#buy bare root apple trees

[gagerestate]

Website: https://www.gagerestate.com/

Address: Essex, United Kingdom

Phone: [phone]

WhatsApp : [phone]

Located in Essex UK, Gager Estate was created out of a lifelong passion for growing flowers and produce.

Our main aim is to provide UK gardeners with the highest quality bulbs and bare-root plants. But most of all, to give back to the community in whatever way we can.

We grow produce to give to our local food banks and the flowers grown are given to the local community CM8.

QUALITY BULBS & BARE-ROOTS

We supply only the best quality bulbs & bare-roots to our customers.

WE LOVE OUR PLANET We use recyclable packaging & materials whenever we are able.

EXCELLENT CUSTOMER SERVICE

We are here to help you with all your queries, questions and advice.

Business Email: [email protected]

Business Email 2: [email protected]

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GagerEstate

Twitter: https://twitter.com/gagerestate

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gagerestate/

Keywords: bare root wallflowers to buy best place to buy bare root trees buy bare root raspberry canes what does bare root mean when buying a tree buy bare root hedging buy bare root peonies buy bare root roses buy bare root trees buy bare rooted roses online buy strawberry bare roots is it better to buy bare root roses vs potted when should i buy bare root roses when to buy bare root fruit trees when to buy bare root roses where to buy bare root plants where to buy bare root trees where to buy bare root wallflowers why not to buy bare root trees bare root roses buy best place to buy bare root fruit trees best place to buy bare root roses buy bare root apple trees buy bare root fruit trees buy bare root perennials buy bare root plants buy bare root roses uk buy bare root strawberries buy bare root strawberry plants buy bare root trees online buy bare root trees uk buy bare root wallflowers buy bare root yew hedging buy bare rooted roses

#bare root roses buy #best place to buy bare root fruit trees #best place to buy bare root roses #buy bare root apple trees #buy bare root fruit trees #buy bare root perennials #buy bare root plants #buy bare root roses uk #buy bare root strawberries #buy bare root strawberry plants #buy bare root trees online #buy bare root trees uk #buy bare root wallflowers #buy bare root yew hedging #buy bare rooted roses

[hedgehog-moss]

Some plant news! I've been waiting impatiently to see if the stuff I planted last autumn had survived the winter, and it's looking good so far. All my young fruit trees are blooming (quince, cherry, apple, mirabelle)

The persimmon has no blossoms but some microscopic leaves, I hope it grows more vigorous... I only lost one baby chestnut tree, which seems to have been massacred by a very angry animal. A boar having a bad day? I'll have to plant a couple more this autumn and protect them better. I can just use the remains of one of the many types of fences that Pampe has defeated.

My greenhouse now has to wear a blanket in the afternoons so it doesn't get too hot inside. I planted four flowering shrubs around it in November, so their roots will consolidate the new terraces, and I'm happy to say they are all accounted for—these two have already doubled in volume, they seem thrilled to be there:

Whereas these two all but disappeared during the winter, the ground just swallowed them; I wasn't too optimistic but they showed up again last month, with timid new leaves :) (The pics are very zoomed in, the resurrected shrubs are about the size of my fist but I'm proud of them)

Also I found wild redcurrants by the stream last year and I snapped a few small branches and just stuck them in a pot without really believing it would work. Internet said it would work but it seemed impossible. I left the pot outside all winter, never watering it or taking care of it in any way, with these four bare sticks that I sometimes looked at dubiously. It worked!!! They have leaves now! I made new redcurrant plants by sticking branches in dirt, it feels magical. They're my favourite berries too...

(My project for next autumn will be to propagate elderberry cuttings alongside the fence.) And speaking of berries, I got to eat my first aquaponic-grown strawberry today, it was delicious <3 Congratulations to the 42 fish who are hard at work fertilising the plants in the towers. There are many more strawberries in preparation!

I leave the greenhouse doors open all day when it's sunny so there are pollinators busily flying in and out, doing their job. I tried to relocate a few ladybirds to the strawberry towers to eat aphids but without success, I think they left immediately...

My lettuce and tomato plants are doing great, but the courgette plants got decimated by slugs despite my efforts to repel them. I ended up buying some organic antislug product a friend of my mum's recommended. I started new courgette seeds, and I'll wait until they're bigger to transplant them to slug territory.

The little Mexican orange tree is blossoming, and finally making new leaves (the new ones are yellow) after looking worryingly bald for a while this winter. The blossoms really do smell like orange blossoms! I know it's right there in the name but I'm still like oh look at you you talented orange tree, you got the smell of your flowers right on the first try and everything

Congrats to Mascarille who was looking for the greenhouse entrance in the above pic (she always has to walk around it a few times, she's confused by glass walls) and eventually triumphed over adversity.

Oh and I'm still getting fresh peas, in homeopathic quantities. I found that they grow well in the middle of winter so I'll plant a lot more this autumn when the towers aren't full of strawberries and herbs; for now I've started just eating them raw like little green candy.

Last but not least, Louise Michel the new hen has finally learnt how to climb my homemade stairs that lead to the greenhouse! Look at her showing off her new skill, all casually like this problem hasn't stumped her for weeks:

#crawling along #@ladymantillon it's under your bad influence that i started gobbling peas raw like a bird instead of waiting to have enough to cook #also i've been working all weekend on a pampe-related thing #tomorrow is protest time but i'll try to implement it on tuesday. pampe is aware that something is going on and is deeply suspicious

[ahedderick]

Hi! I was wondering, since your husband helped with planting trees and such- Would either of you have advice on planting apple/pear trees? I've always wanted to have some in my yard, but I'm not sure how to go about it, since my seeds usually die after a month or two :(

Good morning! You don't say where in the world you are, and that's going to affect the answer. However, generally, I can say don't even try to start fruit trees from seed; that is more of an expert-level project. There are SOME fruit trees that can reproduce by seed and give you fruit the same type as the parent, but most would not. In order to know what type of apple or pear you're going to get, buy a good quality potted or bare-root seedling. You would have to ask around your home area to get an idea of what nursery or store to trust. County Agriculture agencies in the US may also have advice for what to buy and where to buy it.

The best general advice I have is: Dig a $50 hole for a $5 tree. That means, dig a bigger hole than you need, and fill it with very good, loamy soil. That gives the roots something to spread out into as the tree grows for the first couple years.

If starting from seed is your only option, use a good-sized (maybe 8 to 10 inch?) pot, water them reliably, and make sure they're getting lots of sun.

[organix-rosa]

Shop Fruit Plants Online At Lowest Cost From OrganixRosa

OrganixRosa is the best place to buy fruit plants online in India. You can buy any kind of fruit plant with just a click. The company provides a variety of fruit plants like apple trees, mango trees, banana trees and so on.

OrganixRosa offers over 500 different varieties of fruit plants for sale. They have different sizes and shapes that suit every garden and every budget. You can buy the plant in a pot or as bare root depending on your preference and your garden size.

OrganixRosa has the widest range of fruit plants that are easy to grow at home.

#Buy Fruit Plants #Fruit Plants #fruit plants online #fruit plants for home #fruit plants for home garden

[polonium-snap]

The Beauty & the Deku chp. 2

Summary: Izuku and Katsuki somehow get trapped in a book of fairy tales, to get out of it they decide to play their part in the stories. How far are they willing to go to fulfill the romantic plotlines? Will Katsuki be able to play the role of a fairy tale princess?

ao3

Wattpad

<< Prev | Next >>

When Katsuki comes to, he is washing some stairs.”Wha-? This again? You’ve got to be forking kidding me.” He stood up, inspecting his clothes, some raggedy top, and pants, which at least is not a dress,  and went to a nearby well, staring at his reflection on the water, scowling.

“Kacchan?” He heard Deku’s voice from behind, and the blonde turned to him.

“Deku!” Katsuki said. “As you can see, we are still trapped in this nightmare.” He frowns. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s continue trying to go along with the story, maybe if we do it enough times, we’ll get out of here.” Izuku suggested.

Katsuki growled. “Shut up! What do you know? This is probably your fault since you didn’t have to be at the house in the end.”

Deku frowned. “Oh yeah, Cinderella totally broke through a door like you did.”

The blonde scowled back, blustering and turning to look away from Izuku. “Whatever.”

Which was Kacchan-speak for ‘I’m sorry, you’re right', good thing Deku was an expert at reading his childhood friend. “We should continue trying to go along with the story, this time as much as we can with the original.”

“No way, nerd. I already gave that a try and we are still trapped in this hellhole.” Katsuki argued. “It makes more sense to try and make the story different, if it doesn’t let us move on we can find the reason more easily.”

“What if that just makes us be stuck here forever, Kacchan?” Izuku argued back. “Let’s do it like the story says one more time, then if we are still here we’ll try your thing.”

The blonde frowned but sighed. “Fine.”

Izuku let out the breath he was holding and stared into red eyes. “Thank you.”

Silence hung heavy for a second between them for several seconds. “I’m sorry…” Bakugou mutters, surprising Deku. “You know, for kissing you at the end…”

Izuku blushed furiously. “Oh! Uhm, i-i-it’s ok Kacchan, that actually made us move on, so…”

The implication of the previous statement weighs on them, and the silence only makes heat rise faster and more intensely into Deku’s face. If the kiss was what made them move on, did that mean they would have to again until they were out of there?

The most obvious answer was there, if they were in Snow White, like Izuku suspected, that meant they had to kiss to be able to continue with the story.

“Wh-What story are we in anyway?” Katsuki asked if only to fill the silence.

“O-oh, I think we are in Snow White.” Izuku reasoned.

“How are we meeting so early then, isn’t the prince supposed to kiss snow white at the end?” The blonde tried to remember.

“No, I think they met right at the start of the Disney movie.” Izuku explained.

“Crap I can’t remember.” The taller teen rubbed his hand on his face. “How am I going to go along with the story if I can't remember how it goes?”

The green-haired boy bit his lip, he couldn’t blame Kacchan, apart from this being a stressful situation, it has been a long time since either of them either saw the movies or read any books with fairy tales on them. “I think I know how it goes, just make sure to go near the forest and run away from the huntsman and look for a small house, it belongs to some dwarfs.” He explains. “Make sure they let you stay, cook and clean for them or something, the evil queen will look for you, to kill you, she will give you an apple, bite it, I’ll take care of the rest and then we’ll ride off to the sunset.”

“My prince.” Katsuki said sarcastically, and Izuku glared, but his cheeks felt hot. “I got it, I got it, I’m just tired of cleaning stuff, like I knew old men hate women in these stories and think their only use is to cook and clean, I get it, old news, but it’s annoying as heck, you know?”

“I get it Kacchan, I’m sorry, but I really think that we can get out if we follow the script as much as we can.”

“Yeah, except we can barely remember how it goes, you lame nerd, even just talking like this can change the story.” The fiery teen started to raise his tone. “We’re already doomed.”

Izuku cringed. “You’re right, but there must be plot points that make us move on, you know like in Cinderella, the background repeated until we did what it wanted, to move on we need to keep doing just that.” He tried to placate the other man. “This is the best plan we have right now, just go with it until we can think of something better.”

Katsuki stands staring at the other teen for a few seconds, glaring, but pondering what was said all the same. “Fine, but we better get out of this, or I’m going to explode.” He turned away and started walking toward the palace. “See you later, nerd, don’t you dare die.” He closed the doors, leaving Izuku staring.

The wardrobes the stories were putting the blonde in were killing him, he looked so handsome, even in dresses. Now the blonde wasn’t exactly wearing a dress, but elements of it were clearly borrowed, Kacchan was in rags but still looked amazing.

Izuku shook his head, this was not the time to be fawning over Kacchan, he turned around and left the grounds of the palace, unsure of what to do with himself. Jesus, fairy tale princes really were useless and had one shitty line, like Kacchan had said, though maybe like this, he could look for clues.

He looked down and sighed, even his clothes were boring.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

Katsuki changes his clothes because he is not staying in some ugly rags, besides he is 70% sure Snow White wasn’t dressed so badly, she needs to be marketable, little kids wouldn't buy merch of her if she looked ugly right?

He went near the forest, as Deku had said, and sat on a rock, at least the scenery was always interesting in these stories, as Katsuki had never gone out of Japan, he could almost pretend he was visiting Europe or some shit.

“I’m sorry, princess.” Said a voice, which startled the fuck out of the blonde.

“Jesus fu-!” Katsuki turned around to find Rikido Sato, from his class. “Sato?! You are the huntsman?”

The other man’s eyes widened. “You know my name?!” His eyes watered. “The queen has never called me by my name.”

Katsuki hadn’t either until just then, but he wasn’t about to say that to a man with a weapon while he remained quirkless. “Yes, of course I know your name!” He lied, he was lucky with Sato’s last name, he was between Sato and Sota. “I’m going to be the next ruler of this kingdom, and you my loyal subject.” He was talking out of his ass. “How could I not know your name?”

Sato dropped the knife. “I can’t do it!” He cried. “The queen is trying to kill you, your best option is to run as far as you can and hope she never finds you!”

Katsuki stood up from the ground and scrubbed the dirt off his clothes. “Right, thank you, I guess, for not killing me or whatever.” He jogged into the forest, enjoying it more than he normally would, maybe because it had been a while since he had been able to make one of his mornings runs.

At some point, his foot got tangled on some tree roots and he came crashing to the ground. “Argh!” He exclaimed. “Dumb tree, dumb story, dumb Deku!” He raged, and sat on the ground, finding the cabin could wait. As he lay on the ground feeling sorry for himself he felt small tweets from above, and slowly, animals from the forest came out and stared at him.

The blonde groaned. “One of you better not be Dunce face or Hair for brains.” He couldn’t take any more woodland animals as his friends, although thankfully it seemed none of them was anyone he knew. “What are you doing here then, If not to torture me?”

All the animals started to walk toward somewhere, and Katsuki, having nothing better to do went with them, only to find the small house Deku talked about. He opened the door, finding the insides absolutely filthy. And as much as Katsuki had complained he disliked cleaning, he disliked even more letting it stay filthy.

‘Fucking fine’ He thought because only in his mind he could use his favorite words. “You win, stupid Deku, I’ll clean this pigsty.” Katsuki picked up a broom and started sweeping the comical amounts of dust and dirt, the animals around him started to do the same, and for the first time, he didn’t mind the small woodland animals that seemed to follow him lately.

When he finally finished he realized how tired he was, it had been a few days since he last slept, so maybe now he could take a nap. Bakugou climbed the stairs, peering at the small beds with the dwarf's names, he pushed some of them together so he could fit in and dropped like a log on them, paying no mind to the few small animals that cuddled him, he was too tired for that shit.

He closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

“What is that? Is it a ghost?” Said a fearful but familiar voice.

“Ha! There’s no such thing as a ghost.” An angrier voice said.

“Who cares, ghosts can’t touch you, let’s just sleep and be done with it.” Said another voice that sounded just like Aizawa.

With his sleep finally disrupted Katsuki decided to sit up and fuck up anyone who dared wake him. When he rose from the bed, multiple gasps were heard. “What is it now?” He said, the blanket still over his head, which he removed slowly.

When he finally could see, he found seven eerily familiar dwarfs looking at him and gasping once again.

“Prince!” One of them exclaimed. “What are you doing here, young prince?”

Holy shit, this dwarf was All Might. Katsuki gaped at the blonde dwarf, his face a picture of the man’s old glory.

The teen looked at the others, Aizawa, Present Mic, Koda, Kirishima, Kaminari...and Endeavour?!

“Let me guess, you,” Bakugou pointed at Aizawa. “Are sleepy, you,” Present Mic, who let out a very loud sneeze. “Are Sneezy, you,” Koda blushed. “Bashful.” Then Kirishima. “You are Happy, I guess.” Kaminari. “Dunce face, you are obviously Dopy.” Bakugou laughed. “This must be Todoroki’s old man, Endeavour.” The red-haired dwarf fumed. “That leaves you All Might, I guess you are Doc.”

All Might smiled. “Yes, young prince.” He eyed Katsuki as if searching for answers. “What brings you here?”

“Yeah, that, the queen is trying to kill me or something.” The younger man dismissed carelessly.

“The queen is trying to kill you?!” Several of the small men exclaimed.

“Yes, so let me hide here, I’ll cook and clean, or something.” Katsuki forced himself to say.

“Like we would let a stranger stay here in our h-” Endeavour started to say.

“Of course you can stay, my boy!” All Might said. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah!” Kirishima, Kaminari, and Present Mic said, Koda blushed, and Aizawa grunted his approval from where he slept.

Endeavour growled.

The next day, after making the seven nuisances breakfast and them lining up at the door to go to the mine, Kirishima took of his stupid hat and watched Katsuki expectantly.

“What do you want.” The blonde said, but he had started to piece what hair for brains was silently asking, the redhead wanted a kiss on his forehead, Bakugou fumed, missing the cracking sound of his quirk. The thing was Snow White obviously did so in the movie, and if he wanted to be truthful with what he promised Deku, he had to kiss the foreheads of these dumbasses and thank god they wouldn’t remember, or at least he hoped so.

He reluctantly kissed Kirishima’s forehead, cringing when the dwarf continued in his way. It didn’t take long for the rest of the short men to follow suit.

Kaminari laughed and thanked him with a teasing smile. Katsuki struggled not to punch with his bare hands. Koda, bless him, just blushed and continued on his way, Aizawa grunted, Present Mic whooped in happiness, and All Might thanked him.

Lastly, there was Endeavour, who Katsuki categorically and morally opposed kissing, as much as he hated the half-and-half bastard his old man was trash and he wasn’t about to ignore that. But he had made a promise to stupid Deku who was probably living it large somewhere as a prince.

Katsuki swallowed his pride if only because he was a man of his word.

He slowly bent to press his lips on Endeavour's dwarfed forehead, closing his eyes to avoid extra trauma, and gave him a lightning-quick kiss.

“It’s not like I wanted you to, brat!” What the fuck? Was Endeavour a tsundere?

Bakugou would never be able to look at the number one hero ever again.

While Katsuki baked a pie in the old-fashioned oven he heard some commotion on the outside. Bristling Katsiki let go of the hot pie and peeked through the window, only to see Shigaraki dressed in black rags and carrying a basket of apples.

Holy fuck, Shigaraki was the queen?!

Katsuki couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “You?! Your crusty musty ass is the queen? HAHHAHA” He was nearly crying, Shigaraki looked worse than normal, and that was so hard to do in the blonde’s mind that he had to give the man kudos for surpassing himself.

“W-what? No, I’m no old queen, just an old man offering such beauty an apple.” Shigaraki stuttered, quickly jumping into convincing the teen into taking the blood-red apple in his ugly hands.

Katsuki wiped his tears of laughter. “I’m just, haha, sorry, It’s just been an annoying day.” He explained. “But alright, since you made me laugh so much I’ll take the apple, thank you for the few hours of peace, while that stupid Deku makes it here.” The blonde bit the apple, promptly falling asleep as he heard Shigaraki’s pathetic laugh.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

Izuku panted as he followed the forest’s animals toward the dwarf's house, where he knew Katsuki was waiting for him, the queen, whoever they were, was probably already chased off a cliff and Kacchan was placed in a crystal case.

He arrived at a clearing, watching as the dwarfs mourned Katsuki’s apparent death.

Wait. Was that Endeavour?! No. No, no time for that, literally everyone they knew was becoming a supporting character in these stories, it was entirely possible Endeavour was too.

...Was he supposed to be grumpy?

Izuku shook his head away from those thoughts and focused on Katsuki’s relaxed face as he slept and the dwarfs took away the glass casing on top of the snoozing blonde. Deku had always wondered why on earth the dwarfs just took off the case for some random prince to kiss the princess? What if it was just some creep? Though he had heard the age of the actual prince was 31, while Snow White was 14, which, what the hell.

Anyways he was getting sidetracked, maybe due to the nerves of having to kiss Kacchan, and the intense gazes the dwarfs were sending the green-eyes teen. He gulped, approaching the other man’s face, suddenly feeling very hot. It's not like they hadn’t kissed before, just two days ago Kacchan had kissed him, and there was always that one time they were 4 and wanted to know what kissing felt like.

However, both times it had been Katsuki who had initiated, not Izuku, Deku had never been the one to kiss someone, and the fact they were not conscious was really bothering him. It was morally incorrect to kiss someone who was unconscious, even if he somewhat knew Katsuki would be ok with it.

He felt dirty, like a 31-year-old prince kissing a 14-year-old girl, well maybe not that dirty.

But still, he did not feel great about this.

Finally, as his lips were millimeters away from Bakugou’s, Deku avoided the pink plump lips of his classmate and kissed the other’s cheek swiftly and reeled back. Katsuki’s eyes remained closed for dreadful long seconds, until red eyes fluttered open, sleepily batting long blonde eyelashes at Izuku.

“Took you long enough, nerd.” Katsuki complained as Deku offered him a hand and a taller teen rose from the adorned crystal bed.

“Sorry Kacchan.” Izuku said, relieved that the kiss on the cheek was enough to wake the other up. “Let’s go?”

Katsuki blinked. “Oh, yeah, you said we now ride into the sunset.”

“I-I mean, y-yeah, that’s how I remember it ended.” Izuku stuttered.

“Thank god.” Katsuki launches himself at Izuku's horse, waving at the dwarfs and animals as Izuku himself mounts it.

“Are you ready?” Izuku said, feeling like he forgot something.

“Yes.” The blonde rushed, a fake smile plastered on his face as he waved. “Let’s go you stupid piece of crap.”

“Right.” Izuku instructs the horse to start moving toward the horizon where a large range of beautiful reds and oranges paint the sky.

“Thank you for nothing!” Katsuki waves again, this time his smile is more genuine as he does a pg version of his usual cursing at the dwarfs and animals that probably don’t hear him due to the distance. “Hope you trip on your horrendous beards and die!”

The green-haired teen sweat drops as Bakugou finally settles down.

That is until he notices the horizon only seems to get further away. “No! Look, we aren’t moving on!”

Deku has to agree, as he notes his surroundings, while the background isn’t repeating, there seems to be no end to the valley even as seconds turn into several minutes. Well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions, Izuku thought as he meditated the best way to confess why they may be unable to finish the story.

“Darn it!” Katsuki growled in frustration. “I swear I did everything you told me.” He tried to explain. “I even kissed Endeavour’s old geezer head.”

“I know, Kacchan.” Izuku reassured, gulping as he realized he needed to come clean. “It is my fault.” He confessed.

“What?”

“So you know ten minutes ago when I was supposed to kiss you and wake you up from the sleeping curse?”

“Yes…?” Katsuki nodded. “What’s your point?”

“I may or may not have kissed your cheek instead of kissing you in the lips like in the traditional story.” He said sheepishly. “...Sorry...?

Katsuki slowly turns to look at the dumbass he called childhood friend. “What did you just say?”

“...I’m...sorry?” Izuku’s voice got weaker.

“What on earth is your problem?!” Katsuki bellowed, his eyes glowing red. “You SAID that we needed to follow the story to get out, you made me PROMISE I would go along with it just this once.”

The other man cringed. “I know, I know.” He whined. “I’m sorry, it’s just when I had to kiss you, you were unconscious and it just felt wrong since you never explicitly agreed that I could kiss you.”

“It was implied that I wanted to kiss you!” Katsuki yelled and then blushed, Izuku did too. “I mean, it was implied I was ok with it, you bumbling buffoon!” He screeched.

“Buffoon...?” Izuku mumbled as he stared in surprise at red embarrassed eyes.

“Ughhh!” Katsuki said in frustration. “Being this mad without using my quirk is making me lame.” He explained to himself, he took the reins of the still moving horse and yanked it so it stopped. Then he threw his legs over the animal so Bakugou was fully facing Deku. “Let’s just kiss so maybe this can be over, you piece of garbage.”

Katsuki pulled Izuku roughly so their noses were touching. “Don’t think for a second I’m not going to kick your ass into the next century after we get back to UA.”

