#and given that he's not all sunshine and charity it makes sense for him to be protective and exclusive about his relationship with peter

[rebelwrites]

Seventeen: Baby You Ain’t As Anonymous As you Think.

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Standing amongst the crowd I watched Jax and Tig take the makeshift stage that had been built down by the lake. I was still unsure why we needed a stage this big but Jax and Pops were adamant they wanted it, they sure as hell loved theatrics. Tearing my gaze away from Jax I turned to look at Charles, who now had Elenor sitting on his shoulders, she had a proud smirk on her face like she had just walked into a candy store and the store owner told her everything was free.

“Tu vas bien, ma chérie ? Are you all right, darling?” Charles beamed, flashing me a smile.

“I will be,” I hummed, reaching up gently squeezing his arm. After the photos were released on instagram this morning I felt myself holding back from public displays of affection and it was killing me.

“Auntie Nova, can we have a movie night tonight?” Elenor grinned, fluttering her long eyelashes at me, “and can Uncle Charles and Uncle Pierre come as well?”

“I don’t see why not baby,” I beamed back at her before turning to Charles, “you down for movie night with my crazy ass family? There is a high possibility we will be making our way through all of the Cars movies,” I giggled, knowing that Elenor would beg and plead to put all three films on.

“Sunshine, didn’t you know Cars is one of my favorite movies,” he smirked with a wink.

“Alright then, Lightning McQueen.”

“Kachow.”

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, covering my face with my hands, trying to hide the snort that escaped my lips, “you did not just Kachow me. God, you are a giant dork!”

Before Charles could respond Jax’s voice echoed around the lake, as if the boy needed a microphone he was loud enough as it was, “I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for everyone turning up today. Before we kick off the annual scavenger hunt I have just been made aware of a few donations that have come in anonymously.”

I found myself cocking my brow at my brother who just smirked at me, throwing me a wink as he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket, “I honestly could cry at these donations. Two people have donated 26 thousand dollars between them, with 10 thousand dollars going towards the dementia charity and 16 thousand dollars being given,'' the words were getting caught in his throat, as he covered his eyes with his hand trying to stop the tears, “to the Teller family to help with any future care that JT needs.”

There was nothing stopping the tears from spilling over my lashline, I didn’t even try to stop them. That's when it hit me, everything made perfect sense. Two donations which both happened to be the same numbers as the two dorks standing either side of me drove under. Without saying a word I turned to Pierre pulling him into a tight hug, before turning to Charles reaching my hand up resting it on his cheek with a watery smile on my face.

“Baby, you ain’t as anonymous as you think,” I whispered, feeling him copy my movements but instead of letting his hand sit still against my skin he slowly used his thumb to wipe away my tears.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Sunshine.”

The rest of the day went by in one big blur, the scavenger hunt was a success, even if it was the first year where I didn’t win but I didn’t care. My focus was on Charles, I wanted to enjoy the little time we had left together so the afternoon was spent wandering around town, showing Charles the places that held fond memories for me. All whilst keeping an eye out for people that might be trying to leak pictures of the two of us, luckily for us everyone was more focused on the events of the day then me and Charles.

“I just need to finish up here then we can head back to mine,” I hummed, leaning up on my tiptoes pressing my lips against his cheek.

“Take your time Sunshine,” he smiled, picking Elenor up, sitting her on the top of the bar.

I couldn’t help but smile as I walked away from the two of them, slipping into the back I needed to find Jax. I knew where he would be, taking a deep breath I wrapped my fingers around the door handle before slowly pushing it open. I needed to clear the air between us. I hated the fact we had hardly spoken all day.

“Hey,” I said quietly, leaning against the wooden frame.

“Hey, yourself,” he said looking up from the paper that was in his hands, “about earlier,”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said softly, fiddling with the sleeves of Charles hoodie, “my head has been all over the place recently with you know,” I paused, dropping my gaze to my hands, “everything with Pops and the social media post, then you tell me we fucked up with Juice, I just kinda exploded.”

“We do need to talk about it though,” Jax sighed, dropping the paper onto the desk.

“I know,” I whispered, finally looking back up at my brother, “I need to get my head straight first, okay.”

“Okay,” Jax nodded, pushing himself up to his feet, taking a few strides across the small room before he pulled me into a tight hug, “I still love you, don’t worry about that Squirt.”

Resting my cheek against the cool leather, I took another deep breath, “enough mushy shit, Elenor wants a movie night so lock the office up and let's get outta here.”

Jax didn’t take much convincing, I knew that movie nights were his favorite, taking a step back, I started walking back into the main room. The moment I stepped out behind the bar I felt my blood starting to boil at the sight that was in front of me. My fingers twitched as I formed a fist, I was ready to punch a bitch.

She was pushing her fake ass tits up against Charles and fluttering her false eyelashes.

“If you wanna live, I would suggest you walk away whilst you have the chance,” I said through gritted teeth, pausing so I could unclench my fist covering Elenor’s ears, “you fucking skanky ass bitch.”

The smirk that Ima flashed made me want to grab the knife from behind me, the one that we used to cut up the lemon and limes, “well, let's be real, you aren’t the kind of person that Charlie goes for,” she laughed, turning back to Charles, running her fingers across his cheek. I didn’t miss the slight flinch that happened when she made contact with him.

“If you wanna be real, then I can get real,” I growled, placing my palm on the bar, shifting my weight onto my hand. I launched myself over the counter, “I might just start a bonfire out back, throwing your scrawny ass on it, watching you melt in the flames,” before she had a chance to respond, my fingers were tangled in her hair extensions, yanking her head back with so much force I was surprised I didn’t snap her neck.

“Get off me you golddigger,” she screamed, trying to claw at my hands.

“Do you even know who he is?” I asked, cocking my brow.

“Some football player,” she said with so much confidence I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Yeah, such a skilled football player,” I said with a playful tone, locking eyes with Charles, watching as he laughed slightly with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Jax, leaning against the back worktop with a smug smirk on his face, “need any help Squirt?” he asked, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his jeans.

“Nah, I’ve got this,” I nodded, tugging harder on Ima’s hair causing her to scream, “the trash just needs taking out, that's all,” I growled, storming out of the bar, dragging Ima behind me.

Ignoring the sound of her cries I didn’t stop until I was standing outside of the building. I didn’t care if I was being over dramatic, this bitch needed to keep her hands off things that didn’t belong to her, like my man.

Shit, I was calling him my man now.

Fuck, I was acting like a jealous girlfriend!

I didn’t even know if I could call myself Charles’ girlfriend, just the thought made my heart skip a beat but I knew that come the end of the summer break he would be back doing what he did best. Racing around tracks at 200 miles an hour, living that playboy life, more than likely forgetting I existed.

Pushing the thoughts down I let my fist collide with Ima’s nose feeling the familiar crunching feeling under my knuckles, “you better stay away from him if you don’t want your whole face reconstructed.”

Loosening my grip on her cheap ass extensions I spun around on the balls of my feet, strolling back into the bar with a proud smirk on my face. The moment I got close enough to Charles, he wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me in between his thighs.

“You getting protective over me now, Sunshine?” he hummed, slipping his hand underneath the hoodie letting his fingers brush against the skin of my lower back, causing sparks to erupt across my skin.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I shook my head slightly, “nah, I just don’t want you catching an STD or something,” I said calmly.

The smirk on Charles face was enough to cause my knees to wobble, if it wasn’t for his strong arms wrapped around me I was pretty sure they would have given out on me.

“You sure about that, Babygirl,” he purred, leaning closer so his nose brushed against mine.

The two of us were locked in the moment, it was like there was no one else in the room with us, like we were protected by a bubble, until Jax rang the last order bell, causing me to jump at the unexpected sound, “I do not need to see whatever this,” he scoffed, waving his hands in the air, “is gonna lead to.”

“Oh Jackson, leave your sister alone,” Pops scolded, causing me to pull away from Charles slightly, instantly being greeted by a warm smile from Pops, “she’s young and in love, leave her be.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I exclaimed, narrowing my eyes at my father, “who said anything about love?”

“Oh sunshine,” Charles beamed, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “you are so in love with me, it’s written all over your beautiful face.”

Instantly I could feel the heat in the room rising, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention as Charles slowly moved his fingers across my cheek and I was pretty sure my ears were the same shade of red as his hoodie I was wearing.

“I can uninvite you from family movie night, ya know,” I huffed, pouting at him, “so I’d think carefully about who’s side you take.”

“No you can’t Auntie Nova,” Elenor said loudly, “I invited him so you can’t kick him out.”

“Yeah, Auntie Nova, I’m Elenor’s guest,” he hummed. The smile on Charles' face turned into a smug smirk as he moved his hand into the air so Elenor could fist bump him, “thanks for having my back Ellie-bear,” he grinned, throwing her a wink. I couldn’t believe this, everyone was ganging up on me.

“Sempre zio Charles, sempre,” she grinned.

I couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the expression on Jax’s face as he watched his little girl speak in another language. Yes she didn’t pronounce it perfectly but for her age it was really good.

“And in English?” he asked, letting his eyes dart between me and his daughter.

“She said, always uncle Charles, always,” I beamed, leaning over and ruffling her hair. “in Italian.”

“Princess, where did you learn that?” Jax asked with a proud smile on his face, as he walked around the bar until he was now scooping her up in his arms.

“Pierre told me what uncle was in Italian and I knew what always was,” she giggled.

“I wonder where she learned that from,” Jax said with a playful tone, cocking his brow at me.

“No idea,” I shrugged, wiggling out of Charles arms.

“Yes you do auntie Nov,” Elenor grinned. Was I really about to be called out by my five year old niece? “you are always saying ‘Forza Ferrari, sempre!”

Apparently I was.

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

#Charles Leclerc #Charles Leclerc x oc #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #Charles Leclerc series #sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy imagine

[sunshine-sparkle]

Sunshineverse Next Gen - Ladybug Sparkle

Name: Ladybug Sparkle

Nicknames: Ladybug, Lady, Sparkle, Little Bug

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Species: Unicorn

Backstory: By the time Ladybug came along, no one was really expecting an alicorn, and a unicorn was no surprise. Her parents, however, were quite excited. Though Sunshine was showing talent for weather manipulation early, most of her tutoring came from Aunt Rainbow Dash, with her parents supplying theory as best they could.

They were able to instruct Ladybug more directly. Ladybug showed promise, but not much interest. She was happy to spend time with her parents, though, and learned fast. Despite being so much younger (Sunshine and Ladybug are about as far apart as Shining and Twilight), Ladybug was always better with crowds and royalty. 

It just didn’t stress her out in the same way and, a lot of the time, she liked the attention. She got her cutie mark by bursting into song at the Grand Galloping Gala. The Canterlot Elite were charmed by such a cute little filly with such an incredible voice, and it was the start of her career.

Ladybug was a media darling for a good long time, and things only exploded further when her childhood friend stepped on the scene. Heat Blaze, despite having an opposite musical style, was immediately cast as her rival and the two played it hard.

There’s no actual animosity between the two, but they certainly pretend for the fans. They’re famous for public disagreements, arguing duets, and giving brutal interviews about one and other. 

Much like Sunshine, she is nominally a princess (The Princess of Music). However, unlike Sunshine, no one gives her much grief about wasting her life or her talents. She plays well at royal events, after all, and is always giving concerts for charity and doing shows with other big figures in the field. 

Despite being opposites, Ladybug and her sister have always gotten along, and they make an effort to see each other when they can. With her much busier schedule, Ladybug does not see her extended family quite as often. She is close to her cousin Even Beat, however, and she will schedule extra shows in the Crystal Empire to see him more frequently.

Ladybug is quite happy being a princess, though over all she considers herself a singer.

Traits: Ladybug is a very chill pony. Not much ruffles her, and she’s able to easily correct when something goes wrong. She’s not a dramatic pony, exactly, but she sure does love to listen to gossip and rarely denies any rumors about herself. Its one of the big reasons the fake scandal between her and Heat Blaze got so big.

Happy in the limelight, and an excellent performer, Ladybug isn’t as genuine as Sunshine. Her sister will call her on this, but her parents very rarely clock it. In her heart, she is kind, but she’s spent a lot of time perfecting her Princess Ladybug Sparkle the Diva and sometimes she just doesn’t exit it, even around her friends. Beat rarely calls her on it, but he’s totally aware of it.

Ladybug is very generous in what she has, and is used to being praised for it, but she recognizes its hardly a sacrifice given her wealth and her position. Of her family, Bug is the most Canterlot, and has been known to go by “Lady” in some social circles. Her one big fear is that it will be discovered that no, she doesn’t hate Heat Blaze and that yes, they did used to go to school together and weren’t enemies. It would very likely tank her career, princess or not, and she can’t stand the thought of it. Being “her” is far too important to her sense of self.

Appearance: Ladybug has gray fur and a pink and purple mane. Her feet are white and her hooves are pink. She has feathers above her leonine tail that are silver, and she has long forelocks. Her eyes are purple.

Cutiemark: A music note with three gold stars above it on a musical bar. Her talent is singing.

Parents: Princess Twilight Sparkle and Sunburst Shimmer

Siblings: Sunshine Sparkle

(Paper Reed sort of counts as an AU siblings?)

Cousins: Flurry Heart, Even Beat, Morganite and Mara Sparkle, Luster Dawn, Aurora Daydream, Stardust Pie

Close Friends: Alexandrite Belle, Even Beat, Filgree and Leota Belle (And of course Heat Blaze)

#My Little Pony #my little pony generation 4 #friendship is magic #mlp #pony #unicorn #next gen #oc #my characters #my art #Mediocre art #ladybug sparkle #ladybug #princess twilight sparkle #princess twilight #twilight sparkle #twilight #sunburst #sunburst shimmer #twilight and sunburst #twilight x sunburst #twiburst #sunshineverse #Age of Alicorns

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

#Tim Drake #robin #red robin #bernard dowd #timber #fanfiction

[sepublic]

Happy Birthday to The Owl House!

           Honestly, I’m… REALLY shocked to think back on how it’s been a year? It’s been a full, actual year, since that first episode?

           I remember when The Owl House was first announced around early 2018. Something about it, the premise, the characters from that one poster we got; It really drew me in, and I kept track of the show’s progress in eager anticipation. Whenever Dana released art of Luz, Eda, and King, I was ecstatic- And when the show was delayed to 2020, I was dismayed.

           Then we got our teaser trailer; The opening them, the end credits, even a little sneak peek! I remember speculating a lot about Luz and all of the other new characters we were introduced to, such as Willow, Amity, and Gus- And then we got more and more trailers in the days leading up to the show. I wondered about Luz’s home back on Earth and where her family was, I listened intently to the Hooty and the Parliament music video, finding an almost melancholic, weirdly nostalgic (despite having never watched the show yet) vibe to it- Whilst also avoiding looking at the screen and seeing all of the various clips it offered, because I wanted to be surprised! It was two years of anticipation, two years of wait for this show- I’d never looked forward to a series before like this, last I can recall… So having this content FINALLY come out, seeing these characters in animation, hearing their wonderful voices! My soul was vibing, it was time, it was coming after all this time…!

          Eventually I finished Infinity Train Book 2, the same day that The Owl House premiered… I was blindsided when I woke up to the first episode’s release online, in full- I was already planning to wait until later to watch it on television, so having it permanently accessible from the internet was such a pleasant surprise! And the show… The show, man- That premiere caught me off-guard with how much I enjoyed it! I knew I was looking forward to this show, but still…! It blew away my expectations, and even now, has continued to; It was like my personal investment and attention had paid off so patiently well! I even got a DisneyNOW subscription so I could watch each new episode ASAP, the day it premiered, hours before it aired on television!

           I remember scouring Tumblr before the show officially premiered, and there was understandably very little- A few pieces of fanart here or there. And when the show DID premiere, for a while there wasn’t really much of a fandom- There was barely anyone, in fact! But I can remember a few notable blogs who have been around since the beginning… Me, I got invested into this show. I found myself really enjoying Lumity as a ship, especially since I resonated with both characters in it; Luz was such a ball of sunshine that brightened my day, and Amity really spoke to me with her more introverted, top-scoring personality. When the show hit its mid-season hiatus, I remember not handling it too well, as I got impatient and frantic in my speculations- I wanted so badly to learn more about these characters, see what happened- Get a look at Emperor Belos (then known as Bellows by the fandom), etc.

          I wrote my Bile Coven piece in preparation for Halloween, even got to know a mutual or two over shared theorizing! I kept track of Dana’s updates, and even had people come to my blog, of all places, to send asks! It was and still has been such an engaging part of fandom for me… I recall impatiently waiting for the Owl Pellet shorts and freaking out over them- And when Adventures in the Elements leaked early? I LOST MY MIND, I remember postponing something I was supposed to go to, just so I could watch the episode- And it was so good! Then I started wondering and hoping the rest of Season 1 would come out, and well- It took a while…

          And when Season 1B’s trailer came out, I was all over it; Scouring every possible frame, freaking out over the Grom screenshot, and appreciating the influx of new fans! It was amazing to watch The Owl House go from a relatively minor and obscure fandom, to becoming so much more mainstream and populous! I got into Rebecca Rose’s channel, I began writing more meta and posts about the show, as well as little recaps for each new episode. I feel like my blog really took off from here, as I got to interact with more and more people who shared this mutual love of The Owl House, and I was so ecstatic to see more content and buzz about it!

           My mind was solely focused on The Owl House, it was one of my huge hyperfixations, even moreso than during Season 1A’s run- I remember being anxious about Enchanting Grom Fright, wondering if we’d get queerbaited… But NO, Amity was in love with Luz! She canonically had a crush on her, a girl in love with another girl- And I loved it because Lumity was a special comfort ship of mine! Then Amity was confirmed lesbian… It was amazing! And I found myself SO invested, so inspired by the show and its characters, and all of the little allusions to things, the foreshadowing, the moments here or there that made so much more sense after a new episode.

           This show inspired me creatively- It got me to write some of my personal favorite fanfics, and I was and still am so touched by whatever feedback I get from them! The Owl House really got me to write, to obsess over characters and analyze them, to look at motifs, to think about worldbuilding… It’s been such an artistically enriching experience, both the show and the fandom! I remember despairing so terribly when Agony of a Witch came out, the genuine betrayal I had when Lilith revealed the truth- Because I’d been legitimately endeared to her character beforehand, even formed a sort of ‘trust’ in a sense… And like many others, I agonizingly anticipated the season finale, the much-needed emotional reconciliation!

           I remember how the episode titles were revealed, bit by bit, and how I and others speculated on what they’d spell out! I remember when the fandom obsessed over the Witch’s Apprentice game and its relics, for clues and new lore after each episode, the little hints here or there! I was freaked out by characters like Belos, who lived up to my hopes and expectations- First being alluded to by name, then his amazing appearance… And then his voice and mannerisms and everything about him! And when the Season Finale came out…

           Well, there was relief. But there was a bittersweet emptiness- That it was over! The first season was over! There was a celebratory triumph, of course- We finally wrapped up the first, major arc of the show, the first batch of episodes that had been worked upon, the whole thing now unveiled and appreciated! But I was a little dismayed because a part of me KNEW a hiatus much longer than the previous one was ahead of me, and I did not handle the mid-season hiatus well. Of course, then Dana had her Reddit AMA, and the charity livestream; Both of which NOURISHED me creatively, and have helped to fill out the wait! To carry out my momentum, to not flounder about in hiatus; I invested myself into more meta, into various posts, etc. I read fanfiction that genuinely floored me, obsessed over fanart, etc.

           I supported the show’s release on Disney Plus, ecstatic to get this kind of ready access. I revisited past episodes and characters, looking at them in a new light, appreciating things; Like Luz’s relationship with fantasy… King’s surprising development, all of Eda’s little hints and clues. There’s been an emotional catharsis with these characters for me- And I genuinely feel like I’ve been a lot happier lately because of this show! I’ve met so many other blogs and gotten to know them, seen their ideas and displayed mine as we appreciated one another… I even remember doing another blog’s fanart prompt prior to the show’s release, in preparation!

           I feel like The Owl House has genuinely given me a new appreciation for meta, for fandom and analysis… For headcanons, for writing my own stories and contributing my own ideas and speculations, etc.! It’s contributed SO much joy to me as a hyperfixation, and rapidly risen through my blog as my most frequent tag! And even as I explore other fandoms and hyperfixations, both then and now, especially to pass on this crippling hiatus… This show holds a VERY special place in my heart for me. It’s really made me feel for these characters, the love and sadness, the excitement and sense of comfort… Its love and emotions, angst and found family, lore and speculation, it hits so hard to me in a way that other media hasn’t!

           It’s provided representation- Such as canonically queer characters, or protagonists who speak so well to the neurodivergent experience for many people! I’ve had delight in seeing people suggest Amity as autistic, when before Season 1B, I lowkey headcanoned and saw her as such- So seeing more evidence for this resonated deeply in my heart! I remember all of the discussion about King as a character, the confusion and talk about whether or not he WAS a King of Demons, when that first announcement in 2018 had made a similar claim… I looked forward to Eda and Lilith’s relationship, speculated on who cursed Eda, and remembered when I’d considered the Blights as a potential culprit! I remember thinking about Hooty, wondering what his deal is- And thinking then and now about that Owl Deity mural in the Owl House! Watching Luz’s development as a character and as a witch, seeing her become more proficient with magic until it finally pays off with her squaring up against Belos, and wounding him- I’d never felt so proud of a character and their progress before!

           There’s still so many more questions and mystery, lore… as well as just genuine character interactions, to look forward to! I think The Owl House is one of my favorite shows of all time… It’s deeply touched me as a person and creator, and I genuinely strive to create something even close to this one day. This show has inspired me, made me laugh and cry, compelled me to creatively make content; It’s introduced me to a wider fandom that I genuinely feel like a part of, had me meet other mutuals… It really is something special to me. And while I am eager for Season 2, I also want to appreciate what Dana Terrace and her crew have already established. I love this show’s art style and animation, the designs and overall weirdness of its characters- I love speculating and thinking about them, getting more and more details, and so forth.

           If it’s for a better product, I’m fine waiting for Season 2. And honestly, I love what we already have, and I’ve done a lot with so many people. I’ve even looked over supplementary materials and stuff posted by the crew or news articles, in my need for content… And I love every bit of update, art, and/or acknowledgement of the show’s hiatus, and Season 2’s development! There’s so much to look forward to… And there’s so much that I’ve enjoyed, after plenty of anticipation!

           Thank you @danaterrace, and everyone who worked on this- For everything. It really is crazy to reflect on this entire year, to realize it’s been a full year since that first episode, since that first premiere that lit up my world like Luz’s light spells; And it feels like such a milestone that we’ve reached! I look forward to what comes next, and I also intend to keep appreciating and cherishing what we’ve already gotten. Here’s to this show’s second year, people- It’s been such a journey to look back on and remember each step, each phase, each particular moment and stage… And I can only imagine what will come next! This show has SUCH a special place in my heart, and has made me feel in so many ways I haven’t before!

           Happy Birthday, The Owl House! You’ve earned it!

#the owl house #toh #owl house #the owl house luz #luz noceda #the owl house eda #edalyn clawthorne #the owl house king #lumity #happy birthday #dana terrace #ramblings #nostalgia #meta

[berlinini]

I’m gonna come rant to you again (I did it before). All my close fandom friends are Larries (I came into the fandom trough Larry, but changed my tune real fast), so I can’t talk to them.

They keep saying Louis doesn’t need promo for his festival, because tickets are already given and it’s full. And he doesn’t want to be a big musician, he is happy like he is and I get so frustrated at that. How does that make any sense? How can they see all this and think it is normal? It really gets to me.

Is There a way to find more Louis mutuals?

Hi Anon!

You're welcome to rant anytime :)

I totally get your frustration - it's been ingrained in this fandom that Louis doesn't want a successful solo career and that is very far from the truth. Larries buying into this narrative are actually doing Sony's job of pushing Louis to the curb. Yet, he persists... in less than normal conditions.

Yes, the Festival is mostly for fans and it was expected that it would be sold-out based on Louis' current fan base alone. The festival holds 8,000 people - and Louis' dates at Wembley in 2022 have sold out in an instant for a venue with a bigger capacity.

We see through the London livestream and through the Festival that Louis wants to perform (he said several times it's one of his favourite thing to do) and wants to connect with his fans (finding new ways of giving us content since the tour is rescheduled). The livestream was a huge success... yet no press coverage. I have no doubt the Festival will blow our mind, but no one is expecting the situation to change in terms of promo because it has not changed so far.

The thing is, Louis' career cannot be sustained on its current fanbase. Fans have checked out already because it took 5 years to have Walls and fans are leaving now too because everything is messed up and the mood is terrible. Louis needs new fans - outside of 1D, outside of Larry - that will listen to his music and attend his concert. To get new, "casual" fans, he needs proper promo and that is just... not happening right now. The Festival would have been a great way to introduce new fans to Louis through the opening acts.

Just because the festival is sold-out doesn't mean that things could (should!!!) have been different from a promotional point of view - from traditional press and radio coverage to Louis' social medias.

Larries refusing to see how abnormal Louis' career has been and still is are just willingly covering their eyes. I also wonder what kind of "fans" they are - wouldn't they want Louis to achieve the success he deserves? Wouldn't they want to tune in the radio and hear Always You and have more people discover Louis' amazing songs? Wouldn't they want people to know that Louis Tomlinson had the biggest livestream concert in 2020 and raised millions for charity? Wouldn't they want to share the sunshine that is Louis Tomlinson? I do! Louies do!

On top of that, saying that Louis is "happy" in the corner he's been put in is very cruel. I know Louis radiates optimism but I can't believe he spent months (a year?) working on the Festival only to get a mention (full of errors) at the bottom of the Music Weekly article. I know he persists because of the fans but no one works in an industry and is comfortable with being blacklisted ignored like he is. No one who is a hard worker like him enjoys being surrounded by an incompetent team. Anyone who thinks Louis is comfortable or "wants" his current situation is extremely naive and probably doesn't have a lot of experience in this world.

Things are extremely messed up right now and I can't fathom how Louis himself must be feeling. It's clear that there are things going behind the scenes that we don't see and what we see is already so weird... It's worrying.

Larries don't care much about all that I presume because they have their headcanon about "stay-at-home-husband!Louis" and would rather discuss his personal life than his musical aspirations.

Sometimes I wish I could be blissfully unaware of this fucked up situation too, because it's very uneasy... but the facts are here. Once you know them you can decide wether you want to get into ~the discourse~ or tailor your fandom experience in another way. But you definitely shouldn't go around telling people that Louis doesn't want to be a big musician - again, so far from the truth (Larries have a hard time listening to what Louis really says, I've noticed.)

In the end, Louis persists and comes through no matter what so I know the festival will be great and I can't wait to see him perform with his long hair and his rock t-shirt. 🕯Manifesting 🕯

(To find new Louies mutuals, I suggest that you follow solo Louies' blogs. Here is my blog recs tag)

#answered ask #anon #(louie) #larries #the away from home festival #louis promo #louie discourse (serious) #august 2021 #fandom discourse

[duchessofostergotlands]

Because of the sunshine laws in Florida, they released a bunch of emails to and from the mayor’s office in Orlando following the Pulse attack. One of the emails is from Omid to a staffer. Do you think KP might’ve given him a special tip-off here? I’m guessing he wasn’t very close with Katrina or she would’ve just told him what Harry’s letter said, rather than telling him to go ask the mayor’s office. But Omid makes it sound like it was a little more personal email, rather than a boilerplate sent to all reporters. Do you think this is pretty common for KPs staff? (from the looks of it, the mayor’s office never replied to him). Submission from anon This is another one of those things where people seem to think I have much more information and insider knowledge than I could possibly have! What we know happened: 14th June: William and Kate sign the condolence book 14th June: Harry writes a letter for the Mayor of Orlando Lunch time on 15th June (assuming this email is Florida time): Omid sends this email Evening on 15th June (Florida time)/early morning UK time: an article is published by Omid in Us Weekly with the content of the letter. So there are a few possibilities. I have no evidence to support any of those theories over another. I’ll speculate based on what we know of Omid, Katrina, Harry, relations between the three of them at that time, the PR approach at the palace, and just general common sense. Possibility one: Katrina and Omid were secret bffs and she was leaking things to him and him alone. I doubt this is right. Not because I don’t think they leak as they certainly would but because Omid was not an important person on the royal scene before he got his Harry and Meghan link and Us Weekly is not an important source for anyone who would matter to KP. It wouldn’t be advantageous to leak it through them so why would they? If they wanted the letter out there but didn’t want to post it themselves they could have just told the mayor to share it, they’ve done it before. Possibility two: Katrina unofficially briefed all the press about it and Omid is just making it seem like he was the only one to make himself look better (which would be a fair tactic; who doesn’t have a job where they have to manipulate information? lol). This one is a bit more logical but I think still not the case because it would seem from your submission that there were no other reporters who contacted the mayor and Omid definitely broke the story. If she’d briefed everyone then surely more people, especially in the US, would have got in touch. Possibility three: after William and Kate signed the condolence book Omid took it upon himself to ask if Harry had done anything given he’d recently been to Orlando and had worked with gay rights charities in the past and Katrina confirmed he wrote a letter. When asked what the letter said Katrina said they wouldn’t be releasing it but he could ask the mayor if he wanted to. Omid then fluffed it up a little bit in the email to get what he needed. This option seems the most likely to me. The time line would fit, it aligns with what we know of their PR approach, and of the three possibilities I can think of it’s the most logically coherent. So that’s what I’d guess but it is just a guess. Ultimately there’s nothing scandalous here anyway!

#ask #anon #prince harry #british royal family #submission

[dawnwave16]

dad Bruce Wayne only Marinette doesn't know till she has been shipped off to him thanks to lila's lies. So she has to hide the fact she us ladybug and the new guardion while the bat family have to find the fact they are the bat family Mean while Jason has started a betting pool on when the newest member of the family joins the bat family

Sorry, this has taken so long! While I read a lot of Maribat I’m not very familiar with how they are in canon so I’m not 100% sure if I got this right! I also kinda ran out of insperation near the end so if it feels rushed that’s why. :)

Story:

A bug amoung the bats.

To the staff of the plane, the girl sitting in the window seat just in front of the right wing was quiet and withdrawn.  To her family, she was untrustworthy and a risk to their livelihood.  To those who she used to think of as friends, she was a backstabber and a liar who hid her bullying tendencies behind an innocent face.

The truth was she was none of those things.  Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and what she was, was beyond angry.  

She had arrived home after the battle with Miracle Queen only to find her bags sitting for her by the door. Her parents had given her two hours to box up everything she deemed worthy of being sent to her new home as well as any trinkets she might want to take with her in her hand luggage before they had handed her a bus pass, a one-way plane ticket, a letter to her new guardians and told her they could no longer risk having her under their roof so they were sending her to Gotham to be with a family there that could hopefully get her back onto the ‘right path’.

A soft sigh escaped Marinette as she stared unseeingly out the small window.  Slowly a tear rolled down her cheek before she angrily swiped it away.  As if she didn’t have enough to deal with, she thought angrily.  Now she would have to hide the fact that she was Ladybug as well as the newly christened High Guardian of the Miraculous from people she didn’t know.  Who knew how well that would go.  

Another tear escaped her eyes as she thought about how she had been betrayed.  Looking back, she wished she had told Adrien that Lila had threatened her in the bathroom that day.  Or that she hadn’t blindly believed him when he’d said that she would out herself if they took the high road.  She wished she hadn’t tried to deal with everything by herself instead of telling her parents before Lila had gotten to them.  But most of all she wished that her trust in adults hadn’t been completely destroyed by it all.

Now she was alone and heading to a country she had limited knowledge of, where they spoke a language she wasn’t confident in speaking (although she understood more than she could say) and to a city that had more villains than Paris.

By the time her plane landed in Gotham airport, Marinette had a new mask in place.  She refused to let herself be hurt again and if that meant that she had to hide her true nature, so be it.  From now on, the world would see the ice queen she needed to be even if she wasn’t sure how to be one yet. The seatbelt sign flickered off as the captain announced the time and weather conditions before wishing them well as they disembarked.  Marinette took her time gathering all her things and making sure she had everything she might need, to hand.  

The letter from her parents sat in the front pocket of her bag like lead.  The miracle box was in the main compartment of said bag next to a blank sketchbook and a few odds and ends.  She had been too upset to design during the flight. 

Reluctantly, Marinette disembarked the plane and retrieved her bags from baggage claim.  Once she had everything she scanned the waiting crowd for whoever was meant to be fetching her.  Spotting her name on a card being held by a distinguished older gentleman she slowly made her way over to him, trying not to drag her feet despite waiting to.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sir.  I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette introduced herself in stilted high-school english, emotions locked behind a blank mask that would make an assassin proud.

“Oh God, it’s another Demon Spawn,” the man’s companion muttered.  She flicked her eyes over him.  Where the man holding the card was wearing a formal suit and looked neat and representable, the one who had just spoken looked like a biker.  A scuffed brown leather jacket hung open over a black muscle t-shirt.  Ratty jeans held up by an equally scuffed belt covered his legs.  The bottom of said jeans were tucked into well worn combat boots while a white steak in his hair added to the ‘dangerous’ vibe rolling off of him.

Marinette returned her attention to the older gentleman.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  Welcome to Gotham.  Please ignore Jason, he tends to act before he thinks.” His voice was cultured, Marinette noticed even as she nodded.  When he indicated that she was to follow him, she tightened her grip on her bag  and the luggage trolley and did so silently. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Jason watched his new sibling closely.  Her face was guarded but her body language screamed that she had been hurt and badly so.  Her stiff posture reminded him of Damian despite her being closer to Tim’s age.  The strange thing was that as far as Jason could see the stiffness seemed to be more of a defence mechanism rather than her true personality.  He sighed, what was it with his family always attracting those that were damaged to the point where they hid?  And why was it that both of Bruce’s biological children were the worst damaged?  Did the universe hate Bruce that much?

Although Jason didn’t know it, Alfred was thinking along the same lines.  

The trip to the mansion passed in relative silence as Marinette pulled out a cell phone and quickly started messaging all of the people that had requested commissions to explain that their orders would be delayed.  Her parents didn’t know about this phone, nor did they know about the fact that Marinette was a very successful designer with an exclusive customer base. They didn’t even know about Edna Mode mentoring her whenever the designer for the heroes had time. They thought she was still trying to get a foot in the door of the industry.  It didn’t help Lila had claimed Marinette was trying to use Adrien as a way to get to his father either.

By the time the trio reached Wayne Manor she had caught up completely.  She had also managed to further freak Jason out with how quiet she was.  As far as he knew teenaged girls were ever this quiet even when they were on their phones.  From what he remembered, girls talked non-stop no matter what.  Well most girls, Cass seemed to be the exception and now, so did Marinette.

The meeting with the rest of the family was just as icily polite as the one she had given at the airport.  All she did was hand an envelope to Bruce before saying she was tired and retreating to the room Alfred obligingly led her to.  Jason turned his attention to Bruce, who had made a strangled sound.

“B?”

“She doesn’t know…” was the choked reply.

“What?” Dick queried in confusion.

“Marinette.  She doesn’t know she’s my daughter.  Sabine never told her.”

“Holy…” Jason breathed while Damian froze.  

