#then for this week we can put the money towards an urgent cause

[b4kuch1n]

Hello! Honoring the call for a global strike, from now (24/01/2024) until the end of this week (6AM Monday 29/01/2024, Hanoi/Jakarta time (GMT+7)) I am offering one full-body sketch of any character you want for every e-sim you donate.

All you need to do is:

go to gazaesims.com

follow the instruction there and donate an e-sim of any plan

screenshot the confirmation of your purchase and donation

send the screenshots to me via either email (b4kuch1n@gmail.com) or Tumblr DM, along with the character you want a sketch of and any references you have on hand.

Standard commission/request guideline applied. I'll run streams in the next four days (and perhaps after as well) on Youtube doing these sketches live - those will be announced on this blog as they happen.

I'm not currently affiliated with the Cartoonist Cooperative or any other artists doing the same drive, but if my art's not what you're looking for, definitely give the Coop's site as well as the e-sim tag on Tumblr a look! And if you're not looking for sketch commissions from me or art commission in general at the moment, I encourage you to donate an e-sim anyway if possible.

Thank you for your work and support - I can't wait to draw your character!

[tigerlily-doll]

man of war

simon riley x f!reader, comfort

���

soft cries fill your room in the safe house, the salty tears stinging at your rosy cheeks as you weep feebly. the guilt was overwhelming. why were you put on this job? out of all who work for HM’s treasury? it felt unfair. cruel, perhaps. you were assigned to a task force a week ago, mostly made up of british personnel, to track their spendings of the treasury’s money to make sure it’s adequate. it was proving to be a much harder job than you thought it’d be.

“shoot,”

the gruff soldier spoke urgently, unarmed, holding down the writhing body of a target under him. your hand softly shook as you pointed the handgun at the struggling, sweaty man, your heart beating rapidly, pumping your red blood ferociously around your body. blood stained the hotel stairs where they had fought and you had ran, the enemy wielding a machete before he was apprehended by the masked spectre.

“close your eyes, y/n, and pull the bloody trigger!”

he strained, his opponent matching his physical strength as ghost held him down with brute force. you shut your eyes tightly and reluctantly obey, the shot reverberating throughout your whole body as you open your eyes to see a limp body and a red-hot pool of blood under him. your chest heaves up and down and you drop the gun on the floor, pushing it towards ghost with your foot, as you lean against the wall of the hallway. you gaze at the lifeless corpse, your pillowy lips parting as you take in the sight. ghost looks up at you for a few seconds, still on the floor next to the dead body, his expression hidden behind his mask before he reaches for the gun and quickly runs back up the stairs, multiple threats near your hotel room.

your silky hair is messy when you look in the mirror opposite your bed, taking in your disheveled appearance and glassy eyes. you feel dirty, even though your disturbed shower lasted two and a half hours. you feel a shot of pain in your chest when you remember that the dead body, the body that is dead because of you, will be cool to the touch in 6 hours and cool to it’s core in 18. price made you a cup of tea after he drove you to the safe house, but it’s untouched and since gone cold. you hear rustling from downstairs and around your room, but you pay no mind to it, various personnel returning from various places, the skies dark.

a few minutes pass before you hear a melodic knock at the door. you assume it’s john, here to give you an update or perhaps another strong cup of tea. your assumptions are proven incorrect when you hear a husky voice.

“y’alright?”

his voice is blunt. almost humorously blunt, and you would tease him if you didn’t just kill a man. you don’t reply, the words not forming in your throat, your knees pressed to your chest and your head pressed into your knees as your luscious hair sprawls out over the entirety. two minutes and a half passes before you hear the door squeak open, the soft light from the hallway shining into your dark room. you can almost feel his eyes and imposing presence, the sudden feeling of scrutiny causing more tears to wander down those porcelain cheeks. please don’t let me be misunderstood.

you wonder why he’s doing this. you don’t think he’s a bad man, he’s just… closed off. and this seems a little out-of-character for a person like him. perhaps that’s just what he wants you to think. hm. an elusive man with an elusive presence, you can’t tell whether he’s standing at your door to comfort you or to tell you you should’ve pulled the trigger faster. he takes your silence as consent and steps in the room, closing the door gently behind him. actually, it wasn’t that gentle. does a man like him have the capacity to be gentle?

you hear the spectre walk towards where you sit on the floor, your body leaning against the bed as your head stays between your knees. he grunts as he sits down next to you, his beefy, muscular legs a stark contrast to yours.

“shunn’t ‘ave made you do that. we shunn’t ‘ave put you in a situation where you had to do that.”

you raise your head, your eyes still glassy with tears, your cheeks rosy, and your locks disheveled. you look up to meet his dark eyes, in this light they looked like coal. he still wore a mask, but not the one you’ve noticed he wears usually. you can make out more of his face, the shape of it, your thighs mere metres apart. the delivery of his words is awkward and rough, but it sounds like he’s trying his best not to be. a tear wanders down your cheek as your eyes stay on each others, and you quickly wipe it away, breaking eye contact and looking away from him in shame. you can’t help but feel humiliated.

your body runs cold when you feel a gentle but firm hand cup your head, the sensation from the touch causing sobs to rack your body. you close your eyes as his thumb strokes your hair, the hand careful, as if he’s holding fragile ceramic or running a brush across a cat’s soft fur. you can feel that it’s reluctant, almost timid, but he pulls you effortlessly into an embrace. the tears still fall, and the hug only amplifies your big and overwhelming feelings. his hand still stays in your hair.

“want some water or anythin’?”

his throaty voice asks, and you shake your head into his chest. you can hear the drum of his slightly sped-up heartbeat, and the sound slightly brings you back down to reality. he’s alive. he’s alive. the blood pumping through his veins distracts you from the problem at hand, and you begin to feel drowsy, the tears stopping and the feelings fading as your eyes flutter shut once again, this time more peacefully as he rocks you back and forth, his strong grip steadying and grounding as you gently glide into a deep sleep, the abyss washing over you like a cool wave.

🌺

the sun peeks through the curtains as you open your eyes, your hair sprawled out on the pillows as you wake inside your bed, the covers tucked gently and carefully over you.

[bun-lapin]

Mayhem VS Mystery - Chapter 1

Summary: A mysterious letter arrives at Ramshackle and the first years assemble

Word Count: 1.2k Genre: Crack/Comedy Characters: Grim, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ortho, Sebek, (oc) Yuna & Yuuji (intro post here) CW: swearing, halloween costumes, friendly bickering

A/N: The beginning of my first Halloween fic featuring the first years and my Yuu OCs where they pull a variety of pranks at NRC! The teachers will also get some screen time! Stay tuned~! <3

Next Part - Fic on AO3

Deuce looks over at Ace with a puzzled frown and asks, “Do you know why they wanted us to come over today? I’ve probably got at least fifty messages from them bugging me about it.”

Ace flips over the doormat in front of Ramshackle Dorm’s main entrance and picks up a small key. After unlocking and opening the door, he shrugs at Deuce and answers, “No idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”

They walk into the rundown, little building and make their way towards the lounge. Seated on the various couches and arm chairs around the room are their fellow first years: Jack, Epel, Ortho, and Sebek. Standing next to the lounge’s nondescript coffee table, Yuna, Yuuji, and Grim seem to be carefully studying a black colored envelope.

Looking up at the two Heartslabyul students, Yuna dryly remarks, “Look who decided to finally show up. Also, thanks for breaking and entering!”

Ace plants his hands on his hips and retorts, “Ya know, it’s not really breaking and entering if I used a key to get in here. You need to find a better hiding spot for that thing.”

Deuce shakes his head with a small sigh and asks, “Why did you two call us over so urgently? Did something happen?”

Yuna wordlessly holds up the black envelope for everyone to see. Opening it, she takes out a letter printed on expensive looking card stock and begins to read aloud.

“Dear residents of Ramshackle Dorm, in the week leading up to Halloween, I commission you to create as much mayhem as possible on campus. Bodily harm is not permitted but you may cause as much property damage as you'd like. The end goal of your work is to cause Night Raven College to be shut down for Halloween. In the event of your success, 10,000 thaumarks will anonymously be sent to you as a reward.”

Yuna looks up and glances over at her fellow isekai adventurer, “10,000 thaumarks? Is that a lot? What’s the conversion rate here?”

Yuuji scoffs and answers dismissively, “Ugh! Don’t ask me, I’m gay. Can’t do math.”

“Bullshit! You’re ranked second in our class, you nerd!”

Turning up his nose with a small pout, Yuuji defiantly replies, “Fine! I’m gay and I won’t do math! Happy?!”

Yuna opens her mouth to continue arguing, but Ace smoothly steps in between the two of them and put his hands up in a placating motion. “Alright! We get it! It’s a lot of money,” he says in a loud voice. Raising his eyebrows skeptically, he continues, “But why did you call so many of us here? Now that we know about this deal, you’ll all get a smaller cut of the reward.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Yuna replies, “Considering there’s only one person in Ramshackle Dorm who can use magic, I figured it’d be too difficult to spread full scale mayhem across campus. That’s why I called you, Epel, and Ortho to help us out!”

Deuce, Jack, and Sebek exchange confused glances. Politely clearing his throat, Jack gestures to the group of three and asks, “If that’s the case, what are we doing here?”

Yuuji raises his hand and answers Jack, “Actually, I’m the one who called you guys here.” Walking over to Yuna, he snatches the paper from her hands and reads the rest of the letter aloud.

“For those not wishing to cause mayhem, you may try your best to locate me, your mysterious benefactor, and hand me over to the authorities. In that unlikely event, you will still receive half of the promised money and zero risk of academic retribution."

Glancing up from the letter, Yuuji explains to the room, “I’d rather not do anything that could cause us to be kicked out of school. Especially since we’re from another world and literally have no where else to go.”

Yuna lets out a short cough that sounds like, ‘Nerd!’

Ace coughs out, ‘Fun police!’

The two of them grin mischievously and then high-five each other.

Yuuji closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. In a voice filled with barely restrained fury, he says, “Would all of the good and responsible students please follow me so that we can begin our investigation??”

Turning swiftly on his heel, he exits the room followed dutifully by Jack, Sebek, and Deuce.

