

  “LET ME GO!” You shouted as pairs of arms surrounded you, dragging you back to the square, “I have to stop them!”

  “There’s nothing you can do!” Wade yelled

  “They could kill him!”

  “That’s his problem. He’s the one who tried to fight a victor.” You sighed and did your best to convince them that you were calm but once they let you go, you heard the sounds of a leather whip slashing through skin and you knew exactly what was happening. You ran quickly out to the square, where a whipping post had been set up and the Hawthorne boy was tied up by his wrists as Prim and Delly fought to get to his side

  “STOP!” they yelled, watching as their friend bled from the marks inflicted on him

  “ENOUGH!” you roared and the square went silent, the Peacekeeper who was laying the whip to Gale’s back stopping in his tracks while the guards restraining Prim and Delly dropped their hold. Delly was the first to run to Gale and Prim followed shortly after, the two of them frantically untying Gale wrists from the post; his body dropping onto Delly heavily that she almost crumpled under his weight. She and Prim took Gale out of the square, to safety, while you confronted the Peacekeepers

  “Mr. Berenger...” the one who had given the lashings whimpered, “sir, I--”

  “Why would you whip this boy?” you questioned, a harshness to your tone that this district had probably become all too familiar with, “because he mourns his friends? Because he is in pain?”

  “Because he attacked you, sir!”

  “I don’t need your protection, sir!” you countered, making yourself big enough that you were peering down at him, “I release him of any and all charges. And you are not to hurt him again. Is that understood?”

  “Yessir--” they mumbled

  “I SAID IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

  “YES SIR!” they repeated, now with more urgency. You left the square not sure how to feel. President Snow was probably not going to like this very much and your parents wouldn’t be too pleased about it either. But it was her that you were worried about. Her opinion that you cared about. You felt like you searched for hours but the screams coming from the apothecary let you know that Gale was there and Delly likely was as well. When you found them, he had already passed out from the pain and Delly was clutching his hand as tears streamed down his face, gasping suddenly when she felt your presence

  “Please,” she pleaded, standing up to block your path to him, “he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t have gone further than a punch, he was just upset..”

  “It’s okay,” you assured, holding up your hands to try to ease her mind, “I’m not going to hurt him or take him away. I just wanted to see how you-- how he was doing...” She furrowed her brow at your confession, unsure of how to proceed, but took her seat next to Gale.

  “The lashes have exhausted him and he lost a lot of blood” she said, rubbing his hand with her thumb. You examined more now that you were closer to her. Her blonde hair looked almost yellow in the square, but the lighting in the apothecary made it appear golden. Her pale skin translucent in the unforgiving light of the district but here it was dewy, a radiance that you wouldn’t expect from a coal-mining district. She must be a merchant’s daughter.

  “I’m sorry” you said quietly and she looked at you hastily, shocked at your apology. Her blue eyes beaming from across the room. They were close in colour to Peeta’s, but also to yours, only hers were deeper. Like an ocean you could get lost in, surrounded by dark rings that you feared you’d never escape. They were beautiful. Enticing. Enchanting. But you could feel that she was holding back pain. Pain from the loss of her best friend. Pain from the toll the Hunger Games had taken on her district. A pain you desperately wanted to take from her, “you must think I’m a monster...” you said after a period of silence had overtaken the two of you

  “Because of this?” she questioned, “this was the Peacekeepers, not you.”

  “Because of the games,” you corrected, “I’ve watched those deaths more times than I care to admit. I saw how they portrayed me. How everyone else must have seen me.”

  “I don’t envy you at all,” she said, turning her body a sliver to face you, “having to train your whole life to be taught to kill other children. Many your own age or younger. I’ve never understood why death, and the deaths of so many children, was the price the Capitol wanted to collect. You had to do awful things to bring pride to your district and I am very very very...” you prepared yourself for the viscous words she would hurl your way, surprised with what came “sorry.”

  “Sorry?” you questioned

  “Yes.” she replied, “to have your life mapped out for you, without your say, couldn’t have been easy. I’m so very sorry that this is the life you were led to believe was all you could have”

  “You’re so kind...” you said, scrunching your eyebrows together, “no one has shown me this much kindness in my life.”

  “I don’t think you’re a monster, Mr. Berenger, I think you’re lost. Trying to fit an image that the Capitol and your own District has created for you.” Just then, Wade stormed through the door

  “CATO!” he barked, “you can’t be here. We have to go. Now!”

  “Take this,” you said to Delly, taking out a small silver box from your jacket, “it’s not much but it should help with his healing.”

  “Thank you” she smiled at you as you were torn from the room and back to the train.

  “With what’s happened here, we’ve been forced to move up our timeline. You’ll be going to District 11 now. Staying for two days more than we’d planned.” Wade said

  “Can I see her again?” was all you said, unable to remove Delly from your mind

  “Focus, Mr. victor,” Wade snapped, “are you hearing what I’m saying to you? You will be staying in the District of the tribute who killed Clove for two days.”

  “Fine. I’ll say a nice speech, enjoy their festivities and then keep to myself on the train”

  “What if something happens, as it did here in 12.”

  “Then I stay back. I don’t get involved”

  “Easier said than done apparently,” he sighed, “that’s what you were supposed to do in 12 as well. But we see how that worked, now, don’t we?”

  “That was different”

  “Because of some girl?”

  “She’s not just some girl...”

  “You don’t know her. You cannot get involved with her, with anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated... you’ll understand once you make it back home.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “You’re not free to do as you please, Cato, none of the Victors are. Why do you think we’re all miserable?” Wade replied, pushing you aside so you would pay attention, “it is better to keep a distance from anyone we could possibly hurt than be selfish and risk their lives.”

  “Risk their lives?” you questioned

  “Just trust me!”

  “How can I trust you when you’re not telling me anything?”

  “I have been there! Trust my experience, boy, or you will slowly go mad.” You inhaled sharply, wanting to argue, but trusting that Wade knew what he was talking about; he was a former victor after all. But it still didn’t make sense. You still wanted to find comfort in the kindness of Delly again and you couldn’t understand that, if you could have everything, why couldn’t you have her?

[officialleehadan]

Boats and Salt Wind

Hello darlings! Alas, the smoke is blowing back in, but I almost don’t mind, because now everything smells like falling leaves and woodstoves.

Today’s story is for Jennifer. Thank you so much, darling. I look forward to every one of your comments!

Prompt: HGE – Riptide

+++

The next afternoon, Tony drove Evan and his bike into town. He was on his way to see their science team with the footage from their failed dive. The team had watched it first thing in the morning and Evan had been astonished at how bad the cave-in really was. From where Tony had been, it did look like Evan had been directly under the cascade of immense rocks.

He could hardly blame his friends for thinking that was the end of him. If he had seen it from their side, he would have thought the same thing.

When they reached the lab, Evan poked his head in for a brief chat and a relieved hug from Erik before he pulled his bike from the back of their van and started on his way down to the water.

Evan was happy to meet Eione and Anita at the dock. He had thrown on his swimsuit, and his towel and snorkel gear were in a sack over one shoulder. In one hand he had a jug of fresh water to rinse off with if he got in the water. If they had time, he wanted to take a quick look and see if he could find any of his lost equipment. He wouldn’t be able to retrieve any of it most likely, but he could come back with his scuba gear if he did find anything.

Anita’s boat was named the Sea Urchin. It was a mid-sized white and blue motorboat with a center console shaded by a plastic top overhead. By the time he got there, Eione and Anita were already onboard and ready to go. Evan climbed on board to join the two women.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully with a wave for Anita at the helm. She smiled back at him from where she stood, balanced lightly by one of the railings. He couldn’t help giving Eione an appreciative second glance. She was in a soft sea-green dress that fell just above her knees, and he was amused to note that her feet were bare.

“Morning!” Anita called back to him as she shoved them away from the dock with one good push. “You all good to go?”

“All ready, Ma’am,” he answered confidently. “Got my gear. I’m set.”

“Great! Help Eione cast us off, will you? I’ll get us out of here.” She fired up the engine and carefully pulled the boat away from the pier as soon as the mooring line was loose. Evan helped Eione pull up the bright fenders that protected the side of the boat and tucked them away in one of the benches before putting his bag into the other compartment to keep it out of their way. “Hold on, I don’t drive like a lady.”

As soon as they cleared the mouth of the harbor, Anita cranked the engine and headed up the coastline towards where they had found him. Anita seemed to know where they were going, so he sat back and trusted her to get them there.

The breeze was refreshing after the muggy heat of the island and Evan closed his eyes to enjoy it. Most places had air conditioning, Chris’s house included, but the walk to the dock from where Tony had dropped him off had left him sweating.

The warmth was nice; he just wasn’t used to it after months up north. Hopefully in another week or two it wouldn’t be so bad. It was more than a year since he had last worked somewhere tropical.

He opened his eyes and came over to Eione. She turned to look at him and scooted over until he could sit on the white plastic bench beside her.

“You have a good morning?” he asked her, getting a shy smile in return. “I didn��t have time to stop for pastries, or I would have brought tribute.”

“I always eat while I’m out in the mornings, but thank you for the thought, and it is a very fine morning,” she told him, raising a hand absently to push her hair out of her face. “Are you feeling ready to go back into the water?”

“Excited,” Evan laughed. “I knew the risks when I went down there, and I went in anyway. I love it too much to give it up because of one accident.”

“The current can rip out of that cave when the tide shifts or a storm is rolling in,” Eione told him with a shrug told him, and looked out over the water. “I’ve seen it so strong that I can’t swim against it. It might have been enough to draw you out.”

“Entrance must be pretty narrow to make a current like that in these waters,” he said curiously, wondering if she had actually been the one to help him onto shore. That was starting to look like a stronger possibility than he had thought. “Do you swim there often?”

“It’s a long way for me, but I try to go once a week or so. The lobsters like the coral cover there,” she explained. It wasn’t far from the edge of the boat to the water, and Eione bent to trail her fingers in the water. A wistful smile came to her lips. Evan could see how much she wanted to go for a swim. “There are shells there, too, sometimes, and coral for selling at the market,” she added after another moment of thought.

That made sense, he supposed. Anita said Eione had already been out that day and he knew she worked with Search and Rescue. Maybe she had just seen him get washed out of the cave and dragged him up on the beach.