Damian had been willing to hate her just because Marinette had a better claim on Bruce due to being older than him but how could he hate her now?  She didn’t know she was Bruce’s daughter at all!

* * * * * * * * 

Over the next three months the bat family discovered very little about Marinette.  She hadn’t reacted as they had expected to the news that she was Bruce’s daughter at all.  Instead of bouncing off the ceiling in excitement she had become even more withdrawn, appearing only for meals and to attend school as was required. 

All of the boys had tried to get closer to her but had been rebuffed which had just added to their frustration too.  Eventually Tim had turned to his hacking skills and what he had found had left him in a cold fury.

“Tim?” Dick asked cautiously.

“Is everyone here?” Tim’s voice was noticeably trembling as he spoke.

“Yes,” Bruce grunted.  He was just as frustrated as his sons.

“Spill already, Replacement,” Jason snorted.

“Right, well apparently our sister wasn’t always this cold.  Judging from the records I’ve  been able to get my hands on she used to be a virtual ball of sunshine.  She was class president, she helped at the bakery, did charity work and bent over backwards from all those she considered to be her friends.  I’m not sure what changed though.  It looks like it was almost overnight that all her ‘friends’ started targeting her over social media, she was expelled but that got repealed fairly quickly, and suddenly she was the class parier.  It doesn’t make sense.”  Tim sighed as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

There was silence for a while before Damian growled and stalked out of the room.  Dick shared a look with the others before running after him.

“What are you planning?”

“Just to get some answers, Greyson.”

The two soon found themselves at the door that led to Marinette’s room and Damian raised his hand to knock.  A sound made him pause, it was almost like a…

“No way, did she just laugh?” Dick breathed.  Soon both boys had their ears pressed against the door.

“Look, Uncle J, I get you want to send Fang after the little bitch but that would just give him indigestion.” Marinette was saying which made the two eve’s droppers eyes widen.  Uncle J? Fang? And did she really just swear?

“Yeah, I know you are angry but really what more could be done?  I tried exposing her lies.  I tried warning the class.  Heck I even tried taking the high road but in the end she won.  I’m now in Gotham and none of those that I trusted to support me are here.  I never thought Tom and Sabine would fall for her lies!  They know I have multiple sketch books and that one of them is inspiration only.  They know the books are colour coded.  So why would they even think I’d copy someone else’s ideas!”  Marinette’s voice was raw with pain and defeat as she spoke which stunned the boys. 

There was a pause as Marinette listened to whoever was on the other end of the call then they heard a loud sigh.

“Do what you feel is best Uncle J.  I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive them.  Tom and Sabine raised me yet they still turned on me and sent me away.  I grew up with most of the people in my class yet they still believed that I could bully someone. They turned on me so quickly I almost got whiplash from it.  If that’s the thanks I get for trying to protect them, for trying to make sure they don’t fail to reach their dreams, then I wash my hands of them.  Doesn’t stop it from hurting though.”

Dick and Damian shared a look.  Marinette was chatting away in French but thanks to them learning it they were still able to understand everything.  Slowly they straightened up and made their way back to the batcave to report what they had heard.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

Marinette closed her eyes as she thought about the last three months.  Bruce had enrolled her in Gotham Academy and she was working as hard as she always did to make sure her grades were as high as possible.  She was pretty sure the whole school thought she was a total snob what with her ice cold attitude to most things but she didn’t care.  The only ones she showed her true self to these days were Edna, Jagged and the clients she had amassed before leaving France, the Kwami’s and her online Boyfriend Roy. 

She had met Roy by chance after attending a masked ball with Edna almost a year after she had started being mentored by the pint sized designer. Roy had tried to wriggle out of having to attend any future balls by behaving badly but Marinette had derailed his plan when she had simply grabbed his ear and told him to either quit his behaviour or she’d deal with him. He had tried to fight back but had found himself hogtied in a measuring tape. Once he had calmed down and Marinette had repaired the rips in his blazer the two had discovered they had a fair bit in common and they hadn’t stopped talking since.

When Jagged had called her to check on her she had decided to give him the full, unedited story. While he hadn’t been impressed he understood where she was coming from. Why should she have to keep fighting to help others when they wouldn’t do the same for her? Marinette flopped backwards on her bed as she thought about everything she’d learned. Bruce being her father had been a shock but it did explain why she had blue eyes. She didn’t care though. The family the man had built showed her he cared about family more than wealth so why hadn’t she known about him beforehand? Why had her mother sent her to him as a punishment? 

A knock at the door had her sitting up and making herself look presentable in a hurry.

“Come in.”

“Marinette? Can we talk for a bit?” Bruce asked her cautiously.

“Sure.” Marinette kept her mask of cold, indifference in place as she replied. “What can I help you with?”

“I know coming here and finding out I am your father was a shock but I was wondering if you could tell me about what happened for you to be sent here in the first place? I will understand if you don’t want to but I want you to know I’m here for you if you do.” Bruce said carefully. Marinette looked over Bruce’s shoulder and saw Tikki and Wayzz nodding incouringly at her. The kwami’s didn’t like how closed off Marinette had forced herself to be but had understood.

“Will I have to change again if I do tell you?” 

“Not change per say, maybe just drop the mask around the family a bit. As much as you are comfortable with anyway.”

Marinette studied Bruce for a moment before making up her mind. She’d tell him about the school issues but there was no way he’d be finding out she was Ladybug anytime soon. Secret identities and all that cam first. 

[timeforelfnonsense]

Looking to Make Friends

Dafni x Astarion || T ||  Ao3 ||  Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series 

Some pre relationship fun before any feelings were caught.  Astarion has a pretty good WIS score and with his background, I think he'd be quite good at reading other people. It's interesting to contrast that with Dafni, who is also very perspective but in a very different way. (and they were narrative foils)

Astarion padded along softly behind Dafni, bow drawn and at the ready. He’d offered to help her catch dinner for the party. To be perfectly honest he wasn’t much for hunting. Not with a bow anyway. In truth, he’d followed her out here to pick her brain. He wanted to get the measure of each of his newfound associates and the peculiar cleric seemed the best place to start. She was far and away the most open of the bunch. The rest of their number all carried an air of privacy about them. Dafni, in contrast, was completely transparent or at least presented herself to be. She could also serve as a bridge to gaining the trust of the more discerning among them. She’d already created a respectable rapport with Gale and the pair they’d picked up in the grove, Wyll, and Criella. She’d gone out of her way to offer hospitality and kindness to each person in the party, even those who seemed less than interested in playing nice. 

You do seem the type. Inquisitive. Looking for connection… It’s every man for himself and you are looking to make friends.

The corner his Astarion’s lip turned up. Shadowheart was canny. That much was clear. She was, however, too short-sided to see the benefits of having someone of that sort on her side. Dafni wanted friends and he needed to secure an ally- It was an ideal fit. He’d noticed the way she blushed at his teasing. How eager she was to keep his company. She almost certainly found him attractive. That made things a bit easier at least. 

“Can I confess something to you?” He inquired, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear, “I asked to tag along because I wanted to spend time with you.” Dafni’s cheeks turned cherry red as he traced the blade of her ear. A coy smile forming across his lips. “Aw, I hope I haven’t embarrassed you. I couldn’t help but overhear the way Shadowheart rebuffed you this afternoon. It’s her loss really if she can’t see what an intriguing woman you are.” 

“I-Thank you, Astarion.” She stammered, tracing a small circle in the dirt with the toe of her boot, “What did you want to know?” 

“Tell me about your life before all of this?” He asked, gesturing to his temple. 

“In the city or before that?” She asked, tilting her head thoughtfully, “I can think of several ways to answer that question.” 

Astarion mulled his response over for a moment. He was curious about her life in the city. Dafni was a creature of the wild through and through. She seemed very much at home among the plants and creatures of the forest. It was hard to picture her strolling about the lower city. But, he’d observed her to be the sentimental sort. An inquiry into her more distant past would yield far more. 

“Tell me about where you grew up?”

He heard her heart give a worrying lurch. Her honey-brown eyes falling to the faded leather of her shoes as the flush that covered her cheeks grew even deeper. That was not the reaction he had been expecting from her. Was she embarrassed? No. Nervous. Her arms crossed over her chest as she let out a rush of air from barely parted lips. 

“Umm- Well, as you might have overheard Criella saying, I’m from the Feywilds originally. I should have told you the truth when you asked about my being from the city. I don’t like lying! Even by omission! I just wanted you to trust me...”

Astarion knew a thing or two about conceding one’s nature. He had to stifle the chuckle building in his chest. It would seem he and lovely little Daffodil had something in common. 

Her reaction had been rather dear. But, the logic did follow. The creatures of Faerie had a certain...Reputation. View by the common folk as at best, fickle, whimsical beings, ruled by emotion and a strange sense of decorum. And at worst as wicked, Unseelie tricksters or hags looking to strike duplicitous bargains. 

She wants to be liked, He thought,  Her reputation is important to her. 

“Think nothing of it!” He soothed with a wave of his hand, “We are all entitled to our little secrets. I’d still like to hear more if you’d be kind enough to indulge me?” 

“Of course!” The tension in her shoulders loosened and she continued, “I’m actually quite proud of my heritage, despite my omission. Of all of the Protectors' children, the eladrin of the Faerie are the most like the first elves that sprung from his blood. The plane of Faerie is magnificent. As close a place to Arvandor, there is. It teems with the most beautiful plants and colorful creatures in all of creation. It is a place of enchantment and wonder, both deadly and delightful. Many creatures who stumble into a crossing by mistake lose their wits to its irresistible splendor but my people, we prosper where others wither.” 

He took note of the way her back straightened when she spoke. Her posture took on an elegance he hadn’t seen in her before. He couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips. For all her charity and warmth she still held a small taste of that classic elven haughtiness. Interesting indeed. 

Even more interesting still was the specific pride she took in her ability to survive what overs could not. He was not easily impressed but spirited Dafni had made quite the impression on him. She was tenacious and spirited. She would not surrender herself to their grim fate.

Another similarity. 

 He thought back to their first night in camp, to her girlish snickering at his unease about sleeping outdoors. She had called ‘N'Tel'Que'Tethira’, a city elf. 

But, no sooner than the words left her did a modified expression fall across her pretty round face. Her next sentence had been a string of apologies and assurance she felt no superiority to her city-dwelling cousins. 

Astarion had gathered the fondness she felt for the elves was not limited to her own people but rather all varieties of elves. He’d overhead her with Gale, insisting she was no scholar yet there seemed to be no question of elven lore or history she could not summon at the drop of a pin. He’d not given much thought to his own elveness in quite some time. On the list of things, Astarion was, elf did not fall very high on the ranking of importance. Yet Dafni, from the moment she set eyes on him, saw kin and ally. He’d even seen her extend this esteem to Shadowheart. 

Pride in her culture and people. He’d found another piece of her puzzle. A bit obvious but important nonetheless.

“I was born in the Faerie reflection of the Moonshaes, on the Isle of Gwynneth.” Dafni continued, “In a village called PeleiraI. It was an oasis created by the primal elves who first came to the feywilds after being cast out by Corellon.”

Astarion nodded along as she spoke. He recalled the images that had flashed through his mind upon their first meeting. Tucked away in a forest of mythical beauty, her ‘village’ had been a far cry from the thatched huts and dirt floors the word brought to mind. He’d seen spires and structures of flawless marble reflecting a breathtaking, sunset of burnt orange and vivid violet. The ethereal structures scattered among the woodland didn’t detract from the wild nature of the glen but enhanced it. Appearing as if they had been grown from the earth just the same as the imposing trees that sheltered them. 

“I saw the fleeting image of a settlement when our minds touched. It looked like something out of a fairytale. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He affected his voice, coloring it with wistfulness and awe, “I can only imagine the adventures you got up to there.”

“I did a lot of nothing most days.” She snorted, “Read. Practice medicine or magic. Explore the forest. Pester my older sisters. Maybe a hunt with visiting Seelie knights if I was lucky. I was never really allowed out without my sisters or some sort of escort.” Dafni scoffed the heel of her boot hitting the tree behind her with a soft, repetitive thump. “My mother, Thesmia is our clan’s leader. She’s a well-respected wizard and historian of a sort. I think she knew I was curious about what was on the other side of the mirror so to speak. Gwyneth is littered with fey crossings and she didn’t want me wandering off to the material all alone.” 

She was the sheltered daughter of a noble (or close to it)? Right within his bailiwick! Her story wasn’t an unfamiliar one. Many of his marks in the city had been young lords and ladies smothered by the expectation and duty. All itching for the taste of freedom they were certain they’d find in Astarion’s honeyed words and dark charms. 

This revelation did not yield new information so much as clarify an impression he already had. He’d seen more than her childhood home that day on the beach. The worried face of an otherworldly elven woman and bone aching wanderlust still burned through him when he played the memories over in his head.

“Is that why you left to live with the wood elves?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, “To see this side of the mirror?”

“You remembered?” The flush returned to her cheeks as she fidgeted with the string of her bow.

Astarion smiled his most beguiling smile, “I told you I thought you were intriguing, did I not?”

 “I suppose you did!” She hummed, “Well to answer your question, yes. In apart anyways-'' She shrugged squeezing her biceps, “I wanted to explore, I was never going to know myself in Thesmia’s shadow. She was very...resistant to the idea. She’d seen how cruel people could be. That was part of why she made a home for us in PeleiraI. If she had it her way I would have spent the rest of my days in tucked away safe in her tower.” Dafni paused for a beat, her hands anxiously toying with the edge of her sleeve, “Please don’t misunderstand me. I love my mother dearly. She can just be a bit…”

“Overbearing?” He suggested.

“Yes.” Dafni giggled, releasing the worried fabric from her fingertips, “I know she wanted what was best for me. We just didn’t agree on what that was. I wanted to live my life and she wanted me to live hers.”

“I can sympathize to an extent.” He said, his mouth turning down into a scowl.

“You had a loving but smothering ancient being as a mother?” She tittered, playfully bumping her shoulder against his.

“No.” His tone came out a bit sharper than he’d intended. He ran his hand through his hair composing himself before he continued, “But, I understand the feeling that your life isn’t really your own.”

It was a risk to offer such information up. One he maybe shouldn’t have taken but, something about her vulnerability made him feel a little less guarded. A skill that could prove dangerous. At least his slip up hadn’t been for not. Her heart had slowed to a steady thrum. The jittery shuffling of her feet had stopped. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dafni responded, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. He had expected her to pry. She was painfully curious and astonishingly open with her own feelings. Yet, she seemed to sense pressing the matter would upset him. Instead, she moved on. Her voice coming out small and far away, “I think she wanted me to be more like her. Refined. Intelligent. Graceful.” She sighed pressing her back to the mossy tree trunk, “Sometimes I worry I might have been a bit of a disappointment.”

Ah-

There it was. The piece he’d been hoping to find. She wanted reassurance. Validation. To be valued and appreciated by her own merits.

“I don’t know your mother or her mind but, for what it’s worth, I think you are quite remarkable.” 

“Really?” Her voice quivered as she looked up at him with sparkling doe eyes. 

“If not for the tadpole’s intervention you may well have, how did you put it, cut my smug head right off my shoulders?” He snickered toying absentmindedly with the pommel of his dagger, “Or made a respectable attempt at any rate. I’m not often bested by my quarries.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad I didn’t.” Dafni leaned in close, the sweet scent of her dizzying his senses. Her breath tickling his ear as she whispered, “Your head is far too lovely to be parted from your shoulders.” 

“Why, Daffodil! I’m flattered!” He stated a pleased grin plastered across his face, “Not surprised but, flattered. You did strike me as a woman of taste.”  

“Are you always this cocky?” She chided in a teasing tone.

“Probably.”  

“Hmm. Why am I not surprised” Dafni had tried to sound vexed but the edges of her voice teemed with amusement. Her big, topaz eyes gleaming with joviality, “Fair is fair. Tell me about your life before the tadpoles?”

He felt a slight unease creep into his chest in response to her innocent inquiry. He’d played fast and loose with the truth countless times with his marks but Dafni was different. She was observant, always picking up on the little subtleties of people's deminers. He would do better to stick to omissions rather than out and out mistruths. He brought his hand to the back of his neck giving the tender mussels a gentle rub.

“Oh, what is there to tell.” He put on a dispassionate expression. Careful to sound cool and nonchalant. “I was a magistrate- it’s all rather tedious.”

“Really? I can’t picture you as a bureaucrat.” 

“And why not?” He gasped clutching his hand over his chest.

“Well for starters, you despise rules even more than I do. You like to stir up trouble. And your sense of morality- How do I put this, seems a bit...crooked? No offense.” She explained, indicating her points on the tips of her fingers.

“Oh, none taken!” Astarion gave her a peal of hearty laughter, shaking his head, “Daffodil, I hate to be the one to tell you there is a great deal of dubious morality in government.”

Her expression soured, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly as she stuck it out, “Well, I still can’t picture it. You are far too much fun for such a stuffy job.” 

“People have many sides, dear.” He shrugged glancing over at her with a playful look, “But thank you.”

#Dafni of Gwynneth #astarion #elf writes #bg3 fic

[no-d4y-but-tod4y]

Listen. My two brain cells and I don’t know how to put the cut in. May a wise elder please enlighten me?

I finally did a first kiss fic who’s proud of me.

Enjoy!

———

Close Encounters

‘I wish we were playing spin the bottle.’

Frank sat in his living room amongst a circle of friends, playing traditional party games, talking themselves hoarse and taking advantage of all the Transylvanian wine the attendees had commandeered back with them. ‘Proper wine,’ Frank exclaimed in delight, ‘not that juice they have here.’ In a situation like this, Frank could pretend he was still on his home planet. That he’d never left. Had it not been, however, for one very significant addition that he held under his arm, and hadn’t left his side all night.

As far as real life aliens go, Alma had only ever known Frank, and had but a moderate friendship with Magenta and Riff Raff. Therefore she didn’t know how to react when she found out that a whole gaggle of aliens were due to arrive in Frank’s castle that very evening. He didn’t pressure her into anything but Alma thought it important to make an effort and show interest in Frank’s culture and heritage.

And, nerves aside - a whole group of spacey friends. How cool was that.

However sitting in a circle of complete strangers with unusual and scary faces who all had a fascination with her as if she were a puppy, proved to be much more daunting than she thought.

‘No,’ declared an impossibly beautiful woman dressed entirely head to toe in pink (from her ludicrously long eyelashes to a the small piercings on each finger) with the ironic name of Orchid. ‘We’re playing truth or dare first.’

Alma’s stomach dropped. She had no doubt they would be kind and friendly towards her. But still...

‘Who wants to go first?’

‘Draw names.’ A man’s voice spoke next, without a doubt the most unsettling man there. Alma thought herself a respectful person, and Frank had already warned her that his people did look different and it might come as a bit of a shock. However none of that could have prepared her for the impressionistic steeliness of Nabokov.

He was the only one Alma couldn’t keep her composure around. Of course she felt guilty for being afraid of him, but with his impossible height, meshed eyes, skin completely covered in tattoos and piercings, a forked tongue and a mouthful of sharpened metal teeth, she found herself running to Frank like a child. She couldn’t be swayed by anyone, until the man himself sank down to her level, reached behind her right ear and produced the most enourmous blue jewel. He allowed her to stare in awe at it for a few moments. Letting the stone catch the light from different angles, Nabokov asked if she’d like to keep it. Of course she said yes, and her left ear produced an exquisite good chain of equal value. He attached the stone and clasped it around her neck and asked if they could be friends.

She adored the present. She didn’t like to think of it’s value. She still struggled to look at him.

A guest clad in nothing but a skin coloured, jewel encrusted body stocking removed a bowler hat from the non-verbal attendee with the pointy ears on their right, upturned it and placed it on the table. A seventh guest, not alien-like at all except for the watchful eyes and fae-like features, put down a handful of pens and the final member with feathered hands and a treacherously long tail threw in a packet of post-it notes.

Orchid took the pen and paper and began writing down names, saying them as she went.

‘Me... Halcyon... Wilford... Frank... Nabokov... Lorian... Serephine...and Alma.’ She winked and kissed Alma’s paper before she dropped it in. She shook up the papers inside the hat and swirled it around with her fingers, keeping her eyes closed. She plucked one and held it in the air before unfolding it and gasping in delight. ‘Frankie!’ She beamed at him and everyone seemed to suddenly be paying more attention. ‘Truth or dare?’

Please don’t say dare, please don’t say dare...

‘Go on then. Truth.’

She held the paper close to her chest, thinking hard. The most human of the bunch nudged Orchid’s arm and mouthed something that looked like be nice.

They were thinking of her. She was associated with Frank now, and they didn’t want her to feel embarrassed.

‘Describe your first kiss.’

‘Ever?’

‘Well obviously not.’ She didn’t need to say anything else.

Frank squeezed Alma’s hand. ‘We’ll both answer.’ He cleared his throat and got comfortable. ‘I was a charity gala...’

———

Frank scanned the function hall full of decorated tables. Every ticket sold, not a single refund. The black and white theme of this prestigious fundraising event shrouded the room in a sense of sleekness and sophistication. Luxurious black velvet on expensive white tablecloths. Elegant champagne flutes blown with glossy wisps of dark glass. Benefactors and patrons, chairmen and spokespeople dressed in fine ivories and hues from the deepest midnight sky.

In short, he’d done well.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and he jumped out of his skin.

The uniformed man pumping his hand was so animated he didn’t seem to realise he’d nearly given his counterpart a heart attack. He couldn’t sing Frank’s praises loud enough, and went on to explain in great detail all the funds he would set aside after such a wonderful feat and which figures were going where. ‘I wasn’t too sure about advocating for such an unusual cause but after your splendid performance tonight, my friend, I certainly am now!’

‘Oh, thank you sir,’ replied a slightly bewildered Frank. ‘You’re too kind, really. I’d like to take this opportunity credit my phenomenal team, they are the real stars of the show. I couldn’t have done this without them - hello gorgeous, what are you doing here?’

Frank blatantly turned his back on the man (who didn’t even notice, he spotted another patron across the room and made a beeline for them) in the middle of talking to him as Alma had appeared in the room. He hadn’t been expecting her presence at all, but this pivotal night had just become even more memorable. She threw her arms around him and he returned the embrace with equal ferovr. He picked her up and twirled around once, twice, three times, mindful of her beautiful dress for the occasion. ‘Oh darling, what a lovely surprise to see you here!’ He set her down carefully, keeping a gentle grip on her waist. ‘Tell me - are you here to see me?’

She shook her head, smoothing down her hair with an endearing little grin. ‘No, but what a coincidence. I’m actually doing work experience. That’s a friend from my course over there. We ran the campaign.’

‘You did all the advertising?’

‘And the branding, and the social media and the logos! Didn’t you know?’

‘No, I-!’ He stopped and looked around, pretending to scowl. ‘I hadn’t the slightest idea sunshine, I shall be having words tonight.’ But aren’t you a clever girl!’ She giggled and bowed her head. ‘Come with me, darling, you can be my PA.’ He offered his arm, pretending he hadn’t noticed the pink flush in her cheeks.

They stayed joined at the hip for the rest of the night. Alma held her own when they were approached by hundreds of people with varying degrees of importance, but didn’t like it too much when most of them inevitably asked, some with mild confusion: ‘Who are you here with tonight?’

She relied on Frank to carry the conversation and trusted him to act accordingly, which he always did. He never did anything to make her feel uncomfortable or put her on the spot. And never once did he give the same answer.

In the small hours of the morning Alma began to lag. Frank noticed how she leaned heavier on his arm. She’d gone quiet in the last half an hour. When he asked her a question, she didn’t respond.

Frank brushed her hair away from her face. ‘Darling?’

‘Sorry.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘What?’

He smiled gently, ghosting his fingers along the soft line of her jaw. ‘Do you want to get some air before we get you to bed?’

She blinked. She didn’t say anything about wanting to go to sleep. But as usual, Frank saw right through her. Stifling a smile this time, she nodded.

Frank put his arm around her and led Alma to the balcony, helping her over the step and into a chair. She kicked her shoes off and loosened the bun in her hair. She massaged her scalp, sighing in relief.

‘You’re so beautiful.’

She jumped as if someone had whispered it in her ear. It could only have been Frank. But Frank was leaning against the wrought iron bar looking out into the sprawling landscape.

Alma laughed softly and tried not to feel too disappointed. She must have imagined it, tired and aching as she was now.

‘Frankie?’

He turned, cursing himself for being so irresponsible. He couldn’t believe he’d let that slip out. Fancy saying that right in front of the poor girl! He’d explained the situation in a mature and grown up way enough times to the blatant heartache of his little shadow without fanciful ideas coming from Frank himself.

Besides, she’d never go through with it if she knew everything.

Alma’s arms stretched out towards him imploringly. She wanted to come to the edge and look at the view with him. She must be worn out by now, he should really put her to bed at this hour. Though he supposed he could entertain her for ten more minutes.

He helped her stand and guided her over to the edge with a firm and gentle hand. She could lean on the bar for a few minutes, and then they’d both call it a day.

‘I had a really nice time tonight.’ Alma’s little voice was tired and worn, though he understood.

‘I’m glad. You earned it.’ He put his arm around her, rubbing at the goosebumps on her shoulder. She could lean on him then rather than that precarious structure.

She sighed contentedly. ‘I love being around you.’ She peered up at him with her big eyes. ‘You’re my favourite person.’

Frank felt it like a knife in his heart. He didn’t expect it to feel like that. He didn’t expect to feel it this soon. But he had always expected to feel it with her.

‘Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing.’

Frank had a few more moments to think.

Frank would look after her. She made him feel sane. Frank wanted to be that person for her - the person she so badly wanted him to be - but it had never been the right time.

But the way he felt now, the way she’d always felt about him, the situation a cool night and a picturesque landscape had brought them, and just to cover all bases, her eighteenth in less than a month...

Was it really worth fighting it?

He could handle it from here. And she would understand.

Frank took her in his arms and waited for her to drape her own arms loosely around his neck. He closed the distance slowly, not wanting to frighten her and anticipating her to change her mind. He almost couldn’t believe it when they were but hair’s breath apart. Playfully, he nudged his nose against her own and to his complete devastation, she turned her face away.

‘I don’t know how-.’

‘Oh, give it a rest.��

He turned her face back to him with one firm hand under her jaw and closed his mouth around hers in one swift movement. She responded eagerly, to Frank’s relief, and due to her endearing lack of experience he was more than willing to take charge.

By her own admission Alma hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to be doing, so she let Frank guide her, after parting her lips to accept him. He chased her tongue right to the back of her mouth and continued his affectionate administrations in a slow, sensuous manner that had her burning up despite the cool autumnal air. If it weren’t for his strong arm around her waist and the other massaging the back of her neck she would have gone down long ago. From disbelief, fatigue or arousal she couldn’t be sure.

The sensation of exploring the girls mouth was driving him mad. Hot and moist, her chest heaving against his own, touching her tongue, rubbing it, chasing it, feeling her make little noises, trembling, grasping at him blindly as if she couldn’t get close enough, and when her hands crept up the back of his neck and tentatively tugged upwards on his hair he involuntarily moaned into her mouth. He hadn’t responded involuntarily since that advanced session in the Northern Sector...

Alma pulled away first - not used to holding her breath for so long - so Frank continued to leave a trail of kisses down her chin to her jaw and finishing on her neck, where he couldn’t resist taking the vulnerable exposed skin between his teeth. He dragged that moment out longer, using his trademark skills to immediate effect. He licked and sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, paying attention to what she was responding to and remembering it for later. As for love bites, he left it at three - and one on her shoulder. He didn’t want to embarrass her.

And if she made any more noise she’d wake the guests in the penthouse.

He brushed his lips along the curve of her neck, nipped her earlobe and tilted her head forwards, pressing a gentler kiss to her forehead. No need for words this time.

Enough now.

‘Have dinner with me,’ Frank said before Alma could pull herself together to think at all.

‘I’d love that. But it’s one am.’

He stuck his tongue out at her. ‘Feeling proud of yourself, I see?’

‘Oh no I was just-.’

‘That’s alright, darling, I’m just teasing.’ He stroked his thumb under the curve of her eye. ‘Go on up to bed now and we’ll have a talk in the morning. Would you like me to take you to your room?’

She nodded.

Frank carried her upstairs this time, but not, to Alma’s mild regret, to Frank’s bed.

———

Whether the pair in question noticed it or not, they had the entire room hanging off every word they said.

‘You really were meant to be together, weren’t you?’

Alma didn’t know who said that, and didn’t have time to locate them before Frank said, ‘Enough of this love fest. Romance, feelings? I don’t know her.’ He didn’t react it when everyone grinned or rolled their eyes.

Frank squeezed Alma’s hand.

‘Spin the bottle time now. I’m going first!’

———

Alma <3

#my favourite obsession #my writing #my fic #oneshot #f/o fic #f/o oneshot #f/o #my f/o #first kiss #selfship #selfshipping #self ship community #self shipping community

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Positivity post for all the classmates!! (+assorted teens)

Marinette: an amazing hero!! she saves the day every episode, she’s really sweet and kind and always stands up for what’s right, she loves her friends, she learns from her mistakes, what’s not to love about her? she’s an AMAZING protagonist!!

Adrien: despite his lonely upbringing he’s always so polite and kind and genuinely tries to see the best in everyone!! not to mention being an AWESOME chat noir, who does so much for paris and makes a wonderful team with ladybug

Alya: she’s such a super best friend for marinette and has such a strong sense of justice, always trying to help out and do the right thing!! and she even gets to be a hero herself as rena rouge, isn’t that so cool?

Nino: not only is he super rad, he’s always there for adrien and loves his bro so much, even getting akumatized for him. and he’s so friendly and kindhearted in general, he’s just such a good boy!! and as carapace he does such a great job

Chloe: even though she had a rocky start she’s come so far, tried to be a better person and even got given the bee miraculous, letting her be a hero and save the day!! she may still have a long way to go but i’m proud of her for what she’s achieved and i know she can do it

Lila: what an interesting character!! she wants people to love her and wants to make as many friends as possible, and her character could go so many different ways, she has so much potential. not to mention, literally grabbing an akuma out of thin air is such a power move lol

Kagami: she’s just so cool and collected and is never afraid to say what’s on her mind and go for what she wants, which is refreshing to see! and she’s also an absolutely incredible fencer, she must have worked so hard for that and it really shows!

Luka: this lad is honestly a really kind, chill sweetie, like he just wants to have fun and play music and he treats marinette with so much respect all the time. i hope he’s having a wonderful day!!

Sabrina: she’s so sweet and loyal with a genuinely kind heart!! while her friendship with chloe isn’t currently the healthiest, hopefully she can make more friends and continue to grow as a person and be the happiest she can be, because she deserves it

Juleka: this goth is so, so, so cool. a monster roared right in her face and she wasn’t even afraid!! not only that, but she’s a wonderful guitarist for her band and a super amazing friend in general, and despite her shyness everyone loves her to pieces because she’s just so nice

Rose: the sweetest, kindest kid ever!! she ALWAYS sees the best in people, and is just such a pure ray of sunshine who wants everyone to be happy. it takes a lot of strength to remain so optimistic and cheerful all the time, and rose really has it in her!

Alix: she’s just so cool??? rollerskating, graffiti-artist, tiny pink-haired punk who protects her friends and does what she wants!! and she’s so sweet and friendly too, wholly supporting the girl squad and going out of her way to save nathaniel, like what’s not to love?

Nath: the most creative, artistic little emo redhead ever. it’s so relatable how daydreamy and quiet he can be, and yet he still cares about his friends a lot, and his artwork is absolutely incredible!! he’s going to make an amazing comic book artist one day!!

Kim: honestly he might just be the single funniest character in the entire show. he just does and says whatever’s on his mind with no filter, whether that’s challenging a panther to a race or sticking his toe in his ear, and it’s so endearing and funny!! he’s genuinely nice under it all too, caring so much about his friends!!

Max: not only is he a sweet and kind person who loves his friends and tries his best to support them, but also he’s so smart!! he built a flying sentient robot that has emotions!! that was just so amazing of him, he deserves all the love and appreciation for that

Mylene: gosh she’s just such a sweetie!! she’s kind, she loves her friends, she cares about the environment a lot, she’s an actress, there’s just so much to love about her and she deserves lots more appreciation for how amazing she is!! bless her!!

Ivan: despite having the appearance of some big tough scary dude, he hides such a sweet interior and is genuinely a really nice, kind, friendly person who cares a lot about his classmates and even smiles a lot in their company!! it’s so heartwarming to know how much he cares about people, it really is

Marc: so relatable to anyone who’s quiet or shy or a writer or just loves wearing hoodies -- he’s incredibly sweet!! and despite how nervous and shy he gets, he’s so friendly and creative and tries so hard, bless him!! (side note: also bless the writers for that wonderful queer rep, thank you so much!!)

Aurore: she’s so sure of herself and has such self-confidence, it’s really an inspiration!! also her aesthetic is so cute, and it’s clear she’s friends with marinette too despite how little we know about her, and basically she’s awesome!!

Mireille: all hail the weather girl queen, winner of the competition!! she’s proof that you don’t have to have all the charisma to get people to like you, sometimes even if you’re the underdog everyone will be rooting for you, so stay motivated!!

Prince Ali: what a good boy??? he’s so enthusiastic about everything he sees, and he has such a good heart, helping out the children at the hospital and doing so much charity work!! despite his brief appearance i still miss him, which just goes to show what an iconic character he is!!

Ondine: she’s so sweet and kind, even extending to when she was akumatized, which is really saying something!! and she’s an amazing swimmer too -- it’s very refreshing to see a realistic swimmer body-type like hers in this show, as well as all those freckles everywhere. basically i love this mermaid to pieces!!

Wayhem: despite starting off not so great, he learned his lesson, apologized, and changed his behaviour, which is wonderful of him and i’m so proud!! and he willingly put himself in harm’s way to save adrien, ending up helping to save the day in the end all while quoting gandalf. good going!!

Please feel free to add onto this!!

#i'm not tagging everyone but it's positivity and appreciation time! #long post #miraculous ladybug #classmates #random stuff

[toloveawarlord]

The Time Between (Chapter 2)

You can find all my other works here!

Smack!

My face stung from the blow, jolting me awake. Cracking my eyes open, the culprit responsible for my abrupt awakening stood with his arms folded, and a scowl on his face. A sleepy smile grew on my lips and I said, “Good Morning, Oliver.”

“It’s noon,” Oliver corrected, his voice not as deep as it had been last night. His gray eyes narrowed even more, clearly upset with the break in his routine. “How am I supposed to read my newspaper and enjoy a cup of tea when your lazy self is stretched out on my couch?”

Oh, so that’s what he hit me with. The newspaper. I’m interrupting his typical routine. Striking like a cobra, I snatched his wrists and pulled him onto the couch with me and latched all my limbs around his small form. “Then good afternoon, Oliver,” I cooed. Daytime Oliver is much easier to tease than nighttime Oliver.

“You idiot! Let me go!” He went straight into a rage, which only amused me when I could easily overpower him. His hat tumbled to the floor, eyes filled with unkempt anger.

“Shh, during the day, you’re my little cuddle toy. Accept it,” I snuggled his writhing body closer, tightening my grip. Petting his hair softly, laughter bubbled up. “Accept it, enjoy it.”