Before Izuku could respond, their lips smashed together, harder and deeper than necessary, all while he was vaguely aware the world started to crumble and fade into white once again.

#izuku x bakugo #bakudeku fan fiction #bakudeku art #bakudeku #katsudeku #katsuki x izuku #the beauty and the deku

[passivenovember]

I love to read anything with vulnerable billy! 🥺

Kitschy, Campy, and Kooky: Pillowcases from Beyond the Veil.

Day Four: Sunglasses

--

Part One: Rockwell

His mother got into patterning and draping only hours, it seemed, before she disappeared from his life. Her slim, pale fingers cutting and measuring fabric. Sewing strips together and leaving room for true craftsmanship, hands shaking even as the bruises on her arms were laid to rest.

Billy’s mother started out easy, with fleece blankets and cushion covers that complimented the wallpaper in their living room; mustard yellow and fern green and burnt orange. Colors that brought fall raining down from the heavens on even the hottest days of summer.

Autumn was their favorite. Autumn meant snuggling up to watch I Was a Teenage Werewolf and Bewitched, Billy’s eyes drooping closed as his mother read the Archie comics to him under blankets that had little pumpkins and candy corns on them.

Autumn was magical.

Autumn was firewood and hot chocolate and bat shaped fairy lights above the hole in the wall. Halloween. That was always Billy’s favorite.

His mother started sewing pillow cases after Neil caught him sucking his thumb the first time.

It was Autumn. Just before Halloween, or maybe right after. The sky was thick with rain and fog and they were happy.

Happy things never lived long, in their house, for it had to be cultivated. Watered and fertilized. No, their happiness was locked away in a dark room, only to be brought out and held when the house was empty.

They didn’t have enough money in the bank that year to buy a new pillow case, after Billy’s shield was torn to pieces, but they had fabric. Shelves and dressers full of the stuff, spilling out from between the tinges of pain in his cheek.

Neil slammed through the front door and Billy’s mother tried to fix what had been broken.

She got on her knees and straightened his Addams Family pajamas. Took his hands and tried to get him to look her in the eye. “Pick out whatever you want,” She said. His mother’s voice sounded like running water, like swelling rivers. “I have every color. What kind of print do you want, Billy?”

But Billy couldn’t move.

His feet had grown roots, travelling through the hardwood floor and down into the basement. Past his mother’s cutting table and beyond her sewing machine, into the depths of the Earth.

Billy felt himself sinking. Felt himself be buried alive, as his mother rubbed the backs of his hands and tried to bring their happiness back out into the light.

--

The pillowcase was purple. Just close enough to pink that Billy knew his father would tear it to shreds if he ever saw it himself, but the shade was also mysterious. Blue, like the raging seas during a hurricane. Dark and spooky and smooth like silk against his skin, but also happy, too.

Autumn themed.

Halloween themed, with little bats wearing sunglasses.

“So you can had a slice of your two favorite times of the year, all at once. Summer and Fall, too.” His mother said. She gave Billy the chance to enjoy his gift by hiding the case in plain sight, as the flip side to a slate gray monstrosity that reminded Billy of Neil. Of the eyes, that were always watching.

Billy loved his pillowcase.

Through November and into Yule. Past frozen rivers and into spring, when his mother’s sewing machine disappeared.

--

Part Two: Bates

The pillowcase was a puzzle Steve knew he was never going to solve.

The fabric was worn thin. Torn and fraying along the seams and sporting a rip down one side, the result of hundreds and thousands of nights in bed with a boy who slept with a pillow cradled against his chest.

Steve wondered if the hideous thing knew how much it was loved.

If it had counted the times Billy had lugged it around the house and on road trips, bearing witness to the battles Steve had lost in trying to suggest they have it replaced with something that didn’t have to be pieced together so it would seem whole.

He hated those bats, too, with their smug little faces. Watching from behind designer sunglasses as Steve tried to pry them loose so he could be closer to Billy. So he could take their place.

Steve would never take their place, it seemed.

He didn’t know why, didn’t understand why, until he came home one afternoon to find Billy on the floor.

Crying, on the floor, or. Dry heaving.

The tears had long since dried, gifting tacky, salt-slug lines down his cheeks as Steve’s husband gripped a long, bat covered piece of fabric in both hands.

“It ripped.” Billy's voice was hollow. Empty. “It tore in half. I didn’t think it would do that, I through maybe I could stitch it back together every time it fell apart, I thought I would be able to keep her with me for a little while longer, I--”

“--Bills--”

“I wasn’t ready for this.” Billy said wildly, clutching the fabric to his tear stained cheek. “I’m not ready for this.”

“It was an old pillowcase, sweetheart, you had to know it was going to happen sooner or later.”

“She’s gone.”

Steve frowned, crouching on the floor in front of him. “Who’s gone, baby?”

Billy’s mouth worked for a long time around words that ended up on the cutting room floor. He trembled, barely letting Steve get an arm around him, as the truth came tumbling out.

“My mama.” He said quietly. “My mama gave it to me.”

“She did.”

“Yeah, she made it for me. Before she left, she said.” Billy chuckled, thick and wet. “She told me it would keep me safe.”

Steve rubbed a hand down Billy’s arm, nodding against a flood of realization. “Yeah, well. She could’ve kept you safe, Bills. She could’ve done that, instead of leaving you with that fucking monster--”

“Can you just.” Billy tangled a piece of purple fabric around one hand. “Can you hold me?”

Steve sat on the ground next to him, and. Tried to understand it.

--

Coaxing Billy to sleep and failing, day after day, was what made him sign up for the class.

Steve had been hoping the rec center would provide sewing machines. That he wouldn’t have to call Joyce and ask five hundred questions about shit he couldn’t possibly understand. Like presser foots and cutting tables and rounded stencils, and--

“Why don’t you come by the house?” She said. “I could teach you for free.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure.” Joyce sounded like she was smiling. “I’m free on Thursdays.”

Part Three: Curdle

Autumn was Billy’s favorite time of year for a lot of reasons.

The pumpkins, maybe. Most of all. Boozy apple cider with granny smith juice and far too much cinnamon that made their limbs loose and heavy. Cuddling up on the couch  to watch Hocus Pocus and Thriller. Trying to learn the dance moves, and. Crying from laughter when they couldn’t learn the dance moves.

And Steve.

Steve Harrington in warm, mustard colored sweaters and beanies pulled far too low over his eyebrows to ward off the chill when he came home from work, trailing the smell of haze-covered trees and maple sugar donuts after him.

He was holding a box, that afternoon.

An orange and black cardboard thing with a bow on top. “Open it.” Steve said, with that glint in his eye.

That glint did a lot of things to Billy. “How come?”

“Because I made you something.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot toward the sky. “You made something? Like a craft?”

Steve shrugged, wind-chilled cheeks turning pink and bright. “Maybe so.” He said softly. And then, “Open in.” Because they weren’t getting any younger.

Billy tore the wrapping paper carefully.

He liked to save it, folded neatly in the holiday section of their basement. Liked to rifle through the discarded coverings when he wanted to find the perfect pattern for--

“It took months to find the fabric.” Steve muttered. “They discontinued it sometime in the late 70s, but Joyce knew someone in town who used to stockpile the shit, so.”

“Steve--”

“It cost an arm and a leg but I wanted to make it up to you.” Steve took Billy’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing soft over the tears that had appeared there. “I wanted to show that you’re safe now, Billy. With me. That even though you don’t need a piece of fabric to protect you, anymore, it’s still nice to have. Even though it’s not the one your mom made.”

The bats smiled up at him, and it was perfect.

Purple. Just close enough to the pink of Steve’s cheeks that Billy knew it was better than the one that had come before because of what it meant. Dark and twinkling like a sky full of stars. Soft and spooky and smooth like silk against his skin, but also happy, too.

So happy.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harringrove #halloween #cw: neil hargrove #cherry lane challenge #day four: sunglasses

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Firewood

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexy, sexy thoughts, but we all know that Sheriff Din is a proper gentleman who would never sleep with you before you’re married. But, a girl can look. 

Summary: You were certain your old school headmistress would give you a clip round the ear and drag you off to teach you a lesson about propriety and ladylike behaviour if she saw you. Fortunately, she wasn’t there to distract from the sight that had caught your attention.

Notes: Oh, hello, is this another firewood chopping fic? Yes. Yes it is. Do I have a thing for big, strong men chopping wood? Yes, apparently so. 

Jeans were invented in 1873 so yes, Sheriff Din, 100% can wear tight jeans to show off that fine butt. 

Archiveofourown

You were certain your old school headmistress would give you a clip round the ear and drag you off to teach you a lesson about propriety and ladylike behaviour if she saw you. Fortunately, she wasn’t there to distract from the sight that had caught your attention.

Every stove and every fireplace in Navarro was wood burning, gas was still a new fangled thing and hadn’t reached your little mining town yet. The metal log burner in the centre of the schoolhouse was no exception and it was on this particular Saturday, when working on marking some of the childrens’ books, that you noticed your store of firewood was rather shoddy. Something that while not an immediate concern would grow to be as the weather began to turn colder and the snow piled up outside. The children would need to be kept warm, otherwise they just simply wouldn’t learn right. 

It had been something you mentioned in passing to the sheriff that morning, you hadn’t expected him to do anything about it and certainly not immediately. Just made small talk when he’d popped in to check on you and mentioned that the wood store was getting a little low and that you'd need to sort it soon before the weather turned. You should have known that Din, the mother hen, caring and considerate man that he was, would have taken it upon himself to correct the problem and quickly. 

Had you known that that wasn’t just going to the general store and buying more logs, but instead cutting down a couple of trees near the school house and proceeding to cut them into fire logs, then you...well, you would have definitely still mentioned the problem to him. After all, the sight was definitely an enjoyable one. Not that you’d admit that to anyone. You were supposed to be a respectable lady. A school teacher. You shouldn’t have had any thoughts on Din Djarin and how he looked chopping wood. 

It’s how you found yourself looking out one of the large windows of the schoolhouse, lip bitten between your teeth and chin resting on your hand as you watch Din lift a large log over his broad shoulders and to a tree stump he’d designated for wood chopping. He managed to make carrying the heavy load seem easy, like it barely phased him, he simply redistributed his weight and stance to make the walk easier. 

He’d forgone his many layers. His hat had been placed off to the side, his usual button-up was off, now only stood in a grey union suit unbuttoned, indecently so, showing off pronounced collar bones and dark chest hair and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows displaying his thick forearms. His suspenders dug delightfully into his wide shoulders and the wide planes of his chest were captured fetchingly in the clinging fabric of the undershirt. 

Your headmistress most certainly would have clipped you around the ear you think. It was unbecoming, unladylike, most certainly not decent to watch him with thoughts of how easily he could lift you over his shoulder. How nicely it must feel to be pulled into those arms and rest your cheek against his chest. How strong his palms look and how delightful the muffled grunts he let out sounded. Most certainly unladylike, improper and you shouldn’t have sat there and watched, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear yourself from temptation. 

There was just something, something about the way his shoulders tensed as he brought the axe back over his head before bringing it down with a sure stroke, cleaving the log in two. Something about the strength of those thick forearms, the scars that littered them from bounties he’d collected and a life of hard graft. Something about the sweat that beaded on tanned skin, that caught your eyes as you followed in down his prominent nose to his perpetually pouting lips. 

As Reeva would say, Din Djarin was a whole lot of man and you thought perhaps a king among men. He could capture your attention just with a change to his stance or a look, you were sure every unmarried woman in town would happily marry him. He was incredibly handsome, but what made him something special you decided was his nature. 

He was unfailingly kind, sweet and gentle, he always made sure to look out for others. Every act of service was a sign of his devotion and appreciation to his community, of who he was. He would get birds out of chimneys, sweep the porch for elderly citizens, hunt down a missing pet or build a schoolhouse. You knew that you never had to worry with Din around, the moment you mentioned a problem or difficulty he would be there offering to help without asking for anything in return. A king among men indeed. 

A grunt brought you out of your thoughts and back to the view before you. Large palms and dexterous fingers twisted around the wooden handle of a heavy axe, feet planted wide to give him a better stance, jeans tight against his hips. Did the man have to own such tight trousers?

“Oh, Miss Adams, I’m terribly sorry.” You can’t help but mutter as warmth floods your body, your skin feeling too warm in your heavy skirt and blouse. A itch settling deep in your stomach. Your headmistress would have made you go to confession if she knew, forcing you to admit that your eyes and mind had sinned oh so terribly for gazing so covetously at the sheriff, at Din.

You couldn’t help it. You wondered what it would be like. To be married to him, to lie besides him on a cold night, those large palms sliding soothingly over your hips, your belly, your thighs. Wrapped so tightly in him that it would be impossible to figure out where you ended and he began. What would that deep, soothing voice feel like rumbling against your skin. 

A breathy sigh leaves your lips at the thought and you wonder how you’re supposed to ever talk to him again without thinking about how he looks in that exact moment as fabric clings tight to his body and his dark hair begins to curl at the edges from sweat and the humid air. 

You decide in that moment that he can’t ever know. It’s as simple as that. He simply can’t find out about these feelings you have or the power he holds over you. It just wouldn’t do, wouldn’t be proper. You shall simply go out there and thank him for cutting more wood for the schoolhouse, offer him a drink of water and be done with it. 

You rise with determination, hands brushing your skirts smooth before grabbing the glass you use during the school day. The outside water pump is a handy little thing, you think as you fill the glass with cold, clean water. Despite the children often using it for mischief at break times, it does everyone a world of good to have easy access to water at the school. 

“You look mighty thirsty, sheriff” You call out to him, one hand lifting your skirts to help you walk over the uneven ground, the other holding the glass of water out in front of you. 

When you reach him you offer the glass, he takes it with a thank you and you try not to stare too hard as he throws his head back and gulps the water down fast. His neck extended, Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. 

“You know you didn’t have to do this...I could have bought some wood for the fire.” There was a small school fund for that sort of thing, the mayor had reluctantly set it up so that you could buy chalk and other things that the school would need and have to replace over time. While wood was certainly not a cheap item, it was something you budgeted for every single year. 

“Cyar’ika, there’s no way I'm letting you spend good credits on firewood when there are plenty of trees for me to cut down. Besides, I’m not busy.” 

“Din…” You want to protest, remind him that he has better things to do that cut firewood for you. Mostly because you worry that you’re taking advantage of his kindness. What possibly could you offer in return to a man who was capable of doing everything himself? 

A hand reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek briefly and gently, “Just let me help you.”

It’s the gentle touch and the quiet plead in his voice that has you admitting defeat. There was no use fighting his nature and asking him to stand by if he noticed you in need of something. It just wasn’t in him and it was something you liked greatly about him. 

“Thank you. You’re always looking out for us.” 

His hand drops from your face to the back of his neck, rubbing it in a gesture you were beginning to recognise as a sign that Din was uncomfortable or nervous. More often than not when it came to feelings of any sort. “Well, I gotta keep my eye on you, make sure you’re doin’ alright.”

“I...have you...have you ever thought that you deserve someone keeping their eye on you too? To look out for you, I mean.” You rush through that last part to take some of the possible innuendo from your words. Not that your eyes had been anywhere but on Din as of late, but...you didn’t mean it like that. You could feel an embarrassed warmth radiating up your neck and into your face at the implication of your words.

There’s a tug at the corner of his mouth, “Oh, I noticed you’ve been doin’ a mighty fine job of that yourself, cyar’ika.” It’s unusually playful coming from Din and it has your mouth drying up as you swallow harshly. Had he noticed you watching him cut wood? Or the other day when he helped carry some of Mr Hewitt’s goods into the general store? 

“I’m...I’m just looking out for you. Is all.” 

He hums, clearly not quite believing you, but lets it slide. You’re a proper lady and he knows if he teases too much he’ll scare you away. Maybe one day he’ll let you in on the secret that he caught you peering out of the school window watching him. But, today he lets it go, lets you walk away back into the school house with the excuse that you have more books to mark. 

If he decides to roll the union suit down to his waist and continue cutting wood with his torso free of clothing, then that’s not to tease you at all, it’s just because the weather’s gotten mighty hot lately. If he happens to notice you at the window again watching him then he doesn’t mention it and it means nothing, nothing at all.

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

Mando’a Translations:

Cyar’ika - Sweetheart, Darling

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Febuwhump ‘21 #9

#9 Buried Alive

Let there be ANGST and WHUMP and DRAMA. I’ll put a keep reading because it’s very... deathy? I really liked this one and the concept of it not gonna lie. Contains almost dying (needing revived). This one will be a main segment of the story because there are some... developments. I’ll make a master list in chronological order soon to make things a bit easier to understand.

For the record, the poem that is in this piece is mine. I made it up and kinda fell in love with it.

The memories returned slowly for Avizon. He remembered fighting a gang of bandits, with Erix at the helm. He remembered buying his cloudwalker’s time to flee while he was beaten senseless in the sudden attack, stabbed and defeated. They’d been prepared, they’d used laced darts to stop his magic and it had been so easy to beat them, but what he currently felt was so wrong. Breathing felt like an impossibility, something heavy was on his chest. He couldn’t see anything. He felt pinned, cold, and unbearably stuffy. It took him too long to realise what was wrong.

He was buried.

The thought unhinged him. He screamed for help, but he didn’t know what use it would be. Unless his cloudwalkers were still free, he didn’t stand a chance. His heart raced and he had to battle with it to keep himself calm. He only had a small pocket of air, provided by the shelter of tree roots, or at least it felt like that. He had to ration his air. Upon every exhale, he yelled for help, hoping someone could save him, anyone! If he didn’t suffocate, he was going to bleed out.

He’d never been afraid of dying, as far as he was concerned, it meant he could see Ro again, but to die like this… No, he. He just couldn’t. He wanted to die fighting, or with someone who cared about him, he wanted to die happy, fulfilled, having done what he’d always wanted to do and change the world. He wanted to die knowing is cloudwalkers were safe, that Ihuka could live free and happy, that Dyan never had to go back to that sick bastard! 

He blinked heavily as dirt got in his eye and he whimpered, forcing himself to keep calling for help. Tears slipped down his cheeks. Not like this… it couldn’t be like this. He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him. It had always been so keen to wrap its fingers around him and take him away. He’d lost count of how many times he’d almost died.

If these were to be his last moments, he wanted to have at least tried to survive. He tried to focus on his magic, to feel that buzz inside him again, the power radiating around his body but it just wasn’t there. He swallowed back a whimper. No, there had to be a way. Maybe light magic? He was terrible at using it these days, he hadn’t practised for so long, but he desperately tried. If he could make an orb of light above the earth, if he could just do something.

“Please,” he whispered. “I don’t want to die..”

Perhaps he deserved this, for all the hurt he had inflicted on others, for all the people he had killed, be it for revenge or not. He wasn’t a good man, he didn’t deserve a peaceful death.

He choked on a sob and tried again to make some sort of magic signal but he couldn’t feel it, and he didn’t have enough anyway.

He gave up, panting. He was going to die, that was something he reluctantly had to accept. He closed his eyes, feeling how the air was getting thinner. His bubble was running out, he was suffocating. He sought comfort in the only thing he could think of, and oh fitting it would be.

“May the giving earth that made me take me away,” he whispered, reciting one of his favourite poems that he so often read. “And from the earth, may I become an apple tree, to dance with the wind and sway u.under the smiling dreamer’s moon… for all the heavens to see.” He gulped, feeling his hands shaking even if they were pinned down by so much soil. “May my fruits feed the hungry, my branches protect the nests that depend on me... May my trunk b.be strong, yet the softest bed for the weary traveller to rest their head… S.stay a while...and think of me.” A sob escaped him, it was getting harder and harder to speak, to breathe, but he wanted to finish. “May I drink from the clearest stream… o.of tears… of grief, to nourish my roots and each and every leaf.” He doubted anyone would grieve for him...

This poem was all about his death meaning something, for him to have a legacy to leave behind. He’d always swore to live by this poem, and it hurt to know how far away from that he was. He whispered, “May I bow my head to the almighty sun that raised me, and greet the stars as friends, the h.heavens for which… I h.have… always reached...” He was finding it harder and harder to breathe, his consciousness was fading. “May they reach f.for me… May I be… free… To laugh with the dreamer’s moon… and sing...”

Then there was nothing.

____________

Ihuka dug furiously at the ground, his claws helping to drag away the upturned earth. His master was here, he had to be, and he was still alive. The magic he had seen made him certain, the beautiful tree that had formed, made of precious light magic. Dyan was helping, panting heavily as they both dug, one at each end, doing everything they could to get this dirt away while they had time. Erix was close, and they had to be fast.

Ihuka kept digging, even when he felt his hand hit against a sharp rock. He was sure he’d cut it bu the just kept digging. He hoped he wasn’t too late. He clenched his jaw and dug faster, like a fox. The dirt came away quickly until he finally hit something soft. He dug with more care, until he realised he’d found his master’s chin. He dug with care, lifting big chunks away that had been held up with a net of roots.

Avizon didn’t gasp for air, and Ihuka frowned, he had to breathe! Dyan crawled over to his master’s head and sobbed. “N.no… master, no, please, don’t leave us,” he whimpered. He shook his master’s chest while Ihuka kept digging, slowly freeing more of his chest. But Avizon did not stir.

Dyan put his hands on his master’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Please wake,” he whimpered, tears spilt. “M.master?” his bottom lip trembled and Ihuka’s stomach filled with dread. He’d been too slow. He’d failed.

Ihuka stopped digging and let his head drop. He felt his own tears spill onto the soil. Avizon had changed, he’d been good to him, he’d cared for him, let him stay wild.

Only a light caught his attention, and it wasn’t coming from his master. It was coming from Dyan. Dyan was using magic! Ihuka watched in stunned silence as the magic went into Avizon’s body and faded as quickly as it came. It felt like an eternity of silence, but finally Avizon’s chest started moving, as he heard him groan, then gasp, and finally scream.

Dyan threw himself back in surprise as Avizon sat up quickly, panting wildly, gasping and frantically digging his way out of what almost became his grave. He tried to get up, to stand and run, but his legs failed him immediately and he collapsed unconscious. Ihuka barely caught him.

“We have to get him back home,” Ihuka said quickly. Dyan nodded. “I can carry him.” ____________

The thought of carrying his master terrified Dyan, but he had to do it. His master needed help. He picked him up under the arms at first, to get him up and then he was able to scoop him up, letting Avizon’s dirty tear-stained face lean against his chest. Dyan hated the power shift he felt. He despised being responsible for him like this.

The flight was tense, silent since Erix was searching for them. They weren’t far from home, but Dyan’s arms quickly began to ache. His master was heavy, too heavy for him to carry. But he endured, he stayed quiet and bit his lips until he made it inside and up into the tower, where master kept all of his potions. Ihuka helped him to lie him down on the table. Ihuka went to fetch water. Dyan pursed his lips and went to collect his master’s mirror, which he used to talk to Orrien.

He couldn’t process what had happened, what he had done. All he knew was that he’d felt broken, seeing his master dead. Something inside him had snapped, no, stirred? He didn’t know how to explain it, like it had just woken up inside him perhaps? He was confused and scared and had no idea how his master would react to him having powers- being able to use them. He’d seemed excited to investigate the fact he could wield several months earlier... he just hoped he’d be happy, or at least, not hurt him. Dyan put the mirror down and shook his master’s shoulder. “Master, please, wake up! Please wake!” Avizon’s hand shot out and grabbed Dyan’s wrist, but his gaze was unseeing. Dyan froze. “M.master? Please… I. I brought your mirror. You need mister Orrien. You’re hurt.”

Avizon groaned, but let go of him. “Quickly,” he whispered, his lips barely parting. Dyan handed him the mirror, and Avizon barely managed to send some sort of signal to him before he passed out again. Dyan hoped it would be enough, and thankfully it was. Moments later, Orrien appeared.

