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royivia · 3 years

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The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

#short story #original fiction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #fiction

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 3 years

Text

March 28th, 1787

Spain laid out his jewelry for the night, and then turned to what he wanted his colony to wear. It was not an important night in terms of politics, but he was never going to pass up an opportunity to show off his wealth. If he did not continue to show his riches, then his rivals may doubt it.

He laid a ruby ring next to his own golden decorations, and took a moment to look at it. He had the ring made to serve as a kind of engagement ring, though he had yet to nullify New Spain’s betrothal. He intended to do it, and the time was coming that he would.

He glanced over at the young man who was busying himself with his hair in the mirror. He seemed mildly irritated, and had for most of the day, but Spain had little idea why. There was nothing that should put him on edge the way he was. He guessed that it had something to do with getting little sleep the night before, because there was nothing else that should worry him.

He noticed the way that New Spain was still running his hands through his hair like he was deeply irritated. It already felt like whatever was on his mind would ruin the mood for the night, and Spain thought it was better to get him to talk.

Spain abandoned his preparations and walked over to New Spain. He put his hands softly on the boy’s shoulders and massaged the muscles. He could feel the tension just under the skin. He asked softly, “What is wrong, my angel?”

New Spain stirred under his hands. He finally left his hair alone and answered the question, “I don’t know. Something just feels....” He trailed off as he failed to find the words to explain the feeling. After a long quiet moment he added, “It’s nothing.”

There was a hint of a whine in his voice that told Spain that something was upsetting him. But, he could not think of what could be wrong. It had been a relatively quiet day, and New Spain had spent most of it reading.

Spain said, massaging a particularly tight spot with his thumb, “Get dressed and I promise you that you will feel better. You can even have some extra dessert if you are good.” He knew that anything sweet would appeal to New Spain, perhaps enough to abandon his tempestuous mood.

The boy let out a long breath before nodding. Spain was certain that it would be enough to motivate him to ignore whatever had him so concerned. They could discuss it again in the morning, and Spain knew that he could get New Spain to tell him what was wrong if he needed to.

He removed his hands from the boy’s shoulders to give him space to stand up. New Spain took a deep breath, apparently to calm himself, before he started moving. He got to his feet and Spain started to turn away.

New Spain let out a sharp gasp.

It sounded like he was in pain. Spain felt the sound go straight through his chest. He turned and saw that New Spain was hunched forward with one hand braced against the table and the other against his chest.

Spain immediately felt a surge of panic. The boy’s face had gone pale, and he was taking shallow pained breaths. Any thought of the night’s activities vanished and he refocused on his colony.

New Spain looked like he was in danger of collapsing. Spain immediately put his arm around his waist so that he could support his weight.

He was just in the nick of time. A shudder went through New Spain’s body and his legs gave out from under him. If Spain had not been holding onto him, he would have fully collapsed.

Spain scooped the boy into his arms. He was always surprised at how light New Spain was, and how easy it was to hold him. He was a tall young man, but he was easy enough to pick up.

Spain had no idea what was causing the sudden weakness, but the way that New Spain was letting out little whimpers that put everything else out of his head. The way that one of the boy’s hands was digging into his shirt told him that it was the source of the pain was his chest.

His mind was racing, and he prioritized getting his dearest colony into bed. Spain carried him to the bed and laid him down gently. He then sat next to him so that he was close.

New Spain said, with his voice quavering, “Tony, what is happening?”

The look in his eyes was genuinely terrified and confused. Spain wished that he had an answer, but he was just as shocked by the sudden turn. The location of the pain told him that something was wrong in the capital.

His mind immediately came up with possibilities, and an invasion was the most dire. The English had been the most aggressive in the past, but he found it hard to believe that they could get that far. The colonies were fortified, and it would take enormous effort to overcome that fact.

New Spain was practically trembling. Spain bit the inside of his lip as he thought about the question. He wished that he had an answer, but he did not know. He said, “I do not know.” He stroked New Spain’s hair in an attempt to be comforting and added, “But I will take care of you.”

He knew that he needed to uncover whatever was causing the pain, so that he could stop it. He was already thinking about the servant who was just outside, who could fetch him news.

The most immediate priority was New Spain’s well-being, and Spain felt heartbroken seeing his pain. New Spain’s voice shook as he said, “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Spain took his hands and squeezed them comfortingly. He could feel the way the boy’s hands shook. If it was anyone else he would immediately prioritize finding the source, but he couldn’t leave New Spain when he looked so fragile.

He felt the shaking slowly still with the passing minutes, and he could tell that New Spain eventually unclenched his jaw. He asked, “Is that better, my darling?” New Spain shook his head before answering, “It still hurts. I’m so tired.”

Spain felt like he could see dark circles forming under his eyes, which was odd for so early in the evening. Whatever had happened was clearly still taking a toll on him. He could guess that the unknown event had been sudden and intense.

He leaned forward and kissed New Spain softly on the forehead, and said, “I will be right back. I am not going far.”

As he stood he heard New Spain whimper. It was nearly enough to keep Spain next to him, but he had matters to attend to.

Spain leaned out of the door only enough to speak to the servant just outside. He said, quickly and firmly, “I need you to listen very closely. Something has happened in New Spain, and I need to know what it was. Bring me news. Quickly.”

He could feel his temper flaring. The idea of New Spain suffering incensed him, and the idea that he could not immediately fix it made him even angrier. He had to keep it under control, though the whole situation was frustratingly outside of his control.

The urgency of the request must have come across in his tone. The servant’s eyes widened and he looked like he was about to leave, but Spain stopped him, “But first, you will bring me a cup of tea with plenty of sugar.”

He took a breath and added, fully aware that sweets and sleep would not be enough, “And a dose of laudanum.”

He guessed that a dose of the bitter medicine disguised by ample sweetness would dull the pain enough for New Spain to rest. It was the least that he could do to help.

He watched the way that the servant scurried off for only a moment before returning to New Spain, who had quieted. The boy was laying against the pillows. He looked deeply exhausted, but at least he seemed like the pain had subsided.

Spain sat back down on the bed and stroked New Spain’s hair. He saw the way that New Spain leaned into his hand like he was craving the comforting touch. He said, as softly as he could with the worry pounding in his chest, “I will make it better. I promise.”

Spain glanced at the red velvet of New Spain’s doublet. He could see the lines where New Spain had dug his fingers into the fabric. The clothing had been for the benefit of the court, but it was constricting for someone in pain.

Spain gently started to untie the laces to give him more room to breath. New Spain took a deep breath, and then let it out as a groan. He said, “It still hurts.”

The brevity spoke volumes to Spain about how much pain he was still in. Usually the boy was pleasantly talkative.

Spain touched his face softly again and responded, “I know. But I’m here with you.”

He took New Spain’s hand with his free hand. He was not comforted by how weak New Spain’s grip was. The sound of the servant’s approach was very welcome. Spain turned to see the man with a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He silently took it and waved the mortal away.

New Spain asked, weakly, “What is that?” Spain answered him, “It’s something for the pain. It will make you feel better. Drink it.”

For a moment he thought that the boy might fight him on it. But, the glimmer of resistance immediately died in New Spain’s eyes, and he silently took the cup from Spain. He blew on it weakly to dissipate the steam. Then, hesitantly, he took a sip.

Spain saw his eyes light up as he tasted it. He said, sounding slightly shocked, “It’s so sweet.”

Spain made a mental note to commend the servant for following his orders closely. Hopefully he had been liberal with the laudanum as well. He said, “I know you like sweet things. Drink all of it.”

New Spain obeyed without complaint, and Spain was certain that it would not take long for the medicine to take effect. As he expected, New Spain’s eyelids started to droop.

He took the cup from his hand as he saw the tension leave his muscles so that it did not fall. He put it aside and then used both hands to ease New Spain down as he said, “Lay down, my angel. It will be better soon.”