“I saw your booth. Pretty impressive,” he told her. The pearls she was selling at the market had to be a huge draw for the tourists. If she found them all herself, it was even more impressive. She had a good selection.

“I collect whatever I can off the beaches and I keep my eyes open when I’m out swimming.”

“You go out every day?”

“When the weather is clear. Storms blow up so quickly in summer and the water gets treacherous long before the storm makes landfall.”

“That’s right, summer’s starting here,” Evan said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to talk with my boss and see what he wants to do if a storm blows in while we’re in one of the holes. Don’t want to get stranded.”

“I suppose that could be a real problem,” Eione agreed softly. There was something in her sea-blue eyes that might be worry, but somehow, Evan didn’t think it was for him. “The summer storms can be very fierce.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and he tried to keep from staring at her too obviously. She really was pretty. Her skin was lighter than some of the other locals, including Anita. Maybe she was rarely out in the sun, and spent the rest of her time under the cover of her booth at the market. Maybe her family wasn’t from the Bahamas originally. She looked like she might have a Greek ancestor or two.

Eione excused herself quietly after a few minutes and went to stand next to Anita. She seemed to be guiding the older woman around something. What, Evan couldn’t imagine. The water around them was free of reefs as far as he could see.

He had to admit, though, Eione seemed to know these waters better than anyone. She would have to, he supposed. Free-diving was tricky business and she did it for a living.

This was the first time he had been offshore in a boat since he had arrived in the Bahamas, not counting his rescue by Anita two days ago. From where they were, he could see a wide stretch of the coastline.

Andros Island was the biggest of any of the Bahamian Islands, but its population was one of the smallest, barely cracking eight thousand residents.

Fortunately for scientists like Erik, the blue holes preserved that dotted the island preserved the bones beautifully. Better even than the tar pit or the marshes in Europe. They were a goldmine for anyone who wanted to study the history of the islands.

Never mind that it was dangerous for divers to go get the bones and bring them back topside, the things they learned from those fossils were amazing. What they learned from the animal bones was better, and even the stalactites deep in the caves answered questions about the past.

Evan liked to see how excited the archaeologists got when he and his team brought up a set of bones, but if he was honest, he wasn’t a diver so he could do that kind of work. It was all about going where no one had ever been, and only a rare few would ever go.

Down in the caves where there wasn’t anything to think about except the dive, he couldn’t get distracted and didn’t want to be. The quiet and the pressure of the water was meditative, and he always came back up with his heart pounding, more alive than any other time in his life.

The others on his team felt the same way. There were a lot of reasons they worked so well together, and that was one of them. They all knew about the quiet down in the black, even if they never talked about it.

Evan was shaken out of his thoughts when the boat started to slow, and finally came to a stop.

“The mouth of the cave is under that ledge of the reef,” Eione pointed, drawing their attention to a large, brightly colored reef. “You can’t tell from here, but the water is deeper than it looks there, and the cave under is deeper still.”

Evan leaned over the rail and thought he could see the mouth of the cave she was talking about.

At first glance it wasn’t a big opening, but as he looked closer, he realized the cave actually cut under a wide stretch of coral, the entrance bigger than the boat they stood in.

The water faded from the palest crystal blue to the deep sapphire he recognized from his other dives and he wondered how deep the cave actually was. Eione nodded over to a gap in the coral. “Just on the other side of that reef, you can see all the way down. The floor is visible, though it’s very hazy from the surface.”

Evan straightened and looked over at Anita. “Is it okay if I take a quick look?” he asked hopefully. “All I have is snorkel gear, but I should be able to see if there’s anything at the bottom.”

“Get,” Anita said and flapped a hand at him. She reached over to drop the anchor and leaned against the railing. “We’ll watch the boat. I doubt Eione brought a suit and I sure didn’t.”

Eione blushed and shook her head. “I didn’t think to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Evan said as he pulled out his gear and got it on. “Another time maybe?”

At her slow nod, he threw her a grin before slipping down into the cool water and swimming for the entrance to the cave.

+++

HGE - Riptide

Evan Ross survived what no one before him ever has, and now he’s on the hunt for answers. His only clue is a single word that echoed through the water of a flooded cave.

Breathe.

Under Stone

White Sand Sky

The Hint of Answers

Drift to Home

+++

More Stories!

+++

[hervoidfury]

Gratitude [ Tribute to Jon Huber, 1979 - 2020 ]

He knew exactly how to captivate a person both in ring and out of the ring, you could see it in his eyes; the way he moved, the way he spoke ... His work will never be forgotten, Luke Harper and Brodie Lee will never ever be forgotten. Thank you Jon for bringing life into both these characters and most importantly for making everyone smile with your hilarious bits on Being The Elite 🙏❤

- My Original Female Wrestling Character is built around one of my all time favorite role models Selena Gomez, her name is Vanessa and she's one of the best characters I have built in my life. You can see just how much Vanessa had been impacted by Jon's infectious light. ❤🙏

Heartbreak comes in many forms, the most painful form is the loss of someone who defined the meaning of an angel; in life you meet individuals that leave a lasting impact in your life and for Vanessa, Jon Huber was one of those people — initially the two had never spoken beyond pleasantries whenever Vanessa trained with her best friend Stephen Farrelly, and even then she could see just how friendly and kind the male was, which presented a clear contrast to his on screen persona.

Jon was more than a wrestler, he was an entertainer, a person that captivated you with his words, in ring skills and most of all his intimidating, strong presence in the ring. That's how devoted he was to his craft, behind the scenes he presented a vibrant supportive soul that loved to bring a smile onto anyone he crossed paths with.

Vanessa recalled two of the many significant moments in which he truly left an impact in her life and career as an in ring performer, …

__

— 2016,

“ Stephen wasn't lying when he said it was a party ” muttered Jordan as she and Vanessa stood at a corner watching their fellow peers chat with one another.

It was a rarity to find time to just relax and enjoy yourself in this hectic business however luckily, just two days before a pay per view was set. Stephen decided to host what he referred to as a small party to help his friends relax, Vanessa being the only non WWE performer felt a bit like an outsider despite having many friends within the company.

“ Yeah he wasn't ” muttered Vanessa, Jordan sensed the distress on her best friend and gave her a smile. “ Don't worry I'll be fine, I am gonna get some water to drink and get some fresh air ” she adds making a beeline for the kitchen.

Taking the glass of water, she went out to the back porch and took a deep breath to calm her nerves, she hated how easily her anxiety got to her. Come on, you're better than this! She chastised herself silently.

After a few minutes she went back inside to find Jordan, who was conversing with Jon Huber and his wife Amanda. Vanessa admired Jon's dedication to his character but even more so she admired the love he carried for his wife and sons. It was a rarity to find in this world, Jordan immediately smiled at Vanessa. “ I am sure you remember Vanessa, Jon ”

Jon smiled, “ I do, Stephen talks highly of you and I had seen clips of your matches. You got a light in you every time you step into the ring ”

“ Our son loves your show as well, he goes around the saying ... I am gonna be as strong as Alex Russo ” adds Amanda smiling.

It wasn't as often that people mentioned Vanessa's past as a Disney child, so it definitely warmed her heart to know that not only she can do what she loves but she can also inspire the younger generation — “ That's so sweet to hear! ”

“ You seem a bit anxious, is everything alright? ” said Jon.

“ It's nothing, I sometimes struggle with anxiety ” Vanessa shrugs.

“ Don't belittle your struggles, you got this far — you're a fighter ” said Jon, “ You both are, and one day the world will recognize the change you ladies are trying to bring into this world ”

Both Jordan and Vanessa smiled in gratitude, the conversation changed and flowed so easily as the couple began talking about their kids — Vanessa's heart always warmed when seeing love right in front of her and that was what Jon and Amanda held for one another, true love.

__

“ Vanessa, Are you okay? ”

Much like Vanessa, Jordan had been gutted by the passing of Jon. She recalled seeing him in Chikara here and there but only ever got to speak him during her time in WWE and in AEW as well.

“ I want to do a tribute episode on my podcast, to celebrate his life because so many people only see what is on screen and a rarity got to see the man behind the characters he played. So I am gonna contact Amanda and hope this all goes well because I feel like I need to do this to pay my respects ” said Vanessa.

Jordan nodded, fondly remembering the last interaction they both had with him during a taping of Dark, backstage where he congratulated the pair on their impeccable in ring work. “ I'll help ya out! ”

“ That'll be greatly appreciated ” said Vanessa, smiling as she remembered meeting him right before she made her debut in AEW.

__

— 2020,

“ Okay, you can do this! ” said Vanessa as she stood near the entrance area, today she was set to make her debut as the mysterious entity who would be assisting Jon Moxley to deter and throw off his opponent MJF.

“ Hey kid, you alright? ”

Vanessa turned around to see Jon smiling at her, apparently he had heard about her debut which up until now only a handful of people knew about it. “ I am nervous, and excited. I don't know how the social media sphere will react ”

“ They will be happy, of course some might not be but that's the way it is. What matters is when you go out there? You show them why you are the best at what you do! I saw Jordan doing just that when she got here, you will be making that exact same statement that'll get them talking ” said Jon encouragingly. “ Then, when all is set in stone! You unleash that beast within you and show them why the wrestling world calls you the Hardcore Queen ” he adds smiling.

“ You think so? ” said Vanessa with a smile.

“ Oh I know so! Those clips I saw were just a glimpse of what you hide inside of you and tonight you will throw that first stone in, that'll have the fans coming back to tune in and see more of the incredible talented girl you are ” said Jon.

Vanessa sighed in relief, feeling the bundle nerves slowly leave her body. “ Thank you, for always reaching out and showing your support be it through text or social media. It means a lot to me ”

“ Remember what I told you and Jordan, you ladies will change the business, five years, ten years, fifteen years from now, your legacy will always resonate ” said Jon.

Vanessa nods, fighting back the tears. “ Thank you, truly ”

“ Go out there and knock them off their feet ” said Jon smiling.

__

— Instagram,

@jadebug92; Around 2016, I had ran into @brodielee in a party hosted by @wwesheamus before that we didn't actually have proper conversations beyond pleasantries here and there whenever I saw him. But even then I was captivated by the way he carried himself, we truly got to talk when he saw how anxious I was due to the fact that parties were never my cup of tea.