____________

Orrien knew to expect something bad when Avizon had barely managed a whisper into the mirror. He didn’t wait to see what he could say. He rushed to grab a bag from his little hut and within a minute he was back at the castle. He never did like coming back here, too many memories, but for Avizon, he didn’t have a choice.

Avizon was on a table, covered in dirt, and his chest was barely moving. He could see a few wounds and knew this was serious. He reached to take his pulse, seeing Dyan kneeling on the floor.

“Help me undress him. What happened to him?” Dyan shuddered, but stood up and did as he was asked, “W.we got attacked, sir. He made us run away, but they did something to him and he couldn’t use his magic. But then when we came back to find him and found him under a tree made out of magic. He… he’d been buried- alive I think.”

Reincarnation magic?! And here Avizon had insisted he was terrible at light magic. He ought to retrain him, provided he could survive this. “We dug him out and… M.mister Orrien? I think I’m dangerous…” Dyan wrung his hands out and kept his head low. He reminded him so much of Avizon when he was younger.

“And why is that?” Orrien asked, grimacing as he saw the wounds on Avizon’s torso. “I… I got upset. I thought he was gone forever, but... I made magic. I. I don’t know how and I didn’t really mean to b.but I did and it brought him back…”

Orrien’s head shot up to look at him, stunned beyond words. “You brought him back?” This cloudwalker that had never cast a spell in his life had made a magic that even he struggled with. How?! It was amazing. Dyan nodded slowly. “M.master said I was able to ‘wield’, but I never have before… Is that bad?” Orrien forced his stunned focus back onto helping Avizon. “No, and I dare say I’m incredibly impressed and grateful. We can talk about it later, but first we need to look after your master.”

Dyan nodded with a nervous gulp. “Yes, sir.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #febuwhumpday9 #buried alive #whump #I love my beans so much #cloudwalker series #avizon #dyan #ihuka #Avizon whump

[jawabear]

Playing Dirty (Maxwell Lord x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: So this was another request! I had fun writing this because MAXWELL LORD. And I hope it is what you had in mind anon. I hope you enjoy reading it :) Sorry for any mistakes. (I have to say that I'm not a huge fan of the word pussy, I don't know why. But I used it in this because its probably better that way..)

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, This is just plain filthy. like dirt. Roughness, oral (m&f receiving), office sex, teasing, inappropriately times touches, just usual Maxwell Lord filth, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: She thinks its all a game, a game the Maxwell Lord will not let her win...

Max couldn’t have woken up to anything better. A beautiful light seeping through the curtains to his bedroom. The bed he was laying in was warm, very nice and warm. His silk sheets feeling cool against his naked skin. His mind was full of the memories from the night before, the moans from his special lady, her hands over his body as she bounce in his length. Seeing that dazed look of pleasure on her beautiful face, her mouth hanging open. He could still feel the feeling of her wetness on him, being inside her, she was so warm. He shivered slight at the memory, pleasure swimming through his body.

Wait.

Now that he was a little more awake he had realised that the pleasure wasn’t just a memory. It was real. It was happening right now.

He lifted his head slightly as saw that she was between his legs, his dick in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head, licking over his slit. God. Seeing his girl like that was the best way to wake up.

His head fell back against the plush pillow and he lifted his hand to glide through her soft hair. He felt her smile against him and she let out a soft hum before lifting her head and looking at him, a devious look sparkled in her beautiful eyes. She crawled over his body, her chest resting on his while her hips and ass were hoisted up slightly. She rested her forearms either side of his head, her fingers gently touching his hair.

“Good morning Maxwell” she smiled. His hands slid down her bare body, resting on her back, he knew she loved when he touch her back, gliding his fingers up and down her skin in a feather light touch that made her shiver.

“It certainly is” he mumbled to her leaning up and pressing his lips to hers. Their lips moved together perfectly. He loved the taste of her lips, always so sweet, so soft. And he could taste himself on her. He never got tired of kissing his girl, he didn’t think he ever would. “Are you going to finish?” He teased as he gently raised his hips to brush himself on her.

He held a smug smirk on his stupidly handsome face, but she matched it. “No, I don’t think I will” she said, her finger stroking down his chin.

He got excited when she sat up on his lap, he was preparing for her to sink herself onto him so they could repeat the night before but instead she rolled off him and sauntered over to the en-suite of their room.

Max rolled onto his side, ready to follow her into the bathroom and fuck her in the shower but she had locked the door, she knew him to well. He grumbled to himself as he rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. He was still hard.

Still muttering curses to himself, he rooted around his room for his clothes that he would wear for the day and stomped out of the bedroom towards the second bathroom in his house, because of course Maxwell Lord would have more then one bathroom. In there is where he would sort himself out, getting off to the thought of her. From the night before, her sucking him off that morning and the thought of her in the shower, he knew that she was probably touching herself too. He wished he was in there with her. Pressing her against the tiled wall, the hot water streaming down their bodies as he fucked her. But he was left to deal with himself alone in the second, less extravagant shower.

Once they were both clean and dressed, they made their way to his car, where his driver stood waiting to take them both to his office. He had told her time and time again that she didn’t need to work anymore, but she had always told him she didn’t want to be a future wife who does nothing but sit around at home all day doing nothing while her man is out working. To use her exact wording:

“I don’t want to sit around this massive fucking house baking bread and apple pies, looking after birds and rabbits in the garden, or sewing a fucking dress while you’re out earning the money, I can earn myself Maxwell”

Needless to say, he didn’t bring it up against after that.

It was a little difficult at the start of their relationship. Initially, it was just sex. She was his assistant. He made a rule for himself not to get involved emotionally with someone who worked for him, not that Maxwell Lord was ever really one for relationships. So sex worked for him and for her. But as time went on, he began to grow fond of her spirit, her feisty nature, her witty comments, her beautiful features, everything. He began to ask her, slowly, if she would be his date for gala’s or charity balls he was invited to, she agreed for every single one.

And then it went to dinners, taking her out for fancy meals and drinks, buying her new clothes, dresses, shoes, blazers, coats, you name it. And then he somehow managed to string together words to form somewhat of a confession to her. She laughed at him but she found it cute, Max wasn’t used to feelings, so she found it almost endearing that she had won his heart.

So they dated, keeping work and home as separate as possible, but obviously keeping the office sex. And then he proposed to her. It wasn’t a big thing like one may have expected from Maxwell Lord, no. It wasn’t at a fancy restaurant, he didn’t hire out a band or a fancy hall to ask her. That’s what made it all the more unexpected to her.

He took her out to a park late at night, it was a full moon and a clear sky, bringing her to the most secluded part of the park where he had laid out a blanket and a few lanterns hanging on trees. It was so peaceful and looking at how she stared at the stars above in awe and wonder, he knew he had made the right choice. He didn’t think she would say yes, he didn’t think she was ready but she didn’t even hesitate in agreeing, jumping on him and giving him the most love kiss she ever had. The ring, once again was not what anyone would put to Maxwell, it was simple, silver and stunning.

The ride in his car was pretty silent. She stared out the window, not speaking a word to her. This was unusual. She would usually be telling his about his day and complimenting his skills in the bedroom. He got to thinking maybe he had done something wrong, something had happened and she was upset with him.

“(Y/N),” He said, resting his hand on her knee “are you okay?”

She turned her head and looked at his hand before lifting her gaze to look at him “I’m perfectly fine baby” she told him as she ran her hand slowly up his arm and across his jaw “I’m fine..” she repeated “must’ve been so difficult for you to take care of yourself in the shower. Always needing someone to take care of you aren’t you baby?”

“Because of you” he mumbled to her as her hand traced back down his arm and removed his hand from her knee, placing it back on his lap.

“Well, you should learn to control yourself. Control those sexual desires you have..maybe I should stop giving myself to you so much, so you have to wait, so you can learn what patience is...”

He looked at her through hazy eyes and she laughed “I don’t know why you’re laughing, I’m going to fuck you senseless if you keep this up”

“We’ll see about that big boy. We will damn see about that” she told him, a cheeky look in her eyes that drove him crazy.

-

Throughout the day, she had been acting the same. Teasing him, giving him sly comments, touching him in the most gentle but provoking ways. But it was always in a place where he couldn’t take her. Had they been alone in his office he would’ve bent her over his desk and fucked her till the sun went down. But she was craftily, clever, cunning. She knew what she was doing and she did it well.

Whilst talking to someone in the hallway she would lean up to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, it seemed harmless enough to the person who he was taking to, they had made their relationship know early one, mainly because Max was jealous about all the guys that would give her looks and stared at her ass when she walked past them. But the kiss was never just that, what they couldn’t see was her hand sliding down his back and grabbing a small handful of his ass. And she knew he wouldn’t react, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself show any signs of weakness or submission to those who were meant to fear him. She made a right mess of him.

Sitting at the meeting table, Max wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what anyone was say. He had his elbow resting on the table and rested his chin in his open palm while he tried to look interested by everyone could see through his expression. He didn’t really know why he bothered to attend these meetings anyway. His assistant, his lovely, beautiful, sexy assistant was there taking notes and talking business with the old men. He would occasionally chip into the conversation if he was listening, which wasn’t very often.

He felt like he was falling asleep but suddenly his mind was set into overdrive when he felt her hand slide across his lap. He turned his face to look at (Y/N) but she was still focused on taking notes, occasionally looking up at the ones who were talking across the table. His eyes burned holes into the side of her head, he grabbed her hand under the desk and pushed it off him. He may not have cared for what they were saying, but he certainly didn’t want them commenting on that fact that she was prepared to get him off in the middle of a business meeting.

He saw her smirk but she didn’t look at him, she just returned her hand back to his lap, moving closer and closer to his crotch. He grit his teeth, still staring at her. He held onto her wrist while her hand worked over him, but her touch had a hold over him that he could never escape. It was like she cast some sort of spell over him, her touch injected a sort of potion into him that made him succumb to her fingers.

Max managed to turn his head from her, now trying to actually listen to what was being said, trying to distract himself for her hand. It was gentle to start off with, rubbing slow and light circles around his crotch, that much he could handle, but then she began to press harder against him, practically grabbing his dick through his trousers. He had to hold back his moans, he couldn’t react. He would never be able to come back from it if anyone noticed what was happening. But Max was pretty good at hiding his reactions.

She started talking, asking something about something that Max didn’t much care about in that moment, amazed at how she could talk as though nothing was happening under the table. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t done this to her countless times, she was less good and hiding her reactions to his touch.

Her thumb swiped over the head of his dick and he let a moan slip from his lips that made the room go silent. He quickly covered it with a cough but he could see (Y/N) giving him such a smug look that she hand managed to break him. “Did you want to add something Mr Lord?” She asked in a sweet and innocent voice, moving her thumb in that one area around his tip. His grip on her wrist tightened.

“N-no” he stuttered. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together “no, I don’t” he said a little more firmly.

“Are you alright, Mr Lord?” One of the men asked “you look a little bit flushed”

Max shot her a look that clearly shouted “fuck you”, but she played it off as though she was concerned for him “you do look a little bit red in the face. Are you feeling okay Maxwell?” She asked.

“I’ve got a headache” he mumbled to her. Her thumb sped up and he could feel himself nearing his end, he would not come here. He yanked her hand off him.

“Perhaps you should go back to your office then. I’ll stay here and finish the meeting” she said sweetly as she leaned over and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. He gave her another look and stood, storming out of the meeting room, hoping no one would see his situation in his trousers.

He made his way quickly to his office and slumped into his chair. He had to finish. He didn’t know how long that meeting would last for and he couldn’t wait for her to get to his office. He let out a groan and quickly pulled himself out of his trousers and boxers and began to work his hand on his length. His head rolled back against his chair and his eyes slid shut. His mind being filled with images of her. Imaging it was her hand still on him, her perfect hand working up and down his dick, occasionally sucking on his tip, pulling him closer to the edge.

“Fuck...(Y/N)” he swore quietly. He could feel his climax building up again. He was so fucking close.

“M-Mr Lord?” Came a timid voice from out side his office. His eyes shot open and he lifted his head to look at the door, luckily it was still closed.

“Fuck” he growled as he pushed himself back into his boxers and moved himself so this his bottom half was hidden by his desk “what?” He yelled. The door open and his second assistant poked her head into his office “what do you want?”

“Um...I’m-I’m sorry to disturb you b-but (Y/N) said that I should check on you? She-she said you weren’t feeling w-well” she stuttered out as she looked at him, his face as black as thunder. He was not happy.

“I’m fine. Has that fucking meeting finished?” He grumbled to her.

“N-no sir. I don’t this s-so” she told him “but I can come and t-tell you when it has”

“Do that, and get out” she nodded and quickly left his office. She defiantly knew what she was doing. Playing a very dangerous game with a very dangerous man. He wouldn’t let her win, she was not going to win, but he was going to be gracious enough to let her have her fun before he completely ruined her.

-

(Y/N) sat at her desk, looking through her note book at times and dates of certain events that Max was to attend, changing dates accordingly. Her phone began to ring. She lifted her head in slight confusion and looked at the clock on the wall in front of her and smirked, she knew exactly who it was calling her. Every call that was made from that phone was planned to the second, anything that was unplanned could only come from one person, Maxwell.

She took her time in answering the phone. Slowly bringing it up to her ear “Maxwell Lord’s office” she answered in a sultry tone.

“Get your ass to my office right now” he ordered down the phone.

“Oh Maxwell, I don’t think that’s a respectable way to talk to your assistant” she said to him.

“Cut the shit (Y/N) , get your ass in here now” the line went dead and she let out a laugh. She loved when he got all worked up, she knows it will lead to something good, mind blowing sex.

She sauntered to his office on her way there she past Emilia, a young girl who had been hired as a sort of second assistant for Max, because that man had to much and needed more then one pair of hands to help him in his business. One who focused solely on his business rather than helping him in his other needs as (Y/N) did.

“Emilia” she smiled as she stopped her in the hallway outside Max’s office.

“O-Oh (Y/N)” she smiled. She had always been timid, perfect for Max’s manipulative ways. But not if (Y/N) had anything to do with it. If she knew that Max was treating someone badly within his company, she would put him in his place, she knew he would never say no to her. He was submissive to her at times, especially when it came to making her happy, mainly because she would use her puppy eyes and other means to get her way. “M-Mr Lord wanted to see you I think. He asked if your meeting was finished”

“That’s where I’m heading now. He called me and said he wanted to talk to me about something. Can’t think what it would be” she shrugged. But of course she knew what he wanted, to get pay back for teasing him relentlessly all day.

“Oh, w-well” she shifted the folder she was pressing against her chest “he-he seems a little...angry. On edge. I think something has upset him”

“Oh he’s just being a big baby. Don’t worry yourself about him, I can deal with Maxwell” she assured the young girl “he didn’t say anything to you did he? He didn’t do anything?”

“N-no, he didn’t. He just...he got a bit snappy with me when I went to see him because you asked me too...but it’s nothing I’m not used to by now”

“I’ll talk to him for you” (Y/N) smiled.

“Oh no, please it’s okay”

“It’s not okay. I’ll talk to him for you” (Y/N) didn’t say anything more and simply turned away and continued towards Max’s office.

She came to his door and knocked gently three times on it hearing a harsh “fuck off” from inside. Clearly he had thought it was someone else. But she didn’t listen to his words, she opened his door and saw him moping at his desk, his arms folded over his chest with a dark cloud floating over his head.

“I thought you wanted me to get my ass to your office” she said closing the door behind her, to which she was then slammed against it, her wrists being pinned above her head. She couldn’t help but smile, it was already starting.

“What are you playing at today?” He growled to her while attacking her neck viciously, biting and sucking at her skin.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about” she said, trying to hold herself together, not wanting to succumb to his dominant aura so soon, but she could feel the wetness growing between her legs.

“Don’t play dumb with me baby girl,” he snarled “your been fucking with me all goddamn day. Ever since I woke up” she pressed her thighs together when he squeezed her wrists and bumped his nose with hers “this is what you wanted?” He asked her quietly “you wanted me to get mad so I would fuck you so fucking hard” she bit her bottom lip and looked at him through her lashes. He slid one hand down her arm, taking it slow, goosebumps rising on her skin. His hand continued down her body and slipped in between her legs, sliding his finger over her wet panties “so wet...”

“You want to taste?” She breathed to him. She saw a devious twinkle in his eyes as he pulled her off the door and dragged her over to his desk. He sat her on his desk, reaching behind her to brush off any paper on the desk, making room for when he would eventually bend her over and fuck her senseless.

He smashed his lips against hers, her hands moving into his hair, pulling at the dirty blonde strands. His hand slid up her skirt, rolling it up to her hips. His fingers hooked into her panties and pulled them down her legs, shoving them into his blazer pocket, he didn’t plan on giving them back to her anytime soon. She kicked off her shoes, sending them tumbling to the floor.

His tongue stroked over her bottom lip and she smirked, and pulled her face from his. He chased after her lips but was met with her finger instead. She dragged it down his chin and down his neck “I want your tongue somewhere else” she whispered to him.

“Fuck” he muttered. He immediately fell to his knees in front of her, shoving her legs apart. He waisted no time in attaching his mouth to her wetness. She had him right where she wanted him, submitting to her every word like the good boy he was.

“Maxwell~” she moaned, her rested one hand behind her to steady herself on his desk while the other stroked over his hair, her fingers then gliding through the strands. He ate her like he was a starved man. Like he hadn’t eaten anything in years and she was his first meal. He gripped her thighs, holding them apart, his face fully buried between them, his tongue viciously attacking her clit making her hips jump of his desk. “Shit...fuck Max, you’re so good”

She felt him smile against her, his nose pressing against her skin as he sucked her clit. She groaned loudly and began rolling her hips against his mouth “such a good boy for me aren’t you baby, eating me out so good. You’re mouth is fucking heaven”

“You taste like heaven” he hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her further against him. His tongue slipped into her hole and she cried out his name.

“Max! Oh Max, baby you’re so fucking good” she gripped his hair tightly in her hand as he continued to assault her wetness. “I can’t wait till I have your dick inside me, ripping me open, making me scream while you fuck me over your desk...” He groaned loudly against her sending vibrations threw her body, his boxers were far to tight around his crotch but he couldn’t pull away from her, she tasted too good “but I want to come from your mouth, I want to fuck your mouth because I know how much you love it, you dirty fucking boy”

“Yes..” he groaned “fuck my mouth...use me”

“Oh I will baby, you’re mine you use aren’t you” she smirked.

“Yes. Yes I’m yours to use” he nodded. He could feel she was close, her grip on his hair tightened every second, her moans getting louder and louder and her hips began to stutter.

“Fuck, fuck baby I’m gonna come. Gonna come all over your fucking face”

“Yes” he begged against her “come for me, let me taste you”

It wasn’t much longer as she came screaming his name “Max!” She yelled. He happily sucked down her juices that leaked from her, not stopping until she was shaking and whimpering.

She pulled his head off her by his hair and stared down into his dark eyes, his face flushed red, his mouth dripping with drool as it hung open. “Such a sight for me” she praised, “look at you, a fucking mess just from eating me out, what if anyone were to see you like this? On your knees, drooling, panting...”

“I don’t care what people think” he whispered “let them know that I belong to you...that I am your slave and you are my queen”

She smiled and leaned closer to him. She grabbed his jaw and he whimpered slightly. She then proceeded to spit into his mouth, the saliva slowly dripping onto his tongue. He shivered slightly and his eyes fluttered shut as he collected it all on his tongue “swallow for me baby” she whispered to him. He did happily. He gulped down her spit and leaned up to kiss her. “Fuck, I love you” she whispered softly to him.

“I love you too” he said. He stood and pulled her off his desk “have you had your fun now?” He asked her.

She nodded “now it’s your turn”

“I’m going to fucking break you” he whispered darkly against her lips.

She went limp against his chest at his words, shivering at his tone “yes” she said a little louder then the wanted to “fucking ruin me Max”

His hand slipped down to her sensitive folds and grabbed her roughly in his hand making her yelp “what?” He asked her.

“Hmm fuck, daddy, I’m sorry. Daddy..ruin me please” She begged, correcting herself.

“That’s better” he gave her lips another quick kiss. He slapped her pussy making her jump and grab his shoulders. “On your knees” he ordered. She complied immediately, falling to her knees with a soft thud. She looked up at him with innocent eyes. “I’m not doing it for you”

Her hands immediately flew to his concealed dick, palming it through the fabric of his trousers before pulling off his belt and unzipping his trousers pulling them down slightly and fishing his length out of his black boxers. She whimpered at the sight, he was hard, dripping with pre come from eating her out. Her tongue shot out of her mouth and licked a long stripe up his shaft and circling around the head of his dick. “Hmm fuck baby” he hummed, his fingers gripping her hair, pulling it into a messy ponytail. He pushed her onto his length, the tip of it hitting the back of her throat. She gagged around him and grabbed his thighs. “You suck daddy’s dick so good” he complimented.

She managed a whimper and a nod as her tongue worked his shaft. She hallowed out her cheeks a few times and moved one of her hands to play with his balls. “Fuck” he hissed out.

She pulled off him briefly to catch her breath before pulling him back into her mouth, drool dripping out of her mouth as he fucked her mouth. He moaned deeply as his fingers dug into her scalp. “Fuck baby, you’re so good for daddy” he groaned. “Your mouth is so fucking wet, daddy’s dick will be dripping”

She could only hum against his dick. She would gag when his dick hit the back of her throat but she didn’t have enough time to care, she was too focused on his moans and words of praise to care. “Do you want daddy to come in this perfect mouth?” He asked. She nodded her head and he pulled her off him, drool spilling from her mouth and sliding down to her neck “say it” he ordered.

“Yes daddy, please come in my mouth. Make me swallow it. I want to taste you like you tasted me. Come down my throat daddy” she whined.

He pulled her back onto him and his hips began snapping into her mouth. She whined and whimpered and he moaned her name. “Daddy’s gonna come baby” he groaned. Tears were falling from her eyes and her tongue stoked over his slit and he came into her mouth, his come shooting out in ropes down her throat. “Fuck baby” he whispered as he pulled out of her.

He looked down at her and saw flushed face “swallow for me baby” he repeated her earlier words and watched as she struggled in swallowing down his come, her throat in slight pain but nothing to serious that she thought to tell him. “Good girl” he hummed as he took her chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting her head up so he was looking into her watering eyes. “Such a good girl for daddy. Always such a good girl”

“Yes daddy..I’ll always be your good girl” she whimpered. He pulled her to her feet and pushed her over his desk, her ass sticking up in the air. She squeaked at his sudden action. He pushed her skirt back up her thighs over her ass.

He let out a pleased hum as he massaged her ass cheeks. “Look at this, this perfect ass” she yelped when he landed a harsh slap on her left cheek “all mine”

“Yes daddy...all yours, I’m all yours” she whimpered when he slapped her again. He spread her legs and ran his fingers through her folds. She gripped the edge of his desk when he pushed two fingers inside her. “M-Max” she stuttered, he slapped her again “daddy!” She cried out. He spread his fingers inside her, stretching her out, making her moan. “Shit...daddy, fuck me..please I want your dick inside me!” She begged. He curled his fingers inside her and her thighs began to shake “fuck! Please! Please daddy!” She cried.

“I love when you beg for me” he mumbled in her ear as he grabbed a handful of her ass tightly. He stroked her wall and she moaned loudly, her mouth hanging open and her eyes closed. “Ooh, are you going to come baby?” He teased when he felt her walls clenching around his fingers.

“Yes..yes daddy” she whimpered. He pulled out his fingers and she screamed, bucking her hips back looking for friction. “Max!” She screamed. She choked on her voice when he shoved his dick into her and immediately started to slam his hips into her. “Fuck!” She yelled.