New Spain closed his eyes and snuggled into the pillows. Spain couldn’t help but think that he looked precious and peaceful. But, he knew that there was still a problem, and he had to find the reason for the pain. Assured that New Spain was asleep, he kissed him softly one more time before he left to find answers.

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

The first thing that New Spain was aware of as he woke was the pain in all of his muscles. He felt like he had been run over by a bull. His whole body ached and his stomach also felt painfully empty.

He opened his eyes and tried to guess how long he had been asleep. It seemed like it was morning, and he could only guess at the hour. The room wasn’t dark, so he knew that he had slept through the night.

He tried to stretch and let out a groan as every muscle complained painfully. It felt like sleeping had given the pain time to set in.

He gritted his teeth and sat up, despite how much it hurt. As he did, his stomach turned uncomfortably. On instinct he leaned over the edge of the bed and dry heaved. If he had eaten anything recently he was sure that it would have come up.

He wrapped one arm around his empty grumbling stomach, and flopped back onto the pillows. He said to himself, very quietly, “Fuck.” He wasn’t certain whether he was hungry or if he never wanted to eat again.

He also could not quite figure out what had happened. He remembered feeling distant discomfort for several hours, then a sudden sharp pain in his chest that made his limbs go numb. After that it all blurred, and he couldn’t recall exactly how he had ended up in bed asleep.

He glanced down and realized that he was still dressed in his formal clothing. Usually Spain would be unhappy with him for creasing the velvet before he had worn it in public. Knowing that Spain had allowed him to sleep in it told him that the moment had been dire.

Glancing around, he realized that Spain was gone. He had thought that he would wake up to him there. He hated the pang of sadness he felt at the realization. He wished that he had woken up to company and something to eat.

As he stared at the ceiling he contemplated whether he would be able to walk to the kitchen. His legs felt like they might not hold his weight if he tested them. On the other hand, he felt like it may be worth the risk if he could settle the nausea.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the door opened and Spain walked through it. Spain seemed to catch sight of his open eyes and immediately rushed to his bedside. He said, in a voice that made New Spain feel genuinely touched, “Oh good, you are awake.”

He took New Spain’s hand and kissed it briefly. New Spain asked, “What happened?”

Spain usually knew everything that happened in the empire, and New Spain desperately wanted an answer to his question. Spain answered him, “I just got news. It was an earthquake. It was an act of God.”

New Spain thought about the way the pain had hit sharply in his chest. He knew it must have hit the capital. But, he took some comfort in knowing that it was something brief. He said, “So, it is over?”

He wasn’t certain why he didn’t feel better if the event was over. Spain touched his cheek softly and said, “I’m afraid not. The tremors may last days. You will need time to rest. I have cancelled all your lessons until you feel better.”

It sounded like he had thought about it while New Spain slept. His soft caresses felt like he had been worried. New Spain was glad for it; the concept of going back to his usual schedule made him feel exhausted. He said, “Thank you, Tony.”

Spain smiled and replied, “Anything for you, my angel. Do you want more medicine?” New Spain shook his head, and his stomach growled loudly. He answered with a small smile, “I would rather have food first.” Spain smiled back at him and said, “I’ll get you some breakfast.”

#hws mexico #hws spain #i know I've changed my hc about how earthquakes effect Ale #but this was such an interesting idea that I had to write it

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drxwsyni · 4 years

Text

Willing ︱Yandere Dabi x f!Reader

@riarora asked: “Could you do yandere Dabi x reader where the reader is one of those people who reads yandere fanfic and knows almost everything, including how to get out, but she doesn’t want to, cause it’s weirdly her dream?”

a/n: ahh yes some good ol’ self awareness. thanks for the request bby, i really liked writing this!

warnings: violence, swearing, kidnapping, suggestive themes

(2.5k words)

_____

It wasn’t hard to tell where Dabi’s intentions lied.

You’d spent more than enough time indulging yourself in mindless scrolling, reading piece after piece pertaining to a certain genre. One that in reality wasn’t the healthiest, but my god was it ever alluring.

Maybe you were lonely, or just apathetic to the red flags that this behaviour presented. Either way, the developing relationship you had with the man was one that you were all too familiar with.

At first it wasn’t obvious―you disregarded his actions as him shamelessly flirting. Dabi had a habit of pushing your buttons, getting you flustered and squirming under his gaze. You could tell he was enjoying himself, seeing what his words did to you.

Once he got bored of the verbal sentiments it moved on to something much more physical. An arm lazily draped around your shoulder, a grip on your chin forcing you to look at him when you turned away in embarrassment. He seemed to enjoy the temporary fear he placed in you when he came up behind you only to wrap his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you firmly into his chest. Every time he did it took you a moment to register the guilty party, but one glance down at the semi-scarred arms and you knew exactly who had scooped you up. If that wasn’t enough, the hot breath against the shell of your ear as he greeted you would do the trick.

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed it was just his personality. The teasing nicknames and lingering stares could be seen as endearing for the most part.

It was when certain attributes bled into the relationship were you able to pick up on the motivation behind his mannerisms.

He had a temper―that much was obvious.

It was never a problem until you idly mentioned in passing conversation that you were saving up money to move away for college. He just...stopped. You thought he didn’t hear you, but not a moment later and he was laughing at you.

“The fuck do you need college for doll? You know that shit is a fucking scam.”

To be fair you never thought he’d have such a strong opinion. As far as you knew you were just some side chick he’d like to mess with when he was bored.

“Well I can’t just keep a dead end job forever. I’d like to move on eventually―meet new people, make better money, y’know…”

The two of you were at his apartment, your back turned to him as you made something to drink in the kitchen. You jumped slightly as one arm wrapped around your waist, the other coming to rest atop the counter in front to you.

His frame leaned into yours, your hip bones digging into the countertop. “What, so you’re just gonna abandon me for some shitty frat boys and student debt?”

The idea almost made you laugh. He was partly correct―the piling debt wouldn’t be fun, but you would have to deal with it just like every other student. As for the college hookups, well it wasn’t something you had actually thought about. You were feeling bold tonight, thinking that perhaps he should get a taste of his own teasing medicine. “Aw, you're not jealous of a few college goers, are you Dabi?”

The hand that was placed on the countertop came to drift towards your face, moving a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “No need to be jealous of people who I know I’m better than sweets. Just worried about a pretty little thing like you getting hurt is all.”

You smiled at his concern, “I’m sure I can fend for myself, thank you very much.”

The grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “Can you though?”

“I don’t―”

“You can barely fucking handle when I mess with you.”

You turned around at the statement, slightly offended, coming face to face with his cold scowl. “Well maybe they won’t be as rude to me.”

At that Dabi’s lips formed into a smirk. “Oh, you think I’m being rude? You’ve got no idea what those little shits might get up to.”

His gaze was piercing, something you could never look at for a long time. You dropped your head slightly and averted your eyes to something else in the room to distract you. “I’ll never know if I don’t go, not like there’s much holding me back here anyways.”

The sudden feeling of Dabi gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger was momentarily jarring. It forced you to look up at his as he spoke, his other arm still pulling you close into his chest. “So you’re gonna let a bunch of strangers put their filthy little hands all over you? Not sure I like the sound of that princess.”

The closeness flooded your senses with the smell of smoke and cologne. You tried to put some distance between the two of you, but the counter was still pressed firmly into your back leaving no room for escape. “I’m not saying that―I just don’t see myself having a future here. I’ve gotta move on eventually.”

He gave a laugh in response, but it was closer to an exasperated huff. “Nah, fuck that. College is a waste of time, and I’m all the goddamn company you need if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Listen, as boring as sitting through lectures sounds, I'll take it over my lame ass job any day. And no offence but you do tend to give me headaches with all the shit you put me through.” You made an attempt to move out of his grasp, but you were only met with him pushing you back into the counter quite roughly.

“You’re not going to fucking college.” He was still smirking, but the look in his eyes that was normally vibrant seemed...empty.