Oliver managed to get one arm free and drove his elbow back into the side of my face. His small arms and awkward position didn’t cause much damage, but it startled me enough that he could free himself from the prison. Straightening the wrinkles out of his clothes, Oliver grumbled to himself. The inevitable lecture was swiftly cut off by a loud banging at the door. “Another Godspeed to pester me during my tea time.”

Resting my eyes again, I still wasn’t quite ready to start the afternoon. The door creaked open and a one-sided conversation was barely audible. Maybe we had been wrong to assume that it was Fenrir. He’s incapable of being so quiet— “Oof!”

My back cracked under the weight of Fenrir plopping down on top of me. All the air left my body. “Geez, you’re heavy! Get off me!” I started to protest but Fenrir’s hand shoved my face down into the cushion, muffling my words.

Fenrir gasped dramatically, shifting his weight to the left and then the right to slowly look around the room. “Oliver, did you hear that? It sounded like my little sister, but I don’t see her anywhere…”

“Fenrir!”

He leaned back, putting all his weight on me. “That’s so strange.”

Groaning loudly, I dreaded having to say it. My inability to breathe and the cracking of my spine overpowered everything else. “Fine!” I wheezed. “You’re the best brother in the whole world and I’ll never be as cool or awesome as you!”

Fenrir removed himself from me, ignoring my death glare. He wiped away a fake tear. “That was beautiful, Ari. I had no idea that you felt that way about your big brother. I’m so touched,” he sniffed, pretending to be moved.

“I’ve finished the modifications on your weapon,” Oliver interrupted, oddly smug about the situation. After what I’d done, he saw it as karma. Fenrir followed after him, all kinds of excited adjectives being said as praise.

There’s no way I’m going to be able to go back to sleep again. Slightly hunched from the ache in my back, I found my way to the kitchen. The tea Oliver made had run cold, so it wouldn’t hurt to make a new pot. With the kettle on the stove, I leaned back against the counter, gaze fixed on the garden just beyond the open window.

The sun had risen to its peak, warming the air. A gentle breeze swam through the garden, lifting up the smell of the red and white roses that had just begun to bloom. The soft chirping of birds and the buzzing of the bees signaled that Spring had finally arrived. The garden would need to be spruced up and weeded soon.

The shrill whistling of the kettle broke the serene sounds of nature. My head pounded from the noise, a reminder that last nights drinking had gotten out of control again. Taking the tea outside had been the plan, but this hangover would writhe in the bright rays of sunshine. Pouring two fresh cups in matching teacups and saucers, I blew on the hot liquid.

“You’re still here? Don’t you have work?” Oliver asked, returning from his business deal with Fenrir. He dumped the cold tea in the sink, and gratefully took the fresh cup from the counter. His grey eyes searched my features. “Did you quit?”

Flinching at the accusation, I stared down into the tea. Steam rose from it, dissipating into the air. “They offered me a promotion… said they would do anything to please their bosses. My parents are relentless.”

The Godspeed company owns half of the Black Territory already. Fenrir joined the army to get away from their clutches. That had been an option for me, but I didn’t really care for it. The first few jobs I had were hard, but I learned to work them well. Then my parents swooped in and bought the company, making the demand that I be given a higher position that made more money.

“Come work a trial for me. You can see how you like it and I can assess if I want to hire you,” Oliver offered, sipping at his tea. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I set the cup aside, losing my taste for it. “Another charity job.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “No. It’s not. I’m not offering because your Arielle Godspeed. I know that you work hard for jobs that you like. Customers like to talk to you, to buy from you because of your welcoming personality, not because of your family name.”

“And if I suck?”

“Then I’ll just have to train you harder, until you can do it at my standards,” Oliver answered with a shrug. He had made an offer once before to hire me, but at the time, I hadn’t thought he actually wanted me to work at his shop.

I sighed. As much as that idea appealed to me… “They’ll try to buy you out too.”

“I’m not a push over.”

“Then they’ll work to undermine your business. Either way, I’ll just bring disaster to your work,” I argued. The emotions swirling inside were in a battle: anxiety for ruining his business, gratefulness that he cares enough to offer me the job, anger for needing to rely on him for getting a job away from my parents.

Oliver’s teacup clattered against the saucer, sloshing lukewarm tea on the countertop. He closed the distance between us, reaching up to grab the material of my shirt, and yanking me down to be level with him. “It sounds to me like you’re looking for an excuse to say no. Quit hiding behind your skewed morals and be honest with me. You’re scared. That’s obvious,” Oliver said, grey eyes searching my mint ones for the truth.

The room fell under a loud silence, both of us stuck in a moment. He wanted answers that I couldn’t give. Blanc cleared his throat from the doorway, a soft but awkward smile on his lips. “Pardon the intrusion, but Oliver has a customer needing attention at the shop. I realize that you’re closed today, but they seem to be waiting anyways.” He had come to the rescue at the perfect moment.

“I’ll only keep the job offer for a little while, so make a decision, Ari,” Oliver said, releasing his tight grip on my shirt. He didn’t cast another glance in my direction as he left. His words however showed how much he truly wanted to help me.

Thankfully, Blanc had the sense to remain quiet as I gathered my things to leave. He only gave a goodbye when I exited the front door. The bar had only just open, not a single person inside. Collapsing into a stool, I rested my head on my forearm. The right thing to do would be to take the job. It only makes sense. But part of me worried about what that would mean for Oliver and me.

A glass clinked on the counter in front of me, Dee gave me a wink. “The first one is on the house, Ari.”

Downing it in one go, it scorched my throat. “Keep them coming. I want to forget for a while.”

“You got it, babe,” he answered, topping off the shot glass.

The plan for my evening was to get completely wasted, and deal with my problems tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I absolutely adore Oliver and Ari together. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one is going to hold some Kyle and Ari time.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #oliver knight #fenrir godspeed #arielle godspeed #blanc lapin #the time between #chapter 2 #these two crack me up together #plus fenrir being a dorky big brother was so much fun #the godspeeds annoy oliver every chance they get #i just wanna disclaimer that oliver and ari do NOT have a romantic relationship during the day

[vennilavee]

golden hour

golden hour masterlist

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: a series of moments when everything sparkles, shines and glitters, just like it’s gold.

Warnings: some mentions of anxiety

Word Count: ~1000

A/N: I wanted to write and this is what came out. Might be a few parts. Im just rollin with it. pls lmk your thoughts. i know its short

The first time Bucky likens you to gold is when you are wearing a dress that showcases how you drip gold with every step you take. He sees you through a glass of champagne.

He feels a little warm and he’s constantly fidgeting with the sleeves and collar of his suit. A headache is beginning to form from how loud the noise is and how brightly lit the ballroom is. Chandeliers blink at him from yards above him, almost taunting him with their crystals.

Was this how Cinderella felt after she lost her glass slipper?

Bucky engages himself in conversation with Sam to try to will his headache away. Sam’s telling him about some new music he thinks that he would like, when Tony’s booming voice through the concealed speakers of the ballroom. He’s proposing a toast, a toast to the new and former Avengers, to the various charities who had chosen to throw their support behind the Avengers and behind Tony Stark himself.

It’s a toast to new beginnings. And Bucky wants nothing more than to go back to his apartment and watch reruns of Chopped on Netflix.

But he raises his champagne flute, passively watching bubbles rise to the surface and fizz out. The bubbles are a quick cascade of stars in his hand. He’s almost mesmerized by how quickly the bubbles rise and disappear. But then he sees you.

Your face is a little blurry and unclear, since he’s looking at you through the glass of the flute. But he doesn’t need to see you clearly to see you the way your nose scrunches when you laugh or how bright your smile is.

He thinks your smile is brighter than all of the lights in the lavish ballroom. Your hand, adorned with a bracelet and a ring on your index finger, raises the glass as he does the same.

You scan the room out of habit, sweeping over Bucky quickly. Bucky is a little disappointed that you hadn’t locked eyes with him or given him one of your quick smiles that you seemed to give everyone else.

He was no stranger to you. You were a psychologist who specialized in working with trauma patients and currently worked at the VA. Sam was the one who had befriended you first, bringing you around to the compound eventually. 

You had charmed everyone right from the beginning, with your bright smiles, starry eyes and unwavering friendship. 

And yet, it felt like Bucky barely even knew you. For all the hours you spent with them, somehow you still showed exactly what you wanted to show, and not an inch more.

Or maybe it was just him.

Sam nudges Bucky, grinning at him when he sees Bucky staring you down not so subtly.

When you make your way over, parting the crowd with an unspoken resolve, Bucky’s hands are clammy. You give Sam a big hug, careful not to ruffle or wrinkle your gown but you give Bucky a smile.

As much as he likes seeing your lips pull into that small piece of sunshine on your face, he wants to hold you in his arms, even just for a brief second.

And that fleeting thought... That scares him. 

Bucky hears you asking him something, your voice soft and clear. A melody made just for him. But all Bucky can think of is getting out of this too stuffy room, all these bodies, all these people...

All the bodies, all the people, all the blood.

Memories flit around in his warbled mind and everything suddenly seems muted. He can’t breathe- he can’t speak, he can’t tell you that it feels like his blood is turning into ice inside of him. That his heart is going to beat right out of his ribcage. As if all the color had seeped away from reality and replaced it with nothing but black, white and red.

But then, there’s you. A tall drink of gold. Your hands circle the fabric of his suit jacket. Touching him, but not quite. It grounds him, only if a little. 

Sam shares a knowing look with you and you nod at him as if to say, I’ve got him.

You lead Bucky away from the ballroom, past the never-ending hallway and towards the large French doors that lead to the balcony, for air. The balcony itself is probably the size of your living room, bedroom and kitchen in your apartment. It’s decorated neatly with plants, the greenery and small pops of color in the flowers filling the dark material of the balcony.

“Hi,” You say hesitantly. A light breeze drifts through the air, nudging at your hair. 

“Hi,” Bucky manages to get out. There’s a beat of silence between you two. It’s not awkward, at least not for you. But Bucky feels silly, he feels silly for needing you to bring him out here to calm him down.

“It’s okay, James,” You say with a smile, “You’re okay, James. I’m here for you.”

He tries to smile at you, but it probably looks like a grimace. Goosebumps rise on your skin and he hands you his suit jacket, which you take eagerly.

“It’s a nice night, huh?” You change the topic quickly, knowing he needed to hear your voice to ground him, “Think it’s a lunar eclipse or something.

Bucky snorts at that, knowing you’re just messing around.

“Heard there might even be a shooting star. Think I’d wish for a pie of pizza right now. And maybe a beer.”

Bucky listens to you as you ramble about nothing and everything. His heart settles back into his ribcage. Warmth floods his senses.

It feels unfamiliar, but he welcomes it.

“Wanna get a slice of pizza with me, James?” You ask, looking up at him hopefully.

The backdrop of the midnight sky with you in the middle of it all has him speechless for a moment. The moon created you out of stardust and a piece of the sun.

That had to be it. That had to be why every inch of you was drenched in gold.

“Bucky,” He says, opening the door leading back inside, “I told ya to call me Bucky.”

He wonders if this is how Cinderella felt when she was reunited with her Prince Charming. He hopes she felt the same warmth he feels now- the warmth that comes from you simply calling him ‘Bucky.’

Not my best lol but thanks for being here.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky angst

[forksofwisdom]

Twilight Characters Cast as Greek Deities - pictures + explanations

Warning:

This is a long one (but there are a lot of pretty pictures!)

By Greek Deities I mean all of them - the Primordial gods, Titans, Olympians, Daemones (personified spirits), and Nymphs. I focused on the deities personalities, abilities or history to find the right fit! Relationships are not taken into account!

Thanks to the anon who encouraged me to combine my love of Greek mythology with Twilight! This is for you!

These are simply my headcanons, so you're free to disagree or expand on them as you like!

The Olympic Coven

Carlisle's foremost characteristic is his compassion and desire to heal others. He saved the lives of most of his family members; Edward, Rosalie, Esme, and Emmet. Asclepius, the son of Apollo and famed physician, was punished by Zeus for saving the life of mortals from certain death. He was elevated to godhood in death.

Esme is described as the heart of the family. In ancient Greece, the hearth was the center of the home and family. Hestia received the first offering in every household since she presided over the preparation of the family meal.

Jasper participated in two major wars, both as a major and then as a second-in-command. He isn't rash or sadistic enough to be Ares, but his gift for strategy and charisma makes Pallas, the Titan god of Warcraft and military campaign, an excellent choice for him.

Alice has the gift of foresight, but her vivacious personality is why I chose the Titaness, Phoebe, out of all of the prophets and oracles. Phoebe is derived from the Greek word "phoibos" which means bright or radiant!

Emmett has superior strength than most vampires. Kratos is the personified spirit of strength, might, power and sovereign rule.

Rosalie was a difficult choice because she's like the lovechild of Aphrodite and Athena. She's beautiful, passionate, and desires children (procreation) but a she's also intelligent and interested in mechanics and engineering which is Athena's domain. I went with Aphrodite in the end because Athena is a maiden goddess and asexual.

Edward was an easy choice however because there are surprisingly few gods who rule music. Apollo is the god of music, poetry, and healing (to name a few) and Edward has an interest in medicine. To my knowledge, there are no Greek gods with the ability to read minds as Edward does.

The Quileutes

Sam was forced to keep the Alpha position by Jacob, which is an immense responsibility. Atlas was condemned to bear the entire sky for leading the Titans in their war against Zeus. Atlas came to mean endurance. (I thought of Hades at first, and I totally agree with you anon - he's got the 'hard on the outside soft on the inside' thing down to pat, but Hades fit another character better!)

Jared has the penchant for gambling. At first, I thought Hermes would be a good match for him, but Hermes many other titles (so, so many titles). I decided that Caerus, who is the god of opportunity, critical time, advantage and profit, was a better fit since those are attributes of (successful) betting.

Paul has a temper, but he's not a sadist like Ares. Poseidon is infamous for his temper tantrums, causing earthquakes and tsunamis (he's also a petty bitch, and I wouldn't put it past Paul to be one too if he could get away with it)

Jacob has a love for mechanics, and not many can say that they built their car! Hephaestus became the god of smiths, fire, and metalworking and his creations are prized and sought after by all the other gods!

Leah was challenging to cast. Initially, I thought she'd make a good Artemis, but that goddess has notoriously born hatred for all men since her birth. The only side of Leah we get to see in canon is the front she puts up - burnt and bitter. She's argumentative, sharp-tongued, and downright vicious. Eris is... not pleasant to be around. I think Leah would join Artemis and become her handmaiden once she's calmed down and away from Sam and Emily.

Seth is our sunshine boy!!! (need I say more???)

Embry is reserved and likes his space. I think he's the type to take advantage of the trails around La Push and go on long walks and enjoy his own company. Pan was the god of shepherds and forests of the mountain wilds. The Greeks associated his name with the word pan which means "all." However, its true origin lay in an old Arcadian word for rustic, but I couldn't resist quoting Hitchhiker's Guide in the picture - it's my favorite. I'M ONLY HUMAN!)

Quil is remarkably relaxed and cheerful for a boy who's supposed to be raging with testosterone *cough* Jake *cough* Paul *hack*. He seems like the sort of guy to enjoy a good party, and Dionysos certainly does. It doesn't hurt that he's best friends with Pan (Embry).

Emily was against Sam imprinting her at first. She was a victim of circumstance (it’s still shitty what they did to Leah), and Persephone was precisely that: a victim. Hades asked Zeus for the hand of one of his daughters and Zeus said that he could have Persephone, but that he'd need to kidnap her because Demeter would never allow him to have her daughter. He stole her and later tricked Persephone into staying with him for eternity. They fall deeply in love by the end tho.

Kim's personality isn't known in canon - other than that she's shy. She's a favorite of mine though, so that's why she's here! In my headcanon, Kim is intelligent and offers great advice. She's cunning as well, and nothing goes past her - Jared doesn't stand a chance. Metis was a councilor of Zeus during his war against the Titans and hatched the plan which would make Cronus regurgitate Zeus's siblings. (She's also the mother of Athena - pls read her story it's incredible! ಥ_ಥ)

The Swan Family

Bella is a shield, both in her human life and as a vampire. She does what she can to protect her loved ones, even going as far as to sacrifice herself by drawing blood as a distraction during the battle against Victoria. Soteria is the goddess and personification of safety, deliverance, and protection from harm. Deliverance, the action of being rescued or set free, is appropriate since Bella saved Edward from his inner demons as well.

Charlie represents the human laws in Twilight as a police officer. He's calm and more accepting than most (though he has his limits *cough* Edward *cough*). Rhadamanthys was a famously just lawmaker during his mortal life and was appointed as one of the three Judges of the Dead and King of the Elysian Fields after he died.

Renée tends to shift her hobbies and interests from one to another. Horme is the personification of effort and represents setting oneself in motion, and starting an action.

The Volturi

Aro is the current king and ruler of the vampires. He isn't a philanderer, so Zeus was out, but how he murdered his sister, Dinyme, in cold blood to keep Marcus from leaving the Volturi (and thus losing his power) reminds me of Cronus's desperate attempt to thwart his prophesied defeat at the hands of his child. Cronus ate his own children and familicide was one of the worst crimes you could commit in ancient Greece.

Marcus was DEPRESSED after he lost Didyme, his mate. The guy whispered "finally" when his head was about to be ripped off. Penthos is the personification of lamentation and mourning.

Caius is a sadist whose answer for everything is death and destruction. Ares revels in war for its own sake. He delights in the din and roar of battles, in the slaughter of men, and the destruction of towns. When Thanatos (the grim reaper) went missing, and people stopped dying, Ares sulked and famously said: "What's the point of war if no one dies?"

Jane was easy. She experienced such pain when she was burning at the stake that she could wield it with her mind when she became a vampire. Lupe is one of The Algea, who are three sisters that are the personification of pain and suffering - in both body and mind - grief, sorrow, and distress.

Alec's power reminded me of Hypnos, who puts you to sleep before Morpheus gives you dreams. Alec shuts off all of your senses - kind of like turning the off switch.

Sulpicia isn't given much of a personality in canon, and in Life and Death, Smeyer simply turned her into a female Aro by giving her his abilities of tactile telepathy. She deserves more credit; she's incredibly old, and I like to think that while she's locked up in the tower, Sulpicia keeps up with the times by watching the news on TV or reading news articles on the internet. Mnemosyne was the Titan goddess of memory and represented the rote memorization required to preserve the stories of history and myth before the introduction of writing.

Didyme's power was inducing happiness. Euphrosyne was one of the three Charities and the goddess of good cheer, mirth, merriment, and joy.

Athenodora is said to be one of the oldest vampires still walking the earth. We don't know much about her, but I bet she's created a few vampires in her time to keep the species going. Gaia was born at the dawn of creation, and all of the heavenly gods are her descendants.

Corin's addictive power is what persuades the wives and Chelsea to stay content in their imprisonment. You go through severe withdrawal by leaving, but it can be done since Eleazar, whose ability Aro coveted, left with Carmen. Peitho personifies persuasion and seduction - not 100% fitting to Corin's talents but the best I could think of...

Felix is a high-ranking guard and relies on strength and combat techniques to serve his leaders. His physical capabilities are so powerful that he has maintained within the guard for centuries. Alexiares, whose name means unconquerable, is one of two brothers that preside over defense and fortification of Olympus's gate.

Demitri's tracking ability and "Casanova lifestyle" immediately reminded me of Hermes, who is the god of herds, travelers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy. It's fitting because Demitri is also shown to be polite and restrained, but he undoubtedly has a few aces up his sleeves to have survived in the Volturi guard for centuries.

Chelsea's ability to strip people of their emotional ties and forge new ones is unnerving. Ananke was the primordial goddess of necessity, compulsion, and inevitability. She emerged from Chaos fully formed at the beginning of all creation and is thought to be untouchable by all, from mortals and the immortals. She's able to control the fates of other gods and make them slaves to their own urges if she so chooses.

Afton's ability to make himself invisible is not found in any Greek deity, but Hades owns a helmet which is made of darkness and renders the user invisible.

The Denali Coven

Eleazar's ability to see other's potential reminds me of Prometheus's forethought and the unshakable belief he has in the humans Zeus forced him to create.

Carmen is pretty chill and peaceful from what we get to see of her in Breaking Dawn. She isn't overly troubled by the legality of things since she accepts Renesmee, whose existence goes against both the laws of vampires and those of nature, at once. We see that Carmen is maternal and gentle when she asks if she can hold Renesmee. Eirene is the personification of peace, and for Carmen, I interpreted that as personal peace and not upholding the legal system. Statues of Eirene often depict her as a maiden holding the infant Ploutos (Wealth) in her arms.

Kate is OOOLD but not the oldest vampire in existence. Since the power of lightning is solely in Zeus's domain (and Kate isn't a serial rapist), I had to overlook her electric ability. Electricity is used as a source of light, so I think Hemera is a good choice for Kate. She's the primordial goddess of the day and would disperse her mother Nyx's dark mists every morning to bathe the earth in the light from the ether.

Tanya reminds me of the Titaness Eos because they both have an insatiable desire for handsome men. Eos shares Hemera's domain, and later took over her duty of bringing the dawn to earth by opening the gates for Helios's chariot.

Irina thought the Cullens had created an immortal child, which was the outlawed. To her, it seemed like the Cullens thought they were above their laws and reported them to the Volturi accordingly. Nemesis is the goddess who exacted retribution against those who succumb to hubris.

The Irish Coven

Maggie can detect lies. Aletheia's the personification of truth and sincerity.

Siobhan's talent is outcome manipulation, which I assume means she can affect the outcome of some event. Lachesis was the second of the Three Fates. She distributes the 'thread' of a life. "Lanchano" means to obtain by lot, by fate, or by the will of the gods.

The Amazon Coven

Zafrina's ability of visual projection reminded me of Pasithea's past time of inducing hallucinations and relaxation. She was one of the younger Charities but later married Hypnos and now resides with him in the Underworld.  

Kachiri was the first out of the Amazon Coven to be bitten, but she didn't want to be separated from her two best friends, Senna and Zafrina, so she went back and turned them as well. I'm endlessly fascinated by their coven, so I didn't want to separate them here! Macaria is the goddess of "blessed" death which reminded me of how Kachiri came to collect her friends.

Senna is the quiet one, but that might be because she was wary around the Cullens. Gorgyra is a nymph in the Underworld and gave birth to Hade's orchardist. I can see her chilling with Katchiri and Zafrina in her son's orchard.

James’s Coven

James is an asshole. He’s so petty that he couldn't deal with the Cullen's refusal of sharing their meal, so he tricked Bella into coming to him by pretending to have her mother (how would he know who Renée was and wasn't she in Jacksonville??? Use your brain, Bella). Dolos is the personification of trickery, cunning deception, treachery, and guile - so basically, he's a nasty piece of work. He and James deserve each other.

Victoria was the first one I cast. She instantly reminded me of Hera because instead of punishing her husband/mate for his wandering eyes (greedy, in James's case) she goes to great length to punish Edward by trying to kill Bella, who is the innocent one in this whole shitshow. Hera, the goddess of marriage, should have picked a better husband because Zeus already was notorious for panting after every attractive face that came his way before they wed (heck he even cheated on her during their wedding celebration).

Laurent didn't give me a lot to work with since he's only portrayed as a coward. That doesn't seem correct because he came back to warn the Cullen's of James's plans and he later returned to Forks as a favor to Victoria. Epimetheus, the brother of Prometheus, was the Titan god of afterthought and excuses. I think Laurent regretted his decisions in the end, both for having traveled with James, and for having listened to Victoria. He also gave Bella the excuse that he had to kill her since Victoria was his old buddy.

Nomads

Peter was another difficult choice. At first, I thought Thanatos might be a good choice since Peter enjoyed fighting in Maria's army.  Thanatos's gentle touch kills instantly, but Jasper was the one who killed the newborns. Peter fell in love with Charlotte, whose newborn powers eventually expired, but instead of "delivering" Charlotte to her death, Peter told her to run and chased after her. Kharon (Charon) transported the dead across the waters to Hades in his boat but refused those that couldn't pay for the ride.

Charlotte is a survivor. She isn't a fighter by nature, but she made it through the Southern vampire wars alive and then fled with Peter to roam free as a nomad. Nike is the goddess of victory - both in war and in peaceful competition. I think Charlotte conquered all of life's trials and also when it came to love.

Alistair is an ancient hermit. He's suspicious by nature and rather displeased with his lot in life. I don't blame the guy since he was betrayed by his father and as a vampire, the falcons Alistair loved flew away from him in terror. Ouranos was the primordial god of the sky and was later betrayed by his sons.

Garrett was a hotheaded patriot who willingly fought for the colonies' right to self-govern. He was a true believer in the American dream. Menoetius was the god of rash actions and violent rage. The Greek word “menos” means might, force, passion, and battle rage.

Maria isn't a nomad, but I thought I'd include her on the list. She lived in Monterrey with her coven, her mate and two others that were like parents to her, before they were destroyed in the vampire battle for territory. Maria was the only survivor, and she built an army to extract revenge and get her territory back. Poine is the personified spirit of retribution, vengeance, recompense, punishment, and penalty for the crime of murder and manslaughter.

The Egyptian Coven

Benjamin was a tough one because of his elemental powers. The Greek gods divided the four elements between them, so there isn't one deity that has control over them all at once. Phanes was the primordial god of creation in the Orphic cosmogony. He was the generator of life and the driving force behind reproduction in the early cosmos. Phanes hatched from the world-egg, a primordial mix of elements split into its constituent parts. So he sort of had control over the elements at one point before dispersing them among his siblings. (Phanes was later known as Eros).

Tia was a quiet woman but when she did speak her words were insightful, and there was gravity to everything she said. Epiphron was the personification of shrewdness, careful consideration, and sagacity.

Kebi was Amun's slave while she was human. He chose her to become his mate because of her good looks. She was helpless from the start, and we never get to hear her speak or show any indication of being unhappy with her situation. Aporia is the personified spirit of powerlessness, want and difficulty.

Amun was tricky because, to be honest, he's a bastard, but we mustn't forget cultural relativity. Slavery was considered to be a-okay back in the days, and it was probably a fantastic way to keep a vampire's kitchen stocked. Now not so much but Amun doesn't seem like the type to evolve with the times. He's possessive and paranoid, keeping Benjamin locked away in an ivory tower so the Volturi won't come and steal him away as they did to Demitri. He also deprived Kebi of her choices and made her his slave/mate in death as well. Along with ruling death and funeral rites, Hades is also the god of the hidden wealth of the earth, from the fertile soil with nourished the seed-grain to the mined wealth of gold, silver, and other metals. Benjamin is Amun's hidden treasure.

Humans

Jessica is a normal teenage girl. She likes having friends, gossiping, and has a crush on the most handsome boy in school who doesn't return her affections. Echo was much the same; she gossiped, but she wasn't meanspirited, and genuinely wanted to help her friends in the conquest of love. She lied to Hera, who cursed her to have an echo of a voice as punishment for distracting her from Zeus's affairs with her endless chatter. She later fell in love with Narcissus who spurned her affections.

Angela is the sweetest, most kindhearted person we get to meet in Twilight. Philophrosyne is one of the younger Charities and is the personification of friendliness and welcome.

Mike has the hots for Bella. He has an on-and-off relationship with Jessica but only asked her out because Bella told him to. Himeros is the god of sexual desire and the personification of longing, and yearning.

Lauren is jealous of everyone who is pretty, despite being the most popular girl at school. She's also standoffish and snobby. Hybris is the personified spirit of insolence, hubris, violence, reckless pride, arrogance and outrageous behavior in general.

Let me know what you think!

Please don’t repost the pictures without asking for permission first and don’t remove credit!

#This took me daaaays to make #this is it #this is my life's work #greek mythology #the twilight saga #my headcanon #my edit #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #alice cullen #edward cullen #Emmett Cullen #Rosalie Hale #jasper hale #Bella Swan #charlie swan #renée dwyer #wolfpack #vampires #sam uley #Jared Cameron #paul lahote #embry call #Quil Ateara #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #volturi #aro #caius #marcus

[kriscme]

Untitled This is the first section of a new The Chance You Didn’t Take by Ronja fanfic (which is also a Hunger Games fanfic) I’m working on at the moment. When it’s finished the whole thing will go on AO3.

Summary - Katniss has had enough and gives Peeta an ultimatum.  Picks up from where Peeta tells her she can no longer to visit his home at night as comfort from nightmares.  

 Chapter 1.  

“Katniss I . . . hope you know that no matter what happens you will always be a very important person in my life.” A very important person.  No matter what happens.  

And that’s how Peeta broke the news that I wasn’t welcome in his house at night anymore.  An invitation rescinded.  A comfort denied.  For Lace.  A more important person than me, obviously.   And the added cruelty of taking me out walking first, our arms linked like any courting couple.  To be treated at the ice-cream parlour with a triple scoop of ice-cream, and to sit together, just the two of us, in the middle of a grassy field in the warm sunshine.  It wasn’t a date, of course.  But I could almost imagine it as one.   And then . . . I ball my fists into my eyes to prevent a fresh flood of tears.  Feeling sorry for myself won’t help.  I have to face reality.  I’m no longer Peeta’s priority.  Another girl is.  Peeta has made his choice - when it came down to protecting Lace or me, he chose Lace. I can’t keep telling myself the situation will change, and that Peeta will one day want me again.  With every day that passes he seems further and further out of reach.   I don’t know what to do.  I thought the romance with Lace was temporary and he’ll soon come back to me.  That seems more remote than ever.  Hopeless, even.   I go to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water.  What looks back at me from the bathroom mirror is splotchy and swollen with crying. My hair is dishevelled, the braid half undone, the end thin and scraggly.  When was the last time I had a haircut?  I can’t even remember.  Maybe it’s no wonder that Peeta has turned to another.  The girl Peeta loved, the girl he called beautiful, is almost unrecognisable. Too thin, dull hair, covered in burn scars.  Plain. Ugly, even.  Perhaps he views me as a charity case and that’s why he came back to 12.  Fatten the girl up with cheese buns.  Let her to sleep in the guest room as comfort from nightmares.  Build her up.  Tell her how important she is.  Until someone more important comes along, that is. I wish I had someone to talk to.  A shoulder to cry on, at least.  I so miss Prim. There’s only Haymitch and he’s of no use.  The only other person I’m close to is Peeta. I haven’t bothered trying to form new friendships.  Perhaps that’s half my problem.  I’ve come to rely too much on someone who has proven to be unreliable and there’s nowhere else to turn.   I can’t blame Peeta for that.   Only me. The lights are on in Peeta’s sitting room. I can see them from my bedroom window.   Peeta uses the back half of the house if he’s alone at night.  He most likely has a visitor then.  Lace, probably.  I have some things to say to him but it’s clearly not the right time.  He can come to me, anyway.  

It’s late in the afternoon when I get a visit from him.  I don’t know if he tried earlier; I spent most of the day in the woods trying to unravel all the conflicting emotions I have about him.  There’s my love for the boy that was.   My love for the boy that is.  And my ever-growing anger and frustration with him.  Sometimes I think I actually dislike him.  On top of all that is guilt.  Overwhelming guilt for what he suffered at Snow’s hands because of me. For the first time I question how that helps Peeta though.  I let him get away with things he shouldn’t.  I stop myself from saying anything that might upset the false façade he’s made for himself.  Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. Typical of Peeta, he comes bearing gifts.   He does this whenever he thinks I might be mad at him, or about to be mad at him. Yesterday it was ice-cream.  Today it seems to be a bag of cookies and a parcel wrapped in brown paper.  It’s a large flat square that’s almost certainly a canvas.  It’s probably the painting of a primrose I asked for.

The smile he gives me is hesitant, apprehensive.   I guess the way I ran out on him, threatening not to come over for dinner anymore, may have given him the impression that he might not be welcome.   He follows me into the kitchen and I go through the motion of putting the kettle on for tea.  Not that I plan of this being a long conversation. Peeta puts the parcel down and places the bag of cookies on the kitchen bench just behind me.   He stands so close, we’re almost touching. “Are these to compensate me for not being able to stay over anymore?” I ask.   “They’re to show you how much I care for you,” he says, as he leans down to kiss my cheek.  “I don’t think you realise how much.  I was worried sick when you didn’t come home the other night, not knowing where you were or if you were lying injured somewhere.  If anything were to happen to you . . .  He trails off and gives his head a shake. “I don’t even like to think about it.” “I’m sure Lace will be a great comfort if that should happen.”  I train my eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.  There’s not enough space between us to look at the floor.  I know I sound bitter and jealous and as much as I dread being exposed and vulnerable, at the same time I want him to notice – to actually see me for once and why I’m hurting. He cups my jaw and turns my face back to his.  His thumb gently strokes my cheek. “I know this must seem like I’m neglecting you and Haymitch in favour of Lace, but it’s really not like that.  It’s just that I have to consider Lace now.  There are aspects of my life where she has to come first. I want to be a good friend to you, but I also need to be a good boyfriend to Lace. We had a very public romance, and I have to think about how you coming over at night would look to others, even if it is perfectly innocent.  This doesn’t make you any less important to me.”

Yes, it does, I remind myself.  But his voice is soothing and placating, his caresses lover-like.  I want to drift in it, believe that somewhere down deep, he’s still in love with me.

“I’ll still be here for you,” he goes on. “You can call me anytime of the day or night if you have a nightmare and want to talk.  Anytime at all.”

I say nothing to this.   That won’t happen.  I do have some pride. A tendril of hair is tucked tenderly behind my ear.  I gaze into his eyes, mesmerised by his voice, and his touch.  He’d only have to bend his head, or for me to raise myself on tip toe for our lips to meet.  Why doesn’t he just kiss me?   “Please understand,” he says.  “You’re not just a friend. We may be platonic now, but I know I must have been overwhelmingly in love with you.” “You were,” I say softly.  “I don’t think I’ll ever be loved like that again.” His hand comes to rest on my cheek again. “I hope that you will, and it will the kind of love where you both feel the same way about each other.  As for me, I care so much about you but I have to put Lace first.” He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he is. How can he touch me like this while at the same time express his preference for Lace and so casually give me over to another?  It’s as if the hijacked version of himself is still inside, intent on destroying me anyway he can.   And I can’t even heap all the blame on Peeta for this, because I let him do it.  But at least it gives me the jolt I need.  

I push his hand aside and slide my back along the bench until I’m free of him. “Why did you come back to 12?” Peeta is so surprised, it takes a few seconds for him to respond. “What?  Um, because . . .  Why are you asking?  What does it have to do with anything?” “A lot, actually,” I say.  “It has everything to do with what you want from me. Because frankly I’m confused.  One minute I’m merely a friend and told not to come over at night and the next minute you’re kissing me on the cheek and standing so close, I can’t move an inch without bumping into you.  If I were Lace, I’d be more concerned with all this touching you do than a platonic friend using the guest room occasionally.” He stares at me, bewildered.  I don’t think he’s even been aware that he does it. “So why did you come back?” I persist.   “It can’t be because you’re in love with me. You’re always making sure to tell me that you’re not.  It can’t be because I’m a friend because you don’t have any memories of my being one. In fact, you’ve even said you don’t trust me.  And it can’t be because you want help getting your memories back, because you want nothing to do with them.  So why come to 12?  Of all the places you could have gone to, why bombed out 12 with only a depressed recluse and a drunk for company?” “Because you were here . . . and Haymitch.   And my house,” he flounders.  “I can’t explain it. I was just drawn here. And it’s not like I have no memories at all.  They’re just a tangled mess I can’t make sense of.  All I know is that I feel there’s a deep connection between us and I need to be here.  It may not be in-love anymore, but I care a great deal for you.” There it is again.  He cares for me.  A lesser form of love.  Generic, non-exclusive.  It should wound, but at the moment I’m numb to it.  More than anything I’m tired.  Tired of pretending, tired of holding onto a hope that simply exists to take one blow after another.