“Fuck, you’re so wet” he groaned. His hips were snapping into her at lightning speed, she couldn’t keep up, her moans were delayed and she was becoming short of breath. Max always had a way with his hips, he was always in complete control of himself and his actions no matter what. That was one thing she hated. She hated how easy it was for him to tease her, to go from a blinding speed to pretty much stopping, pulling out of her slowly. She hated that she always lost control when she was with him but she could never make him do the same.

Like now. He slowed his hips, not completely but his thrusts were now painfully slow “Max..” she whimpered “please...I want to come”

“I know you do baby. But I’ll only let you come if you’re a good girl. You need to do as daddy says” he whispered to her “hold it in”

She groaned when he pulled fully out of her and slammed back into her. “I want to be a good girl” she whimpered to herself “I’m your good girl”

“Yes you are” he praised her, he took a tight hold on her hips. His thrusts built up speed again and the head of his dick brushed against the sweet spot inside her that always sent her mad. Her thighs began to shake and her knuckles turned white from gripping his desk so tightly.

Her walls pulsed around his length and her moans were broken, her throat felt like it was tightening from her screams and cries of pleasure. “You’re so loud” he smirked “I bet the whole building can hear your screams”

“Let them” she whimpered “let them hear how good you make me feel daddy”

“There’s a good girl” his grip tightened on her hips, sure to leave bruises there but she didn’t much care about that. She could feel his dick twitching inside her, hitting against the sweet spot inside her “baby, I’m so close” he groaned.

“Come in me daddy!” She cried out “fill me up! Make it drip out of me!”

“You always know what to say” he praised. He slapped her ass a few more times making her jump slightly with each slap. By this point her eyes were streaming with tears of sweet torture. “Do you want to come baby?”

“Yes!” She screamed immediately “yes daddy! I want to come so bad!”

“Come with me baby, come all over daddy. Let me feel how your sweet pussy clenches around my dick”

“Fuck Max!” She cried out as the waves of pleasure cascaded over her body, making every fibre of her being shake violently. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He came shortly after, shooting his hot come into her, filling her up.

He slowed his thrusts to a stop and slowly pulled out of her, loving the way his come dropped out of her and slipped down her thighs. “So beautiful” he commented. He looked at her for a few moments more before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and using it to clean her abused wetness. She squeaked when he pressed the silk fabric to her sensitive folds. Once she was clean, he cleaned himself and tucked himself away and zipped up his trousers.

He carefully pulled her weak body of his desk and turned her around, holding her in his arms. Max looked over her face, tears stained her cheeks, her eyes were closed and her mouth still hung open, letting out soft pants. He pressed a kiss to her open mouth and she managed a smile “was I too rough baby?” He asked her quietly.

She shook her head “no” she whispered. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting his gaze “it was great”

“You are great” he told her “you’re the best. I love you so much”

“I love you too” She brought her hands up to his cheeks when he kissed her deeply. His hands flattening on her back, enjoying the feeling of her lips moving gracefully along with his.

“Can I just marry you now?” He asked her.

“Just two more months baby” she giggled “and then I’ll be yours forever”

“I can’t wait” he smiled “I’m gonna fuck you so good on our wedding night”

“I bet you are. And I bet you will every night of our honeymoon too”

“You know it baby. I hope you don’t get bored”

“Never,” she assured him “you always excite me” he kissed her again “but I do need to ask you something”

“Anything” He said, trailing his kisses down her neck.

“Will you please be nicer to Emilia? Poor girl is scared stiff”

He chuckled as pulled his lips off her “that’s what you want to talk about after sex?”

“Well no, but I thought I’d bring it up. You should be a bit nicer to her, she might quit otherwise”

“You think people are brave enough to quit on me?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You think I won’t?” She retorted.

“I hope you don’t”

“Then don’t give me a reason to”

“I won’t” he pressed his lips to her again in a more gentle kiss. Her words had put genuine fear into his body. He didn’t want to loose her.

She cupped his cheeks gently in her hands and pulled his face off hers “you know I won’t leave you right?”

“I know” he nodded “and I won’t ever leave you. So what was with today?”

She just shrugged and let out a soft giggle “just thought I’d have a little fun with you today”

“Hmm, well,” he kissed her again “Do I get to have a little fun with you tomorrow”

“I’m inclined to say yes, but I know I’ll regret it”

“You won’t regret it baby” he mumbled as he trailed his lips back down her neck “I’ll make sure of it”

Masterlist

14/05/20

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord fanfic #wonder women 1984 #ww1984 #fluff #smut #pedro pascal #fanfic

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 5

Title: Neighbours

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

The ‘to do list’ is long and lengthy but not unmanageable.

Inside and outside decorations, picking out a tree and having it dropped off the next day, last minute presents and stocking stuffers to grab, a massive grocery list that includes the usual staples and the ‘extras’ that always make their appearance at Christmas time. The convenience of a big city is one thing she’s always missed; malls with everything you need under one roof, strips of your favorite, eclectic little shops, delivery for everything under the sun. Never having to own a car; Uber and taxis summoned with just one phone call, the subway just a block away. The younger Esme...the one fresh off a shitty first marriage...had loved every second in New York City. That spacious loft -with its exposed brick walls and industrial lighting and Juliet balcony- in Brooklyn, the Broadway shows she’d attend, the high end shops like Tiffany’s, Chanel, and Prada that she’d do little more than browse in; dreaming about all the things she would buy if she was ever fortunate enough to have money to burn. Trips to Central Park; reading a book or sipping a latte while sitting on the edge of the fountain or treating herself to lunch at Tavern on the Green. She’d never been bored; filling every minute of her free time with something new to experience. Taking the subway into different ethnic areas; trying new foods and drink and buying newly discovered -to her- spices and intriguing ingredients to try out at home. And while she’d been alone, she’d never been lonely; always finding ways to keep herself busy.

While it’s nice to come back and spend time in the BIg Apple, she no longer misses it with such intensity. THAT Esme..the one who’d lived in that loft apartment and who’d window shop at the high end retailers...no longer exists. She died almost thirteen years ago; her life coming to end on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It had been time; out with the old, in with the new. And there’d been something so incredibly empowering about it; never returning to either the city or Colorado and having her step father pack up the necessities and ship them to her. Many people would consider it foolish; throwing a somewhat stable and comfortable life away for something so different. A country on the other side of the world, a man she barely knew yet her heart was certain she was in love with, a tiny and cramped apartment outside of Sydney with barely any clothes in the closet and only second hand, mismatched furniture to decorate the place. But it had turned out to be everything she’d wanted; a change in pace and scenery and a life she never knew she was missing out on. That man she barely knew outside of sex quickly proving to be the love of her life; not just a lover, eventual spouse and baby daddy, but her best friend. The one and only person she truly trusted; who’d been so willing to give up his life to save hers and made her feel safe and protected...and LOVED...in ways she’d never experienced before.

Australia quickly became home. Despite the lingering issues from Dhaka -the slow healing process and the financial issues and the worry of retaliation IF word ever got out that he had survived- they’d been happy. Not needing much; enjoying those evenings on the couch, watching television and eating ice cream right out of the container, those trips -as a couple and then newlyweds and eventually with a tiny Millie in her daddy’s arms, the long and quiet -and often post coital- conversations that had become their norm. They’d gone through a hell of an ordeal together; forming a bond that other people simply couldn’t understand. Both of them could have easily died that day; Tyler from his injuries, her due to the decision she’d made to stick around in an effort to keep him alive. After that, they’d sworn to never take a single second for granted; enjoying the ‘getting to know you’ process even as a newly married couple and her with a baby growing in her belly. It hadn’t been a conventional start to things; those five days in that cramped and dirty hotel room in Dhaka followed by an unexpected little bundle and her decision to give up her old life. But it had worked. THEY had worked. Despite all the odds stacked against them and everything that said they shouldn’t. The ordeal they’d survived giving them an appreciation of each other; putting down that foundation of respect and mutual awe that everything else could -and would- be built upon.

As amazing as it all sounds -finding the love of your life, discovering your own slice of paradise, starting a family- it’s work. Love and everything that comes with it is a lot of work, in fact. It’s arguments over both stupid shit and important issues; it’s hurt and anger and bitterness due to miscommunication or simply not taking the others feelings into considering. It’s learning how the other works and functions so you can be the one to provide comfort, stability, and aid; patience and deep rooted concern and the desire to keep them safe and healthy driving you.

Lust is one thing; immense physical attraction extremely important and definitely an added bonus. But at the end of the day, it’s other forms of intimacy that keep things alive and well; the simple act of holding hands while sitting on the couch or even driving in the car, the unexpected hugs and kisses, the little things you do for one another without even thinking, the teasing and the laughter and the conversations. It’s one thing to love someone and physically WANT them, it’s another to actually ENJOY them; their company and their smile and the sound of their voice and the way they cheer you up even on the worst days. How they talk you through hard times and how quick they are to dry your tears and want to make things right; willing to do anything and everything within their power to make you happy and to feel wanted and appreciated. It’s all those things that keep things going even when they feel like they’re falling apart.

******

“Mum!” TJ calls, as he bounds down the stairs and through the immense space that make up the living and dining areas; an easy and clean flow directly into the counter. “Check it out! You gotta see my outfit?”

With a mug of tea pressed to her lips, she glances up from the spiral notebook in front of her. It’s one of many that usually take up residence in one of the kitchen drawers; a different colour cover indicating which kid it is assigned to, two for things that are needed when it comes to household items and repairs, another for things like groceries and personal products. She’s always been organized, but something ‘snapped’ over the course of the last five years; an obsessive of sorts when it comes to keeping affairs in order.

“What the heck are you wearing?” she inquires, as her oldest son sprints through the living and dining area and then uses his socks to allow him to slide the rest of the way. An almost victorious and proud grin on his face when he comes to a stop against the island. His outfit of choice is an eyebrow raiser; jogging pants enormous and incredibly baggy, a hoodie at least four sizes too big, a black knit beanie on his head.

“It’s my New York City look. For the mean streets. You like it?”

She grins and sips her tea. “The mean streets, huh? There’s nothing quite as dark and dangerous as the vicious and cold, dark alleys of Gramercy Park.”

“It’s bad ass. New York City. Maybe not exactly where we live, but…”

“You’re pretty far removed from the bad assery of The Big Apple, but I admire your spirit. If I ever find myself getting mugged or having to walk down a dark street at two in the morning, I know who to call.”

“I’d protect you, mum. I don’t care how big and bad someone is. I’d kick their ass for you. Or at least try to.”

“And THAT is why you’re my favorite. Although don’t tell your brothers and sisters; that’ll cause too much drama.”

“Your secret is safe with me. OUR secret.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek. “What’cha doing?”

“Lists. One of many. Things we need in the house and things we need to do.” She eyes him from head to toe, mug against her lips. "Is that your dad’s hoodie? AND his pants?”

“He let me have them. I asked if he had anything old I could wear; that he wasn’t going to use anymore. This is what he gave me.”

“You do realize he’s more than a foot taller than you and about...I don’t know...a hundred pounds heavier.”

“I weigh a hundred pounds now. Dad’s like one eighty.”

“He was one eighty five when he got out of the hospital. Five years ago. He’s two ten now. Soaking wet. And you’re five feet? Since when?”

“Since yesterday. I had Tanner measure me.”

“You have a lot of damn nerve, kid. Being only half an inch shorter than me. At TEN.”

“I share DNA with a giant. Dad’s six three. I’ve got more of his genes than yours.”

“Yes, I know. I see more and more of those genes every day. You’re looking more like him all the time. And don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing. A VERY good thing. But five feet? Already? What the hell?”

“I can’t help it. Blame genetics.”

“You’re going to be massive. You’re probably going to be taller than your dad. And if you keep lifting weights like you do and you start going heavier as you get older, you’ll be huge by sixteen. A good huge. It’s depressing. You’re depressing me.”

“Sorry, mummy.” He kisses her cheek once more, then joking places his forearm on the top of her head. “You’re going to make a good arm rest. Thanks for being absurdly short.”

“Don’t be a smart ass. I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”

“Dad says the tiniest ones are always the most feisty. I think that’s why he fell in love with you; you’re little but you don’t take any shit. Even from him.”

“He likes a challenge, that’s for sure.”

Sipping her tea, she watches him as he heads for the fridge; rummaging through it before coming up with a container of some of the baked goods Tanner had already blessed the family with, and a bottle of Gatorade. He even walks like his father; those gigantic feet and that long, slightly bow legged gait. TJ is more awkward; stuck at the stage between still being a child, yet quickly nearing his teenage years. And he’s become far more mature since hitting double digits; still possessing that extremely active and almost hyper personality, but prone to more serious and thoughtful moments. And at times he looks years older; when his eyes darken and his lips set into a thin, serious line and his brow furrows. So much of his dad exists in him. Both inside AND out. And that smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and slightly wrinkles the bridge of his nose. It’s on his face now; as he opens the lid on the container of treats and sets it -and his drink- on the counter top before fetching the pot of tea from the stove and warming up the contents of her mug.

“You certainly are my best son,” she chides. It’s only PARTLY a joke. Although at times he can be quite the handful and his ability to regulate his emotions and temper can cause issues both at home and at school, he’s a wonderful kid; loving so deeply and profoundly.

“Tanner wanted me to give you this,” he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and pulls out a folded sheet of printer paper. “Things he needs. For his baking. He’s really good, huh? At the whole baking and cooking thing? Like, INSANELY good.”

“He’s quite the talent,” Esme agrees. “But so are YOU. You’ve got your own things you’re amazing at.”

“But not like him. He’s crazy smart and he can play the guitar and sing and all this baking and making dinner and stuff. He’s like a dude Martha Stewart! You know what he should do? Start a Youtube channel. People would LOVE him. People are suckers for a cute kid.”

“Well, you know Tanner; how nervous and anxious and shy he gets. You should bring it up to him. If anyone can talk him into something, it’s his big brother. He idolizes you.”

“I don’t know why. I’m not THAT great.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty damn awesome in my books. And you’re a really good big brother. You should talk to him. He’d be willing to try, I bet. Maybe it’s something you could do together. He’d love that. He loves spending time with you. And I know it’s been hard; him going to a different school.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best thing that’s ever happened,” TJ laments, and helps himself to one of the peanut butter and chocolate squares in the container. “It’s been four years and I STILL miss him. I loved having him in my class. And I loved hanging out with him at lunch and at recess. And sitting with him on the bus.”

“It was a hard decision to make. But it was the best decision. For him.”

“Yeah, my school isn’t exactly an intellectual wonderland. He’s better off where he is. With other brainiacs like him. But still, I do miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too. But you get a lot of time together. At home and stuff. And I always love Fridays; the bus dropping him off at your school and you guys coming to see me at the store. Hanging out until I close. Hands down my favorite day of the week.”

TJ smiles. “Mine too.”

“And I thought I was organized,” she comments, as she studies Tanner’s very neat and tidy list.

“He’s kinda anal, huh? About some things? I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just that he’s very…”

“Particular?”

TJ nods. “You know, I wish he’d see himself the way I see him. He’s always worried that he’s weird and that people don’t like him because of it. He always talks about how his brain isn’t like everyone else’s and that he wishes it was. You know what I wish? That more people were like Tanner. Because he’s talented and he’s unique and he sees the world so differently than everyone else. I know he struggles with some stuff, but it’s not a bad thing; him being the way he is. Sometime I think he’s better off than all of us.”

“Unfortunately, self hate seems to be a genetic trait as well. Who does that remind you of? Who else sees themselves in a bad light?”

“Yeah, dad is pretty good at that. Not liking who he is. I don’t why; I think he can be kinda awesome.”

“I think he can too. He’s just had a rough time. For a LONG time. He’s working on it. On a lot of things. But you know what’s really amazing at? Being a dad. I’m pretty lucky. I landed myself a pretty incredible guy. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. And as for Tanner, maybe you should tell him what you just told me. Because I guarantee you, if he heard that from his big brother? It would mean the world to him. He needs to hear stuff like that. Tell him, okay?” She rubs her palm in slow circles in the middle of his back. “It would make his day. Probably his whole year.”

“I will. I’ll tell him. Do you think he’ll live alone? Away from you and dad?”

“I don’t know,” Esme admits, and cupping her mug in both hands, turns around and leans back against the countertop. “Your dad and I talk about it from time to time. If Tanner will ever get to that stage. If he doesn’t…” she shrugs. “...he doesn’t. I mean, he could live in the pool house. He’d be close enough to home so if he did need help, we’d be right there.”

“What if he lived with me? If we got a place together? When we’re old enough, of course. Say when we’re nineteen. And I’ve got a good job. Like in the military or something.”

“That’s a lot to take on, Teej. A career like that and your brother. Would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s Tanner. He’s my baby brother. And not just any baby brother. We were made at the same time. We came out only a few minutes apart. I spent nine months with him; inside of you. Why wouldn’t I want to be with him?”

“A lot will change over the next nine, ten years. You might get tired of him by then.”

“I am NEVER getting tired of him. He’s my brother. I love him. And if it gives you and dad a break after taking care of him for so long, that’s good enough for me.”

“You are something else, Baby-Man. You really are. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“I know you do. And I like that you still call me that. Even if I AM almost taller than you.”

“You know, you’ve been so cute and helpful these last few days, that I will ignore your cheap shot. You really ARE your dad. Head to toe. Inside and out. Facial expressions and everything. It’s freaky.��� She turns and helps herself to one of the treats; a chocolate concoction with marshmallows and coconut inside and a coating made from crushed up Frosted Flakes. “You know, I craved these for my entire pregnancy with you and Tanner. Your dad used to make them for me. Dozens at a time. He’d even get up at three am to do it. Or to go get tacos. That’s probably why you like Mexican food so much.”

TJ’s eyes widen. “Dad used to bake? At three am?”

“At all hours of the day. He’s actually really good at it. These were my favourite. He made them for me; my first birthday after we got married. We had just had Millie and we didn’t have a lot of money to throw around but he still managed to make it special. Australian wildflowers, a picnic on the beach, and these. It was pretty awesome. One of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Spent with my favorite human.”

“Dad really DOES have his moments.”

“Yeah, he really does.” Esme smiles, and takes a bite of the square. “You know, your grandma used to make these things.”

“Like mean, awful grandma or grandma Adeline?”

“Grandma Adeline. Your dad’s mom. She was quite the baker. Tanner must have inherited that from her. I know Declan got her red hair.”

“That must have been really hard. On dad. Her dying when he was little.”

“It was.” She sips at her tea and picks up the long discarded pen; absentmindedly doodling in the notebook as she speaks. “ It caused a lot of issues for him. It was pretty painful for him.”

“He still doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“It hurts. Even now. But he’s coming around. It’s not as hard for him anymore.”

“Is it true that grandpa used to beat on him? I heard him and Uncle Koen talking about it. A couple years ago. Dad seemed pretty upset. He normally doesn’t cry in front of anyone BUT you. He was kinda emotional.”

“It is true. Unfortunately. Your grandpa was a drunk and he was a narcissist and he hated his wife for having a child. It took the attention from him. Which I know sounds really weird and twisted. But that’s what happened. And when she was alive, he couldn’t stand her loving on your dad and spending time with him. So he took it out on her; beating her and saying mean things to her. Your dad used to have to listen. Sometimes grandpa would make your dad watch. Said it was to teach him how to ‘treat a woman’ and make them ‘learn their place.”

“I’m glad dad didn’t listen. For your sake. And his. I think you’d beat his ass if he ever did stuff like that to you.”

“I definitely would. And he knows it too. But, your dad isn’t like that. He isn’t the type to treat women like that. I know he has his issues, but THAT? He would never, ever, stoop to that level. It’s just not the kind of person he is.”

“Do you think that’s why dad DOES have the issues he does? The brain stuff? Because of how he got treated as a kid?”

“I don’t think it’s the only reason why, but it definitely added to it. You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. About mental health stuff. What’s going on? You’re ten. You don’t need to worry about this. Your dad is fine. He’s doing great. A lot better than anyone thought he would. So why…?”

“I gave him shit,” TJ says, then gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I mean ‘crap’. I gave him crap.”

“You gave your dad crap about something? That’s pretty bold. What did he do that pissed you off?

“ I told him it was wrong. That he went away. To work. That he shouldn’t have gone.”

“TJ, why would you…?”

“You wouldn’t have done it. Given him crap for it. And I know you wanted to. I know you lied. When you told him you were okay with it. You didn’t tell him the truth, mum. You just told him what he wanted to hear.”

“Sometimes we do that,” Esme reluctantly admits. “When we love someone and we don’t want to ruffle feathers. Your dad’s come a long way. He used to be gone all the time. He was off doing jobs more than he was home with us. And I know you probably don’t remember all of that because you were so young; the missed birthdays and anniversaries. The time he couldn’t get home for Christmas. You were only three, but…”

“I was little but I DO remember. And you always acted like you were okay with it. But then he’d leave and you’d be a wreck. Just like you were this time.”

“I wasn’t a wreck. I was nervous and I was worried and…”

“Mum, you don’t have to lie to me. I heard you crying. When you thought all of us were asleep. I KNOW you were having a bad time. With dad being gone.”

“You know what? You’re right. I was. Normally I’m okay with it; I can handle him going away as long as he stays out of harm's way. But knowing he’d walked into it? It DID bother me. That he’d been so willing to help out Anil. Especially after what happened the last time he went and got his hands dirty.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell him that? That you didn’t want him doing it? That you didn’t want him going away?”

“It’s not that easy, TJ. Sometimes it’s not my place. I can’t actually tell him what he can’t and can’t do. In the same way he can’t do that with me. And when Anil called and said he needed the help…”

“He should have said no. Anil knows tons of people. Why did he need dad? He could have called someone else.”

“Your dad is very good at what he does. Or what he DID do. One of the best. And I know it sounds strange; to be proud of a job like that. To be so willing to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. But when Anil called and needed his help, your dad couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Yes, he could have,” TJ insists. “He promised. That he’d never go away again. That he’d never go back out there after the bad guys. He promised ALL of us. And totally broke that.”

“Sometimes it happens. Sometimes he can’t help it. Sometimes…”

“Stop making excuses for him. When one of us screws up, you don’t let us give you excuses. So why do you let dad give them? There’s no reason he had to go. At all. He should have told Anil to get someone else.”

“You know, we are going to have to agree to disagree on this. I said it was okay. If he went. There’s nothing more to talk about. So let’s just drop this, okay? You don’t know what’s talked about; between your dad and I. We keep you guys out of it. For reasons exactly like this.”

“You lied to dad. When you told him you were okay with it. You weren’t. You were far from okay. And I told him that. That you had a really hard time. That you didn’t deserve to go through that. It’s not fair, mummy. That he goes and does stuff like that. I don’t care that Anil needed. WE need him. Us kids. He’s our dad. What happens if he gets killed? Then we have no dad.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get killed.”

“He will if he keeps doing stupid shit like this. You should just be honest with him. Tell him how you really feel about him going away. ‘Cause if he thinks it’s okay, he’s going to keep doing it more and more. And then something really bad is going to happen. Worse than last time. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him going away and…” TJ’s voice cracks with emotion. “...I don’t want him going away and never coming home.”

“Tyler...hey…” she lays a hand on the side of his face “...it’s okay...just take a breath and…”

“It’s not okay. It’s never been okay. It’s never going to be okay. And if he goes away and something happens to him, I’ll hate him forever. If something bad happens to him and he never comes back, I’ll never forgive him. For doing that to us. For doing that to you.”

“Okay, I know you’re upset. And I love you so much for wanting to protect me. But right now, you just need to calm down and take it easy, alright? I know you’re going through a lot. I know puberty is starting to come and kick your ass and it’s making everything seem so much worse and…”

“Just tell him,” TJ implores, and noisily sniffles before wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Just tell him you don’t want him to go. Tell him, mummy. So he doesn’t think it’s okay to leave again. Because he’ll go and something horrible will happen. And then we don’t have a dad. And we’ll barely have a mum. ‘Cause it’ll kill you. If something goes wrong and he doesn’t come back.”