Well this wasn’t the turn of events you were expecting.

You liked to think you were a strong person, but his persistence in the matter was unnerving to say the least. “That’s not your decision to make.”

He laughed at your attempt to sound confident, “I can do whatever the fuck I want princess.”

His cocky attitude could almost make you scoff, if it weren’t for the subtle feeling that maybe, just maybe you shouldn’t push him.

...But where’s the fun in that?

“Whatever, I’m sure you can find someone else to annoy.” You turned back around to keep working on the abandoned drink, leaving him to settle his hands on your waist.

“There is nobody else.”

That made you feel a little better, having assumed he only kept you around for entertainment purposes before moving on to something―someone―more serious. But at the same time it was concerning―what was so special about you to him? “Well that’s too bad, I’m not staying here because some asshole is lonely.”

Dabi appeared to be amused with your attitude, hearing the low chuckle from behind you. He went back to having his arms wrapped around you from behind, leaning the side of his head up against yours.. “Aw, you sure dollface? I’ve heard I can be very convincing, bet I could get you to stay somehow.”

You shook your head at his response, “Doubt it. You’d have to do something pretty big to keep me here.”

“Well, I do have my ways sweetheart. Just not so sure you’d agree with what I have in mind.”

Threatening, but not explicit.

“That’s comforting.” This time when you moved to escape his grasp he let you, drink in hand while heading towards the living room couch. You settled on to the worn out cushions, sending Dabi a glare as he used your lap as a footrest when he draped his body across the free expanse of the seating.

Without another word on the subject he chose a movie, letting the room fall into a peaceful absence of conversation.

_____

It was only in your nature to reflect on that encounter with the scarred man, given your expanse of knowledge in regards to the certain kind of behaviour he briefly held.

To be honest it was the first time he showed any real commitment to your questionable relationship. The first time he made it clear that you were his sole focus.

It was nice, but you couldn’t help but pick up on the red flags.

He was a villain. An extremely powerful one at that. He’d mercilessly slaughtered countless people―surely that had some effect on his psyche? If there was any evidence for that, it was this. Nobody with his history just implies something so vaguely ominous without being serious.

But you would never know how serious he was if you didn’t do a little more prodding on the subject.

Just to be on the safe side, you didn’t tempt him with anything that’d make him specifically pissed over one person. If he truly was the person you thought, then you’d have to avoid being the reason he killed someone.

Instead, you took the passive route.

By now you’d given him your phone number, or rather he forced you, saying he would stop teasing you if you did so. Of course he didn’t stop, but that was behind you now.

After that night he seemed a little more...insistent. Usually Dabi wasn’t very talkative, but now he’d taken a liking to keeping up with you through text.

Sometimes it was just idle conversation, but it always had something to do with what you were doing: where you were, who you were with. The talks were still short, but he made the point to ask nonetheless. It gave you the perfect opportunity to push his buttons.

You wouldn’t answer him right away, or you’d be vague with your responses to his interrogative questions. The endeavour to irritate him did little at first, but the more you persisted, the more he got attached to you, the demanding side of his personality started to bleed into your life.

He’d get angry with you for ignoring him. Dabi wouldn’t obsessively spam you with texts―no, he preferred the few he did send to simply disturb you into replying. Warning you that this wouldn’t end well for you. That he knew you were ignoring him. That he’d make you regret acting so stuck up.

Should you have heeded these blatant warning signs? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Yet as time passed and he only got worse, the more you wanted to see just how far he’d be willing to go.

In hindsight, the idea wasn’t the best. You really were going to move away for college, start a new life, maybe meet that special someone.

But Dabi had other plans.

As much as you thought you were being delicate with his temper, his destructive practices proved that everything you had done to avoid violence was in vain.

You should have seen it coming.

He could’ve killed you―should’ve killed you―but he knew this was what he needed. You were what he needed. And the prospect of watching you slip out of his grasp wasn’t something he was ready for. But you were ready for it, and that was the problem.

So Dabi smoked you out of the only place you could call home, along with destroying anything that’d keep you living with any semblance of independence.

The putrid smell of burning materials and, what you prayed wasn’t searing flesh, was the first to hit your senses. You were awake at the ungodly nightly hour the menace chose to send your apartment complex up in flames. If it weren’t for that you were convinced you would have perished in the fire. But Dabi probably planned for that, much like he probably planned for you to be forced out of the only exit that wasn’t being slowly cremated.

Out of the back exit and right into his arms, all the while you were still choking on the air that was riddled with deadly smoke just a few seconds ago. But he didn’t care, not when he had to stifle your screams with his hand, his other arm wrapped around your lower half, pulling you away from the complex where emergency first responders wouldn’t find you.

He let you look at the building that was gradually succumbing to the devastating effects of his quirk. You knew why he was doing it, but it still scared you.

“You see baby, this is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Take a good look at it, cause you’re never fucking comin’ back here again.” His voice was devoid of empathy, but why would he care in the first place? If anything, he was having fun with the matter.

It was your fault, you’d forced his hand. He wanted to be patient with you. Let you come to him.

But no, you had to piss him off. You deserved this for how much you put him through.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the smoke that was making you lightheaded. Or perhaps the constricting feeling of Dabi’s arm wrapped around your throat. Realistically, it didn’t matter which was the final nail in your coffin. Soon enough you were passed out, body limp and defenceless in his arms to do whatever he pleased.

And so, when you finally came to, your predicament did not come as a surprise.

A chain wrapped around your ankle, secured firmly into the floor. You laid haphazardly on a bed in what you already knew to be Dabi’s old, fairly run down apartment.

He didn’t bother to wait for you to wake up, just leave you alone in the cold room to figure out what had happened.

But you were very aware of the situation.

This is what you wanted, right?

You pushed him. And now he was pushing back.

Out of pure instinct you gravitated towards yanking at the chains, doing anything to loosen them. Only after a few minutes of doing so you remembered just how you’d done your hair that day. Nothing special, but adorned with a few bobby pins.

And yet, when you removed one to pick at the lock, you stopped. Out of curiosity you taught yourself how to use the makeshift key to open such a device, but what was the point?

He’d only track you down if you got out. And judging by his character he wouldn’t be against some less than comfortable forms of punishment. It was clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to burn down anyone or anything in his way either.

And when you spent so much time tempting him to do exactly this, why would you ruin it?

It wasn’t healthy, but it proved how much you meant to him. In an equally disturbing and endearing way, he cared about you. More than anyone else had cared about you before. College plans be damned, you could settle for this at least for the time being.

So you put the pins back in your hair, laying back against the firm mattress.

You didn’t entirely know what Dabi had in store for you, but that made it only the more intoxicating.

Eventually you heard the telltale heavy footsteps approaching the locked bedroom door.

You should’ve been scared. You should’ve been fighting tooth and nail to escape your bindings. But as the sound got louder, and the locks on the door shifted open, you could only think of one thing.

It was dangerous, but you still wanted to know the extent of his pent up desires. And subsequently, how you had to play your cards to reveal these traits without getting yourself or anyone else killed.

But no matter what happened, you wanted this.

#yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere mha #yandere

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fencesandfrogs · 3 years

Text

some thoughts on dovewing and hollyleaf

so i was like 1k words into my au for dovewing where she’s cloudtail and brightheart’s daughter and it was really good and then i lost it because tumblr doesn’t understand the concept of “are you sure you want to navigate away from this page?” and i can’t tell you how sad that makes me but i’m not going to despair, because i think the world needs this.