He saw me and @jtofficial at a corner and was so kind and gracious with us, telling us how proud he was of our work and the effort we put day in and day out. One of the things he said that will always stick by me was " You and Jordan will change this business " and that's what we set out to do. His belief in us was a breath of fresh air. 💕

We saw the love he carried for his wife and it was beautiful to witness something so raw and real, he was a family man and a genuine soul. ❤

When I got to AEW, he was one of the first people to welcome me. And I got to witness him be his true self as Mr. Brodie Lee, leading a large group of talent with his wisdom, strength and experience in the business.

Thank you so much Jon for your undying support and love to myself and every young wrestler out there, I send my thoughts and prayers to his wife, his children, his family and all of those close to him. Your spirit will shine on for all eternity, Fly High ❤🙏

Note; this is only the beginning ... I will try my best to keep his memory through every piece of writing. Because he was truly someone you cannot forget 🙏🙏

@worldxwonders

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

More than frivolity

(Hayffie ❤️. ��� I wrote this fic in the spirit of shared little headcanons and with gratitude for that sweet  @hayffiebird who motivates me to continue writing. — Ellie, your remarkable creations and compassionate presence keep helping me feel that maybe... “It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields... and eating the first of the strawberries with cream.” — I don’t know if hope can transcend the depths of extreme trauma. That transcendence has not yet been my experience, but you’ve been inspiring me lately to not lose sight of the possibility. Thank you, dearie.)

***

Through a whiskey fog, he felt her eyes on him.

Again.

All day she’d been hovering, dictating “musts” and “must nots.” And not just to the tributes.

“...Wear the navy blue coat. No, not THAT one. The one with pinstripes. It makes you look taller. And wear the silver tie that shimmers when it catches the light. It draws attention down from that chin you refuse to have manicured. Just two millimeters shorter is all I’m asking, and you balk as if I’m suggesting you cut off your head. Scuffed shoes?? Absolutely not! After all my efforts to make you presentable, you want to wear THOSE old things?! The black leather wingtips will be perfect. And, for goodness sake, comb your hair. It appears as if some sort of rodent nested in it last night...”

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 71st Hunger Games.

Haymitch sank into the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. The black shoes, the pinstriped coat, and the silver tie were all off now. The kids were in bed, and he was no longer on the clock. He could ignore her.

He took a swallow of whiskey and tried to ignore her.

She smelled faintly like cherry lollipops from the sweet shop back home. She drew her feet up beside her, and her knees shifted toward him. They brushed his thigh for an instant before she inched them away.

She was impossible to ignore.

He took another drink, closed his eyes, and awaited an additional onslaught of directives.

Effie’s clipboard lay abandoned on her lap as she examined the contours of his face. He was probably too drunk to notice her attention. If he noticed, she could say she was planning his attire for the following day. Her truth was that memories of those contours had haunted her the past year. Now he was here again in person, and she was taking in that reality.

Had she ever been turned on before by the spot where a man’s earlobe curves into his jaw? It sounded ridiculous. Nonetheless it was happening inside her. Her perusal shifted to his hairline, and her fingertips followed. What am I doing?

He shivered as her nails touched his scalp. He’d expected nagging — not this. This was the kind of sensation he experienced in dreams that made him wake up ready to fuck somebody. But he always woke up alone. He made sure of that.

Now he wasn’t asleep, and he wasn’t alone, and he was feeling this. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to face her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about washing your hair.”

Of course. “Always looking for something to fix.”

She continued the caress. “I’m just wondering how it would feel — to do it. Don’t you ever just wonder?”

Yeah, he wondered how it would feel to do it with her. When he woke up ready to fuck someone, lately he always thought about her.

“Will you let me?” she asked.

Hell, yes. ...Wait...  “What?”

“Will you let me wash your hair?”

He didn’t need to look away from her eyes to know the details of her body. He’d been glancing at her all day. Peacock blue eyelashes matched her dress with feathers stitched in strategic places. Her wig was platinum like the rings on Capitol fingers. It was late, and her makeup was worn out. He pictured pink seeping through it if he could make her blush. Her lipstick coated the rim of her teacup. Her lips were almost raw. And kissable. Too kissable.

“Nobody washes my hair but me, sweetheart.” It was the safe answer. But he didn’t tell her to stop touching him, because the longer she kept at it, the better it felt.

Abruptly, she stopped and folded her hands over her clipboard. “It was just a thought.” A fool’s thought. Of course he’d say ‘no.’

He didn’t want her to stop. Shit. He took a swig so long the liquor burned his throat. “You can wash my hair, but I have two conditions. One, I don’t want to smell like perfume or fruit when you’re done. And, two, while you’re washing MY hair, I get to see YOURS. Not *that* thing.” He scrutinized her wig.

He’d seen her hair before, a decade ago, when it was teased and curled and sprayed to perfection. She didn’t have the tools for that here since wigs were the fashion now. So if she agreed, he’d be seeing her plain and wispy and nothing special. The voice of insecurity berated her.

“I don’t know...”

“Then forget it. I’m comfortable right here on the couch.”

He drank, and she watched his throat. She focused on the three open buttons of his shirt, counting them down and back up again. His skin was weathered just the right amount to make her want to crawl out of herself and slip inside with him. She wanted to touch more than the stiff bend of his elbow, which she curled her fingers through when courting potential sponsors.

She wanted more with him than artifice. For the past year, she’d been irritated, embarrassed by her desire. Yet the want itself was more overwhelming than any irritation or embarrassment she felt about it.

Effie set her clipboard on the coffee table and dropped the first hairpin onto it. “I don’t want to ‘forget it’.”

He gaped as she slid the pins out and lifted her wig off. She shook out her hair, bending forward and quickly back up. The maneuver thrust the feathers adorning her chest into prominence, and he wanted to see all of her at once.

She fluffed her hair like a preening bird. The color was deeper than he remembered from that long-ago summer when she was 18 and barely old enough for him to be looking at her the way he did. Her hair was golden now, like late afternoon sun reflecting off the endless fields of wheat they passed as the train traveled alongside District 9... and like the honey he’d spread on a slice of fresh bread that morning.

“I don’t want to forget it either,” he said.

She reached for his whiskey. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. She gulped a mouthful and choked down the cough that threatened to follow. She capped the bottle and set it on the table beside her clipboard. “If you stop drinking, just for tonight, then you might remember this.”

If he wasn’t drunk on the look of her hair alone, then he would have protested. In that moment, he’d do almost anything she’d ask. That recognition made him nervous.

“Follow me.” She stood up and moved through the dining room on stocking-clad feet.

He followed in socks. The walls had ears, but this act was quiet. Suddenly he wanted to keep it that way. “One more condition,” he said, “No talking.”

“But—“

“You don’t need to use your mouth to wash my hair.”

She pursed her lips. Her silence reflected her acquiescence. In the kitchen, she found a wooden chair used by the avoxes, and she held it out for him to carry. He took it, and she lead him back through the common rooms and down the hallway to her bedroom.

The layout was nearly identical to the room next door where he’d slept every July for 20 years. In all that time, he’d never been in the escort’s room. The space was Effie’s now, filled with delicate things he would have looked at more closely if she hadn’t ushered him straight through to her bathroom. Colorful robes and fluffy white towels hung on the wall. Dozens of shiny, fragrant bottles were lined up on the granite countertop. Haymitch stood there out of his element, holding the chair, unsure about what to do.

Mercifully she took it from him and positioned it with the back against the sink. She folded a towel in half and draped it from the edge of the counter over the back of the chair. As he sat down, he wondered when she’d done this before and with whom. He didn’t know why that mattered to him, but it did.

“You’re going to have to slouch,” she whispered, putting gentle pressure on his shoulder, “That shouldn’t be a problem for YOU.”

Smart-ass. He slunk down until the nape of his neck rested on the folded towel. She reached across him and cradled his head. Her forearm pressed against his cheek, and the scent of cherry candy hit him again. Her skin was soft. Beneath all those peacock feathers and that corset, she was surely the softest thing in this forsaken place.

She turned on the faucet and let it run. Then she let go of him.

“Where are you going?” He should have kept his mouth shut because he sounded like he cared too much about this. Like SHE was doing HIM a favor, rather than the other way around.

“Not far.” Stifling a chuckle, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic tumbler.

Then she was back, even closer than before, and he recognized how much he wanted her there. He was sober enough to know this whole thing was probably a mistake but not sober enough to call it off.

When the water poured over his scalp, it was the dream world again. Warm shivers, ease, pleasure... Oh, god... Effie. He tucked his hands in between the chair and his ass so he wouldn’t do something insane — like touch her.

She threaded her fingers into his hair. Goodness. He is actually letting me do this. She was scarcely breathing, fearing that air alone could burst the bubble, and he would leave.

“Peppermint?” she asked gently.

“Hmmm?”

She reached for a bottle of shampoo and pumped a dollop into her palm.

“If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll change it.”

Don’t change anything.

She watched sensations play over his face as she massaged his scalp, mindful of her nails. She wanted this to feel good for him; plus, breaking a nail during the Games would be an extreme inconvenience.

Right now she SHOULD be getting ready for bed. Puffy eyelids would be another inconvenience. She could justify this time with Haymitch as more than frivolity by telling herself that sponsors would be more inclined to make deals with a more polished version of him.

She slid her fingertips along the base of his skull. His lips parted, and a sound between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat. She repeated the motion, curious if he was even aware of his response.

Her pubic bone brushed against his shoulder, and she wanted more. She wanted more of all of this. This wasn’t frivolous for her. It was intense and deliberate, and if she was being honest, impressing sponsors had nothing to do with her intentions.

She filled the large glass again with warm water. When she poured it over his hair, his eyes opened to find her staring.

Please don’t stop doing this.

Please don’t make me stop.

Effie didn’t glance away or prattle. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she pumped more shampoo and repeated everything that she’d done the first time. If he blinked, she didn’t notice.

If she blushed, he didn’t notice. Maybe the worn out makeup was too thick, after all, for him to see through it. Or maybe this was just business for her. Her body might be pressed against him simply because the space was small. She could be washing his hair a second time just because he was a mess.

His gaze dropped to her lips. He remembered the way they caught the corner of his mouth the summer before. He recalled his decision to not kiss her and how cold she’d turned afterward. 