“You need to to just breathe, Baby-Man,” she steps in front of him and takes his face in her hands. “ Just breathe. Everything is alright. Daddy’s home and he’s safe and he’s not going anywhere. It was just this one time. He won’t have to do that again.”

“You need to tell him. That you don’t want him going. Please, mummy. Please tell him.”

“Okay,” she promises, and draws him into a hug. Heart aching at the realization that her arms can no longer completely wrap around him; shoulders and back both broad and strong. “Everything’s alright, TJ.” She lays a hand on the back of his head and draws it down to her shoulder, the other rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how I feel; about him going away. About how ALL of us feel. Alright?”

He nods.

“Why don’t you go and get some fresh air,” she suggests. “It will make you feel better.”

“You promise you’ll talk to him?”

“I promise.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then holds him out at arms length. “Maybe afterwards we can take the littles for a walk? You know how much Takota loves when you pull him in the sled. It’ll be good; to go and get a bit of exercise. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You are getting so big. How do you grow up so fast? I remember finding out about you and your brother. I remember when you were born. All seven pounds of you. Now look. In a month's time, you WILL be taller than me. You’re already wearing mens size nine shoes. You’re TEN.”

“That’s what happens when your dad’s a giant, I guess.”

“You used to always call him that when you were little. You’d tell everyone that your dad was a giant. He probably seemed that way, huh? Probably seemed ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

“He still does. Well, maybe not the bullet proof part. We know THAT’S not true.”

“I know it bothers you. What happened back then. I know it’s not an easy thing to get over. That you came so close to losing him. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through all of that. I really am. If there was any way to go back and time and change it, I would. In a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

“I do, mummy.”

“Your dad loves you so much, TJ. You have no idea HOW much. When you were born and the doctor gave you to him? I’ve never seen him THAT emotional. Not even with Millie and she was his very first. After Austin. And he cried like a baby when he got to hold her. But you? I can’t even begin to describe what that was like for him. A son. After losing his first one. He was so happy and so in love with you. And that’s never changed. It never will.”

“I just don’t want to lose him. I don't know why he even takes the chance. Why does he go knowing that he might not come back? Doesn’t he love us enough to stay home?”

“Of course he does. And I WILL talk to him. Just cut him some slack, okay? The last five years haven’t been easy on him either. And he’s done so well. Better than anyone thought he would. But it’s a process; dealing with everything in his past and letting it go. So just give him a chance, alright? Can you do that? For me?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re such a good boy. I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you. And you ARE so much like your dad. And that’s a good thing.” She places one last kiss on his cheek and draws him into another hug. “A very good thing.”

******

The front door clicking open and a familiar Louisiana drawl calling out a greeting sets off a flurry of commotion; a mixture of both heavy and light footsteps pounding down the stairs, dogs scampering and barking, excited giggles and happy shrieks and rambling sentences in tiny voices. The kids have all become quite fond of Desmond (Desi, or Des, as Esme lovingly refers to him as) in their three years of spending time in New York City. A former University of Alabama football star, he’d found himself relocating when he’d met a very wealthy -and very much older- sports agent a decade ago; abandoning his dreams of playing profession in favour of a new existence in a new city. His husband -and admittedly the love of his life- had passed away just over a year ago. Leaving him with the elegantly and fabulously decorated brownstone in Gramercy, a small fleet of high end cars, closets full of designer apparel, and a bank account that will never run dry. He’s an enormous man; six foot seven and weighing close to three hundred pounds, most of solid muscle. Intimidating at first blush, but a complete teddy bear; compassionate and empathetic and possessing a heart even bigger than his body. And he’s hilarious and flamboyant; zero filter, exceptional taste in clothes, a love for expensive cosmetics and considerable talent in applying them, and a penchant for anything sparkly.

“You realize your front door was unlocked, don’t you?” Desi inquires as he journeys into the kitchen; monstrous hands curled around a giggling Takota’s ankles as he dangles him upside down. “Any wackadoodle could just walk in here. I know this is Gramercy Park, but it’s STILL The Big Apple. This isn’t the safe and quiet little sparrow fart town in Australia you call home. Where all you have to worry about is kangaroos and koalas and spiders the size of dinner plates.”

“I’ll have you know that koalas can be very sketchy; we have one in the tree in the front yard that hisses and spits and throws shit at you.”

“Jack!” Takota reminds her in between hiccups. “His name is Jack!”

“Well Jack is an asshole and he needs to relocate,” she says, and pats him on the bum and squeezes the cheeks; fingers moving to his sides and tickling him until both the giggles and the hiccups increase. “And it’s the dingos you have to worry about. They’re mean.”

“Dingos eat bad girls and boys,” Takota says, smoothing down his hair and his shirt when he’s put on his feet. “That’s what daddy said.”

“If that was true, we’d only have two or three kids instead of seven. Go and play. So I can talk to Desi.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“Top secret adult only stuff. Here," She snags one of the sugary goodies from the container on the island and hands it to him. “We’re going to go out soon. For a little walk. Get some fresh air. Make sure you pee BEFORE we leave. I don’t want to get you all bundled up and then have you tell me you gotta go. Hear me?”

“I can’t make any promises mumma,” Takota says, and then pops the treats into his mouth and rushes off.

“That kid is way too cute for his own good,” Desi declares. “Gonna be a heartbreaker, you know. Like his mom.”

“For the record, I’ve never broken any hearts. Well, except for the time in grade two when I didn’t want to be Freddie George’s Valentine. He just wasn’t my type; he smelled like tapioca and desperation.”

“You had a first husband, did you not? Must have broken his heart. Or you wouldn’t be on your second husband.”

“My first husband broke my jaw, my nose, more than one rib, and put me in the ICU. He’s lucky it’s only his heart that got ripped out. And what’s up with that hat?” She gestures towards the fedora atop her friend’s head. “You look like a pimp.”

“If I was a pimp, you, my little ho…” he plucks the hat from his head and places it upon hers. “...would be better dressed.”

“What is wrong with how I’m dressed? I dress like this all the time.”

“And you’re still married? Is he blind or did he hit his head too hard one too many times or…?”

“I’ll have you know, my husband doesn’t care about the packaging. Just what’s underneath. Case in point, I once bought this really nice and quite expensive baby doll nightie; totally vintage and gorgeous and this shimmering black and pink. I don’t think he even noticed. It took him like five seconds to get it off me. IF that. He does not give a shit about the wrapping paper. Just the gift that’s underneath.”

“And you, my cute, teeny little munchkin, are the gift that keeps on giving. And you must give VERY well. Seven kids and all. But baggy sweat pants and a huge tee and a way too big Quicksilver hoodie? Oh honey, no. Just no. No, no, nooo.”

“If it makes you feel any better, these sweats are Fendi.”

“That does NOT change the fact they are joggers and you should NOT be wearing joggers on the streets of New York City. You lived here before; has your little, beautiful brain forgotten what it’s like to dress here? We need to get you some retail therapy with old Desi. He’ll hook you up. A little refinement, a little sophistication, a little bling. I got you, girl.”

“Your idea of a little bling is a ten thousand dollar belt you tried to talk me into buying last year. Where would I wear a ten thousand dollar belt?”

“I don’t care if you use it in the bedroom. If your husband resorts to employing it to trap you to the headboard or if he uses it to tie your hands behind your back. That belt was spectacular and you deserve spectacular. We WILL do this; a shopping trip. Chanel, Gucci, maybe some Ralph Lauren if we feel like slumming.”

“Where am I going to wear that type of stuff? I can’t wear Gucci while I’m cleaning out the goat pen or Chanel when I’m gutting a chicken coup. And I certainly can’t wear it out shopping.”

“Not to your favourite haunt no. Definitely out of place in Target.”

“There is nothing wrong with shopping at Target.”

“There is so much wrong with it. I’ll be here all day if we start.”

“Besides, we don’t have high falutin places like Gucci where I live, remember? You’ve been there.”

“Charming little place. Reminds me of some of the towns down south I used to hit up. But girl, you fill that closet of yours with the finest of apparel. Stick with me, I’ll treat you right. And speaking of being treated right, I got the appointment for you; Christmas Eve Eve, two o’clock Sally Hershberger.”

“You are a knight in shiny, blingy armor. You really DO have strings to pull.”

“I may have had to promise some good times...sexy good times...to the receptionist. But, that’s a small price to pay for you. I’m willing to take one for the team. Or should I say, give one for the team.”

“And as much as it's a dream of mine to go to Sally, and seeing how my hair really DOES need some TLC…”

“Oh no. No. Hell no. There’s a but coming. And Desmond Brownell does not like buts. Unless it’s Idris Elba’s. And your husband’s.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it. Not the appointment; I can go through with THAT. But cutting my hair? As short as the picture I showed you?”

“Girl, are you crazy. You’d be a knockout with a cute little side swept bob. What drugs are you on? Not that you’re ugly or anything the way you are now. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers or anything like that. But your hair...your whole mom thing with the constant ponytails or messy buns...it needs help. It’s screaming for help. Let me help it. Let me help YOU.”

“Just cutting it? THAT short. That’s not going to go over well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tyler is kind of old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned? You two spent five days banging right after you met. You got knocked up out of wedlock. He proposed in the bathroom. Nothing old fashioned about any of that.”

“When it comes to certain things, he’s very...particular. Especially when it comes to my hair. He likes it long. LOVES it long. I cut it up to my shoulders once and he bitched about it for TWO years. And let’s not get into when I got bangs or when I dyed it blonde.”

“I can’t say I blame him for the bangs thing. You’re way too cute and those big brown eyes do not deserve the attention taken away by fringe. But the bob...girl...that’s fierce. You’d rock it.”

“Maybe just some highlights. Some red ones. He did really like when I colored my hair red. I can get those, a trim, a blow out.”

“You can go to Cheapy Haircuts for Us for that nonsense. This is Sally Hershberger. You are not going to her and getting just a blowout or a trim or highlights. You are going big, or going home. The husband will deal. He’d love you with no hair. It’s no secret he thinks the sun shines out of your ass. Which, I have to admit, looks fabulous in Fendi sweats.”

“Why do you think he bought them? He knows what he’s doing. He bought them for the same reason he buys me yoga pants. And I don’t even do yoga.”

“He’s an ass man. I can appreciate that. And speaking of appreciate. Desmond Brownell would like to do some appreciating right about now. Is he home? The better half? Is he in there working out?” He casts a glance towards the home gym that sits off the kitchen. “More importantly, is he in there working out shirtless? ‘Cause if he is, I’ll gladly take him a glass of water so that fine ass specimen doesn’t get parched or dehydrated. I’ll even rub down those sore, beautiful muscles. I’ve got some very top shelf massage oil at home. Smells like pecan and coconut. Unless he’s more a citrusy type. If so, I can run to the store right quick.”

“First off, you’d traumatize him. He’s as straight as they come. I know that breaks your heart to hear it, but…”

“How does he know he’s straight if he’s never ventured out of straight-hood? Unless he has and didn’t like it….”

“He hasn’t tried it. He likes women. LOVES them actually. Maybe a little too much when he was younger. He is NOT bi. Sorry.”

“But I am. So are you. And you’re damn cute and he’d probably give it a try if you talked him into a threesome.”

“Yeah, right,” Esme laughs. “That would never happen.”

“Do right by your best friend. Or are you worried he’d leave you for me? What’s the old saying? Once you go black you never…”

“My husband is straight. Very straight. And no. He’s not working out. He’s not even home. He’s out with Tanner.”

“The breakfast date, that’s right. Little T couldn’t stop talking about that. Loves his daddy, that’s for sure. You know, that kid is damn talented. Those goodies brought over and that soup? Damnnn. Move over Emeril. Little T gonna set the world on fire.”

“He’s something else that kid. He’s...incredible. There aren’t even words that can properly describe him. But, he IS having issues.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“He’s bored. At school. And we specifically sent him there to challenge him. It’s been great. He’s been thriving and his grades are amazing and the teachers and the kids love him. But he’s so advanced and so smart that they’re going to run out of ways to teach him. Which means we’re going to run out of options for him. Which also means, I’m going to become a heavy drinker and eat my weight in these!” She nods down at the container of sweets in front of her and pops one into her mouth. “What are we going to do? There’s only so many options where we are.”

“Homeschool? You’ve got a degree. You’re smart. You can do it.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got a business. Two businesses, actually. And six other kids. Besides, he is way smarter than I was at that age. He’s probably smarter than I am. What am I going to do? For him?”

“You know where there ARE a lot of options…”

“We are NOT moving here. Tyler would never survive. This place? New York City? It’s not him. And I have to think about that too. What’s also best for him. We’re happy where we are. Insanely happy. Moving here is not an option. No matter how much I miss you.”

“Guess you’ve got a lot of thinking and research to do. It’ll work out. Always does.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love your optimism? And how much I’ve missed you? Or how much I love you?"

“You can mention it as many times as you like. My ego likes that shit.” He takes her face in his hands and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We still on for dinner tonight? I’m still bringing Italian? And the wine?”

“We’re still on. Tanner is going to make the salad and the garlic bread.”

“We gon’ be eating like damn kings.”

“Are we still on for the other thing? You know; the thing we talked about? When Tyler and I take the kids to pick out a tree?”

“I got you, don’t you worry. I will let myself in and grab the stuff from the attic and sneak out. I also got the email; that ‘thing’ for Addie arrived. You know what I’m talking about?”

“The doll? I didn’t think it would arrive in time. How does it look?”

“Exactly like her. Now, you want to get a head start on the wrapping? You know I love me some gift wrapping.”

“You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “That is what I like to hear. Now, I’m going to the gym. There’s a Latino hottie there I’ve been trying to talk up for weeks. You behave. Stay out of the wine. At least until later.”

“You gonna wear your ‘Bama t-shirt? The one that’s two sizes too small and shows off your muscles?”

“Sweetie pie, you don’ read my mind. But have you been checking out my muscles?”

“I have a ‘thing’ for muscles. And yours are very nice. Besides, I’m married. Not dead. Tyler’s going to be upset. That he’s not the only one you’re crushing on.”

“You just put his little mind at ease. Tell him he gives me the biggest woodie out of them all.”

“That’ll stroke his ego for sure. See you later? Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be here. With bells and bling on.” He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and pulls her into a hug; tightly squeezing. “You’re just so wee and cute. I could just scoop you up and put you in my pocket. See you later, gator.” He removes the hat from her head, affectionately tousles her hair before heading out of the kitchen. “And do me a favour? Put proper clothes on for dinner. I can’t be dining with someone in sweats. Desmond Brownell has standards to uphold.”

“Desmond Brownwell needs to remember the cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Oh bless your heart. Thinking I need to be reminded. See ya, pip squeak.”

“You and you tall people. So cruel to us little folk.”

“Little folk?” He smirks. “You’re like one of those things in Lord of the Rings. A damn hobbit. Matter of fact, I’mma call you Frodo from now on.”

“You do that, I’ll sneak into your house and kill you in your sleep.”

Desmond laughs. “I’d like to see you try, short stuff. Later.”

“Later,” she calls, shaking her head and laughing when he hollers “Spawns of Satan; I be leaving now!” before stepping out the front door.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

[yespleasetommyshelby]

So! I'be started a Daryl Dixon fic that starts at the farm, but I don't wanna be writing if there's nobody to read, ya know? Anyhoes, here's a little summin, summin, let me know what you think!

*Contains Strong Language!

As yet untitled...

Three months, three whole moths ago the world went to complete and utter shit, a virus which caused people to turn into carnivores spread through the country like wildfire, taking out thousands of people in a single day. The simple way to put it - a zombie apocalypse.

I was alone when it started, originally from England I was doing some 'finding myself' travelling as my friends back home would put it, travelling through America in an attempt to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, not that it mattered anymore. I had made it to Atlanta before the virus hit, stranding me not only in another continent completely, but somewhere that I was in no way familiar with, I knew nobody, I had no idea where anything was and nothing but the clothes on my back. I'd met a few people out on the road, groups that only survived a few days before a herd would come through, or they'd let their guard down or even that their own greed got the better off them, not to mention the lack of common sense that seemed to be a running theme.

Since the last group I was with got overrun I steered clear of any other people, opting to only rely on myself. That was a month ago, a month since I'd last seen a living person, let alone spoken to one, I watched them get torn apart no matter how many of the dead I took down there were three more behind it, they stood no chance. Which is how I ended up where I am now, an English girl lost and alone running through an American woods with nothing but a hunting knife and the dirty ripped clothes I wore, along with around five or six of the dead stumbling behind me.

"Shit, fuck, motherfucker!" I yelled as I tripped over prt of a tree root that was sticking out above the ground yet hidden under a layer of fallen leaves, I groaned as a slid a few feet. "Ow! No, no, no!" I groaned as I pulled myself to my feet, an excruciating pain shooting from my ankle as I tried to put pressure on it.

The groans of the dead caught my attention, my eyes widening as they were much closer than they had been a few seconds ago, apparently much more steady footed than an actual living being.

"Screw it." I muttered to myself as I stood the best I could on my busted ankle, rolling my shoulders back as I readied myself for the oncoming dead. "No better time to die right?" I laughed humourlessly as the closest finally reached me.

Leaning forwards slightly I jammed my knife into its skull, the once sickening crunch of the rotting skull now nothing more than background noise after hearing it so many times. I huffed as I pulled my knife from its skull before its body hit the ground only to quickly raise it again as the second one stumbled towards me, just as quick as the first I took my knife from its skull and let the body drop the the ground beneath my feet.

"Two down, four to go, fantastic." I spoke to myself, a common occurrence now since the chances of finding another person are scarce to none.

I took down the next two without a problem, quickly stabbing them in the bead before on, no time to think between each hit. I groaned as my knife got stuck in the fifth one, the last one trying to grab at me only being held back by the grip I had on his dead buddy, pushing him back. I cried out as the body slipped from my grasp, tumbling down the small ditch beside me, the knife in its head going down with it, leaving me to fall to the ground with the last one falling on top, it's rotting jaw snapping inches away from my face. I put my hands on its chest and pushed as hard as I could, it's flaking skin sticking to my hands as I moved one, reaching around for anything I could grab to hit it with but finding nothing other than a few small stones and flimsy sticks that couldn't pierce a rotting apple, let alone a skull.

Realising there was nothing I could use I continued to use both hands to try and shove the corpse away, groaning at the ache in both arms as the creature fought against the hold I had on it, I could feel my grip slipping, the last of the skin on its ribs shifting as I moved. So I braced myself, I closed my eyes and let the happy memories of life before flood my thoughts, the groans of the dead just a distant noise, the weight of it on top of me being the only thing reminding me that I was still in the same shitty situation. Until it stopped, the groans had faded completely, the weight was still there but it was still, slowly opening my eyes i was met by the sight of an arrow piercing the cold, milky eyes that were set on me just seconds ago. Pushing the corpse to the side I took a deep breath as I laid back on the ground, looking up at the sky knowing that there must have been someone up there that owed me a HUGE favour at some point.

I laughed breathlessly as the tip of an arrow suddenly appeared infront of my face, following the muscles arms that was holding the bow my eyes landed on a dirty looking man, his brown hair wasn't long, per say, but it was definitely in need of cutting, it was covered in a layer of grease, dirt caked his clothes and exposed skin but I doubt I looked any better. My eyes landed on his face next, his eyes narrowed and his face pulled into a scowl as he looked me over briefly, his blue eyes taking in every detail before they met mine in silence.

"You gunna do it or not? Because to be quite honest I've had about as much as I can take today." I breathed out, lifting my head to look at him better before letting my head flop back in the dirt.

"Who are ya?" His southern accent didn't surprise me, if anything it suited the rough and tumble look he had going on, although everybody wore that look these days.

"Names Evie." I nodded as I pushed myself up so I was sat rather than laid in the dirt, my name sousing foreign as it rolled of my tongue for the first time in weeks. "What about you crossbow?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Where yer from?" He grunted, adjusting his grip on his bow but keeping it aimed firmly at the small space between my eyes, as he adjusted his bow I got a better look at his eyes, dark blue and guarded, yet there looked to be some twinkle of kindness, maybe, hiding behind those walls.

"Hello 'where yer from' nice name ya got there." I laughed slightly, not feeling the slightest bit threatened by the man in front of me although I probably should be, but there was something in his eyes, that little twinkle in his eye reassured me that he wasn't just some psycho-ass redneck hiding out in the woods. "No good with accents? I'm English." I told him after recieving no more than a blank look at my joke.

"Where's yer group?" The man of little words mumbled, doing a quick sweep behind him before retraining his aim on me.

"Don't have one." I shrugged bluntly, not wanting to think about the people I'd lost in such a short amount of time.

"Ge' on yer knees." He grunted once more, taking a step back to give me the room to do as he requested.

"Wow, buy a girl dinner first next time." I smirked and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch up slightly before it was gone in the blink of an eye, but it was there.

"Hands 'hind yer back." He nodded towards me, lowering his weapon and reaching behind him and pulling out a rope.

"That best not have been where I think it was." I snorted as I moved to sit on my knees, him coming behind me and tying the rope around my wrists tightly, not like there was any point, he was built like a house whereas I had about as much muscle as a tadpole.

I hissed in pain as he gripped my upper arms and pulled me to my feet and pushed me forwards slightly, my ankle giving way at the pressure leaving me to stumble forwards, I braved myself for the ground only for his grip to be back on my arms, keeping me steady.

"Uh, thank you." I muttered awkwardly as he quickly took a step back and busied himself with biting on his thumb nail.

"Go." He muttered, briefly making eye contact before he readied his crossbow and turned hunter mode, eyes scanning the trees for, well, anything I guess.

"So where we headed?" I asked after a few minutes of walking in silence, the only sound heard being the crunching of leaves and sticks under my boots, crossbow however, had barely made a noise in his steps.

"Through the gap." He mumbled as we reached the end of the tree, looking to where he he had nodded I noticed that there was in fact a large gap between the bushes.

"Sir, yes sir." I rolled my eyes as I stepped forwards, pushing the branches out of the way before I stepped out into the clearing.

Immediately my eyes widened and my mouth dropped, the clearing, as it turns out, was home to a large farm house, noble and white standing in the middle of the field, a barn further back and stables off to the side, but that wasn't all that caught my attention. A small boy around eight or nine was hopping up and down the stairs outside the house, a large RV sat next to a small gathering of tents a fire pit sitting in the middle. A loud laugh caught my attention, a group of woman sat around a huge tub of water as they soaked their clothes with smiles on their faces, a group of people were gathered around a well-type thing, whatever it was they seemed pretty invested in getting down it.

"What is this place?" I mumbled to myself as I continued to look over at the groups, they was clean, they looked healthy, but more importantly, they looked happy.

A sudden loud whistle from behind me made me jump and suddenly all eyes were on us, the small boy from the steps stopped in his tracks before running to the group of women and into one of their arms, his mother in assuming.

"Wow, so discrete." I mumbled rolling my eyes as crossbow pushed me further into the clearing, forcing me to limp closer to the two men that were running towards us.

"Daryl!" One of them yelled, his southern accent not as thick as Crossbow's but definitely still there, he had dark brown hair and was wearing a sheriff's uniform which made me chuckle slightly. "Who's this?" He asked as they stopped infront of us, his eyes were kind, he gave me a small smile clearly realising that I wasn't a threat to them and if I was they could easily deal with me.

The other guy, not so much. He was watching me with a scowl on his face, his hand resting on the gun that was in a holster hanging from his waist, his eyes were dark and held a sense of something that I didn't like, or trust in the slightest.

"Found 'er in the woods, almos' got 'erself killed." Crossbow or Daryl grumbled the most words since we'd met.

"Holy shit, more than three words." I chuckled looking over my shoulder at him. "My names Evie by the way." I smiled up at the Sheriff before I turned to look back at Daryl. "And I had it under control." I said matter of factly, rolling my eyes as he grunted at me.