[1.5k words. 5 minute read. wall of text.]

right. so. basically. dovewing is going to be born to cloudtail and brightheart. i have Thoguhts on what other things could be changed in po3 but this isn’t about that.

also ivykit is red now sorry i don’t make the rules. (brightheart OR dovewing are now tortie to compensate for the change in genetics, not that warriors cars about that, but i do. cloudtail inherits brown from his mother and ??? from his father because i haven’t traced all of their litters, but i don’t see why dovekit couldn’t be grey.)

so cinderheart gets dovepaw because dovepaw is anxiety child. lionblaze gets ivypaw because that’s going to be a drama engine when he’s obsessed with her sister(’s mentor, but ivypaw doesn’t know that, also later it is dovepaw bc propehcy)

cloudtail and brightheart and cinderheart work out some Sensory Blocking skills. beavers happens. dovepaw, who spent most of her time as dovekit hiding in big fluffy father’s fur because Sensory, takes one look at big and fluffy and kind tigerheart and says: yes, he is safe. i will be his friend.

(i’m a fan of tigerheart and dovewing don’t @ me, they are the cutest, and after everything bramble and squirrel put me through, i deserve some pure kind love.)

anyway lionblaze figures out dove is 3rd cat, jayfeather is like “oh sick my sister’s back” dovepaw is anxiety child, everything is fine.

nothing happens in omen of the stars i stg

tigerheart and dovepaw continue to meet up. ivypaw goes from “sister worshipped i am unloved” to “sister fragile. must protect. (also i am unloved)” bc skirmish on border patrol and dovepaw just...can’t.

everyone is kind of wondering if dovepaw should maybe be med cat? i mean she has a good ear for prey, but she can’t really catch it, and, like, she’s weird.

she’ll mention snippets of information she shouldn’t know. she knows what you were coming to talk to her about before you get there. she’s never surprised, by, like, anything far away, but she barely notices if you sneak up on her.

something is not right about her.

but dove doesn’t really want that (reminder: tigerheart and her are still flirting-friends. he’s aware that she’s got some kind of, well, problem seems cruel, but what else should he call it?, and wants to help her, but has no idea what to do), and so cinderheart is like “well. we can do this. we can.”

idk filler stuff. ivypaw finds out about dovepaw and tigerheart. like, she knew something was up, but she gets explicit confirmation. ivy gets very protective of dovepaw, dovepaw is like ‘ur not my mentor’ ivypaw sees tigerheart in the dark forest, and she goes all

bluefur being like “snowfur ur bf has rabies” in bluestar’s prophecy

and it goes about as well now as it did then (altho tbf dovepaw is more close to being in the right than snowfur was.)

ivypaw and dovepaw now aren’t speaking. cinderheart is trying to get some space from lionblaze because dovepaw is anxiety child, training with ivypaw isn’t helping, and lionblaze needs to focus on ivy dammit.

anyway yeah in this ivypaw, after dovepaw’s initial success hunting, quickly surpasses her sister, and continues training in the dark forest because must protecc also need affection

(ivypaw is very pro dovepaw be a medicine cat. the fact that it keeps her away from tigerheart is a major bonus.)

cinderheart doesn’t know what to do. finally someone is like “hey what if we go to the tribe.” because the tribe deserves to fix clan problems for once.

the tribe is like “yeah the world sure is a big place with a lot to look at. that’s why only half of us look.” (i know that’s not exactly how cave guard’s work but close enough.)

cinderheart is like “hm. what if, dovepaw, just a thought, what if you just, you know, avoid battles? i know it’s part of clan life but judging by the two souls crammed into my body, i’d say there’s been very few major conflicts over this and, reasonably, you should be able to avoid being chosen for battle control.”

dovepaw says, “but cinderheart, i’m a main character! unless i’m being punished or taught a lesson about duty, i’ll be automatically registered for every battle patrol until i die!”

cindheart says, “you’re right, i’m so sorry. hey ivypaw, [whoops yeah ivy and lion are here too sorry i forgot to mention that] what if you two learn to work as a team.”

dovepaw says, “i don’t want to work with her.”

ivypaw says, “that’s a great idea.”

because dovepaw talks very quietly (she forgets not everyone can hear as well as her), ivypaw wins.

they work out their issues, return to the clans after quite some time.

(this also gives dovepaw a good memory for a long time in the future when shadowkit is born. i don’t actually know when that happens because i just finished tigerheart’s shadow and it’s not there, but i’ll find it eventually)

anyway dovepaw and ivypaw haven’t settled their differences, but they have a peace treaty. no one is sure how to integrate the team style in most effectively, but with her senses dampened from the tribe, dovepaw gets a bit better at hunting.

she’s also now 200% anxiety, meaning she’s basically vibrating all the time, but at least she’s learning. and she’s got the technical skills, too, she just couldn’t focus on applying them.

so dovepaw gets to really earn her success.

alright they become warriors, the battle is approaching.

this is like at least 3 books worth of content when you consider that jayfeather and hollyleaf are alive and hollyleaf is kind of, either dead or alive, tunnels or not, on top of shit in this universe. she knows shit gon go down. she’s going to be ready.

anyway right so dovewing and ivypool. that’s pretty much it except dovewing is more useful during the final battle. i’m not sure how i just know she is.

alright now i’m very tired and wanted to be done half an hour ago but here’s most of an au for you.

i came back like ten minutes later to add: the later three books would focus more on ivypool, hollyleaf, and jayfeather. dovewing is off in the background flirting with tigerheart. she and lionblaze have like one and a half brain cells between them. ivy holly and jay are the brains of the operation, and everyone knows it.

so they’re making plans and preparing and dealing with trust issues and lionblaze is like “what if? cinderheart. who is the best cat. what if she and i. had children. would they be. the best cat. squared?”

and dovewing, thinking of tigerheart, is like “no you idiot bestness is additive. that’s why my kits with tigerheart would be at least two times better than any other kits.”

*to be clear, kits are here the figurative marker of a relationship since warrior cats don’t have marriage. dovewing is basically like the fifteen year old doodling her name with tigerheart. she’s not serious about having children with him (yet), but it makes a tangible concept to picture their relationship in.

and meanwhile ivy is like “so if xyz is a taitor, that means i have to win over birchfall to make sure our numbers are evenly matched,”

(dovewing. i lovewing the dovewing, but she’s, well, not that smart.)

so yeah i think book protags would go:

dovepaw (i’d like to save her for later but unfortunately i think we need her deep characterization to provide context for her and tigerheart and sensory overload), ivypaw secondary

lionblaze, hollyleaf secondary (this is kind of a filler book while hollyleaf is set up as not a permanent resident of background character hell so lionblaze is just interpersonal drama moving the plot forward and filling in propechy info)

cinderheart, lionblaze secondary (i want them to be sorted faster, and dovewing’s second book needs to be later for tigerheart drama)

hollyleaf, jayfeather secondary (transitional book in focus, sharp narration turn because i have this working as 2 3 book arcs with a weaker overall arc, and since this is about dovewing i focused mostly on the first)

jayfeather, cinderheart secondary (dove+ivy need to close the arc together, also, cinderheart is like a central character to everyone else here, so she can sustain a whole lot of b plots)

ivypool, dovewing secondary (sisters, also, in this ivypool is far more important in the battle tha dovewing is. i mean sure dovewing is doing something, but the whole success of the battle hinges on ivypool, and everyone knows it.)

*in case I post more about it this au is tagged cloudtail's daughter. I already found calico dovewing that's gorgeous.

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prismatales · 4 years

Text

Comfort

All my love and gratitude goes to @sugacookiies, @pixxiesdust and @hawks-senseis for beta-reading this, you guys were some of the greatest help I've ever had! ❤

Pairings: Bakudeku x Reader

Warning: Tw:Depression, Tw:Suicidal thoughts, angst, fluff and comfort.

Fingertips slam a frantic yet steady pace against the keyboard, your eyes go back and forth between each paragraph with a growing sense of panic. All your senses are running on nothing more but pure anxiety and stress, not even the thought of eating something crosses your mind as the one and only thing to worry about seems to be this specific assignment.

Neither of them can remember the last time they saw you in another spot of the house that wasn't that chair before the computer, sure sometimes you take a break to go to the bathroom, but sleeping? That word doesn't seem to have a meaning in your vocabulary.