“You want to know what it meant to me when you returned to 12?  Well, I can’t tell you.  Because I’d have to mention our past, and you’re determined not to know about it.  I don’t know what happened between the mission to kill Snow and when you came back here that made you give up the fight. All I know is that that boy had courage.   It didn’t matter what horrific memories were dredged up as long as it meant finding himself again.  But you don’t want “real” anymore.  You just want a pretty picture to live in.  Like one of your paintings.”  I point to the parcel he brought with him where it leans, still unwrapped, against the wall.   “That’s not fair!” he exclaims. “You have no idea what it is to be me.  I didn’t choose to have my memories erased and distorted.  I was tortured, Katniss! The little I do remember is bad enough.  I don’t see you handling it that well, by the way.  Not if you have to run over to my house to sleep in the guest room to escape your nightmares. Or stay in bed until well past noon because you’re too depressed to get up.  And then there’s Haymitch, who can’t go a day without a drink.  Several, in fact. Why would I want that?”

Stung, I’m about to retort that I’d rather have nightmares than forget my family, as he’s done, but then recall that his memory loss is more selective than that.  He’s blocked out memories of the torture, understandably enough.  But he also has no memories of me, other than those which Snow thoughtfully let him keep, such as his jealousy of Gale.   Before I can formulate a response Peeta is at my side, immediately contrite.  “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.  I had no right.  And it’s not as if I don’t have my own problems to deal with. It’s just that if I have a chance to avoid what you and Haymitch go through, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take it.” I make one last appeal. “But . . . but you’re also turning your back on the good memories too.  They’re all part of who you are.  Even the bad ones.” Peeta shrugs. “Do you think I don’t know that? All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be part of who I am now.  Some really awful things have been done to me and I have a choice not to make it part of my future.  So why not? If it’s meant to be, the good memories will come back.  And if they don’t, well, I can make new ones. Better ones.” His answer shouldn’t surprise me.  We’ve had this conversation before.  And when I offered to help him, he told me he didn’t trust me enough.   My stomach sinks. That’s it then.  It is hopeless.  If he can’t, won’t, remember then I don’t see a way forward for us.  He’ll become increasingly attached to Lace, and I’ll be increasingly sidelined.  To him, I’ll likely always be a friend, someone he cares for a great deal.  But that’s not what I want.  He’s not the only one who’s gone through hell and wants to be happy.   This isn’t abandoning him, I tell myself. This is setting him free to live his life as he chooses, while I do the same for me. I take a few more steps away from him, determined to get some physical distance.  I don’t want any weakness on my part getting in the way of what I’m resolved to do.  “Well, if that’s the way you feel, then we have nothing more to say to each other,” I say, in the most resolute voice I can muster.

“What do you mean we have nothing more to say?” he asks warily.   “Exactly what I said.  If you have no interest in getting your memories back, then there’s nothing left to say.  If you have the right to choose what’s best for you, then I have the right to choose what’s best for me.   And continuing as we are with one of us deliberately ignorant about our past together isn’t it. ”

I turn my gaze to the parcel.  The parcel that contains a painting of a primrose that I had asked Peeta for in memory of my sister.  As much as I want to, I can’t accept it.  I feel miserable about it because I know how much work and care was put into it.  And love too.  Just not the kind of love I want from him.  In a way, the painting defines what our relationship has become. It’s a shared memory of a beloved figure, just as the primrose bushes are.  But that’s where it ends.  And it isn’t enough. I note how light it is as I pick it up from the floor.  And that it’s bordered by a frame, and its solid on one side and hollow on the other. I imagine what’s underneath the wrapping paper.  Peeta had shown me the outline he drew.  It would now be painted in soft shades of yellow like the primroses that grow at the side of my house.  The same primroses that Peeta planted for me on his first day back from the Capitol. “I can’t accept this,” I say, as I hand it to him.  “It isn’t right.  I wanted a painting from Peeta Mellark. When he comes back to me, I’ll accept it then.” Peeta’s eyes travel from the painting in his hand and back to my face in confusion.   “What? What are you talking about?  You can’t mean that.  Is this because I won’t let you sleep in the guest room?  You’re being unreasonable, Katniss.  I know you feel let down, especially since it was me who invited you over in the first place.  But what else can I do?  What do you think happens when friends become romantically involved with another?  That everything stays the same?  What if you had a boyfriend?  Do you think he’d want me coming over in the middle of the night?”

“If I had a boyfriend, he’d either have to accept the situation or find someone else.  That’s how I feel about us.  But this isn’t about that.  This is me at breaking point.  I’m sick and tired of being a piece in your game.” “Game?  What game?  You’re not making any sense,” he says, growing agitated.  Peeta runs a hand through his hair, mussing his curls so that they stand around his head and give him a slightly mad appearance.    “Look, if it means so much to you, use the guest room. Use it as often as you like.  Move in.  I’ll work out something with Lace.”

“I don’t care about the guest room!” I yell in frustration.   “What I care about is that you’ve betrayed everything we’ve been to each other.  And you don’t even know it because you’re too much of a coward to find out.”  

He flushes with anger. “Fuck, Katniss!” he shouts.  I jump back in surprise.  Peeta never swears.  And then the parcel is hurled across the room, upsetting Buttercup’s food bowl and spattering cat food over the tiles.  “What the fuck do you want from me?” “I told you what I want from you!  It’s you that needs to find out what you want from me!”  But Peeta has turned his back and is almost out of the room.  “Let me know when you work it out!” I scream after him.  And then I hear the front door slam shut. I’m too shocked to do anything more than blindly stare at the canvas where it’s come to rest near the back door.  After a little while, I come out of my stupor to walk over and pick it up.  I don’t think it’s ruined, but it needs some repair work.  I can feel that the frame is broken on one side. I remove the wrapping paper.  It’s got cat food on it.  I resist looking at the actual painting though.  I haven’t accepted it until I look at it, I tell myself.  I trudge upstairs to Prim’s room where I place it on top of her dresser, the right side facing the wall.  And then I sit down on her bed.   Oh, Prim.  How did that go so wrong?  I don’t think he even heard me.  All he could talk about was the guest room as if that’s all there is to it.  Do you remember when you told me that the old Peeta, the one who loves me, is still inside?  Trying to get back to me?  I don’t think he is.  I don’t think he even wants to.  I’m trying not to give up on him, but it’s so hard.  All I can do now is see if my tactic works.  If it fails, I’ve lost him.  But I think I might have lost him anyway.

Chapter 2.   The strangest thing is, that despite this horrible situation, or maybe because of it, for the first time in months I feel energised and ready to take on almost anything.  Just as Peeta hasn’t been himself, I haven’t been myself either. The old Katniss would have been doing something, and if not actively pursuing Peeta, would at least have found purpose in other things.  Instead, I’ve existed in this state of inertia.  And in doing so, I not only didn’t find Peeta, I’ve lost sight of myself too.  

The first thing I want is to find some kind of employment.  There’s two reasons for this.  The first is a practical one that’s been coming for a while now.  And that’s because my game isn’t in demand as it used to be.  Meat is both cheaper and readily available now that foodstuffs and other goods are transported between districts.  More people are able to afford them too.  Somehow squirrel isn’t as appealing if you can have beef or horse on the menu.   The other reason is that hunting is a very solitary occupation, especially now that I don’t have a hunting partner.  My circle has been too small for too long.   One good thing about 12 being a high growth area, is that workers are in demand.  That means employers aren’t as fussy about qualifications or experience, which is good, because I have neither.  So, I’m fairly confident I can find a job, as long as I’m not too picky.

I head for the town, as that’s the most likely place to find one.  The town centre has expanded from a ragtag collection of shops to a bustling shopping strip. Civic buildings have been rebuilt, as well as a hospital and a community hall.  It grows to look more like the Capitol every day. I walk straight past the hospital.  Sick people, no thanks. The same with the Justice Building.  There’s too many bad memories associated with them.  It was at a Justice Building that I had to collect the medal of valour for my father’s death, and its where tributes were held before they were transported to the Capitol.   I would happily never set foot in one again.  Next door is the Council Office, where Haymitch works.  That actually has potential.  My knowledge of the woods might be useful.  But when I apply, they tell me they’re not hiring at the moment. But they take down my details anyway and say they’ll let me know if a position becomes available. Across the intersection there’s a block of five new shops that have just opened.  One of them appears to be a tailor as I see sewing machines, bolts of fabric in sombre colours, and a few men’s suits on display.  Another shop is lined with racks of clothing with a small counter at the rear.  I’ve seen shops like these in the Capitol.  They sell ready-to-wear fashion.  I have a feeling that Lace won’t like it.  A tailor and a clothing shop where you don’t have to wait for the clothes to be made will surely be competition, especially the latter. What’s more, it’s probably the first of many.   Further down the road, I see the new school that started up a few months ago.  It’s just two or three classrooms but I’m sure it won’t stay that way for long. Not with the population booming as it is.  I move closer, enjoying the sight of children at play in the school grounds.  A man, maybe in his mid-twenties with brown hair that flops over his forehead, regards me with interest - too much interest for my liking.  I change direction and turn the corner and encounter even more shops, as well as a few restaurants. But there’s a shop that takes more than my passing interest and that’s because it has a sign in the window.  It says “Inquire within. Staff wanted.” I put my face to the window to determine what kind of business it is.  I see glass enclosed counters with shelves and maybe more shelves behind them.  Evidently, it’s some kind of food shop.  What, I don’t know.   A bell jingles as I open the door.   And then I go stand near the counter to wait. It appears to be empty but I know someone’s here because I can hear voices and what seems to be furniture being moved around from the rear of the shop.  I consider calling out, or perhaps re-entering to make the bell jingle again, when a man appears, wiping his hands on a towel.   “Hi.  Sorry to keep you waiting.  We were half way putting one of the ovens in place.  What can I do for you, Miss Everdeen?” he says.  He has a bright, cheerful manner about him.  

“Um, you know who I am?” It’s a silly question, as I’m recognised nearly everywhere I go, but I still find it disconcerting.   “Who doesn’t?” he asks, as he tosses the towel aside.  “But we have met before.  I doubt that you’d remember it though.”

I take a careful look at him.  Early twenties maybe.  Blond hair but a different shade from Peeta’s.  Golden rather than ashy.  And green eyes.  Pleasing but unremarkable features.  Above medium height and with a similar build as Peeta’s.   I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry.  I don’t.  Where did we meet?” He smiles and the features I thought so unremarkable light up and make him quite attractive.  “It was only for a few moments.  Your fiancé might remember me though.  I gave him my best frosting techniques.” Fiancé?  That could only be Peeta.  And the frosting . . .?  Of course! At the feast in the Capitol, when Peeta asked to meet the bakers to ask about the cakes.   I take another look around the shop and then everything falls into place.   This must be a bakery.  And those glass counters are to display cakes and the shelves behind them are for bread. My first thought goes to Peeta. He has vague plans of opening a bakery. He might not like this.  But he should have known that one would open eventually.  The wonder is that it’s taken so long.   “I remember now.  It was at the feast.   On our Victory Tour,” I say, momentarily caught in the memory of Peeta and me as a newly engaged couple.   “But Peeta isn’t my fiancé anymore.  We didn’t stay together after the war.  He’s with another girl now.  You might have met her.  She owns the dressmaking shop on the main road.”  I say it as cheerfully as I can, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

He doesn’t seem to notice though. “I haven’t met many people yet,” he tells me.  “I only arrived in 12 the day before yesterday.  My brother and his wife arrived a couple of months ago to get everything here organised while I stayed in the Capitol to settle up.  But I’ve neglected my manners.  I know who you are, but I haven’t introduced myself. Cassius Carter.  Most people call me Cass.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. He has large hands and a firm grip. My own looks swallowed up in it.

“Hi.  Pleased to meet you, Cass.”   “Pleased to meet you, Katniss,” he replies with a warm smile. We lapse into silence while Cass looks at me expectantly.   Oh yes, why am I here?  “Um, I came about the sign in the window.  You’re looking for staff?”

“We are.  To serve customers.  You’re interested, I take it?” “Yes, but I don’t have any experience,” I say regretfully.  

Cass pretends to consider it.  “Hmm that is a problem.  It will take at least ten minutes to learn the ropes and I don’t think we’ll have the time.  But then a pretty girl behind the counter can’t be bad for business, so it might all even out.”  His face clears.  “I’ve made up my mind.  The job’s yours if you want it.” “Oh, good,” I say, thinking more about being described as pretty than the job offer.  It’s been so long since anyone complimented me on my appearance.   I smile at Cass, grateful that there’s at least one person who thinks so.  “I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll catch on quickly.  When do you want me to start?”

“We’ll be operational by the end of the week, I think.  Could you start on Monday?  It’s four days a week, Monday to Thursday.” “That sounds perfect.”  Part-time work will give me time to pursue other things. We spend the next few minutes discussing times and wages and then shake on it. “You wouldn’t know of a sign writer who needs a job?  We haven’t got anyone to do the shop sign yet,” he asks as I’m about to leave. I shake my head.  “No, sorry.  But someone’s sure to apply.”  I have no intention of passing the news onto Peeta.  He can look for his own work.  Besides, I’ve made it my policy not to approach him unless I absolutely have to.

That man with the floppy brown hair is still there when I turn to go back the way I came.  Despite my scowl he still has the temerity to approach me. “Hey, Mockingjay,” he calls out.  “Mind if I have a word?” “Yes, I do mind,” I snap.  “And I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.”  I turn away from him but he’s on my heels.   “I want to talk to you about a teaching position.” “I’m not a teacher.” “Not yet.  But you’re looking for a job, so why not teaching?

“How would you know I’m looking for a job?” “I saw you reading the help wanted sign in the bakery window before you entered.  It isn’t open yet so you weren’t going in to buy bread.” “So now you’re spying on me as well as harassing me.”  I stop walking and turn to face him.  “Look I don’t know who you are – “

“Max Matson,” he says, holding out his hand.  “Teacher at the school you were admiring a short time ago.  We’re looking for more teachers, and you could be just what we need.” I ignore the hand. I’m just about to tell him to get out of my way when I pull myself up.  Didn’t I come into town to look for opportunities?  What if I don’t like working in a shop and I’m more suited to teaching instead?  I can least consider it. Max drops his hand, but my hesitation seems to have compensated him for the slight since he doesn’t change expression.   He hurries to explain before I can object further.  “It will only be teaching what you already know.  Survival skills, the natural environment, that sort of thing.  And it won’t be in the classroom either, but out in the woods.  A lot of our kids come from the industrialised districts and hardly know a tree from a chimney stack.  You could really make a difference.” I don’t respond straight away, my gaze directed at the school in the distance.  He has the sense to be quiet while I mull it over.  It’s only a very small school and surely excursions into the woods won’t be every day.  It could fit nicely with the bakery job, and if I find myself suited more to one than the other, then maybe I could switch to full time later on if the opportunity arises and then give the other up.  The thought of passing on my knowledge, as my father did for me, appeals to me too. “I can only do Fridays.” “That’s alright,” he says in a rush.  “It’s only part-time at the moment.  And it’s only while the weather is warm.” “OK, I’ll give it a try.  A try, mind you.  If I don’t like it, I’m not coming back.”

“Great! We’ll see you on Friday then . . .um . . .Katniss?  Is that what I call you?”

“Yes.  Just Katniss.  And Katniss only.  And it will be the following Friday.”  There’s some things I want to attend to first.    I turn my back on him and go on my way.   I don’t know what this Max person does.  He’s probably looking for someone else to annoy.  But at least he’s presented me with another option.  And options are exactly what I need right now.  

Well, that’s been a successful outing.  Two jobs in less than an hour.   And maybe something will come from the town council too.  My spirits rise higher than they have in days.  Whatever happens, I know I can survive this.  

I wander back towards the Village.  Maybe there’s still time to do some hunting.  I’m determined to stay busy.  Anything than allowing myself to wallow.  That won’t achieve a thing other than to bring on another bout of depression.   It’s just as I pass through the gates that I see him.  Peeta is at the side of my house, tending the primroses. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say when I reach him. Peeta puts the trowel aside and gets to his feet.  “I know, but I want to.  We’re neighbours, right?  Neighbours can help out with the gardening.”   “Yeah, but I can do it myself.  You don’t do any gardening for Haymitch.”  I look over at Haymitch’s yard as I say this. It’s a desert.  What hasn’t died through neglect has been eaten by his geese. “There really isn’t a garden to garden,” Peeta points out.  “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t clean up after you when you’re drunk, so it all evens out.”  He gives my arm a friendly nudge with his elbow accompanied by his most disarming smile. I don’t return it.  I refuse to let him in even a little way, although he keeps on trying.  “Well, thanks for doing it, even though you don’t need to.”  It seems the polite thing to say to someone who’s doing your gardening for you.  And, to be honest, the bushes probably wouldn’t last long if it was left to my gardening skills.   I turn to go into the house, but something perverse inside me calls me back.  “I got a job today.  It’s just serving behind the counter but it will give me something to do besides hunting.  It’s at a new bakery that’s about to open.  One of the bakers we met at a Capitol feast owns it.  You probably don’t remember it, though.  But if you’re interested in frosting, he’s apparently the expert.” Peeta’s smile dims and I instantly regret my words.  This can’t be good news to him.  I don’t know if he seriously wanted to open a bakery but now the option is off the table. 12 isn’t big enough to support two bakeries.   “Right.  Maybe I’ll call in when it opens.”   He turns his face away and resumes his digging.  “Congratulations on getting the job.” “Thanks.  Um, I guess I’ll see you around.”   Buttercup is waiting for me when I get inside. I slosh some food into his bowl and then throw myself on the couch in the sitting room and switch on the television. I don’t feel like hunting now.  My good mood has gone.  It seems to disappear whenever I have contact with Peeta now.   A wall has gone up between us, all on my side. Peeta is an odd combination of uncertainty and eagerness to please.  That’s how it’s been since the day we argued.  Neither of us mentioned it when we next met, but the easy way we once interacted has gone. As far as I know he hasn’t done anything to try to get his memories back and I’m determined to keep my distance until he does.  The only good thing that seems to have come out of it is that I seldom see Lace in the Village anymore, although I know they still see each other.  I’ve watched Peeta leave the Village on their date nights.   It had been Peeta’s turn to host the Victors dinner that night but I had no intention of going.  I went to see Haymitch to let him know about the new arrangement.  To say he was annoyed is an understatement.  I hadn’t known the dinners meant so much to him.  And it’s not like he and Peeta can’t continue to eat together since he always seemed to prefer Peeta’s company anyway.  He told me that Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him and I’m punishing him for something that’s out of his control. He made me feel really bad. So bad, in fact, that I did something I rarely do.  I consulted with Dr Aurelius. But to my surprise, Dr Aurelius approved. He told me not to let Haymitch make me a partner to his own guilt.  I thought he might have taken Peeta’s side and urged me to maintain the friendship, seeing that he’s his patient and all.   But he said I was his patient too, and he had to advise what was best for me, irrespective of what was best for Peeta.  He even said this might be good for him and force him to confront certain issues instead of avoiding them.  I also told him I was in love with Peeta hoping that he might give me some advice about how to get him back, or at least give me some insight into his thinking.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he set me a task, and that was to work on myself independently of Peeta.  I was to think hard of what I want my life to be and what I’ll have to do to achieve it.

Of course, that involves Peeta being in love with me again, but that’s up to Peeta now.  I had to remember a long way back to a time when I was happy and what I was doing then.  I thought of my father, and Prim, and hunting in the woods with Gale.  I recalled the pride I had in my hunting and bargaining skills and how I provided for my family.  In the end, I condensed it down to two things.  Meaningful work and good relationships.  I decided to tackle the easiest one first.  Work.  Perhaps the relationships will follow from that.  They had before.

Before I start at the bakery, I attend to something I’ve never given much attention to and that’s my appearance.  I wonder if my lack of interest in it might have given Peeta the impression that I don’t care about being attractive to him.   I’d taken it for granted that Peeta thought I was beautiful, no matter how I looked.  Perhaps that’s changed.  Lace seems to spend a lot of time on her appearance, always dressing neatly and with her hair carefully styled.   I don’t want it to become a major part of my life or anything, but I could put in a little more effort. One of the new shops, just next to the tailor, is a beauty salon.  I surreptitiously peeked in as I walked past, noting the gaudy décor in purple and gold, with basins for washing hair, and chairs for cutting and styling at the front of the shop, and curtained alcoves towards the back, presumably for waxing and other tortures.  There’s a million of these places in the Capitol but this must be the first ever in 12. I thought I’d had enough of being primped and prodded to last a lifetime when I was a tribute, but now I think I can do with a little “maintenance”, as they’d say in the Capitol.

The following morning I’m at the door just as businesses are opening and there’s not many people about. There’s only one person inside, a Capitolite evidently, going by her pale mint green skin and blue tipped blond hair. She’s hunched over the counter, reading a newspaper.  She lifts her head as the door clicks behind me. “Katniss!” “Octavia!” We scream each other’s names simultaneously. Octavia runs from behind the counter to envelop me in a hug.  “Flavius! Come here!  Quickly!  It’s Katniss!”

Soon we’re in a three-way hug; Flavius’s bouncing corkscrew curls as vividly orange as ever.  

After the initial excitement is over, we fill each other in on what’s happened since we last met. That was at Snow’s execution.  My prep team had been specially brought back to the Capitol from District 13 to make me as presentable as possible for the TV cameras.  After my incarceration and then confinement to 12, my former prep team were without employment.  But because the Capitol had sustained significant damage during the war from rebel bombs and discharged pods, many citizens were homeless and no longer enjoyed the affluence they once had.  Consequently, decorating themselves was no longer the priority it had been and the beauty industry suffered.  Venia chose to stay with her family in the Capitol, but Octavia and Flavius decided to risk all to set up their own salon in another district.  And which district was the dreariest and most in need of their talents?  Why, District 12, of course. The problem was that they hadn’t many customers so far.  I think I can guess why.  Few people want to be dyed green and have their hair styled in orange corkscrew curls. I decide to tell them to tone it down a little when the opportunity arises.  They are their own advertisements and will likely have more success if they adjust to 12’s more conservative tastes.   Unfortunately, after I’ve heard their story, I’m obliged to tell my own.  It’s really hard since they were heavily invested in the star-crossed lovers.  I recall Octavia’s tears when she, with the rest of my prep team, came to wake me to start on the preparations for the interviews, and came across Peeta and me sleeping together.  She almost cries again when I describe the current situation with Peeta. “Oh Katniss, how could such a dreadful thing happen?  And after all you’ve been through together.  Well, you’ve come to the right place.  A makeover sets everything right.  I’ve always said so.  Haven’t I, Flavius?” I’m directed over to one of the chairs where my braid is unravelled for assessment.  Octavia takes one of my hands to examine the nails.  There’s several seconds of uncomfortable silence.  Eventually Flavius speaks. “When was the last time you had your hair cut?” he asks, quite unnecessarily.  We both know from the uneven lengths that it hasn’t been cut since before the explosion that killed Prim and scarred Peeta and me.   I shrug in answer.  He then picks up a strand.  It lies limply across his palm like a dead thing. “What shampoo do you use?” “No shampoo.  Just soap.” Flavius turns pale and I think he might faint. But then he rallies to find some deep inner strength for his shoulders square and his voice turns to steel.  “Lock the door, Octavia.  There’ll be no more customers today.  We have an emergency situation.” While Flavius applies a deep conditioning treatment to my hair, Octavia starts on my nails.  I’m a chronic nail biter and they’re down to the quick.  Rather than try to make do with the nails I’ve got, Octavia adheres false nails to them.   “Not too long,” I warn.  Octavia seems disappointed but she does as I say and keeps them to a modest length and then finishes with what she calls a ‘French polish.” After the conditioning treatment is rinsed off, Flavius sets to work on cutting my hair.  We decide to leave it long enough to braid since that’s how I prefer to wear it.  But otherwise, the length is evened out, and it’s given some shape around my face for those occasions for when I wear it loose.   When my hair is dried, it’s gleaming like a curtain of black silk.  “You’re a miracle worker,” I say. Flavius blushes at the compliment.  “We’re not finished yet,” he says.  “Come this way.”  I’m led to one of the private alcoves.  Venia was the waxer-in-chief so I wonder what’s going to happen next. It seems Octavia has taken on that role, and I grit my teeth as body hair is ripped out by the roots.  Except for my underarms I draw the line at having my torso waxed though. Never again.  And then I’m scoured and rubbed down with a series of lotions.   “Your skin has got much better, but there’s still room for improvement,” says Octavia.  “We could start a course of treatments that will even out the skin tone and buff away the worst of the scarring.  It’s not as good as a full body polish, but it’s the next best thing.”

It's taken nearly five hours but my hair is shining and my skin is glowing.   Flavius creates a make-up for me that I can do myself that accentuates my almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones.  I’m so happy with the result that I book a series of appointments for more skin treatments and spend a small fortune on hair and skin products.  Flavius waves away my attempt to pay for their hours but I insist and add a generous tip.  They can’t afford to work for free when they’re short of customers.  As we say goodbye, I promise to recommend them to all my friends.  When I get some, that is. As I pass by the clothing shop, a summery dress in the colours of a sunset takes my eye.  Half an hour later, I leave the shop with the dress and two new shirts.  I see Lace through her shop window as I walk by.  I give her a cheery wave, making sure that the bag with the shop’s name emblazoned on it is in plain sight. She returns the wave, but her smile is stiff.   Ladies and gentlemen, let the Games begin! Chapter 3. For my first day at work I wear a Cinna made shirt in rose pink and navy trousers.  I had spent the best part of a day going through all my clothes.  Cinna had designed a wardrobe for every occasion, but I had avoided wearing it.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was to keep it in perfect condition as a sort of memorial to him.  But I think Cinna would prefer me to wear it.  I like to think of it as the Mockingjay costume he designed for me.   In a way, I’m going in to battle once again.  

It turns out to be a waste of time though, as I’m handed a uniform soon after I arrive.  It’s white with a mandarin collar and an embroidered logo in brown on the breast pocket.  Cass hands it to me almost apologetically. “My sister-in-law’s idea.  It’s easier not to argue, if you know what I mean,” he says in an undertone.  He’s wearing the same uniform.   Since I was here last week, the interior has been outfitted in tasteful neutral tones.  All the colour is in the display cases.  I haven’t seen such a decadent display of cakes and pastries outside the Capitol. Big cakes, small cakes, cakes with buttercream and shaved chocolate, meringues and cheesecakes, petit fours and fruit tarts.  The shelves behind them are filled with every kind of bread you can think of, from fruit and nut to basic white. “Wow, you have been busy.  I had no idea they’d be such a huge variety to choose from.” I say in awe.   “It’s not quite as big as we did in the Capitol,” Cass says.  “Before the war, anyway.”  He takes from the case a yeasty bun topped with flaked almonds and filled with custard and hands it to me. “Try this.” I take a bite and groan.  “This is so good,” I tell him. Cass smiles, pleased.  “Bee sting.  It’s our specialty.” “Do you make cheese buns?” I ask. “Do we make cheese buns?” Cass repeats as if he can’t believe I’m asking.  In another case, at the opposite side of the room, he points to a variety of savory buns. Cheese, cheese and bacon, cheese and onion, herb and garlic.  I’m in heaven.   “But do you think you have the market in 12 for all this?” I ask.  Twelve might have grown a lot, but it’s still small by Capitol standards.   “We’re confident we do.  After all, there’s no competition.  When we heard that 12 had services like ice-cream parlours and restaurants but no bakery, we could hardly believe it.  Julius – that’s my brother – went to scout it out and didn’t come back.  And then Cornelia joined him to help set up while I stayed in the Capitol to sell our bakery there.” “Well, it’s very impressive -,” I begin. We’re interrupted by a woman aged about thirty with the reddest hair I’ve every seen.  She slaps a tray of bread on the counter and starts loading the loaves onto a shelf.  

“Hi, you must be Katniss. I’m Cornelia,” she says, without stopping.  “I hope you’re ready for a busy day.  Did you see the queue as you came in?” I had.  It was hard to miss.  The line extended past the corner.  I had also noted the shop sign.  Carter’s Bakery and Patisserie.  It’s not Peeta’s work, lacking the flair he usually brings to it, but it’s serviceable enough.   Cornelia returns to the rear of the shop and Cass shows us how the cash register works.   There’s three of us shop assistants and we work different hours, some of them overlapping, but we’re all here today for the opening. There’s Flora, a native of 12, with the typical Seam look of dark hair and grey eyes.   And Sateen, a new arrival from 8.  She has a similar colouring to Lace, but her brown hair lacks the same reddish glints, and her eyes are blue rather than blue-grey. The day is a blur of frantic activity with bread and cakes disappearing off the shelves and Cass, Cornelia and Julius doing their best to replenish them.  None of us assistants have any experience serving in a shop but we bungle our way through, getting in each other’s way as we box cakes, bag loaves of bread and vie for the cash register.  By day’s end, we’re exhausted but nearly everything in the shop has been sold.   “It won’t be like this every day,” says Julius, who’s emerged from the back of the shop for the first time.  “We’re a novelty at the moment.  It will settle down soon.  Then we’ll have a better idea of how much we’ll sell and what’s most popular.”  Julius is an older version of his brother, but slightly shorter and with darker blond hair and a more serious air about him.   Cass nods.  “It was like this when we opened our bakery in the Capitol.  It was the middle of the cupcake craze and Cornelia had the brilliant idea of the all-frosting cupcake.  I mean, let’s face it, the frosting is the best part.  They were flying out the door.”  He turns his head in my direction. “That’s how I got to be one of the bakers at the feast,” he tells me.  “It was all on the strength of my frosting.” “Cass is actually a pastry chef by trade,” explains Cornelia.  “It’s Julius and me who are the bakers.” “What’s a pastry chef?” I ask.

“A chef who specialises in pastries and desserts.  Breads too, sometimes.  Cass does all the fancy stuff,” she replies. “I do my best,” says Cass.  “The baking’s no difficulty but I have little talent for cake decorating beyond the basics, and we’ll like to develop that side of the business at some stage.  We don’t hold much hope for finding someone out here that could do it though.” I can think of someone who’ll be perfect, but I keep my mouth shut.  The idea is to have a life separate from Peeta.  Sharing a work place with him is hardly conducive.   Cornelia boxes up some of the left-over cakes and breads for us to take home.  “One of the perks of the job,” she says.

Flora, Sateen, and I swap puzzled glances.  Surely this could be sold tomorrow as yesterday’s bread? “Aren’t you going to sell this?” ventures Flora. “How?  It will be stale tomorrow.  No one wants to buy stale bread,” says Cornelia, clearly surprised by the question.

I recall when Peeta told me that the only time he got to eat the apple and goat’s cheese tart his parent’s bakery produced was when it was very stale.  How very different it was for people in the Capitol then, if they’d refuse to buy bread that wasn’t fresh.  In the districts you’d think yourself lucky to get it, no matter how stale it was.   How times have changed.

Indeed, I say to myself as I make my way through the town, clutching the white bakery box to my chest. How many squirrels would Gale and I have needed to trade for this lot?  Let’s see, usually a small loaf of plain bread equalled two squirrels. There’s a loaf of sour dough, two cheese buns, an apple pastry, a beefsteak pie and a bee sting in this box.  At least ten or eleven, I calculate. Possibly more.   I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost pass by the ice-cream parlour without seeing it.  I wish I had, for Peeta and Lace are there, seated at one of the outdoor tables.  Peeta has his back to me, but Lace sees me.  She says something to Peeta and he turns around.  His arm goes up, gesturing me to come over and I have no choice but to comply unless I want to appear rude.  At least she’s not licking ice-cream off his face this time.  

I take the seat at the far end of the table, as far as I can possibly get from Shep, Lace’s big slobbering dog which seems to accompany her nearly everywhere she goes.   Lace slips her hand into the crook of Peeta’s arm, and his free hand covers hers briefly with an affectionate pat.  Having established her claim, she now turns her attention to me. “How was your first day at the bakery? Peeta’s told me that you got a job there.  Serving behind the counter, isn’t it?” I don’t know if I imagine it, but Lace sounds almost snide about what I do.  Perhaps there’s a snobbery about owning a business versus being employed in one. But Lace’s round eyes look back innocently at me.  Nonetheless, my guard goes up. “It was fine,” I say stiffly.   “The baker – the younger one, I mean, is pretty dishy.  All the girls say he has great buns,” says Lace, with a giggle. “Um, yes he has,” I say, thinking of the bee sting.   I get the feeling that I’m missing something though.  The bakery has only been open one day.  That’s not long enough to get a reputation for great buns.  I steal a glance at Peeta, hoping for clarification but he just looks uncomfortable.   “What did you think of the beauty salon?” asks Lace.  “I saw you go in last week.  I’ve been tempted to try it, but I’m not sure.   The proprietors look really weird.  I don’t want to come out with green skin or wearing purple lipstick but you came out looking normal enough.  Wanted to impress the new boss, huh?” Before I can answer, Peeta interrupts.  “What’s in the box?” “Oh, we were given some things to take home.” I open the box and push it towards him so he can see the contents better.   “Impressive,” he says, after a few moments. He doesn’t look impressed though. He looks rather glum, in fact. “Cheese buns too.   I’m sure you’re happy about that.” “I bet they aren’t as good as yours, Peety,” gushes Lace.  Peety?  “That looks interesting though,” she adds, pointing to the bee sting. “Try it,” I tell her.  “I’ve already had one today.  It’s the specialty of the house.  It’s called a bee sting.”

Lace picks it up delicately with her finger tips and takes a large bite.  Custard spurts out the sides and then down the front of her blue polka dot dress.  I guess being out in the sunshine has made the custard runnier.  Both Peeta and Lace reach for the paper napkins on the table and Lace dabs at the offending spot. She throws the napkin down.  “It’s no good.  I should rinse it.  I don’t want it to stain.  This is a new dress.” Lace glares at me as if I meant it to happen.   She tells Shep to stay and then heads towards the restroom at the rear of the ice-cream parlour.   Peeta and I watch her retreating figure. I’ve never noticed before how broad in the beam Lace is.  Perhaps she’s been eating too much ice-cream.  

There’s an awkward silence. It’s almost like we’ve lost the ability to converse with each other.  I suppose my telling him that we have nothing to say to each other hasn’t helped.  

“It probably won’t stain,” I get out, for want of something better to say.  “It’s not like coffee or berry juice.” “No, but I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry.” “Yeah.”