"Is she alone?" The other guy spoke for the first time, his eyes taking over my body as he spoke.

"Yeah." Daryl nodded as he came to stand besides me rather than behind.

"My eyes are up here dickhead." I scoffed as the still unnamed guy continued to look me over.

"Watch your mouth." He growled as he stepped forward.

"How 'bout you make me?" I smiled sarcastically making him growl and step forwards only to be stopped by the sheriff outstretched arm.

"Enough Shane." He muttered, sounding utterly done with this guys bullshit. "How many walkers you killed?"

• • • •

Sooooo, what do ya think? Is it worth me carrying on? 🤷🏻‍♀️

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon imagines #daryl series #daryl dixon series #walking dead fanfiction #walking dead imagines #walking dead imagine

[hockeysweetheart]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay How Katniss shows her love is this 

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

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

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

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

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

Okay The 74th Games ( shit this is long) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I  - " he insists.

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

"All right," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Peeta's not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking. "Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew  -  just like your mother  -  I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast  -  fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer. Peeta wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve." 

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

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

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

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

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

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

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

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

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

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

He grabs my hand away. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him.

"Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss. 

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

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

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

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

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss

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

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

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

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

A moment  not matter what I will always Watch

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

And we are not done Yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

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

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

"Perfect," he answers.

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#THG #HUNGER GAME #Hunger games #The Hunger Games #catching fire #CatchingFire #Peeta #Peeta Mellark #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #Katniss #everlark #The Hunger Games Catching Fire #mockingjay #mockingjay part 1 #Josh Hutcherson #mockingjay part 2

[mysteira6]

FukaFlower - Holding Your Left Hand

~*~*~*~*~

Summary:

She wasn’t gonna let him feel bad for holding his left hand.

Setting: Fukase and Flower are in the same high school grade and are around 17 - 18 years old. Also, they’re already a couple in this one-shot. Read on for fluff, angst and a little sweet moment at the end. ^3^

~*~*~*~*~

Autumn-coloured lamps decorated the streets, surrounding the many stalls by the pathway in a warm-coloured glow. Young adults in ankle-length yukatas and young children with bags of candy and treats in their hands littered the road before them, the small-talk between groups of teens and squeals of delight amongst children filling their ears. Stall owners left and right were hollering customers over, hoping to catch their attention to play their games or buy their fun-coloured snacks.

The white-haired teen blinked at the sight. “Wow,” She muttered. “I know Miku was warning us when she said this year’s carnival would be ‘packed as sardines’, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this… crowded…”

She heard a light-hearted chuckle from the young man standing beside her. “Welp, I guess that’s a lesson learnt,” He said jokingly.

“What lesson?”

As he turned to her, his scarlet right eye sparkled jovially. “That we should actually listen to the ‘popular diva’ instead of assuming that she only talks about rumours,” He noted, another laugh emerging from his mouth.

The thought of that made her narrow her eyes a little. “I’m not so sure about that, Fukase,” She murmured skeptically, shaking her head. “She talks more about gossip than anything remotely useful-”

“But if we had listened to her, then we wouldn’t be caught in this human traffic jam now, wouldn’t we?” The redhead replied, though soon after, he heaved a sigh and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “Oh well, we’re here anyway and the night is young, Flower! Hopefully, the crowd will thin out in a bit,”

Despite her initial disappointment of not having a peaceful stroll with him, the optimistic grin on his face was enough to wash her negativity away. Of course he would try to cheer her up like this. After all, this date was his idea, something that he came up with during their lunch hour when all the other students were talking about the upcoming summer festival and how carnivals were being set up in dozens of neighbourhoods. Given that they had just finished their school term, it seemed like a perfect time to start their summer break with a fun little getaway with just the two of them.

Flower puffed in mild annoyance. When Fukase asked her to go to the carnival in their neighbourhood together, she got giddy with excitement as she always was when it came to their dates. That was one of the strangest things about being with him; somehow, he had managed to break down her curt demeanor and unpack her sweet side that very few people saw. All it took was him being a cheerful jokester who not only tried his best to make everyone smile, but also possessed a kind heart to help anyone he could. Funny then, that he would be interested, and eventually fall in love with, a pessimistic girl who was essentially a stoic emotional wall.

Oh well. Life can be that weird sometimes. In fact, what was more weird was that as he talked to her everyday, cracking a joke here and there, Flower found herself becoming more conscious of how she presented herself in front of him. The little things that she barely cared about before gradually took priority in her appearance as he tried everyday to make her smile a little. Smoothing out her skirt and brushing her hair behind her ears were only two of the dozen things that crossed her mind as soon as she heard him talking to her.

Tonight was no exception to her new routine of fussing over her appearance; as soon as she got home, Flower immediately made a beeline for her preppy younger sister, Xin Hua, who was lounging on the sofa and scrolling through the feed on her phone as usual. However, after Flower explained her situation, the cobalt-haired teen quickly placed her phone aside and partook in the giddy excitement that her older sister was feeling. One trip to Sachiko’s yukata gallery and another to Mizki’s hair accessory treasury was enough for the aspiring fashionista to dress her sister up for her special summer date.

“Flower? Flower!” The sight of his bandaged hand waving front of her was enough to snap the short-haired teen back to reality, her violet eyes blinking a few times to readjust her field of vision. “Hey, are you okay?” Fukase asked her, a worried frown inscribed on his lips as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“O-oh, sorry, I… I’m okay,” She stuttered in embarrassment, slightly ashamed that she spaced out in the middle of nowhere. Her instinctive reaction of looking down whenever she got awkward got her looking at the yukata that Xin Hua had picked for her. It was of a deep violet shade, accompanied by prints of lavender and white coloured cherry-blossoms and outlines of round lanterns scattered across her sleeves and skirt. She had a grape-purple obi tied around her waist to keep her outfit together and Ms Sachiko even gave her complimentary wooden sandals and a hickory-coloured basket for her necessities to complete the ensemble. ‘Cherish your youth’, she had said with a warm smile after Flower had told her the reason for her purchase.

Meanwhile, Fukase chuckled at her quiet response and quietly slid his right hand under her chin, gently lifting her gaze to look at him. There wasn’t an obvious height difference between them (except for a few centimeters that Flower had but Fukase didn’t) but even then, Flower felt rather small under the gaze of his right eye, his left one being concealed under his white eye patch. Having him stand close to her also allowed her to take in his outfit for the night; a muted red yukata with black lines resembling tree branches drawn on its cloth all held together by a thin bright red obi.

“You sure?” He smirked at her like a cheeky devil would, the jokester side of him showing. “You’re blushing, you know,”

His words rooted her to the spot. “No, I am not!”

“Sharp response. I thought you were a kuudere, not a tsundere,”

“I-Does that really matter right now?!”

Her flustered response was met with a fit of laughter from Fukase, his red curls dancing in the air as he shook his head jokingly. “I kid! I kid!” He sang out as he held his hands up as if surrendering. “Please spare me from your silent treatment, Hana-chan~”

She puffed her cheeks. “You’re only lucky that I decided to dress up for tonight and I don’t want to ruin our date,”

“Oh right, I was gonna say,” His expression lit up as he continued. “You look… as pretty as a flower tonight,”

He half-heartedly expected a startled response and was unsurprised when she only snarkily replied: “A pun-related flirt isn’t going to get to me, Fukase,” Of course she’d say something like that.

“Darnnit, that didn’t work as well as I had hoped,” He pretended to be upset for a moment before raising his right hand towards her, cueing the snow-haired girl to blink at him a few times.

“Well anyway,” He began, tilting his head at her cutely. “Now that we’ve been chatting here for a while, I believe it’s about time for us to head down there, yeah?”

She found herself beaming as she accepted his hand. “Yes, let’s,”

~*~*~*~*~

“Come and catch your own kingyo! Only 200 yen to bring one home!”

“Fresh shaved ice and candied apples for sale! Come and get them before they’re gone!”

As their evening continued, the crowd really did grow thinner as most of the younger children were brought home by their parents and some of the teenagers were heading home as well. Since the both of them were night owls on a daily basis, the moon climbing up the sky did not bother them. Fukase’s enthusiasm for them to visit every stall did not falter even as the night went on. Beside him, Flower held tightly to his right hand, a small smile on her face as she witnessed him bring her all around the carnival. She could tell that he was excited for it.

“Are you hungry? We should get some mochi here,”

“I think those pinwheel headbands would look cute on you,”

“Hey, this fruit tea tastes great! Try some!”

Perhaps it was a little selfish for her to say it, but Flower really liked the attention that he was giving her tonight. It wasn’t odd for Fukase to treat her so kindly (he was literally known for being the kindest person for a lot of people) but hearing him talk to her alone made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, a feeling that only he could generate. However, tonight it felt like Fukase’s gentlemanly nature was much more prominent than usual… Was it because they were wearing such fancy clothes?

Whatever the reason was, she didn’t really care about it. After all, who would turn down a kind, pampering boyfriend like him? Even though Flower was slow to understand social norms as a wallflower, she knew enough to recognise that Fukase was kind of spoiling her (not that she was complaining, mind you).

Her train of thought was interrupted when something at a shelf on her left managed to catch her attention, silently motioning her to get closer to the stall with multi-coloured stacks of cans lined up in pyramidal formation behind its counter. She couldn’t take her eyes off one of the prizes at the game stall; a small lavender rabbit with a translucent maroon ribbon wrapped around its neck and a top hat sewn onto its head. Its subtle resemblance to Fukase’s normal outfit was probably what caught her eye.

“Whatcha looking at?” The very person she was thinking about turned his head in the same direction as she was facing, his eyes scanning the game stall for whatever had caught her attention. “Do you see that little rabbit on the shelf?” Flower whispered to him while leaning close to his ear. “It’s kinda cute. I just thought that it looked like you in your coat, doesn’t it?”

The redhead has his eyes trained on the stuffed toy that had caught his girlfriend’s attention. It didn’t take him long to mutter a ‘let’s head over there’ as he brought them both over to the stall, his hand never letting go of her despite her initial surprise. After he forked out some coins for the stall owner, a basket with brightly coloured plastic balls was placed in front of him, the challenge of knocking over all the cans in three hits now laying before him.

“Fukase, you don’t have to do this for me,” The white-haired girl standing behind him said timidly, a bit uneasy that he decided to play this game just for her.

The redhead smiled at her. “But I want to,” He simply said, picking up the first ball from the basket. “Besides, you like that rabbit doll, right?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then just sit tight and watch me win it for you!” He gleefully replied as he aimed for the base of one of the can pyramids before hurling his ball at them, nailing a hit on the cans at the bottom for his first throw. The coloured cans tumbled onto the table with loud clatters and clangs as the pyramid fell, knocking down all the obstacles quickly. He grinned at his victory.

“Wow, you got them all in one shot!” The stall owner commended, lightly clapping her hands to his success. “Congratulations! You’re welcomed to choose any prize you want for winning,”

“Any prize?” Fukase glanced over to her as the lady nodded, her satin pink hair bouncing up and down. He soon turned his eyes back to the little rabbit that Flower had been eyeing this whole time, the smile on his face widening. “Can I have the little rabbit over there? The one of that shelf, please,”

“Sure thing!” She replied as she gently lifted the rabbit doll off the shelf and handed it over to him. “Thank you for playing!” The store owner sang out as Fukase received the doll from her, turning back to his girlfriend. Holding out the lavender rabbit doll in his two hands, he smiled warmly at her. “Ta-da! Here you go, Flower,”

Her face shone as she held the doll in her hands, now able to marvel its cuteness up close. It really did look similar to Fukase in his fancy outfit. “Thank you,” She unknowingly broke into a wide smile as she petted the rabbit’s head the same way she did to Point, Fukase’s pet doll. “It’s really cute…” She giggled.

He grinned at her, a warm feeling washing over him at the sight of Flower’s smile. It never failed to make him smile back at her, or to make his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual. Deep down, he wished she did that all the time, but he also understood her take on it; it was better to let her slowly get into the habit of smiling instead of forcing it on her.

Instead, he raised his hand towards her again, hoping to continue their stroll through the carnival until he noticed which one he was holding up to her. In a hasty maneuver, Fukase swiftly relocated himself to be standing on her right side as he offered his hand to her again, disregarding the confused expression on her face. “Shall we go back to the path, milady?”

She giggled again at his formal demeanor. “You don’t have to be so formal,” She quickly packed her new rabbit doll into her basket as she accepted his hand again. Although she was already well aware of his odd behaviour from before, Flower knew better to not bring it up and make him embarrassed.

Unfortunately, the more she thought about it, the more it started to bug her. Especially when she started to realise how often such situations would occur multiple times that night. Upon closer inspection, there was one thing that they all had in common; the fact that Fukase had never let her hold his left hand.

As much as she didn’t want to sound like some prissy girl complaining on their date, the urge to ask him about it was stronger than those worries. “Hey, Fukase?” The white-haired teen began, tugging a little on their interlocked hands to get his attention. “Can I… ask you something?”

He eagerly turned to her. “What is it?”

“Can I hold your left hand?”

The question alone was enough to wash his bright smile away, replacing it with an astonished frown on his face and a startled expression in his eye. His footsteps immediately stopped in the middle of the pathway as his grip on her hand tightened a little. For a while, Flower started to regret asking that question; she would’ve not done so if it meant that she was going to be subjected to him staring at her, downright baffled at her words. Now, she felt as if she was riveted to the ground by his gaze, feeling her heart climbing up her throat as she gulped loudly.

Fortunately for her, he broke their staring contest by turning his head away from her for a bit, his left hand covered from top to bottom in bandages rising up to cover his face. In a low, apologetic tone, he muttered: “Uh, sorry about that,”

She was speechless. “Eh?”

“I know you don’t like it when people stare at you, so… sorry that I was doing that just now.” He hastily apologised before continuing. “A-anyway, why do you want to h-hold my left hand? I mean-! Is there a reason? N-not that you have to tell me, wait I mean-!”

As the redhead stumbled over his words, the gears in Flower’s head started turning. A line of stuttering dialogue from Fukase convinced her that her asking him about it was the right thing to do; in a normal everyday conversation, he would never ever trip over his own words. As far as she could remember, his confidence in speaking has never failed him, only faltering a little whenever Flower managed to sneak a sweet, unintentionally affectionate line of dialogue to him. So to hear him uncharacteristically stutter so much while talking to her normally… Flower quickly realised that something was up.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, Fukase,” She tried to ameliorate the situation, hoping that he wasn’t too embarrassed. “I’m really sorry that I asked it so randomly-”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He trailed off as his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze shifted to the sight of his left, bandaged, roughly-surfaced hand. A sigh left his lips; he was gonna have to tell her something eventually, so why wait?

“The truth is,” He started, hoping that he didn’t sound too nervous. “No one… has ever held my left hand before…”

“Why?” She blurted out as her curiosity overrode her politeness.

“I never offered it to them,” He explained slowly, gaining a bit more confidence as he confessed to her. “I mean, you know how my hand looks; it’s a mess. And even with these bandages, it’s still really… you know, coarse and rough,”

Flower found herself frowning at the mention of what his left hand really looked like. It called back a past memory of their time together, when Fukase had told her the events that caused him to look as he is now. That day, he even slowly, very gingerly, took off his bandages and eye patch to show her the scars he had hidden from everyone for so long, the damaged side of him that he refused to show in public in the fear that he would be met with disgust and disdain.

But on the contrary to his fear of Flower leaving him, Fukase was embraced by her love and adoration for him, the emotions in her that he managed to call out now being gifted to him instead as some form of mutual bond. In the same way that he helped her break down her emotional barriers, she had helped him overcome his trauma-induced obstacles. It was a relationship between them that nothing in the world could break.

And tonight was just another testament to it, Fukase realised as Flower quickly shook off his hold on her own hand, instead reaching for his left, roughly-surfaced one covered in white straps of cloth. Her fingers brushed across his as she matched them to line up with hers, a small yet ever-so-kind smile on her face encased in her lips. Fukase unknowingly gulped at the sight of his girlfriend looking at him with so much kindness and care, her beauty brought out even more tonight with her neatly combed tomboyish hair and lilac-coloured butterfly pin.

“Fukase,” She broke the silence between them as she whispered softly. “Does it feel any different when I hold your hand like this?”

He averted his eyes at her question. “Well, for me, it feels the same but for you-”

“It’s the same for me too, you know,” She interrupted him gently, shifting her right hand to the side a little as she interlocked their hands together. “I know you’re always worried about how your scars might change how I see you, but… You know that’s never gonna happen, right?”

As soon as she spotted the skepticism in his eyes, she took it as a sign to continue. “Whichever hand I’m holding doesn’t matter to me so long as it’s yours, Fukase. You don’t have to be worried about how you look when you’re with me; I don’t mind any of it at all,”

“ … Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Besides,” She chuckled as she recalled another memory. “Didn’t I already tell you before that I liked your scars?”

“W-well yeah, but…” After baring out the truth to her, the red-haired boy felt unnaturally vulnerable, the somewhat playful tone in her voice making him blush. He still wasn’t used to her telling him that she liked the permanent markings on his skin. For a long time, he hated them and wished that they would just disappear, especially since they were a reminder of that dark side of him. And yet to listen to her words when she said that she liked them… it felt like letting go of a breath of air that he’d be holding for a long time. ‘Because they’re a part of you too’, Flower had told him back then. ‘That’s why I like them’

Meanwhile, the girl standing before him gently pulled their interlocked hands back down, her left hand holding tightly to her basket as she turned back to the path. “I really don’t mind holding your left hand, Fukase,” She reassured him again with a soft smile. “So… let’s keep this date going, okay?”

Flower hadn’t even taken one step forward before she was tugged back towards the red-haired boy, his uncalloused hand cupping her face as he pulled her closer to him. Just like the beginning of their date when he had commented on her blushing cheeks, the snow-haired teen found herself hypnotized by his armour-piercing gaze, his right red eye staring intently at her for a short while only to soften as he leaned his face close to her, closing his eyes and landing his lips onto hers. As her cheeks heated up like red-hot iron, she knew in absolute certainty that she was blushing now.

It seemed as if time stood still as Fukase kissed her, the action and noises in their surroundings seeming to pause as her eyelids slid shut in conjunction to his daring public display of affection, his head tilting slightly to deepen their kiss as Flower mimicked his actions. It felt like hours had slipped by them as they parted from their kiss, the commotion from the carnival returning to their field of vision and awareness.

Fukase’s face was almost as red as his hair as he chuckled lightly, his iconic bright smile back on his face. “Hana-chan, thank you,” His voice was teeming with gratitude as he thanked her. “You always seem to know exactly what to say,”

Flower was blushing equally as much, her wallflower shyness emerging from her. “I’m just being honest,” She humbly replied.

“How in the world did I get a girlfriend as amazing as you?”

“I could say the same for you, you know,”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I mean, how in the world did I get a boyfriend as sweet and funny as you?”

“Hey! Don’t copy my words!”

“But it’s true!”

The both of them laughed at each other’s antics, their hands interlocked with one another as they continued to stroll down the dirt-trodden path.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: GAAAAAHHHH these two make me soft~ ;-;

#fukase #fukaflower #vocaloid fukase #vflower #v4flower #vocaloid #flokase #fukasexflower #flowerxfukase #ship #vocaloid ship #carnival #festival #date #yukata

[christiana-s-random-thoughts]

If I told you

Okay, before you begin reading, I’d like to say I wrote this about 5-6 years ago and later published it on ffnet.

While talking with some friends, I decided to post it here as well after I took care of some typos (there might still be some mistakes I missed, though).

It’s a songfic, using the Naruto universe and the song “If I told you” from the wedding singer.

Anyway, I hope you like it :)

oOo

Pairing: SasuHina

 Italics: Thoughts

 “Word “: Talks

 **Word**: Lyrics

 Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto and If I told you is from “The wedding singer”.

OoooO

 If someone ever told him that, he, Uchiha Sasuke, would be hopelessly in love with a girl one day, he would have laughed at that person’s face, after punching the daylights out of him, of course. He never believed in love, never believed someone would ever capture his heart – supposing he has one – and would melt it.

Like everyone in Konoha, he thought that he would always be that cold, ruthless and lonely soul. Guess he was wrong, like every damn villager, because she came along. She, who he now is watching from a tree outside her family house. The crabapple tree she used to escape home, a little underneath her window and with many branches heading out of the fence was now his observation place…

 **Standing here underneath your window,

Searching for some kind of sign**

 He wanted her to turn around, wanted her to just approach her window and see him. Then she would climb on the tree too, and flee with him. Unfortunately, that won’t be the case.

 She was in front of her mirror, a blissful grin adorning her angelic face. And why wouldn’t she be smiling? After all, she is trying “that” dress… Her wedding dress…

 The white garment, which was contrasting beautifully with her long raven locks, made her look like an angel.

 Pale lavender eyes that he would never gaze at again; long raven locks in which he won’t run his fingers ever again, nor smell her sweet shampoo – apple scented, he recalled fondly – , a cute button nose that he liked to flick – to her great annoyance – , cute pink lips that he oh so wanted to kiss, cheeks that are always adorned with that adorable blush – even though it wasn’t caused by him at the moment – that he found really endearing, a heart-shaped face, a petite but curvaceous body… That all add to make her, Hyuuga Hinata, his best friend, the love of his life… and his guy best friend’s fiancée.

 **Every move, every tiny gesture

 Only proves you’re not mine**

 And she’ll be married in a few days… No longer would she be Hyuuga Hinata, she will be Uzumaki Hinata. If only he just realized his feelings earlier. But if he did, what would he have done? Take her out on dates? Shower her with gifts? Buy her flowers? Pick her up from work? Be with her when she’s sick? Support her ideas no matter how crazy they are? Comfort her when she is sad? Share her happiness? Go on wild trips once in a while?

 He already did all of that!! So what? Should he have told her how he felt if he knew sooner? But now, it’s too late… But God knows he would do anything for her, to have her return his love. He would go as far as stealing the moon for her – maybe like Groo did, because even though it is just a movie, miniaturizing the moon was a good idea – or buy her an island – after all, he has enough money to – but he knows she’s not someone you can buy with money, and she liked simple things.

 “Oh, Hina-chan, what wouldn’t I do if only you asked me to?” he thought desperately.

 **I could write you a thousand love songs,

Search the world for the perfect tune and rhyme.

But what good would it do if it seems I’m out of time**

 Or maybe it’s not too late? Maybe he can still tell her? But would it change anything? After all, her wedding is in two days! And what if she hates him for that? And the dobe? He would never forgive him. And he can’t stand the idea of hurting the two people who ever loved him, accepted him, the rich orphan no one would dare approach.

 No, he won’t tell her. He would keep his feelings to himself. No one would have to know. After all, he is the Uchiha Sasuke, believed to finish his life as a lonely old man. He’d just stick to everyone’s expectations.

 That decided, he climbed down the tree and proceeded to go home. Maybe he’d lock himself in his house until the wedding – with beers – because, well, he is the best man, and even though it pained him to attend that fateful day, he must.

 He was so absorbed in his thought that he didn’t notice the agitation around him… But then, a piercing scream snapped him to reality. He saw a kid, maybe ten years old, frozen in the middle of the road, a van way past the speed limit coming his way, and a woman – his mom maybe – rooted and screaming on the sidewalk.

 Without a second thought, he rushed to the kid and pushed him out of the way; fearing the kid would knock himself on the concrete, hit his head or something. He forgot that he now is in the kid’s place. Suddenly, pain ripped through his right side, and he found himself flying. Then, his head met the solid concrete and felt numb. His vision was filled with black dots and the sound around him seemed like a low buzz.

 “Am I going to die?” he mused. Then, another thought crossed his mind. “Should I have told her?” … Her, Hinata… Hinata… Hinata…

 **If I told you all the words I’ve yet to say,

Would they matter or would you simply turn and walk away?**

 OoooO

 “Sa…suke”

 “That voice!”