His reasoning still made sense. He still liked her too much. He liked her now even more. She was aggravating and often preposterous... and she felt like the goddamn sun. The warmth of her was all consuming, especially when she was like this — quiet and close and wrapped up in fragrances of peppermint and cherry candy and whiskey fog.

Damn, this is dangerous.

She poured water over his hair once more, and he closed his eyes again. In a moment she’d be gone. If I’m going to touch her, it has to be now. He untucked his hands—

“Stay still,” she whispered, moving away to get a towel from the cabinet, and then returning. As she patted his hair dry, she felt him trace the feathers stitched along the sides of her dress. The warm water she’d been pouring ran through the core of her. His hands came to rest on her hips.

“Not tonight... Not like this,” he’d said the last time his hands were there. The words frustrated her then but didn’t make her want him any less. “Sit up,” she directed. 

He did so without letting go of her. As she dried his hair some more, he leaned his forehead against her stomach. The stays of her corset dug into him, but he didn’t care. Weeks of misery stretched out before him, and whatever this was with her, he needed it.

She set the towel down and held the back of his head. “You’re drunk.”

‘No,’ he shook his head against her. The haze of liquor was clearing. It was HER now in his veins.

“Do you want me to blow-dry your hair?”

“Hell, no,” he mumbled, “I’d probably come out of that thing looking like a poodle.”

“Hmm. No trust!”

When he finally looked up, her eyes were on the mirror.

“I’m a mess,” she murmured with her hands still in his hair.

He laughed. “Finally. Something we agree on.”

“Haymitch! Don’t spoil this.” With the back of a knuckle, she stroked his forehead, tracing the imprints of her corset stays. “Please don’t spoil this tonight.”

“I’ll spoil it tomorrow then.” He smirked.

The corners of her mouth turned up as she sighed.

She’d washed his hair. Twice. Their reason for being together in that space was done, but he kept holding her hips as she strummed a forgotten melody in his hair.

Neither of them was ready to let go.

***

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors 

Chapter 7: Ron II - The Game (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones

Word Count: 5K words

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD/Strong Violence

Ron vacantly studied the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

It had been almost nine months since the three of them had infiltrated the building, yet it felt like it happened so long ago it might as well have been in another lifetime.

The Magic is Might statue had been destroyed in the days following You Know Who’s fall – and in its place stood a gigantic memorial in tribute of all those who lost their lives to defeat him.

There wasn’t quite the same hustle and bustle that Ron was used to seeing when he’d visited the Ministry in the past with his Dad, but there was still a considerable work-force back to help run Wizarding Britain - and Ron, Hermione and Harry were attracting lots of attention from those who did walk past them.

Ron caught the eye of one of Kingsley’s aides and flagged him down.

“Is Kingsl– the Minister for Magic around?” he asked hopefully.

“The Minister is booked out for the next fortnight,” the young man replied nervously. “But I’m sure he might make an exception to see you,” he quickly added, before scurrying off quickly.

“And you wanted to come and see him on your own Hermione,” Ron said sarcastically. “That guy took one look at the famous Ron Weasley and-

“Ronald!” Hermione grumbled, as Harry laughed slightly.

“Well I’m sure Ron’s dad is technically his boss now,” Harry added.

Ron was pleased his dad had eventually relented and accepted Kingsley’s offer to be Permanent secretary to help run the Ministry, but even after just three days in the job he’d barely seen him at home, such was the vast workload.

It had made the three of them feel guilty about not getting involved in helping themselves, but they had been busy packing for their potentially long summer-trip around Australia to help Hermione find her parents.

“Ah. Mister Potter, we meet again.”

Ron saw the stern-faced Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Gawain Robards, who they’d met at Hogwarts in the aftermath of the battle.

“Mister Weasley. Miss Granger,” he said politely, as he shook both of their hands after Harry’s.

“Have to say the Minister and I thought the three of you might have taken a longer break before getting back into the swing of things. Certainly earned it. Nothing wrong with a strong work-ethic though, I like that,” he said, as Ron pondered the prospect of taking a break.

If he was honest it was one that was in-fact very appealing to him, especially given his nightmares and struggles with grief, but he would never admit it to Harry or Hermione.

He had to put on a brave face.

“We are going on a break Mister Robards. Well sort of,” Harry said.

“Oh. I see,” the Head of Magical Law Enforcement responded with a slightly disappointed look on his face.

“I did have some information I thought could be of use to you though, you know, in your hunt for the escaped Death Eaters,” Harry added.

Gawain’s eyes lit up and Ron thought it looked like the Head of Magical Law Enforcement’s mind was racing. Robards ran his hand through the beard on the bottom of his chin.

“Follow me to my office,” he barked quietly. “Can’t be too sure about what you say even in the hallways and corridors,” Gawain added, as his eyes shifted around the large open space.

“Constant vigilance,” Ron uttered in his best Alastor Moody impression.

Hermione and Harry laughed softly and even Gawain raised a brief smile.

“I miss that mad bastard,” Robards muttered as he and Harry swiftly walked away.

“What do you make of him, Ron?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Who? Mister Robards? I dunno, seems pretty alright I guess,” Ron replied.

“Do you not think it’s a little odd though? I was under the impression he was always a Scrimgeour man. Kingsley seems to be placing an awful lot of trust in him. If he was such good friends with Mad-Eye why was he never in The Order?” she reasoned, with a concerned look on her face.

“I don’t know, but I know Dad said it was never a good move politically to be a known member if you worked here. Didn’t give you a particularly long life expectancy either, especially in the old days.”

“I still don’t think we should trust him,” Hermione countered.

“Perhaps not. But I think we should play our cards a bit closer to our chest. We’re part of it now… aren’t we?” Ron asked rhetorically.

“Part of what… the Ministry?”

“The Game,” Ron whispered. “We’re pieces on the board now. Dad said working here is like one big game of chess. It’s like we’re back in that chamber in our first year. We might not want to be – but we’re pieces now, whether we like it or not. It’s time to start playing.”

“Ooh, what are you playing? Can I join?”

Ron and Hermione turned round in surprise at being interrupted by the female voice.

Ron almost didn’t recognize her at first. He’d only ever seen Hestia Jones in casual clothes before, but the dark-haired witch looked very smart in her black robes, which complimented her mocha skin and piercing brown eyes.

“Hi guys. Fancy seeing you here, ehh?” Hestia said warmly, before giving them both a quick hug.

Ron felt quite awkward when she gave him a slight kiss on the cheek, but he relaxed slightly when he saw her do the same to Hermione. He thought he caught a slight raised eyebrow from Hermione, but maybe he just imagined it.

“First day at work in the Auror office is it?” she asked.

“Not just yet,” Ron replied. “We’re just here to see Kingsl- the Minister,” he fumbled, as he corrected himself for the second time in the space of a few minutes. He felt his cheeks blushing slightly as Hestia smiled at his error.

“Well you’ll be lucky, Ron,” Hestia said sarcastically. “I’m waiting to see him myself later. We’re quite short staffed up in Obliviator HQ. Even just a few extra trainees to help with inbound news would really lift the workload. I don’t suppose you two know any half-decent muggle-borns or half-bloods that are looking for a job? They wouldn’t see much action, but the pay isn’t bad for what you have to do,” Hestia asked in a slightly jokey manner, but Ron could sense there may well have been serious undertones in her request for suggestions.

Ron mused slightly.

“Well I don’t know if they’re planning to go back to Hogwarts next year, but you could always try Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They both fought in the battle. They’re good guys.”

“They must be very good guys to have Ron Weasley speak so highly of them,” Hestia replied with a wink, which made Ron blush further. Hermione shot him a funny look.

“I best be off. Very busy up there. They’ll all be wondering where I’ve got to!” she added, sounding quite rushed.

“There was just one thing, Hestia. If you could spare another minute,” Hermione blurted quickly.

“Of course!” Hestia replied instantly, smiling at her.

“It’s just… I’ve read a lot about bewitching and memory charms, but I was wondering, if you would know… if you bewitch someone’s memory… does the length of time that they’re bewitched have any impact on being able to reverse the spell?” Hermione asked.

Hestia pondered for a moment.

“Well…” she began softly. “There’s no exact science to it, Hermione... there’s lots of extenuating factors that can influence it. If someone’s mind is vehemently opposed to the idea or memory being implanted on them, then, depending on the strength of the person’s mind, sometimes over a prolonged period of time the mind can slowly fight back and resist it-

“Sort of like when someone’s fighting back against the Imperius curse?” Ron blurted out.

“Yes, Ron. Exactly like that,” replied Hestia.

Hermione looked at Hestia hopefully.

“That’s why when implanting or removing a memory via bewitching or obliviation it is best to do so in a way that the person’s mind wouldn’t naturally resist to. For example, it is often quite easy to obliviate the memory of a muggle who has seen something they shouldn’t… like a dragon or a giant… because their mind thinks that seeing something like that is impossible to start with. If you are altering or implanting a memory in someone’s mind… it’s always best to alter it to something very similar, or if you’re implanting a memory or a thought in someone’s mind… it’s much less difficult if it’s something that that person’s mind would want to or has previously seen. To bewitch someone to have a completely independent thought or memory as if it was their own… inception… that is a very difficult art, which very few witches or wizards have ever successfully mastered. That’s why so many dark wizards just use the Imperius curse if they want to take control of someone’s mind. ”

“That’s why I bewitched my parents to move to Australia. I read that it was easier to bewitch people into doing or thinking something that they’d thought of before – and they always said they wanted to retire to Australia after I finished school. So it made perfect sense. It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll be able to reverse the bewitching of their memory to forget I existed,” she said with a worrying look on her face.

Hestia studied her for a few moments.

“It’s very difficult to make somebody permanently forget about people that they love, or have loved, even with obliviation. You can bewitch or obliviate someone’s conscious mind and memory of someone, but if it is someone very important to them, who they have known for years… then the memory of that person will still exist in their subconscious… in their dreams… and one little dream can trigger an avalanche of memories in that person’s mind. I think even just seeing you again could break part of the enchantment you cast on them, Hermione. I’m sure it will all work out just fine.”

Hermione thanked Hestia, who gave her a slight hug and smiled at Ron before rushing off back to work.

“See,” Ron began. “Nothing to worry about. I told you.”