After waiting for the door to softly click shut, Yuna then turns to the remaining students and claps her hands together decisively. With an excited grin, she states, “Alright! Time to put on our costumes!”

~~~

Shifting the wooden oni mask over her face, Yuna knocks on the bathroom door and calls out, “Hurry up, Epel! Everyone else is already dressed!”

Epel’s muffled voice yells back through the door, “I’m goin’ as fast as I can! Y’all just hold on to yer britches!”

Yuna tilts her head, “...Britches?”

Wearing a black and white striped sweater and a black ski mask, Ace gestures towards Yuna’s costume and asks, “While we’re waiting, care to explain what you’re supposed to be? Are you some kinda demon?”

“Close! I’m a Namahage,” Yuna replies and strikes a menacing pose, her straw cape rustling softly around her small frame. “It’s a type of demon from my world that punishes naughty or lazy children. Yuuji’s dad would sometimes dress up as one and try to scare me and Yuuji when we were little.”

Grim taps his paw against Yuna’s leg and says, “Sorry to cut the cultural lesson short, but why am I dressed as a stinkin’ toy!?” Completely covering his entire head is a fuzzy, brown teddy bear mask with an adorable expression. Covering the rest of his body, Grim wears a full-body pajama suit made of the same fuzzy, brown fabric. In fact, if it wasn’t for the extremely cranky voice coming behind the mask, Grim would be indistinguishable from a super cute teddy bear plushie.

Yuna shrugs her shoulders apologetically and answers, “Sorry, buddy! If we’re gonna get away with massive property damage, we need costumes that completely disguise who we are! And since you’re the only student on campus that’s a small, magical cat-creature with flaming ears, it’s vital we totally cover up the fact that it’s you.”

Ace gestures over towards Ortho and remarks, “That explains Ortho’s costume then. He’s probably the second-most recognizable student on campus! Ya know, with him being a robot with flaming blue hair and all?”

Completely covered by a white bed sheet with two cutout eye-holes, Ortho wiggles his hands under the sheet and says with a playful laugh, “Hey! I’m not a robot! I’m a spooky ghost~!”

Floating past the small group, the resident Ramshackle Dorm ghosts give Ortho a sidelong glance. The smallest of the ghosts whispers to the others, “I’d almost be highly offended if that costume wasn’t so darn cute!” The other two ghosts nod silently in agreement.

Finally opening the bathroom door, Epel steps out and says, “Alright! I’m done! What do ya’ll think of my bona fide scarecrow costume?” He lifts his arms, clad in a red checkered shirt and denim overalls, into a scarecrow-like pose. Over his head is a burlap sack with rough, zigzag stitches hastily sewn over two frayed eye-holes and a gaping mouth.

The group stares at Epel in silence for a few minutes.

Dropping a heavy hand on Epel’s shoulder, Yuna gives him a thumbs up and simply states, “It’s fucking terrifying.”

(To be Continued)

Next Part

[queenshelby]

MY BROTHERS FRIEND (PART FIVE)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: SMUT (not as graphic as usual for this final chapter)

Words: 3661

Note: This is the final chapter!

 ----------------------

Out of Time

Just as Ada had left, Tommy finished his glass of Whiskey and looked at the picture of his late wife Grace which was standing on his desk.

But, it wasn’t Grace who appeared in his thoughts at this moment. In fact, Grace hadn’t visited him in his dreams and thoughts for weeks.

Tommy loved Grace and he knew that he would always love her. But could he ever love another woman and let anyone else into his life?

Just as he put the picture down and poured himself another glass of whiskey, he thought about what Ada had said to him. Was he becoming reckless because he was in love with you?

Love was a feeling which scared Tommy. It scared him when he was with Grace and it was scaring him now.

Just as he thought about your first time together, he realised how much he cared about you. Even that first night he met you at the Garrison, he remembered being intrigued by you.

You were much younger than him and Tommy hated the feeling of wanting you regardless. The feeling of want soon became a feeling of need. To him, it was almost like an addiction.

He was reckless, scarifying his business relationship with your father and his brotherly relationship with Finn because he needed you.

He hated to admit it, but Ada was right. He was in love with you.

He looked at the clock and it was ten to eight.

‘Fuck’ he sighed as he took his jacket from behind his seat and walked out of the door.

He quickly made his way to his car, starting the engine in a haste.

It was a ten-minute drive to Polly’s house and he hoped that he would get to you in time.

Ten minutes felt like an eternity and, as he finally arrived, he saw Dr Chen’s car leaving. Was he too late?

Tommy parked the car and ran towards Polly’s front door in a haste.

‘Polly, open up’ Tommy yelled, there was dead silence.

He observed that the curtains were closed but the light was on.

‘Open the fucking door Polly!’ he yelled again as he didn’t receive a response.

After about two minutes, Polly finally opened the door.

‘Thomas’ she said, not really surprised to see him. She knew that Ada was going to tell him.

‘Where is she?’ Tommy asked and, as he didn’t receive an answer, he asked again.

‘Where the fuck is she?’ he yelled as he pushed past Polly and walked through the hallway.

‘Tommy wait’ Polly said, but Tommy was ignoring her as he saw you sitting in the living room.

He ran over towards you and kneeled in front of the armchair you were sitting on.

‘Did you?’ Tommy asked with a deep sigh, taking your hands into his. You could see the raw emotions on his face.

‘I couldn’t’ you said while shaking your head and he let his forehead fall onto your laps, sighing with relief.

‘Why did you not tell me, eh? Why did you not fucking tell me Y/N?’ Tommy asked with a shaky but harsh voice. His eyes were full of pain, something you had never seen in him.

‘I was scared Tommy. I didn’t know what to do’ you said while Tommy looked up at you.

‘Scared about what Y/N? You know I would have taken care of you’ Tommy said, surprised about your response.

‘Thomas, this is not about money. I don’t want a benefactor for me and my child, I want a father. I was scared because I knew that you would never be that. We do not have a future together’ you said, tears running down your face.

‘Perhaps you are wrong Y/N’ Tommy said, wiping the tears from your face with his thumb.

‘Common’ he said as he got up, taking your hand.

‘Common where Tommy?’ you asked, still shook by your emotions. You knew that you would have the leave the following day, as instructed by your father.

‘Just trust me, eh? Let me make this right’ Tommy said just as you got up from your seat.

‘Thomas, I cannot let you take her with you. She is leaving tomorrow with her sisters. You know that’ Polly said.

‘No, she is not. Not with my child inside of her’ Tommy said harshly.

‘Thomas, you are making a mistake’ Polly said, blocking the doorway. ‘Abrahama will move against you and you know that you will need him to take out Kruger’ Polly added.

‘Polly, I swear to God, move out of the way’ Tommy said harshly, causing Polly to step aside with a deep sigh.

‘I cannot support you through this Thomas’ Polly said just as you walked towards the door.

‘I know and I do not expect you to’ Tommy said, leaving Polly’s house with you.

You followed Thomas to his car and sat down in the passenger seat.

You didn’t know where Tommy was taking you but you were certain about one thing. He had a plan. Thomas Shelby always had a plan.

‘I am sorry Tommy’ you said, as he started the car.

‘I know’ Tommy responded as he drove off.

‘My father is going to come looking for me in the morning. He will despise you for this’ you said.

‘I know’ Tommy responded.

‘I am glad you know. But now tell me, where are you taking me?’ you asked.

‘If I was to tell you, you wouldn’t agree’ Tommy said sheepishly, causing you to sigh.

During the drive, Tommy tried to distract you, talking about things that interest you. This was unusual for him and you could tell that he cared for you deeply.

The drive took about 15 minutes until you arrived at what appeared to be a camp of some sort. It was located in the middle of forest land and near a small lake. You felt as though you were being kidnapped.

‘Tommy, why are we here? This is Johnny Dogs’ camp. You know his family despises my father and me’ you said concerned.

‘But you are with me, so you are safe’ Tommy said.

‘Thomas this is not a joke, please take me back’ you demanded.

‘Y/N, listen to me. I love you, alright. And I will love our child. Now you just need to trust me. Can you do that?’ Tommy asked.

‘Did you just say that you love me?’ you said in disbelieve.

‘Yes, I fucking love you. That’s why I cannot lose you. I need you and my child to be safe’ Tommy said.

‘I love you too Tommy’ you said, still shocked by Tommy’s words.

‘Good’ Tommy said before giving you an urgent but passionate kiss and a cheeky smile. ‘Now common’ he added, taking your hand and walking towards one of the trailers.

‘Johnny, open up’ Tommy said as he knocked on the door of the red wooden trailer.

‘Tommy’ Johnny said surprised as he opened the door. ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’ he added.

‘I need your help’ Tommy said.

‘I am listening’ Johnny said sheepishly.  

‘You’ve got a priest with you here at the commune, don’t you?’ Tommy asked.

‘A priest? Why do you want to make a fucking confession? Johnny asked with laughter.

‘No, I want to get married. Preferably now’ Tommy said.

‘Get married?’ you asked with shock.

‘Are you out of your fucking mind Tommy?’ Johnny asked just as you spoke.

‘Thomas, you cannot be serious’ you said.

‘Do I look like I am joking?’ Tommy asked.

‘You know my father would never approve of this, right?’ you asked.

‘I don’t intend to ask him for permission’ Tommy chuckled.  

‘You haven’t even asked me yet Tommy’ you said with a laugh and, just in that moment, Tommy dropped onto his knees.

‘You are right, I haven’t’ Tommy said before he went on. ‘Y/N Gold, would you do me the honour in becoming my wife?’ Tommy said, holding your hands and looking up towards you.

‘You are serious, aren’t you?’ you said, still in shock about the proposal while Johnny Dogs shook his head in disbelieve.

‘I am serious Y/N. So, what is your answer?’ Tommy asked.

‘I would say yes if I was you’ Johnny said with a laugh.

‘Yes Thomas Shelby, I would gladly become your wife’ you said with a big smile on your face.

‘Now that this is settled, can you get the priest Johnny. We are in a bit of a hurry’ Tommy said in a haste.

‘Fucking Hell Tommy’ Johnny laughed, walking towards the priest’s trailer and gathering the rest of his family. ‘We are having a fucking wedding’ Johnny yelled in gypsy tongue.

Within 15 minutes, the priest married you and Tommy the traditional way and you knew that, being Tommy’s wife, you would be staying with him. He would keep you safe.

Whilst you imagined your wedding to be quite different, you knew why Tommy was doing this in a haste. The marriage between you and him created an undeniable alliance between your two families. Your father would be required to help Tommy move against the Kruger Family.

You also knew that Tommy wanted to take out Manuel Kruger soon now that he had so much to lose.

‘Now this wasn’t how I expected my day to end today’ you said as Tommy and you signed the marriage certificate.

‘Nor me’ Tommy said before telling you that it was time to go. He didn’t consider it safe to stay at the commune.

Wedding Night

The drive to Tommy’s house from the commune took about 15 minutes and you couldn’t help it but smile the entire way.

‘Welcome home Ms Shelby’ Tommy said after he parked the car and opened the door for you, carrying you over the doorstep.

You would have to get used to being called this. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have imagined to marry Thomas Shleby or anyone from the Shelby family.

‘Mr Shelby, Ms Gold, can I take your coats’ Francis asked and Tommy corrected her quickly. She looked slightly flustered when he did but she was used to surprises in this house after having worked for Tommy for many years.

‘Do you have work to do?’ you asked just as you and Tommy gave Francis your coats.

‘Not tonight. Work can wait till tomorrow’ Tommy said before kissing you gently.

‘Well then Mr Shelby, shall we go to the bedroom and complete the ceremony?’ you smirked, causing Francis to giggle.

‘I will give you some privacy. Just call for me or Maria if you need anything’ Francis said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Soon’ Tommy said before giving you another kiss and taking your hand, walking with you towards the reading room.

‘Sit’ he said and you were wondering what he was doing as he disappeared in his office.

About five minutes later, he returned with a small box.

‘Open it’ he said as he sat down next to you.

You opened the box and inside was a beautiful but very tradition gypsy gold ring with different types of stones.

‘It is beautiful Tommy. It’s gypsy?’ you asked surprised, wondering where it came from.

‘It was mother’s wedding ring. She always wanted us to marry into the tradition, marry a gypsy woman one day. I cannot say that my father obtained it legitimately but I know you would appreciate it’ Tommy explained.

‘I love it’ you said as Tommy put the ring onto your finger before kissing you gently.

The kiss soon intensified as you pulled Tommy closer towards you until, finally, he was on top of you.

‘Tommy, take me to our bedroom’ you whispered as you grinded yourself against him.

‘As you wish’ Tommy said as he got up off the lounge and, all of a sudden, lifted you up, carrying you towards the bedroom.

‘I can’t believe we get to do this all the time now without having to hide’ you said excitedly as Tommy let go of you carefully and you stepped onto the warm wooden floor.

‘I can fuck you anywhere and everywhere now that you are my wife’ Tommy smirked as you stood in front of him and took off his shirt. Within seconds it landed on the floor.

‘Hmm Mr Shelby’ you said teasingly, as you dragged your hand along the front of his pants to rouse his cock that was already tumescent at the thought of you.

You then wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Lips collided in passion as your hands wandered down the front of his chest to his belt buckle.

The leather slipped through metal, the button slid through fabric, and two sides of a zipper said their goodbyes as they parted ways and allowed his very hard cock to spring free from the restraint of clothing.

‘Fuck’ Tommy murmured just as you kneeled in front of him to take a firm grip on his manhood and bring it to your inviting mouth.

He knew that he didn’t want to be with anyone else, ever, as his hands gently rested on both sides of your head while you began to love him with your mouth and hand.

You were enthralled with the cock in your hand and studied it with your eyes, hands, and mouth. All yours, forever. Your prize, the manliest part of the man you love; the part of him that brought you so much pleasure and belonged to you alone now.

As your hands reached down towards Tommy’s balls, playing with them gently, your tongue came all the way out and licked him from root to tip.

You could feel his hands on your head gently guide you down over him with your open mouth, slowly, deeply, relaxing your throat to take as much as you could, using your firm grip to make up for the base your mouth could not engulf.

Tommy soon began groaning louder as the tempo of your thrusts increased and you lost yourself in the feeling. Nothing else existed at this moment except for the hands on your head, the cock in your mouth and the man standing before you.

‘Slow down Y/N or you will make me come’ Tommy said as you bopped your head.

That was the very last thing he should have said if he truly wanted you to slow, for the thought of making him lose control, of making him cum in your mouth increased your own excitement.

You didn't slow; instead you squeezed harder, slid faster down his shaft, intermittently allowing your tongue to drag along the bottom.

‘Fuck’ Tommy moaned again, his hands firmer on your head, guiding himself in and out of your mouth. He was close, very close.

The jerking of Tommy’s cock almost caused it to pop out of your mouth, but you held firm as you felt your mouth fill with the sweet taste of warm cum, a taste associated with so much pleasure you felt a twitch between your own legs in response.

Unable to swallow properly with him deep in your mouth, you allowed his cum to fill your mouth, so much that some escaped and dribbled out the side and down your chin.

As Tommy gently removed himself, very slowly, you swallowed and allowed your tongue to drag along the shaft as he pulled out and wiped your mouth.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he muttered and leaned back into the wall behind him, still standing, he shuddered.

Tommy offered a hand to help you up, then pulled you close and kissed you, tasting himself on you but not minding at all.

‘I love you so much’ Tommy whispered in your ear.

You pulled your head back and rested your forehead on his.

‘I know. I can actually feel how much you love me and I love you too’ you said before giving him another kiss and pulling him close.

After a few more passionate kisses, Tommy stepped out of his pants which were still knee high at this point and you could see his cock getting hard again.

You smirked and turned around.

‘Help me with the zipper?’ you asked as you lifted up your hair.

‘I would love nothing more’ he answered, but first he wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your neck.

He moved his hands to the zipper that ran the length of your dress and slowly unzipped as he kissed his way down each vertebrae of your spine. When he reached your tailbone, you shrugged and the dress fell to the floor.

He straightened and backed up to admire the view as you turned around and with a sexy grin, unhooked your bra and tossed it to the floor.

Tommy closed the gap between you with one step and took you in his arms, his hands immediately on your bottom which was still covered in lacy blue fabric.

He squeezed your butt as your mouths explored one another's, and when his hand slid down your thigh and lifted one leg up you instinctively wrapped it around him as you stood in embrace.

Tommy’s hardness pushed into you, feeling the heat through your panties. He lifted your other leg off the ground and held you, both legs wrapped around him and your crotch resting on his hard cock.

Both your hands cupped his face and you giggled as he lowered you both on to the bed.

‘Please Tommy, just fuck me already’ you moaned as he was teasing you.

‘As you wish Mrs Shelby’ he grinned and, without hesitation, he fell into you and lost himself completely.

It was no longer you or him, you became one entity, moving in synchronicity, sliding in and out of each other again and again.

You rolled over and over in bed, taking turns being on top, eventually resting on your sides, arms and legs everywhere, with a constant slow rhythmic thrust of pelvises.

You were face to face, eyes open, just enjoying the communication of slow in and out, every stroke expressing passion as your tempo gradually grew in heightened urgency.

The raw vulnerability of your facial expressions was more erotic than anything Tommy could imagine, and when you came, your eyes squeezed shut and your teeth pulled on your bottom lip and he was so enchanted by the close-up face in ecstasy that he felt surprised when he realized he was coming too. He kept his eyes open as he released himself inside of you, and watched your tense expression relax into a smile and you giggled before opening your eyes.

‘I love you Thomas Shelby’ you said as he gently pulled out of you and collapsed next you.

‘And I love you Y/N Shelby’ Tommy smirked before taking you into his arms, which is where you laid until the next morning.

Finishing Business

The next morning began with a loud knock on the door and a lot of yelling.

‘Thomas Shelby, I am here to get my daughter. We are already late so I would appreciate your cooperation’ Abrahama said, yelling up through the open windows.

Tommy got up out of bed and opened the door. ‘She isn’t leaving’ he said firmly.

‘This is not your decision to make Mr Shelby, I am her father’ Abrahama said.

‘It is now’ Tommy said as he handed your father the certificate of marriage drawn up by the priest at Johnny Dog’s camp last night.

‘Is this a joke?’ Abrahama asked.

‘I am afraid not. The certificate has been signed by two witnesses and is legally binding’ Tommy said, pointing to the signatures.

‘Now would you like to come inside? We have some pressing matters to discuss’ Tommy said.

‘Thomas Shelby, you will pay for this’ Abrahama said, reaching for his gun.

‘Family is always to be treated with respect Mr Gold. These are your own words. Pointing a gun at your son in law is disrespectful’ Tommy said sheepishly.

‘You will never be family Mr Shelby’ your father argued, holding the gun up with determination.

Tommy didn’t move. He had no fear. It was almost like he knew that your father wouldn’t shoot him.

‘Father, stop. Put the gun down’ you said as you walked down the stairs in your nightgown.

‘Why Y/N? Why do you betray me like this?’ your father asked, putting down the gun.

‘I didn’t betray you father. I am carrying Tommy’s child. We have been involved for a while. I couldn’t tell you because you wanted me to marry Joseph Kruger’ you explained.

‘You are pregnant?’ your father asked, causing you to nod.

‘Out of all the women in Birmingham, it had to be my daughter?’ Abrahama asked.

‘Mr Gold, you should know that you cannot always choose who you fall in love with, eh? After all, you are involved with my aunt ’ Tommy said.

‘Now can we sit down and discuss how we will deal with our friend Manuel Kruger?’ Tommy asked.

Your father agreed, seeing that he no longer had a choice. He had to work with Tommy against your mutual enemy. The marriage between you and Tommy had created a traditional bond between your families and your father respected that despite the fact that he disliked the idea of Tommy being your husband.

Your father and Tommy sat down in the reading room and you decided to give them some space.

You made Tommy a promise to stay out of business and he made you a promise that he would keep you safe.

That same day, after their meeting, your father and Tommy left together to take out Manuel Kruger with the help of Johnny Dogs and take over the Kruger’s business.

But even with Kruger being taken out, would you ever be safe with your new husband?

This was a question you would never be able to answer.

[treesnutsandleaveswrites]

Stay Close

pPairing: The Bad Batch x Reader (Polyam)

Summary: After working non-stop, you go on a mission with the Batch and you get to be on the field with them this time. (Polyam series pt 6)

Warning: ANGST, some fluff, mentions of slavery, depictions of violence, blood and injuries

Word Count: 2190

A/N: I FINALLY KNOW CROSSHAIR'S LITTLE THING ON THE SHIP IS CALLED A GUNNER'S MOUNT CUZ OF THE RECENT EPISODE HAHA

pt v, pt vii

XXXXXXX

It had been a week ever since your break in Coruscant. That time and the moments that followed have been playing in your head non-stop ever since you got back to Kamino. However, once you got back, you were swamped with work. You were one of the only non-clone communications officers based on Kamino, so you had to deal with some data that came in from off-planet bases. It was frustrating to say the least and most of the clones who dealt with communication for their squadron left most of their work unprocessed, so you basically had to clean up after them. Due to work being unprocessed and sorted could cause a malfunction or even a virus to attack the computer system on Kamino. That would result in multiple horrible outcomes if the separatists get access to anything on the clones or any other upcoming projects the Kaminoans were working on for the Republic.

It seemed like you were living in that communications room because none of the boys really saw you anywhere else. It concerned them greatly and they decided to intervene before you die from overworking yourself. You were typing away on the computer when the door slid open which let in the batch one by one. You didn’t bother to turn to acknowledge them as you were sorting out multiple files.

“Mesh’la?” Hunter called.

“Hm.” You responded nonchalantly, still working.

“You’ve been at this for 93 hours, 34 minutes, and 20 seconds.” Tech explained while looking at one of his devices, “Working at this rate is concerning and unhealthy, especially for a simple being like you.”

“Huh… so if a clone were doing this they’d be able to work just a bit longer?” You asked, not looking away from the computer.

“What he’s trying to say, cyare, is that you need to take a break…” Echo insisted, placing one hand on your shoulder.

“I’m almost done, I swear.” You murmured, looking over data being transferred.

“Lucky for you, darling. I’ve created a program to help sort stuff out.” Tech went to the computer and plugged a small goober into one of the ports on the console, “It’ll notify me when it’s done sorting.”

“Come on, ad’ika, time for rest!” Wrecker moved to pick you up and carry you out of the communications room while the others followed.

You all arrived to their room and Wrecker tossed you onto one of the bunks, which caused you to laugh gently. You sighed, relished the feel of the bed under you, then it dipped slightly. You looked to see Hunter with a gentle smile on his face, which you returned before he pulled you up onto his lap. You pushed off the bandana around his forehead which caused some hair to fall into his face so you pushed it away for him. He held you closer, placed his face into your chest, and sighed.

“You alright, Hunter?’ You murmured, caressing the hair on the back of his neck.

“He’s missed you, like the rest of us have.” Echo smiled while cleaning his mechanical hand.

“It wasn’t like I was off-planet. I was just working.”

“Well, the idea of you working usually involves being with us most of the time.” Tech explained, “So it was odd not seeing you for such a long period of time.”

You hummed before kissing Hunter’s head, “I missed you all too…”

The next day, all of you were sent on an important mission. The Kaminoans didn’t give you much detail, only saying that it was urgent. You sat on the Havoc Marauder, looking over the map of the planet on your holopad.

“We have to be careful, this planet is famous for raiders, thieves, and smugglers.” You stated, looking everything over.

“We’ve handled much worse than that combined!” Wrecker laughed while slapping Tech’s back, almost causing him to drop the device he was holding. You shook your head, made your way out of the cockpit, and found Crosshair cleaning the parts of his sniper rifle.

“Do you think it’ll come to that?” You murmured, crouching beside him.

“Have to be prepared for anything, sarad. Especially on a planet like this.”

You nodded gently, picking up one of the pieces, “You should teach me…”

“How to put it together, or how to shoot?”

“Both… but we can take it one step at a time.” You looked at him with a smile.

He hooked your chin, “Well, let’s work on your aim without a blaster first. And test how good your eyesight is. When we get back to Kamino, I’ll show you the shooting range.”

“Kamino has a shooting range?”

Your question caused Crosshair to smirk as he finished cleaning all the pieces.

You shook your head with a small laugh, “I guess I don’t know Kamino as well as I should.”

He nodded gently and helped you up. Before you could move away from him, he grasped your wrist. His smirk was gone, his eyes were now focussed, and his stature became tense. He raised his other hand to cup your cheek and look into your eyes.

“You stay close to us…”

“I know, Cross…”

He nodded before going to the gunner’s mount to wait there until you landed. You strapped in as you were arriving at your destination. Once you landed, you all geared up and got ready to tread through the town to reach your target. You wore simple civilian clothing because it wasn’t safe to be wearing a Republic uniform full of outlaws and mercenaries. You pulled up the hood of your cloak over your head before nodding to Hunter. You all then left the ship and headed into town.

Tech was using a tracking device while you walked the streets, he was babbling on while you and the others looked cautiously at your surroundings. There were multiple stalls along the edge of the dirt street, selling many different things including spice, weaponry, and droid parts. You were in the center of the batch, and they urged themselves closer as if to shield you from danger. Hunter turned his head to you, which caused you to nod reassuringly. Even if you couldn’t see his eyes through the visor of his helmet, you knew he was checking up on you. You all then turned into a vacant alleyway to discuss how you will find the target faster. The boys discuss different strategies and you tried to listen to them, but then the crack of a whip caused your attention to be caught outside of the alleyway. One of the vendors was holding the weapon and using it against a young twi’lek. They were speaking two different languages, so the chaos was uncontrollable. You winced while watching and couldn’t stand it any longer. The batch noticed at the last second that you had rushed out of the alley to stop what was happening.

“Lodestar!” One of them called to you, but you ignored it and blocked the vendor from hitting the young twi’lek again.

“That’s enough!”

The vendor growled, “The little slave was stealing from my stall!”

You quickly placed down some currency, “Now it is paid for.”

The vendor took the money and scoffed, “They are lucky this time. Next time, I will tell their master.”

You shook your head and urged the twi’lek away from the stall. Then you crouched down and looked at the child’s injuries, whispering gently. You were lucky enough to be familiar with many languages due to your past, so making conversation with the young twi’lek wasn’t hard. Footsteps approached the both of you, so you let the child run off and turned to see the batch. It was going to be no surprise that they were upset with you, so you said nothing and followed them. Tech had found the location of the target, so you all moved quickly. You had to separate due to the package you had to retrieve being heavily guarded. You were with Tech, helping him monitor the motion inside of the small building where your package was being held. You scanned the holopad before speaking into your communicator.

“Careful, Hunter. There are multiple bodies coming toward you.”

“See them. Find how many are guarding the package.”

Tech diligently moved the camera and you watch on the holopad.

“There,” You signalled Tech to stop and looked over the thermal radar, “Five that I can see, Hunter.”