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Katniss, I’ve been wanting to ask you something and now seems as good a time as any. I’ve been thinking a lot of what you said about trying to get my memories back.  You’re right.  I won’t find myself by ignoring my past.  And memories have started to resurface anyway so . . .”   Peeta pauses here, and I hardly dare breathe in anticipation.  Is he about to say that he remembers he loves me? “Not that I expect that it will change how I feel about things,” he continues.  “But I hope getting some memories back, at least, helps put it into context.  I’ve been relying on instinct and I’m worried that if I put these feelings in the wrong place that one day, when I do remember, I might have done something I can’t take back.  Something I might regret.” “Oh,” is all I say as I process what he’s just said.  There’s some good news in that.  At least he’s not certain about it.  “Has something happened?” I ask, hopefully. “Something that’s made you question things?” “No, it’s just an idea that’s occurred to me. Lace thinks I should let my memories reveal themselves naturally – that if they’re meant to come back, they will. But Dr Aurelius thinks that some controlled method of accelerating the process could be beneficial.  He wants to send me footage of the Games and our publicity tours – not all at once, just what he thinks I can handle.  I’d like you to be there when I watch them. To ask questions of, if I have any.” “Right.” That’s what he wants to ask me then. To watch the Games with him.  To relive it.  The full force of what I’ve asked Peeta to do hits me.  It will be bad enough for me, knowing what to expect. For him, it will be like the first time. “Anything I can do to help,” I say.  I put out my hand without thinking and Peeta covers it with his own.   I have to stop myself from flipping mine upwards to hold his hand like I want to. “Thanks, Katniss.  You’re such a good friend.  Better than I deserve really.” I shake my head no.  “When?” “Is Saturday afternoon OK?  Around three?  Dr Aurelius said he could have the first of the tapes to me by the end of the week.” “Yes, that’s fine – “

“What’s up?” Lace has returned.  Almost the entire front of her bodice is wet.  It had only been a little splotch.   Peeta and I hastily pull our hands back.   “I’d better go.  Three on Saturday, then,” I say.   I collect my box from the table sans bee sting and push my chair back.   “Bye Peeta. Bye Lace.” As I walk away, I see Lace questioning Peeta. His back is to me so I can’t see his reaction.  I don’t have a good feeling about it.  If anything can hinder Peeta’s memory recovery, it’s Lace. Chapter 4

On the way home, I drop into Haymitch’s to invite him to dinner.  It’s the first meal we’ve shared since I bowed out of the Victor’s dinners.   I don’t know if he and Peeta kept them up without me and I haven’t asked.  But I do like to think I’ve been missed if they have. I heat up the beefsteak pie and cook vegetables to go with it.  The loaf of sour dough I slice and put in the centre of the table.   I let Haymitch have the apple pastry and we each have a cheese bun to finish. “It’s not better than Peeta’s,” I say, after I take my first bite.  There’s hardly anything to distinguish them in fact, except that Peeta uses a slightly sharper cheese.  “Is he very upset about the bakery?  The Carters only came here because they heard 12 didn’t have one.” Haymitch finishes his bun in three bites and then wipes his greasy fingers on the tablecloth.  Really, you’d think years of being around Effie would have taught him some manners.  

“Something about it upsets him,” he says.  “But I don’t think it’s opening his own bakery.  He’s had plenty of time, if that’s what he wanted.  I doubt he knows what he wants. He dabbles in ideas, testing one, and then another, to see how they fit.” I nod.  Peeta doesn’t really commit to anything.  Except maybe Lace.  But then, when I think on it, she didn’t really become “girlfriend” until I called her one.  What an idiot thing to do, if it was me who put the idea in his head. It occurs to me, that even though Peeta resists being told who he is, he’s still vulnerable to suggestion.  I guess that’s the danger of not knowing who you truly are.  You’d constantly be looking for any kind of clue; anything being better than nothing. “Has Peeta said anything about the tapes Dr Aurelius sent him?” I ask.  I’m curious to know what Haymitch thinks.  I prepare myself for criticism as it was the ultimatum I gave Peeta that was the impetus behind it.

“He has,” he replies, “and it pains me to say it, but you might’ve been right. Cosseting him like we have hasn’t helped him.  He needed a reason to fight to get his memories back, and you seem to have given him one.” “On the way to the Capitol to kill Snow, Peeta was so determined,” I say, recalling our first tentative attempts to reconnect with each other after the hijacking.  “We – the squad, Peeta and I -  played the real, not real game.  He’d test his memories on us, and we’d say if it was real or not.”  My voice cracks.  “He trusted me then, to tell him the truth.  Now he doesn’t.  He actually told me that.  Not entirely, anyway.”

Haymitch gives me a side-ways glance.  “He trusts you.  You don’t seek out people you don’t trust to be friends with.  He just gets confused between what the hijacking made him believe and what he actually feels.  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t want you to watch the tapes with him.  He hasn’t asked me.” “What?  I just assumed that you would.  I mean, you were there.  You could corroborate.  Give a different view point . . .” “I could.  But it seems he wants only you.” Haymitch belches and stands to leave.   “My advice.  Be completely honest with him.  Don’t even try to be diplomatic or soften the truth, no matter how bad it looks.  He’ll know.” Halfway out the door, Haymitch turns back. “If you get more of those apple pastries . . .

Ugh!  Haymitch and his stomach.  I don’t hear the rest of it.  My thoughts are too full of Peeta and how he wants only me to watch the tapes with him. Not Haymitch, who I thought Peeta seemed to prefer these days, but me!  It has to be a good sign.  My refusal to have anything to do with him must have been the motivation he needed.  It’s sort of like when we were in the Star Squad and I called him a mutt and said the real Peeta was gone.  Haymitch was angry with me when he heard, but it did seem to mark a turnaround in Peeta’s attitude.  That’s when he decided to trust me with getting his memories back, and I wanted to help him in return.   It’s the start of something big.  I know it!  I imagine us watching the tapes sitting together on a couch as we did when we watched the Games in the interviews with Caesar Flickerman.   Perhaps we’ll hold hands, or even cuddle as we did then.  It was horrifying to watch it the first time, of course, and it will probably be just as horrifying a second time, and I dread all the bad memories it will evoke, but oh, how wonderful it will be when Peeta sees how close we were, and how we protected each other.  Surely he’ll remember that he loves me when he does.   It’s just as well there’s lots to distract me before Saturday.  I’d be climbing the walls with impatience if there weren’t.  As it is, I have to remind myself to concentrate on matters at hand because I find it so hard to think of little else.   Over the next few days it’s still very busy at the bakery.  But, as Julius predicted, the number of customers begins to decline.  There’s even a little time to become better acquainted with my co-workers. I learn that Flora Dogwood is seventeen and a survivor of Snow’s bombing of 12.  Her family has recently returned to their home district from District 13 and, with the exception of Flora, are employed in the medicine factory.  Sateen Bobbin also came to 12 with her family.  She’s twenty-two, never wants to work with textiles again, and is a relative of the Bobbin family who owned and managed the largest factory in 8.  The tailor who’s opened a shop on Main Street is her brother.   On the Friday, I turn up at the school about fifteen minutes before first bell.  I was tempted to give the whole thing a miss.  Working at the bakery has been more tiring than I thought since I’m on my feet all day.  What I really want is time on my own and to go hunting.  Instead I’ll be herding a bunch of kids through the woods and trying very hard not to lose any.  But I said I would, so here I am. I wear my preferred attire of khaki trousers, hunting jacket and boots.  I hesitated over whether to bring my bow or not, wondering if it’s appropriate to take weapons into a school.  But then on the other hand, losing a child to a predator wouldn’t be a good look either. I enter the school house without knocking, tentatively putting my head around the door first to see if anyone’s about.   It’s a large room, filled with a motley assortment of desks, a blackboard on the rear wall and in front of that, the teacher’s desk.  Five adults are peering over some papers strewn across it.   Their heads rise abruptly when they hear me enter.  Floppy- haired man (I’ve forgotten his name) comes towards me, smiling broadly.  “Katniss! You came!” I scowl at him.  There’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way.  “I said I would, didn’t I?” The smile dims a little.  “Ah, yes, you did.  If you come this way, I’ll introduce you.”  He puts his hand at my back to usher me forward.   “If you don’t mind,” I say, glancing pointedly over my shoulder at it.  “Personal space and all.”   That’s what I don’t like about him.  He’s so pushy and over-familiar.   He drops his hand from my back then raises both as if in surrender.   I scowl at him again and make my way over to the others. Floppy-haired man appears at my side to make the introductions.  There’s Mr and Mrs Matson, a middle-aged couple with greying hair and a mild, patient demeanour.  Moira, their daughter, auburn haired and very pretty.  Son, Milo, good looking in an understated way with brown hair and brown eyes. Hands are shaken all round.   “I’m not quite sure what’s expected of me,” I say to Mr Matson.  He seems to be the one in charge. “We’re leaving it up to you.  It’s really about connecting these children with nature. Giving them an awareness and appreciation of it.  And also, it’s dangers.  Most of our children grew up around factories or mining.  Here they have a huge forest on their doorstep.  It’s a whole new world for them.” “It will only be in small groups,” Mrs Matson assures me.  “And only for an hour or two.  As the school is still quite small, by days end, all the students will have had a turn.” Suddenly I’m excited to be part of it. This is something I can do and do well. All I have to do is impart the same knowledge to these children that my father gave me.  And there’s also a lot I learned on my own.  I had begun to fear that it might be some formal arrangement, giving lectures or something in front of the whole school, albeit in the woods. “Max will accompany you on your first day. Just to get you acquainted with the children and make sure they don’t give you any trouble,” adds Mr Matson. So Floppy-haired man’s name is Max.  I force a smile.  In my side-vision I see a big smirk on Max’s face.  I finger the string of my bow.   I’m so glad I brought it with me.  

Fortunately for Max I don’t end up using it.  Not on him, anyway.  One of the older children, a sort of junior version of Max, thinks it’s funny to scare his classmates with tales of ferocious man-eating beasts and squirrels that drop out of trees to munch on the heads of passers-by.  After reassuring the kids that it’s completely untrue, I give a brief demonstration of what any animal that dared to attack could expect.  It shuts that kid right up.   And Max too.  

By the end of the school day, every child has had a turn in the woods.  As Mr Matson had said, for many of them it’s a whole new world.  I remember some of the districts Peeta and I had visited on the Victory Tour where there was scarcely a blade of grass to be seen. Even in 12, exposure to nature was limited if you didn’t venture into the woods.  The kids are so excited that I’m excited too.  I don’t know if they learn much, but I think we all have a good time.  Next time, I’ll have to put more substance into it.  Perhaps safety in the woods would be a good place to start and then go on to identifying the different plants and animals.   I sleep well that night, exhausted by the unaccustomed activity of the past five days.  Just as well, otherwise the anticipation of spending the afternoon with Peeta watching old footage of us together would have kept me up all night. I wonder what we’ll start with.  I have no idea if it will be chronological, starting with the reaping, or all mixed up.   But whatever it is, I need to be prepared and to answer any questions Peeta might have as honestly as I can, no matter how awkward it might be.

The next day, I spend an inordinate amount of time choosing what to wear.  I want to appear casually elegant, and maybe just a little bit sexy. What I don’t want is to look as if I’ve tried too hard.  That’s more difficult than I first thought.  Anything more than my usual baggy khaki trousers and T-shirt tells the world that I’ve put in more than my usual effort.  I didn’t have this problem after I won the Games, but then I don’t have my mother around to remind me to dress according to my status any more.  I guess, when left to my own devices, I’m just a natural slob.   Eventually I decide on figure hugging black trousers that make my rear end look great, if I do say so myself.  A simple clinging top in forest green completes the ensemble.  I debate whether to go braless to allow my nipples to show through but then decide that it might be a bit too obvious and go with the bra.  My hair I wear down except for the side sections which I braid loosely to tie at the back of my head.  And then I carefully apply makeup, just as Flavius had shown me. At exactly three o’clock I’m at Peeta’s door. My insides are churning with nervous energy and I wonder if I should have gone to the bathroom before I left. I had gone, I remind myself.  It’s just the excitement and I don’t really need to go.  Oh, please, please let only good things come from this.  It could be my only chance. I hesitate for a few seconds, then reach for the brass knocker.  One, two, three raps and then I wait.  I hear voices, more than one, some scuffling and then feet approaching the door.  The door opens.  It’s not Peeta.  It’s Lace. She wears a low-cut pink dress, her breasts almost spilling out.  The first thing that comes into my head is that I should have left off the bra.

Chapter 5.

Shep bounds out to greet me. I push him away, perhaps more forcefully than I need to.  He leaves behind what seems to be half his coat on my black trousers.  

“Hi Katniss!” Lace chirps, following it with that stupid pearly laugh of hers.  “Come in.  We’ve been waiting for you.  It’s all set up in the sitting room.” She looks me up and down, taking in the extra care I’ve taken.  “All dressed up for the occasion, I see.” Peeta appears just behind her.  He tries to make eye contact.  I think there’s an unspoken apology there, but I refuse to look at him.  I am so angry!  This is my life too we’re about to dissect and then discuss. What is she doing here? How dare he invite her!  And even if she just turned up, how could he let her stay? “I have somewhere to go after this,” I tell Lace.  It’s a lie, of course.  I had no plans other than to hopefully spend lots of one-on-one time with Peeta. Obviously, that’s not going to happen.

“Well, you look very nice,” says Peeta. “Thanks,” I reply, but without enthusiasm. I’m too mad at him to take any pleasure in the compliment.

Shep jumps back up, leaving another layer of dog hair on my clothes.  “Can something be done about this dog?” I ask irritably.  “Maybe some training?” “Shep, come here,” calls Peeta.  He takes Shep by the collar and leads him away into the rear of the house.  Bloody nuisance of a dog. I follow Lace into the sitting room.  “Can I get you a tea or hot chocolate?  Or maybe a cold drink?” offers Lace. “No thank you,” I say stiffly.  So now she’s also playing the role of host in Peeta’s home.  I want to scream with disappointment and frustration but I can’t afford to let my emotions show so I do the next best thing.  I set my face into a stony mask and steel myself to get through the coming ordeal as well as I can.   Peeta’s sitting room is set up like mine. In front of the television there’s a two-seater couch and single lounge chairs on either side.  I note there’s a plate of frosted cookies on the coffee table, each bearing a floral motif.   Among them I recognise the flower with three petals as katniss flowers.   Haven’t lost your talent for playing the two of us at the same time, have you Peeta?   “Would you like a cookie, Katniss?” asks Lace, as she holds the plate out to me. “No thanks.  I had my fill of baked goods during the week.”   Just then Peeta walks in and I can tell by his frown that he heard me.  

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” I say.  The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and I can get out of here.   “Of course,” says Peeta.  He doesn’t look happy.  I guess he’s anxious about what’s on the tape.   He turns on the television and inserts the tape into the player.  Immediately the Panem Capitol seal appears on the screen.  We’re about to see official televised footage then.   It might be my imagination, but Lace seems to race towards the two-seater couch to get there first.   Peeta sits down beside her and I take my place on one of the single chairs.  In my peripheral vision I see him turn to me with a worried expression but I keep my eyes forward and pretend not to notice.  I’ve kicked off my shoes to hug my knees to my chest and I drop my head to partially obscure my face.  I wish I could shut all of this out.  Lace, him, me.  Everything.

Peeta presses the start button on the remote.  The Capitol Seal is replaced by images of Peeta and me at one of the big Capitol events. Dr Aurelius seems to have chosen to start with the least harrowing and emotionally fraught, although this is also bad. We were performing for our lives, afraid that one wrong move would doom not only our families, but entire districts.

Lace leans her head against Peeta’s shoulder and his arm goes around her.  I’m glad I’m sitting where I can’t see them from the front.  I don’t want to know if they’re also holding hands. Like Peeta and I did on the Capitol stage.   To keep the tears at bay, I take refuge in anger.  Where do they think they are?  At the movies?  It’s just as well I don’t have my bow with me or I’d send an arrow through both their skulls. I hate them so much!  And I’m done with Peeta.  For good this time.  I haven’t changed my mind about helping him regain his memories, but I don’t owe him more than that.   The tape continues to play although I pay little attention to it.  It’s a montage of Capitol parties.  Many changes of clothes for Peeta and me.  Garishly costumed Capitolites showing off their Mockingjay accessories. Glimpses of Haymitch and Effie and assorted Capitol celebrities. But most of all there’s kissing. Lots of kissing, hand holding, slow dancing and romantic gazes. I take grim satisfaction that Lace is watching it. But what else could she expect? She’s seen it all before.  This was mandatory viewing. Was she taken in by it? Did she believe the hype?  How does she reconcile all this with her relationship with Peeta and his friendship with me?  What has Peeta told her? After what seems an age, the tape ends. The screen goes blank and Peeta clicks on the remote to turn off the television.  No one speaks.

I wait for Peeta’s questions, wondering how this will work.   Peeta’s greatest confusion centres around me.  Lace’s presence could have an inhibiting effect.  

He starts haltingly, feeling his way.  “I remember some of it.  The dress you wore to the district party in 7, for example.”  This is no surprise.  We talked of this when we played the real, not real game on the way to the Capitol.  “And dancing with you.  I think it was at a feast?” “That’s right.  It was the night we became engaged.  The feast was after.  We were disgusted with the waste of food when there was so much starvation in the districts.  You met Cass – one of the bakers I work for.  He gave you his frosting to take home.”

Peeta nods. “They gave out drinks to make you puke so could you could go on eating.” “Yes,” I say, growing excited.  He’s remembering!  I get out of my chair and walk around to face him.   “And then you questioned whether we were doing the right thing by trying to subdue the unrest in the districts.” He frowns at this, considering it. “It’s why we kissed so much – to make people believe our romance was real.  And that we weren’t out to defy the Capitol.” I don’t respond.  Dread freezes my tongue.  I know what’s coming next. “We were acting.  Both of us,” he says.  He looks down at his feet as if he’s recalling a sad fact, and then back up at me, searching my face, waiting for confirmation.

And what can I say?   For while Peeta was as madly in love with me as ever, all that public romance stuff was indeed an act.  For him, as well as me. I want to tell him that we were growing closer then, that I would come to feel the same way about him that he did about me. But some instinct tells me that this isn’t the right time.  That maybe Dr Aurelius intends there to be a progression, that I shouldn’t rush things. That I should let Peeta’s questions be my guide.   Besides, Lace is here, hanging onto every word.  So I bite my tongue and merely nod. He seems to consider it a moment and then responds with a nod of his own. “Yeah, thought so.” I take a deep breath.  I have to leave before I do something stupid like cry. “Well, if there’s no more questions, I should be going.  There’s people expecting me.”  I make my way to the door.  “Same time next week?”   I scarcely wait for the answer.  I’m halfway to my house when I hear my name called. I want to ignore it, but when it’s repeated, louder this time and more urgently, I have little choice but to stop. I turn around but remain where I am until Peeta reaches me, slightly breathless.   “Katniss, I want to explain about Lace.   I didn’t mean for her to be there, but when she turned up, I didn’t like to ask her to leave.  She wants to be supportive.  She means well, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to stay away in future.” I want to shout at him.  To demand why let her stay in the first place.   It’s our story!  It has nothing to do with her!   But if I have to tell him all the ways in which Lace being there is so wrong, then what’s the point? He shouldn’t even have to ask.  He should know. And what’s this about making me uncomfortable? Me?  What about him having to talk about this great love he claims he had for me in front of his girlfriend?  Probably it’s not a problem for him because he doesn’t have it anymore. I shrug.  “It’s your party.  Invite who you like.  It’s not like the whole of Panem hasn’t seen it already.”  I look away from him, towards my house.  I don’t want him to see how close I am to tears.  “I’d better go.  I’m running late and I have to change my clothes.  There’s dog hair all over me.” “Bye, Katniss,” he calls after me, “and thanks.”  There’s a mixture of resignation and bewilderment in his voice, as if he’s wondering what he’s done wrong this time. Well, fuck him, I think as I tear off my black trousers and toss them into a corner of my bedroom. I don’t care that he was hijacked.  If he had even an ounce of consideration for me then Lace would have been asked to leave immediately.  I suppose this is his idea of being a good boyfriend.  Let the girlfriend stay because she wants to be supportive. Wants to sabotage, more like. My second choice of dark green trousers still lies across the bed, so I put them on before grabbing some money from the dresser.  I can’t go to the woods like I want to in case I’m caught in the lie.  That leaves the town. At least the walk helps burn off the anger. In fact, by the time I reach the town square, I’m hovering on despair again.  I have to remind myself that it’s early days, and that we’ve barely begun the process to restore Peeta’s memories.  But there’s this feeling that time’s not on my side, and that the longer it takes, the closer he’ll become with Lace.  Maybe he’ll even prefer her, despite his memories coming back, and it’s something I should prepare myself for.  It might even be the reason why Dr Aurelius advised me to work on myself. He knows what’s in Peeta’s mind better than anybody. There’s not many people about late on a Saturday afternoon.   Shops are closed, cafes are winding down and restaurants are yet to open.  That leaves 12’s two pubs.  Pre-war, it was mostly peacekeepers who frequented these kinds of places.  The only girls from 12 who went into them were looking for business.  Maybe times have changed though.  Twelve is definitely more cosmopolitan than it used to be. And it’s not like I’m dressed like, well like Lace was dressed this afternoon, with her boobs hanging out everywhere.   I choose what appears from the outside to be the most respectable.   I make a beeline for the bar, perch myself on a stool and pick up the drinks menu in front of me.  I’ve never had a cocktail before and the list is mystifying.  I end up ordering a martini because I like the way it sounds. It tastes foul.  But at least by the rate I’m sipping this thing, it should while away an hour or two.   After about ten minutes, I get sick of the stool and move to a table.  More customers start to filter in.  A man, tow-headed and with a Capitol accent, takes the chair opposite and tries to engage me in conversation.  I give him a withering look before he leaves to join a group of men at another table. They are obviously friends of his, because they glance my way and then turn back to him, laughing. Arseholes.  I’m already on edge when a hand descends on my shoulder.  I jerk back in anger and hot words spring to my lips. But when I see who the hand belongs to, I pull them back. “Hi Katniss.  Are you here on your own?  Do you mind if we join you?” Sateen asks.  She’s with a man I don’t recognise. “Of course not,” I say, as I make more room for them.    I’m glad to have the company.  Not only will it deter unwelcome attention, it also validates my lie.  These can be the people I was meeting with all along. “This is Arthur.  He’s the brother I told you about.  The tailor,” says Sateen. Arthur and I shake hands.  He’s of medium height with brown hair that’s started to recede and mild blue eyes.   “I often walk past your shop,” I say to him. “Are you getting a lot of business?” Arthur’s face lights up.  This is evidently a pet topic for him. “It was slow at first but it’s picking up.  It’s not what I want to do long term though.  As soon as I build up enough capital, I’d like to open my own factory. Ready-to-wear is where the real money is.” “It was the family business in 8,” explains Sateen.  “Well, it was until our factory was bombed.  Most of our workers were killed, and Arthur and I barely escaped ourselves.  And then when we went back later to find the safe, someone had got there first.  So now we start again.  Like nearly everyone, I guess.” I think of Lace, who has a similar story. Except that she had been a factory worker, rather than a factory owner.   “We’re just lucky to have been taught a trade. Dad insisted that we know all aspects of the business and it turned out Arthur has quite the talent for tailoring. He even got offers to work in the Capitol,” says Sateen proudly. “Only two,” says Arthur modestly, but he looks pleased nonetheless. “What made you choose 12? “ I ask.  “Why not stay in 8?” Sateen shrugs. “We wanted a fresh start. There’s not many good memories in 8, what with the bombings and all.  We also lost family members.  Dad and a cousin of ours were killed in a separate bombing a few days later.  And Mum died about ten years ago so there’s only Arthur and me.  So when we heard about the medicine factory opening in 12 it seemed ideal.  If there’s one factory, they’ll be more so why shouldn’t one of them be a clothing factory?  Plus there’s not much  competition here and lots of new people who need clothes.”  

I nod.  It seems that’s why most people come to 12.  For opportunity.  Personally, if I were coming here from 8, it would be for the woods. Eight was the most depressing of all the districts.  Nothing but factories and tenements.   I come to the last of my martini and I push the glass from me.  Immediately Arthur springs up and offers to buy me another.  I decline, but Sateen wants a drink and Arthur makes his way over to the bar. Once he’s out of hearing, Sateen leans forward and talks in a loud whisper.  “I had to nag him to come out tonight.  He’s so shy around new people.  Especially women.  And it’s such a shame, because you couldn’t find a nicer guy.  He’s ambitious too.  A real catch.”  She regards me thoughtfully. “He seems to like you.” “Oh, does he?   It’s probably because he feels he knows me already.  From the TV.  A lot of people are like that,” I say hastily.   I certainly don’t want Sateen doing any matchmaking between Arthur and me.   “Yeah, probably.  I didn’t think of that,” she replies, sounding a little disappointed. Arthur returns with the drinks and we chat some more.  Soon after I make my excuses.  I’ve been gone for long enough and I want to get home before dark.   As I pass through the Village gates, I encounter Lace on her way home.  We greet each other politely.  No one would guess that we don’t trust each other an inch.  Once our paths have crossed, the corners of my mouth lift in a smile.  A genuine one this time.  As far as the fight for Peeta goes, it’s been a disastrous day for me, and a triumphant one for her.  But I do have one thing to celebrate.  At least she’s not spending the night.   Chapter 6.  

The following Saturday, I’m outside Peeta’s door again but with considerably lower expectations than I had the week before.   But at least it won’t be as bad as last week, now that we’ve got the acting thing out of the way. It’s Peeta who opens the door this time. His eyes widen with admiration when he sees what I’m wearing.  I knew he’d like it. “You’re as radiant as a sunset,” he says. “Thank you.  When I saw this dress in the shop window that’s what it reminded me of.” I see Lace hovering in the background. “It’s from the shop just a few doors down from you, Lace.”   Lace smiles tightly.  “Yeah, I remember seeing it.” There’s no sign of Shep.  Either Lace has left him at home, or he’s been put in a back room.  I wish Lace had been too.  I’ve been kicking myself all week that I didn’t take up Peeta’s offer to tell her to stay away for the tape viewings but instead allowed angry pride to rule me.   So here she is, in a green floral dress that accentuates her breasts and small waist, her mahogany hair curling artfully over her shoulders.  Lace always takes care of her appearance but she’s gone to extra trouble today.   I smooth back my hair, left loose and flowing down my back in silky waves and stare coolly back.  Challenge met. Peeta has no idea what’s going on, his blue eyes innocent of the tension between Lace and me. “Going out after this?” Lace asks, all friendly interest.   “Yes, I am.  I’m meeting friends.”  And it’s true this time.  Sateen, Arthur, Flora and I are going to a restaurant together.  Sateen is quite the social organiser.  

We move into the sitting room.  Peeta asks if I’d like a drink before we get started and I accept this time because it’s Peeta who asks.  I also take a chocolate chip cookie to go with my glass of water.  The bakery doesn’t do cookies and I have missed Peeta’s. This time I don’t even think about occupying the two-seater couch but take a seat on one of the lounge chairs to the side. Lace, and then Peeta take the couch.  The television flickers to life and the next instalment of the star-crossed lover’s saga begins.

After last week, I thought Dr Aurelius might continue with the least harrowing of the archival footage, but no, he seems to have decided to plunge Peeta into the deep end this time. It’s the District 11 leg of the Victory Tour.  I recognise the marble stairs of the District 11 Justice building.  We would have to face the families of Thresh and Rue, and then witness the death of a frail old man, shot through the head by a peacekeeper.   My eyes search out Peeta.  It’s hard to make out his reaction to what’s on the screen from where I’m sitting.  The light in the room is dim and my view of him is partially obscured by Lace, who’s chosen to sit on the side of the couch closest to me.   It should be me sitting next to him!  Not her!  How can I read him, if I’m all the way over here? The sound of applause sends my attention back to the television screen.  It’s the audience reacting to Peeta and me as we walk onto the makeshift stage.  The camera pans across the crowd and then to the families of the dead tributes who stand waiting on a special platform just below us.  The mayor makes his speech, and then Peeta and I make the scripted speech that Effie wrote.  Peeta makes his own, personal speech to Rue’s and Thresh’s families when, to the astonishment of all, he pledges to give them a month of our winnings every year for the rest of our lives.  Peeta and I exchange glances and I rise on tiptoe to kiss him.  The camera records all our movements but what it doesn’t catch is how I felt about him in that moment.  How I found it impossible to imagine that I could do any better than him. A pang of loss slices through me.  I miss that boy so much.  For a few seconds I forget about District 11 and what’s to happen next and instead focus on the Peeta and Katniss on the TV screen.  We were so young. Far too young to have the weight of the world on our shoulders.  But Peeta’s love for me shines through, like a brightly burning flame.   And there’s me, confused, unsure, but slowly falling. If only I had known sooner, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are now.

The mayor presents us each with a large plaque and I put down my bouquet of flowers to hold it.  It signals the end of the ceremony, but I tell them to wait.  I have something to say to the families.  I speak from the heart, and it seems to resonate because there’s a hushed silence from the crowd when I finish.  This is where I expect the tape to end.   For surely what is to follow wouldn’t have made the official broadcast.   But Dr Aurelius seems to have got hold of the unedited tape because the cameras keep on rolling. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue’s four-note mockingjay tune.  And then, as if pre-arranged, every person kisses the three middle fingers of their left hand and holds them out to me.  I recall the sudden sense of dread and panic. It was a gesture of defiance to the Capitol and somehow, I had provoked it.   I was supposed to defuse tensions in the districts, not inflame them.  The mayor then says a few words and Peeta and I head toward the doors.  That’s when I go back for my flowers and see peacekeepers drag the old man to the top of the steps.  To be shot.

I lose sight of Peeta and me.  Peacekeepers have surrounded us, blocking us from sight.  We were ushered into the building at that point.  In the square there’s pandemonium.  People screaming, terrified, as two more men are pulled from the crowd to be shot in the head too.  The crowd pulls back, seemingly realising that their greater numbers are no match for the peacekeeper’s guns.   But their expressions remain defiant.  A thin wail pierces the silence.  I think it must come from a woman who has thrown herself over the body of one of the dead men, but it continues when the television screen goes black.   It’s coming from Lace. Peeta tries to calm her down.  Through the sobs we hear a garbled story of witnessing a skirmish in the main square of District 8.  Lace saw it from the window of the apartment where her family lived. People had hidden their faces behind makeshift masks and were throwing bricks at the peacekeepers who shot into the crowd, killing many.  

While Lace cries against Peeta’s neck, I hang back, silent, my emotions swinging between anger, despair and straight-out jealousy.  There’s also contempt for Lace, unfair though it is.  It would have been an awful thing to witness, but it wasn’t her that was being shot at.   She’s alive, isn’t she?  And her family is too.  She has everything to be grateful for as she blubbers away.  She gets to enjoy the sacrifices that others have made while losing little.  She even gets Peeta.   And as for him, I might as well not be here. It’s all about Lace.  If I’m been relegated to second place on Peeta’s list of priorities, then it’s so far down from first it might as well be last.  I don’t wait for Lace to quieten down so Peeta can ask his questions.  I just leave. The walk into town is a quick one.  I want to get as much distance between me and the Village as possible.  I begin to think that perhaps my future no longer lies with Peeta, and that I have to look outward more than I have ever done before if I’m to survive this.  Because I think I might have lost him.  Forever this time.  These tapes do nothing but push Peeta closer to Lace.  I’ve made a big tactical error, and now I have to live with it. And I can’t opt out.  I made a promise, and it was my idea to begin with.  

Strangely, the thought doesn’t throw me into despair as I thought it might.  Letting go of hope has a deadening affect.  I feel almost nothing.  That can be my strategy.  I’ll be as detached from it all as much as I can.  If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when that’s inevitably what I get. By the time I reach the town square, I’m feeling better.  But I’m also aware how fragile this new attitude is, and that it won’t take much to tip me right back to where I started.  I look around for something to distract me.  I’ve arrived too early to meet the others so I head for the pub I went to last week.  Over an old fashioned this time (I didn’t think I could go wrong with something that’s stood the test of time) I secrete myself in a corner to enjoy my drink.   Which I don’t.  For two reasons.  It tastes foul and Max Matson is here.  

He’s at the bar, drinking a beer.  He appears to be alone but by the way he’s scanning the room, it’s clear that he doesn’t intend to be that way for long.  I shrink into the shadows as much as I can but it’s no good.  He’s seen me and he’s heading this way.  

“Katniss! On your own?” “No, just trying to be.” Max ignores me and takes the seat opposite. “Cheers”, he says, clinking his glass against mine.  “So how are you finding working at the school?” I hesitate.  I really want to tell him to take a hike.  But I do share a workplace with him, and to give him his due, he was responsible for getting me the job.  Just tolerate him, I tell myself.  That’s all you have to do. “It’s good.  I like the kids and they seem to enjoy the lessons.” “Well, who wouldn’t be impressed by having the Mockingjay as your teacher?  Especially when she brings her bow along and shoots arrows into innocent trees.  There was one terrifying moment when I thought you were going to shoot me.” I try, but I can’t keep the scowl off my face. “And why would I possibly want to shoot at you?” “Don’t know.  But I seem to bother you, for some reason.” “I think if you tried really, really hard, you’d figure out why.” “Hmm.  Because you’re attracted and you don’t want to be?” I can’t be bothered dignifying that with an answer, so I take another sip of my drink instead.   “Why do you drink something you hate?” “Who says I hate it?” “You screw up your face every time you take a drink.” Irritated, I bang my glass back down on the table.  “Did you specifically come over here to annoy me?”   “Is that what I’m doing?” he asks.  He seems genuinely surprised.  “I don’t mean to.  I’m just trying to get to know you.  It’s pretty daunting you know.  Meeting the Mockingjay.” I put up my hand. “You can stop right there. I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.   I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it.  If you really want to get to know me, then it’s as plain Katniss Everdeen, not some preconceived idea of what you think you know about me from what you saw on TV.” “So they aren’t one and the same?” “Nope. Not even close.” “Well, that’s a shame.  I only asked you to join the school because of what I saw on TV. So it wasn’t you who volunteered for her sister? Or took that twelve-year-old under her wing and sang to her as she died?  Or nursed that liability called Peeta Mellark? Or took care of the odd couple from 3 in the Quell?  Or knew how to live off the land? Or threatened to eat poisonous berries rather than – “ “Of course that was me,” I interrupt impatiently.   “I mean the rest of it.  You know, the costume and the speeches and stuff.  Or that I was some kind of revolutionary.  That part wasn’t me.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “For the record, I thought both were awesome but the Katniss Everdeen part most of all.” “Oh,” I say, taken aback.   The last person who thought I was anything close to awesome was Prim.  Peeta hasn’t thought that way about me since he was hijacked. And then to hear it from this irritating man I barely know, who in this moment, has just given me something I didn’t even know I hungered for until now.

I try to hide how it’s affected me, but I can feel myself blushing.  “Well, just wait ten minutes,” I say in an attempt to downplay it. Max laughs. He holds up his empty glass. “Do you mind if I get another drink while I’m waiting?  What about you?  Care to ditch that drink for something you might actually like?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.  Maybe something non-alcoholic this time,” I say.  