Except for that one time you fell asleep on the couch for less than 30 minutes before startling yourself awake and jumping away from the plush cushion to keep working.

Both Midoriya and Bakugo knew how important it was to complete your thesis, but was it worth it when your health and body is on the edge of giving up? They both know how badly this kind of routine can end up affecting your health.

The last time you got this stressed it ended up fucking up your stomach all the way from the esophagus to the intestines. The whole digestive system was so affected it started to feel like your stomach was literally burning itself into nothingness from the gastritis you developed. You had to get treatment for two whole weeks, which was right before your high school finals, and it was one of the worst experiences you've ever had to go through.

There's a reason a huge portion of people going through College ends up feeling dead on the inside, the overwhelming amounts of work, spending so much time in the library one could literally claim they live there, assignments and impossible amounts of field work, all of that could be more than enough things happening at the same time to cause plenty of people to go insane. And if that was bad enough, preparing your Thesis was like one of the deadliest of trials.

Just from the look on your face, it was obvious you're starting to develop another health trouble just like that time, the tips of your fingers start pressing right on the spot above your stomach with a face full of discomfort.

Deku's the first one to see that and in less than five minutes he's already outside on his way to get some medicine, he doesn't think twice about using One for All to go faster.

Everyone in the apartment was more than used to hear mumbling during the day, courtesy of your beloved Deku, but not even Bakugo was prepared to hear you of all people mumbling such dark things the very next day, when the stress began taking a harder toll. He could hear every single word loud and clear even when he's standing near the kitchen counters at the other side of the house.

"Why do I even bother?...It's not like anything I do even matters..." He can hear the the long sigh followed by more self hatred while he's stirring the noodles for dinner. "Sometimes I wonder if people would even notice that I'm gone...hahaha...I wanna die"

"...! That's it!" The wooden spoon gets slammed roughly against the marble counter, searching through his pocket Bakugo pulls out his phone to text Deku, who's already on his way home from patrol.

It takes less than an hour for the two of them to be there right besides you trying their best to comfort their shaking and panicked S/O, it makes them feel useless seeing how much you're struggling to hold on to the remains of your mental stability.

And when they hear the next course of muttering they know things are just about to get worse unless they do something about it.

"I can't do this anymore...I just can't," The tiny voice coming out of your mouth was heartbreaking. Your whole body is trembling uncontrollably as Midoriya walks up behind the chair, he lifts your whole body so he can take you to the bedroom, that way you could finally get some well deserved rest and calm down, in the meanwhile Bakugo goes back into the kitchen to fetch you something to drink.

Their dynamic was simple and yet effective, most of the time Izuku tends to be the one calming both of you through words, if that's not enough to help he's trying to find another solution to the problem through physical actions. Katsuki on the other hand tends to prefer being the one letting his actions speak for themselves first, even through the smallest of gestures he's always looking out for the both of you, in a reverse context to Deku, when his actions are not enough he's trying to make an effort to comfort you with his words.

Everything came crashing down inside your head like a landslide in the middle of a storm, bringing chaos and despair from every direction. It's easy to recognize the signs of your depression kicking in due to all the work piling up at once, and they're aware you're one of the most dedicated and passionate persons when it comes to your studies.

Midoriya tried to lay you down into the soft mattress and walk away to get that blanket they bought specifically for this type of occasion, but his shirt is quickly clutched into a tight grip, the broken sobs are barely audible to someone not paying enough attention have him on high alert as he realizes you've already started crying.

He has no other choice but to ignore his quest for the blankets and sits back on the bed. His back rests against the headboard while you're laying on your side, face resting softly against his well-toned chest, your body surrounded by his own arms that hold your shaking body against his with the hope that it can help you relax.

Bakugo comes into the room shortly after, carrying your favorite cup steaming with some nice and warm drink, your favorite judging by the glorious smell coming out of the cup in small puffs.

He carefully passes the cup to the green haired man sitting in bed before walking to the corner of the room and towards a dark gray, medium sized basket where the additional blankets are kept, rummaging through the furniture he finds one of the biggest, fluffiest and softest blanket of them all before walking back towards the bed.

It takes you awhile to process what's actually happening because of the storm running through your head. But eventually, between the reassuring words and sweet whispering, the shaking and the crying slowly, but very slowly starts toning down until nothing but a small whimper can be heard every now and then through your bedroom.

In less than a few minutes you've already been wrapped in that beloved blanket while resting between two warm and fit bodies, leaning back against the headboard with a comforting drink in hand.

"Are you feeling any better?" Izuku's voice is soft and sweet, just in case there's something still bothering your mind, at the same time one of Katsuki's hands is busy rubbing circles in the section between your shoulders in a steady rhythm, the feeling of his calloused and scarred hand touching that portion of skin helps relaxing your exhausted self at an almost exaggerated level. The last thing they want is for you to have another breakdown.

You want to reply but your mouth quickly opens and closes, so all you can manage to do is give them a soft nod in response, too tired to even try and talk to your sweet boyfriends.

Sometimes the negative thoughts come during these kinds of moments to try and bring torment. It makes you wonder if one day they'll get tired of this and leave after realizing you're nothing more than a hindrance.

"Don't even think about it, Dumbass," Katsuki growls from his spot at your left side "I recognize that look on your face when I see it, you think you're worthless don't you?" That hand behind you makes its way to your shoulder, pulling your whole body towards him and positioning you in a way that makes your head rest on top of his well toned shoulders. For someone who's body is so nicely sculpted, the place where your head lays is one of the most comfortable places where somebody could rest.

"You are one of the strongest people I've ever met. You've always been someone who rarely allows small shit like this get the best of them" Katsuki's hand had long ago left your back to run his fingers through your hair, the friction against your locks of hair and scalp has a soothing effect that relaxes everything from your whole body to your mind.

A small tear manages to escape, but this time is out of relief and happiness for literally having two of the most wonderful lovers by your sides. The exhausted smile that spreads over your face sends the both of them into a state of relief.

"What did I do to deserve you both?"

Deku lets out a soft laughter while Katsuki just smirks in satisfaction.

"Existing."

MASTERLIST

@t-amajiki @undead0relived @shoobirino @bnha-ra @godtieruwu @mysticalite @bnhabookclub @gallickingun @unbreakableeiji @savagetrickster

#mha imagine #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha midoriya #midoriya izuku #midoriya izuku x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #reader insert #Tw:Depression #Tw:Suicidal thoughts

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leviathanswingman · 3 years

Text

love is a losing game, chapter 7: tripping over skeletons

The exact same day he had his one on one with Lucifer, Barbatos called a last minute student council meeting. Despite everything, it was his duty to inform the other demons of the fact that they had to be careful when in contact with each other. Here at RAD they generally handled cases like these through meetings to ensure that the person in question's privacy wouldn't be invaded. If they wanted to, they would have the opportunity to reveal themselves near the end of the meeting.

„Welcome,“ Barbatos started. „I apologize for calling in a meeting at such short notice. However, I have been made aware of the fact that one of the demons amongst our midsts has been put on magical medication. Therefore, I would like to remind all of you to be cautious around each other.“

The room quickly filled with quiet whispers. Diavolo, who had been standing next to Lucifer in silence for a while, bumped shoulders with Lucifer who refused to jump in surprise. „Did you know about this?“ he whispered and Lucifer shook his head, his lips pressed together in a straight line.

It was almost impossible to lie to Diavolo, the demon could always tell whenever someone was trying to deceive him with their words, so begrudgingly Lucifer resorted to lying by omission instead.

Lying to Diavolo He hated having to do it, but in the end, what other choice did he have? Confess that his loyalty had been exposed as undeniable enamoredness in the course of one night? Certainly not.

„You know better than to talk during meetings,“ he whispered back sternly as he threw Diavolo a side glance.

Right, he realized. This was the first actual conversation they'd had in days. Was this what their relationship had turned into?