“Cross, what’s your status?”

“None up top. All clear here.”

“Wrecker, Echo?”

“Almost have the grate open.” Echo responded.

“Charges are all set.” Wrecker confirmed.

You winced gently, looking down at your arm where the whip had caught you. You thought it was only a graze on the fabric, but it was deeper and blood was staining your sleeve. Tech saw it and was about to say something, but then there was noise near where you two were hiding. It was one of the guards and he was sniffing around. Your eyes widened and you looked to Tech before placing the holopad in his hands carefully.

“Our location is about to be compromised, I’m moving now.” You said quickly before climbing up to the roof of the building next to you. You looked over the ledge and kicked a small piece of rubble, getting the guard. He looked up and saw you. You smiled gently before running along the tops of the buildings. He ran along the street following your trail.

“Cross, I’m coming to you.”

“Excellent.” He responded and he started to set up his rifle before you reached him. You jumped onto the roof where he was set up and turned to see the guard shot down. He then stood up and looked at you. You sensed the disappointment.

“What?”

“You were reckless today.”

“I stayed close.” You shrugged, looking at the cut on your arm. He grabbed it gently and looked at it.

“How did you not notice that?”

You were quiet while looking at him, but then a small glint caught your eye and you gasped before pushing him away from you.

Blaster noises distracted the team from the mission, knowing it came from your and Crosshair’s location. Hunter had retrieved the package and had come out of the grate where Echo and Wrecker were..

“Lodestar! Come in!” Static.

“Crosshair!” Silence.

Then, guards started to rush around the corner. The three batchers rushed away and Wrecker had set off the explosives he placed around that area.

“Tech, head back to the Havoc Marauder! Echo and Wrecker will meet you there!”

“What about you?” Echo asked.

“I’ve got to find Crosshair and Lodestar.”

Hunter handed Wrecker the package and they went their separate ways. Hunter managed to get to one of the rooftops and rushed to where you and Crosshair were. He jumped onto the roof where you were and saw the dead alien, a blaster next to him. Then his eyes led to familiar white hair.

“Crosshair!” He rushed over to his side and saw you laying in his lap, unconscious, with a blaster wound on your side. He immediately noticed the race of Crosshair’s heart, and sensed his growing shock, so he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“We have to go. We have to get back to Kamino.”

Crosshair nodded before letting Hunter pick you up and rushed with him back to the Havoc Marauder. They arrived back to the ship.

“Tech! Echo! Get us out of here now!” Hunter called as he boarded the ship with you in his arms. Wrecker was frozen with shock when he saw you.

“Ad’ika.” He whispered.

The ship moved quickly out of orbit and it was only a few minutes before everyone gathered together. Tech and Echo were rendered silent when they saw you on the floor with Hunter by your side as he exposed your wound.

“I need a bacta patch, now!”

Crosshair was the one to move to get it and give it to him. He took his place on your other side and helped Hunter.

“So...so pale…” Tech whispered, almost speechless as he looked at your condition.

Hunter was getting extremely overstimulated with everyone’s heartbeats and breathing, but he tried to focus on you. Tech was right: you were extremely pale, but as Hunter sifted through the different pulses reaching his ears, he found your weak one. He cupped your face.

“Mesh’la…” He called, “C’mon, mesh’la.”

“Can we lightspeed jump to Kamino?” Echo asked Tech.

“I...I don’t know…”

“Figure it out, Tech! Hurry!” Wrecker pleaded, his eyes averting from you to him.

Crosshair was extremely quiet with his eyes only on you. A million thoughts ran through his head. It felt like minutes before he spoke.

“Do the jump.”

“What?” Tech asked.

“Do the jump, now.” Crosshair repeated.

“We don’t know if it’ll make the wound worse.” Echo explained.

“If it does, we’ll be at Kamino!”

“Cross, it’s too dangerous-” Echo started. “We have to, or else the Kaminoans will have no patient, and we’ll have a dead officer!” Crosshair snapped, gripping your hand in his.

The rest of the squad looked to Hunter, who nodded.

“Do the jump.”

XXXXXXX

Sorry for the wait haha -Tree <3

[daringyounggrayson]

misplaced guilt

(Read below or on AO3)

It’s been a while since Bruce has been to one of these galas, and for once, he is neither hosting nor making a speech. It’s a nice change, to say the least.

Dick is sitting next to him, kicking his legs under the table. Bruce would tell him to stop, but at least he’s actually using the chair as intended with both feet closer to the floor than the chair, so Bruce lets it go for the moment. If it gets too out of control, he can always reach out and stop him, but for now, he’ll let the kid release some pent-up energy.

Bruce keeps half of his attention on Dick and the other half on his conversation with Jasmine Owen, a woman who works at one of Gotham’s youth centers. Bruce knew from the second she introduced herself that she came over in hopes of getting a donation, but he doesn’t mind; that’s one of the main purposes of these things, and Bruce is happy to help however he can.

“Babs,” Dick gasps excitedly, shooting upright when he catches Barbara walk into the room, Commissioner Gordon by her side. Bruce looks over at Dick, quirking an eyebrow. Dick smiles back, asks in his I’m-in-public-so-I’m-behaving-like-an-angel voice, “May I please be excused?”

“Hnn,” Bruce says, pretending to think over his answer.

“Bruce,” Dick whines.

Bruce smiles. “Alright. But stay in the ballroom. Dinner is going to be served soon.”

“Okay, thanks!” he slides out of his chair and offers a wave. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Owen.”

“And you, Richard,” she smiles back. When he’s gone, she turns to Bruce again and says, “He’s a sweet kid.”

Bruce can’t help but think at least in public, and at least to people who aren’t me. He’s half-joking, but there’s some truth to the statement: Dick has always seemed to behave better for Alfred, and he’s nothing if not an angel around strangers, even when he’s mad at Bruce.

At home, it’s not that Dick isn’t a good kid—he is—but he’s still a kid. Dick can be sassy, and he has a taste for anything that will make Bruce’s hair turn gray (usually dangerous, usually far away from the ground). He also has no qualms about making fun of Bruce when Dick feels it’s called for. Then there are the arguments, the borderline tantrums. Both have been decreasing in frequency, and Bruce attributes most of them to processing and coming to terms with his parents’ murder, but they are—difficult, to say the least. Dick will have these rough days—sometimes rough weeks—where he’ll lash out at Bruce over the smallest things. Sometimes it seems like he yells at Bruce just to put his hurt somewhere.

Bruce tries to take all of it—from the jokes at his expense that even he has to admit are funny, to the meltdowns—as a good sign, one that says Dick feels secure and knows that Bruce will love him regardless of his behavior or attitude. But there are certainly days when Bruce thinks it would be nice if Dick would listen to him like he listens to Alfred—like when Bruce tells him to get off of the unstable shed roof, for example.  

Despite the challenges that come with raising a child, there are also so many blessings. There’s no other word to describe it. Seeing Dick learn and grow and thrive is something Bruce will never get tired of. On top of that, Dick is just this brilliant, funny, and kind child. He has the biggest heart Bruce has ever seen, and he cares so deeply and widely. Bruce doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Dick is Bruce’s light, his whole world.

Bruce pulls himself out of his head, says, “He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” It’s something he can say with complete honesty. “Do you have kids?”

“Oh god, no. I think I’m still a little young for that,” she laughs. Then, thinking about what she said, her face falls. “Not that you were too young, just for me, I’d rather—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He puts his hands up and smiles. “I was really young when I took Dick in. I go to parent-teacher conferences, and most of the other parents are at least ten years older than me. But I like to think I’m doing alright, and Dick’s happy, so that’s all that matters.”

“Yes, I suppose.” She smiles, but looks down at the table.

“So, what’s it like day-to-day at the youth center?”

She looks up, coming alive again, and the conversation picks back up.

oOo

After dinner, Dick and Barbara disappear again, and Bruce is left alone to mingle. Most people come to him, but he only has to escape a few times, so it’s going about as good as these things can go.

That is until a very urgent Barbara runs into him and tugs on his arm. “Sorry everyone, but I need to borrow Brucie for a second.”

Bruce ducks down to look Barbara in the eye. “What is it?”

“Dick. Just come with me.”

He follows her without another word to the group of people he was talking to. She leads him into the hall and toward the lobby. When they turn the corner, Dick is on the ground in a lateral recumbent position. Gordon is talking to him gently, though Dick seems unresponsive.

“Dick.” Bruce lurches forward, falling to his knees and reaching out to find Dick’s pulse and check his breathing. “What happened?”

“Barbara thinks he had a seizure,” Gordon answers. “An ambulance will be here soon.”

Dick’s breath hitches and he lets out a low moan that feels like a twisting dagger in Bruce’s chest. His eyes find Bruce’s, and he unwraps one hand from his stomach to reach for Bruce’s. Bruce takes it, squeezing it gently in a reassuring manner.

“I’m right here,” Bruce promises, running a hand through Dick’s hair.

“It hurts,” Dick gasps.

“Shh, the paramedics are going to be here soon. We’ll fix it.”

Dick shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t feel right.”

Bruce tightens his grip slightly, hoping to keep Dick conscious. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

“Head, stomach,” Dick mumbles. “Feel hot, an’ dizzy.”

Bruce frowns, trying to determine what could be causing Dick’s symptoms. Is this the beginning of an illness, or a seizure disorder? Has Dick been poisoned? There was a run-in with Scarecrow a few nights ago, and Dick had needed to take an untested antidote for the fear toxin. Could this be a delayed reaction to the concoction Bruce had come up with?

Dick’s grip loosens.

“Dick?” Bruce calls urgently. “Dick!”

He gets no response.

oOo

Dick is staring at a white ceiling when he realizes he’s awake. Sunlight is streaming in through a giant window on his right, and there’s a framed painting of giraffes across from him. He’s tired and confused, and his gut tells him that something is wrong, that something bad happened. His first thought is that he wants his mom.

He turns his head to the left, finding Bruce in a chair and holding his hand.

“Hi,” Dick says, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Bruce grunts some kind of greeting and raises Dick’s bed while Dick takes in the medical bracelets on his wrist—one ID bracelet and one that indicates that he’s a fall risk—and the IV in the back of his hand. “What happened?”

Bruce shifts in his chair, face serious. “We were at the gala. You were poisoned.”

Dick matches Bruce’s expression, trying to think. He remembers being with Babs, telling her that something was wrong. Then he’d been on the ground, and there’d been sirens.

“The man who poisoned you had planned to offer me the antidote for a price, but he didn’t realize that you would react to the poison so—so severely,” Bruce explains, rubbing his thumb over Dick’s knuckles. “He was working as one of the waiters and heard the commotion. He came forward shortly after the ambulance left and he’s currently in custody.”

Dick swallows. “Why did he . . .” Why did he poison Dick in the first place? Need money so badly? Feel that poisoning Dick was the only option? “Would it have killed me? If he didn’t give us the antidote.”

Bruce, like always, is honest with Dick. “The doctors were able to stabilize you, but they needed to neutralize the poison quickly, and the antidote did that. It’s hard to say what would have happened without it, but things were touch and go for a while.”

Dick nods, not sure what to say as he takes it in. Eventually, he asks, “How long have I been out?”

“A few days. You woke up a few times yesterday, but you were incoherent,” Bruce says.

Dick wracks his brain, trying to pull up some inaccessible memory.

“I’m sorry that this happened, Dick.”

Dick squeezes Bruce’s hand. “Not your fault.”

“Hnn.”

“What? Are you seriously guilty that you didn’t taste all of my food first or something? ‘Cause that’s nuts, B.”

Bruce says, “You are my child. I am allowed to feel guilty when I fail to protect you.”

“You didn’t fail,” Dick interjects. “I’m okay—really.”

Bruce’s face is still pinched and concerned, and he’s looking at Dick like he might fall apart. Dick leans toward him and stretches his arms out, and Bruce quickly pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce,” Dick promises. And even to himself, it doesn’t sound like a reassurance most nine-year-olds should be giving. But it fits with his new life, he supposes. “I’m okay.”

Bruce tucks Dick’s head under his chin, says, “I was . . . I’m glad that you’re alright.”

Dick nods into Bruce’s chest and lets himself be held for another moment. It’s not the hug from his mom that he woke up wanting, but it’s close. It makes him feel safe and reminds him of home, and maybe that’s all Dick needs.

[uncloseted]

What are some effective waya to become more productive?

what are some effective ways 2 be productive?

First things first, figure out what the problem actually is. Why are you struggling to be productive? Is it because you're a perfectionist and the idea of not doing the task perfectly stresses you out? Is it because you're lacking the motivation to do anything? Is it because you're struggling to concentrate, or because you're overwhelmed by the task, or because you don't know where to begin? There are tons of reasons why you might be struggling with productivity, and figuring out what the roadblocks you're encountering are can help you to find ways around them. Since I can't read your mind, I'm going to try and give advice that will work for most of the roadblocks you might encounter.

When it comes to big things, I recommend using the SMARTER & WOOP methods. SMARTER and WOOP are two tools that are really useful for behavior modification and other long-term goals you might have.

SMART(ER) is a tool to help you set the right goals for you.  Too often, we set goals like “I’m going to start exercising” or “I’m going to quit going on my phone”.  Those are great in theory, but without an action plan, it’s easy to not follow through.

SMARTER goals are ones that are:

Specific (simple, sensible, significant).

If your goal isn’t specific, you won’t be able to focus your efforts or feel motivated to achieve it.

Try to answer: what do I want to accomplish? Why is this goal important? Who is involved? Where is it located? Which resources or limits are involved?

Measurable (meaningful, motivating).

Having measurable goals is important because it allows you to track your progress and stay motivated by seeing how far you’ve come.

A measurable goal should be one that answers “how much”, “how many” and “how will I know when it’s accomplished”?

Achievable (agreed, attainable).

Your goal needs to be realistic in order for you to stay motivated and be successful.  If you’re aiming too high, you’ll become demotivated quickly because it doesn’t feel like you’re making progress.

An achievable goal requires you to ask “how can I accomplish this goal” and “how realistic is this goal based on other constraints?”

Relevant (reasonable, realistic and resourced, results-based).

Relevant goals are ones that matter to you.  Make sure that these goals are ones that are important to you, not ones that you think you should be pursuing.

A relevant goal is one that can answer “yes” to the following questions: “does this seem worthwhile?”, “is this the right time?”, “does this match my other efforts/needs?”, “is it applicable in my current socio-economic environment?”

Time bound (time-based, time limited, time/cost limited, timely, time-sensitive).

Every goal needs a target date so that you have a deadline you can focus on and work toward.

A time sensitive goal is one that answers “when?”, “what can I do six months from now?”, “what can I do six weeks from now?”, and “what can I do today?”

Evaluate

Every day, evaluate how you’re doing on your goals.  Long term goals can be easily ignored if they’re not evaluated every day, and if you don’t evaluate how you’re doing on your goals regularly, you might miss the things that are preventing you from achieving them.

Readjust

If you find that your approach isn’t working, you may need to readjust your goals.  That doesn’t mean that you’re failing at your goals or that you should quit; it just means you have to rethink the approach you’re taking.  Maybe the goal isn’t as relevant to you as you thought it would be, or it’s not as realistic as you expected, or your timeline is too short.  Identify which part of your SMARTER goal is tripping you up and readjust it.

The best goals are ones that include trying new things instead of quitting old ones.  Quitting things is hard; learning something new is easier and more exciting.  If you’re looking to quit something, replace it by establishing a new habit that takes its place.  For example, “I’m going to stop going on my phone,” is hard, but “when I feel like going on my phone, I’ll read a book for ten minutes instead” might be easier to maintain.

After you’ve figured out your SMARTER goal, it’s time to WOOP.  WOOP is something like the scientifically proven cousin of “manifesting”.  Just visualizing our goals or positive thinking on its own can be counterproductive, because it fools our lizard brains into believing that we’ve already achieved the goal.  By using the WOOP method, you can prevent that from happening and actually achieve what you want to achieve.

WOOP stands for:

Wish: Identify a wish that is challenging, yet attainable.  This should be your SMARTER goal.

Outcome: Imagine the best outcome as a result of your wish (as vividly as possible).  Really daydream about what your life would be like if you achieved your goal.

Ask yourself, what is the biggest benefit you could receive from achieving this goal?

Obstacle: Identify and imagine what obstacles will get in the way of your wish.

What might get in the way?  Thoughts, feelings, beliefs, old behavior patterns, bad habits, social pressure… identify as many as you can, then prioritize their likely they are to happen and how significant they would be if they did happen.

Plan: Create an if-then plan to overcome the obstacles you identified- “if [obstacle occurs] then I will [plan A].”  Do your best to pick the most effective path you can for each obstacle, and identify a few different plans in case your first plan doesn’t work.

For example, if you wanted to start exercising, your WOOP might look like this:

Wish: Go on a run 3x/week after school/work for a month.

Outcome: Better energy, confidence, and health.

Obstacle: Feeling tired and hungry at the end of the day…Not wanting to go.

Plan: Pack a snack for the end of the day, and put on gym clothes right when you get home.

Or if you wanted to stop watching TV and read more:

Wish: Watch only 5 episodes of TV per week, and read when I feel the urge to watch TV for a month.

Outcome: Learn a lot. Get smarter. Feel better. Enjoy the great ideas. Feel like I’m spending my time wisely.

Obstacle: Not feeling like it. Preferring to watch TV.

P: If I catch myself watching TV, then I turn it off and start reading a book instead.

The last thing you can do to increase the chances that you’ll achieve your goal is to get someone else involved.  Either find a friend who’s setting the same goal that you are, or tell someone about your goal and ask them to help you achieve it by checking up on you.  It can also be helpful to put money on the line- give money to a friend with the understanding that you’ll get it back on a set date if you’ve achieved your goal.  If you really want to ensure that you reach your goal, tell your friend that if you fail, they should donate the money to a group or cause that you really hate.

For smaller, more day to day tasks:

Make a list of everything you need to do. Sort them into four categories- tasks that are Urgent & Important, tasks that are Not Urgent & Important tasks that are Not Important but Urgent, and tasks that are neither Urgent nor Important. Focus first on the tasks that are Urgent & Important. This can help you prioritize which things to work on first.

From there, take a look at each individual task and break it down into very small steps that you can't fuck up. These can be as small as "open laptop", "open Google Docs", "write name at top of the page", etc. If it helps, you can assign each one of these steps a point count, and then give yourself a treat once you collect enough points (10 points, 20 points, 50 points, and so on).

Once you have your list and have identified all of the steps, just do the first step. It can be daunting to start a big project or task; it's way easier to just do one thing. And once you do one thing, it feels easier to do just one more thing, and just one more thing, and so on until the task is complete.

Once you build up some momentum, I would recommend using the Pomodoro technique. Work for 20-25 minutes (or as long as you can really focus) and then take a 5-10 minute break. Stand up, get a drink, get a snack, watch a short TV episode or a YouTube video, look up that thing that was on your mind, whatever will give your brain a break. Then, set another 20-25 minute timer and get back to work. After three or four cycles of working and taking a short break, take a longer break.

A few other things that I think it's important to remember when it comes to productivity.

Anything worth doing is worth doing badly. You don't need to finish things, and you don't need to do them perfectly. If it's a choice between doing something badly or not doing it at all, it's always better to do it badly.

You don't need to do things the way other people would do them- do it how it works for you. Sometimes that won't make sense to other people, but that's all right. The only person it has to work for is you. If bouncing back and forth between different tasks works better for you than focusing on one task until it's done, then bounce back and forth between tasks. That's okay.

It's okay to ask for help. If you have trouble doing things, that's okay- find someone who can assist you. Maybe you're bad at projects that don't have someone to be accountable to. Find a friend who will hold you accountable. Maybe you're bad at projects without deadlines. Set deadlines for yourself and get someone to make sure you meet them. Sometimes you don't need to work through your shortcomings- you just need to find a way around them.

[hot-wiings]

The One Where Class 3A Place A Bet On The Relationship Status Of Their Residential Introverts, Desperate For Money, Mirio And Nejire Bet They Can Get Tamaki And [Y/N] Together Before Christmas Hits.

Edited: 12-27-2020

December, 19th.

You tried to contain your smile as you walked beside Tamaki Amajiki, your boyfriend, towards class 3-A. It was rare that you got a moment alone. Being best friends with not one, but two of the most extroverted and hyper kids in your class meant solitude and peace was hard to come by. Your hands grazed each other and you knew there were light blushes on both your faces. Despite having been together for a year now, touching in public would always bring a blush to your face and a rush to your heart, although, the raging blushes weren't as deep as they were a year ago. You'd gotten more comfortable now. 

"Are you still coming over to my dorm tonight? For uh, date night?"

"Depends, is Mirio gonna phase into your room again?"

A blush spread across Tamaki's face as he remembered the incident that occurred last week. Mirio had phased into Tamaki's room and found you cuddling together. The problem was that you and Takami didn't have a public relationship. When you first got together the pressure felt high and you were both nervous to be a couple around your rambunctious class, keeping to a secret felt better, being together in secret felt more natural and lighthearted. Despite being together a year now, despite having figured out how to navigate your relationship, despite finding normality and familiarity in each other, you had yet to tell your friends. You just weren't ready to give up your secret. It was such a comprising position for two friends to be found in and while luckily you were able to play it off like you just fell asleep paying videogames, you were both nervous, paranoid, and mostly, embarrassed from almost getting caught. 

"He's patrolling with Sir Night Eye tonight."

Tamaki stopped walking once you reached the classroom door and did a quick look-see up and down the halls. They were completely barren and the idea that your entire class was just behind one door was both riveting and daunting. Tamaki softly cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours. 

"Just you and me tonight. I'll bring the food, you can bring the movie."

"Can it be romantic and sappy?"

"Whatever movie you want I'll enjoy."

You played with Tamaki's tie as you let your head roll against the wall, a smile tugged your lips up. You really lucked out with him—but he would say the same thing about you.

"How about the note-hey."

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard your name being said. Immediately you dropped your hands from Tamaki, straightened yourself up and you looked down the halls for someone with red-tinted cheeks. Had you been caught? There was no one there.

"What is it?"

"I heard my name. Uck. This quirk is a blessing and a curse."

Your quirk was wolfism, probably what attracted Tamaki to you in the first place. It caused you to take on the complete form of a wolf under the full moon, however, on normal days you could take on wolf attributes. When you get extremely angry or tried to 'wolf out' as Nejire would call it, you could get long nails, and take on the appearance of a werewolf depending on how far you tried wolfing out. The real gem to your quirk was other wolf attributes you could use. Between seeing in the dark and a better sense of smell, enhanced hearing was amongst it.

You pressed your ear against the door to class 3-A to hear why your name was being said. You could recognize the voice of your classmates, and among those voices were Mirio and Nejire.

"[Y/N] and Tamaki? They're totally gonna end up together."

"No way! They're too shy for their own good. Amajiki would rather die than ask her out."

"I have to agree with [Student Name #1]. Don't get me wrong, Amajiki is a great guy, he's a great hero, but when it comes to girls—especially girls as cute as that—he's complete rubbish."

"Exactly, and [Y/N]... She could probably take down any villain, and she's hot as fuck, but if she had to ask Amajiki out... She'd piss herself."

You pull your ear off the wall briefly. Very brief, and very quick so you could get back to listening. You only grabbed pulled away to grab Tamaki's arm to get his attention urgently, though, it had already been on you.

"They're talking about us. Said were too shy to get together."

With Tamaki's attention on you, waiting for more, and your ear to the wall listening in, you were both anxious to hear more. Mirio's voice came into the mix.

"You gotta give my buddy a little more credit. Last week I saw them cuddling, intimately."

Nejires voice soon followed, hyper and excited on the prospect of you and Tamaki finally getting together.

"I bet if we just gave them a little push they would get together. Just a tiny, itsy, little push."

"Shy as they are? Impossible. We'll all be pros once [L/N] and Amajiki ever romantically get together."

You pulled away, a small smile and chuckle emitting from your face as you looked at your boyfriend.

"We'll be pro heroes by the time we get together."

"Maybe we should come clean... It has been a year."

You hummed in response as you put your ear back to the wall, considering the option. It would be nice. You could finally freely go on dates, you'd have to stop worrying about them finding out, and you could even hold hands in public. Mirio's voice was the next one you heard, and Nejire's was eager to follow.

"Let's wager a bet then."

"What kind of bet?"

"Well, Nejire and I owe you that money. If we can get [L/N] and Amajiki together by Christmas then you forgive our debt."

"Sound fair, but you have a week until Christmas."

"Me and Mirio have this in the bag. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy."

"Alright, you have until midnight of Christmas Eve to get them together, not a minute later. We want picture proof too."

"Deal."

You pulled back with a scowl on your face and turned to Tamaki with crossed arms and a pout.

"What's wrong? What'd they say?"

"They're betting on us! On our relationship. If they can get us together by midnight, Christmas eve, then the money they borrowed for Mirio's PS5 will be forgiven."

Tamaki looked up and down the halls briefly before rubbing his hands up and down your arms in comfort. It was upsetting to the both of you that they were betting on you both. Did they think you were that hopeless? So hopeless and unable to get together on your own that they were able to make a quick buck off of you?

"What happens if they lose the bet?"

"Then the money gets doubled. They're betting a lot of money on us. Do they think we're that bad? Well they're wrong! Cause' here we are."

Tamaki pulled away from you as he spotted your teacher coming down the hall, rushing to get to class. He gave you a shy, coy smile as he grabbed your hand to pull you with him to class.

"I guess we'll have to make sure they lose their bet then. After all, they don't know we know."

You walked into the classroom together, pretending you hadn't heard anything of their little bet. Tamaki tugged you closer than usual, not enough to make it seem like you were in a relationship, but enough to be questionable. You had a feeling Tamaki had a plan in motion, and you were already catching on.

"Tamaki buddy! [Y/N]! We were just talking about you both."

You and Tamaki stopped from heading to your desks to talk to Mirio and Nejire who were facing you with grins on their faces.

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes, Mirio was just talking about this new movie that came out! We should all go see it together, and get something to eat too."