He returns with another beer and an orange juice for me.   We spend the next half hour chatting comfortably – talking about the school and how he and his family came to 12.   He’s still annoying and he evidently loves to tease.  But when it’s time to leave, I realise I might have made progress on the second part of my goal.  I think I’ve made a friend. It’s not far to the restaurant.  A few doors down from the bakery actually. Flora, Sateen and Arthur are already there when I arrive.  It soon becomes clear why Sateen organised this outing.  She’s trying to set up Flora with Arthur.  Unfortunately for Sateen, her attempts to cultivate conversation between the two falls flat every time.  Arthur is too old and serious for Flora, who shows more interest in flirting with the waiter.  

Eventually Sateen gives up and the company relaxes into easy conversation.  Sateen tells Flora she wouldn’t mind colouring her “boring” brown hair.  I actually think it’s an attractive shade of ash brown that reminds me of the bark of a black oak and I tell her so.  But apparently nearly everyone from 8 has this hair colour and she wants something different.  This seems a good time to recommend Flavius and Octavia which then leads to questions about my time as a tribute and all the styling and prepping we had to undertake. You’d think Arthur would be bored by the conversation, but he listens intently and asks a question now and then.   It turns out that he did some work for Cinna and he and I reminisce, having at last found common ground.  That is, until I catch Sateen watching us speculatively.  I don’t want to give her any ideas.   It’s nearly dark by the time I get home. Summer is drawing to a close and the days are getting shorter.  A chill has settled on the night air and I look forward to being indoors to get warm. I was so intent on getting away from the Village that I forgot to drop into my house first to pick up a cardigan or a jacket before I left. I’m almost on top of him before I see him. His body is partially obscured by the deep shadows cast by the porch roof.  I wonder how long he’s been waiting.  Certainly not more than when Lace left for home, I figure.  He wouldn’t be sitting on my front porch if she was still here. Peeta turns his head as I approach but stays seated.   “Hi,” he says.

I sit down beside him.  I guess I could invite him in but I don’t want to appear too friendly.  Not until he’s earned it, anyway.  Besides, if I’m not welcome in his house at night unannounced, then I don’t see why I should welcome him into mine.

“How long have you been here?” I ask. He shrugs. “Don’t know.  Not that long.”  He pauses for a moment, and then speaks in a rush.  “I want to apologise for this afternoon.  I had no idea the tapes would trigger Lace. I thought she would have seen them already, and she’d know what to expect.  And when I saw you gone – “ “How is Lace?” I interrupt.  I don’t want to have to explain why I left suddenly.  

“She’s fine now. The shootings in 8 . . .one of those killed was her fiancé.   She . . . she had been carrying his baby but miscarried a few days later.” “Wow.” I feel bad for judging Lace so harshly before.  Maybe that’s why her mind went to my rumoured miscarriage when the subject of children came up when we first met.  She knew how it felt.  “Did you know all this?” Peeta shakes his head. “No, it was the first I’d heard of it.”

I don’t know how to respond. It seems a big thing not to tell someone you’ve supposedly grown close to.  But perhaps it’s a coping mechanism.  We all have them.  Lace doesn’t seem the type to dwell on unhappy times.  And it’s not like they’d be a big exchange of stories about previous relationships between them.  Peeta can’t remember his.  Except false memories planted by the Capitol, that is. “Anyway, I should have realised that this is upsetting for you too.  I’m sorry that I was too pre-occupied with Lace to be of any use.  I know you’re doing this for me and the least I can do is make it as easy for you as possible.  Lace really had no business being there.  This doesn’t involve her and I should never have allowed her to stay.  I want you to know that I’ve told her not to come next time, for everyone’s sake.” Peeta’s evidently attributed my walking out to having being overcome from emotion.  Which I was, but not for the reason he thinks.   I guess I ought to feel relief that he hasn’t guessed why, but I’m also saddened by it. Misread, yet again. “What did Lace say?” I ask. “She came around to it,” he says after a pause.   Lace wasn’t happy then. “Do you think there’ll be more of those tapes? Ones that weren’t shown on TV?” Peeta asks.   I hear apprehension in his voice.  I’d asked myself the same question.  Who knows what recordings the Capitol made. “Maybe.  We always assumed that we were under some kind of surveillance.  Audio, at least.  There may be film.  I don’t know.” “I mean of when I was captured.”   I turn sharply to look at him.  He’s in profile, looking down at his clasped hands. Naturally his thoughts would go to the torture and I’m reminded again of what a huge undertaking this is for him. “I doubt it.  Snow wouldn’t have filmed anything incriminating.  He was careful to cover his tracks so I don’t think it’s something you should worry about.   In any case, Dr Aurelius won’t send anything you can’t handle.  We need to trust him.” Peeta nods, and we lapse into silence. I start to shiver in the chilly air and I wrap my arms around myself to rub some warmth into them.  This seems to rouse Peeta. “You’re cold,” he says.  He takes off his jacket, and before I can stop him, he’s laid it around my shoulders.  

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the material around me and wishing it were his arms.  My mind goes back to the first time we visited the roof garden in the training centre.  He had given me his jacket then too.  Why is it, in only looking back, that I can see all the little romantic gestures that Peeta did for me?  Probably because even if I did, I’d have thought there was an ulterior motive behind them.  I suppose it’s Lace who gets them now. “So, do you have any questions about the tape?” I ask.  “Did it jog any memories?” He considers it for a moment.  “I actually remembered a fair bit of it.  I don’t think the Capitol altered this one. But I also felt a lot of anger as I watched it, and it’s the same kind the Capitol exploited. Anger towards you. Did anything happen, beyond the shooting?” My stomach sinks.  After what I had to confess last week, I was hoping for something more positive this time.  From faking it to Gale.  Could this get any worse? I take a breath. Be honest, I think.  Be honest. “Yes, there was something.  After we went inside.  Well, actually on the day we started the tour.  But you found out that day.” I pause here, waiting to see if this information sparks any memories.  But Peeta says nothing, so I continue.  “Snow came to see me, just before the tour began.  The trick with the berries – some people in the districts viewed it as an act of defiance rather than an act of love.  It caused a lot of unrest and Snow was concerned that it could lead to open rebellion.  I was to convince everyone that our love was real.  He threatened to harm our families if I didn’t co-operate.  I told Haymitch about it as soon as I could, but we didn’t tell you. I guess he didn’t want to worry you with it. But after what happened in the square, there was no choice. You were pretty mad that we hadn’t told you.” “You and Haymitch had this system, that I wasn’t part of.  I remember that,” says Peeta.  “It wasn’t a good feeling, being left out in the cold.”   “No,” I agree, thinking of how things have changed.  Now it’s me who’s often the third wheel.  The difference between a working partnership and peacetime friendship, I guess.  Because we’re alike, Haymitch and I can often communicate with non-verbal cues.  Yet Peeta and Haymitch get along better.   “There’s something else.” Be honest. “Snow also threatened Gale.  He knew he wasn’t my cousin and that we went into the woods together.  Somehow, he had learned about a kiss between Gale and me.  I think he wanted me to know that he was always watching.” Peeta says nothing at first.  It’s dark now and I can’t see his expression in the dim light.  I hold my breath as I wait for his response.  “He was your boyfriend.”  He says it flatly, as if confirming an established fact. “No,” I say emphatically.  “Gale was never my boyfriend.”  I twist around to face him, to encourage him to look at me. I need to get him to understand.  I may never have a second chance.  Be honest.  “But, before going into the Games, there was the beginning of something.  I think I might have had a bit of a crush on him. Just something at the back of my mind, that I never expected to go anywhere.  You see, I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want to marry or have children.  I was too afraid of losing people. “The morning of day the we were reaped, Gale talked of us running off together; to escape 12 and live in the woods.  At the time, I thought nothing of it.  But later I wondered if he was hinting that there could be more between us.  When I came back from the Games, I thought we’d just go on being friends, like before. But then Gale kissed me just as we were returning from a hunt.  That’s the kiss Snow found out about.”   “Did you like him kissing you?”  The question startles me. For a moment I’m transported to District 13 and a hijacked Peeta similarly questioning me, but there’s none of the hostility.  Just curiosity.  I think I’d prefer the hostility.  At least that way I’d know he cares.

Be honest.  “I don’t know. I think I was confused by it more than anything.  The next time I saw him, I had a speech ready about not wanting a boyfriend, but Gale acted like nothing had happened so I never got to make it. But it changed things between us.  I kissed him a few more times after that.  Once as an apology after he was whipped and another time when he was sad that I hadn’t given him an answer.  And after you were hijacked.  I thought you’d always hate me and it didn’t matter anymore.  Gale wasn’t happy with it.  He said it was like kissing someone who’s drunk.  And that’s the extent of it.”  There, above and beyond. When there’s no response, I keep talking to fill the silence.  I’m disconcerted by it.  It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t looked at me once. “It would never have worked between us.  Even if things hadn’t ended as they did.  We were too much alike.  It would have been like Haymitch and me getting together.” Peeta laughs. “That’s hard to imagine.“ He glances my way for the first time, smiling slightly. “Thanks for telling me, Katniss.  It’s certainly not how the Capitol painted it.” “No, I suppose not.”  I want so much to tell him that I couldn’t be with Gale because I was falling in love with him.  But I can’t. Not yet.  It’s only a little more than a month ago that he told me he wasn’t in love with me and told me not to come over at night when I had a nightmare.  For all I know, his feelings for me haven’t changed.  Not for the first time I wonder how we could have come to this.   Once we would have died for each other.   Suddenly I get to my feet.  “I just thought of something.  Wait here.” I hand Peeta back his jacket.  “Don’t move.” I dash inside, and race down the hall. In the study, I ransack drawers and cupboards.  I know it’s here somewhere. At last I find it, on top of a tall shelf.  I drag up a chair to lift it down.  The box isn’t heavy, having only a few small items in it. Once I have what I want, I re-join Peeta. “Here,” I say, as I place the necklace in his hand.   “This was your token in the Quell.  You gave it to me.” Peeta examines the gold disc with the Mockingjay emblem.  He shakes his head.  “I don’t remember it, I’m sorry.” I reach over to run my thumb along the catch and the disc springs open to reveal a locket with a photograph of my mother and Prim on one side, and of Gale on the other. “Why would I have this as my token?” he asks, puzzled. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Not now, but it might later,” I say. “Keep it, maybe it will help.” “Well, OK, if you’re sure.”  He slips the locket into a pocket of his jacket.  “I’d better go now. I’ve kept you out long enough. You should get inside before you freeze.” “See you next week, Katniss,” he says, as he walks off. “See you,” I call after him.  And only you.  Without Lace.  Maybe it hasn’t been such a bad day after all.

 Chapter 7  

Haymitch scowls when he sees what we’re having for dinner.  “Why didn’t you get the chicken pie?” “Because we sold all the chicken pies, that’s why.” I slam down the plate in front of him.  “This is what was left.  If you don’t like quiche, then don’t eat it.  I don’t care either way.” I reach for the bowl in the centre of the table and pile salad onto my plate.  I’m in no mood for Haymitch’s grousing.  It’s not like he’s paying for it.   “Sheesh!  What’s got your goat?” asks Haymitch, who is already shovelling quiche into his mouth.  

“People.  I’m sick of them.  Is it my fault if the beestings run out?  If you turn up at the end of the day, just before closing, is it so surprising there’s none left?  And then I have to be nice and apologise.  For something I’m not responsible for.  Idiot woman.” Haymitch laughs.  “I knew when you took the job it wouldn’t last.  I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.  What is it?  A month? Just quit if you don’t like it.” “I can’t.  Not yet, anyway.  It’s too much like giving up.  Besides, I like the people I work with.” “Life’s too short to stay in a job you hate,” says Haymitch.  “You like the teacher job, don’t you? Do more of that.” “I might later on.  If I’m asked.” I do like it at the school and the Matson’s seem pleased with the job I’m doing.  And the way the school is growing, it won’t be long before one day a week won’t be enough to allow every child to have a turn in the woods.  It’s just not safe to take large groups out there. But in the meantime, a fondness for my co-workers aside, there are benefits to staying at the bakery.  Not least, as a distraction from the current situation with Peeta.  It’s either fill my hours, or sink into despondency again.

“You’ll miss the free cakes if I leave,” I tell him.   A selection of them is on the table for dessert. Two chocolate eclairs, a fruit tart and, Haymitch’s favourite, an apple pastry. “That I will.  But my waistline won’t,” he replies, as he pats his stomach, which admittedly, has grown larger since our dinners started.   “As if you’ve ever cared about your health,” I counter, thinking of how much alcohol he consumes.   “I exercise.” “Bending the elbow doesn’t count.” “Humph,” grunts Haymitch.  “Speaking of health, how’s it going with the boy?”

I shrug. “OK, I guess. He remembers some things.  A lot more than I thought he did, actually.” “But?” Haymitch prompts.   “I thought he’d remember . . . other things. The tapes Dr Aurelius sends doesn’t help.  They’re of us acting for the cameras, or at some kind of odds with each other. Negative stuff.  It just reinforces what the hijacking made him believe.”

Despite Lace’s absence for the last two tape viewings, there’s been no progress in my quest to get Peeta back. Except maybe for the seating arrangements.  The single-seaters had been pushed to the far sides of the room with the two-seater placed squarely in front of the television, so there was no ambiguity about where I was to sit.  There was no cuddling or hand holding.  There wasn’t even the slightest encroachment into the other’s space.  Peeta sat with his hands tucked beneath his underarms, or clasped in his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with them.  I fancied that he wanted to put them on me but I had made him self-conscious about it.  Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.   The tapes were bad.  The first was of me dropping a tracker jack nest on him.  I had to admit that it was as it appears– I was indeed trying to kill him.   Peeta readily accepted my explanation that I thought he had joined with the careers and was out to kill me.   But it hardly paints me as having his welfare at heart, let alone having tender feelings for him.   The second was when I drugged Peeta with sleep syrup so he wouldn’t prevent me from going to the feast to get his medicine. Just before I left, I had remembered I was supposed to keep up the star-crossed lovers routine and gave him a long, lingering kiss goodbye.   It’s so obvious to anyone watching closely that the kiss was a calculated move rather than a spontaneous, sincere one.  Even down to the pretend tear I wiped from my cheek. I cringed when I saw it, terrified of what Peeta must be thinking. But when I glanced his way, all I saw was a complete lack of surprise.  Worst of all, he didn’t even seem that sad about it. When he asked his questions, there was no way around it.  Yes, Peeta. I did it for the camera.   The only positive is that it led to a discussion of how I risked my life to save his and how I was only alive to do it because he had saved me first.  But Peeta already knew about the feast.  He was told of it in 13.  What he doesn’t know is why I did it.  And after seeing that tape . . . well, he couldn’t be blamed for thinking that I haven’t one scrap of romantic feeling for him. Perhaps he even thinks protecting each other is some kind of quid pro quo arrangement born of the Seam ethos of owing.  You save me, so I save you.  And that could be another reason for why he doesn’t want me in his guest room anymore. He couldn’t see the point of it continuing it.

“He doesn’t remember that he’s in love with you, is that the real problem?” Haymitch asks. Shocked, I simply stare at him.  I didn’t think he knew.  He’s given every impression that he’s either ignorant of my feelings for Peeta, or too absorbed with his own problems to care.  I start to protest but he waves it away.

“Don’t bother denying it.   Anyone with eyes to see could tell you loved him.  I should know. I bear the marks.”  He indicates the faint white lines etched on the sides of his face.  It’s where I raked him with my fingernails after I learned that Peeta had been left in the arena. “And then how you came back to life the day he returned to 12?  Sweetheart, it’s all over your face.  I think the only one who isn’t aware of it is Peeta.”

It’s all I can do not to slap him. Haymitch baited me over Peeta dating Lace.  Said I must be glad that Peeta’s attentions are off me.  Fought me when I announced my intention to distance myself from Peeta unless he tried to get his memories back.  And now he says he knows that I loved Peeta all along?   “But then why – “ I begin.   He puts up his hand in defence.  “Yeah, I’m sorry.  I thought goading you might force you to act, instead of hanging back and letting things happen.  If you would just tell Peeta how you feel – “ “I did.” I interrupt before he can go further. “He took it the wrong way.  He thinks of me as some kind of family member. He’s told me to my face that he’s not in love with me anymore.  More than once, in fact.  And how awful it must be to have someone in love with you when you don’t feel the same way about them.  And then there’s Lace . . .   The only way I can see clear is for Peeta to get his memories back.   Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about me anymore, memories or not.  But I have to know.  I can’t . . . I can’t move on until I do.”

One thing you can say about Haymitch is that he doesn’t embarrass you with soppy expressions of sympathy. He just listens to what you have to say and then gives you the best advice he can.  Not that I’m always inclined to follow it. “Snow got to him more than I thought then,” he says. “He’d been so attached to you that I thought it would only take . . .well, it seems I was wrong.  Of course, it could all be in the timing. And it does sound to me like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything but who knows what’s going on in his head these days.  What concerns me most is that one day he’ll wake up from all this and find he’s caused so much damage, that there’s no going back.”

Peeta had said the same thing, although I doubt he was thinking of me when he said it.   But I know Haymitch is.  What would be my breaking point?  That line he’d have to cross, that my being with him would be unthinkable? I’ve thought about this a lot and failed to come up with an answer.   But I do know that the longer he is with Lace, the less faith I have in the strength and infallibility of Peeta’s love.  Time isn’t just not on my side, it’s not on Peeta’s either.  Would he marry her?  He might, if things continue as they are.  I don’t know if he’s slept with her.  But he most likely has. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think about it, I want to curl up with the agony of it. Has that been the end, that point of no return, and I haven’t realised it yet? Right now, it’s hard to see beyond the fact that Peeta is with another and I don’t have him.  It consumes me, motivates nearly everything I do.  

Would it be fair of me then to pursue a relationship with him, if I can’t be sure that that point hasn’t already been reached?  Because, ignorant of his past he may be, there’s no denying that Peeta seems happy in his ignorance and happy with Lace.  What if he does get his memories back and he loves me again but then I don’t want him because I can’t get past his relationship with her?  That would be despicable on my part, if the only reason he had for recovering his memories was because I had coerced him into it.  If I do it certain in the knowledge that I’ll still want him because I love him, it makes me self-centred, but it’s forgivable. But it still won’t be for Peeta’s sake, but my own.  There needs to be a better reason.   “Then we have to stop him before he does,” I reply.  “If Lace is the one he wants to be with, then he should make that decision with his eyes open.  Peeta and I talked the night before the Games.   About what we wanted to achieve.  I just wanted to survive it.   But for Peeta, the most important thing was to stay himself.  To show that the Capitol doesn’t own him. Don’t we owe it to him to help him do that?” “Even if we have to drag him kicking and screaming?” “Even then,” I say grimly.  As content with the status quo as Peeta appears to be, I know that the real Peeta – the Peeta I’m fighting for – would want to get back to himself.  No matter what. Haymitch helps himself to a chocolate éclair.   I take a fruit tart before Haymitch eats them all.  

“Um, has Peeta said anything about me?  I mean about how he feels about me?”  Now that Haymitch knows everything, I might as well pump him for information.  Peeta might have confided in him.  I’ve overheard Peeta talking to him about Lace, whereas he rarely mentions her to me. Haymitch seems uncertain, but then he shrugs. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to tell you from Peeta’s point of view.  And you should know what you’re facing.  He says it was an illusion – a childhood crush that didn’t survive the harsh light of reality.” It’s worse than I thought then.  I thought he merely didn’t remember what it felt to love me.  But now I learn that he doesn’t think it was ever real.   The devastation must show on my face, for Haymitch’s voice softens. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t think it was a load of horseshit I wouldn’t have thought that the only thing you had to do was to tell him how you feel about him.  I saw it all.  The only illusion is what Peeta is telling himself.  OK?”  

I take a breath.  “OK,” I say, not sure that it makes it any better. It’s what Peeta believes that counts.

“Any last words of advice?” I ask. “Stay honest,” Haymitch tells me.  “If you’re not truthful about the bad, then he won’t trust you to be truthful about the good.   It will come eventually.  Be ready for it.” I nod and take a bite of my fruit tart.  What Haymitch says makes good sense.  What’s on the tapes has to improve soon.  I hope. There are times when I wonder what Dr Aurelius is trying to do to me.  It’s like he wants to drive Peeta and me even further apart.  But I told Peeta to trust in him and it behooves me to do the same.

After Haymitch leaves, I trek upstairs to Prim’s room and sit on her bed.   I come up here to talk to her about Peeta.  In those dark days after the hijacking when I thought that Peeta would die insane and hating me, she was possibly the only one who had faith that Peeta would recover and come back to me.  I try to remember it when the situation seems hopeless, but as the days go by and there’s no change, there are occasions when I’m tempted to simply give up.  To let Peeta pursue the path he’s chosen while I do my best to find myself a new one.  But then I remember the boy who was determined to defy the Capitol in the only way that was left to him.  And that was not to let the Capitol make him into something he wasn’t. I owe that boy.  In more ways that can possibly be imagined.

My eyes land on the primrose painting on Prim’s dresser.   Right side facing the wall, one corner of the frame broken.  If the pearl represented the boy with the bread, this painting could represent the Peeta he is now.   His true self hidden from view, his mind fractured.  But not beyond saving.   There’s some good news, Prim.  I thought I was alone in this but I’m really not. Tonight, I learned that I’ve had an ally all along.  But then Haymitch has always known about Peeta and me.  Right after winning the games when he made sure to warn me to keep up the star-crossed lovers act, but not Peeta.  “Don’t have to.  Peeta’s already there,” he said.   Peeta already in love and me on the way.  Perhaps the situation is now reversed and it’s Peeta who’s not there yet but is on the way.   I have to keep believing that.  

Chapter 8. My hand hovers over the plate of cookies Peeta offers me.  He’s baked an assortment.  Chocolate, shortbread, jam filled and gingerbread.  I decide on the chocolate and take a bite. “Mm. This is really good. They don’t make cookies at the bakery.” “Yeah, I know,” replies Peeta.  “That’s why I make them when you come around. Thought you’d like a change from buns and cakes.” “I do.  But when did you visit the bakery to know that they don’t make cookies?  I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’ve called in a few times,” he says.  “Usually on a Friday when I know you’re working at the school.  I didn’t want to crowd you.” I feel my face redden at the implication. When I told Peeta that we have nothing more to say to each other, I didn’t intend that he’d have to go out of his way to avoid places that I might be.  “I didn’t mean . . . that is, you shouldn’t stop yourself from doing something just to please me. Visiting the bakery is hardly crowding me.” “Do you really mean that?” he asks, hopeful expectation in his voice. “Of course, I do.  You should go anytime you like.” Peeta’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve been offered a job as a specialist cake decorator but I didn’t want to accept unless I knew you’d be OK with it.   Flora told them of the cake I decorated for Annie and Finnick’s wedding and Cass said I could be just what they were looking for.  And then I was invited into the kitchen to do a demonstration cake – and Katniss, the set up they have compared to my family’s bakery.  Electric ovens instead of wood fired ones, a wall of refrigerators, stainless-steel bench tops and so much room.  I’m to have my own dedicated workspace . . .” And so Peeta continues, his face glowing with enthusiasm.  Despite the potential awkwardness of us sharing the same workplace, I find myself smiling back. Clearly this has resonated and another puzzle piece to the identity of Peeta Mellark has fallen into place.   A combination of baking and art; it’s such a natural fit for him.  Totally unlike me and customer service.  I figure that if it doesn’t work out between Peeta and me I should find it no hardship to look for another job.  It’s probably what I’ll be doing someday soon anyway. Eventually we settle down to watch the video.  I hope that the happy mood isn’t ruined by what we’re about to see.  I’ve come to call these tape viewings as the “reading of the tape” because it evokes the same sense of dread and inevitability that preceded the reading of the card.  That feeling when you know you’re about to get awful news but there’s nothing you can do about it.   Thankfully, it won’t be like the old days with double the number of tributes, or a reaping from the existing pool of victors.  But I can’t help but fear that out of all the film that was taken of Peeta and me, Dr Aurelius will choose something that suggests disdain, indifference or obvious acting on my part.  It’s what he’s sent so far.   Peeta presses a button on the remote and Caesar Flickerman fills the screen.  He’s standing centre stage, microphone in hand.  Since he’s sporting powder blue hair and matching make-up this must be our first Games.  So far, so good.  This was so early in our relationship that we hadn’t done anything yet that could possibly be said to define it.  The tension in my muscles eases a little and I even feel a little optimistic.  Maybe we’re turned a corner from all those compromising tapes.

After telling a few jokes, Caesar introduces the girl tribute from District 1.  That was Glimmer, beautiful and sexy in a gold see-through gown.   So unlike - BAM! Suddenly Glimmer morphs into a grotesque swollen thing with foul green liquid bursting from a hundred trackerjack stings.  I blink and look again to reassure myself that it’s just a trick of my imagination. The all too familiar signs of an anxiety attack starts to rise in my chest but I manage to tamp it down by concentrating on the next tribute to be interviewed.  I steal a glance at Peeta and it’s clear that he struggles with a memory associated with Glimmer too.  What it is, I don’t know. Each interview lasted three minutes.  I tick them off as they appear.  There’s Cato, big and hulking; a predator and proud of it.  I push away memories of how he died before they can take hold.  And Foxface from District 5.  I try not to think of her emaciated body being lifted into the hovercraft but how much I admired her cleverness at the feast.  And then comes Rue, my little ally, who I couldn’t save and pain stabs at me is if it were yesterday.   And not just for Rue, but for every innocent child she represents. The children who were forced to compete in the Games.  The children who died the night 12 was bombed.  The Capitol children who burned outside Snow’s mansion.  And Prim.   I must gasp.  Or something.  For I feel my hand taken possession of by a large male one.   “Katniss, do you want to stop?”  Peeta regards me with such concern that I have an almost overwhelming impulse to throw myself onto his chest and take refuge there.  I imagine his arms enfolding me, pulling me close.  And that could have happened too, before I had given him my ultimatum.  But now he’s too self-aware of any unconscious demonstrations of affection to initiate it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for crumbs. “No.  I’m OK.  Let’s keep going,” I say, as I pull my hand free and turn my gaze back towards the television. Thresh returns to his seat after his interview and then my name is announced.  Cinna’s magic had turned me into dazzling, otherworldly figure in a jewelled gown that flashed yellow, red and white with accents of blue.  But although my gown evoked the power and beauty of a firestorm, my demeanour didn’t. I was almost petrified with nervousness and it showed.   Caesar asks what impresses me about the Capitol.  I struggle for an answer, but then my eyes go to someone in the crowd and I visually relax. It was Cinna.  Be honest, he told me when I confessed my worry to him that I didn’t know how to present myself.  In Haymitch’s opinion, I was as charming as a dead slug.  But Cinna saw a side to me that Haymitch hadn’t.  A side that was appealing and was admired for her spirit. “The lamb stew,” I blurt out.  And some of the audience laugh.  And then I see myself act very un-Katniss like, or at least, not as I see myself.  Yet I was being myself, which is strange.  Giggly, girly, artless.  I twirl for the cameras and collapse into giggles.  But when Prim’s name is mentioned, I’m all deadly determination. Is that what others saw in me, a reason why I was chosen to be the Mockingjay?  Someone like themselves, to whom they could relate to, with an unexpected core of steel?  I can only wonder. Peeta’s the last to be interviewed.   And he’s so handsome and charming, it wouldn’t surprise me if every teenage girl in Panem hadn’t instantly made him her latest celebrity crush.  Lace would have seen this.  Perhaps on a large television screen in some community hall in District 8 for it was mandatory viewing.  It’s even possible she was infatuated before she met him for real.  Not that I can blame her if she was.  He certainly cuts a romantic figure as he and Caesar banter back and forth.  He has the audience eating out of his hand.   Caesar asks if has a girlfriend back home. I risk a nervous glance at the Peeta beside me. I search his face for any sign that it sparks a memory but I don’t see one.  It has got his interest though.  He leans forward, his eyes intent on the screen.   I turn back to the television.  The onscreen Peeta hesitates.  That’s the cue for Caesar to delve deeper.  Peeta describes a girl he’s had a crush on ever since he can remember who didn’t even know he was alive until the reaping.  The solution is simple, explains Caesar.  You win the Games and then she can’t refuse you. Peeta disagrees.  Winning won’t help because the girl came with him.  That was me.   The camera pans between Peeta and me and even goes to split screen.  His face is beet red, his eyes downcast, his expression one of resigned sadness.  Mine is just as red, eyes fixed on the floor, my expression one of disbelieving shock.   The crowd roars its sympathy and support.  Peeta, with his tragic tale of a hopeless love, had blown the rest of us out of the water.   I recall how I furious I’d been.  Peeta had used me to gain audience sympathy and had undermined me in the process!   The anthem plays and we file off stage.  Credits begin to roll but then it switches to the tributes and their entourages piling onto the elevators.  Since it’s of poorer quality and seems to be have filmed from a fixed position above our heads, I figure this must be from surveillance tape. I had taken a different car from Peeta but the person who had prepared this had spliced the tape from the elevators together so that it goes from me, to Peeta, and then back to me again.  Peeta is pale with trepidation.  I’m pale with suppressed fury.   I reach the 12th floor first and the doors close.  But as Peeta exits his car, the doors remain open just long enough for the camera to record me shoving my hands against his chest and knocking him backwards.  The tape ends. There are a few moments of silence before Peeta seems to gather himself sufficiently to turn off the television. He looks down at his hands.  One of them has a double crescent of faint white scars.   I clear my throat.  “That wasn’t caused by the urn.  I think they had mostly healed up before the next morning with the special medicine they had.  In any case, the full body polish would have got rid of any marks.” Peeta nods, but he continues to gaze at the scars as if there’s a memory contained within them that he can’t quite reach.

He gives a rueful laugh. “It’s just as well I didn’t make a move on you before we were reaped.  That would have been a massive waste of time.  It made you pretty angry, huh?” “Yes, but not for the reason you think.   I thought you were trying to get an advantage over me.  Get the audience onside and make me look weak.  I didn’t know you were trying to help me.  Haymitch set me straight.” “I remember scraps of it,” he says, raising his head for the first time.  “I thought you were mad because of Gale.  That he’d get the wrong idea and think you felt the same way.” “That’s right,” I say, my hopes starting to rise as they do whenever he shows signs that his memories are coming back.   “And then you said that he’d recognise a bluff when he saw it.”   Peeta nods, considering it.  Perhaps now he’ll realise why we had misunderstood each other’s motives.  Why I had thought he was acting along with me as part of the star-crossed lover’s routine. Suddenly his face brightens as if something he’s agonised over finally has an answer.  “Yes, that’s what it was.  It was a bluff!  It makes sense.  That’s why I went from having such strong feelings to not having them.  I’ve confused what was made up with what was real. Even now I . . .”  He seems doubtful for a moment before he gives his head a shake.   He turns to me with a dazzling smile.  “You know what this means, don’t you?” “No,” I whisper.  A knot has formed in my throat and threatens to choke. “We can truly be friends now.  None of that unrequited love business making it awkward between us.” He looks at me with wonderment.  “That saying – “the truth shall set you free” – it’s true, isn’t it?  And it’s thanks to you.  If you hadn’t insisted that I confront my past then I’d have gone on believing what had never been real in the first place.”  He shakes his head disbelievingly at his former stupidity.  “You’re a marvel, do you know that?” “I’m really not,” I manage to get out.  I want to cry.  But I also want to punch him really, really hard.  I want to kick him viciously in the groin and scrape my nails down his face and watch the blood flow.  He’s HAPPY!  Haymitch had told me that Peeta thought his crush for me had been an illusion, but now it seems that even the illusion had been an illusion. It was all a bluff!  I have to get out of here. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have people to meet in town.  I think we’ve covered it all, anyway.  I’ll see you next week.  Thanks for the cookies.” Peeta hardly has time to say goodbye, I’m out the door so quickly.  The walk from his house to mine only takes a few minutes.  Nonetheless, it takes all my self-control not to break into a run. I need somewhere to hide. Fast.   In my bedroom, I tear off the shorts and halter top I had painstakingly chosen to wear today.  They weren’t really suitable for the cooling weather, but they showed my figure to its best advantage.  How futile it was trying to look attractive for Peeta.  On my bed are the clothes I wore this morning – khaki trousers, a t-shirt and my father’s hunting jacket.  I hurriedly put them on.  The closet has never looked more inviting.  I push aside the hangers of clothes, curl into a corner and pull the door closed.   And for a few blessed hours I shut everything out. Chapter 9

As soon as I enter the bakery I can tell something’s afoot.  The store appears empty even though we’re about to open, and I can hear voices raised in excitement coming from the back.  It’s there I find Cass, Julius, Cornelia and Flora clustered around a paper Cass holds in his hand. As usual, it’s Cornelia who speaks first.  “Cass has been asked to create and oversee the dessert course for the Mayor’s inauguration party.  And the bakery has been asked to supply the bread.” “Congratulations,” I say.  “That’s wonderful news.  I hear it’s going to be big.”  Or big by 12 standards anyway.  I got an invitation in the mail yesterday.  Haymitch said that all prominent citizens will get one.  My first inclination is to say no.  I have a dislike for these kind of events from all the Capitol parties that Peeta and I were forced to attend.  But I’m certain Peeta will ask Lace and I don’t want to appear as some sad hopeless case by either staying at home or having Haymitch as my date.  The trouble is that I had thought of asking Cass.  Now who?  

“Yeah, it’s a big event but we’ve done bigger.  And Cass has done feasts so he knows what’s needed to cater to a crowd,” says Cornelia.   “Maybe opera,” says Cass who’s already thinking of the menu. “What’s that?” asks Flora. “It’s a dessert of layered almond sponge flavoured with chocolate and coffee and then topped with chocolate ganache,” he explains.  “We can make it here and then transport it in slabs to the venue to be portioned and given the final decoration there.” Coffee.  Yuck. “It sounds delicious,” I say.  Maybe I can get him to change his mind.  Or at least have an alternative.   The subject changes to what type of bread they’ll make and I judge it a good time to get back out front.  Someone has to work around here.  Flora follows and together we ready the store for opening and then unlock the door and put the open sign up.   There’s the usual early morning rush and I barely notice when Peeta arrives and slips past us to get started on the cake orders.  It’s only a few weeks since he started here, but demand for his cakes has increased to the point that the hours he works at the bakery will soon supersede the hours he works at his sign writing business.  I don’t think it will be long before he’s full-time and the sign writing is abandoned.  I know he prefers to decorate cakes than paint signs because he told me.   Not that there’s been a lot of conversation between us lately unless it’s directly related to the tapes Dr Aurelius sends. After Peeta’s joyful revelation that his crush on me was apparently nothing more than a scam invented to give us an advantage in the Games, I haven’t had the inclination to give him any more than I feel obliged to.  I haven’t felt so disheartened over Peeta since those miserable days when he was first hijacked.  At least I was his primary focus then. I thought there couldn’t be anything worse that being told I was no longer loved.  But then Haymitch told me that he believes it had all been an illusion.  Now he’s taken it one step further.   It was an illusion of an illusion.  I don’t know what I am to him.  The female equivalent of Haymitch?  Someone he unconsciously gravitates to because of shared experiences?