“I’m still not totally convinced, Ron. I’m sure Hestia knows a lot more about bewitching and memory charms than I do, but when she tried to alter The Dursley’s memory so that they’d respect and love Harry-

“But that’s just what she said, isn’t it? Their minds were probably so adverse to the idea of loving Harry after hating him all his life that it backfired and went wrong. And I still reckon she did him a favour if you ask me…”

“Ronald!” Hermione groaned.

The aide that Harry had flagged down earlier was now sprinting over to them, looking completely out of breath.

“The Min…ist….er….can…see…see you now!” he panted, as he doubled over.

They thanked him before he began leading them to Kingsley’s office.

“I think Harry should stay here… if he wants to,” Hermione said quietly, as she tried to speak to Ron without Kingsley’s aide hearing her.

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Ron began. “He wants to come and help. Besides… you’ve just spent the best part of a year on the run living in a tent to help Harry defeat You Know Who. The least he can do to return the favour is come with us to Australia to help find your par-

“But Ron, don’t you see? I didn’t do all of that as a big favour to Harry… it was to help defeat You Know Who, yes, of course, that helped Harry, but that benefitted me too…and you… and everyone in the wizarding world – and the muggle one too. It would be different if they’d all been caught… but…

Hermione looked at him fearfully as she lowered her voice even lower.

“…there’s still Death Eaters out there, Ron. Murderers. And Harry can help catch them better than anyone… you know that. Whilst they’re still out there nobody is safe, not really. Not me… you… or-

“Ernie!!” Ron uttered excitedly as he saw his former Hufflepuff classmate heading out of Kingsley’s office door with a tall man, who judging by his long ponytail Ron thought must be the Auror, Robert Williamson.

“Good to see you both looking so well!” Ernie exclaimed in his typical bombastic manner. “No doubt you’ve both been recruited to join the ranks of the Aurors too…” he said knowingly. “My Uncle would be so proud that I’ve been personally head-hunted to-

“Now, now, Mister MacMillan,” Willamson tutted. “Your Uncle Albert was indeed a very proud man… and a very talented Auror… but if he taught me anything when I was a young recruit it was the fundamental importance of both modesty and respect. I endeavour to teach you both of those traits, if it’s the last thing that I do…”

Ernie made a comical face that said just what he thought of Williamson’s suggestion, before bidding Ron and Hermione farewell as he flanked his large companion.

Ron gave Hermione a bemused look as they entered Kingsley’s chambers.

The room itself was fairly dimly lit, quite large and appeared to have had a makeover since Kingsley had taken office.

There were many large moving portraits of magical creatures dotted around the walls, with the most impressive being of a giant Thunderbird flying around what Ron assumed was an African desert. Ron also shuddered slightly at an Acromantula skeleton that was transfixed on the ceiling – and noted in the far corner of the room a giant triangular grey flag with a squawking black falcon on it.

“I never knew you were a Falmouth fan!” Ron exclaimed, as Kingsley looked up from the piece of parchment he had been studying.

“Let us win, but if we cannot win… let us break a few heads,” Kingsley uttered the Falmouth Falcons’ motto, which caused Hermione to raise her eyebrow a bit, presumably not understanding the reference.

Ron noted there were moving pictures of several famous Falcons players dotted near the flag too. He recognized the infamous beaters, Karl and Kevin, the infamously brutal Broadmoor brothers of the 1960s, yet he did not recognize the fairly youthful looking dark-skinned man with dreadlocks aloft a broom on a separate picture above them.

“You’ll be pleased to know that is purely my attitude to Quidditch and not to politics, Miss Granger,” the Minister for Magic laughed, which seemed to reassure her a bit. “Although if the rumours are to be believed politics and Quidditch may well be intertwining in the coming months.”

Ron was unsure what to make of that last remark, but Kingsley quickly pressed on and changed the subject before he could think too deeply into it.

“Now… to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You’ve not changed your mind about my offer have you?” Kingsley asked as he addressed Hermione.

Ron saw his girlfriend hesitate slightly.

“It’s not… it’s not that I don’t want to… it’s just… my… I need to…”

“I totally understand if you kids want to take some time off. You of all people deserve it more than anyone. You shouldn’t rush into-

“I need to find my parents!” Hermione blurted out. “I bewitched them to move to Australia and forget they ever had a daughter. All I know is the names I gave them and that they flew out to Sydney…I thought if I knew anything more about where they were going it could be tortured out of me. It could take weeks, if not months, years even to find them. I don’t know if I’ll ever find them and if they’ll even remember me when I do and-

Ron held Hermione tight to him as she broke down slightly. Kingsley looked on with quite a concerned look on his face.

“Do you have a picture of your parents, Hermione?” Kingsley asked calmly.

“Not…not on me. I didn’t take one with me when we were on the run… just in-case. But I put a lot of our belongings and family things in a safe place. I could easily get a picture from there.”

“Then don’t worry, Hermione. I have a connection or two in the Australian ministry. If you can get me a picture of your parents by tonight, then I can get their faces on every muggle television and magical newspaper in Australia by the time the sun comes up down under. I can probably even sort you out a Portkey from here to Sydney… we’ll have you reunited within a few days,” Kingsley said calmly.

“You… you can do all of that? Just like that?” Hermione’s voice cracked slightly as Ron saw what he thought were tears of joy.

“Hey, it pays to have a friend as Minister for Magic, ehh? You got nothing to worry about, Hermione,” Kingsley replied, with a wink.

“But…but how could I ever repay you?” she said, sniffing slightly.

“The wizarding world is already forever in your debt, more than most will ever know. Consider this a thank-you for everything you have done,” he said solemnly. “There are far inferior witches and wizards who have deemed themselves worthy of far higher rewards than simply having some help in tracking down lost parents.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“So let me get this straight, Hermione,” Ron began as the two of them walked out from The Big Yellow Self Storage facility where Hermione had retrieved a few family photos.

“Some muggles have so much stuff that they pay other muggles to hold onto all of the stuff that they want, but don’t have room in their house for? I thought that was what lofts or sheds were for? Do muggles not have lofts or sheds?”

Ron really couldn’t get his head around it.

“Yes. Yes they do have lofts and sheds, but sometimes there’s not enough room in them,” Hermione began, pausing slightly as she noticed Ron’s bemused expression. “Most of the time people don’t put things into these storage units for very long. It’s usually just when they’re in the middle of moving house or have had a divorce or something.”

The idea of a divorce was just as foreign to Ron as the self-storage facility.

They were extremely rare in the wizarding world – so much so that a wizarding couple getting a divorce in Britain was practically a front-page news story every time it happened.

The only example Ron could think of was the divorce of Dolores Umbridge’s parents, which had happened well before he was born – perhaps that had been part of the reason why she grew up to be such an evil cow.

“Where are we walking to?” Ron asked, as he noticed Hermione was leading them down a side-street. He had been under the impression they were going to apparate straight back to the Ministry.

“My Mum and Dad’s isn’t far from here. Only a five minute walk or so. I thought we could stop by, not necessarily pop in, but just have a look outside perhaps. I’m just curious, that’s all,” Hermione replied and Ron muttered in agreement. He’d never actually been to Hermione’s house before, so it would be interesting even just to see it from the outside.

Ron couldn’t help but notice that the cul-de-sac wasn’t a million miles away from Privet Drive in appearance. He wondered if all muggle neighbourhoods had this same sort of generic template. Every single house on the street looked exactly the same. There was sometimes a different colour door or garage, but for the most part they were all absolutely identical.

The street itself was practically deserted. There was an old man in the distance walking a little dog – and a stray cat chasing a bird in someone’s front garden, but other than that it was very quiet.

Almost too quiet.  

“But. That’s impossible. How can-

“What is it?” Ron asked, a bit worried at the sound of concern in Hermione’s tone.

“There’s a ‘For Sale’ sign outside their house. But they would’ve only moved out less than a year ago. It took absolutely ages to sort out selling their house, what with the onward chains and what not… even then I had to use a bit of magic to speed it all up. Why would the new owners already want to… Oh Ron you don’t think-

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed as he chased after his girlfriend who had now sped up, almost into a full sprint to the house she had grown up in.

“Maybe the new owners just didn’t like the area,” Ron mused. “I don’t like it much. Gardens can’t be that big, can they? Be a struggle to have a proper game of Quidditch in one of those.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione began. “For once in your life could you please think about something other than Quidditch,” she pleaded loudly.

“Quid ditch? What’s that, then? New slang word for money is it? Old codger like me can nevva keep up.”

The two of them had been caught off guard by the interruption, but Ron noticed at once that it was the little old muggle he’d seen walking the yappy little dog who had addressed them.

“What do you two make of it, then? I’m guessing that’s why you’re ‘ere, ain’t it? ‘aving a butchers at the ‘ouse where the Twickenham Torturer made his name for ‘is-self?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged confused looks.

“I’m sorry… we don’t know what you mean. We’re just here to look at the-” Hermione begun, before the old man butted in.

“You don’t mean you’re actually ‘ere to view the ‘ouse for sale?! Christ. I know they must be selling it quite cheap by now to try and flog it, but bloomin’ ‘eck, surely you wouldn’t actually wanna live in a place where four people were murdered?!”

“Mu-mu…murdered?” Hermione gasped.

“Yeah. You two been living under a rock or something, ‘ave ya? It was a national story. Put us on the map it did. Bloody nightmare. Taken about 10 grand off the value of my ‘ouse, that has. ‘appened about 7 or 8 months ago. A family of four bought the ‘ouse off this nice couple who moved to Australia. ‘ad the right idea they did – this country’s gone to the dogs now anyway, what with Labour in they’ll have all the bloody foreigners coming ova’ now. But yeah nice young couple moved in…Mum and a Dad…two lovely young kids… little boy and a little girl, think the youngest was only 3.”

“And they…. They were murdered?! The children too?!” Hermione asked, utterly horrified. Ron too was bewildered by what he was hearing.

“Oh yeah! Nasty business it was, but ‘ere’s the thing that nobody could figure out. They’d all been tortured they had. The wife… the ‘usband… especially the little girl and the little boy. But none of the doctors or police could figure out ‘ow they died. None of them ‘ad any stab wounds or blunt force trauma to the ‘ead… nothing. The coroners all concluded that the torture alone should not ‘ave been enough to kill ‘em.”

“So they never found out who did it?” Ron asked.