"That-that sounds good."

"Great! We'll go on the twenty-first, does that work out?"

You both threw your friends perfect smiles and nodded before turning away and moving to the back of the class where your desks were. They were going to lose the bet, that you were sure of.

December, 21st.

"What's our plan?"

"It's simple really. We're gonna act super cuddly. We're gonna let them think their plan is working, until the end of their bet hits, and evidently, it didn't work and they're stuck paying double the owed about of a play station five."

"I-uh, I'm not sure I can go through with this plan... Cuddly? In public? With everyone watching?"

Tamaki fiddled both his hands and looked at his feet nervously. The idea was scary. Getting intimate and close when there was a chance you could get caught was one thing, but holding hands and being cute and cuddly with the intent to be seen was another thing. It was daunting and scary. 

"I know, public affection... It's scary... But just think of it like it's just us alone. It's just me, no one else, and if you get anxious I'll be there to calm you down."

"Okay, you'll be there... We've got this."

Tamaki placed a quick kiss on your cheek before going over to his closet. He dug through his laundry until he found what he was looking for, one of his sweatshirts. It was one of his favorites, he wore it often and there was no way your friends would mistake who's it was. He walked back over to you, a budding embarrassed and happy feeling coursed through his chest at the idea of you wearing his hoodie. 

"If our objective is to flirt and act cute, then you should wear my sweater... Please?"

"Great idea, this is really gonna push them over the edge. That's smart. They're gonna lose this bet so hard."

Tamaki had a blush reddening his cheeks at your burst of affirmation that he'd done a good job. You and he looped your arms together before walking out of his dorm room and down to the main entrance of the dorms. Nejire and Mirio were waiting for you, and you smiled at them as you moved your looped arms to linked hands instead. You swung them back and forth as you walked to make it catch their attention.

"So... What movie are we seeing?"

"That new one. The romantic one. It's so romantic, and Christmas themed."

"Nejire, you gotta be more specific, that describes a lot of movies."

"The one about the best friend's who fall in love. You'll love it, it was practically made for you."

You knew Nejire would slip up like this. She got too excited about stuff and made little mistakes. She was a bad secret keeper, you loved her dearly but she was not your go-to person when you had a secret. Another part of your plan was to torment Nejire and Mirio the entire time. They didn't know that you knew, and you knew just what buttons to push to either get them to confess or paranoid enough to think that you knew and keep them on edge.

"Oh? You think so? Why?"

Mirio shot Nejire a look as if to say be more careful. His bank account was riding on this bet. He didn't want to pay back the money for the play station console, let alone have it doubled. He was confident he and her could pull this off, provided you didn't know. Nejire scratched the back of her head and laughed it off.

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you've never thought of our little Sun Eater like that? Everyone's thought of their best friend romantically at least twice! I mean look at me and Mir'. We were best friends and now we're dating."

Nejire was smooth with her words but had Mirio not shot her a look, you were positive she would've slipped up about the bet. Instead, she fixed her words and hinted at feelings between you and Tamaki but making it seem like she was referring to herself.

"I and Tamaki are just friends."

Tamaki moved his hand from inside yours and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He squeezed your shoulder with his hand to help stop his shaky hand as you and him looked at each other briefly. He was nervous, you could tell as he looked down at you and spoke out his words.

"Best friends."

"Mm. The bestest."

You leaned your head against Tamaki as you uttered your words. You saw how Mirio looked back at you and then nudged Nejire in the side so she could not so discreetly steal a look at you and Tamaki. You smiled, just fakely playing into their plans of getting you and Tamaki together. It was a short walk, and before long Tamaki was pulling you into the movie theater, making sure to open the door for you to which Mirio nodded approvingly as he whispered into Nejire's ear. He was proud his friend was acting like a gentleman, his plan was going to go so well, at least, that's what they thought.

You stood in line together, Tamaki and you never leaving each other's side. Occasionally Tamaki would move his hand from your shoulder to your hair, playing with it nervously, a habit he picked from cuddling with you late at night. Mirio paid for Nejire's ticket, courtesy of her being his girlfriend and they stood off to the side while they waited for you both to pay for your tickets.

"Hi, um, can we have two kid tickets for 'A Christmas kiss', a large dr-pepper, and a large popcorn?"

The man behind the counter rang you up and eyed you warily, trying to decide if he really should run you up as a child or adult–decidedly, he didn't make enough money to care how old you were. With a tired sigh, he gave you your total.

"That'll be twenty-one, nineteen."

You went to pull out your wallet from your purse, where you had hidden and concealed candy from the dollar store, but Tamaki had already beaten you to it and paid for you using MooglePay. You turned to him, a grateful smile on your face. You knew Mirio and Nejire were watching so you took a deep breath, leaned up on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. You stood back down on flat feet, and with blushes on both of your faces, you carried your popcorn and pop to meet Mirio and Nejire. That was your first kiss in public, at least in public when people were looking.

"Thanks for paying Tama'. You're the best."

You made sure to say the words out loud in front of Nejire and Mirio, planting the seeds of hope and romance in their pretty little heads as blushes remained on your faces. You walked down to your designated theater room, devious plans in your heads. You both sat in the back, next to each other and secluded from other people whereas Nejire and Mirio sat in the middle. Throughout the entire hour, they kept throwing you and Tamaki not so discreet looks, trying to see how cuddly you were acting.

"Do you think they know how obvious they are?"

"Mirio's always been obvious like that. He wouldn't know discreet if it hit him."

Tamaki wrapped his arm over your shoulder and you leaned your head against his chest as he saw Mirio take another look. He had a beaming smile, he thought his and Nejire's plan to get you together was working out. As the credits rolled on the screen and the dimmed lights brightened, Nejire and Mirio got a better view of you both. You fed Tamaki a piece of popcorn, knowing they were watching you both intensely.

You and Tamaki fell into a peaceful order as he fed you a piece in response. It was normal, normal, and natural to be this way with him. This was how you acted together in the confines of your bedroom, the only difference was that you were out in public. Forgetting they were even there, Tamaki cupped your cheeks and pressed a deep kiss against your lips. Naturally, like clockwork, your body responded by deepening it and moving your lips back in sync.

"Oh my gosh, you kissed! Ahh, it's so romantic, are you gonna date now?"

"Neji' calm down, it's their first kiss."

You and Tamaki abruptly pulled away. You didn't know what kind of shows Mirio watched, but that was not what a first kiss looked like. That was what two lovers who forgot that they were out in public looked like. You and Tamaki stood up and laughed, lacing fingers.

"I mean... If Tamaki asked me out, I wouldn't stop him."

"I– If [Y/N] wants to date me. I mean, [Y/N], will you go out with me."

"I'd like that."

This was not how your plan was supposed to go.

December, 22nd.

You paced back in forth in your dorm room, your feet making a constant flow of steps and probably annoying the student living on the floor below you. It wasn't your fault, not really. This was one of the attributes you got from your wolfism quirk. It was in your doggy nature to pace when you got anxious and upset. It was biological. Your boyfriend sat on your bed, a nervous frown played on his face as he ran his shaky hands through his hair. He wasn't sure if he should comfort and soothe you or continue to silently wallow in self-pity.

"They didn't even do anything, they just took us to a romantic movie. They didn't even pay."

"I'm sorry, did I-Uhm, did I ruin the plan by kissing you?"

You momentarily stopped your pacing back and forth to stand and snap your head over in your boyfriend's direction. Anyone else would have found your actions weird. The way you stopped so fast and snapped your head over to him at an insane pace would've been creepy. Again, it was just biological reflexes due to your quirk. If he was holding a piece of bacon you would've turned quicker. 

"No."

You walked over to your boyfriend and straddled him on the bed. It wasn't sexual or sensual, your quirk was just taking over, your deep-rooted wolfy attributes. Your instinct was just to comfort your mate. He was stressed, anxious, and worried, and you could sense all of those feelings. You pulled his hands out of his hair and laced your fingers through his. They were still shaky as you smiled down at him. 

"No, it's not your fault. Never your fault. You just kissed me, we both got carried away."

"But we lost the bet, I should've paid more attention to them. I should've watched to see if they were looking."

"Uh-uh. None of that negativity. We lost the battle, not the war."

You rolled off of Tamaki, both worried you were crushing him and bashful to be in such a compromising position now that you'd come down from the primal wolfy high. 

"The conditions to the bet are that we have to kiss and say were together to [Student A] and [Student B] by midnight of the twenty-fourth. That's three days away. We're gonna invite Mirio and Nejire over, and we're gonna act like the cutest couple ever. Then tomorrow, we'll stage a huge breakup fight."

"That's a really good plan."

"Of course it is, I have the best plans."

Tamaki cupped your cheeks by hooking his slender fingers under your ears and pressed a quick kiss against the skin in between your eyebrow and let his head rest there. 

"They'll think they've got the bet in the bag, and then we'll rip it away."

"I like it. It's sneaky, and it just might work."

You pulled out your phone and punched in the password before pulling up the group chat Nejire and Mirio were in with you and Tamaki.

[Y/N]: Do you guys wanna come over to my dorm? 👉👈 me and tamaki want to thank you for going out with us. It was rly, enlightening.

Nejire Hado: Yes!! We'd love too!!!! Does this mean your dating now?!!!

You locked and put your phone back into your pocket knowing answering Nejire would be futile because she would just ask more questions once she got inside your dorm. You nuzzled yourself into Tamaki, both cuddling and scenting him–not that he'd ever know that's what you were doing.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

"What... What?"

"A hickey. I want a hickey. Think about it, if Nejire and Mirio saw it, they'd be so happy thinking they're gonna win."

"They're on their way up here though..."

Your hands gripped the sides of Tamaki's shirt, pulling him closer to you and your nesting head.

"Even better, we'll get to avoid the 'are you a couple' questions."

"Fine... Just-just doesn't be too loud, I don't want anyone hearing."

Tamaki pulled down the collar of your shirt to get to work on marking up your skin. He didn't know what was going on with you. Lately, you'd been clingier, rubbing on him and getting freeskier. Hornier, he supposed, regardless he gave in to your whims. He pulled you closer and latched his mouth to your skin, sucking, tugging, and pulling to make a bruised mark. The door burst open and he was working and a crimson blush covered both of your faces.

"Nuh- Nejire! I- I told you to stop barging in my room like that."

"Sorry [Y/N] but I–Oh Mirio! I told you they were totally getting it on."

"Well, yeah... He's my, uhm, my boyfriend now."

December, 23rd.

Tamaki Amajiki paced around his bedroom floor. He fiddled with his hands as he tried to go over your plan in his head, carefully going over every detail, and every word you spoke out to him. It was the day of your fake fight where you would 'break up', the night before Christmas Eve to spring Nejire and Mirio into panic mode.

"I- I don't think I can pull this off."

"You can do it."

You walked over to Tamaki and wrapped your arms around him from behind. You rested your head on his back, reassuring him it would be okay, and reassuring him he would do good. It brought a crimson blush to his face, but regardless he was very nervous.

"What if I mess up?"

"You're gonna do good, okay? None of what we're saying is real, alright? It's fake. We're just convincing Mirio and Nejire, and it doesn't affect what I think about you. I'll even sneak over tonight to see you."

"Okay. Okay, do you wanna go over some lines?"

"Nope, I've got thick skin, besides Nejire and Mirio are on their way up and I don't want them overhearing our rehearsal."

Tamaki pulled out of your iron-clad grip and turned around to kiss your forehead tenderly, enjoying the soft space of skin.

"I love you alright? No matter what I say, it's fake."

"I know, I love you too. Do you want a codeword, in case we're too harsh? Something to say 'hey, dial it back'. Like, uhm, squid? I think I could work that into an argument."

You pressed a quick kiss against Tamaki's lips. You would have liked to deepen and further it along but you heard a knock on the door. You assumed this was to give you privacy and make you and Tamaki more comfortable in hopes of furthering your relationship. You and Tamaki broke apart and got ready to start screaming at each other once they walked in. Mirio and Nejire came in after giving you and Tamaki a moment in case you were fornicating in some type of way.

"I can't believe you."

"Whoa, what happened?"

Mirio was quick to try and intervene. He had rarely seen Tamaki sound so upset and get worked up. It was alarming that you were the person that he had it directed at. Mirio had never seen Tamaki look at someone with as much love as he did with you. Tamaki would move mountains for you, and Mirio saw it. That was why he originally took the bet in the first place.

"I took [Y/N] out for breakfast this morning, and she was basically flirting with the server."

You had to fight off the smile on your face as Tamaki came up with the lie so quickly. You had been inside his dorm all morning playing video games together and eating junk food, a chip bag hidden half underneath the bed was there as proof. Nejire started to bite her thumb nail as she watched Tamaki get upset. Truthfully, she and Mirio had planned to slip special animal meat in his food after the movie a couple of nights ago but decided against it once you guys kissed. They wanted to get him territorial and jealous over you, clearly, that would've backfired.

"I wasn't flirting with him! All I did was say thanks and asked for a refill."

"Yeah, you were really thirsty for him, weren't you?"

"Maybe I wouldn't be so thirsty if my own boyfriend felt comfortable kissing me in public."

You had to stifle a laugh, you wanted to giggle so hard. None of this was true, but Mirio and Nejire were eating it up like butter. Your performance was so good, and Tamaki was doing so great.

"Maybe I'd be more comfortable kissing you if you didn't wolf out and get so possessive all the time."

You crossed your arms and tried to compose yourself as tears flooded to your eyes. That last comment hurt. It really hurt. You were really insecure about it and scared that your wolfism would affect your relationship. Worried you'd get too possessive and jealous, and worried that he'd find your scenting on him and habits weird. You start sniffling as the tears start to come down faster. You knew he didn't mean it. It's fake. It's fake fight, but hearing him say it felt so real.

This was your own idea, why were you being such a baby?

"Well, maybe I don't want to be with a mean squid face. Here's your sweater back, we're over!"

You ripped his sweatshirt off of your body, despite not really wanting to. It was a comfort item for you. Smelling his residue scent on things he's previously worn really brought warmth and comfort in you. On days you were particularly sad, and hurt, on days you felt pure anxiety and fear, having a piece of him with you helped. It helped you, but you still had to put on a show for Mirio and Nejire.

"Give that back to Squidward for me, will you?"

You tossed the sweater at Mirio who easily caught it with a worried expression. Although the bet was at stake here, he was worried for you as he saw hot tears make their way down your face. You took off out of Tamaki's room, making a dramatic exit with Nejire following hot on your tail.

You wanted to win the bet–or rather have your friends lose the bet since you never made the bet, but it hurt so much it didn't even matter.

December 24th, Christmas Eve.

The following day you and Tamaki kept a distance as promised. It was part of the plan. Stay separate until after midnight, then, and only then would you reveal your relationship. You had both mutually promised to keep your distance, but it hurt you both. You hadn't shown up at Tamaki's dorm that night like you promised you would. He knew that he had taken it too far after you called him a squid, but he hadn't meant to. He didn't think you would take such offense to it, he hadn't known how sensitive you were about it. To put it plainly Tamaki felt horrible. He was trying to figure out a way he could fix this but he kept coming up empty. How was he supposed to fix it when you were supposed to be ignoring each other?

On the other hand, you felt just as horrible as Tamaki did. You felt embarrassed and ashamed for being so sensitive and emotional. You didn't know what came over you. You wanted to blame it on the wolf aspect of yourself, but that only made you feel worse. You couldn't help but nibble on your lips evIry time you caught Tamaki looking over at you. On one hand, you were happy he was looking at you. You were worried you upset him with your little outburst and ruined things, this gave you hope and a sense of relief. On the other hand, you still wanted to win this bet and Nejire was following you around trying to get you to talk to Tamaki, whereas Mirio was doing the same for his friend. You both didn't want to talk, embarrassed about how things went, worried they'd messed things up on their end. 

"I see you watching him, why don't you just go talk to him."

"It's not that simple Nejire, you wouldn't understand. You and Mirio have had a long picture-perfect relationship, you're not Tamaki and me."

It wasn't like other times Nejire gave you advice. Other times you could give it to her straight and she'd give you the best input, this time you were secretly trying to foil her and Mirios plans. You couldn't just say, it was a fake fight and I overreacted. Or alternatively, it was a fake fight but his words sounded sincere, what if he really doesn't want me. You couldn't be honest with her. Especially not now, knowing she was going to take every little thing to Mirio, who inevitably, would tell Tamaki.

"So make me understand. Try to get me to understand you. You and Tamaki are perfect for each other!"

"No, we aren't!"

Your words came out in a small yell, and most people around could probably have heard what you said. You backtracked your words, embarrassed as you crossed your arms and hugged them to your chest. It was eleven-fifty, and Nejire had ten minutes for her and Mirio to get you and Tamaki together, but at this point, she didn't care. Ten minutes wasn't long enough, she had accepted defeat unlike Mirio, all she could do now was remorsefully wish with you and Tamaki were a couple. She thought you were both blind, she had never seen two people more fitting and perfect for each other. 

"I'm sorry for yelling, but he doesn't like my wolfism. You heard him, and that's not- that's not something I can change about myself. It's biological..."

"[Y/N] I-"

"You know [L/N], if Amajiki isn't interested in you anymore I wouldn't mind taking you out."

Some random guy had cut into your conversation with Nejire. You hadn't seen him here before, he looked young, most likely a first-year student. You wondered how he even got in there, it was a Christmas party at the class 3-A dorms, intended only for third-year students. The proposition was completely preposterous. You and Tamaki weren't completely over. All he had done was insult you, it was a fake insult, and while you were simply positive he was going to break up with you, you weren't going to flirt with another guy just yet, and definitely not a first year. 

"I- uhm... well- I..."

"I think what my shy friend is trying to say here is no. She's not interested, trust me."

"Awe c'mon!"

The guy leaned back against the food table he was standing in front of. You tried not to scrunch your face up in want and desire. He was leaning into a meat tray. A meat tray. The delectable treat looked so scrumptious, sausage, and cheese so perfectly put out for display. He shouldn't be leaning so hard, he'll ruin it. You wanted to devour it in an instant. Truthfully that was where your mind went when you stuttered out your reply and Nejire had to come to your rescue. You didn't care for the first year, you just wanted the meat tray. 

It didn't appear that way to Tamaki. Watching from the distance all he saw was you staring over at that guy with such a distinct look in your eyes. A look of wanting and hunger. He knew he messed up by insulting your quirk. He didn't know you'd get so hurt, but he should've thought about that first. If you had insulted his quirk like that, he'd be upset. Tamaki slowly walked forward, closer and closer trying to hear what the young first-year student was saying to you. 

"You'd love going out with me. I'd appreciate every part of you and your body."

"Oh, um... Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy and all... But like my friend said, I'm, um, I'm just not that interested right now."

"I see the way you're looking at me, quit playing hard to get. I bet your quirk really gets you going in bed."

You took a step back as the guy took a step forward. You should have told him off, you should have handled the situation better. You should have asserted yourself from the beginning instead of letting Nejire handle it, you should have shown you weren't a pushover, maybe then the guy would've gotten the point. You took more steps backward, embarrassed, and stunned at what he was implying to you. You truly just wanted the meat platter he was in front of. As the guy was about to touch you, Nejire was about to step forward and intervene when Tamaki jumped into the equation. Tamaki grabbed the guy's wrist before he could touch your hip and pushed his wrist into his body. The boy cowered back and cradled his arm from the strength Tamaki had used to squeeze him and make him cower back. 

"That- uhm, that wasn't polite. She said she wasn't interested and when a girl says no, she means no. I suggest you leave before every third-year female in this room decides to tell you that themselves." 

"Right... um right. Sorry."

The boy mumbles out a bad apology lowly before he quickly made his way out of the building. Tamaki didn't see the boy going very far in the hero course. He turned to you and hesitantly rubbed his hand up and down your arm, unsure if you would welcome his touch. 

"Are you okay?"

"It's fine, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you yesterday, I didn't mean to, please don't break up with me."

Part of your lip quipped up into a smile at how sweet Tamaki was acting. He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't need to apologize. It was you, all you.

"Tamaki... you don't need to apologize, I overreacted. The truth is... I'm really insecure about my quirk. I- my wolfism makes me act funny. When I go through my, you know, I react more like a dog going through heat. I get really clingy, and horny, and jealous, which can be a big turn off to some people. In all honesty, I thought you were going to break up with me."

"No, god no."

He rushed his words out as he pulled you into his arms. His hands rubbed up and down your back, trying to soothe you knowing you were on the verge of tears. He pulled back and pressed a kiss against your head. His soft lips felt good.

"I'm never breaking up with you, you're it for me. Heart, soul, and life. I don't care if your clingy, or horny, or jealous, because you'll be mine, and I'll be yours."

A smile warmed your face as your hands came up and caressed Tamaki's suit. You gripped the sides of the dress jacket and pulled him down a few inches to press a kiss against his lips. You both smiled into it, happy to feel each other again, even if it was in public. 

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas... Can we deal with Mirio and Nejire later? I just wanna cuddle you right now."

"Yes, no, yes. We can cuddle but you have to help me sneak the meat platter out of here."

Tamaki placed another soft kiss on you, this time your lips, and he smiled down at you before pulling you into the direction of the meat platter. You were special to him, so even with everyone's eyes on him and you, class 3-A's resident shy students, Tamaki started piling meat into napkins and fitting them inside his pocket. If you wanted a meat platter, then you deserved a meat platter. tI didn't matter who was watching, not when it was you with him.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

--

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

[astrology-with-charu]

20 Jan 3:38pm ET Mars Conjunct Uranus 6º44’

Aquarius Season Begins ! Focus of Feb 2021 by sign :

So we have talked about it, warned about it, fret a little about it and at the same time felt a little excited about it. Mars Conjunct Uranus is here. As its not just a day long transit we have felt this about a week or so coming in and would continue to feel for a week on the way out though it wouldn’t ever be fully out. Fixed aspects are such they are never out of our system.

They create long term shifts in fixed corners of our psyche.

This is the most interesting aspect and to some its scary & erratic as well as it acts out of character or norm and its unpredictable. I have this aspect in my natal chart in a square and I can tell you people who deal with me have that kind of varied response too. Some find my actions interesting, some erratic, some strong willed and some think I am downright nuts - mission accomplished, keep them guessing 😉 When Mount Etna slowly but surely exploded its lava out after seething for a while it reminded me of this aspect. Whatever is hemmed in surely explodes - thats one thing thats certain of this aspect - Need for Freedom.

We take what we want from each aspect and each person so I am going to try and see if we can draw the best of this aspect. It happens every year & in Taurus it helps over seven years release fixity in comfort zone corners of our life in food, in money, in assets, in economy, in voice, in talents. The special and unique thing about it this year and about 2021 as a whole is that this aspect are / will aspect the 5 planets in Aquarius over Jan and Feb - nothing real or noticeable happens without a square - I mean what’s the point if it wont be in your face 😉. You cant ignore a square, its not easy but it makes sure you notice it and do something about it cause otherwise it just hurts too much to live with it. It actives us to make the shift.

So if you feel the pain in places you used to draw comfort from, know its your body and psyche giving you hints like boulders to make that shift.

I noted where and what this aspect is happening in my 2021 note as thats something where every fabric of your being would look for more freedom and shift in. How will it play out though, where would it manifest is another story cause those 5 planets in Aquarius in this season will help you put the sand in the sandpit for you to play in and display your need for freedom, brilliance and change. Mercury will also be going retrograde in Aquarius (30 Jan-20Feb) so you will have some rethink, rework before you put the first layer in - this process will go on this year as Saturn and Jupiter go back and forth over it helping you create source of your next 20 years of growth using this first layer of sand you are putting in Aquarius season.

Videos by sign done before :

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLv3tUTLu8-MT2IvHWqfAHwrOXVpEPjfxw

Across signs Mars Uranus is a volatile energy so physically you would want to be careful with devices, knives etc especially fixed signs : Taurus, Aquarius, Leo and Scorpio especially planets around 7º.

Let’s begin - by sign what are you about to begin:

#Aries : Network, platform, investment gains, group of influential

Looking to have a platform or a group of influential people or a fan base or a set of like minded people - your tribe who can work on the new vision you have of your life. That’s where it will manifest. What’s the driver and what’s the Mars Uranus restleness and brilliance - its in your money, confidence, self respect and assets house. You seek freedom in financials, radical self confidence in your personal assets and its a drive to prove your worth to none other than yourself. It’s you wanting to play and have fun with assets and money without being tied down. Creating all of it from the things that bring you bigger vision of life and helps you connect with people on larger scale instead of being confined and limited in your outlook to life. So you would work on money & asset shifts and manifest it in form of a platform or a network or a group of like minded people working on a larger vision - also through investments beyond a job, gains from investments. Detachment from fixity of assets and any kind of source of income that inhibits your freedom would seem urgent and essential. It might almost feel manifestation of your vision is impossible without it. Money becomes a means to freedom and you look to stop trading money for time as how you spend your time becomes more meaningful. A step towards that vision is what this season is about.

#Taurus : Job, career, leadership style, your title