As the murmurs quieted down again Barbatos continued. „There is no need to panic. Keep a close eye on each other and if you notice anyone acting out in a suspicious manner please send them to me. I would now like to ask if the person in question would like to reveal themselves to make things easier for all of us.“

Lucifer crossed his arms and let his gaze wander across a room that was once again clad in complete silence, faking interest. His eyes locked with Barbatos' for a moment and suspecting the question on the other demon's mind, Lucifer shook his head ever so slightly, only for Barbatos' eyes to see. There was no way he would reveal his current weakness to the entire student council, his brothers included, and Lucifer was certain Barbatos was ever so aware of that fact. Still, he had quietly asked again, a simple plead for some common sense.

A minute or so passed.

“Alright, then,” Barbatos concluded. “I suppose there's nothing else of importance, so this concludes the end of tonight's meeting. Remain safe.”

As soon as Barbatos had ended the meeting absolute pandemonium broke loose. After all, there weren't too many ailments which required a demon to take magic induced medicine, more commonly known as MagiMeds™ . So of course, everyone started to debate on what might be the reason for it almost immediately.

Lucifer took note from afar of how his brothers huddled up in a big pile of conspiracy. As usual, he found himself disappointed yet not surprised and had to physically restrain himself from chewing them out. However, he couldn't afford to look too eager since right now, everyone was looking at each other with a certain sense of suspicion. So Lucifer rolled his shoulders back, taking satisfaction in the small crack he heard, and remained right in place.

He turned to Diavolo and sighed. “How truly troublesome,” he remarked.

“Indeed,” Diavolo answered, his eyes fixed to the ground. There was a strange silence between them for a moment. “It's been a while since the last one,” he eventually said.

“You are right.”

Thankfully, Barbatos approached them just then. “Young Master, Lucifer. How do you fare? Excuse me for not notifying you earlier about this issue, but I was fairly preoccupied.”

The arrival of Barbatos thankfully took care of the awkward air that had been threatening to suffocate Diavolo and Lucifer.

The demon prince cleared his throat. “Well, hello Barbatos. What an interesting course of events. I have already talked to Lucifer about this just now, but it has been quite the while since we've had an incident like this one. I know it's not really my place to ask, but would you mind telling me what kind of MagiMeds we are talking about here? Diavolo chuckled lightly. “You can't blame me for being curious! Please?”

For a moment Barbatos seemed to mull it over. His eyes wandered inconspicuously over to Lucifer, who let out the smallest of sighs before blinking once ever so slowly, a sign for only Barbatos to see.

Lucifer didn't see any reason as to why this should be kept from Diavolo. As long as his own name remained at a comfortable distance from the topic, it was alright to indulge Diavolo for once.

After all, if something managed to catch Diavolo's attention, there was no keeping him away from it. Diavolo would hold onto it tightly and refuse let go of it before he had gathered every single piece of information he could find on it. He was curious to a fault.

“Alright, my lord, but I shan't reveal anything more. You know I prefer to remain quite professional.”

Diavolo's eyes lit up like fairy lights and he grabbed Barbatos' hands in all of his excited glory.

Without any warning, Lucifer felt a stabbing pain run through the back of his neck. Reflexively, his hand shot upwards.

Barbatos mustered Lucifer with a knowing expression as he gently removed Diavolo's hands from his own. “Alright, my lord. It seems the magical medication in question is a special brand of bond-suppressants. A case of unplanned bonding, I have heard.”

Lucifer leaned his back against the table as he watched the interaction before him with intent eyes. Slowly, the pain in the back of his neck simmered down to a dull ache. He let his fingers run over the sigil hidden behind the thin material of his turtleneck, daring enough to trace it-that-shall-not-be-seen right in front of Lord Diavolo himself. If he wasn't so terribly opposed to the word in his own context, Lucifer would almost describe the action as soothing.

He kept his head held high and his nosed turned up as he took in Diavolo's reaction and tried his hardest not to let his perfectly constructed mask of glass fall.

“An unplanned bonding?!” Diavolo exclaimed in outrage. “That can happen?”

Barbatos nodded. “Yes, my lord. In the rarest of cases, when an emotional connection between partners has been denied or ignored for too long, their bodies might act on their own the second they are given the slightest of chances. Say you have two close friends who have denied their feelings for years and suddenly share a deep, meaningful moment. In a case like that there is the possibility their auras will latch onto each other, thus forming an unplanned bond. However, this proves much more difficult than the conscious forming of a bond. After all, if the partners are unaware that they have formed a bond, they will most likely not know to follow the bonding rituals. Side effects such as nausea, headaches and irritability can occur and suppressants will have to be used to deal with those side effects until the bonding rituals are either fulfilled or abandoned until the bond withers and dies on its own.” Barbatos smiled almost sadly. “Oh my, it seems as if I have been going on for quite a while, my apologies.”

Diavolo shook his head. “No, you have been very thankful, Barbatos,” he said as a contemplative look crossed over his face. “But to think that something like that could happen... I feel sorry for our fellow demon who has to suffer from this fate. It sounds lonely,” he said.

For a second Barbatos stayed quiet as he watched his Master while Lucifer pushed himself off the table and joined the conversation.

“It is very you to say that such an experience would be lonely,” he threw in as he approached Diavolo and Barbatos. “I would rather think it a nuisance, having to wait out such pestering symptoms until the bond has finally latched itself off. I do not see how that would be lonely rather than highly bothersome.” His eyebrows were drawn together in what most would interpret as annoyance, but was actually something else entirely.

Although Lucifer had told himself to stay out of the conversation, Diavolo's comment had struck him in a wrong way. Not that it was Diavolo's fault since he was still remaining blissfully unaware of what was going on with Lucifer and inevitably himself. In the end, a sigil would carve itself into Diavolo's skin as well, no matter what. All in all, it was a harsh reminder.

Diavolo smiled, happy to get to talk to Lucifer again like they used to. “That is fairly typical of you to say as well, Lucifer, but come on! Even you would be shaken by something like that!”

Lucifer's jaw was locked tight. He could feel his head brimming with shambled thoughts and his skin itch with a certain irritability.

If Diavolo only knew. With a deep breath Lucifer tried to calm himself down and ignore the way his body practically buzzed with troublesome energy.

“Who knows,” Lucifer eventually answered rather dismissively as his eyes wandered over to Diavolo's face. For a moment their eyes met and in that exact moment, an electric shock ran through his body and his eyes shot open in shock for a moment. Weirdly enough, Diavolo's eyes mirrored the same shock that must have been ever so apparent in Lucifer's eyes.

“Lucifer...” Diavolo eventually started, his hand reaching out towards his trusted right-hand man. The pads of his fingertips just so much as lightly touched Lucifer's cheek before Diavolo pulled his hand back again, suddenly fluttered.

Lucifer thought his heart was about to stop. As soon as Diavolo had come closer to him that strange buzzing feeling in his body had almost come to an overflow. His body felt locked in place and Lucifer hated every second of it.

Luckily, Barbatos had been watching ever so closely and had immediately caught on to what was happening, allowing him to swoop in and help out.

“My Lord, may I remind you, now that the meeting is over, that you are far behind on your paperwork? You wouldn't want to cause Lucifer any more trouble than he already has, am I right in assuming so?”

These few seconds were all Lucifer needed to snap out of it. With Diavolo's attention now on another subject, Lucifer felt his body relax again. The tip of his pointer twitched restlessly and then, as if a flood gate had been opened, his strength returned in a violent rush, shoving Lucifer forward a little.

Inconspicuously, he fixed his posture and put a slight smile on his face as he heard Diavolo whine to Barbatos about his tasks muted in the back.

“I will take my leave now,” he said. “If I slack off today I will fall behind on my paperwork.” He threw Diavolo an apparently stern look. “We don't like falling behind on paperwork now, do we?”

Diavolo visibly slouched down. “But, Lucifer...”