 “Sa…suke!” the voice called again.

 That soft voice! He knew it! He knew it, he was sure! But whose?

 “Sasuke!!” the voice softly cried.

 “Hinata!! Hinata is calling me!!” . He forced his eyes open and saw her… Still clad in her wedding dress. So beautiful and… Is that blood? Is she hurt? Why is she crying?

 He tried to stand up but found out he couldn’t. Then, he remembered the van, the kid, flying…

 “Hi…hinata” he whispered feebly.

 “Sasuke! Sasuke! Don’t you dare die on me! An ambulance is on its way!” she exclaimed.

 “Hina…” he attempted again. If it was his last day, his last time on earth, he would tell her… Even if it would mean he was giving his last breath.

 Gathering his strength, he whispered “I… I… love… you”. He saw her eyes widen and then, he was engulfed in a total darkness, not knowing what she thinks of his last sentence.

 **If I hold you, will you tell me I should go?

 Do I chance it or would it just be better not to know**

 OoooO

 Hinata was in front of her mirror, admiring her beautiful dress. It had taken her, Sakura, Ino, Tenten and Hanabi four days to find it. The perfect dress. The top is constituted of spaghetti straps, a sweetheart neckline and a figure hugging tube top. The bottom blooms like a princess ball gown, puffy and adorned with lace.

 She couldn’t help but feel gorgeous. After all, it was what she wanted since she was barely a kindergartener! She was so dazzled by the blond, energetic and sunny kid that was Uzumaki Naruto. He was outspoken, loud and determined to become something great, all that she was not. So she had been easily pulled by his bubbly personality. And in just two days, she’ll rightfully be his wife, like she’d dreamed all along.

 **Who’s that girl with a perfect future?

 Her reflection says it all**

 Yeah, Uzumaki Hinata. That sounds right, ne? She’d be with him for the rest of her life. She can already see it from here. Every day would be filled with laughter, hope and sunshine. And the kids! Will they be as energetic as him? Or as calm as her? She doesn’t know… and she kind of didn’t want to know that yet.

 Just like she hoped the wedding day wouldn’t approach that fast. Because she was scared! But what bride-to-be wouldn’t? A marriage is a drastic change, and Hinata doesn’t really like change. Is she ready for that? Is she capable of handling her own family? What if she doesn’t make a good wife? Is it too soon? And what if something doesn’t go well? Like the band canceling last minute, the rain suddenly falling when they planned for an outdoor wedding, the flowers attracting bees and all?

 **Trying hard to pretend she’s eager,

 Searching for some way to stall**

 But… Is she really scared of the change? Or was it the fact that it’s not him? Him, her best friend since middle school. No! What is she thinking? Of course she loves Naruto and is just afraid of something not going as planned on the wedding. That’s it!

 “Yeah, keep telling that to yourself” her conscience said to her. “He’s not the one you’re in love with. You really love him, that’s for sure, but just in a brotherly way”

 But the wedding is only in two days! She can’t get cold feet now, right? Even though she loved Sasuke… Him and no one else. She did for the longest time but she just ignored that feeling, fearing what he would do if he ever found out she is just another fangirl… Well, she’s not a fan but she has feelings for him so that makes her a fangirl by his standard. That’s why she stuck as his best friend… Even though she took every time they hang out as dates, cherished all the little gifts he gave her since middle high, pressed every flower he gave her and kept them in her diary, let him pick her from work, she always kept her feelings from him… And everyone else, for that matter. He always was there for her, in sickness, in health, in sadness and in happiness, making her love him even more…

 **So unsure of the road she’s chosen,

 Faced with feelings her heart should not allow**

 But she’s getting married. Everything was already organized and ready. The dress, the venue, the guests, the caterer, the food, and even the honeymoon were already set. She just can’t turn back now, right? Everyone would be disappointed in her… Her dad, her sister, Naruto… But she can’t… She doesn’t have enough courage to go through it…

 **One thing’s certain it seems that she just can’t turn back now.

 If she can, tell her how**

 Suddenly, her door flew open and Hanabi rushed in, panicked and panting heavily.

 “Hinata!” She took a huge breath. “It’s Sasuke”.

 “What? Here?”

 Hanabi took one more deep breath before blurting “He got hit by a van down the street! He’s calling you.”

 Hinata’s blood turned cold and her face became livid.

 “Hinata! Hurry!”

 Hanabi’s voice shook her out of her stupor and she dashed outside, her little sister hot on her heels.

She just can’t believe it! What if he …? No! She can’t think like that! She can’t!

 She ran to the gathering and saw him there, lying on the concrete, in a pool of blood. She made her way through the throng of people, ignoring their bewildered look upon seeing her dress and kneeled beside him.  He seemed like he was dead but she heard his slow breathing, becoming more and more light every second.

 “Sasuke!”

 Nothing.

 “Sasuke!”

 Still nothing.

 “Sasuke!”

 Still no response.

 “Please, please, wake up! I need to tell you something!”

 She decided then and there that if he ever woke up, she would tell him how she feels. But what if he rejects her? Could she live with that?

 “Idiot! Now is not the time to think of that!” she admonished herself.

 “Sasuke!”

 Her tears finally began to pour down her face like a waterfall.

 His eyes fluttered open.

 “Hi…Hinata”

 Even though it was just a whisper, she heard him and was a little relieved.

 “Sasuke! Sasuke! Don’t you dare die on me!”

 A siren blared from some blocks down, causing her to feel even more relieved.

 “An ambulance is on its way!”

 “ Hina”  he whispered again, causing her to look at him. He closed his eyes, making her panic raise to full level again. “I… I…”

 Why is he still trying to talk?! He’ll only weaken himself!! But she didn’t have the force to speak.

 “…love… you.”

 What?! Her eyes widened! Did she hear him right? She was too stunned to say anything. But then, his eyes closed.

 “NO! no no no, please, please, don’t die…”

 Suddenly, medics circled his body and she felt someone trying to make her stand up. They rushed him inside the ambulance and she escaped whoever it was helping her up to join him.

 “Are you a family member?” A medic asked.

 “I’m his fiancée” she lied.

 A look of pity crossed the medic’s face as he said “Ok, hop in.”

 **If I told you all the words I’ve yet to say,

 Would they matter or would you simply turn and walk away?**

 OoooO

 Four hours later, she was still in the lobby, near the ER. People gave her pitiful looks – assuming from her red stained wedding dress that it was her husband who was being operated – but she paid it no heed. Hanabi had been there to comfort her but gave up after getting no reaction whatsoever from her sister who was frozen on a seat.

 “Hinata!” Naruto exclaimed as he ran to her, forgetting he should keep his volume low. He hugged her and she finally woke up from her trance.

 “He…He…” she said between tears.

 “He’s gonna be okay Hina” he tried to reassure her. He then looked at her clothes and was shocked. She was wearing her wedding dress! And she was so beautiful!

 But it was stained with huge, red splotches of blood. His eyes widened as his gaze took in her entire appearance.

 Hinata saw him watch her and followed his gaze.

 “Oh my God! Naruto! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed when she finally registered the fact that she ruined her dress.

 “Don’t worry Hina! It’s just a dress. You can have a new one,” he said. He looked her straight in the eyes, blue eyes so intense she could swear he saw right into her soul. Then, he sighed. “But you won’t need it right?” he continued sadly.

 “Wh-what do you mean?” she confusedly asked.

 “You do love him Hina…”

 “How?”

 “I guess I knew it all along but I selfishly ignored it.” His tone was so sad her heart broke for him. “He does love you too, you know? But you guys were never doing anything about it so I took my chance… I was kinda worried that if you two ever hooked up, you would forget about me.”

 She hugged him as hard as she could, as if her life depended on it, as if she could take all his pain if she held him strong enough.

 “I’m going to cancel the wedding” he finally said after a long time, “and then, I’ll come back here. Hana-chan is already getting you some clothes.”

 He got up. “I’ll be back soon, Hina! And don’t worry! That teme is a fighter! He won’t die that easily, believe it!”

 He gave her one of his trademark grin and she found herself more hopeful.

 OoooO

 Seventeen months later.

 It was now seventeen months since that fateful night. Seventeen months during which Sasuke had been in coma. Seventeen months Hinata came in the hospital daily. Seventeen months since she lived on autopilot: getting up, getting ready and heading for the hospital, staying with Sasuke till the visiting hours were over, going home and sleeping.

 These seventeen months had been hell for her, beginning with her family’s disappointed remarks – silenced by Hanabi and Naruto – due to the canceling of her wedding, to hoping every day that he would wake up and finding him still unconscious, and ending with the doctors trying to convince her to debranch him since the last two months.

 But she refused and still got to his room because she had faith in him. She knew he would someday wake up.

 “Sasuke” she began, like every day. “ Why didn’t I tell you sooner?”

 She took his hand.

 “Now, I feel guilty for hiding that from you…”

 Silence.

 “Please, wake up”

 Still nothing.

 “Well, Tenten-chan and Neji-niichan are heading home today with little Haruka. The doctor said she and the baby are well and strong enough now… Hana-chan and Naruto-kun are on their first date too today. I’m really happy for them. They really deserve each other.” She told his unmoving form, smiling slightly.

 “Oh Sasuke! Can you please wake up?” she pleaded, her hands clasping his, her eyes tearing. “I… I need you… I love you! I love you Sasuke!”

 She cried some more and fell asleep.

 OoooO

 She was suddenly woken up by nurses and doctors barging into his room.

 “Uh? What…?” she began to ask but was ushered outside by a nurse before she could form a coherent sentence.

 “Stay there dear” she said firmly and closed the door.

 Hinata sat herself on a nearby chair and waited. “What just happened? Is he okay? Is he waking up? Or is he… Is he…?  No! I can’t think that way! I have to stay positive! Positive, girl!”

 OoooO

 After nearly an hour, all the nurses and the two doctors came out. One of them walked to her.

 “Miss Hyuuga? He’s stable and conscious.”

 “He woke up?” she asked hopefully.

 “Yes, he did. You can see him if you want but don’t let him tire himself. Also, we still have to run some tests to see if his cerebral activities are okay or if he has amnesia, like many people undergoing such long coma do.”

 “You mean, he can forget everything?”

 “Not entirely everything. Maybe some period of his life, some people or some feelings… but for now, we’re not sure as he seems to remember his identity. Now, I won’t take more of your time because you must be dying to see him. But please, be cautious.”

 And then, the doctor was gone.

 She entered his room.

 “Hey” she hesitantly said. Will he recognize her?

 “Hey Hina” he replied, smiling slightly.

 It was all she needed to run and hug him, as much as she could with all the wires still attached to him.

 “Oh Sasuke! You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to see you awake again!”

 Her tears began to flood again.

 “Hina! Don’t – don’t cry! I’m alright! See?” he reassured her while returning her hug.

 After a long – really really long – hug, he asked “So, where’s the dobe?”

 “Uh, he’s on a date…”

 “A date?” he interrupted her. “That idiot is on a date when he has an adorable and loving wife like you?! That idiot! I’m going to kill him!!”

 He was already beginning to plan many ways to torture then kill that blonde friend of his when he heard her crystalline laughter. She was… laughing?

 “Uh? What did I miss?” he asked her.

 “Sasuke, Naruto-kun and I are not married. We canceled the wedding.”

 “But… But you love each other!”

 Then, a huge blank followed.

 Hinata’s heart thumped loudly. Should she tell him? Of course she should! But what if he doesn’t return her feelings?

 “He already confessed, right?” her conscience reminded her.

 “Yeah, but what if he forgot about it? Something to do with post-traumatic stress or something like that?” she argued back.

 “Idiot! Just tell him you love him! After all, you wanted to. You promised yourself you would confess when he woke up. Now, he did so woman up and do it!”

 “No, Sasuke. Actually, I…”

 **If I hold you, will you tell me I should go?

 Do I chance it or would it just be better not to know?**

 OoooO

 “She doesn’t love the dobe anymore? Wow, does it mean I still have a chance? Or does it mean she already has someone else?”

 “Do you have someone else Hina?”

 “How would I say it? I don’t know?”

 “You don’t know?” He asked, clearly confused.

 “No, I don’t have anyone else… but…”

 “Yes, oh God, thank you! Thank you! I can tell her freely now!” he thought.

 “I love you” they both blurted at the same time.

 Huuuge blank.

 Then, when they realized what they heard, they both chuckled and resumed their hug.

 “Hey, Hime” Sasuke called.

 “Yes?” she looked up.

 Then he kissed her. Hinata immediately returned his kiss, barely registering the sound of the heart rate monitor becoming louder.

 “I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time.” He said when they finally broke the kiss to take a breath.

 “Well, you then have a long time to make up for.” She teasingly replied before they kissed again, catching up the lost time.

 **Would it just be better not to know?**

#fanfic #songfic #if i told you #naruto #sasuke #hinata #hinata hyuga #sasuhina

[perksofbeingalittletwat]

Cherry Blossom Nights

future!fic Adam is chief of staff to a senator and Ronan lives at the barns farming and learning to cook. They make dinner together sweetly and then scare the absolute shit out of a senator together. Weird powerful Adam and intimidating Ronan power couple take on the normies.

“Your floor count is 47. The motion’s gonna fail, you’re gonna have to abandon it.” Adam repeated calmly over the phone. His boss, rising senator and current Senate Minority Whip Douglas Fairveiw (D), huffed on the other end. 

“I know. But I’m telling you, it’s not worth it.” 

“And when will it be worth it, Parrish?” The more refined Virginian accent asked. 

Adam looked down at his desk. A spread of tarot cards looked back at him. He checked that his office door was tightly locked and checked them again. “We have to talk to Williamson, from Utah. She’s on the fence. If we can give her something she might come over to our side.” His thumb rubbed the Four of Swords, Williamson’s card in his mind. Fairview sighed, “Fine. Alright. Cancel the vote and send everyone home. I’m not going to risk my ass over this.” 

Adam nodded and hung up the phone. A quick email later and a nearly audible sigh of relief passed through the Senate Office Building. It was late on a Friday night and everyone was anxious to get home, the only thing standing in their way had been Adam’s boss and the impending, and now doomed, vote. Adam sighed too, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie. He was glad his weekend plans had been here in Washington instead of forcing him to drive back to Henrietta. It was only a few hours back to his hometown, but on weekends hours were precious. They were so often cut short that any week he could force his partner up to him instead of driving home was easier. Ronan didn’t mind Adam coming home late from an endless meeting on an amendment to an amendment to a motion to strike out a line from an appropriations bill. Fairview had promised his staff the whole weekend off, and the holiday as well, but Adam knew better than to believe it. He checked his watch anyways, Ronan should be here soon. He gathered up the cards spread on his desk, hid them deep in his desk drawer, and walked out into the lobby. 

“I’m heading home, June. That’s a full lid. Bossman says we have the weekend off but keep your phone on you just in case.” Adam addressed the woman working the front desk of the office. 

“Ron.. I mean your boy… Mr. Lynch is outside the building.” June faltered. People in Washington usually reacted like this to Ronan. It was a town of sharp suits and cultivated personalities and Ronan’s utter insistence on being himself at all times threw a wrench into the system. Adam smirked. “You can just say Ronan, June.” 

Ronan was a dark shadow just out of eyesight of the door to the Senate Office Building.

“You’re allowed inside you know. You’re one of our constituents.” Adam called to the dusk. 

“It’s much more fun to scare the suits from out here,” came the grinning response behind him. Adam softened as Ronan wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his neck gently. “The vote’s off. I’m all yours this weekend,” He whispered. 

“Mark the time. I’ll believe it when I see it, Parrish.” Ronan sneered. 

“Sometimes I get the whole weekend…” 

“Sure. Tell me the last time you didn’t get a text from the suit all weekend.”

“March.”

“He sent you an email. Doesn’t count. You spent four hours researching soybean prices.” 

“You said text.” Adam protested. He disentangled his body from Ronan’s and opted to just take his hand, leading him away from the SOB and up towards his apartment. He was lucky, he found a place only nine blocks from the office on I street. His salary wasn’t impressive but it was more than Adam had ever seen in his life. They cut through the Capitol grounds and towards the highway. 

“You know what I meant you little shit,” Ronan threw back. “And you haven’t said anything about my skirt, I wore it just for you.” 

Ronan was dressed as he always did, combat boots, black tank top, incomprehensible yet threatening tattoo peaking out, but he had switched out his usual ripped jeans for a mid length black skirt. Almost a kilt really, that somehow looked even better than the standard model. 

“I like it. I didn’t want to call attention to it if you were just experimenting,” Adam said. The couple cut an unusual shape through the city. Adam blended in so perfectly, a lifetime of practice finally paying off, in a dark navy suit and red tie; Ronan a foreboding slash of darkest reality next to him. No small space had been written about them in the capitol gossip columns, the highest member of staff on the rising Democratic star senator’s team traipsing around town with a hooligan. Adam’s own reputation provided enough inches on its own. The ‘Wizard of C Street’, claimed one fanciful headline. It was believed far and wide in the city that Adam knew things he could not know before he could know them. What was stranger still was that it was true. His and Ronan’s connection with the legendary Gansey clan didn’t help either.

But this spring night was blissfully calm. The reporters were at home, the only people who acknowledged Adam and Ronan were the guards at the checkpoints to the Capitol itself. Adam greeted each by name and wished them a good weekend. Ronan ignored them. 

“How’re the Barns?”

“Sprouting. Everything’s up and ready to grow. I accidentally created a new breed of apple the other night, here, try it.” Ronan fished an apple from his pocket and tossed it to Adam. Adam caught it and bit into it, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin. It didn’t have a taste as much as it had a feeling. The apple felt like home, tasted like summer, and smelled like a cool breeze off the mountains. It was a dream. Literally.

“Can you plant these? This is incredible.” 

“No idea Parrish. I’ve never planted a dream before. It’s got seeds though, and I got it from a tree in the dream so it should. I dumped a few on the south pasture before I left. We’ll see what it looks like when I get back.”

After the short walk they arrived at Adam’s building, a stocky four apartment affair set back from the street with a yard. Upstairs the place was small, but Adam had used his salary to furnish it the way he wanted. Granite countertops, large tv, and plants everywhere. Ronan may be a farmer, but Adam worked with plants the way Ronan worked with dreams. Adam could barely close the door before Ronan shoved him against it with a kiss. 

They kissed hungrily at first, then slowed as they sated the most desperate of their need. It devolved into a loose hug and lazy kisses off center. 

“I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to do this.” Adam whispered, the barest hint of his accent slipping back in now that they were safely in his apartment. 

“Do what?”

“Not having you here every night.”

“We survived while you were at Harvard.” 

“Just barely, c’mon. Move in with me.” 

Ronan pulled back and turned his head away. Memories of nightwash and choking came back to him. It hadn’t happened in a couple of years now but he had been steadfastly living at the Barns near his leyline and dreaming every night. “I don’t know, Parrish. You know I want to but…”

Adam hung his head and nodded. “Yeah. I know.” 

Ronan kissed him again, an apology as much as a promise, and took his hand. “Now come on, let me cook you something, I’m fucking starving.” Time at the Barns without Parrish had left Ronan with a lot of time on his hands. He had filled it with chores, dreaming, and the latest project: learning to cook. Adam hoisted himself onto the kitchen island and watched Ronan throw a towel over his shoulder and start rooting through the cabinets. 

“You have no fucking food in here Parrish. When was the last time you went to the store?”

“I don’t remember. I’m a little busy keeping the country running.” “You call that running? This country’s running about as gracefully as a baby horse with two broken legs.”

“It would’ve been three if I wasn’t around, you should be grateful.” 

Ronan banged around the kitchen. Adam just watched him quietly, Ronan was a tight little hurricane, knives flying and pots crashing and curses muttered under breath but the whole while a tiny, tiny smile played at the corner of his lips. It was the Ronan he had fallen in love with, but conscious, the destructive power that had driven him through his grief over his father had become an aspect of his personality, no longer the motivating force of it. Eventually, even though he had nothing in his kitchen, Ronan still coaxed a meal out of Adam’s apartment. 

“It’d be better with the real stuff. But ta-da.” Ronan flicked a bowl to Adam. Inside was an instagram worthy nest of spaghetti carbonara. He looked at it for maybe a second before he began wolfing it down. Adam ate like he might never eat again, like he had burned all the calories he had last time and was a few minutes from starvation. “God this is good Ronan.”

Ronan ate in great chomping bites. “It’s fine. You need to buy something worth eating, this cheese is shit.”

Adam smiled, “Since when are you a cheese snob?”

“Since you only have this shitty powdered parmesan in your fridge. It’s not that expensive, Parrish. You can afford the decent stuff..” 

Adam was about to defend himself when his phone rang. They looked at each other and Adam sighed. Ronan rolled his eyes, “I win again. Told you we wouldn’t get the weekend.” 

“It’s going to be nothing. Something quick probably.” Adam looked embarrassed and sad. “Parrish. Yes… No, yeah. I’m fine I was just eating… Ronan made us something. Yeah it was really good… He WHAT? Are you serious? That fucking… Yeah I’ll go right over.” He hung up and threw his phone at the couch, “That bastard.” 

“A new broken leg?”

“Hackfield’s screwing us. He’s pushing the vote through committee so we lose it. I’m so sorry, i have to go.” He started collecting his things again. Ronan followed him and steadied his shoulders and retied his tie, “It’s okay. You gotta go. I’ll be here when you get back.” He kissed Adam gently and brushed a stray hair out of his eye. 

“Actually… Do you want to come scare a senator with me?”

The look on Ronan’s face was pure happiness.

***

Twenty minutes later, Ronan was dressed in the suit he kept at Adam’s apartment and was standing by the door of Senator Hackfield of Delaware (D)’s office. Adam was back in his navy suit in the chair across from the senator.

“I understand your boss’ position, Mr. Parrish, but I’m not changing my mind. My state needs this package and I’m not going to deny them the opportunity this is going to provide.” Hackfield leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide like ‘what can I do?’ It was obvious he thought Adam was no threat. Ronan smiled to himself, this was going to be fun to watch. 

Adam didn’t reply to the senator. He just looked at him.

“Mr. Parrish, tell your boss he can send whoever he wants but you and your little boyfriend aren’t going to scare me.” Ronan bristled in the background and crossed his arm. Hackfield chuckled, “Keep an eye out, Mr. Parrish, that one looks like he needs a leash.”

Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and held a pause. Then very quietly he asked, “Did you just refer to my partner like a dog?” Hackfield chuckled nervously. 

“No, of course not, it’s just not very professional to bring your, uh, partner, excuse me, into a meetin-”

“It’s not very professional to turn your back on your party for personal gain.” Adam countered, again with incredible quiet. Ronan knew what was happening. He’d seen Adam when he was like this, unsettling, distant, calm in a way that no other human ever truly was. People were not comfortable with this Adam. Ronan loved it. Stuttering, Hackfield tried to defend hismelf, “I’m not turing my back on the party. I’m helping my constituents. That is a very… professional.. Mr. Parrish I don’t have to answer to you, you know. You’re not my boss. And I don’t appreciate a staffer from a different office coming into mine on a Friday night like this and pushing me around.”

Adam didn’t answer, he just kept staring. Ronan took a step towards him. Hackfield glanced back and forth between the two boys nervously. 

“Look I… Maybe we can work out a deal. I’ll just put in an amendment to the-”

 Adam cut him off with a quiet, “No. You’ll kill this in committee until we have the votes.”

“My constituents need this bill.”

“And they can have it when we have the votes. But this isn’t about them. This is about you. This is about you looking courageous without having to risk anything because you know this will fail. I don’t like grandstanding, Senator.” 

Ronan took another step forward.  Hackfield looked pale. “Grandstanding.. I’m not… How dare you…” The senator was stuttering. Adam knew he had won. He stood up and just said, “This is going to wait. Thank you for your time Senator Hackfield. Have a good weekend.” 