Looking to start a new job or a new way to do a job or a shift in title - what you are know as and known for, shift in how you are a leader of your life. Driver is you don’t want to be who you were before. You want to detach from your past life in some ways as you would like to be more authentic to yourself, be more of you instead of what others want you to be or see you as. As you “show yourself” so as to speak - the existing mode of how you express yourself - which is normally our profession, our formal title - would also shift with it cause you want it to. Mars Uranus right now might make you feel very rebellious - wanting to jump out of your skin - sorry I don’t know why the werewolf analogy is popping in my head - you are beautiful inside out - but as risk of offending you I will use that analogy. It’s about you about to pop out - if you are a wolf inside and have been a sheep outside, it wont work for you especially not in your job. Yes it can be an erratic display, a conflict, a fight with authority but you know what - its long overdue probably. We can manage how it looks but not how it is - how it is , is how it is. So it would be a bit of truth time and time to move to what’s more real to you as you make a new start this season in your work.

#Gemini : Travel (jeez talk about being a tease), adventure, higher education, publication, putting your content on a platform, teach, higher mind

Geminis are going places, wanting to start something that gives them adventure, gives them that high vibe they crave. Aquarius season activates a very positive and to some extend radical part of their chart - this is what makes them so brilliant and interesting. They get radical also positively. They look like they are thinking of ten things at a time seemingly lost on all ten but inside they are synthesizing how to take over the world. This is where Gemini converge all they have learned and put it into a book, into a publication, on a platform, they teach, they engage with people who are different and far from them using tech and state of art platforms, they create state of art platforms to publish information thats useful and meaningful. Their drive is this Mars and Uranus bringing all thats within to right in from of them - they don’t feel scared any more of endings, of facing any demons within or outside, of facing their own fears - they have got to do it cause they are after finding their place in this wide wide universe. They are after establishing meaning of their existence and wanting to make it valuable beyond imagination. They want to wrap all their hidden talents, hidden insecurities and light it all on fire to get out in the open. It’s almost like they are asking - let me see how my worst fears play out - let me see what was I really afraid of. So I don’t ever have to use that word “fear” ever again anymore. Preach Gemini we are all ears!

#Cancer : Give & take in partnerships, Karmic, depth, healing

You know they say those who hurt so much, learn to heal others of their hurt. I always think of Cancerians when they say that. Cause why else would God or higher powers make them feel so much... unless it was to help them understand how every living being feels in every living instance. Human emotions isn’t the only thing Cancerians are expert on using their intuition on - they are sensitive on knowing the undercurrent of society and even financial world if they apply themselves to it. They are brilliant in seeing things below the surface but they create a protective layer even against their own intuition sometimes cause sometimes what they see hurts them. That sometimes makes a Cancerian stay in dysfunction longer than they should. So its a new wave of detaching ourselves from what’s karmic what’s bad for us and our intuition has told us so many times but we have been shielding ourselves from our own knowing. Its time to start a new ledger and put a knot on all old karmic ties so you establish a blank slate. A new start in much more powerful way of being when it comes to partnership, seeing the writing on the wall and handle give and take differently in relationships, use your depth and intuition in financial matters where you know things way ahead of time. Using your knowledge of matters unknown to others by putting that knowledge out on a platform, on a screen, for wide population to see. Sharing your depth, your knowing, your ideas with a larger set for their benefit versus reserving all your heart and love for one. Uranus and Mars will introduce you to unique people, offer you opportunities to work on new and state of art platforms to put your knowledge on and help you detach from past patterns in relating to others. Love is a tough topic, actually not love but intimacy and that depth & returns you seek in relationship is cause may be for far too long we have been mistaking unease, dysfunction, pain and karmic for depth and love. Love is not supposed to feel like pain. This is process of relearning it all by detaching from dysfunction. Starting new without the heavy.

#Leo : Clients, contract, commitment

Restless restless Leos have been looking for that thing, that thing they don’t know what thing, but that thing in their work, in their business, in their title, in the way they rule that domain of theirs - that links what they feel inside with a manifestation outside. They feel like a king or a queen inside - larger than life, magnanimous, caring for the people who benefit from just their smiling confident gaze. That’s their true self, that’s who they were born to be. But then life got in between and daily annoyances, need to pay the bills and take care of people got in the way. Licking the wounds of not being themselves for far too long, Leos have been waiting to roar. Fixed signs are triggered and Leos are on top of the list cause they crave and need to break out of these shackles that hold their mind down and make them be who they know within they are not. The place they would want to be themselves the most would be in how they handle their job, their work and especially in the one on one interactions with their clients and partners. You are preparing a stage for your enormous potential. It could be by working towards a new contract that allows to access to the client or people who you crave to connect with or gives you the kind of freedom and eclectic freedom and brilliance in work you crave. You want your clients, your partners, your platform to benefit from your ideas and brilliance. You need a mode to convey that - may its not in the traditional job or may be a traditional job needs to follow some new rules to make that happen. Either ways if there is not a way you will make a way - such is the fixed intensity of your Mars Uranus in your career - it will make you jump through jobs, rebel at jobs, create unique roles, create unique career - till you have got it. What would you start new to make it all happen - a new contract, a new commitment, a new partnership or a unique disruptive partner which helps you explore your own psych to see why any of the titles not fitting who you feel within. May be cause what you want doesn’t exist right now, may be cause you are a creator and not a follower, may be its time to stop looking for someone to create what you want and make it yourself.

#Virgo : Order, job, project, coworkers, work place, mind body connection

When Uranus first entered their house of higher mind over two years back, it was almost like something very subtly but surely shifted in them. Whatever they thought they knew about life and where theirs’ is going at least changed. It’s a weird thing - philosophy - its supposed to be nebulous, non physical thing but its one thing in our life which if shifts - everything consequently has to shift to adjust it. As their philosophy in life shifted and is in process of fully changing who they are - Virgos have to adjust the most important thing in their life to adjust that to go with it - their own daily routines, the thread of life that runs their physical existence - their processes, their work environment, who they work with and what kind of projects they work on and most importantly how they take care of your body. Its a cause of friction when your life philosophy and who you are within has expanded but you still continue to work with the same people or employ the same people you did before or the way you handle your body and your routines stay the same. When your higher mind has been set free you need to start a new chapter in your physical reality as well - new start in your own daily routines, when you work out, where you work out, how you take care of your body, what kind of projects you work on, who you work with or who you hire, what’s the structure of your work place, what’s the kind of workplace you go to. Its got to reflect it all - your daily environment has to mirror your higher vision else you will feel a friction in your body and that friction would show up in form of non stop conflicts with coworkers or unease in health. Use this season to break a pattern and start anew.

#Libra : Risk appetite, love, passions, children, joy

People have a lot against pandora box - I love the unexpected nature of it all - I love the fact that it shows that side of us that we knew was in us but it wasn’t oh so kosher to show up cause of others. But when you close it - the gifts go back in as well as does hope, joy and passion. The very balanced and my beautiful Librans can write their own book on balance and the evils of opening such boxes but what if it was knocking on their own doors. Uranus and Mars wakes up a dormant yet very important part of Librans thats not only powerful, its essential to help them make their passions come to life. Some call it kundalini release some call it that coiled serpent - one thing thats common in it all is that its not something that anyone attaches with a Libra archetype. Its raw passion, even anger, jealousy, need to be powerful, establish that right give and take in partnership, knowing your own worth and not being shy of making it evident and asking returns that corraborate that. Its somewhat essential to release that - cause its also the part of you that helps you go after your desires, helps you take a bit of risk in your love and professional life, helps you give birth to what you love and would cherish as your legacy. So thats where we begin - driver is to come into your own power, to release archaic ways of give and take in partnership, to let the patterns play out as they should and not on basis of how good or bad they look. What you start new to give that drive an outlet is a new passion, a new appetite for risk in life and that could be in form of a new love, a new hobby, a child, a business thats like a child - its you giving birth to what you would love, cherish and is an extension of your love for self. This is excellent season for you Libra as its your house of joy which is woken up but its facing a hesitance - a bit like resistance to ones own happiness as it requires you to go out of your element to get there. It requires you to not hide the powerful side of you when you deal with others and let them know what you know.

Don’t reduce yourself to make mediocre feel comfortable. They aren’t elevated, we become mediocre in the process.

#Scorpio : Home, family, ancestors, place of living, comfort

People don’t understand why a Scorpio needs to be sure before going into something or going “steady” and why they have to “sense” out things. Sage the hell out of their aura cause they are about to occupy mine for a lifetime says my Scorpio rising.

People don’t get that as much as we are eager to act and ready to face any consequence, we have a fixity in our relationships and partnerships. Partners and relationships never leave Scorpios even when they leave. But the “please no drama” zone of partnerships to be honest has become a bit of battlefield lately. What are we fighting for though. More freedom, more authenticity possibly. But may be more passion, more expression, more dynamism. Its such a contradiction isn’t it - the area we seek the most stability in - we also seek the most excitement and freedom in as well. That kind of freedom can only be based in trust, can only be based if we feel stable in our footing. Feel sure of the ground we stand on and then we can build all the existing relationships, connect with unique partners and clients / networks with. Aquarius season and this year of Saturn Jupiter in our house of home, family, place of living is aiming to do just that. Beef up the home metaphorically and physically. So this season we do something new in that direction so we can take more risks in our business and personal partnerships. We embellish our home, shift houses, countries, find a home within home and find the resources that beef us up from within or find that tribe we can call family that help us get there. Nothing above the surface can fly higher without that home as much as we would want to run away from it. So it might be time to put roots, find that place or do something make your family comfortable in some ways so you have a sure footing within - by purchasing real estate or changing your lease or shifting something in the house or deciding which country you would live in. Normally modern family structures and home structures suit us, possibly away from place of birth or away from parents in some ways - Scorpios cherish the closeness that comes from letting them have their “space” - may be time to find a bit of space so you can think, create and draw strength from. Beef those roots up.

#Sagittarius : Communication, immediate environment, commercial skills

Like a fish out of water, Sagittarius might have put themselves in a zone totally out of their comfort zone cause what they themselves don’t understand right now is that traditional isn’t cutting it for them as much as they are trying. Old isn’t vast enough to let them be who they need to be. The kind and level of commercial success and to some extend the kind of impact they are looking for doesn’t come from traditional careers. They are looking to create something unique and its coming in tough by sticking to old work environment or even that environment might have stopped suiting who they are becoming. Its a process that started over two years back when Uranus first started in their house of work and health - creating a bit of environment of restless brilliance which is just waiting to pop but not yet finding possibly its outlet. Not yet finding that outlet cause may be using the old skill sets and using the old teachings / learnings or old modes and methods of selling / communicating. When you cannot stand the confinement of your surrounding, usually your immediate environment needs a shift - as does the people you see on a daily basis, the road to work you take, the car or vehicle you use and the platforms / devices you use for communicating your perspective along with the words that you are communicating. This new start this season is an up skill to a new commercial reality by changing what you talk, what you sell, what your talents are. I love that unique brilliant futurist sign of Aquarius sits in mind of Sagittarius - it makes them say what they think but also say what they see far ahead of time. They blurt out outstanding thoughts... well without a thought. Possibly a new course can be pretty helpful just to open your mind to new way to commercialize those brilliant thoughts. Perhaps a new neighbourhood or new surroundings can open the mind to more suitable environment that help you commercialize. Perhaps a new platform or new communication devices help support your work in the way you would like. Perhaps a new route to work could help support the new health routine you are looking for. Anything that opens your mind to new economy would be a helpful hand in your journey to get more freedom in your work and provide a platform for you to express your ahead of time ideas. But speak, sell, communicate, connect, commercialize - its time to.

#Capricorn : Money, assets, networth and self worth

I have said it before and I am going to shout from the rooftops till everyone knows, I love love the Uranus transit Capricorn are getting on. Its so freeing - its going to free their sense of joy, their ability to connect with the fun playful innocent child within which has been forced to grow up way too fast with the last few years of transit. Uranus in your house of joy and passions is screaming to release all thats fun, confident, talented, creative, passionate about you. You feel driven to take the risks you have not taken in love, in money, in business - it creates this radical confidence in your ability to bring things to life, in your ability to give birth to the unique thoughts within. And it all, as with everything else with Capricorn, has got to be something real - something touch it feel it. The manifestation of it all to start with could be seen in your financials , in your assets, in things you are going to buy or invest in. Aquarius season starts a new cycle in your networth and self worth. New source of income, new asset, new investment, new purchase that would add to your networth and a new sense of self that helps you go after getting true value of your talents. You might even go after aquiring some talents that help you create more value e.g. in stock markets. You are on a new journey where you want to be free of guilt in being happy, in being fruitful, uninhibited smile - whatever brings that on, bring that on!

#Aquarius : You

Everyone’s talking about you or of you, you don’t necessarily like that... you didn’t ask for it but may be you did - its all been going stale for a while so you did ask for it all to become interesting and it all started being a bit more interesting two years back and now its just all changing way too fast. More importantly think I am changing too fast and rest is changing with me cause my comfort zone is shifting - cause well I wanted to do something different. So here it is that time to start new life, new you in your season - Happy Aquarius Season to you and happy birthday to Aquarius Sun. It just is how your season would be for next few years but this is a landmark one as lot of energy concentrated in your sign is being challenged by your own inertia to change things cause you feel the comfort zone will be lost in some ways - not registering there is no comfort zone anymore. When a kite has taken a flight there is no ground to rest on so its better to learn to fly breathlessly a bit cause stopping isn’t an option at this stage. Unprecedented growth is the reward awaiting of you taking over the reigns of your life in your hand. You have taken a journey where you are fully owning everything in your life, now so don’t look back - start another new chapter in that new direction you have decided to go on. There could be physical volatility in home, family or place of living - its like some constant ground you stood on is shaking - cause its limiting your ability to go where you need to. Its like you need to almost forget where you came from to become who you need to be - leaving the nest is one thing, forgetting the patterns that physically kept you there is another. This is like you are literally being reprogrammed as a person - physically in your body, in your fitness, in what kind of a leader you are and how you show up to the external world. And as part of that reprogramming, your old patterns would have to be irrevocably erased. Whatever it takes!

#Pisces : Peace, healing, health, recognizing your hidden talents & place in universe

Most brilliant creators go to isolation away from everyone to create their masterpiece even though the masterpiece is for the enjoyment of the very people they are going away from. Its like somehow they need to connect with themselves before they can give to others their best work. Its like for it all to be kosher pure chaste and brilliant it needs to be all free of any influence. Do you feel the need to shut all that noise sometimes so you can hear what the universe is trying to talk just to yourself - so you can find why you came here - what is your role and what are you here to serve. Uranus in your house of mind, create such sensitivity and brilliance in your mind that you feel sometimes an idea a minute coming - yet not having an outlet for it all sometimes just leaves a restless feeling that makes it impossible to settle down or sleep sometime. What if you needed a beat to put it all down, what if you needed to create your island so you can in that silence synthesize all that the rest of the connections have inspired you to think of. I am in no way suggesting its time to go on a mountain but I am saying there are two parts of you - conflicting parts of you fighting it out right now. One is teaming with day to day bustle, so much talk, so much information, so much connection, so many ideas, so many people in surrounding acting erratically. Yet not being able to leave that cause I know I can create here something unique, I am learning so much commercially, I am meeting so many unique people, I am actively engaged in my mind and body. Yet this can make you exhausted and scattered. Aquarius season and this year helps you find that corner behind the stage where all the real work happens. You work on a network project behind the scene there, you find peace in your thoughts there, you possibly connect with your hidden skills there, you meditate, put yourself in unique healing positions and potions to bottle all that brilliance into something of value, something of impact, something that can benefit many people. Gift that place behind the stage this season by starting a practice, finding your spirituality again, work on a behind the scene project thats your vision, deal with your fears and inner world. Its going to completely change how you deal with that active, bustling yet brilliant external life of yours. All innovators do this and you are one. All innovators also decide to give away & serve before they get & gain.

[ortizobsessed]

The Best Gift

This one was requested by @xx--day-dreamer--xx​!

Reader x Juice where you throw a surprise party for Juice with the help of the club.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1911

Masterlist

Today was the day! It was Juice’s birthday, and everything you’d been planning the last couple weeks was finally going to happen. Though you two weren’t “official” your relationship was definitely flirty, and you wanted to do something special for him to show how much you care.

Many ideas had been tossed around during your discussions with Gemma about just how much Juice should know. “If I pretend to forget his birthday, he’s going to know something is up,” you admitted. “He knows I’m good with dates. I’ve had to remind him to wish some of the other guys a happy birthday before.”

Gemma laughed and shook her head, “Oh that boy...why does that not surprise me?”

Smiling along with her, you two agreed that at least you should acknowledge it was his birthday. That way you would be able to keep him busy during the day while everyone else set things up at the clubhouse.

“It’s really sweet what you’re doing for him. He’s going to love it- and you.” Her words calmed you, while simultaneously making you more nervous.

“Oh gosh, I hope so.” You felt your cheeks flush, and Gemma winked at you knowingly.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was call Juice. You couldn’t wait to start the day! You had planned quite a few things that you knew he would love. Dialing his number, it felt like the phone rang for ages. He answered the call, and it was impossible to miss the excitement in his voice, “Hey! How are you sweetheart?”

Your stomach was full of butterflies at this point, you loved it when he called you that. “It’ll be better once I get to see you, birthday boy!”

You could practically hear his smile through the phone. “Back at you! And thank you!”

You smiled to yourself, and suggested, “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour?”

“I’ll be ready.” You heard him pause, as if he was going to say more, but he stopped himself. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Great, I’ll see you soon!”

Pulling up in front of Juice’s house, he was already waiting for you on the front step. You put your car in park, turned it off, and hopped out. Walking across the lawn, you met him halfway, and reached your arms out to him. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you close and you mumbled against his chest, “Happy Birthday, Juan.”

He hugged you tighter and replied, “Thank you so much, Y/N.”

“Well, we should get going! We’ve got a full day ahead of us!”

The smile on his face made your heart melt.

You two spent the day going from place to place, doing anything you could think of that Juice would love. Everything from breakfast at his favourite café, to a matinee at the movie theatre, and a trip to his favourite electronics store. You knew he had been eyeing up the newest first-person shooter game that was set to come out in a couple days. You had pre-ordered one and gift wrapped it, then convinced the store manage to keep it at the store for Juice. He was more excited than you had expected, thanking you profusely for it.

Watching the time almost religiously, it was getting close to 6:00 and Chibs would be calling any minute. Just then, Juice’s phone rang.

Back at the clubhouse, Jax whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay, everyone quiet down! Chibs is going to call Juice now!” The room went silent. It was actually rather impressive just how quiet a room full of people, all with very large personalities, could be.

You could hear Chibs’ accent through the phone. “Hey Juicy Boy, look uh- Clay wants us all in chapel in 30. Needs to discuss something important that came up today. Has to be dealt with soon as possible.”

When Juice hung up the phone, it took everything in you not to give away the fact that you were in on it. “Chibs?” Juice nodded. “What did he want?”

“Looks like we’ll have to push our supper plans back a little bit. Clay called a meeting so I have to head to the clubhouse for a bit.”

“Aww man, I’m sorry. It has to be today?” You hoped he couldn’t hear the slight tremble in your voice.

“It sounded pretty urgent. You know how it is, the club comes first.” His words tugged at your heartstrings, but you knew it was all going to be worth it, so you stuck to your plan.

“I get it. Shouldn’t take too long right? I could just come with you, hang out there for a bit, then we can head for supper as soon as you’re done?”

“Yeah it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and I would like that!”

Trying to play it cool you added, “Perfect! Besides, I’d like to visit with everyone for a bit. I haven’t seen them in a while!”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he reached his hand out to you.

You noticed the strangled smile on his face, so as you walked hand in hand towards your car, you asked gently, “Everything okay?”

Hesitating momentarily, he answered honestly, “Yeah- yeah, I’m good. Just a bit of a bummer, I think they forgot about my birthday. But hey, I’m not that great with dates either, huh?”

You laughed softly, and looked up at him, “It’s not your strong suit, no,” making him laugh along with you.

Pulling into the parking lot of the clubhouse, you were pleased to see the parking lot no more busy than usual. You knew Gemma would have made sure everyone understood that they needed to park on the street, or better yet a couple blocks away, so Juice wasn’t tipped off that something was going on.

As you walked towards the clubhouse, you found your hand in his once again. “Sorry this had to interrupt our day, I was having a good time! But thanks for tagging along, I’m glad you’re here.”

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face, but you and Juice had a playful relationship, so you replied slyly, “Actually, I’m really only here to see the other guys.” You shrugged your shoulders and tried your best to suppress a laugh.

Juice gave you a knowing look, but decided to play along. “You know, I had a feeling you were only using me to get close to Tig.”

Unable to hold it in anymore, that full laugh of yours came out. You hated your laugh, but Juice loved it, and he was always so good at bringing it out of you.

“Come on,” you sighed, “Let’s get you into that meeting so we can go for supper sooner.”

Juice held the door open for you, and once inside he looked around curiously. “Where is everyone?”

The excitement was really starting to get to you, and all you could do was hope that he didn’t look you in the eyes, cause you knew that would be the end of it.

“I don’t know-“ you paused for a second to gather yourself, “maybe they’re already at the table waiting for you?”

Juice hummed, “Yeah, maybe.”

He looked over at you, and you were convinced the look on your face had given it all away, but he continued, “Okay well I’ll head in. Be out in a bit!”

Either you were a better actor than you thought, or this boy was totally oblivious; your money was on the latter. Whatever the reason, you were glad you hadn’t spoiled the surprise this close to the payoff.

You didn’t think it was possible for so many people to pile into that tiny room, but somehow they made it work. As Juice opened the big doors, you made sure to be within a few steps. In no time at all, the lights were being flipped on and everyone yelled, “SURPRISE!!”

The look on Juice’s face took your breath away. It was a better reaction than you ever could have hoped for. All you wanted was for this loyal, self-less and caring man to know that people needed him, too. You were more than confident you had accomplished that.

Lyla and Opie’s kids were right at the front, noise makers in hand. Tig and Happy has insisted on confetti, so they were standing on either side of the door, throwing the tiny pieces of paper they hand-cut themselves, at Juice.

As Juice did his best to take it all in, you could see tears welling in his eyes. He looked over at you and asked lovingly, “Did you do all this?” Words escaped you, so you simply nodded, and tried your best to fight back tears of your own.

Juice motioned for you to come closer, so you took a few steps towards him and he reached out to you. Placing his arm around your shoulder, you leaned into his side and slid your hand around his back.

Everyone started filtering out bit by bit, each stopping to wish Juice a Happy Birthday. Jax and Tara were the last ones to leave the room, giving each of you a hug on their way out.

Juice breathed in deep and stared at the floor for a second, before looking up at you. “Wow,” was all he found himself able to say.

“So...I hope you like surprises,” you teased, making him laugh.

Moving his arm from around your shoulder, he kicked the doorstop out from under one of the doors that someone had propped open. You took the hint and stepped into the meeting room.

You two were alone once again.

“You know, I was pretty excited to go out for supper with you,” he confessed, a hint of humour in his voice. “Lying to me about food is a tough one to recover from.”

You laughed and asked, “How ever will I be able to repay you?”

Staring up at Juice, you could tell the gears in his mind were turning. As if ignoring everything inside him that said it might be a bad idea, he placed his hands on either side of your face and gazed into your eyes lovingly. “I think I have an idea.”