Lucifer lifted his hand to put it on Diavolo's shoulder reassuringly, but stopped himself mid-air as he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat as he let his arm fall back to his side. “Finish your assignments quickly and you are free to do as you please.” After a second, he looked directly into Diavolo's eyes. “Show some restraint and you will be alright,” he mumbled almost quietly before nodding towards Barbatos and Diavolo and heading out.

He left the conference room with quick strides.

Finally left to his own devices, he allowed his thoughts to flow freely. With every step he took he could feel the vibrations of his feet hitting the ground, tingling and buzzing as his heart beat too fast and the nausea returned to his body. Lucifer kept going like that until he found himself safe back in the safety of his own four walls.

He stomped over to his dresser, unlocked the upper drawer and pulled out the orange pill bottle with much force.

During their little talk one thing had become rather obvious to him: One pill wasn't even remotely enough to suppress whatever it was he felt for Diavolo. Truthfully, he felt putting a name on their relationship would cheapen it in its nature, so Lucifer simply refused to. No matter how hard it aggravated him, he couldn't.

Lucifer shook two pills out into his empty palm and stared them down for a moment. He shouldn't, but for the first time in a long time, his emotions were speaking louder than his words. And that, Lucifer just couldn't agree with.

He threw back both pills at once before heading out of his room. Perhaps he should just go and get some of his work done. Perhaps being productive was exactly what he needed to clear his mind of thoughts of crimson hair and soft fingers on his cheek.

As he was heading towards his study Lucifer slowly felt the suppressants doing their job. The nausea subsided again and the strange buzzing sensation he had felt on his skin had now mostly let up as well. In many ways, he felt better, yet in different ways, he felt worse.

Although by nature, Lucifer was not what most would describe as a warm person, he felt downright chilly to the core. A certain numbness seemed to slowly encase his body and the second Lucifer felt it, he knew he despised it. It felt invasive and wrong.

Still, if those uncomfortable sensations were a necessary step on his way to getting rid of the bond, he had no choice but accepting it.

After all, when it was about the bond, Lucifer had never had a choice to begin with. All he was expected to do was put up with the pain and the discomfort until the bond would inevitably release Diavolo from its suffocating grip.

Lucifer massaged his aching shoulders as he arrived in front of his study, stepped into it and immediately turned up the heating before sitting down to work on some papers. He allowed himself to lose himself within the rhythm and comfort of work for several hours before he heard a slight tapping coming from his door. Confused, he lifted his head and listened. There again, he heard a soft rapping at his door.

“Yes?” he answered, trying not to sound annoyed despite definitely feeling bothered. No answer. Satan and Belphegor were probably trying to prank him again. Not today, Satan, not today.

Lucifer took a deep breath before getting up and ripping the doors open. “WHO-” he started to shout until he saw who the supposed prankster was.

“Diavolo?”

The demon in question was standing next to the door, his hand still resting on the door frame, with an uncharacteristically perplexed expression on his face. “Good... evening?”

Lucifer scrambled to collect himself again. “Excuse me, I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were one of my brothers, I apologize” he offered after the initial surprise and opened the door behind him a bit further in an inviting manner. “I assume you have something to discuss with me?” he asked although the squashed down panic in his heart tried to break through the thick fog of the suppressants. Though normally, having a blank page of emotions was comforting to him, now it instead put him at even more distress. The fact that he could not calculate his own reactions due to the MagiMeds threw Lucifer off.

“Yes, thank you,” Diavolo replied as he followed Lucifer into his study.

Lucifer leaned his back against the mahogany desk and lifted his gaze to match Diavolo's. Diavolo stared back at him, but did not say a word. Eventually, he groaned in frustration and spun around to lean against the desk next to Lucifer, standing shoulder to shoulder. Once again, Lucifer felt Diavolo's warmth heat up the side of his arm in an instant. Only then did he notice how cold his study actually was. The damn heater had stopped working again.

Diavolo took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Friday night.” He could feel the way Lucifer stiffened besides him.

“Of course,” he said cautiously and almost recognizably uncomfortable. If there was one thing he did not want to talk about, it was Friday night. Lucifer certainly didn't feel like witnessing the exact situation he had avoided to think about for hours upon hours. Still, a part of him felt weirdly unbothered, felt strangely calm despite the situation, almost as if he were floating up on the ceiling, watching himself interact with Diavolo.

“Friday night-”

“You acted out on a whim,” Lucifer interrupted him with his gaze fixed to one of the floor tiles. He could tell the suppressants had fully set in by now, because he felt nothing at all. For a moment Lucifer simply sat there and took in the beating of his heart and the stream of cold air ghosting over his skin, feeling strangely detached. Despite all of his and the suppressants' best efforts to suppress his emotions, there was one undeniable truth.

His body was aching for Diavolo's presence.

If only he had the right to touch him. But could he really allow himself to do just that? Had he not sworn his utmost loyalty to Lord Diavolo? Was him giving in to this shaky bond a betrayal of its own perhaps? Or was him staying quiet about it maybe even more of a betrayal?

Diavolo's shoulder pressing into his own felt good, felt natural. Right now, the feeling of skin against skin stood in stark contrast to Lucifer's emotions, which were buzzing like static on a TV.

Then and there, Lucifer decided to ditch the MagiMeds. What kind of demon would he be if he couldn't withstand a good amount of pain in favour of staying himself instead of a drugged down zombie?

Lucifer didn't find the strength in himself to move away, so he stayed. It was almost as if his body had superglued itself onto Diavolo's, holding onto every sweet second of touch it could get.

“No,” Diavolo suddenly said. “Well, I mean also a bit yes, but. What I wanted to say was...”

“Diavolo,” Lucifer intercepted uncomfortably. “We don't have to talk about this. It's fine.”

Diavolo tapped his thigh in an almost nervous fashion. “No, Lucifer. You deserve better, I really have to apologize.”

Lucifer, if possible, tensed up even more. “Diavolo, you really don't have to-”

There wasn't much to apologize for now, was there? In the end, he had only done something quite normal. Diavolo certainly wasn't the first demon to flee the bed in the wee morning hours and he most definitely wouldn't be the last. Lucifer was the one who felt like he was supposed to apologize, yet found himself unable to do so. After all, how does one apologize for something the other person isn't even aware of just yet?

Diavolo took a deep breath and placed his hands firmly onto Lucifer's shoulders and faced him. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then closed it again only to lick his lips nervously.

Lucifer tried not to stare, but was immediately distracted by the way Diavolo's warm hands felt through the flimsy material of his wine red turtleneck. Ever so unhelpfully, his brain supplied him with flashing images of that night, pulling up memory after memory of Diavolo's fit form in the dark and the way his skin had tasted against his lips.

Finally, Diavolo had gathered himself enough to talk. “What I did to you was cruel. I shouldn't have left like that, but I panicked. You know me better than anybody else and are my closest friend, so how could I not have? Lucifer, we're talking about you here.” Carefully, he reached up towards Lucifer's face and cupped his cheek. “I need you in my life.” The pad of his thumb ran along smooth skin and Lucifer repressed a deep shudder.

Lucifer's body and mind were in a conflicted battle. Although he could feel the indisputable pull his body had towards Diavolo's, the suppressants forced his emotions into an uncomfortable state of insensibility. Despite all of that, Lucifer knew he was a goner, no matter how much he fought against it. He was devoted to the core, no matter how much he got hurt.

“It's alright,” he said as he reached up and placed his hand onto Diavolo's. “You are not to blame.”

For a moment, he felt awkward standing there like that, the two of them all by themselves when Lucifer had sworn to keep his distance. Perhaps this was where his devotion to Diavolo and his own determination inevitably interfered with each other.

Another moment passed before both of them realized what kind of situation they were in. As Lucifer let go of his grip on Diavolo's hand the demon prince retracted his arm to his own side as well.

“Are we good?”