“You what? Never found out who did it?! Corr blimey you two ‘ave been living under a rock, ain’t ya! The police were stumped for weeks weren’t they, but then they found out the bloke’s brother had a spare set of keys, didn’t he?”

“And so he…” Ron began, but the old man was too eager to finish his story.

“So one day ‘e just lost it, didn’t ‘e? ‘e’d only just been discharged from Iraq for a few months, they reckon ‘e was struggling to get back to civilian life. Post-traumatic stress or whatever it is they call it. ‘is missus left ‘im and they reckon ‘e walked in one day and just went nuts at them. Ain’t sure if ‘e was ‘aving visions or flashbacks or whatever… but ‘e tortured them all and then managed to kill them all. That’s the funny part though… police couldn’t actually find ‘is DNA on any of them, but course ‘is DNA was all over their gaff where ‘e sometimes popped in and out.”

“So they convicted him? Even though there was no concrete evidence that he did it?” Hermione asked in horror.

“It couldn’t ‘ave been anyone else though. No sign of a break in. ‘e’s the only person with a key. ‘ad to be ‘im. ‘ad to be,” the old man concluded.

“What if it wasn’t him? He’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit and-

"Won’t be much danger of that. Fella ‘ung ‘imself the night he got convicted. Spent the whole trial in  tears adamant that ‘e didn’t do it. Felt bad for ‘im in a way. Probably didn’t even remember doing it. Anyway I best be off, won’t keep you kids no longer, ‘er at ‘ome will ‘ave me guts for garters if I’m not back soon.”

The old man sauntered off down the road merrily as if he’d been cheerily discussing the weather, rather than a brutal homicide.

Hermione looked haunted by what he had told them.

Of course it was obvious what had really happened.

Ron had thought Hermione had perhaps been a bit over-cautious in hiding her parents on the other side of the world, but she had been very clever- and very right in what she had chosen to do.

She always was.  

[maple-writes]

WHG 14: Boat 1

tagging @ratracechronicler @concealeddarkness13 (Thanks for Nesri!) and @pen-of-roses

in which Cirrus does a lot of dancing

###

I hoped everyone recognized how much effort it took when I held my tongue about the honeymooners stealing half our accommodations. If it didn’t carry the risk of blowing our cover they might not have been so lucky. I couldn’t see either of them out on the main floor though, and I could only guess what they might have been using their new roomy lodgings for.

After a quick loop around the main dance floor, there didn’t seem to be anything immediately dangerous. Nothing we hadn’t expected anyway. Soldiers, peacekeepers, locked doors and watchful eyes, but most seemed here for the party and nothing more. Nice. I took a drink from one of the servers, not quite sure what it was but anything with a raspberry garnish had to be good. Though, maybe not as good as I expected. Whoever made this made it too sweet. Far too sweet.

Across the room a pair of women were watching me, whispered to each other. One of them pointed, probably trying to be subtle as she smiled to her friend as if trying to encourage her to do something.

I took another sip of the overly sweet berry drink before stetting it down. It didn’t take a genius to guess what they might have been talking about if Nesri’s judgment was to be trusted. That could probably work in my favor. They shushed each other when they noticed me coming, one giving the other a little shove.

I put on a smile and held out a hand. “Care to dance?”

She blushed a moment, even behind her makeup before taking my hand and letting me lead her to the floor. We joined the other dancers, and she struggled to hide a smile when I rested my hand on her waist to dance.

Now, how should I get her to talk? “So, how are you enjoying the party?”

At first she stammered, but even as we started to talk it quickly turned out she didn’t have any information that could be remotely useful. Neither she, nor her friend, or two other young men who asked to dance seemed to have noticed anything at all about the boat besides what they saw at that very moment. For the most part they didn’t seem to have any thoughts there could be anything misleading about the reason for the party, though none had a chance yet to meet the so-called lucky tributes.

I retreated back to the side. What a waste of time. Sure, the dancing had been fun, and the partners were lively, but hopefully the others were having better luck getting anything useful. I sighed and started towards some of the fruit laid out on one of the tables. Maybe the raspberry without the overly sweetened drink would be better.

I looked over the fruits, but an avox replacing a plate of cubed mango made me pause. It was her. It had to be, the same girl who’d been assigned to our floor before the games, the same one who’d dragged the water out on stage. Maybe she was the capitol’s. Whatever the reason, maybe this would be more of a break than flirty youths.

“Excuse me.” I stood across the table from her, looking down at her as she realized I was talking to her. “I need a fresh set of sheets in my room, now.” If she recognized me, she didn’t show it. If she didn’t then the disguise must have been working. She kept her eyes down as I told her the room number and she left with a nod.

As soon as she’d gone, I turned and took my time leaving the main room. She’d need a couple minutes to go and find the linens. That would buy me a minute or two.

The hall was near silent compared to the bustle of the main room, empty besides the evidence of the newlyweds in their room via a closed door and a do not disturb sign. I rolled my eyes as I slipped into our room and waited. Arms crossed I watched the lake out the little window, shimmering in the sun. Clouds lurked on the horizon though, far off for now but if the winds turned…

The door clicked and I turned as the avox stepped in. She froze wide-eyed when she saw me, clutching the folded sheets just a little tighter.

I sighed, letting my hands fall to my sides. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” I nodded. “Close the door, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She swallowed, but did as she was told, pulling the door closed with a gentle thud.

“I’m Cirrus, one of the tributes on the floor your were assigned to.” I paused as she blinked, seeming to at least recognize my voice. “Look, I can’t talk too long in case anyone gets suspicious, but a handful of other tributes and I escaped the arena together, and we intend on trying to free our friends held captive here.” I nodded at her. “One of them was the one forced to hurt you with magic. I don’t think she wanted to, I hope you know that.”

She nodded along, one hand tracing gingerly along where Lynne had cut her with the crystalized water up on stage.

“If you help us, I’ll try my hardest to make sure you get out with us.”

The girl’s head snapped up, hopeful for only a moment before her eyes narrowed. Her shoulders tensed and her jaw clenched.

This time though, she didn’t look away when I met her stare. “You probably know this place far better than nearly anyone else on board. You know the timetable, the events, everything you’d be expected to put on, don’t you?” I grinned. “When I was younger my mother would tell me a mistreated servant was dangerous. I didn’t hear her then, but now… Who better to poison a king than the one who pours his wine and serves his dinner? So to speak anyway.”

I held out my hands in a shrug. “Not that you have to kill the president, getting him out of the way is accounted for.” She listened intently as I filled her in on the plan. Even if she did decide to turn on us, it wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone, right? “Whatever you can do to win us the upper hand would be appreciated.”

She smiled, wide and eager with devious excitement glinting in her eye. She nodded, shoulders set and determined. I held out a hand, she shook it, and we went our separate ways. Hopefully she’d come through. She seemed in on it enough though.

#

I wasn’t back out on the main floor for long before Nesri found me. She pushed through the crowd until she stood in front of me, leaning in to whisper.

“I found and old friend, and he has invited us to meet the captain. He says they will help us out.” She smiled. “And he’s a horrible liar, so I trust him.”

The more help the better. I nodded. “Good.” Hopefully her friend would be useful and not as bad at this kind of stuff as he allegedly was at lying. I took a sip of my drink. Even this one was too sweet. “I might have talked one of the avoxes into helping us too.”

She grinned. “that’s wonderful! The more the merrier! Did you find any other info? I saw you snooping around the corridors early on.”

If only. “Not as much as I would like.” I sighed. “Nothing seems weird, and no one I talked to seemed to know anything besides trends.” Trends I’d never need to know ever again.

Nesri laughed. “I bed those trends were horrendous too.” Correct. She leaned forward, gripping my arm with a smile. “Well, I’ve gotta move on. I want to let everyone else know so we can meet his captain soon.”

She turned to leave, straight into a drunken woman in a costume bikini. “You two are the most adorable couple I’ve ever seen! You two simply must dance! It will be so aesthetically pleasing!”

What? I blinked. “Couple?” Was she talking to us?

The woman giggled, all too-white teeth and uncoordinated gesture. “No need to be shy about it! You have matching outfits and everything!” Damn it with the outfits. “I simply must insist you dance. It will be so entertaining!”

By now others had started to crowd around, swarming like bored bees to honey buzzing with their agreement and excitement. They didn’t look about to disperse anytime soon.

I swallowed, and turned to Nesri when I couldn’t find the words. “Nesri?” Please say something good. My head spun. What was I supposed to do?

But Nesri only smirked. “Well, you heard the woman.”

That wasn’t what I’d hope she’d say, but I guess, what other choice did we have? “Of course.” I bowed slightly and held out a hand, probably too formal but if it was a show they wanted then it was a show they’d get. “Shall we?”

She took my hand and we started dancing in front of the gathered crowd, bathed in their shallow oohs and aws. This close in a slow-song dance, whatever it was that Triel had done to Nesri’s face was nice. Makeup shimmered in spots of light like shining fish under clear waters. It was almost strange to see her all dressed up like some proper high-class lady after all the pestering she’d put me through all last week.

She leaned close, grinning up at me. “You’re still cute when you’re flustered.”

I rolled my eyes, grappling with what to say. My tongue still felt twisted under so many eyes watching us. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

Nesri glanced at them, watching, chattering to each other. “I wouldn’t have wanted this to be our first dance, with Capitol idiots insisting on it, but—" She turned back to me, a smirk pulling at her face. “I couldn’t have asked for a more handsome partner.”

Again? I shrugged. “I mean, my mother did say I was vain.” Though she hadn’t meant it as a compliment. “Guess it paid off.” I grinned, raising my eyebrows before changing the subject. “At least none of them are probably going to throw food at us, unlike some people.”

She gasped, mocking insult. “I would never! I can’t imagine anyone would do something so horrendous.” She matched my grin, but something seemed to catch her eye. She peered over my shoulder and I could feel her stiffen under my hands. “Shit.” Nesri ducked her head down as if hiding behind me. “Churi is here.”

“What?” I twisted, glancing back at whatever it was that she’d seen. Standing in the crowd was that man from the TV demonstration. “Damn it, of course he’s here. Would he recognize you?”

She nodded. “He would recognize me. And he’s staring right at us. Shit.”

I lowered my voice and leaned closer, keeping our words between us. “I saw a door with a lock down the hall.” I paused, watching for her reaction. “Looked like a bathroom maybe, but it might work.”