Your hands found their way to his waist, pulling him closer, and the soft smile you gave him was all he needed.

He leaned in, kissing you tenderly.

The kiss didn’t last long, but it was full of passion, desire, and relief; finally.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you two looked at each other for a short period of time before you broke the silence. “So- this morning- on the phone-” Juice gave you a puzzled look. “As we were saying goodbye- I don’t know- maybe it’s all in my head... I just- I thought maybe you were going to say something else. Were you?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “Honestly?” Laughing softly, he confessed, “I was- uhh- I was going to say- I love you.” Your eyes grew wide, and a huge smile spread across your face. He added, “I want you to be my Old Lady.”

You responded playfully with the somewhat cliché, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Kissing him once more, you whispered, “I love you too,” against his lips, and you felt him smile.

“I’m pretty sure this is the best birthday gift anyone has ever given me.”

[foolscapper]

Spn prompt! I have a HUGE love of incoherent/delirious Sam and panicking/worried Dean, whether it's head injury, curse, blood loss, or dangerously high fever 👉👈

Your wish is my command! It ended up... longer than anticipated... but here you are! Unbeta’d, we die like men. This is weechesters and involves a kid being hurt, so if that’s something that’d bother anyone, feel free to skip over this!

(Posted to Archiveofourown as well.)

Sylvester Sharpe turned from the beat up Ford truck he'd parked on the corner of A Street and Cotton Circle after a voice coolly demanded his attention. The boy  that met his critical stare was about half his age — youthful, maybe somewhere between sixteen or eighteen: dirty-blonde hair; strange old necklace; a charcoal black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, darker with sweat around a neckline littered with holes that implied he really loved that goddam shirt. Sylvester furrowed his brow, put out his cigarette on the lip of a truck bed full of trash and beer bottles and stolen shit he'd been selling to good buddies who know a thing or two about loose lips getting busted, and squinted at the boy like he were pea-sized.

"What?" Sylvester said, the clipped sound one of impatience.

"I said," the freckled boy replied back, terse, "Do they call you 'Sly' around here?"

Sylvester snorted, loose-limbed and careless and ready to move on to the nearest liquor store to get a new pack of Marlboros. He turned toward his open truck door to move along. He said, "Yeah, I'm Sly."

The kid lunged, and they were on ground in a few seconds flat. 

An old man in an ivy cap walking his dog watched as the teenager started to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

You don't mess around when it comes to concussions. Concussions are traumatic brain injuries — sometimes it doesn't feel like that, because you think "oh, well, they just shook some screws loose; they just have some stars circling around their head, and they'll be fine in a few hours". But real life ain't cartoons. 

If there's one thing you could give their old man credit for, it was that he never undervalued a trip to the ER when it came to the safekeeping of his son's brains. Dean had a concussion before, himself. Just before he turned fifteen; got thrown into a wall by a ghost before returning back to their hotel room and vomiting his guts out in a toilet not even worth pissing in. Sam had been about eleven, casting the kindest and most worried shadow over the hunch of Dean's back, rubbing his shoulders and nervously parroting Dad about how he absolutely shouldn't go to sleep, no matter how much he slurred he wanted to.

Dad looked up the nearest ER and drove him down. 

The nurses had to stand there with their mouths in a thin, concerned line while Dean rambled on and on about how he'd caught a Chupacabra in a giant net once in Texas and ganked a vampire last week in Pasadena. And, of course, Dean also asked where Sam was — over and over and over and over — until Sam had to lean forward in his waiting room chair and wave at him, a constant reminder that he hasn't been left behind anywhere. Sam had tired lines around his mouth, then, and worry in his eyes that had been overcast with exhaustion. That's one of the few things Dean could remember about that night. Just thinking, 'Man, Sammy, why you look so tired?'

If he hadn't been so fucking concussed, the answer'd be obvious.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Stuck in some half-dead town in Nevada in the summer of '95, Dean was more than a little restless; Dad had left them to go wipe a vampire nest a few small towns south, and apparently Dean hadn't been "big britches" enough to handle a hunt of that scope yet. Which was total horseshit, because he was sixteen; he could outdrink any old chump at the bar and he'd gotten a kill list so long that it rivaled a suburban mom's grocery list. 

They settled into an apartment with no furniture save for a two-seated couch and some mattresses — and exactly two months worth of rent covered with no plans to renew — but at least it also had a television with a few channels, too. Sweating from the heat, he traded the urge to hunt with the privilege of kicking up his feet and watching The People's Court. School had ended an hour or so before, but Sammy'd stayed behind for some extracurricular club he'd been practically vibrating to join, and Dean had no plans to shoot it down while Dad wasn't around to comment on it.

There was a small struggle at the front door to unlock it, and Dean listened with a quirked eyebrow.

"You forget how human hands work, Stuart Little?"

The door creaked open a fraction in response, and then stayed that way for a moment. Through the sliver of open air, Dean heard a small sob that made his stomach fall through the couch, and as he swung himself up onto his feet Sam walked through the door and nearly right into him — it was easy to see why, because his right eye was completely swollen shut, purpled and shiny. Dry blood clung under his nose and matted one side of his head, and he swayed on his feet when Dean's hands jolted out to grab his shoulders.  The kid's backpack was nowhere to be seen. Probably dropped and abandoned.

"Sam. Sammy." His hand reached to touch, and he found the bloody, clumped hair hid a lump the size of a golf ball, split and oozing. The kid shuddered with pain, and tears continued to leak down one side of his face. The fear mutates and splits off, leaving a new, fresh wave of emotion: fury. This isn't a monster. These aren't claw marks or some bruise caused by a furious ghost. Some punk-ass kids must have jumped him at the school and left him like this. And his brother walked all the way back here like that. He would even bet they aren't Sam's age. Sam wouldn't have let them do this without a hell of a fight.

He could barely stop the snarl of his lips, the cold calmness. "... Sam, who did this?"

"I don't..." Sam licked his lips, looking around like he wasn't sure where he was. Garbled words took time to form with a tied tongue. Dean could bet if he peeled the other eye open, the pupils would be mismatched in size. "I don't remember. I'm... I don't know. Dean."

The fury had to wait. He moved to walk Sam to the couch, planted him there and squeezed his brother's shoulder; another cold wave of outrage washed over him when Sam winced in pain, like something was hurt there, too. "It's okay. It's okay, little brother, just don't move. I'm going to clean you up, and we're gonna — get you to the urgent care. You hear me? It'll only take a minute."

He got the first aid from the bare kitchen cabinet, dug around for all the things he'd been familiar grabbing any time Dad had gotten his bell rang. He fumbled with the supplies with all the grace Sam had opening the front door. Uttered a sorry before he carefully pressed the gel icepack to Sam's eye. The other eye locked onto him, red and wet, glazed with delirium.

"Dean," Sam wept, and Dean had to focus hard to make out what he was saying: "Dean, I think I'm dead... I tried to find help, but nobody — nobody stopped... I think they can't see me. I think I'm a ghost."

Jesus. Yeah, the kid was concussed. Bad.

"No way. Not my little brother. Never gonna let that happen." His smile was strained as he grabbed Sam's wrist and raised the hand to the boy's own face. "Ghosts aren't big on crying, right? The salt would burn like a bitch."

"Dean..." 

"Yeah?"

"My ears're weird... Sounds weird," he admitted weakly, like he'd done something wrong. 

"It's okay, dude. You're concussed."

"... Oh." Sam sat for a moment. Looked around the small, unlived space. The People's Court was moving into a commercial. "Dean... Don' tell Dad. Don't tellem I messed up."

Dean pressed a palm to Sam's chest, his thumb gently rubbing the hill of his collarbone to soothe him. Usually about now they'd be wrestling over some stupid fight, or he'd be getting him into a headlock to test his reflexes, or Sam'd be throwing pencils at him for interrupting his train of thought at the kitchen table.

"You didn't mess anything up. I promise." It was a Herculean effort to keep his hands soft and caring, because all they wanted to do now was rip someone to pieces. He was gonna. As soon as Sam was good, he was gonna split his knuckles knocking someone's teeth out. He was gonna paint the dirt with it. Gonna blacken both eyes and bleed both nostrils and break a few things in someone's body.

... But only after making sure Sammy'd be alright.

Sam was missing a backpack and about forty bucks in money he'd earned from mowing lawns for the balding, dorky librarian living across the street. That same librarian ushered the boys into the back seat of her Sedan and made a beeline for the nearest ER. With Sam leaning against him, his knobby elbow jutting into his ribs, Dean answered a question nervously asked from the driver's seat.

"I don't know who did it. But I'm real good at hunting down whatever I got to."

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

There was a gratifying sound of Sylvester's skull hitting the side of his own truck after Dean threw him into it headlong. Storming forward, he doesn't hesitate to pick Sly back up by his flannel jacket to do it all over again. "Taking from the grown-ups not good enough for you?! You think you can fucking steal from kids, huh?! Think you can beat up some kid a third your size, huh?! You fuck—"

Wheezing, Sylvester tried to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his truck, a feeble effort to escape his punishments. A small crowd from a barbershop across the street formed, but kept their distance — older ladies mostly who knew better than to put their hands between a dog fight. Dean ignored them to grab Sylvester by the front of his collar and hoist him a foot up from the seat he'd slumped on. Their faces were inches apart, so that he could look into hazel eyes seeing red. "If I ever see you again, I'mma kill you. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear? I'll sleep like a baby after."

Sylvester didn't reply, but he did moan in pain, and Dean considered that an answer. He dropped him and stepped over his heaving chest with dust-stained boots to retrieve a backpack out of the truck bed. Then he reached into the man's jean pocket with swelling knuckles, digging more than forty dollars out of the billfold he finds there and shoving the wad into his own pocket. Then he chucked the rest of the wallet across the unleased dirt field. 

"Go fuck yourself," Dean said finally, and left just as he'd come.

**************** **************** **************** **************** 

Dean and Sam could barely fit on the apartment's couch together, legs crammed together under a quilted blanket while the television had cast an ever-changing glow over them. Sam's face was still a mess of Dean's least favorite colors, but now he could see both of his eyes, and that helped loosen the knot in his stomach. John had been called from the ER, told the story from front to back, and he filled the teenager with grim vindication when he complimented Dean's recent successful hunt. 

The verdict: a 24-hour observation in the hospital, during which John Winchester strode in to keep vigilant watch over Dean as he kept vigilant watch over Sam; he hadn't stopped watching him since they'd gotten home after, either. Dean could hear his father's snores through the door into the one bedroom. Who knows when the last time Dad slept had been; he'd come straight back from the end of the destroyed vamp nest, no pitstops. 

"... Dean?" Sam asked after him, wearily. If he had a nickel for every time the boy said it today, he'd be a millionaire. But there was an awareness in Sam's eyes this time that had been frighteningly missing earlier, as he stared at him from across the short couch. In the ER, it had taken a lot of coaxing and promising that Sam wasn't as dead as he'd thought he was, and now Dean was very confident he finally believed it a day late and a dollar short.

"Yeah?" 

"Your hands."

He glanced down at the bruised, scraped up knuckles, and just shook his head at the sight of Sam's apprehension; he hadn't told Sam exactly what happened, but his brother was smart. Smarter than most people who came and went in their lives. Smarter than Dean had ever felt he could be. He sighed as he flexed his hands. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jail for murder or anything. Just... rest, okay?"

Sam's chin sunk into the blanket. Not appeased, but relenting. 

The battered kid mumbled, "You're the one who looks tired," then he smiled in that way that made Dean regret his bleeding heart. Dean's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He played it off as best he could, but the rough emotion in the way he glanced aside and rubbed a hand down his mouth  was hardly subliminal. "Yeah, well. Sometimes worrying too much is exhausting, dude."

Sam bit his lip. "I'll try not to worry you as much, then."

Dean reached out, patted the bony knee near his.

"... I might have to hold you to that."

But really? He would never.

[an-angels-blessing]

Perfect

Song🐣🎵- Quite Miss Home

Artist🤸‍♂️🎤- James Arthur

Warnings😳⛔- Fluff

Prompt🥺🔥- N/A

Shota and Y/N have been married since they were 18. Shota proposed when they were in their second year at UA, though they had been together since their third year of middle school. If you ask anyone they went to UA with, they would tell you Shota and Y/N were perfect for each other. Shota's quirk to cancel other quirks was parallel to Y/N's quirk to enhance the quirk of anyone they wanted. If you ever saw Shota or Y/N in the hallway, the other wasn't far to follow along with Hizashi and Shirakumo. The four were inseparable and Y/N was the glue. Shota and Y/N were both quiet but they were for different reasons. Shota was quiet because he didn't like people, but Y/N... they were quiet because they were shy. So their relationship included a lot of cuddle time and deep conversations when they were alone.

No one understands Shota like Y/N and vise versa for them. The couple graduated at 18, and married later that summer. From that moment they lived their life together with a kitten, Oboro. The couple opted to move to America where Y/N started her own agency as the number 5 hero in America. Her quirk made her one of the top heros to work with, so her hands were never empty. Though they would rather work with the police force as well as the fire department over the heros.

Everything was perfect, until Aizawa and Y/N received an offer to work at their alma mater. They both accepted, All Might was in his prime and Y/N's job listing were lessening. So the agency was put in the hands of their most trusted sidekick. The golden trio was back and better than ever. Perfect wasn't put on hold, it was simply moved... back to the halls where it started.

For 5 years both Aizawa's worked side by side, Shota as the 1-A homeroom teacher and Y/N as the 1-B home room teacher. Though when it came to performance the classes were no different. 1-A and 1-B worked side by side, they were equal in terms of power and it even sparked a light competition between the couple. Who would have a top student in the sports festival, and every year... Y/N won. There was nothing to complain about, until All Might came back to Japan. The crime rate not only increased but the amount of heroes decreased while All Might was active so LA was getting hit hard. The couple were paying close attention to the news, both locally and in the States as well because that was their home for years. It wasn't until Y/N received a phone call, from their sidekick, that they knew it was worse than the news was making it seem.

"Level up, we need you back. I know you're in Japan and we wouldn't ask unless it was urgent but Regnearo is back. They are getting away with petty thefts because we don't have the manpower. We need you boss." Sebastian wasn't one to give up so Y/N when they received a phone call at 2 in the morning they knew everything wasn't okay. Sebastian was stressed and it was obvious from the strain in his voice. Y/N had given up on sleeping and their new goal was calming Sebastian down. So they got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. For the next hour the two talked about the current state of America. When they finally hung up, Y/N sat at their glass dining room table. Anxiously tapping their foot, thinking about what to do. They sat for another hour before Shota stumbled through the door. "Shit! Why are you in here?" Shota wasn't expecting to find his spouse sitting in the dark, so it scared him when he turned on the light, but Y/N did answer... they didn't even turn to look at him. "Baby? Whats wrong?" Instead of touching his spouse, Shota took a seat across from Y/N like they did whenever the other needed to talk. The two sat there in silence until Y/N looked up. Tears streaming down their cheeks and eyes blood shot. "Sebastian called me." Shota simply listened as Y/N spoke, their voice cracking unintentionally. "I need to go back." That was the calmest thing Y/N said since Shota walked through the door. Any other person would lash out and question how Y/N could ask to change their entire life... but Shota knew Y/N better than he knew himself. They wouldn't have decided this if it wasn't important. "Then we'll tell Nezu tomorrow and book a flight. We can pack now." Shota was always understanding and compromised with Y/N, but they weren't asking for compromise. So they shook their head lightly, "No Shota. I'm leaving. I already booked the flight. Stay here, those students need you." This shocked Shota, everything they have ever done has been together... middle school, high school, marriage, America, and now teaching. Y/N was going to do this alone, and that killed him, but he knew that if he asked... Y/N would stay. "What about your class?" Shota didn't know how long Y/N had been up, but he knew that they had already thought threw everything before telling him. "Hopefully I won't be gone for long, but I want you to teach them. I'll change their schedules and Hizashi is always there if you need help." The tears had stopped and been replaced with a small smile on their face. A single tear slipped from Shota's eyes as his linked with his spouse. The rest of the day the couple talked and packed before Y/N borded her flight to America. For two years the Aizawa's figured out a pattern. Every day Y/N would call Aizawa before he went to sleep, and vise versa. They would talk about their day until the other fell asleep where they would stay on the phone until the other awoke. Though this worked, they missed each other dearly. Y/N heard about the new tryouts, specifically Izuku Midoriya, and how different they were. To be frank, they wanted to be a teacher again, and America was back on track so there was nothing stopping them. So they booked a flight back for a month from now. It would be the day before the sports festival.

Everything was going as planned, and the moments Y/N would receive a call where Shota was covered in bandages they wanted to rush home. But everytime, Hizashi decided against it... everything had been set and there was only two weeks left. Y/N received a call from Shota while in the airport, they could hear his class in the background. "Hey, um... Present Mic was a little too loud and now the class wants to meet you." Shota sounded tired, not mentally but physically from his students despite the fact it was still only 8AM. Y/N could help but chuckle, "Do they know?" Everyone knew Hizashi Yamada had a loud mouth, but he could keep somethings to himself so when he said no Y/N wasn't surprised. "Ok, put me on speaker." Shota did exactly that as his class quieted down. "Hi 1-A." Their voice was cheerful and full of life, completely opposite to Shota, and 1-A was loud to the point that they spoke over each other. "Hiii" "Are you and Mr. Aizawa dating?" "You sound cute" "What's your name?" "How old are you?" "Are you a hero?" "Are you a babe?" "Will you let them answer!!" Shota cut everyone off and they quickly silenced, this made Y/N laugh. "Hi. No, we aren't dating, though he is my roommate. Thank you. I'm Y/N. I'm 29. Yes. And I'm not answering that, you sound creepy." Y/N answered every question they heard with a smile though it couldn't be seen. "What is it like living with Mr. Aizawa?" Y/N thought for a moment, as a husband he was amazing, but as a roommate he could get annoying. "It's intriguing, we've been roommates since we graduated high-school. But I'm in the States right now, so I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it." Their response was the truth, Shota was amazing. "What do you miss?" Y/N didn't have to think and neither did Shota.

The first to speak was Y/N their voice held a lot of emotions. "I'm in the kitchen while you smoke outside. You're careful not to let the smoke inside. I always tell you it's poison, but I know it helps you take the edge off the day." Shota had been smoking since they moved to America, and they hated it. It had nothing to do with the smoke, but Y/N had seen what it could do to a person. From that moment Shota promised one a day, maybe two if the work load called for it. And even in distance Shota kept his promise. Instead of smoking, the couple would visit their favorite bar, sometimes with Hizashi if he was off. "We get a drink before it's closing time. The one on high street with the blinking sign. All these memories feel poignant. I won't be there to see the snow melt away" The three had so many memories there, Shota almost forgot about that place until Y/N brought it up. The smile plastered on Shota's face scared 1-A, not because it was creepy... but because it was sincere and genuine. "Why'd you leave?" There was a moment of silence that Kaminari broke. As Y/N looked down at their plane ticket, the past year flashed through their thoughts. "I've been gone on business. I gotta make some money, I really feel the distance. And I quite miss home" America needed 'Level Up' but at this moment, they need Shota and he needs them. And maybe if Y/N asked, they might get a job, bringing perfect back to this small family. "What about you Mr. Aizawa, do you miss them?" 1-A expected him to ignore them, but he didn't. "Yeah, I miss them. I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door, 'cause you just swept the floor and the dirt drives you crazy." Shota chuckled slightly at the memory, 1-A's eyes were the size of saucers. Their nonchalant, monotone, stoic teacher was openly showing his emotions. Y/N was simply listening, "Yeah, I quite miss home, 'Cause it feels like poetry." The first year Y/N left moved really slow, neither could fall asleep without the other company. It was like a bad drama, it rained for a week straight as if it was a metaphor. "When the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms and we're watching the TV." All Shota could do was simply stare at his phone, your name plastered across the screen above your wedding photo. You were always the perfect spouse, you cooked for him when he got home late from patrol, and you always made sure the house was clean if Hizashi decided to make a grand entrance uninvited. You did all of this while still working longer and harder shifts than he did, you were perfect. "I smell you cooking from the living room and then I tell you that I love your food. I know it doesn't come easy, but you know it reminds me where I'm from" 1-A erupted into a bunch of 'awws' from Shota's statement. You could tell that he was in love with Y/N, it was obvious even in the eyes of 15 and 16 year olds. But, they weren't dating, so 1-A was left to assume it was one sided. "I'm in another city, I got nobody with me. And it just really hit me that I quite miss home." Y/N said one last thing before the intercom called their flight, so they muted themselves directly after. The second year they were gone, it had just become normal, but they would both be lying if they said they were sleeping comfortably.

When Y/N muted themselves, Shota took them off speaker and pressed the phone to his ear. "I gotta go baby, I'll call you later." Shota responded with a quick 'alright' knowing he couldn't respond how he wanted to. "I love you." "I do too." With that the couple hung up, Y/N boarded their flight and within 13 hours, they were back home for good. That morning was officially the sports festival, all of UA and Japan's top heroes gathered to see who was the strongest. All the heroes were gathered in the bleachers while the students were standing in rows by class in front of the stage with Shota, Hizashi, and Nemuri. She stood in front of a mic before speaking, "Good morning Japan!! And welcome to UA's annual Sports Festival. We would normally have the person who scored the highest on the entrance exam, which would be Bakugou Katsuki from class 1-A, but this year we have a special guest." The crowd erupted in cheers, this was the day that all of Japan wait for and they were curious who the guest was. On the stage Nemuri and Hizashi had wide smiles on their faces while Shota stood with his eyes closed. When the person walked on stage, everyone in the audience knew who they were, and even the students had some idea. "Hey UA, I'm the upgrade hero Level Up. God I missed this place. Here's the truth, this tournament is to see your classmates' limits and yours as well. Take this seriously, but do not lose friends over this. And always remember, go beyond... plus ultra." Shota recognized that voice, but he thought it was impossible until he heard the hero's name. When Shota opened his eyes, there his spouse stood, in all their glory boosting the next generation of heroes as they did every year while teaching 1-B. He thought he was hallucinating, all Shota could do was stare. "It's me baby, I'm back." Y/N turned around as Nemuri went back to the mic, finally speaking to their husband. At that moment, he didn't know what to do, so he picked Y/N up and refused to let them go. The couple laid in the announcing booth, Y/N on top of Shota's chest. They were jet lagged and Shota was not complaining. His whole life was back in his arms and the Aizawas were perfect again.

Song

Masterlist

[hockeysweetheart]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay How Katniss shows her love is this 

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

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

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

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

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

Okay The 74th Games ( shit this is long) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I  - " he insists.

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

"All right," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Peeta's not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking. "Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew  -  just like your mother  -  I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast  -  fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer. Peeta wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve." 

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

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

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

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

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

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

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

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

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

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

He grabs my hand away. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him.

"Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss. 

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

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

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

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

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss

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

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

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

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

A moment  not matter what I will always Watch

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

And we are not done Yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

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

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

"Perfect," he answers.

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen runs from the Cloud Recesses

warning for some mentions of violence and minor character deaths. In the end, I went and cut this chapter in two because it was getting out of hand. I blame Meng Yao!

It starts as a pleasant enough day. Lan Xichen is overseeing a class of their youngest juniors, helping them practice their calligraphy. He always enjoys teaching that and seeing the little ones so focused. There’s a few tongues sticking out in concentration, which Lan Qiren would comment on… but Lan Qiren isn’t here, and Lan Xichen is undisturbed. He finds it cute if anything. Lan Wangji too used to do it. Besides, for now it’s more important to have the children focus on their brushwork. They’ll think of their posture later.

Whenever he gets a few seconds without anyone asking for help, Lan Xichen allows himself to think of the letter he needs to write to Nie Huaisang, one that he will send to Lanling rather than Qinghe, since his fiancé will be headed there soon, before coming to stay a while in Gusu. Lan Xichen has negotiated with his uncle to have reduced duties when Nie Huaisang is here. Lan Qiren wasn’t happy about it, but eventually gave in when he realised Lan Xichen would be too distracted to be any good to him anyway. So Lan Xichen has been planning things for the two of them to do, walks in the mountains if the weather allows, more painting lessons if it doesn’t. He’s found melodies from the Qinghe region in the library that he’s hoping Nie Huaisang will be willing to hear. There should also be enough time for at least one trip to Gusu so they can hang out together somewhere different and have a meal Nie Huaisang will enjoy more than the usual fares of the Cloud Recesses. 