The following Saturday, I didn’t bother to dress up for Peeta.  I wore the clothes I’m comfortable in – my usual khaki pants and T-shirt – my hair in a simple braid down my back and no make-up.  I refused the cookies he offered with the excuse that I’ve been eating too much sugar lately.  And when I sat on the couch beside him, I kicked off my boots, pulled my knees to my chest and wound my arms tight around them.  No chance of any sympathetic attempts at hand holding if he can’t easily get to them.

The tape was of the tributes parade.  Both of them. We certainly dazzled in the costumes Cinna and Portia designed for us.  But the most marked difference between the two parades was in our attitudes.  The parade for our first games was shown first.  There’s me, smiling, waving, throwing kisses to the crowd.  Haymitch later asked where I had pulled that cheery, wavy girl from.  But I was just being me, which surprised even myself.  I felt Peeta’s eyes on me.  Maybe he was puzzled too.  There hasn’t been a lot for me to be cheery and wavy about since I got back to 12.   For the Quell, we were told to be contemptuous and unsmiling.  To be above it all.  That was me being myself too.  And then it was Peeta being unlike himself, barely deigning to spare the crowd a glance. Yet I know he wasn’t acting either. When the tape ended Peeta asked his questions. Despite a concerted effort, I couldn’t help being short with him.  His expression was puzzled, questioning, and maybe a little hurt.  Not that I cared.  Yes, yes, it was for the cameras.  Isn’t that what you want to hear?   And the next week, Dr Aurelius sent a propo tape from District 13.  The one where I talk about how I met Peeta for the first time - in the rain, on the verge of starvation, all hope gone.  How he took a beating to give me the loaves of bread that saved us.  And that we didn’t speak until years later when we were on the train to the Games.  “But he was already in love with you,” said Cressida off camera.  “I guess so,” I replied.  The conversation turned to how I’ve coped with our separation.  “Not well,” I said.  The tape ended there, although I had gone on to talk about the Capitol.  I guess that part has no relevance for Peeta’s memories. “It was kept up even after my capture then?” he had asked.   “It was used as propaganda tool.  For audience sympathy.”   And it’s true.  It was. It wasn’t an act by then, of course. But that’s not the question Peeta asked. “But the bread story is true.  I remember that.” “Yes.  That was true.”

There were no more questions.  I assume he was happy with it.  Anything to confirm what he wants to believe. Last Saturday, it was the marriage proposal. Peeta, on one knee, professing his great love and then begging me to marry him.  And me accepting, of course.    It was all fake, Peeta.  As fake as fake can be. “Whose idea was it?” he had asked. “It was mine.  I thought it might convince everyone that our love was real and put a stop to the unrest in the Districts.”  There Peeta.  The honest truth.  It wasn’t even you who suggested we marry.   Happy?  

Actually, when I think back on it, Peeta didn’t seem that happy.  Maybe because his hope for us to be great friends, now that we’re supposedly unencumbered by an awkward history of unrequited love, hasn’t worked out as well as he might have hoped.  Try as I might, I can’t completely hide my hostility towards him.  It’s my armor and I have no intention of taking it off.

Around mid-morning, there’s fewer customers and the sounds of conversation drift out from the kitchen. Julius, Cass and Peeta talk animatedly about bread making techniques.  Cornelia joins in occasionally.  Cass and Peeta congratulate each other on what a great team they make with Cass’s frosting and Peeta’s skill with cake decorating. Peeta fits into this environment like a hand to a glove.  Yet aside from making some connections to the people who work here, I’m an uneasy fit. Peeta is clearly the favourite. And why wouldn’t he be?  He’s the one with the valuable skill.  He’s the one who can charm the birds out of the trees. By the time Cornelia comes to serve behind the counter so I can take my lunch break, I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I go to my favourite spot - a bench beneath a large, shady oak that somehow survived the bombing, in a small park adjacent to the school grounds. My lunch is two cheese buns and some fruit brought from home but I have little appetite for it, so engrossed I am in gloomy thoughts.   “Can’t stay away from the place, huh?” I look up and there’s Max coming my way. He sits down beside me.  “Are you going to eat that?” I sigh and hand him a cheese bun.  Max takes a bite. “What’s wrong?” he asks.  “I’ve known horses with faces that aren’t that long.” “Know a lot of horses, do you?” My tone is caustic but my lips twitch.  We tease and annoy each other but it’s all in good fun.  Few people can shake me out of a bad mood quicker than Max can.  And put me into one too.   “I’ve known a few.   I like mules better, though, stubborn though they are.  They remind me of you.” “Ha ha.”  A compliment wrapped in an insult.  But somehow, he’s managed to hit on the very thing I’m miserable about and made me feel better.   He makes no secret that likes me, shortcomings and all.   And I know he likes me better than Peeta.  He calls Peeta “Psycho Boy” in spite of all my efforts to get him to stop.  I think the fact that it annoys me has an added charm for him. “So what is it?  Has sharing a workplace with Psycho Boy started to wear thin?”

“No,” I say, even though there’s some truth to it. “And stop calling him that.  He’s not a psycho.” Or a boy either.  Peeta and I left childhood behind a long time ago.  I hand Max the remaining cheese bun.  I’m not going to eat it.  “I don’t know if I’m suited to working in a shop, that’s all.  I’ve been thinking of reducing my hours if the Carters agree.”  I know Sateen would like to take them up.  She’s helping her brother save money to start up a clothing factory. “Good.  You can put in more time at the school then.  One day a week isn’t enough the way the school’s growing.  And Moira can do with a hand with the junior school too. You’re a natural at it, you know; teaching.  My parents said they’d like to take you on full-time eventually.  And they can assist with training if needed.” My spirits perk up immediately.   I do like teaching and it’s something I can make a long-term career.  Not since my hunting days when I provided for my family have I had an occupation I can take pride in, and I’ve missed it. “Yeah, I’d like that.  Thanks.  I’ll ask if I can reduce my hours at the bakery when I get back.  I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.”  I suppose I could simply resign.  It’s what I’ll do eventually.  But in the mean time I like the people I work with, still need to keep occupied doing something, and I don’t want to give Peeta the impression that his presence pushed me out.   My appetite restored, I regret giving away my cheese buns.  But there’s still an apple and a banana to eat.   I set to work peeling the banana.  Suddenly an idea comes to me. “Max, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour. The Mayor’s inaugural dinner is coming up and I need a date.” “And you want me to find you one?” I’m tempted to throw the banana peel at him. “No, I’m asking you to be my date. Strictly as friends, of course.” “Of course.  Not going with Peeta then?” “No,” I say, as casually as I can.  “He’ll probably take Lace.”  Like most people, Max had assumed that Peeta and I were still together.  Peeta’s defection to Lace is not something I like to talk about, so Max has only been given information on a need-to-know basis.  But he could have picked up more from local gossip. “I see,” he says in a voice that implies that he sees a great deal.   “I have one question before I accept.  Is this an exercise in making Psycho Boy jealous?  Because I want to know if I should be prepared in case I incur his wrath, like that poor guy he pushed into a pod that time.” I do my best to tamp down my irritation.  Unfortunately, Max’s distrust of Peeta isn’t uncommon.  The incident to which Max refers was broadcast across all of Panem. Not to mention that Mitchell had come to my defence after Peeta had tried to bash my brains out with his gun. “It was an accident and Peeta was hijacked then, and not responsible.   I assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe, jealous or not.”   If I should be so lucky, that is.  Peeta’s too besotted with Lace to feel any jealousy over me.  This is all about salvaging some pride.   “All I’m saying is that I’m up for it if you are,” he says, as he nudges his shoulder against mine.   I scowl at him, just as he intended.

“What I want from you is to behave yourself and not embarrass me,” I tell him.  

Chapter 10

I turn my head to the side to get a look at the timer as it ticks down the minutes.  Half an hour to go.  And then, once this white goo is rinsed off, there’s exfoliating and moisturising creams to follow. The thick white ointment, combined with the heat, makes my skin itch like crazy.  Only I can’t get at it to scratch.  I’m encased in a long metal tube, almost like a casket, with a hole at one end for my head to poke through.  Octavia calls it a cellular regeneration chamber.  I call it a torture chamber.  She and Flavius brought it from the Capitol at great expense.  They hope it will form one of the mainstays of their business.  

But at least it’s the last of the skin treatments, and while I had my doubts, it’s been surprisingly successful.  The skin tone has evened out and there’s no difference now between the old skin and the grafts. And where it had looked slightly melted in places has smoothed out quite a bit too.  Octavia tells me only a full body polish would fix it completely, but I’m happy with the results.   A spot on my right thigh starts to itch, but even by extending my hand out as far as it will go, I can’t reach it.  Another itch springs up on the back of my shoulder. Again inaccessible.  With concentration, I ignore them until they go away.  But then it’s my left ankle.  A travelling itch.  I try to nap using the relaxation techniques Dr Aurelius taught me but it’s hard to drift off when there’s itching inside the chamber, and noise from outside it. Snatches of conversation, and the hum of hair dryers easily penetrate the thin curtain that covers the opening to the alcove.  After a slow start, business at the salon is booming.  You’d think they’d be able to afford thick draperies by now, if not an actual door.   Flavius and Octavia keep up a steady stream of patter. They tell me it’s a requirement in the beauty industry. Customers seem to expect it.  And even if the customer is disinclined to talk, they still converse between themselves, talking mostly of inconsequential things.  However, they have at least one chatty customer today.  Her voice had been partially drowned by a hair dryer, but now that it’s been turned off, I know who it belongs to.  A peal of pearly laughter confirms it.   “My boyfriend told me that none of it was real. It was all about putting on a show and being entertaining to get sponsors.  Everyone had an angle.  The brainy one, the sexy one, the arrogant one and so on.  The star-crossed lovers were made up too, to get sponsors.  It was all a big hoax but not many people know that,” says Lace. “No, it wasn’t,” chimes in a female voice with a District 12 accent.   I recognise the voice, but I can’t quite place it.   “I don’t know about all the others but the star-crossed lovers were real. I was in the same class as them at school.” Of course, Leevy.  She was a neighbour of ours in the Seam who made it to 13 after 12 was bombed. Evidently, she’s returned to 12 to live. “Katniss kept to herself, but Peeta was always staring at her.  We wondered why he didn’t try to talk to her, but he probably thought she was with Gale.  Most of us did.   But then, Merchant seldom mixed with Seam unless it was at the slag heap and that wasn’t Peeta’s style.  In 13, she broke down over what Snow was doing to him and he was only rescued because she couldn’t perform as the Mockingjay.  I also heard she had a pearl she carried around in her pocket – the same pearl he gave to her in the arena.”

“It’s true,” says Octavia, “about the pearl.”  I momentarily fear that Octavia will admit to being on my prep team.   In the districts, anyone who was associated with facilitating the Games, risks ostracism at best.  But Octavia is smarter than I gave her credit for.  “My cousin knew one of Katniss’s prep team.  She says they often shared a bed.  And once she actually walked in on them, cuddling together. Maybe it started as a hoax, but it didn’t end that way.” “See,” says Leevy.  “I’m sorry to say, but when it comes to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, your boyfriend knows shit.”

There are a few moments of silence before Lace responds.  She sounds rattled. “But he’s not with her now.  Whatever it was, it didn’t last.” “Well, Snow did a number on him, that’s for sure.  Cracked his brain real good.  But what if it all comes back to him?  That’s what I’d be afraid of, if I were his girlfriend,” Leevy says. “I guess it’s fortunate then that you’re not,” says Lace tersely.   “Flavius if you don’t mind, I think I’ll reschedule for the colour.  I really should get back to the shop.” “Yes of course” returns Flavius.  “I’ll make you another appointment.” Nothing more is said until the door opens and then clicks shut. I hear sympathy in Leevy’s voice.  “It’s for her own sake.  Nothing good is built on a lie.” Except for Peeta and me.  No, I remind myself, it was only half a lie.  Peeta was genuine.  And then it became real for me too.     The timer goes off and Octavia comes in to release me from this contraption, rinse off the cream and then apply another one. While she works, she excitedly tells me that Venia and her family are moving to 12 and she’s to join her and Flavius in the salon.  I hardly hear her.  So that’s what Peeta told Lace!  That it was all a hoax.  I suppose it’s not a surprise.  Not from what Peeta himself has told me.  And he hasn’t really told her anything that’s untrue.  It’s just not the whole truth.  So now she knows, but what she chooses to do with it remains to be seen. My situation remains the same. As Lace said, he’s not with me now.  He’s with her.  It’s what Peeta believes that counts.  And even if Peeta’s memories return it doesn’t mean that his feelings for me will too.   The following Saturday I’m at Peeta’s house as usual.  I don’t have high hopes.  If Dr Aurelius’ plan is to make it seem that our relationship was just one big act, I’m sure there’s still plenty of compromising tapes to choose from.  

When Peeta invites me in, his smile is tentative.  I feel a flash of guilt.  He’s probably uncertain about what kind of mood I’m in today.  I have been prickly lately.  And none of this is his fault.  I know he’s mostly watching these tapes because I more or less coerced him into it.  And he doesn’t know how much it hurts me that he’s happy to think that our romance had only been a scam for audience sympathy.  If our positions were reversed, Peeta would be helping me all he could, not sulking and shutting me out half the time, no matter how much he was hurting.  I really should try to be more patient and understanding, and not to take out my frustrations on him.  Most of all, I should remind myself why I’m doing this.  To help Peeta find himself.    

So I return Peeta’s smile with a dazzling one of my own.  And when he asks if I’d like a drink before we start, I don’t wait to be served in the sitting room, but follow him into the kitchen as I used to do and take a seat on a stool at the bench.  Peeta seems a little surprised, but also happily relieved.   “Tea?” he asks, as he holds the kettle aloft. “Please,” I say.  There’s a plate of cookies on the bench.  Not an assortment this time.  I guess he got tired of baking so many when I wasn’t eating them. “Mm, coconut.  I love your coconut cookies.  All your cookies, really.  It’s a shame the bakery doesn’t make them.” Peeta fills the kettle from the tap.  “I’ve mentioned it to Julius, but he says they’d rather concentrate on the items they have.   Apparently, cookies didn’t sell very well in the Capitol.  We sold a lot of them in my family’s bakery, though.” “Different clientele, I guess.  More money to spend on cakes.”  An idea comes to me. “Has he seen your decorated cookies, though?  The ones you frost with floral designs? That could be a great addition to the cake decorating.  Cookies for special occasions.  That sort of thing.” “Yeah, I’ll mention it.  Although the cake decorating keeps me busy.  Have I told you?  I’ve given up sign writing to work full time at the bakery.” “Wow.  You must really like it then.” “What’s not to like?  Doing what I love.  Normal hours.  And there’s no working with hot ovens all day since Cass is the one who bakes the cakes.   You don’t mind me working there, do you?  I sometimes worry that I’m invaded your space.  You were there first, after all.” “Of course not.  Don’t be silly.  I don’t think I’ll be at the bakery for that much longer anyway.  I much prefer working at the school.  I’ve even been asked if I’d like to teach in the classroom. Can you imagine that?  Katniss Everdeen, school teacher, in front of a blackboard with a class full of kids?” “I can, actually.  You’ve always had a natural rapport with children.  Look how you were with Rue.  And there’s Prim.  Sometimes . . .” Peeta pauses here, as if he’s not sure he should continue.

“Sometimes what?” I prompt. “It’s nothing really, just the way you were with Prim.  You were more than sisters.  Almost like mother and daughter.  Sometimes, when I was watching you together, I thought what a great mother you’d make.” “Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond.  There’s a dozen different thoughts and emotions to process.   The pang of loss whenever I think of Prim.  That Peeta had been observing Prim and me together and I had been totally unaware.  That Peeta thought I’d be a good mother, even though I’ve been determined never to be one.   And something else.  “You remember back then?” “Yes.  Most of it, I think.  Nearly everything up until the Games, anyway.  After that it’s patchy, or I can’t tell what’s real or not.  But the tapes are helping a lot, although Dr Aurelius did warn me I should be careful how I interpret.” “Sounds like good advice.”  So, Dr Aurelius hasn’t abandoned me, after all! I feel enormously encouraged to learn that he’s working with Peeta to challenge any pre-conceptions he might have. Peeta fills the teapot from the kettle and places it on a tray alongside two mugs and a small jug of milk.  Neither of us take sugar in our tea.  He nods his head towards the sitting room.  “Shall we?” “Of course.”  I take the plate of cookies and follow him into the room.  It’s the usual set-up, a two-seater couch in front of the television set, a coffee table between them.   “Can you get that?” asks Peeta, indicating a book that’s in the way of him setting down the tray. “Sure.”  I put down the cookies and pick up the book.  It’s of medium size with a fabric cover in a warm red colour.   There’s an end table beside the couch and that’s where I put it.  “What’s it about?”  I open the cover and I see that it’s filled with clothing designs.  No one has to tell me who’s drawn the illustrations. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. Peeta comes to stand beside me.  “It’s Lace’s birthday present.  Effie sent me the book and Lace made the cover.  See, it’s like your family’s plant book.  It’s where I got the idea from, actually. Lace wants to develop her own line of clothing.  When we’ve finished the book, it will be kept in the shop for people to browse and choose a design from.” “What a good idea,” I say dully.  Keep it together, I tell myself.  Don’t think about it.  If I do, I’ll lash out.  I know I will.  But oh, the agony!  My most precious moments with Peeta given to Lace.  I imagine them, probably here in this very room, heads cosily together as she describes what she wants him to draw and then Peeta sketching it for her. Just like Peeta and me when we worked on my family’s plant book while I was recovering from an injured foot.  I wonder if she notices that special look he gets on his face when he concentrates, or how long his eyelashes are. I swallow my hurt and anger as best as I can and move over to the couch where I take up my defensive position.  Knees pressed to my chest, arms around them, head down, eyes front.   Peeta comes to sit beside me.  “Katniss, is there anything wrong?” I shake my head.  “Of course not.  What could possibly be wrong?” “I’m sorry if the book reminded you of your father.” “It didn’t.  Look, can we just watch the tape,” I say irritably. Peeta shoots me a worried look, but seems to have made up his mind that it’s better to say nothing.  No doubt he thinks I’m a moody bitch compared to Lace’s perpetual sunshine.  And for once I don’t care.  He reaches across for the remote and turns on the television. I blink in surprise at what fills the screen. It’s not the Games, or rebel propaganda, or District parties.  It’s the roof.  Our roof. The rooftop garden at the training centre.  It’s late afternoon, going by the light, although there’s little to see.  Just a dome-shaped room with a door, railings around the periphery and a garden on one side of the dome.  After a few seconds, Peeta and I emerge through the door and walk over to the railing.  You can see our lips move but there’s no sound.   “Was this for the cameras?” asks Peeta. “No, we didn’t know about the cameras. We were mostly concerned about being overheard.  It was windy on the roof.  It’s why we went up there.”  To my own ears, my voice sounds shaky. I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, questioning.  But I keep mine forward, focused on the screen. It’s just my luck that the lack of sound means I’ll have to provide a running commentary.    “This is during our first Games.  We had just got back from the Tributes Parade.  We wanted to talk about Lavinia.  She – “ “I remember Lavinia,” says Peeta, cutting me off.  Snow had Lavinia tortured in front of him.  Thankfully, she had died quickly.  Unlike Darius, who lived long enough to have body parts cut off before he died.  Stealing a glance at Peeta’s closed off face, it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Nothing good, by the look of it. I nod, and say nothing more about her. It’s a timely reminder of why I’m here, and that no matter how much I’m hurting now, it’s no comparison to what Peeta has suffered.  I try to get a grip on my emotions and concentrate on what’s on the TV screen instead. The onscreen Katniss and Peeta walk over to the garden.  “We thought the wind chimes would drown out our voices.”  There’s nothing else to add, so I settle in to watch our youthful selves and ruminate on how much their lives would change.  More that they could ever have imagined.  And doesn’t it look so romantic, to anyone who didn’t know better. I stop to sniff at a blossom like a romantic heroine in one of those silly Capitol movies and Peeta takes off his jacket to place it around my shoulders, buttoning it at my neck.   Eventually we go inside, and I think that must be the end of the tape. But the screen is black for only a second and when the picture returns it’s of Peeta leaning against the rail, deep in thought.  It’s night time, and although I don’t remember the roof being lit at night, everything is visible. It must have been filmed with a special camera like the glasses we had in the first Games for seeing in the dark. Peeta’s not alone for very long.  I see myself walk across the tiled floor to stand beside him. “It was the night before we went into the arena,” I explain.  “I couldn’t sleep.  So I went up to the roof to get some air.  You were there for much the same reason.” Peeta says nothing but his eyes are intent on the screen.  It seems to me, that unlike previous tapes, these are stirring something deep inside. The couple on TV talk amiably at first. But it becomes increasingly agitated. It’s not a flat-out argument exactly, but you can see he’s angry about something, and she takes offense at it.  Then she walks off and he’s back to his musings. But he’s not introspective as he was before, but annoyed and frustrated.  It’s not long before he leaves too and the footage ends.  But then the image returns. It’s bright sunshine in the film that follows and I know what’s to come next.  I reach for the remote and press pause. “Are there any questions before we go further?” I ask. “We were talking about not letting the Capitol change who we are.  To show that they don’t own us.”  Peeta looks to me for confirmation.   “Yes, that’s right.  But I didn’t understand.  Not then, anyway.  I just wanted to survive the thing.  But you wanted your death to mean something.  Something noble.  Something they couldn’t take from you.”   He nods, considering it.  “Yeah,” he says, and his face brightens like he’s had a breakthrough.  “It’s why I came up with the star-crossed lover’s idea.  It was something that would give my death meaning.  And help you at the same time.” “Yeah,” I say.  I turn my face back to the TV to hide my disappointment.  What he says is true and I can’t deny it. That’s precisely the intention he went into the Games with.  When will I learn not to get my hopes up? I press the pause button again to continue the tape.  I see us burst through the dome door laden with food and blankets for our rooftop picnic. We’re relaxed and happy, making the most of the time left to us before we entered the arena once more.  Neither of us thought we’d come out of it alive.  I burrow my face against my knees.  I don’t want to watch this.  It’s too painful, remembering us as we once were.  So young, so in love.  If only I had fully appreciated it then.  But we simply ran out of time. Peeta asks no questions while the tape runs. I only know it’s finished when I hear the clatter of the remote on the coffee table. “It almost looks like a date,” he says, with a queer sort of laugh.   And then, after a pause, “Was it?” I take a breath.  “I suppose it depends on what you mean by a date.”  I have to admit that it’s ambiguous at best.  There was no conscious thought that we were having one.  We played games, ate food, lay in the sun.  I practiced my weaving on the hanging vines.  Peeta sketched me. I lay my head in his lap and he played with my hair while I made a crown of flowers.  But there’s no kissing, no hugging.  Nothing that really stands out that we were more than friends.  Not to anyone who doesn’t want there to be, anyway.  Like Peeta. I unwrap my arms from around my legs and slowly rise from the couch.  I don’t want to hear him attribute it to being part of the act, or a blurring of the boundaries because of how we were forced to behave in public, or simply because that’s how friends interact. “We had only a short time left and we wanted to make the most of it.  It was one of the best days of my life.  It was a good day for you too.  At least you said so.  You said you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.” My eye lands on Lace’s book.  He’s given that memory away.  And the swimming lessons.  And for all I know, our roof top date too.  What next?  The kisses on the beach?  A gift of burned bread?  All I know is that I’ve had more than enough for one day of the emotional upheaval a mere couple of hours in Peeta’s presence can do. The contrast between the Peeta on the tape, who loved me with every fibre of his being, and Peeta, as he is now, all this love and devotion going to another, is more than I can bear. “Look, I have to go now.  I’m meeting some people in the town and I don’t want to be late.”  It's an old excuse and one I’ve used before.  But it’s credible one.  I try to get out most Saturday nights.   “I’ll answer any questions next time, OK?” “Katniss,” I hear called after me.  I pretend I don’t hear and close the door quickly behind me. Chapter 11

Reluctantly I hand over my fur lined cape to the cloakroom attendant.  It’s chilly in the antechamber.  Every time someone comes through the doors, a blast of cold air comes with them.   It may not be winter yet but it feels like it. “Where’s Arthur gone to?” I ask Max.  I’m in a hurry to get into the main reception room where hopefully it will be warmer. “I think he went to the men’s – no, there he is.” Arthur is talking to the manager of the medicine factory.  We’ve been here barely five minutes and he’s already networking.  Sateen’s got Arthur all wrong.  He’s not shy.  He just doesn’t do small talk.  Get him onto his favourite subject, business, and there’s no shutting him up.  I give him a wave to attract his attention.  He nods in our direction, says something to the manager, and makes his way over to us. “Sorry.”  He offers his arm. “Shall we?” I link my arm through his and my other arm through Max’s.  We make an impressive threesome. Max is dapper in a suit made by Arthur.  When I had asked him to be my date I didn’t stop to consider that a teacher from 5 is hardly likely to possess a dinner suit. The invitation expressly stated black tie.  So, I took it upon myself to arrange one for him.  And then Arthur, always on the lookout for opportunities, offered a suit free of charge if I could wrangle an invitation for him to attend tonight’s dinner.   Easy!  Every invitee could bring a partner.  Arthur is technically Haymitch’s date.   And doesn’t he scrub up well in one of his own creations? He’s every inch the successful business man from the polished shoes, to the expensive suit, to the slick combed back hair.   And Max is resplendent too.  He’s really very good looking when I think on it.  Tall, broad shouldered and with classic features.  A shame about that errant lock of hair though. I should have sent him to Flavius. Oh well, too late now. And I don’t look too shabby myself.  I wear one of Cinna’s gowns.  The very one that Johanna Mason wanted to reach through the screen and tear off my back.  The deep blue velvet strapless number with the diamonds.  They’re not natural diamonds, though.  Cinna said they are synthetic but you can’t tell the difference. They form the bodice with its deep sweetheart neckline to fit snugly to the hips and then flare out to a full skirt with diamonds scattered to resemble stars against a midnight sky.  Flavius has done my hair swept to one side and held with a diamond clip.   I feel very glamourous.   Inside, guests mill around while waiters move between them with trays of drinks.  Tables are set around the periphery and in the centre of the room is a dance floor.  I haven’t danced since Finnick and Annie’s wedding.  That was the night I later went to see Peeta.  He was strapped to a bed, hypodermic syringes at the ready, and staring at me as if were some kind of weird transforming mutant.  And I was in pain from the wound to my side, on the defensive from his barbed comments, and inhibited by the doctors observing us from behind the one-way glass.  But I should have said it.  When he asked, “did you love me?” I should have said yes.   Maybe it would have made the difference.

“Katniss?”  I look up and see Max observing me quizzically.  A waiter stands nearby.  “Do you want a drink?”   “Yes.  Thanks.”  I take a glass of champagne from the tray and the waiter moves away.  “Where’s Arthur?”  I scan the room but I can’t see him. “Over there.”  Max point his glass towards the far side of the room.  I can just make out Arthur in deep conversation with a prosperous middle-aged couple.  “No flies on Arthur.” I nod. “None at all.  But it’s what he’s here for.” “So, what does one do at these things, besides stand around holding a drink?” asks Max.

“You mingle.  And hope they serve the food soon.”  I take a gulp of the champagne.  I don’t really like it but I need something to relax me.  I was ill at ease as soon as I entered the room. Too many reminders of other parties, I guess.  And Peeta should be around here somewhere.  With Lace.   “He’s behind you,” Max says.  “With the mayor and his wife.”  Without thinking, I quickly turn my head in that direction. Peeta is looking our way and gives a brief wave.  I force a smile.  Lace stands beside him elegant in a simple yellow lace gown, her mahogany hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders.  My own gown, which I was so pleased with before, feels overdone and garish now.  Ideal for a Capitol party, certainly.  But not for a conservative district like 12. I turn back to Max.  He has a smirk on his face.   He leans down to whisper into my ear.  “If it makes you feel better, Peeta’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you come in.   In that dress, and with not just one man, but two, he’ll be jealous in no time.   If he’s not already, that is.” I scowl at him.  “I told you.  I’m not interested in making him jealous.  In fact, I hardly think of him at all.”

Max almost chokes on his drink.  “If you say so,” he says.  But the knowing smile remains.   I itch to slap it off.

We do the mingling thing, moving from one group to the next.  Max is surprisingly good at it and it takes a lot of pressure off me.  I’ve never been good at this.  The exchange of pleasantries when meeting people for the first time.  When Peeta and I were together, I’d let him do it for me and I’d just smile and answer questions when asked.  I take a moment to sneak a glance at him.  He has an arm loosely around Lace’s waist, looking rather bored, actually, as Lace and Arthur talk animatedly together.  It’s probably about the clothing industry.  I didn’t know they knew each other.  But knowing Arthur better now, he probably knows all the business owners in 12. Peeta turns his head in my direction suddenly and I quickly avert my eyes, embarrassed to be caught looking.   The food starts to come out and we take our seats.  Arthur is seated next to Haymitch, of course, and I have fun watching the speculative glances that come their way.  Haymitch thinks it’s a big joke and attempts to put an arm around Arthur who shoves him off. Everyone at the table dissolves into laughter, which garners the attention of nearby tables.  I see Peeta look over, and it seems to me that he’d rather be here with us, rather than with the staid group of people he’s seated with. The first course is some kind of fish served in a buttery sauce with almonds.   Braised goat with roasted vegetables is for main.  And then the course I’ve been waiting for.  Cass’s dessert.   He decided to forego opera for something more ambitious.  It’s a dome of crisp chocolate decorated with gold leaf.  A little jug of hot chocolate sauce accompanies it and when it’s poured over the top, the chocolate melts to reveal a rich chocolate mousse beneath with chunks of preserved pear at the bottom.  It’s absolutely delicious and I eat half of Max’s serve as well as my own.  

After dinner, many people move between tables to mingle some more.  Max heads off to the bar to get more drinks, Arthur is back to his networking, and I’m left alone, my two dates otherwise occupied.   “Hey you,” says a voice close behind me.   I turn my head to see Peeta smiling down on me.  Lace is with him.   “Oh, hi!” I say.  I try to inject as much friendliness into my voice as possible. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see Peeta, it’s just that I’m not happy to see her.  “Having a good time?” Peeta shrugs.  “I suppose it’s an improvement on the Capitol parties.” “You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem, Mr. I’m-Bored-With-It-All” says Lace, with her trademark giggle.  “What about the rest of us who haven’t been to anything fancier than the Victory Tour parties, not that District 8 could afford to put on a particularly good one.” Been to a lot of Victory Tour parties, then? I’m tempted to ask.  What was a factory worker doing at a district party? Only dignitaries, their families, and prominent citizens were allowed to attend.  Something’s not quite right about Lace. “The food was great,” says Peeta.  “But that was the only good thing you could say about them.”   I nod. “Yeah, they were awful. Especially the District parties where you’d have to face the families of the dead tributes.” The smile on Lace’s face disappears.  A moment of kinship between Peeta and me isn’t what she wants to see.  Nor a subtle rebuke that has no idea what she’s talking about.

There’s an awkward pause. I wish they’d move on but they remain where they are.  It’s as if there’s a purpose for them coming over, but they haven’t got around to it yet.   Peeta breaks the silence.  “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he says, pretending to be annoyed.   “Ok, Ok,” says Lace, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted.  I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.”  She kisses his cheek before she leaves and Peeta’s eyes follow her retreating form while she disappears down the hall. Peeta takes the empty seat beside me.  “So, what do you think of the party?”

“Hm?” I ask, momentarily distracted.  I’ve been wondering what Lace means by “don’t bug Katniss.”  Why would she say it?  And why would she say it in front of me?  “Oh, um, the party’s alright, I guess.   Certainly not the worst I’ve been to.” “I’m mostly here because Lace wanted to come,” explains Peeta.  “She hopes to expand her client base to specialise in formal wear.  And the people here are the people wealthy enough to afford it.   She made the dress she’s wearing.” “She and Arthur have something in common then. He came for the same reason.  To make business connections.  It’s a lovely dress.”  I feel I should say something nice about it.

“So’s yours.  Cinna?” “Yes, Cinna.”  There’s a stab of pain at the mention of his name, and I put my hand to the crystal beading on the low neckline, as if I could somehow connect myself to the man who designed it.  Peeta’s eyes follow and I snatch my hand away, embarrassed to be thought trying to draw his attention to my breasts.  They’re nothing to boast of, but Cinna knew how to make the most of my figure and I was both younger and thin from the strain of the Victory Tour when this gown was made.  The gown is tight over the bust and I’m almost spilling out of it.   “He certainly knew how to dress you,” says Peeta.  “You always looked amazing in his creations.” I smile wanly at him.  “Thanks,” I say.   It isn’t really much of a compliment.  Attributing my “amazingness” to Cinna’s designs and then speaking in the past tense even though I’m wearing one of them right now. “So . . . Max,” he says, putting emphasis on “Max”.  “You’ve never said anything.” Yeah, like we tell each other things like that. How much did you tell me about Lace? “He’s a friend.” I say.   “Just a friend?” “Peeta, it’s none of your business.”  This line of conversation is irritating.  He hardly talks to me about his own relationship but he’s being nosy about mine.     “Yeah, sorry.  It’s not.  But, for the record, I want you to know that if it makes you happy, I support it.” Now he’s really annoying me.  “Why would I need your support?”

Before Peeta can respond, Max appears with a glass in each hand.    “Hi Peeta,” he says. “Hello Max.”  Peeta stands up.  “I’d better go.  Lace will be back soon.  I’ll see you later, Katniss.” “She’s got him well trained, hasn’t she?” asks Max, taking the seat Peeta just vacated. I just give him a look.  But silently I agree. She talks to him like a child.  “Stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” “Yes, Mommy.”  He even seemed to need her permission to talk to me.  Maybe her attraction is that she gives him the affection he felt he didn’t get from his mother.  Now there’s a weird thought. The music starts up for the dancing.  Max grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon.  This will get you in a better mood and help work off all that alcohol you’ve drunk.” “I’ve hardly had anything,” I protest.   “Yeah, sure.”  Max puts his arms around my waist and I put my mine around his neck. It’s slow music and we shuffle around for what passes for dancing nowadays.  He leans down and says in a low voice, “Over there.  At three o’clock.  Peeta and Lace.  Let’s give him something to be jealous about.”  I’m pulled hard against him and then he attempts some fancy turns that has my feet barely touching the floor. “Will you stop that?” I say, seriously annoyed. People are looking at us, wondering what we’re doing.  I catch a glimpse of Peeta.   His face is unreadable.  It’s the mask he puts on when he wants to hide his thoughts. His actor’s mask. “Definitely jealous,” says Max.   I don’t say anything.  Even if he is, one thing I’ve learned about Peeta by now is that whatever he’s feeling, it will soon be interpreted the same way he’s interpreted everything else.