Nesri peeked up over my shoulder again, eyes flickering as she searched until an insincere smile replaced her worry. “Nah. He’s gone. It’s fine. He’s the kind that won’t alert the peacekeeprs because he’s planning on a confrontation of his own, so if I avoid him, we’ll be fine.” She looks around again, eyes resting this time on our onlookers with a laugh. “I think they’re expecting a kiss at the end of this song.”

Huh? I baulked, but after a glance at the crowd, she might have been right. We had to have at least a quarter of the guest around now. “Better they remember a show than strange people sneaking around the ship, right?”

Nesri grinned and the song started to slow and fade. I hesitated a heartbeat. I’d never done this before, how was it supposed to go? Hopefully this would work. I dipped her down, holding her suspended with a arm across her back. She reached up and pulled me closer, hands running through my hair as our lips met. She was warm, and smelled like whatever fancy perfume Triel must have given her. It suited her, misty and fresh. I could feel my face flush, heat spreading across my cheeks. With the onlookers celebrating, this wasn’t how I’d imagined my first kiss would be, but at least I couldn’t complain about the partner.

The other guests started to go their own ways as soon as we pulled apart, already looking for the next interesting thing. I braced myself for Nesri to mock my blushing, but instead she looked serious.

“Please don’t tell anyone about Churi being here. I don’t want to make them more worried.” She swallowed. “He’s probably only here for me. So, I’m the only one who needs to worry.”

“Fine.” I held her a moment more before bringing her back up to her feet. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.” Already it started to gnaw at my stomach. The last time someone tried to convince me I didn’t have to worry about them, he nearly died. He’d thought no one could help him. “You said he isn’t physical but may I remind you Asher is trained as an exorcist? I wont tell him anything, but you’re not here alone Nesri.”

She smiled, but I couldn’t believe it was genuine. “The Shades aren’t really so much spirits as different species from us. I don’t know if he’d be able to help. But thanks.”

Before could think of something else to say, she gave me a quick hug and walked away. What would happen if he found her? What was I supposed to do? Last time someone tried to tell me to stay out of it, to not help, to not come for him and I did, he tried to kill me, but would it have ended better if I hadn’t found him? It could have been worse.

I sighed, turning and slipping through the crowd before I could draw too much attention. Maybe he wouldn’t even find her, wouldn’t end up causing problems before we got off this shop.

#

I hadn’t seen anyone for a while, but the others had to be nearby, right? There was only so many places they could be on an enclosed boat after all. I stood by one of the tables, craning my neck to see if I could see anyone, but so far no luck.

Something pressed into my hand. The avox girl passed by, a tray in her other hand and her eyes ahead like she hadn’t even noticed me. I curled my fingers around the scrap of folded paper and quietly slipped away back to the room where there’d hopefully not be as many curious eyes.

As soon as the door closed I unfolded the paper. Two sheets of paper that looked like they’d been torn out of the back of some kind of manual maybe, with writing and diagrams scrawled all over the empty spaces. Written in small writing, she’d crammed line after line detailing events schedules down to what meals would be served when and what they were. Diagrams of what looked like the ship’s layout, access codes, passengers of note, members of Snow’s security detail, Snow’s security plans…

My eyes rested on a single sentence written at the top of one of the pages.

My name is Amy.

I carefully refolded the papers and tucked it into one of my pockets, pushing it deep enough it’d be safe from falling out. Perfect

[ilikebeesandflowers]

Finale? What finale?

That was just the Empty torturing a wayward gay angel... Here’s what really happened after Cas confessed his LOVE to Dean Winchester and was taken to Super Mega Hell...

Unedited, unproofread, unbeta’d- just pure, unadulterated, whiskey-and-rage-fueled fix-it fic. Ps, El Sol cerveza is the official beverage of fake-dream-worlds, and therefore the entire narrative of the finale is sus.

Love Lift Us Up (Where We Belong)

Cas slumbered, but fitfully. Oblivion plagued him with nightmares.

Some dreams replayed memories, even of memories that were not strictly his: one by one, everyone he loved torn apart at an atomic level, rent, poofed to dust. His sleeping self watched on a loop as Bobby, Charlie, Donna, nameless others fell, obliterated.

He saw Michael slay Lucifer, the foregone conclusion so many times delayed.

He saw Michael betray the Winchesters. But how? Why? Michael had changed, hadn’t he? Adam had changed him. Even asleep, Cas knew this to be true.

He watched Jack, his loving and beloved son, fulfilling the promise Kelly had known he held. Jack bringing peace to the world, restoring balance, returning all life on earth to its rightful places. Cas was certain that this dream was true. He felt Jack’s presence, unmistakable lightness and goodness and purity.

The Empty roiled violently, rippling the fabric of its realm.

The dreams changed again to nightmares.

Dean, alone. Sam, alone. Eileen, alone.

The hunters who had died were again whole and alive, walking the earth as if Chuck’s poisonous animosity had never snuffed them. And yet they were all isolated from one another. Oh, the younger children clung to their parents, but the parents drifted from one another.

Charlie, alone. Donna, alone. Claire, alone.

The loneliness of the hunters infected the denizens of the Empty, and the Empty smiled in its sleep.

Cas dreamed that he watched Dean dying, an ignominious death in a ramshackle barn. He felt a wave of revulsion, of jealousy, like he did in another barn, once upon a time, witnessing a kiss between Anna and Dean. What had he felt then, way back when, when feelings were still so new and frightening? Had he been in love then?

The scene repeated, again and again, a horrible parody of what should have been. A confession of love, two foreheads touching, hands held over Dean’s heart. The scene replayed a hundred, a thousand times, Cas viewing from the vantage of the beloved, but Cas never could see who received Dean’s love. He only knew it wasn’t him. He could only watch through someone else’s eyes, hearing and seeing and feeling with intense loathing what should have been his.

Then Dean was dead.

 The scene faded again. Cas saw Sam, living on, without Dean, without Jack, without Eileen, without hunters or hunting. In the space of a human heartbeat, he was married, raising a human child, a son. In another heartbeat, he was old, then dying, then greeting his brother in heaven.

He felt again a tug as if Jack were near. A faint glow.

Cas woke. Two amber eyes shone above him.

“Castiel,” said Jack, “something is wrong. I need your help.”

Cas scrambled to his feet. “The dreams? They were real?”

Jack couldn’t know what Cas had seen, and yet he shook his head and assured him that, no, those were the Empty playing tricks. “But reality is in danger. Heaven and Hell are out of balance. Heaven’s brightest are all here, when they should be up there. We’ll have to wake them.”

The Empty howled somewhere far off, something that sounded like, “Let me sleep!”

Jack stepped briskly in the inky blackness, tapping here and there, naming sleeping entities. “Hannah, you are needed. Duma, awaken. Gabriel. Michael. Raphael, your services are humbly requested.”

Soon, the din of awakened angels, archangels, seraphs, and reapers had summoned a furious cosmic entity of entropy and oblivion. “KEEP. IT. DOWN,” it hissed.

“And what will you do if we don’t?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow to the Empty, who stood before them in the guise of Meg Masters, circa 2009.

The Empty stamped its foot. “I took you in. You all died the death of immortals, a death that cannot be rewarded nor punished, but I took you in! And all I ask for is quiet!”

“But why?” Cas continued. “You despise us. Why do you trap us here?”

The Empty hesitated. “They dream,” it replied. “They dream, and so I dream.”

“We suffer nightmares of your making.”

“No-oo. The dreams are yours.”

“You enjoy the nightmares?”

“No.” The Empty faltered. “They wake me up. You stir, I stir; I must sleep!”

Jack spoke softly to the Empty. “Then expel them.”

“Expel them? What, just set them all free to commit chaos?”

“Just the dreamers.”

The Empty seemed to calculate the price of granting the nephilim’s wish. “That would be almost all of the angels and a number of powerful demons. They might return, clomping into my haven and disturbing my sleep.”

“No,” Castiel put in, his eyes lit with a wry smile. “If you expel them, they will be forever banned from your realm. They become subject to Purgatory, not Oblivion.”

Jack smiled at his father. “Exactly!” He turned again to the Empty. “So you’ll do it?” he asked brightly.

The Empty scowled. It nodded once, as if making a decision.

The world went white, then faded to reveal a sunny meadow. Roly-poly bumblebees flitted between fat heads of purple clover. A nest of chickadees chirped. Cicadas droned. A red kite soared above them, the string held by someone a long way off. Cas’ face softened, as if recalling a long-lost memory.

It hardened again as he sensed something amiss. “Jack,” he frowned, “the walls between the human heavens are failing.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, which is why we need more angelic energy. But watch.” He drew a small window in the air with his index finger. He pushed the cut-out, revealing an adjoining heaven belonging to a woman. Cas recognized her as the mother of the man with the kite. Her heaven contained a meadow: the same meadow that surrounded them, rather than the manicured lawn Cas knew from the man’s original heaven.

“They can co-exist,” he breathed.

“Yes. We can break these barriers and open Heaven. It doesn’t need to be a prison. We can fix it.” Jack grinned again, that same old smile he’d worn in life, when he learned the taste of nougat or the softness of a bunny rabbit.

The sight warmed Cas. The summer sky glowed just a bit brighter. “Tell me what to do, my son.”

***

For six days, as Heaven measures time, the angels, the archangels, and the nephilim worked. First, negotiating a truce with Hell and its imperious but righteous Queen, and then building a Heaven for all. On the seventh day, they rested from their labors. They gathered to watch the humans on earth for a little while. Almost no time had passed: the humans had had just enough time to recollect that they had watched their loved ones vanish; those unfamiliar with the supernatural had quickly forgotten the phenomenon, as well. The hunters in the warded hideout had had just enough time to embrace their newly un-vanished friends.

Sam was texting Eileen, only to remember that he still had her phone, abandoned on the sidewalk mid-text. He laughed at himself. “We have to drive to Eileen’s house.”

Dean lay hunched over the table, carving a word into the polished wood alongside the Winchester family initials. Thus far, it read, “CAST,” and he was just starting on the I. “Pack us up- I wanna finish this, but I can be ready in twenty.” They watched as he finished his tribute to Castiel. He put two fingers to his lips, then pressed the finger pads against the grooves.

Cas itched to know how Dean meant the gesture.