And then if Nie Huaisang is willing maybe they’ll kiss again. Lan Xichen is trying not to hope too much for that, his fiancé won’t be as bored as he was at that conference in Nightless City, but still maybe, just maybe…

Just as his thoughts are trailing in a direction they really shouldn't take while teaching, the classroom door opens and Lan Qiren comes in, followed by a very puzzled looking disciple. 

"Class is dismissed," Lan Qiren barks at the children. "Lan Chengfu will take you to the dorms while waiting for further instructions. If you disobey him or cause trouble, you'll be punished later. Xichen! You're coming with me." 

His nephew startles at the urgency in his uncle's voice, but nods and follows him out without questions. Answers still come soon enough, his uncle explaining the situation as they nearly run toward the library. 

"Wen Xu has come to the Cloud Recesses and is accusing us of unorthodoxy. He is demanding that we burn our library and the inner clan's residence in penance." 

"Can… can he do that?" Lan Xichen gasps. "It's ridiculous, we're not…" 

"He also wants you and your brother to come to Qishan for re-education." 

"You mean as hostages. So they've realised after all that they need to strike now…" 

It's everything Lan Xichen has most feared. The Wen deciding to make the first move at their convenience, when their opponents aren't quite ready, when so many sects are still so willing to bend over to avoid war… 

"What are we going to do?" Lan Xichen pants as they enter the library, only to gasp at the scene there. 

A dozen disciples are present, urgently trying to shove as many books and scrolls as they can inside qiankun bags. Lan Wangji is among them, seeming a little dazed by what's happening. He shares their uncle's love of books and academia to a much higher degree than Lan Xichen, and his brother cannot imagine what shock it must be for him to find that someone is willing to have all this knowledge destroyed. 

"Hurry!" Lan Qiren barks. "Sect Leader Lan won't be able to keep him distracted forever! Wangji, go out and keep watch." 

At that order Lan Wangji throws his uncle a pleading look, as if to say there are still too many books to be put away and he simply cannot do anything else.

"Uncle, I'll go out," Lan Xichen offers. 

Before he can take one step, Lan Qiren grabs his wrist to keep him in place. 

"Stay. You'll be the one to make a run for it, if it comes to that. Wangji, do as I tell you!" 

While his brother reluctantly obeys, Lan Xichen feels the air punched out of him. 

"Uncle, surely it should be you who…" 

Lan Qiren shoves a qiankun bag in his hands and pushes him toward the shelves. 

"You're Gusu Lan's heir. If something happens to the sect, it must be you who rebuild it. Your brother and I will stay behind to buy you time to escape. Now get to work. Take everything you can. Quickly!" 

"You think he might…" 

"Get to work!" 

Pinching his lips to keep himself silent, Lan Xichen obeys. He tries at first to to only pick up work directly relating to Gusu Lan's method of cultivation, but that's too slow, it requires too much thinking. He ends up doing the same as the other disciples and just grabbing everything he can. He focuses on that almost mechanical gesture, trying his best not to think about the way his uncle is contemplating their entire sect's slaughter as a real possibility. 

They all work in tense silence for a little while until a commotion makes itself heard from outside. As one they all turn toward the door, freezing when a cry is heard. 

"Sect Leader!" Lan Wangji shouts, voice filled with anguish. 

Without thinking Lan Xichen tries to dash to the door, only to be stopped again by his uncle. This time Lan Xichen tries to pull free because his brother needs him, but Lan Qiren's hold on him remains strong. 

"Everyone, bring Xichen your bags and stay put until I tell you otherwise." 

The disciples meekly obey. Lan Xichen lets them attach the bags to his belt, enough of them to cover all his waist, his gaze never leaving the door. There are sounds of fighting outside now, which Lan Xichen cannot ignore. His uncle has to pull him toward the back of the library like a capricious child, before pushing him toward a window.

“Go!” Lan Qiren order. “I’ll protect Wangji. Don’t come back until you can be sure the Wens aren’t watching, and when you do, come through the mountains, not the main gate. Keep a low profile, stay away from other sects. I don’t think it’d be wise to go to Qinghe until things have calmed down, the Wens are probably waiting for an excuse to come after them as well.”

“I can’t leave alone!” Lan Xichen begs. “Uncle, at least Wangji…”

“Wangji will do his duty. Do yours, and save what you can of our knowledge. Hurry, or they’ll realise what we are doing!”

Even though there’s no time to lose, Lan Xichen wastes a few more seconds by hugging his uncle before climbing through the window and leaving the library.

Running is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but as soon as he’s sure he won’t attract attention, Lan Xichen runs.

Excessive emotion is forbidden, but he cries as he heads toward the mountains, fearful for his brother, for his uncle, for his sect.

Private fights are forbidden, but nobody told that to the Wens waiting at the border of the barrier that surrounds the Cloud Recesses, who attack Lan Xichen the instant he steps out.

It’s not the first time Lan Xichen is in a fight against members of another sect. He’s had chances to spar with Nie Mingjue quite a few times, as well as with some guest disciples. But it was always that: sparring. The Wen cultivators who are after him now aren’t trying to learn or to show off, they’re trying to capture him, dead or alive. Dead more than alive, Lan Xichen guesses from their aggressive movements and his past encounters with Wen Xu. Lan Xichen fights the way he’s been taught to do, strikes and counter-strikes until there’s an opening for a serious blow that would incapacitate his opponent.

In training, Lan Xichen has never taken such a chance to actually maim a person. When the opening appears here, he hesitates for a second to take it, unwilling to spill blood when it goes against so many of the rules he’s been taught. The Wen cultivator he’s fighting at that moment has no such qualms and thrusts his sword under his ribs.

Lan Xichen doesn’t even think. His sword moves of its own volition and slashes at the man’s throat, spraying red around them.

The next one is horrifyingly easy to kill as well, now that Lan Xichen has done it once. The sharp pain on his side helps. It’s them or him and he cannot die, not when his uncle trusts him to protect their sect’s legacy.

-

Lan Xichen spends the next few days fleeing from the Wens. He only eats whatever wild fruit he can recognise, having brought no money with him, unwilling anyway to risk the safety of civilians. He barely rests, fearful to be caught unaware. The wound on his side keeps reopening every time the Wens catch up with him and pull him in a fight. After a week of this, Lan Xichen can feel himself getting weaker and weaker. He thinks he’s developing a fever, though it’s hard to say. He might just be exhausted.

He is flying away after yet another scuffle when it finally becomes too much. He simply doesn’t have the strength to control his sword anymore and falls down to the ground. The pain of the impact leaves him gasping for breath, but since he was flying low to avoid detection, he sustains no injury. He is, however, too exhausted to even try to get up, and so he lays there on the grass, waiting to be found and captured. It should have been his uncle taking away the books. Lan Qiren would never have weakened so quickly.

It takes little time for footsteps to approach. Lan Xichen, too tired to turn his head and look at his assailants, closes his eyes and awaits his fate. He feels a shadow fall over him, but no blows come to him.

“Gongzi, are you hurt?” a surprisingly gentle voice asks. “I was on the road and I saw you fall… do you need help?”

Slowly, Lan Xichen opens his eyes again. Instead of Wen cultivators, he finds a young man looming over him with a concerned expression. There’s something a little familiar about his face, though Lan Xichen doubts he’s ever met him.

“Don’t stay here,” Lan Xichen orders in a rasp. “If they find you, they’ll hurt you.”

The young man’s eyebrows rise high in surprise at this answer, but he doesn’t leave. His expression turns calculating instead. He looks Lan Xichen over, raises his head to look around, then turns his eyes back to the young man lying on the grass.

“Gongzi, if you allow me, I will take you to safety,” he offers. “I’m on my way home to Yunping City, my horse is right there on the road… if I help you, can you walk until there? I’ll help you get on its back, but I fear I don’t have the strength to carry you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Lan Xichen protests.

The young man smiles at his answer. He has a pleasant smile, Lan Xichen finds, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Let me decide what risks I take,” he replies. “And answer my question. If I help, can you walk?”

Closing his eyes again, Lan Xichen quickly checks his body for any serious injury. Aside from being exhausted and the deep wound on his side, everything is fine.

“I should manage. Thank you.”

The young man doesn’t reply, but carefully helps Lan Xichen sit up. His head is swimming at first from the change of position, but before long and with some help from this stranger, Lan Xichen manages to stand up and even walk. There’s a gentle slope toward the road, which is good because the young man really doesn’t have much strength. He’s a little taller than most ordinary people, but compared to Lan Xichen he is still short, and definitely on the slender side. For some reason, Lan Xichen is reminded of Nie Huaisang… but in fairness, it doesn’t take much for him to think of Nie Huaisang these days.

It’s a bit of a struggle for Lan Xichen to get on the horse, but they manage anyway. Perhaps judging that Lan Xichen’s bright white robes might attract too much attention, the young man takes off his own outer robes and throws them over Lan Xichen’s shoulders before take his horse’s reins to get moving.

It is half day ride to Yunping City and before long, the young man must get uncomfortable with the silence because he starts volunteering information about himself to make conversation. Lan Xichen, although struggling to stay awake, listens and catches the general idea of his saviour’s life.

The young man’s name is Meng Yao and while his mother is of very low origins, his father is a cultivator from Lanling Jin (later, when he feels better, Lan Xichen takes a good look at Meng Yao and guesses who, exactly, fathered him). He tried to join that sect himself, but was rejected because of his mother’s low blood and had to settle for an ordinary life. He now works as a bookkeeper in Yunping City for a rich merchant and is just returning from checking on some issues with an associate of his employer. He’s renting a room in the outskirts of town, and while it is not quite worthy of housing a cultivator, Meng Yao promises that at least nobody will think to look for Lan Xichen there.

By the time they reach the room in question, Lan Xichen can barely stand. They make it up the stairs with great difficulty. The last thing Lan Xichen remembers before passing out is being laid down on a thin bed.

When Lan Xichen wakes up, he finds that his silk clothes have been changed to simpler ones, his headband removed, and his wound has been tended to. The qiankun bags and his sword have been left next to the mattress. There’s a note next to his pillow explaining that Meng Yao had to go meet his employer to report on his journey, but he should be back in a few hours. He advises Lan Xichen to rest, and promises he will bring food when he returns.

Grateful for the kindness of this stranger and still too exhausted to do much else, Lan Xichen falls back to sleep.

He wakes up again after some amount of time to the sound of a door opening. On sheer instinct his hand reaches for Shuoyue but as he grasps the handle, Meng Yao comes in, carrying provisions. The young man freezes in fear for a second at the sight of Lan Xichen ready to unsheathe his weapon, but his expression quickly mellows into a pleasant smile.

“I’m glad to see that gongzi is already better,” Meng Yao says, closing the door behind him. “As you see, I brought food. Here, take as much as you need,” he adds, carefully dropping a filled basket on the edge of the bed. “You cannot heal on an empty stomach.”

“You eat as well,” Lan Xichen replies, taking a small bun from the basket but refusing to bite into it until Meng Yao sits next to the bed and does the same.

The food is different from what Lan Xichen is used to, more seasoned as is typical of the area, but he devours it without protest, only making sure that his host gets his fair share as well. Between this, the tea served to him, and the rest that he’s gotten, Lan Xichen already feels better. When he mentions the idea of leaving though, Meng Yao frowns at him.

“Gongzi, I understand that cultivators heal differently but you are unreasonable,” he says, not quite scolding and yet making Lan Xichen feel chastised. “I understand this house is not what you are used to, but please bear with it for a few days until you can move without worsening your wound.”

“It’s not about your room!” Lan Xichen protests, horrified that he might have given that impression. “Meng gongzi, I am only worried about bringing danger to you, and putting a strain on your resources.”

Meng Yao smiles and tilts his head slightly.

“Gongzi, I’m not so poor that I cannot help you. You… you are used to better things I suppose, but I’m not living so uncomfortably as you seem to think, so don’t worry. This isn’t a hassle at all. As for danger… gongzi, with everything that’s happening lately, I can imagine what sort of trouble you’re in, and I’m not worried. The people who are after you would not come to such a place, and they must be too busy checking that all their hostages are being delivered.”

“What hostages?”

Just like yesterday, Meng Yao’s expression gets calculating again, though this time it retains a certain warmth.

“Gongzi, aren’t you running from the indoctrination?” he asks. When Lan Xichen shakes his head, Meng Yao looks him over and frowns slightly. “I see. You must have been on the run for a bit then. The news is everywhere, even us ordinary folks talk of little else. Apparently, the great Qishan Wen sect has decided that other cultivators were badly trained and needed to be shown better, so every sect has to send all their children and all their junior disciples there. Anyone who resists is killed or taken by force, or so it is said.”

Lan Xichen thinks of Lan Wangji, back in the Cloud Recesses. He thinks of Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang in Qinghe.

Maybe he ate too much, too fast, because he suddenly feels like throwing up. If something happened to them…

“It is only a rumour!” Meng Yao quickly adds, his hand rising toward Lan Xichen's shoulder as if to comfort him, then dropping again without making contact. “The juniors of the sect in Yunping City have gone away, yes, but it was all done without violence. From what I heard, only that great sect in Gusu opposed any resistance and had to be punished, but all the other ones have simply complied. Although if gongzi wishes it, I can try to find more details. My employer deals with the local sect sometimes and they wouldn’t find it too odd if I came to visit.”

“Please, don’t do anything that might bring attention to yourself,” Lan Xichen requests, his dizziness increasing at the idea of what punishment might have been inflicted upon his sect. Wen Xu is known to be imaginative for these things. 

He hopes Lan Wangji is well. If they hurt him while Lan Xichen ran away like a coward… he should have stayed, he should have fought, there couldn’t have been that many of them. His uncle ordered him to run, he had to, but maybe just this once he should have disobeyed.

“I will still pay attention to what’s being said,” Meng Yao replies. “I understand that gongzi might not be comfortable telling me his name and sect. I’m not asking for it!” he adds with a hand gesture when Lan Xichen opens his mouth, either to protest or apologise. “If it becomes necessary, I trust gongzi to share relevant information. Otherwise, I will not probe.”

“Aren’t you trusting me too much, Meng gongzi?”

“You trust me as well, gongzi, don’t you?” Meng Yao retorts, seemingly amused now. “I told you to rest, and you did even though I could have gone to fetch your enemies. I brought you food, and you ate it, even when I could have poisoned it to make you easier to capture. Gongzi should be more careful of strangers. For all he knows, his enemies have offered a reward for his capture and spread his description already.”

Lan Xichen startles at the news, but Meng Yao continues smiling peacefully.

“You already know who I am,” Lan Xichen states.

Meng Yao laughs.

“A description is such a vague thing,” he protests. “It is true that Qishan Wen is looking for someone but if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on such a person. All they’re speaking about is a young man in white with a headband and a wound. But gongzi, aside from the wound, that’s not you at all.”

“Where did you put my headband?” Lan Xichen asks. It did not matter earlier when he still felt weak, but he’s starting to feel naked without it. Not to mention the vague disgust he feels at the thought someone touched it. Even Nie Huaisang hasn’t dared, although Lan Xichen almost offered it in Nightless City, right before his fiancé’s friends found them.

“Is it really important?” Meng Yao asks. “It is very recognisable.”

“It’s an heirloom,” Lan Xichen explains. “It’s important to my family.”

He expects Meng Yao to scold him again in that gentle manner he has. Instead, the young man nods in understanding and shuffles away from the bed so he can lift a plank from the floor. In the space underneath, Lan Xichen catches glimpses of white as Meng Yao digs out his ribbon. Lan Xichen gratefully takes it back and although he desperately wants to put it back in its proper place, he decides instead to roll his sleeve and tie it around his arm. A compromise. The rules say it must be worn, they never actually say where.

Meng Yao nods approvingly.

“It might be safer that way,” he says. “If gongzi allows, I should have enough space to also hide those qiankun bags until gongzi is fit to leave. I would have hidden them already, but gongzi became very agitated when I touched them while changing him, and I feared it would distress him too much if you did not see them upon waking.”

“Meng gongzi is very considerate,” Lan Xichen replies with a yawn he cannot suppress. “I’m sorry, that was…”

“Gongzi is tired, it’s normal,” Meng Yao cuts him with a small laugh. “Go back to sleep, we can talk more tomorrow. I have asked my employer to let me have a few days off to recover from travelling. I will be able to check on your wounds, and to go out for information.”

Although he feels guilty for disrupting the young man’s life so much, Lan Xichen is too tired to protest again. He can only lay down again, and watches as Meng Yao puts away the remains of their meal, then starts hiding away the bags containing Gusu Lan’s knowledge.

“Meng gongzi, before I sleep, I have one question. Why save me?”

Meng Yao shoots him a surprised look, as if it were obvious to him.

“You were this unwell,” he explains, gesturing at Lan Xichen’s body, “and your first instinct was not to beg for help, but to worry about my safety. I figured even if you turned out to be a thief or a murderer, you would not be a bad man.”

Lan Xichen can only smile at that answer as he closes his eyes.

Meng Yao can accuse him of being too trusting, but he’s hardly any better.

The days that follow are odd. 

Lan Xichen cannot help but feel guilty that he is in this safe place, with someone he’s already starting to think of as a friend of sorts, while his family’s fate is uncertain. Meng Yao, against his wishes, has found out that Gusu Lan still stands, even though a large part of the Cloud Recesses burned down. He has also found out that Lan Wangji is alive (Lan Xichen cried in relief) and was only taken away as a hostage, like most young men his age all over the cultivation world. But this leaves as many questions as it answers. Nobody knows what is happening to the hostages in Qishan, and Meng Yao cannot find out how many were wounded or died in the Cloud Recesses.

Sensing his ever growing distress, Meng yao distracts him with chatting, or by asking questions about cultivation. It’s obvious that the subject deeply interests him. It’s equally clear that he knows very little about it, and mostly tried to learn through the sort of fake manuals that sadly get sold as the real deal. As thanks for his hospitality, Lan Xichen sets out to teach him a few basic principles so that at least, if his interest remains in the future, Meng Yao knows enough not to be fooled again by crooks. Besides, it gives them something to do as they wait for his wound to heal.

Lan Xichen feels almost disappointed when at last, Meng Yao decides one day that his wound is now healed enough for him to leave. It has been little more than a week, but Lan Xichen already feels deep affection for the other young man, and he believes the feeling is mutual.

“I do not mind if gongzi stays a little longer,” Meng Yao tells him after giving his diagnosis. “Until it is certain that things are calmer out there.”

It’s tempting, immensely so. Time passes differently in this room, in the company of this new friend. But Lan Xichen has responsibilities out there in the world, and Meng Yao cannot stay away from his own work forever. This respite has come to an end.

“You have done so much for me already,”Lan Xichen says with a sad smile. “I cannot put you in more danger. In fact, I’ll try to leave tonight. I need to go…”

He needs to go to Gusu, his first thought is, but that’s not exact. He wants to go to Gusu so he can check on his people. He wants, also, to go to Qinghe and finally figure out if Nie Huaisang was among the hostages. He prays that he wasn’t, but that would be open rebellion and Meng Yao would have heard about it. All he can do, then, is hope that Nie Huaisang is acting smart and is staying out of trouble, wherever he is.

“Even if you leave, it’ll be dangerous,” Meng Yao notes. “Everyone says it will probably come to war. I wouldn’t be surprised if a number of sects start recruiting soon.”

Something in his tone is almost wishful. Considering some of their conversations and the way they have passed time together, Lan Xichen can only smile.

“You are thinking of trying again to join Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao startles and looks at him like a dog caught trying to steal a piece of meat before smiling apologetically.

“Gongzi must find me an unsavoury character, wanting to take advantage of such a situation to push for a second chance.”

“On the contrary, I hope this might give you the chance to prove your value. Any sect should be lucky to have a man as clever as you in their rank.”

Meng Yao’s cheeks colour at the praise. He turns away, trying to hide a smile. It’s endearing, truly. Lan Xichen can’t help thinking of Nie Huaisang, so embarrassed at the smallest of compliments. This, in turns, gives him an idea.

“Meng gongzi, must it absolutely be Lanling Jin that you join?”

“It would be… preferable. I made a promise to my mother.”

Lan Xichen winces. That detail, and what he knows of Jin Guangshan’s reputation, tells him more about Meng Yao’s family than the young man probably intended to share. While open on other subjects, Meng Yao tries to avoid talking about his mother if possible, refusing to give any details save to say that she was of low birth. Still, Lan Xichen finds himself comforted in his idea; if he is right about Meng Yao’s father, then his friend should have great potential, enough to make up for a late start.

“Lanling Jin does not easily take in outsiders,” he explains as gently as he can. “But other sects are more welcoming. Meng gongzi, I’m sure you know of Qinghe Nie?”

“I do,” Meng Yao confirms. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he adds. “Why not your sect though?”

“Mine is sadly as restrictive as Lanling Jin, or else I would offer my help and take you along with me,” Lan Xichen sighs. “But I know well the leader of Qinghe Nie and I know if you come with my recommandation, you will be given the chance you deserve. Sect Leader Nie is a man who will never turn away anyone willing to work hard, and he values competence above birth.”

That gets Meng Yao's attention, his eyes burning even if his smile remains mild.

“Gongzi is too generous.”

“Not at all. I simply believe you can rise above your current circumstances… and it is your wish to do so, isn’t it?”

“Gongzi saw right through me,” Meng Yao admit with a small laugh. “I… I am grateful, truly.”

“As am I,” Lan Xichen replies earnestly, taking the young man’s hands. “Meng Yao, even if our paths must separate for now, I really hope we meet again when you are in Qinghe.”

In answer, Meng Yao gives him the brightest, most open smile he’s shown so far. It makes him look a lot younger suddenly, and once more Lan Xichen finds himself of Nie Huaisang. 

If Meng Yao goes to Qinghe, these two might meet. In fact, knowing Nie Huaisang, there is no way he won't notice a new disciple looking so different from their usual recruits, and he's too curious to stay away. Hopefully, this will translate into Nie Huaisang stubbornly deciding to claim Meng Yao as a friend, as he did with others. 

Lan Xichen has a feeling these two could get along wonderfully, given the chance.

-

Now that he isn't trying to avoid a band of pursuing Wens, the return journey to the Cloud Recesses is far shorter. Lan Xichen tries to be careful and to check he isn't followed, but he encounters no problems. It is still unnerving to take such precautions just to go home. Lan Xichen hates that he has to come to a secret back entrance, hates that he dares not go inside the barrier, hates that he must send a butterfly message to his uncle to warn him of his presence and then hide until Lan Qiren either comes to meet him or gives him new instructions.

He waits for hours, hidden up among the branches of an old tree, until night falls. Somewhere far in a distance, Lan Xichen thinks he can hear the curfew bell, although that might be only wishful thinking. Still, soon after, his uncle crosses the barrier and Lan Xichen quickly jumps down from his branch to meet him.

Lan Qiren, always severe by nature, seems to have aged a decade in the couple of weeks since his nephew last saw him. There’s a deep frown carved into his face which grows more pronounced when their eyes meet. Lan Xichen tenses, fearing that he will get scolded for being gone this long, for his commoner’s clothes, for not wearing his ribbon. Instead, his uncle looks him over once and nods his approval. When they meet again, Lan Xichen will have to properly thank Meng Yao for all his advice on making himself less noticeable.

“I’m sorry for not coming home sooner,” Lan Xichen apologises in lieu of greetings. “I ran into some trouble and had to stay hidden. Don’t worry though, the books are fine!”

“And you?”

“As well as I can hope to be,” Lan Xichen replies. There’s no need to mention his wound since it’s healed. His uncle might scold him for being careless in a fight. "I've heard the Wens burned the library?" 

"I burned it," Lan Qiren corrects. 

Lan Xichen stares at his uncle with horror, hoping that he's suddenly developed a sense of humour. Lan Qiren stares right back, something almost challenging in his expression.

"Wangji and your father were trying to delay them," he states. "Wen Xu lost patience and tried to strike Wangji, but your father took the blow for him and fainted. By the time you'd been sent out, Wangji was on the ground as well and Wen Xu gave me an ultimatum : the library or my nephew." 

"Uncle, I'm… I'm sorry. It must have been a hard choice." 

"It was not hard," Lan Qiren assures him, challenging again, as if he’s had to defend his decision more than once already, and will not hesitate to do it once more. 

Again, Lan Xichen stares. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and he wants to hug his uncle, though he dares not. Their uncle is not an affectionate man, but here and there Lan Xichen gets reminded that this is the man who raised his brother and him and cared for them as best as he could, the other parent in their life, the only parent left after their mother’s death. 

"How is Wangji?" he quickly asks, trying to hide his emotion. 

"He only sustained a minor injury, nothing to worry about."

"And yourself?" 

Lan Qiren waves his hand to signify that is unimportant, though his face turns more severe. 

"We are trying to keep this secret for the time being, but news will soon filter out. Xichen, your father died a few days after the attack." 

"Oh." 

Lan Xichen's first thought is an awful one: he's dead, so what? He was never there anyway. 

It is unfilial. So is the fact that Lan Xichen never really bothered to worry about his father. And he knows he should feel sad, or perhaps angry and vengeful, but truly the news just leaves him cold. Lan Xichen hasn't seen his father since the death of Nie Mingjue’s father, and even then they barely talked. In a way, Qingheng-Jun died at the same time as his wife, and was mourned less. 

"Are you going to succeed him?" Lan Xichen asks. 

"Why would I when he has a son who is nearly of age?" Lan Qiren retorts, digging into his sleeve until he finds a jade token which he hands to his nephew. 

Lan Xichen almost doesn't take it, recognising it as the token of sect leaders, passed down from one generation to the next since the barrier around the Cloud Recesses was first erected. It is beautiful in spite of its age, almost as white as snow and delicately carved in a way ordinary tokens are not. It is a sign of leadership in the Cloud Recesses and out of it. Although it has not been seen in years, Lan Xichen knows it will be recognised immediately by other sect leaders. 

"Uncle, I'm not ready," he whispers. 

Not for this burden he only just started really training for. Not for this war that came too soon.

"Nobody is ever ready for these things," Lan Qiren replies. "But you're not going to be alone. I've been there as well, I'm not going to abandon you." 

Not like Qingheng-Jun did to all of them. Lan Qiren has always put most of the blame for their situation on Madam Lan, but his brother's faults were too great to not let him have his share of resentment.