And then he walked out the door. Ronan watched the senator for another second, squirming like a prey animal. “Call me a dog again and I’ll show you what my teeth can do.” he growled and then smiled a shit-eating grin and sauntered out of the office. 

“That was awesome, Parrish. He was fucking wetting himself.” Ronan was grinning ear to ear but Adam still had an aura of cold around him. “I don’t like them talking about you like that.” 

“Oh fuck him, who cares. I don’t mind being your little attack dog.” Wrapping an arm around his waist, Ronan made a little woof noise into Adam’s hearing ear. Finally, Adam let out a breath and laughed. “C’mon let’s go home. Maybe we can still salvage the weekend. It’s fucking hot when you scare people like that but if you ever look at me with those dead eyes in bed I’m going to dump you.” 

Adam turned and looked right at Ronan, shifting effortlessly into his uncanny aloofness. Ronan pushed him away down the hall, “Fuck off Parrish. I’m not kidding.” But Adam laughed and reached back his hand for Ronan’s. They walked out of the building holding hands into the warm spring night. 

#Ronan Lynch #Adam Parrish #Pynch #Future fic #trc #cdth #trb #bllb #i've never written them before hope you enjoy #I couldn't get this out of my head #the raven boys #the raven cycle #pynch fic #trk #tdt #the dream thieves

[mythicamagic]

Ulquihime Week: Day 4

@ulquihimeweek

Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime (UlquiHime) fanfic. Chapter Two - here

Rated T

Summery: Orihime has an imaginary friend, who happens to be a terrifying creature living in the woods behind her summer home.

For Ulquihime Week 2019 Day 4: Haunting/Touch Starved.

AN: This one is a little...weird. Think of it like a fairy tale/ horror /friendship /eventual romance?

Eldritch

At six years old little girls still believe in many things: Magic, ghosts, monsters, Santa, unicorns, the tooth fairy. Yet their beliefs are usually rooted in what they've already been told is possible. Santa lives at the North Pole and visits on Christmas. Unicorns can be found in forests. Tooth fairies only visit if you lose a tooth. The evil spirits in bathrooms usually resided in the last cubical.

Orihime Inoue had the profound ability to believe in almost anything. To give imperfect things palpable form inside her mind as something new. If Sora held up a sock puppet because her parents couldn't afford to buy a doll, she'd willingly suspend her disbelief and see it as a fierce cupcake dragon. If she ate red-bean paste on bread because they were low on groceries, she'd taste honey on pancakes or strawberries and cream. Dust came from magic spiders who liked to throw salt shakers of grey specs everywhere. The gloomy, faded lights of their dingy neighbourhood weren't half dead lightbulbs, but winking fairies or playful spirits. Graffiti was a technicolour, ancient language she didn't understand. The rivers and skies was a playground for the Gods. Sora could be her Mama and Papa in place of their actual parents.

So it surprised absolutely no one when Orihime claimed one day that Batman was her best friend.

---

He had been born from nothingness.

The only indicators that he was even alive were from the sharp, broken twigs on the forest floor tickling his hard, pale skin, and the solid earth supporting his back. That and consciousness.

He had no visible features, lacking a mouth with which to eat, or eyes with which to see. No hearing with which to listen, fingernails to claw and pry, fur or hair with which to shelter, and no heart.

Essentially, he had been born to experience nothing. A worthless, meaningless birth. He felt the absences of what he lacked with a keen, visceral emptiness.

The creature lay in a pale heap, content to die.

But something disturbed the clear nothingness surrounding him. Raising a hand, long fingers flexed wide, searching for the thin sensation in the breeze. The slightest, barely-there touch had him snatching something out of the air. Pressing it instinctively to his face, his form shuddered and convulsed.

Twin slits cracked on the creature's face. Muscle started to move and fix itself together. Skin crumpled as paper-mache lids pried themselves open. Long black lashes grew forth and the creature blinked the dust from his newly formed grey eyes. Muddy colours and blurry forms assaulted him, until he looked directly into an orb of something harsh and bright. Shielding his eyes, he looked down. Focusing on the dirt felt safer as he took a moment to practice blinking, seeing an afterimage of that burning light.

His sight cleared, shapes coming into focus.

Lifting his head and glancing around at the forest, slit pupils shifted. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. Blue skies could be glimpsed further still above. Hundreds of countless trees surrounded him.

Green. So much green.

His grey eyes let the colour leak into the canvas of his irises, making them give way to lush emerald. Touching his black lashes gingerly, the creature instinctively pried out one that didn't fit quite right with the rest. A small, single sun-kissed orange eyelash lay in his palm.

He found the colour acceptable.

Muffled, quiet vibrations thudded on the ground not too away then, like footsteps. Somehow, he could feel it. Lifting his gaze upon seeing movement in his peripheral vision, the creature stilled.

A little girl stopped in unison with him, tilting her head. The hair spilling out from under her sunhat blazed the same bright, fiery colour.

Deaf to her words, he could only watch as her mouth moved. She then hesitantly shifted forward, silver eyes bright and filled with nebulous flecks of brown. Gesturing to the orange lash in his palm, her lips curved, and the girl beamed.

For some reason, he then heard her words clearly, blessed with sound. "Are you my new friend? You can keep that eyelash in exchange!"

He stared uncomprehendingly, seeing a reflection of his image in her eyes. Proof of his existence. Distant tweeting could be heard in the trees. The scampering of strange, tiny creatures raced up tree trunks.

Something ran down his face from his eyes. Her expression crumpled and became alarmed, taking out a tissue from her pocket. "Oh no, don't cry! I promise I'll be a good friend!"

Racing over, she knelt and pressed the soft white thing against his dry cheeks. No matter how much she fussed and rubbed, the teal lines that made him look like he was constantly in mourning remained.

---

The girl had spent a few hours with him every day from then on, jabbering. Now that he'd received both sight and sound, the creature drank in all the newness surrounding him. He did not understand why his form was grown, with longer limbs than the girl, or why she saw fit to blush and remove her coat, telling him to cover his lower half with it. He did not understand much about himself at all, but everything she talked about, his frayed knowledge pieced together. The more books she read to him, the more his mind caught on until he became impatient with her slowness to describe the words.

'Sora' was her older brother, she said. A brother was a sibling. Her parents were poor. Parents raised their young. Being poor meant having no money with which to buy things.

The girl was called 'Orihime Inoue.'

When he gestured to himself, she blinked at him. "Oh, you're Batman!"

'Batman' did not sound right. But he supposed she was his God, his maker, despite not having palpable proof of such a thing. It felt correct to assume she knew best.

When she returned into the woods that bordered her back garden again, this time Orihime chewed an apple. She took out another from her red frilly dress, handing it to him.

"Oh...can you eat without a mouth?" She frowned.

Mouth?

Eat?

She tilted her head, saddened. "You must be really hungry," her tiny hand patted her stomach.

Hungry.

His stomach felt empty then, twisting into knots. Perhaps that was what she meant.

Yes, hunger.

He supposed he was.

'Batman' did not expect much to come from it, but the next day, Orihime trotted out through the bushes, giving him a gap-toothed smile.

She presented her baby tooth to him with all the flourish of a magician. "For you! This way, you can have a mouth! I could have saved it for the tooth fairy, but I'm giving it to you instead. I wrote her a letter explaining that eating food is one of the best things in the world, and my friend needs to know what it's like more than I need yen," she nodded happily. Her exuberance faltered slightly then. "Um, I think this will work. I hope. When you got that eyelash you got eyes, right?"

The creature reached out and took it between bone-thin forefinger and thumb. Instinctively he pressed the tooth to the appropriate place on his face.

A natural slit curved open, spreading wider as he stared at her, mentally mapping the look of her mouth. Behind the lips that formed came other intricacies of the mouth, muscles and such- that allowed him to open his jaw, accepting the tooth inside. Others formed an upper and lower row of the same bone-white teeth, strengthening until they were adult molars, canines and the like.

When finished, he parted his lips, plucking out the baby tooth and handing it back to her, a new tooth instantly regenerating within his mouth.

Orihime blinked, not thrown by witnessing the somewhat gruesome creation. "Your upper lip is all dark," she patted her top lip.

He mimicked the action but obviously could not see. Without fear, she casually pried her thumb into his lips to flash his new teeth at her.

"Wow! So many!"

Batman did not like this so he shied away from her touch.

"I guess you still can't talk though," small shoulders fell. "You probably need a tongue for that."

Tongue?

She stuck out her own, grinning. "You can't have mine! But I will go fetch you some food. I hear that ice-cream and soup are good if you struggle to eat. Please stay here!" The little ball of sunshine turned, bounding away without another word.

Green eyes stared after her, before mismatched lips opened. Touching inside, he indeed felt an absence inside the wet, hot space. His finger traced over the bumps and edges of his new teeth with fascination.

When she eventually returned, Orihime fed him peanut butter ice-cream and soup. He couldn't taste it, so the texture was all he had to go on as he swallowed. It was fine. He opened his mouth for more, and she giggled, calling him a glutton. He frowned at her tone and took the spoon off her, feeding himself.

She told him about her abusive parents, a drunk of a father and prostitute mother whom her brother, Sora, had saved her from. Ulquiorra understood some of the intricacies of what she said without fathoming her sadness or happiness. He did want to learn specifically, what the term 'glutton,' 'drunk' and 'prostitute' meant, but could not ask. Gesturing to her summer holidays homework in her backpack, he was rewarded with her teaching him how to read at her level. He caught on quickly, adapting, thirsty for knowledge.

Orihime gripped his large hand in both of her small ones and his curled long, pale fingers around a pen. She then grinned and taught him how to write in large sprawling characters.

She left him with a strand of her hair, which looked as though it had been kissed by the sun. He'd dutifully touched it to his head, where long, flowing dark tresses grew and fell to his shoulders, sprawling unevenly and wild.

----

From one of her broken fingernails came his long sharp talons.

With them, the creature felt that he now had the right tools to hunt, which she explained was what he'd need to do in her absence.

It was just as well, because a week later, Orihime had to leave. She'd made him a house of twigs and branches, a poor attempt at shelter, while explaining that she'd been staying with Sora at a cheap 'holiday home' they visited every year and rented for two weeks. They were now leaving for their city home. Batman felt no emotion at her departure but frowned slightly when water leaked from her eyes, running down chubby cheeks.

It smelled sharp and strange.

She'd scrubbed at her eyes and waved, promising to see him next year. Ulquiorra had nodded. With all the caprice and carelessness of a child, she'd then left her creation in the woods alone.

Orihime wanted him to have a tongue and it felt imperative to get one immediately. Legs shook as he stood, and he glanced down at the new blanket he'd tied around his waist at her behest.

He set down the advanced dictionary in his hand and tried talking a few steps, mimicking her walk, but soon panted. Sweat dotted his brow from the effort of walking the expanse of his clearing. He'd need to build strength. Eventually he'd get the hang of it.

---

"That's horrible."

Orihime looked up from her doodles to glance at Sora in the driver's seat, who listened to the radio.

"This attack was random and unprecedented in this town. Kenta Yano remains in hospital and has been unable to communicate to authorities who exactly is responsible for viciously severing his tongue from his mou-" the dial was snapped to the side, turning it off. Sora glanced at Orihime in the rearview mirror and gave a smile.

"Who wants pancakes with broccoli when we get home?"

"Ohhh I do, I do!" Orihime raised her hand, the distraction working its magic as they left the woods and summer home behind them.

----

The creature found that without her, the days blurred into one. He kept himself busy by reading the books she'd left him but they were quickly committed to memory. Rain poured heavy and endless sometimes. It had forced him from the usual clearing where they talked, finding a small cave and clawing at the earth to carve a space deeper for himself. He then lay down, suspending any and all thought; sleeping.

A year later, when she came hurrying through the woods again, clad in a summer dress and skirts flitting about her knees, Orihime found him exactly where she'd left him, but he now stood upright on two legs. More books were stacked atop each other, carefully stored in the shelter of a tree. They appeared to have been stolen from the library, but since the collection wasn't out of control, it could only be assured that he'd been putting the books back after reading them. The trunk had been carved out into shelves, keeping them safe. Orihime felt kind of proud. She'd told him not to steal.

His form had changed. Black fur now coated his arms up to his elbows, feathers sprouting from his shoulder-blades, yet more dark fur on his legs and lower-half, ending at his waist. She supposed he must have gotten cold in the woods. It only occurred to her then that she could have given him a pair of Sora's pants, and felt a degree of guilt. Maybe she'd been a bad friend.

He glanced at her, eyes wilder than she remembered, but he spoke eloquently, in steady, clipped tones.

"You are late, Orihime Inoue."

She burst into a wide smile.

---

"Murciélago," he said one day on her 8th birthday.

"Hm?"

"My name."

Orihime scrunched up her nose with concentration. "Mercy-"

"Murciélago."

"Merci...lego."

Flat green eyes told her he was not amused.

She huffed, looking apologetic. "Can I not call you Batman?"

"If you want to be incorrect, yes."

Seeing her state of furrowed brows and continual struggle to say it, he bit back a sigh, glancing up at the branches. "...Ulquiorra, then."

"Ulqui...orra," she murmured, before brightening. "Ulquiorra! That's a nice name."

He did not need her opinion on the matter but nonetheless felt assured and proud.

---

"I think it would be fun if you could fly," she mused one day, wading through a stream at the bright young age of 9. She claimed to be searching for stardust, because gold didn't satisfy ogres, apparently.

Since he was used to her random outbursts, he took it in stride, watching her from the bank. "Do you want me to fly?" He asked, gaze gliding over the bruises on her arms. He did not ask what they were from.

Orihime laughed softly, "maybe. Sure!" She then tapped her bottom lip. "But my brother says it's good to have a tail if you want to fly."

He blinked as she gasped and clapped her hands, dropping the bucket of precious stones she'd found into the water. "Ohh! Imagine if you had a lion's tail!"

----

She heard about the local zoo's break-in and subsequent attack on its male Barbary lion. She didn't think much of it even as she hugged Ulquiorra's newfound tail, which was thin, black and long. She had a wonderful time playing skip-rope with it.

Her laughter always resounded- not in his ears- but in the hollow of his chest which lay hidden beneath a surface of skin and muscle. The sound echoed and bounced off the walls long after she'd left him alone. In those times, he resented her presence in his life. The echos left a pulsing, aching thing. When his chest was silent, there was no sensation. An absence. A nothing. Nothingness did not hurt, so Ulquiorra came to the conclusion that nothingness was happiness.

----

"Your hair is shorter."

That smile he always noticed wobbled and shrank, before finally disappearing altogether. She curled her arms tighter around her knees, "some...girls cut it at the playground."

"Without permission?"

"Mhm," she scrubbed at her cheek, shoulders shaking a little. "I didn't tell Sora. I just said I felt like a change," her voice became thin and fragile. Ulquiorra watched as she struggled with something, holding back tears. She blinked rapidly and raised her head, exhaling. Not one fell.

His slit pupils dilated slightly. Even at ten years old, she was a strong girl. Different from the brats he'd glimpsed sometimes playing in the woods.

"It's just that...they made me feel like I was nothing," Orihime scuffed her shoes on the forest floor, disturbing leaves. "Just trash to be discarded. Girls always do stuff like this at school, but I didn't think it would happen while I was here. I like coming to the summer house... to be happy for a little while."

Happy? He blinked. Was she not usually? She smiled so often, indicating happiness. "There isn't anything wrong with being nothing," his tail thumped and slid over the forest floor. "But you are not trash."

She turned to look at him, brows furrowing. "I'm not?"

Ulquiorra stared at her, face as expressionless as ever, but a firmness crept into his tone. "No."

----

The next day, Orihime wandered to the playground cautiously, only to blink at the sight of the girls there. They sat, hands curled in their short locks that ended above their shoulders.

Frowning slightly, she made to approach. They hadn't looked like that yesterday. Their hair had been long and lush. The girls immediately noticed her and squeaked, hurrying away with frightened wails. One of them, the girl who Orihime remembered holding her down as the others had snipped at her orange locks- tripped and fell.

Orihime wandered closer, "what happened to you all?"

"Stay back!" The girl cried, dragging herself backwards on the mud to try and scramble away. "Keep away from me! You're a witch! A-a witch who summons demons or something! You sliced off my hair! I know it was you!"

Flabbergasted, Orihime could only watch as she turned and clawed at the ground to pick herself up and bolt away.

Naturally she'd visited Ulquiorra soon after. "Did you cut their hair?"

Vivid green eyes slid away. A rare thing. He always stared, like he were burning the image of her into his retinas. "You'll have to be specific."

Small hands drew into fists, "those girls. Did you...hurt them?"

"They hurt you," he pointed out evenly. The creature shifted and blurred, appearing much closer than she'd anticipated and causing her to startle. Long, sharp talons slid into her hair, gliding nails through the locks briefly, before drawing away.

Orihime swallowed, experiencing a brief flash of wariness for the first time. She then shook it away, putting her small fingers over the sharp tips of his claws. "You can't do that again."

"Why not?"

She frowned, trying to explain. For once, she felt out of her depth, "because it's wrong. Sora says it's bad to get revenge...to be w-wrathful."

He considered this, having no use for her human concerns. "Are you ordering me?"

"U-um..." the girl faltered. "Will it stop you from doing it again?"

"Yes."

"Then don't hurt any humans again," Orihime nodded with satisfaction.

Ulquiorra bit back a sigh, inclining his head. The ensuing pensive, thoughtful silence was soon broken by him slowly verbalising what had bothered him all night. "They were frightened of me. Even before I did anything to them."

"I suppose that's normal," she mused. "You're not like them."

His usual melancholic expression didn't change, but a kind of weight settled into his next words. Like a soft demand to know. Ulquiorra had never demanded anything of her before. "Are you afraid of me?"

And as usual, honesty stared him right back in the face. She visibly gentled and smiled. "No, I'm not."

---

The next year, she did not come.

Orihime did not visit the year after that or the year following that either.

Ulquiorra eventually plucked a bat from a tree and ripped its wings clean off its squirming body. He then pressed them to his shoulder blades and forced the leathery appendages to lengthen and grow, attaching them into his body and weaving the muscles and bone together. They soon towered over him in height, enough to support his weight in the air.

Theoretically.

It took a few attempts, but soon it took jumping and freefalling from a tree to actually work the wings enough to glide. A few more days and he was leaping into the night sky, flying.

He did not find her right away. Actually it took two more years to track the girl down, as he moved only at night and kept to himself. Ulquiorra observed as he went, becoming used to crawling down alley walls to peer into windows and observe humans. He'd scared away a homeless man who'd been squatting in an attic of a warehouse, watching television. Ulquiorra had promptly seated himself before the square of moving images and bright lights, learning.

They were all so similar and yet different, humans. They all wanted things, be it money, relationships, security or fame. They spouted ridiculous things about emotions and 'the heart.' He found that his assessment of them kept changing. Their books had taught him so much- and yet not enough. Orihime had been something unnamed and yet he wanted to name it. Was she special to him only because she'd given him what every creature usually possessed? That of the five senses? That sounded logical.

And yet it felt incorrect. It was not just that.

Ulquiorra eventually tracked the girl down by closing his eyes and feeling for something invisible. That same pull in the air that had happened when they'd first met. Energy he couldn't name or find a word for it with the language she'd taught him.

He soon pushed a window to an apartment open, tail sliding into the dark room and feeling for the floor before the creature followed.

The light in the bedroom switched on, causing him to freeze, eyes widening.

"Ulquiorra?"

Bedcovers rustled and sounded like they were being pushed back. Ulquiorra shifted, turning slowly to look at the woman.

She blinked, sitting on her bed, eyes looking wet but cheeks remaining dry. "I-it's you..."

He stared, transfixed. Orihime had changed.

His mental image of her shifted; bones growing, hips curving, body filling out, hair lengthening. She was a woman now. The child that had taught him what 2+2 meant was dead and gone.

He didn't react to the change, merely updating his information on her appearance and assumed maturity.

She stood, walking toward him with vague confusion. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, sliding down in waves to end at her mid-back. Ulquiorra blinked, his foot drawing back slightly, instinctively. Something pooled in his stomach. Similar to hunger, but illogical, since he'd already eaten.

"I thought...I don't-" her voice wobbled, uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't return."

She bit her lip, tugging it between her teeth. The sensation in his stomach tightened into liquid heat. Ulquiorra shook it away.

Finally, her grey eyes slid away, like she were ashamed. "Sora died."

He processed this, picturing the brother he'd glimpsed beyond the treeline sometimes, waiting for her. A tall, dark-haired man. "I see. Do you expect me to comfort you?"

She flinched, holding her arms. Slowly, slim fingers glided over the tanned skin, nails biting in. "No," she murmured. "After he died, my aunt began giving me money so that I could keep myself afloat here. On my own," grey eyes slid to the window, guilty. "I wanted to see you but I didn't have enough to come-"

"You're poor. It's to be expected."

The words didn't upset her. Ulquiorra was always painfully blunt. She decided to be equally straightforward, looking at him.

"But...I'd like to give another order. If that's okay?"

Ulquiorra mulled it over, wondering if her teenage years and impending adulthood had rendered her as selfish and shallow as the other humans he'd glimpsed. Perhaps the qualities he'd admired in her had vanished.

Taking his silence as reluctance, Orihime stepped closer and lay gentle, warm hands on his arm. Ulquiorra tensed, breath hitching.

"Is there anything you'd like in exchange?" Her breath fanned over the exposed skin of his chest. The hollowness beneath the surface opened wider.

"I'm not sure as of right now," he quietly admitted. "I'll do as you ask, and then we can discuss what I want afterwards."

She nodded, firey hair bouncing with the motion. The heat from her body felt alluring, in a way no hearth had ever beckoned to him previously. "Alright, I want..." Orihime took a breath. "I wish you would bring Sora back."

Ulquiorra thought of the bat he'd killed. How its eyes had turned glassy and vacant. "I'm not certain that power is within my reach," he admitted, slit pupils dilating slightly at her tense, rigid expression. Like she straddled the line between a collected facade and despair. Strong as ever. "...But I will try," he added.

Her eyes lit up like they used to, lashes falling shut. Orihime's fingers brushed over the black fur of his arm.

"Thank you," she breathed, giggling slightly. Her arms wrapped around his middle then. The warmth and softness of her body pressed against his bare chest and torso, trapping him in a tight grip that he oddly didn't find restricting yet caused his eyes to widen anyway. The thudding coming from her chest resounded in his own. He set his hands on the curve of her hips, counting the thuds of her heartbeat. Without realising, he smelled her hair and brought her closer.

"You're the best imaginary friend I've ever had."

Tilting his head a touch caused black strands to dip and brush over her cheek. Did she mean that she'd initially assessed him as a friend but now felt that their bond had been imaginary? Or...

Orihime released him and turned towards the kitchen, asking whether he wanted something to eat or drink. He barely heard her.

She was incorrect. He'd left proof of his existence via that man, that bat, that lion, those girls in the park. Their tongues, wings, tails and hair had been cut by his talons. The things he'd assumed were his lungs constricted, sensations assaulting- spouting cold fire from the depths of his stomach and into his throat, burning.

His hand rose, digits pressing against the surface of his chest. The feeling of it being nothing but an empty container doubled. He was only vaguely alarmed when his fingers dipped inwards. The brittle surface of skin over his chest crumbled away where his heart should have been. A hollow hole was revealed in its place.

Ulquiorra realised then, he didn't care if he had actually interacted with the world. If he had actually scared that homeless man, harmed those creatures or cut those girls hair. What he desired, coveted, craved, needed lay in Orihime's tired eyes that seemed just a touch out of reality as she glanced at him and he found no sign of his reflection staring back at him.

He wanted to exist in her eyes again.

----

AN: TBC in chapter two

#ulquihime #uhweek2019 #Bleach #ulquiorra x orihime #orihime inoue #Ulquiorra