Dean hastily scratched the name “JACK” into the table, too. “You done good, kid,” he murmured, patting the letters as he might once have patted Jack on the shoulder.

The angels drifted back to their tasks. Cas stayed, watching his friends. His family. He followed their movements towards Eileen. He witnessed the tearful reunion.

Sam started sniffling long before Dean pulled up behind Eileen’s little red car. He stepped over the sidewalk, where he had first absorbed her death, and a sob escaped him. In a few strides of his long legs, he was at the door. His hand shook as he reached for the doorbell. The second phone in his pocket vibrated: her doorbell notification. How would she know that he was there? He clapped the knocker, stamped his feet.

The door opened. Eileen. A vision, a sight for even Cas’ sore eyes. Sam was overwhelmed. He croaked her name, and she was in his arms. Where she belonged.

Back at the curb, Dean turned his face from the lovers. He fiddled with his phone, but who could he call?

Cas heard Dean think his name. He felt a pang of longing, but it wasn’t his own. Or rather, it matched his own. Echoed his, merged with his, swelling the aching feeling until he felt full to bursting with yearning for something he thought he could never have. Had thought he couldn’t have. Now, he wondered.

He called to his son.

Jack appeared beside him. He followed Cas’ gaze. “It’s time for you to return to him,” he mused.

“Yes, but,” Cas tripped over the words he wanted to say and couldn’t bear to say.

Fortunately, Jack understood. Without another word, he took Cas’ face in his hands. For a moment, their eyes glowed brightly, then Castiel’s dimmed to their customary shade of blue. When Jack’s golden aura had faded as well, he pulled away from Cas. He glanced down at the slim vial now slung around his neck by a black cord. The substance within sparkled, swirled, its hue a dazzling, electric blue-white. It looked like lightning in a bottle.

Cas swept his son into a crushing embrace. “Thank you,” he wept.

“You can always come home,” Jack told him.

Cas pulled back. “No. Where I’m going is home.” He smiled through the tears rushing down his cheek. “Goodbye, Jack. I love you.”

He rather felt than heard Jack’s reply, as he crossed from the celestial plane to the mortal realm. He stood now on that same sidewalk. Far to his right, Sam lifted Eileen, carrying her bridal-style into her home, letting the door slam behind them. To his left, a long black car. He gripped the passenger door handle, pulled it open. The hinges squeaked. He folded himself inside before turning to the driver.

Dean looked every bit as awed as Cas felt. This was right.

Before he could say anything, even so much as a simple “Hello, Dean,” he found himself in Dean’s arms. Where he belonged.

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Skylar Post Games Part 4

Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @nightskywriter, @merigreenleaf, @maple-writes (also thanks for Indigo!), and @onmywaytobe!

Two days after the interview, Tash walked into my room as I was waking up. I smiled, hoping they could tell how sarcastic it was. “What’s going on this time? Another line of people waiting outside the apartment just to see me?”

They just smiled back, and it looked as sarcastic as mine. “The Capitol wants you in one of the government buildings. Get ready.”

I frowned. “And why would the illustrious Capitol want to see me?”

They smiled wider. “That’s not something you get to find out. Just get ready.” I sighed as Tash left my room, closing the door behind them. Whatever was going on, it wouldn’t be good.

*

Tash didn’t even escort me to the building this time. Just five Peacekeepers. That didn’t look suspicious at all. It was a stark building, with no adornment, so I couldn’t even tell what it was for as I walked in. There wasn’t even much on the walls inside. What was this place?

A woman at the front desk smiled at the Peacekeepers and picked up a phone. “The tribute is here.”

I could faintly hear the voice through the phone speaker. “Send them up.” A woman who sounded very sure of herself. I frowned as we started walking. Were they going to be asking me more questions about the others that escaped? Did they have some kind of truth serum that could make me tell them what really happened? As we walked, I did notice people walking around in lab coats. So, it was probably a science lab. What were they planning on doing?

We walked past cages, and I stared at the creatures within. Snakes that kept changing their color and texture and had a stinger in the tail. A cougar with bat wings replacing its front legs and sharp spines around the tip of the tail.

Well, this would be fun. Another crazy Capitol official who loved toying with lives. And I’d be stuck in a room with her.

We stopped in front of a plain door, and the Peacekeepers opened the door and shoved me through it. I turned around to make a sarcastic comment, but they had already slammed it closed.

I turned around as I analyzed the room. It was small with a procedure table in the middle. A few medical instruments were waiting on the table, with some kind of disinfectant. With the hairpin, I could tell that there were cameras watching in the walls, so I could still be shocked if I did something stupid.

And finally, a woman with light colored hair pulled back in a ponytail was sitting at a computer, sipping something from a mug. She was wearing a gray dress shirt and black pants, and she was watching me with curiosity in her eyes.

I stood up straight and glared at her. All these idiotic Capitol people staring at me, assessing me. What did she want?

She just sipped from her mug again before speaking in a too-pleasant voice. “So, you’re Skylar Tresting?”

I laughed. This was ridiculous. She already knew who I was. “What kind of BS are you going to throw at me this time?” I flinched at the sharp pain from the shock, but at least it was just a light one. I still wasn’t going to answer the question.

She stood up and walked closer to me, and I had to look up at her. I hated being so short. I couldn’t be intimidating that way. “My name is Dr. Carmine,” She held out a hand for me to shake. “How are you liking the Capitol so far?”

I ignored the hand. “Delightful. What are you planning on doing?”

“Well, they tell me that you’ve been difficult to control, so I’ve been asked to make things easier for Snow’s staff.” She gestured toward the table. “It’s all ready for you if you’d take a seat.”

Of course it was something else to control me. But I’d just be shocked if I disobeyed. So, I just sighed and sat on the table. She walked over to me.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be cutting you open or anything like that.” She gestured at the device on the table. “This little thing is very similar to the tracker you received before the Games, but instead of telling the game makers where you are and how you were doing, it serves a slightly different purpose.” She paused almost menacingly, and I just watched her. She really had a flair for the dramatic. “During Snow’s party, there will be a mutt, and it’s going to have a receiver tuned to the signal in this device. Long story short, this is the target on your back. Step out of line and it’ll be activated. I’ll insert it just under the skin. Any preference as to where it goes?”

I snorted. “You’re a great villain. Giving your victim freedom to choose where the target will go. Very dramatic.” I paused, but she didn’t show any reaction. I shrugged. “My right forearm, I suppose.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to put that on my report.” She turned away to get the disinfectant. “Maybe if they recognize me as a great villain, they’ll give me a raise. Hold out your arm for me.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. Damn it. I shouldn’t be finding a Capitol official funny. But she had my kind of humor. I just held out my arm.

“Thank you for laughing.” She leaned down as she scrubbed my arm and kept her voice low. “Another Skyler I know would have called me something rude.”

I flinched. Skyler. Hopefully, that whole group was far away from here and safe. But I wasn’t going to mention anything that could give it away to a Capitol official who might not know that he was still alive. “How did you feel when he died?”

She shrugged and threw away the disinfectant wipe exceptionally slowly. “A little disappointed if I’m honest.” She pulled on a glove. “But that’s how these Games go, isn’t it? I didn’t get a chance to see how they ended this year though.” She pulled on the other glove. “A bunch of rats moved into one of my apartments and they’ve been difficult to get rid of. I’d usually have someone I could call to take care of it, but she says she won’t be back to work until the end of the week at the earliest.” She sighed and took the device. “It looks like six, maybe seven or eight of them and they’re very sneaky.”

Why was she telling me this? I frowned. She was still practically whispering, and she was very specific on the amount. Crap. Those idiots. What were they doing in the Capitol? I was trying to protect them. And the end of this week was the party. Were they planning on trying something before then? “They should leave before she comes, if they value their lives.”

“I wish. Her services aren’t exactly cheap.” Dr. Carmine took my arm and lined up the injector. “Rats are social creatures, though, and I highly doubt they’re going to up and leave and go along their own ways.” She glanced up at me, meeting my eyes before she looked back down at the injector. “I doubt they’ll go far without coming back to make sure they didn’t leave one behind.” She held my arm tighter. “This might sting.”

How could I stop them? Was there a way to? Probably not. They were all noble idiots. That’s why I liked them so much. Holt’s face flashed in front of my eyes. How could I keep them from getting captured? Dr. Carmine wouldn’t tell me more, even if she was in on it. It would be too dangerous. So, I wouldn’t know what their plans were. So, the only thing I could do was watch for them and figure out what to do after I knew more.

“There, all done.” I frowned. I had been too preoccupied to even feel the sting. She threw away her gloves. “I’ll hand you back over to your entourage, and they’ll probably test it out to make sure it works.” She walked to the door and rested her hand on the door handle, and I stood up and followed her. “Do you like dogs?”

I shrugged. “I like them, but I’m more of a cat person.”

She smiled and opened the door for me. “Wonderful.” She stepped aside. “See you at the party.”

I made a face at her and walked back to the Peacekeepers. They circled up around me and led me back the way we came, but they stopped in the room that had all the mutts.

They talked to one of the scientists, and she brought us over to one of the cages and opened a side door. The Peacekeepers pushed me through it, and my eyes fell on the mutt inside there with me.

It looked mostly like a normal dog, besides the snake scales on its legs and muzzle. It stared at me as I walked a little closer, so I wasn’t cornered. It was cute enough that I almost wanted to pet it. Holt’s love of dogs was rubbing off on me.

I glanced outside to see the Peacekeepers watching me with frowns and the scientist doing something on a computer. She turned around, and the mutt growled. I whipped my attention back to it, and it was glaring at me now. Okay. Not so cute.

It leaped for me, and I instinctively covered my face with my arms. It tackled me to the ground, and it bit right into my left arm. I hissed at the pain, but cold was spreading from the wound. In just a few seconds, I couldn’t move my arms or legs, and then I finally couldn’t move at all. The mutt finally got off of me once I couldn’t move, and the scientist opened the door. The Peacekeepers walked in, and one of them carried me out of the building, back to the apartment where a line was already forming at the door. They told Tash that it would take a few hours for me to recover, and they said that the people could wait.

I just laid there on my bed. All I could do was think. The group hadn’t left, and they were probably planning on getting me out. It was so dangerous. They would probably just get captured too. I had tried to protect them, but would all my efforts be for nothing?