Lan Xichen is terrified of this new responsibility, but he will not be his father. If his sect needs him, he will be there.

"What should I do? If I return openly…" 

"It would be unwise. Let the Wens think we are broken and destabilised a little longer. I don't think Wen Ruohan ever realised how little your father's opinion mattered, so he won’t see that nothing has really changed for us. He's a powerful man in a leading position, and he underestimates the strength of those lesser than him. We'll use that."

Having said that, Lan Qiren shares his plan. 

What the Four Great Sect will choose is important, he has determined, but much like Wen Ruohan they tend to forget the power of those under them. The myriad of smaller sects that exist around them have their own strengths. Some are already in alliances with the Great Sects, but most are fiercely independent and might remain neutral in the coming war, even though the Wens have shown them little mercy in the past. But if someone were to go to them personally and ask for their help, they might be more than willing to join the fight. 

"What if I can't convince them?" Lan Xichen worries. 

"We are one of the oldest sects in the country, asking for their assistance after their children have been taken from them," Lan Qiren retorts. "You have a good reputation among your elders, Xichen. Show them respect, listen to their demands, and I know they will listen to yours. I know you can do this. You've never disappointed me before.”

It is another weight falling on Lan Xichen's shoulder, another responsibility he's not quite sure he can take on. Still, he'll try his best.

He must be worthy of his uncle's trust.

-

Flying tirelessly, Lan Xichen visits sect after sect, starting with those that have a good relationship with Gusu Lan so he can get used to this mission among people who bear him no ill will and are already likely to let themselves be won over. Each time, he starts bluntly by explaining that although none of them want it, war is coming. If the indoctrination camp is not enough to start it, then it is still only a question of time before Qishan Wen goes too far.

It comes as a surprise to Lan Xichen that most of those small sects are more than willing to promise they will join whatever alliance the Great Sects will build. But of course, if for a sect like Gusu Lan it is concerning to see twenty disciples be taken away, for some of those smaller places, that means the entirety of their junior disciples. Some even had to send girls or grown adults to have the right number of hostages to offer. 

Besides, it is hardly the first time that Qishan Wen gave them offence. If things have been rough for the Great Sects in recent years, they have been far worse for the smaller ones. Lan Xichen is told about Night Hunts interrupted, preys stolen, territories taken by force, marriages obtained through threat, and worse things still. Qishan Wen, once, offered itself as the greatest authority in the cultivation world and promised to help settle disputes between lesser sects, but in recent times it has started using that vocation to bully others into paying heavy bribes to have their rights respected, or heavy fines if they cannot defend themselves.

And that’s without getting into those times when cultivators have been simply murdered for standing up to high ranking members of Qishan Wen.

When he gets to Baling Ouyang, Lan Xichen hears one such story from its sect leader. His eldest son happened to be Night Hunting with a friend a few years ago when he stumbled upon a party led by Wen Xu that was after the same prey. Sect Leader Ouyang never found out the exact details of it, but both boys died, supposedly after inviting Wen Xu to join their Night Hunt but tragically underestimating the power of the creature they were hunting. Wen Xu, of course, made sure to avenge them and killed the beast himself.

“And now my second son is in their hands,” Sect Leader Ouyang sighed. “I have little hope of seeing him alive again. The Wens are looking for any excuse to slaughter the rest of us.”

“We have to hope they are wiser than that,” Lan Xichen replies, thinking of his brother, of his fiancé. To lose either of them could break him. It would break him, if he could be afforded that luxury, but he is not his father, he will not let grief swallow him. “But if it comes to war…”

“Gusu Lan can count on Baling Ouyang. I will not miss a chance to avenge my son.”

Lan Xichen thanks the other sect leader for this promise, bowing before him a little more deeply than he should when they are, technically, equals. But he feels for this man who lost so much and yet is still ready to take such risks, and it never hurts to show proper respect to an elder. 

Lan Xichen is about to take his leave, hoping to maybe reach another sect before the day is over, when the door barges open, letting in a small flow of people. Worried about being seen and recognised even in disguise, Lan Xichen quickly hides behind the sect leader’s throne and turns around, wondering how to leave while the newcomers all start shouting. 

"Sect Leader, we're back, we escaped!" 

"Sect Leader, they starved us and took our swords!" 

"There was a giant turtle with a snake head, it attacked us but the Jiangs helped us get out!”

"Where is A-Hui?" Secter leader Ouyang asks anxiously. 

"He's in Lanling with all the wounded," someone answers. "The young masters from Lanling and Qinghe made all the wounded swap clothes with people from allied clans of Lanling Jin to make sure they'd be taken to safety quicker. And then…" 

"Nie Huaisang was there?" Lan Xichen gasps, turning around to look at the returning boys. "Was he well?" 

The Ouyang disciples are so excited that they don't even care about being addressed so casually by what, to them, must look like nothing more than a visiting merchant. 

"Last we saw him, he was heading north with everyone who couldn't get to their sect alone. He's the one who thought to trick the Jins into taking the wounded, and he said his brother would protect them from the Wens. We thought to follow him as well, but we realised we weren't so far from home so we'd be fine." 

Lan Xichen grins at the news, relieved that his fiancé is well. His heart swells with pride to hear Nie Huaisang talked about in such a complimentary way. It is odd to think of him leading anyone… and yet not so surprising at the same time. Someone who can get Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to somewhat get along with Jin Zixuan can make people do anything. 

"What about Lan Wangji?" he asks. "Did he go North to Qinghe as well?" 

At this question, the boys' enthusiasm suddenly falls. 

"There was this monster…" 

"Wei Wuxian was staying behind to distract it while we escaped…" 

"It was so huge, I think Lan Wangji tried to help and…" 

"The passage became blocked, they stayed trapped inside."

Lan Xichen has to put one hand on Sect Leader Ouyang’s throne to support himself. 

“Where did this happen?” he asks.

“It’s fine, the Jiangs are going to rescue them!”

“Tell me where this happened,” Lan Xichen insists, barely restraining himself from shouting. His brother, trapped with a monster… 

“It was on Dusk Creek Mountain,” one Ouyang disciple quickly explains. “A cave hidden near a banyan tree, but the Wens blocked that exit as well. Sir, do you know Lan Wangji?”

Sensing his hesitation, sect leader Ouyang intervenes.

“This man is from the Gusu area but came here to ask for my opinion on a certain matter,” he tells his disciples. “The matter in question is of a delicate nature. Forget you saw him. Go get your injuries checked if you have any, and I’ll tell the cook to make you something quickly. Out now!”

The boys obey without delay, chatting excitedly about the things they want to eat. Lan Xichen watches them go, feeling numb now that he knows their freedom came at the cost of his brother’s. At least he’s not alone in there, at least he’s with Wei Wuxian who, whatever faults he has, is a brilliant cultivator. If anyone can survive such a situation it is the two of them, and yet…

Lan Xichen wants to break down and cry.

Instead he once more thanks sect leader Ouyang for his promised support, reminds him that his visit and the fate of his father must remain secret, and leaves for the next sect. Whatever happens to Lan Wangji, war is still coming, they still need allies. Lan Xichen cannot be his father, cannot let his emotions stop him from doing what’s needed. He does, however, send an urgent message to his uncle to tell him what he’s learned, every detail of it so that Lan Qiren can organise a rescue mission in case the Jiangs don’t.

The answer finds him a few days later: Lan Wangji was rescued by Jiang Fengmian and has already returned home. In his relief, Lan Xichen allows himself the tears he dared not spill earlier. His brother is safe, he is well, he is home.

Lan Xichen breathes again.

-

Half a month later, in the middle of a market, Lan Xichen starts hearing rumours. He doesn’t pay attention at first, rumours are rarely worth listening to. But as he pays for his meal at a stall, the next client leans toward the seller with a worried expression that catches his eyes.

“Old man, your daughter married a man from Yunmeng, right?” the client asks, which gets him a nod. “Have you heard what happened there?”

“About the Wens? I don’t know if I believe that.”

“You should. I was there the day it happened. I saw some of it. It’s worse than people say. They burned the bodies in front of the Lotus Piers, saw it myself! When I passed by they’d just found a kid who’d managed to hide, stabbed him and threw him right into the fire with the dead!”

Lan Xichen almost drops his meal.

“Was Yunmeng Jiang really attacked then?” he gasps.

“More than attacked, it was slaughtered,” the man retorts. “Not a single survivor. They made people from the town come look as they burned the sect leader’s body and his wife. There’s no more Yunmeng Jiang. And from what I’ve heard, the Wens are now going to take over all that cultivation business. They want to establish offices in every city, and anyone who needs a cultivator’s help will have to go through them rather than other sects. That’s how the fight with Yunmeng Jiang started, I’ve heard. Wen Chao wanted to use the Lotus Piers as his office in Yunmeng, and you can imagine how much the Jiangs liked that. Well, maybe they should have swallowed their pride…”

The man goes on to describe what was happening to the civilians of Yunmeng, but Lan Xichen doesn't linger to listen. Putting down his untouched meal, he quickly leaves behind first the stall and then the market. As soon as he’s out of that small town he jumps on his sword and heads back for Gusu.

Lan Xichen has spent the last few weeks telling people that Qishan Wen is about to go too far, but even he would never have imagined something of that magnitude. War cannot be avoided anymore, and only time will tell if they prepared enough for it.

[eldritchwriter]

Defeating Sunrise by @eldritchwriter | Fandom: Final Fantasy VII | Rating: Explicit | Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough

Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Found Family, Slow Burn, Pining, Hero Worship, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Sephiroth is Oblivious, Denzel is So Done With Them Both, Grown-Up Cloud

Summary: Cloud isn't good at this whole 'parenting' gig, and even when he tries, it doesn't seem to be doing him any good. He's ready to give up, when he is inexplicably pulled into the past with his young protege in tow. The last thing Cloud expects is to be dropped straight into the Wutai War and in front of a Sephiroth who is younger and still in charge of his own mind.

As Cloud spirals headlong into his trauma-filled past, trying to make sense of his memories and discern truth from his own fictions, long-buried feelings for Sephiroth begin to emerge. With Denzel's help, he can surely change the future, but the biggest question of all is what that future should look like at all. Read here on AO3 or read more below:

Chapter One

“It’s not so easy. We’re all traumatised by what we went through. Cloud most of all.”

Cloud rested his head back against the door to the rebuilt Seventh Heaven and let out a soft sigh. He hadn’t meant to intrude on the conversation between Tifa and Barret, but now it was inevitable. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn’t just walked in and that his enhanced hearing had picked up the urgent tone of Barret’s voice before he’d opened the door.

At least this way he could steel himself for whatever Barret was going to ask him to do.

“Well, we all got heaps of trauma. Enough to keep the shrinks goin’ for decades. But Cloud’s tough. He’ll do it, no problem.”

Do what? Cloud wondered. What more could you possibly have to ask of me?

“When he says no, I don’t want you to push it,” Tifa’s reply was exasperated sounding, and Cloud detected the sound of a bar towel hitting the floor. “I mean it, Barret, I know that Cloud needs… reminding sometimes that people need him to do things, but I don’t want you pestering him. This isn’t something he’s duty-bound to do.”

“I wasn’ planning on it,” Barret said, a creak of a bar stool. “It’s just the easiest way, is all.”

“Well, have a Plan B ready.” The sound of glasses being thrown into a dishwasher, one of the newest additions to Seventh Heaven, now that there was running water into the place.

Cloud had plumbed it in himself, after several assurances from Reeve that the water was definitely clean and not contaminated. Cloud had made him drink it straight from the tap when it was plugged in just to prove the point.

“Roger that. Say, how’s Denzel been doin’ in school? Marlene’s been tellin’ me all kinds of stories- “The conversation turned to the children and Cloud stopped listening. Whispered conversations about him rather than with him were the norm, and he’d long grown used to people acting in his best interest without consulting him. Sometimes he was glad that Tifa acted as a buffer between him and the ridiculous requests of his onetime comrades, other times it frustrated him.

Today, he was just tired.

He pushed away from the wall, steeling himself to head inside, to listen to whatever Barret’s request was and to grit his teeth and give his answer whatever way it went, but then…

Why?

Why indeed. Why did he have to? He had his own plans for the rest of the week. Nothing urgent, certainly, but he had a few delivery jobs, a run out to the Chocobo Farm… Hell, it was Parent-Teacher Meetings this week and he’d promised Denzel that he’d make it to this one despite not feeling remotely like an appropriate paternal figure.

If he stayed away, eventually Barret would leave. Tifa had made it clear she would not bring up whatever this was. He didn’t have to deal with it now unless he wanted to, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to.

He stepped off the porch and walked towards Fenrir, kicking his leg over it. It showed how lost Tifa and Barret had been in their conversation that they hadn’t heard the thing roaring up next to the bar in the first place.

No, he wasn’t going to deal with this now. He’d pick it up later, much later.

He disabled the kickstand and revved the engine.

Cloud was not in the mood to deal with this today.

*

It somewhat surprised Denzel to see Cloud outside his school. Some older boys had gathered around Cloud’s bike, trying to strike up a conversation with him. Cloud remained detached though, his arms folded on his chest and his eyes showing that he was completely lost in thought.

Not so unusual, and it probably made him look cool to the kids who had flocked around him, but Denzel knew better. He knew that, no matter how cool Cloud looked with the all-black motorcycle and the enormous sword strapped to his back, that his unwilling mentor was just a shy space cadet.

“Er, hi?” Denzel leaned around the front of the bike to put his face in front of Cloud’s and snap him from his reverie.

Cloud blinked slowly, then the corners of his mouth tilted up a bit. “Hey. Thought I’d give you a ride back from school today.”

Denzel wondered what had spurred that decision, but he knew he wouldn’t get an actual response from Cloud about it. Cloud and Tifa had been involved in his life for years now. He was in his teens, but they had nowhere near what could be called a father-son relationship. Cloud was too distant, his reasoning for his actions too coloured by his own past, to be much use to Denzel in learning to navigate the world.

But still it was useful, especially when wanting to seem cool in front of some upperclassman.

“Sure. Can I shove my backpack in the storage?” Denzel asked, like it was an everyday occurrence for Cloud to let him ride on the back of Fenrir.

Cloud got off the bike, showing an impressive show of strength by just casually holding it upright with a one-handed loose grip while the other opened the under-seat storage to let Denzel dump his bag in. The other kids were goggle-eyed at Cloud, and that made Denzel smile a bit.

Cloud shoved a helmet and goggles into his hands, causing Denzel to pout. It was less cool to wear this thing. Cloud pulled on his own goggles though, without a dorky helmet though. Denzel knew that Cloud probably couldn’t be killed by coming off the bike at speed like he could though, and if it meant that Cloud might rev the engine harder it was worth looking stupid for.

Helmet in place, Denzel clambered onto the back of the bike. Cloud leaned forward, then looked over his shoulder, waiting for Denzel to adjust himself.

“Hang on,” was all Cloud said, before the engine roared and Cloud was already kicking the bike into a higher gear.

Denzel scrambled to wrap his arms tightly around Cloud’s waist before he fell off the back and found out precisely how effective his helmet would be. Cloud weaved the bike through traffic and crowds and back allies that definitely shouldn’t have been driven down.

In anyone else’s hands, this would have been suicide, but though it was exhilarating, Denzel felt safe. For all Cloud’s faults and sometimes dumb decisions, he never purposefully put anyone in danger. The incredible strength to manoeuvre the bike through tight gaps, and the lightning-fast reflexes he had meant that it was rather more like riding on a rollercoaster. The safe journey to their destination was all but pre-determined, so Denzel could just enjoy the ride there.

Pulling up outside Seventh Heaven wasn’t exactly welcome, but his arms were sore from holding on. Cloud kicked down the stand and waited for Denzel to dismount before making sure that he had his bag and that the helmet and goggles were stored appropriately.

Cloud reached out, self-consciously ruffling Denzel’s hair in a way that was a shadow of paternal instinct that just made both of them feel awkward.

“Go say hi to Tifa,” Cloud said, grabbing a box from inside the storage attached to the bike.

“You mean, go check the coast is clear, don’t you?” Denzel asked, putting his hands in his pockets. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ride, but you only come pick me up when you want a buffer between you and whoever’s in there.”

Cloud’s shoulders hunched. “That’s not- “

“It’s fine,” Denzel said, shrugging. “But at least be honest about it, at least to yourself if not to me.”

He didn’t wait for Cloud to turn round, instead announcing his entry to the bar and greeting Tifa brightly. No one else was here, so maybe Cloud was just trying to avoid being alone with Tifa. It wouldn’t be the first time for that either.

When Cloud entered, he didn’t meet Denzel’s eyes, but there didn’t seem to be a tension between him and Tifa, so Denzel let it go. Whatever this was about, he’d find out in the end anyway, when the row inevitably started and Cloud roared off on his motorcycle at 3am to Ancient’s knew where.

“Denzel!” Denzel turned to see Marlene running from behind the bar, pink bow bouncing in her hair. “Papa says I can stay for dinner tonight! Let’s do our homework together?”

Cloud groaned. “Is Barret still-“

“’Sup. We need to talk.”

*

Returning to Nibelheim, to this Nibelheim, left Cloud with an itching soul. The people here, the few that had returned, were not originally from the town. They didn’t know the legends of the local mountains, or the best way to trap Nibel Wolves, or which paths to avoid so they didn’t run into dragons.

Most of them didn’t even know that Nibelheim had once burnt to the ground. All they knew was that there was a town here, rebuilt and mostly empty, and that the WRO was interested in generating hydropower from the waterfalls in the mountains. That was enough for them.

As usual, it was capitalism that was the driving force of Nibelheim’s destiny, and a new flow of money brought a new flow of residents and washed away the blood and soot and smoke. Even the acrid tinge of mako in the air had long since dissipated except in Cloud’s mind.

“I didn’ think you’d come, bein’ honest,” Barret said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cloud had fully intended not to, but there were some things that he still felt he couldn’t say no to. This was one of them. Nibelheim was a wound on his soul that wouldn’t heal and that he couldn’t stop picking at.

“Right, not feelin’ talkative, got it,” Barret scratched the back of his neck with the barrel of his gun-arm, looking sheepish. “I’ll be headin’ out into the mountains a bit, gotta check up on the generator to report back, y’know? But you’ll be alright here, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cloud waved him off. “But you can’t take longer than a few hours. I have to get back.”

“Yeah. School shit. I remember. I won’t make you late to play daddy, promise.”

Cloud didn’t want to question Barret’s parenting skills, but he thought out of all his former-comrades, the one was most likely to put work above ‘school shit’ was probably Barret. For all his bluster and dedication to Marlene, he had a somewhat lax attitude towards the formal things that it seemed children needed. Like routine. Or regular schooling. Or a parent figure who didn’t disappear on them at the drop of a hat.

Well, Cloud couldn’t really judge any of that. He hadn’t exactly been a model guardian either.

He didn’t bother to answer, instead turning towards the hotel and hoping that there’d be somewhere for him to sit and wait. He had no desire to explore the town the way he had done coming back here five years ago, where he had frantically run from house to house trying to work out why it was different, his own fear and horror reflected at him from Tifa’s eyes.

The hotelkeeper was new, a man with a Rocket Town accent and clothes that were just a little too thin for the mountain temperatures. He greeted Cloud warmly, offered him a room for the night – which Cloud politely declined – and then offered him a warm meal instead.

And so, Cloud spent the afternoon eating Nibel Stew that someone who had never tasted the original had clearly prepared, and waiting for Barret to return. He kept his eyes firmly on the woods outside the window, trying not to give in to the ghosts in his vision of the old townspeople, of the flames, of the shuddering clones.

He didn’t think much of it when it started to rain.

*

Cloud didn’t expect Denzel to actually throw something at him in frustration. It was only a towel from the bar, soaked in beer, but it still hit him in the face with a soft whump all the same. Cloud let it slide to the floor, just as he’d let it hit him. He deserved this.

“I waited for you for hours!” Denzel yelled.

Tifa reached out hesitantly for Denzel’s shoulder but he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked away from her.

“Denzel, I’m sorry. The dam that Barret was working next to burst and-“

“I don’t care! You should never have gone! You could have gone next week! Or he could have found someone else to go with him!” Denzel shouted, his fists balled by his sides. “No one would have died if you’d waited!”

Well, that was debatable, as it wasn’t like Cloud or Barret’s presence had set of the chain of events that caused the dam failure. In fact, their being there had saved many lives. But none of that was going to make an angry thirteen year old like him any more, Cloud was sure of it. Long gone were the days where Denzel was impressed by heroic tales from far-off places. No, now he wanted something more concrete from Cloud, stability and dependency, both things that Cloud had never been in the best situation to provide.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Cloud offered, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. “I should have said no. I shouldn’t have let you down.”

It seemed like the wind went out of Denzel’s sails at that but instead of doing what he usually did and apologising too, it seemed that Denzel truly had settled into his teenage years because he stormed out of the front door of Seventh Heaven instead, letting it bang behind him.

“It’s late, you should go after him,” Tifa said after a few moments silence.

Cloud shook his head. “Better if it’s you. He doesn’t like me much right now.”

“Which is why, it’s got to be you.” Tifa began to push at Cloud’s shoulder, forcing him towards the door. “You might not be forgiven, Cloud, but you have to sort this one out yourself. Family don’t go to bed on fights.”

“We have plenty of times,” he pointed out. “You’re always yelling at me late at night after the patrons have gone.”

“Yes, well, I’m not thirteen years old and I didn’t just wait for you for hours,” Tifa countered, pushing Cloud towards the door again. “Just sort things out, Cloud. And next time… just don’t be late.”

Cloud reluctantly stepped out of the door and onto the porch. Denzel hadn’t gone far. He had a rock in his hand and was standing next to the Fenrir, but Cloud couldn’t see any scratches on it. Clearly Denzel had entertained the thought of scratching it, but thought better of it.

Good, because Cloud would have hated to add that to the fight as well.

“We’re going for a ride again,” Cloud said, walking past Denzel and getting on the bike without looking at him. “Hop on.”

“No,” Denzeil said stubbornly.

Cloud waited as seconds rolled by to become a minute.

He felt hands on his shoulders as Denzel climbed on and waited until the boy was settled before he took off.

He hadn’t really known where he was going until he ended up on the cliff edge. He’d brought Denzel here once before, to show him the place where a hero had died. It seemed fitting that they were here now, in the place where the hero that Cloud had tried to emulate before all else was memorialised, to have this conversation with a child who emulated him.

Cloud got off the bike and went to sit on the edge of the cliff, looking over at the lights of Edge and the ruins of Midgar. There was still so much rebuilding to do.

“I’m only human,” Cloud said finally, mostly to the night, but knowing that Denzel was still awkwardly perched on the bike and no doubt watching him. “If there’s one thing I learned, through all of it, it’s that I’m only a human with faults and flaws.”

“Yeah, well, one of them is being really shitty about remembering to show up for things.”

Cloud couldn’t deny that. “Memory is not my strongpoint, agreed.”

“You’re just never around, even when you promise you’re going to be.”

Again, not something Cloud could deny. How many birthdays and holidays had he missed? Sometimes on purpose, sometimes because he simply forgot about them? His thoughts were always scrambled, stuck in a past he fuzzily remembered and one that he had constructed for himself from pure trauma.

None of those were things that a teenager would understand though, even one like Denzel. Cloud had no intention of burdening him with the knowledge of it either.

“I won’t promise you I’ll always be around,” Cloud conceded, and he heard Denzel getting off the bike. “But you know, there are some things that you get to do that others don’t. You’ve never seen me let Marlene anywhere near the bike.”

“Only because Barret would riddle you with bullets.”

It seemed Denzel wasn’t going to join him, so Cloud stood up, giving up on the male bonding moment over the edge of the cliff with a sight.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am doing my best. This… this whole series of events is just…” Cloud struggled to find the words. “Every event in my life has taken the worst possible turn. Even when I try, I still mess up. It seems inevitable at this point, and though I’m going to try my best, I know that I’ll still disappoint you.”

Stood before Zack's grave, with Denzel's quiet censure worrying between his shoulder blades, Cloud couldn't remember a time when he'd last felt good about himself. He hadn't asked for this hero-worship, or to be the guardian of a teenager who was turning out to be just as taciturn and unruly as Cloud had been at that age. He hadn't asked for any of this, and duty could only take him so far down a path before he had to put some effort in.

"If you truly think this is the worst timeline, the worst it might get, then do you really think it's okay to throw in the towel?" Denzel asked, eyes hot and accusing. "Is it really okay to just give up and not even try for a better one?"

"A better timeline?" Cloud rubbed his temples. "Sure. We'll just magic one into existence for everyone, shall we?"

“Now who’s acting like a kid?” Denzel challenged him.

Cloud turned now, ready to just apologise again, but what he saw chilled his blood. A shrouded figure with long, reaching fingers.

“Denzel! Come here!”

But it was too late, the creature had snatched Denzel, dragging him into a dark portal.

Cloud’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He lunged after the creature, into the dark and cold unknown. It lasted only a fraction of a second where he felt like he was floating in the Lifestream once more, before his boots hit ground at a different level than he’d been expecting and he tripped.

He landed on something soft, and was relieved to take in a surprised expression under a mess of red-hair.

“Where’s the monster?” Cloud asked, looking around them.

Their environment was completely different. From the vegetation, Cloud guessed they were somewhere near Wutai, which was not only impossible, but was also deeply worrying. How had they got so far from home?

“Cloud! Behind you!”

Cloud didn't think, he reacted, immediately bringing First Tsurugi up to parry the blow he vaguely caught from the corner of his eye that would rend him and Denzel in two. He didn't expect for the katana to spiral through the air, landing six feet away, embedded in the dirt with the moonlight reflecting off its blade.

Masamune.

No.

Sephiroth was frozen, hand empty. Green eyes, glowing and surprised, fixed on Cloud and for the first time Cloud recognised that this Sephiroth was not the same Sephiroth he had fought last. He was younger, his features still a little softened by adolescence. The Sephiroth that Cloud had seen in the papers fifteen years ago. The Sephiroth that he had idolised, left home for, joined Shinra for.

"You have got to be fu-" He remembered Denzel was still behind him. "'Effin' kidding me."