I see Peeta whisper a few words to Lace.  She nods and they leave the dance floor and then disappear through a set of double swinging doors.  It’s a service entrance of some kind because I’ve seen a couple of the waiting staff emerge and exit from that door.  My imagination goes into overdrove over why Peeta and Lace would use it.  Neither the restrooms or the main entrance is through there.  If I didn’t have Max with me, I’d be tempted to follow.   The dance ends and with nothing better to do, we join Haymitch at the bar.    At Haymitch’s request, the bartender has lined up shots of whisky in a long row. It’s all the different types stocked at the bar, and Haymitch wants to compare and sample them all.   Max has one, out of politeness, I think – he doesn’t like whisky.  I quickly discover that I don’t either, but I like the way it blazes a trail of fire down my throat and then spreads through my veins, to dull the anxiety a little because the longer Peeta is away, the more tense I become.  I put out my hand for another shot.  Haymitch laughs and Max looks on questioningly but I ignore him and down it in one gulp.  My head feels fuzzy but I keep my eyes on the swinging double doors, waiting for Peeta and Lace to emerge.  When they eventually do, they head over to a group of people around our own age and have a merry time, talking and laughing.  Peeta’s arm is around Lace’s waist and he bends his head to drop a kiss onto her mahogany hair, mussed, I presume, from a recent make-out session. “Always.  You promised me always,” I say, under my breath. “What?” Max asks. “Nothing.”  I put the empty shot glass on the bar. “I think we can go now.  I’ve had enough.”

  Chapter 12

Dear Peeta,

I’m writing to you because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.  

I want to apologise that I threatened to end our friendship if you didn’t try to get your memories back.  Friendship shouldn’t be conditional and my motives for insisting that you do were selfish ones.

I want to apologise for my insinuation that the real Peeta Mellark didn’t come back.  Whoever you are, and whoever you choose to be is the real Peeta Mellark.  Again, my motives were selfish. I want to apologise for implying that you a coward.  You have a right to live your life as you choose.  You have a right to make your own reality.  I was the coward for not facing mine. I want to apologise for presuming to know what’s best for you.  Only you can do that because you’re the only who truly knows what you want.  Again, my motives were selfish. It seems strange that after all this apologising for being selfish that I intend another selfish act.  But since it’s about myself, I feel entitled to make it.   I want to end our relationship. Entirely this time and for reasons I don’t want to share.   It’s nothing you’ve done.  There’s nothing for you to feel guilt over.  This is about me and how I want to live my life. I’m sorry to leave in the middle of the tape viewings.  Especially since it was indirectly initiated by me, and, I suspect, done at least partially for my benefit.  But if you choose to continue and you need someone to help give context, then Haymitch is the logical choice.  I know you trust him more than me anyway. Please continue to work at the bakery. This is work that you love and I don’t. I’ll be full time at the school eventually anyway.  I’ve given my notice to the Carters and requested that it be effective immediately. Flora and Sateen will fill in until they get a replacement. I intend moving out of the Village as soon as I find alternative accommodation.  In the meantime, I ask that you to refrain from initiating any contact.  I thank you for tending the primrose bushes but I want it to stop. I wish you every happiness in life, Peeta. No one deserves it more.  You already have the foundation for it.  Work that fulfils you, a woman you love and who loves you back, and many friends.   As for us, we were mere ships that passed in the night, tossed together upon raging seas, and then set on course to sail in opposite directions once calmer waters prevailed.   Kind regards, Katniss. So, what do you think, Prim?  That last line too much?  Yeah, it is pretty corny.  I’ll get rid of it.  It’s just hard to know how to finish it.  The rest of it seems so cold.  But maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Once you know something is as good as dead, finish it off.  Cleanly.  An arrow through the eye.  A sharp knife to the jugular.  Pretentious attempts at metaphors have no place in it.  Or was that a simile?  I forget the difference.  It’s a good thing then that I won’t be teaching English. Or art.  My gaze comes to rest on the canvas atop the dresser.  Its right side is facing outwards now.  I’ve at last accepted that the real Peeta Mellark did come back.  The Peeta Mellark that he is now, anyway.  I had once compared the painting to Peeta, his true self hidden, his mind fractured, but not beyond saving.  Now I’m stunned at the sheer arrogance of my former assumptions.  What do I know of Peeta’s true self?  Who am I to assume his mind is fractured just because he hasn’t fallen at my feet to declare his undying love?  How do I know he needs saving?  Or if he even wants to be if he does?

It’s a beautiful painting, though.  A single bloom with a bud attached.  The leaves painted in shades of grey so as to not take the focus from the bright yellow of the primrose.  I wonder if Peeta meant it to represent life springing from ashes, and the bud to represent the constant renewal of life.  What do you think, Prim?  But Prim is silent.  Prim is dead. Peeta is dead.  It’s time to face harsh realities.   I print out the letter in my neatest handwriting, leaving out the bit about ships passing in the night.  And then I seal it in an envelope and stuff it in a drawer.  I think better of giving it to him.  It’s a dilemma – how to divorce myself from his life.  If I shut him off suddenly and without explanation, it will cause confusion and pain.   If I do it gradually, it will still cause confusion and pain, but at least it will be a progression and give him time to adapt.  If I tell him the truth, it will also cause confusion and pain.  Confusion, because in Peeta’s mind a romantic relationship with me isn’t even a possibility.  And pain, because he’ll have to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. Besides, pride is one of the few things I have left. So, I write another letter. Dear Peeta,

I’m sorry to have missed you when I called around earlier.

A lie.  There was no such attempt.

I wanted to let you know of my decision so you have time to make alternative arrangements.  For a few weeks now, I’ve questioned whether I’m the most suitable person to talk to about the tapes Dr Aurelius sends.  Apart from the fact that you have trust issues with me, I feel that someone who was an observer rather than a participant might be of more value.   I think Haymitch would be the perfect choice if you plan to continue.  I’ve consulted with Dr Aurelius and he has no objections.

Half a lie.  I did consult with Dr Aurelius but he gave no opinion when I told him what I planned to do.  He was only interested in my mental state and what activities I was involved in.  

I want to apologise for my insistence that you ��find yourself” as a condition of friendship.  Friends don’t ask for conditions.  And I was also wrong to imply that you’re not the real Peeta Mellark.  Whoever you decide to be, you are the real Peeta Mellark. You can’t be anything but Peeta Mellark and I won’t think any less of you if you abandon the program. Much love, Katniss.

I hold the letter in my hand for a full hour before I made the short journey to Peeta’s house to slip it under his front door.  I know I’m doing the right thing but burning a bridge is never easy.  Something in me broke on the night of the Mayor’s party.  Right in front of me he sneaked away for a grope with Lace, and when he came back it was to talk and laugh with his friends like I didn’t exist.  Not one glance came my way.  Not even to see if I was still there.  My faith in Peeta’s love has been corroding for some time.  Now it’s completely rusted away.  I love him as much as ever, but I simply don’t have the heart for it anymore. When I get back to my house, I feel surprisingly OK.   Like a great burden has been lifted.  Free, almost. Perhaps the numbness will leave me soon, and despair will take its place.  Perhaps I’ll even regret that letter and wish I could take it back.  I guess I could break into Peeta’s house if I want to.  He rarely bothers to lock his back door.  No, this is the right thing to do.  For everyone. For me.  And for Peeta.  Be decisive for once in your life, Everdeen. I distract myself with making a to-do list. I’ve already given notice at the bakery. The Carters were taken aback at the suddenness but not really surprised since I’ve twice cut hours at the bakery to work more hours at the school.  I suspect they knew it was coming.   I’m at the school three days a week now but mostly in the classroom since it’s getting too cold to take children into the woods, especially the little ones. Finding somewhere else to live will take time. Due to the large influx of immigrants, housing is in short supply.  People are coming in faster than they can build them.  But I’ll put feelers out.  I don’t want anything large, just comfortable and well built, and not too far from the woods and the school.   And there’s another thing I should do.  I should be open to dating.  Not that I want a torrid romance or anything.  But I don’t want to be a virgin for the rest of my life either.  In the Capitol, people had sex just for the fun of it.  I heard that they even arranged to meet perfect strangers for an hour or two of sex and then they’d never see each other again.  I think that’s going way too far, but maybe I could meet someone nice, who wants what I want.  Some companionship, some fun, but nothing serious.  Max, maybe?  No.  I dismiss that from my mind immediately.  He’s far more valuable to me purely as a friend. Besides, once you’ve vomited on someone, it’s likely you’ve blown any attraction they might have felt for you, anyway.   It was really his fault.   He shouldn’t have slung me over his shoulder like that just because I was walking too slow for his liking.  There’s not a lot that I remember after we left the party.    Only that my stomach was doing somersaults and my head was spinning.   I might have blubbered a lot about Peeta too.   When I awoke in my bed around noon the next day, on my nightstand was a jug of water, a glass and a piece of paper, folded in half.   My midnight blue sparkly Cinna gown was draped over a chair.  That’s when I realised I was naked.  On the paper was a message from Max.  You’re paying to have my suit cleaned. Take a couple of painkillers and drink lots of water.   P.S. I kept my eyes closed.   OK, I might have peeked.

I wanted to pull the covers over my head and never come out.   I haven’t seen Max yet, but I know I’ll never hear the end of it.  This is a gold mine for someone who loves to tease as much as he does.   Well, I’m certainly not paying his cleaning bill.  He got the suit for free, didn’t he?  

At five o’clock, I take a position at the window in my sitting room.  It’s around this time that Peeta comes home from the bakery.  He would have heard of my resignation but I doubt he’ll be surprised.   I’d already told him that I didn’t intend working there much longer.  I see him open his front door, and then stoop to pick something off the floor.  My letter.  The door closes behind him.   It’s done then.  Now he’ll be reading it.  Processing it.  Possibly puzzled by it.  Maybe upset? Angry? Annoyed?  Indifferent? I suppose it’s inevitable that Haymitch soon hears of it.  He’s at my door not long after Peeta had left his house.   He stinks of white liquor.  He had probably settled in for a pleasant evening of drinking himself into oblivion before Peeta disturbed him.  Since he’s now disturbing me, he must consider this close to a national emergency.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?  You and me, we made a deal to try to save him. Remember?” “He doesn’t need saving.” I tie the sash of my dressing gown and lower myself into a chair.   I’d been about to go to bed.   “He hasn’t needed saving since he returned to 12. He’s happy the way he is.” Haymitch stares at me, incredulous.  “Then what have these tapes been about?  You weren’t concerned about his happiness then. He only started watching them because you threatened him.” I put my head in my hands.  There’s no point in denying it.  If Peeta’s put me through an emotional wringer, then I’ve done the same to him.  That’s why it has to stop.

“I know.  And I was wrong.  I’ve been doing it for selfish reasons while telling myself it was for his sake.  I didn’t take into consideration that Peeta’s changed.  And that he might not want the same things that he did.” My voice cracks despite my efforts. “That he might not want me.” I wait for Haymitch to yell at me some more, but there’s only silence.  When I raise my head, I see that he’s taken the chair opposite and he’s taking a swig out of his bottle.  I think even if Haymitch were in a burning building, he’d save the liquor before himself. “Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him.  So you can’t blame him – “ “I don’t,” I say. “You do.  You’re punishing him for things that are out of his control – “ “No!  You’re not doing this to me again.  This guilt trip thing that you do.  The circumstances were different then.  Peeta wanted to be helped.  For himself. It wasn’t to please me.  And while it seems strange to say it, there was a clarity about him then too.  Now he just wants to see the past through a particular lens.  When we watch the tapes, no matter what they are, they’re all confirmation for beliefs he already holds.  And he’s happy to believe them.” “Maybe he’s just afraid – “ “Afraid of what?  That he’ll discover that it wasn’t just a sham?  That I fell in love with him?  You know what happened when I told him I love him.  He misunderstood.  That’s not someone who’s afraid.  That’s someone who wants a certain reality where I’m nothing more to him than a family member.  He’s told me several times that he’s not in love with me and he wants us to be friends. This whole thing – the tapes, trying to restore his memories – is me not facing reality.”  

“I think you’re giving up too soon,” he argues.  “If you persist for a just a bit longer – “ “No.  I’ve had enough.”  I shake my head wearily.  “I’m tired, Haymitch.  He’s happy. We should leave him be.  And I want to get on with my life too. Besides, if he wants to keep on with the tapes, he can.  He doesn’t need me for that.  What did he say about it, by the way?”

“He didn’t even mention it.  He’s upset because he thinks you’re distancing yourself from him and he doesn’t know why.   This is cruel what you’re doing to him.” “And this has been easy for me?” I demand, moved to anger. “Why are his feelings more important than mine?  He’s the one with a girlfriend, remember.”

Haymitch puts up a hand. “Yeah, yeah.  Alright. I can see your side of it too,” he says, trying to calm me down.    But I’m not done yet. “Peeta’s made it very clear that he wants Lace as a girlfriend and me as a friend,” I say.  “Well, it’s not what I want. Do you really think Peeta would’ve hung around being my friend if I’d ended up with Gale? No, he wouldn’t.   It’s far better to go our separate ways now before there’s any more hurt on either side. I know it’s upsetting for him now but he’ll soon get over it.  He’s not in the same position he was when he came back.   He has a job, a girlfriend.  He has other friends.  He has her family.” As I list all the things Peeta has going for him, my guilt begins to ease.   I am doing the right thing.  Peeta will come to see it in time. “But what if that’s not what he really wants?” he asks.  “Shouldn’t Peeta have a say?  What’s the difference between this and what you were doing earlier?” “The difference is that he’s made his choice,” I say, thinking of the guest room ban.  “I just didn’t want to confront it before.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it.  He turns his attention back to his bottle instead.

“Why do you think he came back to 12?” I suddenly ask.   This has never made sense to me and the answer is unlikely to come from Peeta now.  “Why couldn’t he have left me alone?  That day when I found him planting the primrose bushes outside my house, I thought he’d come back to me.  But it was just a cruel joke.” “He can’t leave you alone.  Not after what the Capitol put him through.  It made him fixated on you.  More that he already was, anyway.”  Haymitch rises from the chair.  “Well, if you’re determined, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just hope it’s the right decision.” “I hope so too,” I say to myself after Haymitch is gone.  But the truth is that I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m reaching in the dark, trying to be fair to everyone, but afraid of being fair to no one. That night I have a dream.   There’s nothing unusual about that, except this time it’s not a nightmare.   It’s a pleasant, comforting dream that harks back to simpler times.  Before Prim was reaped.  When Peeta was the boy with the bread and Gale was my best friend. I trusted him with all my secrets.  Even with Prim, I couldn’t be so open, my priority always to protect her.   “Catnip,” dream Gale says. “I know exactly what you’re going through with Peeta.  Same as me with you.” “What do you mean?” I ask. “Trying to be his friend, while he’s with another.  Living in hope that things will change, but all the while knowing that the odds are not in your favour.” “Yeah.”  I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm goes around me.  He smells of apples, damp leather and wood smoke. “Sometimes, I want to walk away. Try to forget that I ever knew him. But then I remember how he was, and how much we meant to each other, and that he’s only the way he is now because of me. “   “And he gives you just enough to keep hopes alive,” adds Gale. I nod against his shoulder.  I know how my indecisiveness must have looked to Gale, but there’s no rebuke in his voice.  He’s just telling me as it was. “I didn’t want to lose what we had,” I explain. “Is that why you want Peeta? Because you don’t want to lose what you had?  Because you can’t repeat the past, Katniss.  You should have learned that by now.” I think about that for a moment.  It’s a good question.  “When I was sent to 12, I didn’t care whether I lived or died.  I sat in a chair all day and only got out of it to go to the bathroom.  But when Peeta came back, I started to come back too.   If there wasn’t something of the old Peeta there, that would have been it for me. But there is.  Memories or not, he’s still Peeta.”

“Not quite Peeta.  The part of him that loves you didn’t come back,” says Gale.  

“No.”  Not the kind of love I want, anyway.  I think about the barely begun crush I had on Gale before the Games.  It had still lingered a little, complicated as is was by my confusion about Peeta. But really, it didn’t survive the Games. It just took me a while to realise it. “But what if it did, and it’s still there buried down deep.  That’s possible, isn’t it?”  There has to be some hope.  

“Was that how it was with you for me?” Gale asks. “No,” I answer. “But we were never going to last even if we had got together.  We clashed too much.  Our values were too different. Maybe if the Games and the war hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have mattered.  But it did.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had in 2?” he says.   “That time we kissed?  Just before that we talked about Peeta.  How I didn’t stand a chance with you if he didn’t get better.  That you’ll never be able to let him go.   I knew I couldn’t compete with that, no matter much pain I was in.   And that’s your problem. You can’t let anyone go who’s in pain.  It’s a reason why you had trouble letting me go.” “I remember, but I don’t see how it could possibly be relevant to the present situation.” “Easy.  Catnip, he’s not the one in pain this time.  You are.  Let him go. Look out for yourself and let him come to you.”   “And if he doesn’t?” “Then the Peeta you knew is dead.  And then you mourn him and you move on.” “Like you did?”  I ask.  But there’s no answer.  I’m talking to the wind.  Gale is gone.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Every Time a Bell Rings

An “It’s a Wonderful Life” AU involving a lost and depressed Neil, an Andrew stuck in the afterlife trying to earn his wings, Dan as the Archangel, Wymack as God, and my usual level of snark and inappropriate humor mixed with angst.  Read on AO3 if you prefer.  There is depiction of depression and half-hearted suicide attempts so read on with care.

Chapter 1:

He was just so, so tired.

It had been days since he’d last slept properly; no, more like weeks.  He couldn’t even really remember.  The rainbow of bruises over his fractured ribs made it almost impossible to find a comfortable position, especially on bare ground.  The cops were starting to notice him hanging around the park.  He’d have to move on soon, but he didn’t know if he could find the energy.

He didn’t even have a name right now.  He’d been Alex when he’d punched that guy and gotten his ass kicked in response, but he hadn’t been able to think of a new one suitable for this hellhole.  There was his favorite name, the one he’d saved, tucked away for a better time and a better place, but he wasn’t willing to waste it on this life.  The license and passport would keep.  Or maybe that would be the name he’d be buried under.

He found a shady spot out of view of the sidewalk and curled up in a ball, his duffel under his head.  Sleep found him in short snatches, not enough to provide relief; when voices sounded way too close he got up, brushed himself off, pulled a leaf out of his overlong hair, and started walking.

Stomach grumbling, he wandered into the closest chain restaurant.  The woman behind the counter looked him up and down.  “Kid, you’re going to have to leave.  We’re not a charity operation.”

“I have money,” he said, his voice coarse from thirst and disuse.  But when she just crossed her arms and glared at him he turned and dragged himself away.

There was a cafe across town, and he knew the woman there would let him sit in the AC and eat and drink in peace.  But three days ago she’d slipped him a bowl of pasta salad he hadn’t ordered, and yesterday she’d given him half a dozen cookies for free, saying they were too old to sell.  

They’d still been warm.  He’d eaten them for dinner.

He didn’t think he could handle her green-eyed concern again.  The 7-11 on the corner was a safe bet, and he went in there and bought two bottles of water and a three-day-old sandwich, then sat on the curb and devoured it.  A couple of younger kids riding bikes across the street paused and stared at him.  Polishing off one water bottle, he tucked the other into the net at the end of his duffel and headed down the road that led out of town, the children’s light voices chasing after him.

More and more, he was starting to think this life was going to kill him, slowly and painfully.  His mother would have raged at his resignation; she had fought death for as long as she could, and had kept him from it by taking the lives of others again and again.  But she was gone now, had been for years, and he was forgetting how to keep going.

Sometimes he didn’t understand how he was still alive.  He bore scars of wounds that should have killed him, had escaped by jumping out of the upper story of buildings without breaking his legs, had leaped from a moving car into oncoming traffic, but somehow he always got up, always kept breathing.

The road crossed a river that bordered the town.  Halfway across, his feet stopped of their own accord.  The water was deep and swift thanks to summer rains in the mountains north of town, and he could almost hear it calling to him.  Not by any of his former names, but by the one name, the perfect name that he had never fully claimed.  This could end, right now.  This pain that flared with every breath, the emptiness that echoed with every weary step.  It would be done with, and he could be in sweet oblivion.  Gone.  It wasn’t like anybody would notice; he’d been invisible for years.  All he had to do was throw his legs over the railing and let go.

*****

Andrew had been sitting in the waiting room for what felt like an eternity.  It may, in fact, have been an eternity; time kind of stopped making sense once you were dead.  He still didn’t know why he’d been stuck here.  After all the shit he’d done he had expected to go straight to hell when that car jumped the median.  But for some reason, no.  It was just this boring room with informational brochures about the Guardian Angel Program (called Mind the GAP; Andrew kind of wanted to smack whoever had come up with that one) and background music that was probably supposed to be soothing but instead bored into his brain like a drill.  Of course, this could have been hell, but he doubted it.  There was nobody else here.

He jumped when a door he hadn’t known existed slid open and a disembodied voice said, “Please proceed to the pearly gates to meet with the Archangel.”  Slowly he walked through the opening, blinking against the cheerful sunshine.  The gates couldn’t be missed; they were enormous and ostentatious, and did in fact shimmer like pearl.  Part of him wanted to turn around, jump off the cloudy material he was standing on, anything but deal with an eternity of harp playing and nice people, but he clenched his fists and kept going.

A woman with short hair and rich mahogany skin was waiting at the gates, enormous wings folded behind her, so bright Andrew couldn’t look at them directly.  He stopped in front of her, and she greeted him with a slight nod.  “Andrew,” she said, and her voice was commanding.  “Welcome.  I am the Archangel.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a man,” he said.

“I get that all the time,” was her reply, and she turned and began walking along the wall towards a small building.  He followed, bemused; he wasn’t sure whether he was more irritated that everything he’d heard was probably going to be wrong, or that he wasn’t even unique in his assholery.

She opened the door and beckoned him inside.  The walls were covered in a million tiny screens, humans of all sizes, shapes, and colors moving across them.  A large man sat at a desk in the center, faint flames flickering up his arms.  He had no visible wings, but the energy radiating off of him felt like a nuclear explosion.  “Andrew,” he said, in a voice that was all voices, deep and high, masculine and feminine, harsh and beautiful.  “Welcome.  You may call me Coach.”

Andrew said nothing.  Coach and the Archangel studied him for a long moment.  “Have you read the brochures for the Guardian Angel Program?” Coach asked.

“You already know I did.”

Coach conceded that with a nod.  “Is it something you think you’d be willing to participate in?”

Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Why the fuck would you want someone like me?”

Neither of them blinked at the curse.  “Sometimes the best choices to help troubled people are those whose own lives were troubled,” the Archangel said.  “We have some of our best savior work done by those who have taken lives themselves.  It is about what is in your soul, not what you did with your human life.”

“And you think I have it in my soul to help someone in trouble.”

“It does not matter what we believe,” Coach said.  “It matters what you believe.”  

Andrew snorted.  “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said.  “Maybe you meant my brother, he always wanted to be a doctor.”

“Your brother is already part of the program,” the Archangel said, and Andrew recoiled.  

“He’s dead?”

“Mmm.  A drug overdose.”

Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.  It hadn’t occurred to him that with him gone, there would be nobody to get Aaron off the drugs.  “Your ‘GAP’ must be a pretty shitty program if it can’t stop things like that.”

“It is because of your brother, and millions of others like him, that we are trying this new phase in our program,” Coach said.  “We can’t always save people in the traditional way.  After all, we can’t take away free will.  But maybe we can help them to save themselves.”

“So, what you’re telling me is you have a supernatural Big Brothers/Big Sisters program going on up here.”

Coach made a noise that may have been laughter.  “You can think of it that way, if you like.”  He gestured to the screens.  “These are the people we are trying to help.  You may look.”  

Andrew walked to one wall.  There was a teenager crying in his room, and somehow Andrew knew he had just come out to his parents.  A girl in a bathroom, hunched over a toilet.  A woman in a man’s body.  A child, hiding from her uncle.  A kid, tightening a tourniquet around his bicep.  A young man, stumbling down a road, dragging a duffel behind him, despair across every line of his body.  

There was a knock on the door, and Andrew tore his gaze away from the screen he’d been watching to see an angel enter.  Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, with iridescent wings; he looked vaguely like Coach and briefly Andrew thought about asking if he was Jesus.  “Kevin,” Coach said.  “What brings you here?”

“This guy,” Kevin said.  “Nathaniel, or whatever name he wants to go by now.  I can’t do it, I can’t get through to him.  I keep trying to help, but I think he’s out of reach.”

“You have been very focused on helping his physical body,” the Archangel said, “but that is not the damage that needs our skills.”

“If I don’t help him physically, he’s going to get himself killed.  I’ve been going crazy just trying to keep him from getting murdered, but then he does something stupid like piss off a biker three times his size.  I don’t even know how many bullets I’ve blocked, or how many times I’ve slowed his falls.”

Andrew glanced back at the screen with the man with the duffel.  He didn’t know why, but he was certain this was who this angel—Kevin—was talking about.  The Archangel was saying something, but Andrew wasn’t listening.  There was something on the man’s face, something too familiar.  Something he’d seen on his own face, more than once, when he looked in the mirror with a blade to his wrist.

“Hey, asshole?” Andrew said, waving his hand.  Kevin and the Archangel stopped talking and looked at him in surprise, while Coach looked vaguely amused.  “This your guy?”

“Yes, it is.  Who’re you?” Kevin asked.

“New guy,” Coach said.  “We’re recruiting.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Kevin said, and it was Andrew’s turn to be surprised; was this a curse when you were in heaven?  “Just what we need, another attitude problem.”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, and talked over whatever Kevin was going to say in response.  “I’m trying to help you here, dipshit.  Your guy’s about to go over.”

“Damnit,” Kevin said, rushing to the screen.  Andrew half-expected Coach’s energy to go supernova on them all but he just radiated amusement.  It took a minute before Andrew realized the amusement was directed at him.

Kevin let out a long-suffering sigh, drawing Andrew’s attention back to the screen.  “All right, let me go down and catch him, then I’ll figure something out.”

“Catching him isn’t going to solve anything,” Andrew said.

“It’s going to make him a lot less dead,” Kevin replied, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, for now.  But if it’s not this now, it’ll be something else later.”  All three of them were staring at him.  “Didn’t you just tell me it’s about helping people save themselves?”

“You have a better idea?”

Andrew looked back at the screen and hesitated.  He hadn’t even managed to save his own brother, in the end.  

“Touch the screen,” the Archangel said.  It didn’t make sense, but Andrew found himself reaching for it anyway.  A brush of his fingers and a thousand images embedded themselves in his brain.  A young red-headed boy, watching as a larger version of himself carved up a screaming man.  His hands shaking when a knife was pushed into them, then the knife clattering to the floor and the boy bracing for the blow that took him off his feet.  The same boy running, running, a brown-haired woman next to him gripping his arm while gunshots rang out.  An older version with blonde hair and gray eyes, sitting in a cafe in what looked like Paris.  Then light brown hair and brown eyes in a desert.  Dark hair and dark eyes as the woman gasped her last in the driver’s seat of a car.  The same boy—no, he was a man now—arguing with a man who was beating a dog.  Having a cigarette lighter pressed into the flesh of his arms.  The older red-haired man from the beginning falling in a shower of bullets.  Then back on the run in a new disguise.  Brown hair and piercing blue eyes, giving food to a man sleeping in a cardboard box.  Breaking up a gang of boys picking on another kid.  Punching a man in the throat for harassing a teenage girl, then getting the shit kicked out of him in an alley.  

Twenty years of a life, blinking by in a second.  When it was done, Andrew was reeling, but he knew what had to be done.  “Make him save you,” he said to Kevin.

Kevin snorted.  “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.  You’ve been up here for five minutes, I’ve been doing this for ten years.  The whole reason he’s alive—”

“Blah blah blah yeah, you’re wonderful, but he’s about to fucking kill himself.  Now, I don’t give a shit, but you obviously do.  He has a savior thing going on, think about what he did with that girl and those bullies and that dog.  Go down there and make him save you.”

Coach stood up.  “Andrew.”  Andrew looked at him.  “I’m sending you down there.”

“Coach, I don’t—”

But he blinked and the room and the angels and the screens were gone.

In its place was a bridge and the blinding sun, the pavement nearly hot enough to melt the soles of sneakers Andrew didn’t remember ever wearing.  The river roared down below, and the man was there on the opposite side, his duffel cast aside onto the bridge, his legs dangling.  He was about to drop, and Andrew had no time.  He glanced down and dizziness hit him at the distance between himself and the water.  Gritting his teeth against the nausea, he thought, I’m already dead, and threw himself over the railing, a breathless scream tearing out of him as he fell.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #eventually #dan wilds #david wymack #kevin day #cw depression #cw suicidal thoughts #cw attempted suicide #afterlife au #andrew's an angel almost #neil is his charge

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony is a shapeshifter who imprints on a pack. He imprints on Avengers as his pack & they don't realize. Could be a shapeshifting world - shifters are known & the others are not shifters or aren't pack animals or shifters aren't known. Bucky joins the team and realizes that Tony is suffering from pack rejection/broken bond -painful and deadly, wasting away. Could be after CW- bonds are broken or they never knew & cemented bond. Bucky recognizes and makes it better. No A/B/O dynamics please.

Tony wasn’t so churlish as to let the world burn rather than work with his former pack, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when they called on him without so much as an apology or an acknowledgement that they’d left him to suffer the devastation of a broken packbond..

Not that they knew the full extent of what they’d done, because Tony would never give them that satisfaction. He had Pepper sometimes, and Rhodey, when they had time, and that was.. Well, it wasn’t really enough, because it wasn’t really a pack, even a small one, but it kept Tony going most of the time.

So when the alien fleet was spotted heading toward Earth, Tony told them he’d be there to help them stop it.

“Tones,” Rhodey said as they suited up, “are you sure–”

“I’m sure I don’t hate the world enough to see it destroyed,” Tony said. He ignored the way his flight suit sagged over his gaunt frame and stepped into the armor rig. “We’ll show up, blow these guys back to whatever planet they came from, and be gone before the press can show up to ask questions. Simple.”

Of course it wasn’t really going to be that simple, but Rhodey didn’t call him on it, for which Tony was grateful. Rhodey had seen the reports, the same as Tony had. They didn’t really have much choice.

[’ware the readmore!]

He’d expected it to be difficult to work with them, but it was worse than difficult. It was easy. They fell into the old rhythms as easily as breathing, and for a few hours, Tony felt as if he had a pack again, a network that would hold him up even as he held up the others, stronger as a unit than they were separately. He felt his own strength surge, his mind take off running, his intuition leaping larger and larger bounds. Even adjusting for the new members was only a minor effort.

Barely any effort at all for Barnes, in fact, whose serum had been based on ‘wolf plasma and whose abilities had been honed by science or torture until he nearly registered with Tony’s senses as ‘wolf, himself. It was too bad Rogers had chosen to break the pack over the guy; it might have been nice to have someone else in the pack who carried those instincts.

And then it was over. The aliens were defeated and fleeing. And the euphoria that had carried Tony through the fight ebbed away, leaving his bones cold, like all the marrow had been sucked out of them.

Romanov was looking at him curiously, and shit, he had been sidling toward Rogers, head tipped, just aching for a pack leader’s acknowledgment. A pack leader he didn’t have anymore.

He shook it off, squared his shoulders and forced himself to stand up straight. He thanked whatever gods might be listening that Romanov had a human’s nose, that she couldn’t scent the despair and desolation that must be rolling off him.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Tony said, his showman’s smile dripping off his teeth. “Be sure to call me the next time the Earth is in imminent danger.”

“Tony, are you okay?” Rogers asked, frowning.

Tony stepped back, away from the possibility that Rogers might try to reach out, to touch. He couldn’t take that now. “Stellar,” he bit off. “Just tired. Not all of us can shake off an alien invasion like–”

“Bullshit.”

Tony turned just in time to see Barnes striding toward him in full-on murder mode, his expression dark and his lips curled into a snarl.

Tony stepped back again, but Barnes grabbed at the collar of the suit and held him in place. Which was impressive, given the suit’s hydraulics and general strength.

“Yeah, okay, no,” Tony said. “Hands off the merchandise, Inspector Gadget.” Tony pushed, and Barnes let himself be pushed away.

“You’re not okay,” Barnes said. “Who did this to you?”

Tony snorted. “Three guesses, sunshine. I’m sure your new pack will help you fill in the details.”

“It’s just how Tony is, Buck,” Rogers said. “He overworks himself.”

Barnes gaped at Rogers, then narrowed his eyes at Tony. “You didn’t tell them.”

Tony threw his hands up. “What’s to tell?”

“Did they even know they were your pack?” Barnes demanded.

“Of course they did,” Tony said, and Rogers froze.

“We were your pack?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rogers,” Tony snapped, “of course you were. I brought you all to live with me and put a big damn logo on the Tower! We practiced together and fought together! We had team movie nights! I know none of you are ‘wolves, but what did you think was happening?”

“You didn’t say it in so many words,” Barnes said softly, “and they didn’t realize.”

Natasha’s mouth set stubbornly. “I asked you,” she said. “I asked you if you were making us your pack. And you said–”

“I said I’d have to be crazy to bond with you lunatics,” Tony said. “It was a joke. I thought you already knew, and we were being… funny. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You left, you all left, you made your fucking choices. What difference would it have made if you’d known?” He speared Rogers with a look. “Don’t even try to lie.”

Rogers opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Right, I’m out of here.” Tony wasn’t about to let Barnes guilt the Avengers into taking him back.

“No,” Barnes said, and stepped forward hastily. “At least let me come with you.”

“What?” Tony wasn’t sure whether he or Rogers said that.

“Buck?” Steve looked poleaxed.

“Look at the man, Steve,” Barnes demanded. “Look at him. I know you can’t smell worth a hoot, but you should be able to see it. He’s dying. He needs a pack, or at least another ‘wolf around him.”

“I’m not dying,” Tony lied. “I’ve got Rhodey. And Pepper.”

“Pepper lives on the west coast,” Natasha observed quietly. “And Rhodes has his own duties to pursue.”

“He visits when he can,” Tony said stubbornly. “It’s enough. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Barnes said through gritted teeth. “I can smell it on you. Please. I can’t…” He looked at Tony, bristling with challenge, and then, slowly, he tipped his head to the side. Showing his neck, deliberately making his ‘wolf subordinate to Tony’s. Don’t make me be responsible for your death.

Tony wondered if any of the others even knew, the things ‘wolves could say, even in their human forms, without so much as opening their mouths. Shifters were rare, and most of them kept to their own enclaves. Howard had been a lone ‘wolf, better off without a pack – but Tony had never been as strong as Howard, that way.

And the idea of having another ‘wolf in the place, even if they never spoke to one another, just to scent the presence… Tony wasn’t strong enough to keep rejecting that for much longer. “I don’t need your charity, Barnes.”

“Okay,” Barnes said easily. He turned to Rogers. “Gimme your neck, pal.”

Rogers, the blithering idiot, did it without so much as a blink of hesitation.

“No, don’t–” Tony tried, but by the time he got it out, Barnes had already bitten Rogers, nearly to the point of breaking skin. “Damn it, Barnes, you didn’t have to go that far.”

“What just happened?” Rogers wondered aloud. The great oaf.

“I left your pack,” Barnes said. “Now I’m packless. And it was pretty much proven when I left Hydra that I need a pack to survive, now.” He grinned at Tony like it was all a great joke. Tony half-expected his tongue to loll out the side of his mouth. “So, let me come with you?”

Tony slumped. “Fine,” he sighed. “It’ll be like a sleepover. We’ll braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.”

“Can’t wait!” Barnes said, and the weirdest thing was, he almost sounded like he meant it.

~ @27dragons

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #au:shifter #27dragons #prompts #Anonymous