Lucifer shook his head and allowed himself a low chuckle and a moment of sincerity. “Yes, Diavolo. No matter what, I'll always be by your side. I'll always be there, you know that.”

“Lucifer!” Diavolo suddenly exclaimed and threw his arms around Lucifer, who barely managed to refrain from stumbling to the ground. He dug his hands into the fabric of Diavolo's coat so he wouldn't fall to the ground. “I was so worried!”

Lucifer was overly aware of Diavolo's arms, crossed behind his neck, resting upon that cursed sigil. Reassuringly, he patted Diavolo's back as his body was filled with a tingling sensation, starting at the back of his neck and spreading throughout his every limb. Lucifer knew better than to fight it. “You are overreacting.”

Diavolo quickly pulled back and stared at Lucifer. “I am not! You know I don't lie. I would never lie to you. Never ever.”

Lucifer wished he could say the same about himself.

Guilt was a nasty thing gnawing at his innards.

Although morally, he knew he should tell Diavolo about their bond, realistically, he simply couldn't. A sigh escaped his lips as he ignored the way his bones were buzzing, almost vibrating in the presence of Diavolo. It was quite the discerning feeling.

“I am glad we had this talk,” he said in answer. “It's good to know there is no bad blood between us. That would be quite the bother.“

Diavolo beamed at him. “Definitely! Oh, Lucifer, this reminds me of this thing I overheard Solomon and Yuuta talking about. I think they called it 'kissing the homies goodnight'?

Lucifer tensed up again. He hated that due to his brothers' shenanigans he knew exactly what Diavolo was alluding to and even more than that, he hated the implications of Diavolo's carefree statement.

“Please don't even joke about that,” Lucifer forced out without any hesitation.

Diavolo tilted his head in confusion, but before he could ask about it, Lucifer was hit by another particularly painful shot of pain running through his neck. He barely managed to suppress a hiss.

“Would you mind leaving me alone now? I still have a lot of paperwork to go through, as have you,” he forced out.

With a strange expression on his face, Diavolo reached up and cupped the nape of Lucifer's neck, staring at him intently. “I guess there is no way for me to get out of this one?” he finally asked, his palm warm and heavy on Lucifer's skin, his eyes big and pleading. Although he hated to admit it, the feeling of Diavolo's hand flush against the back of his neck, unknowingly cradling that sigil felt far too good, far too comforting.

“Go back to your work, Diavolo,” Lucifer answered.

Your puppy eyes don't work on me, he thought.

Diavolo sighed before performing a lazy mock salute. “At your service.”

Lucifer's heart beat ever so irregularly as he watched Diavolo, in all of his glory, leave his study. As soon as the doors closed behind Diavolo's broad back, Lucifer's knees caved in and he fell to the ground, his only support being his hand holding onto his mahogany desk with whitened knuckles. Deep breaths escaped his lips as his body tried to adjust to the absence of his mate ever so desperately.

As Lucifer grabbed onto the edge of the desk, his head suddenly filled with static and his sight turned dark. Before he knew what was happening, his head hit the cold, marbled floor.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

#my writing #obey me #shall we date? obey me #dialuci #lucifer x diavolo #diavolo x lucifer #barbatos #fanfiction #mating bonds #angst #hurt #misunderstandings #slow burn #diavolo #lucifer #sorry no funky tags for this im slipping into a depressive episode

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alicanta77 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Don’t Look Back

Pairing: y/n x Haechan

Themes: angst, fluff, suspense(?)

Warnings: swearing, zombies, blood, violence, death, virus, anxiety, abusive family

Words: 11k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Finale

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I got inspiration for Post Mortem from my friend @2-cute-4-school and her story called ‘Evanescent’. She is an amazing writer and all of her work is incredible so please check her out if you haven't already! I would really recommend the story Hiraeth by her too if you’re Haechan biased and like angst. I honestly cannot thank her enough for letting me use Evanescent as a starting point for this series xx

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The apocalypse wasn't the kind you would see in movies. There were no ruins that used to be buildings, no shattered glass of the windows that used to make up skyscrapers and no fallen blocks of wood to provide a small bit of shade from the now burning sun. While the virus broke out slowly, the apocalypse happened so quickly that all that happened to the world was that it emptied. Houses were empty, skyscrapers were standing, their windows only now used to reflect the sun, everything remained in tact. That’s how quickly the world gave up.

It had been a week since you had arrived at Mark’s. Since then you had each been given rooms and become accustomed to the sheer size of his house. You also found out that he really wasn't lying when he said that they had a good security system. The electrified walls around the house are enough to keep out a hoard of the undead, multiple cameras surrounded the premises and were connected to alarms around the house which means that if any did break through you would know about it immediately and, your favourite feature, was an escape hatch that took you a garage under the house, filled with fast cars and enough supplies to last a few months. His family really seemed to be prepared for everything, and, right now, that was just what you needed. But you knew that you couldn't stay here forever.

As brilliant as Mark’s house was, after 12 hours there, the entire group had sat together in the living room and unanimously decided that this would not be the place they would stay forever. While they had a large supply of food that would last a while, it would eventually run out and you would need to get more. The same applies for medicine and going to raid the stores seemed dangerous and the supplies you needed would probably be already taken. Renjun recommended finding a place with fields so that you could grow your own plants and even raise cattle. This would give you a fresh supply of meat and the plants could be used for food and medicine. However, the idea of where to find a protected field that you would need seemed to stump you all.

In the week you had been at Mark’s your ankle had also completely healed. You seemed to have no symptoms of HD, neither your veins or your eyes had changed colour and your personality had remained exactly the same. Everyone eventually came to the conclusion that, either the cut wasn't deep enough, or you couldn't get turned by scratch. You all prayed it was the latter.

You had noticed Chenle, Jisung and Mark being slightly anxious around you the past week, not that you could blame them. They had never properly met you before and everyone was watching nervously to see if you would turn. After you were fully healed, however, they all seemed to lighten up slightly and trust you a lot more. You were deep in thought about all of this when Haechan walked into your shared room.

‘Y/n?’ He asked.

‘Haechan!’ You laughed slightly. ‘God, you made me jump. What’s up?’

His face remained grim, any trace of his signature sunshine smile was long gone and he seemed to be struggling to find the right words to say.

‘What’s happened?’ You gently asked, walking up to him and guiding him to sit on your bed. He took a deep breath before speaking.

‘I want to go home.’ Your head shot up at his statement and you opened your mouth to say something, but he didn't let you. ‘Wait, just let me finish. I want to go home and get some things. I want to grab some clothes and possibly a photo and I want to see if I can find my sister. She wasn't infected with HD, meaning she is still human and I haven't had any contact with her and she's home alone with our Dad and I-’

You pulled Haechan into a small hug to calm him down. You could always tell when he was getting worked up over something because he would start to ramble on about the same point, repeating it in about four different ways. You began to hum the tune of ‘You are my sunshine’ to calm him down. It was a habit you had developed since he started hiding at yours from his father. You had always thought of him as your sunshine and revealed this to him when he arrived late one night, littered with new bruises. Your parents had quickly taken his younger sister into the bathroom, while you looked after Haechan, quietly telling him this when he whispered how he wasn't sure if he could take it anymore. It was in that moment that you both realised that nothing calmed Haechan down faster and more effectively than that song.

‘I think we should tell the rest of the guys.” You said while pulling out of the hug but still keeping a hold of his hand. ‘Some of them may want to see if their families are alive and have things to grab.’

He nodded and you both headed to go round everyone up. It didn't take as long as you had expected, due to the size of the house, but as large as the house was, it was easy to navigate. It was only three floors high, with the kitchen, living room, dining room and utility rooms on the ground floor, three of the bedrooms, two bathrooms and another living room on the first floor and one bedroom, bathroom and the security room on the top floor. Since you and Haechan were sharing the room on the top floor, you quickly checked the security room to see if you could find anyone, and luckily they were all in their room, so you quickly grabbed them and asked them to meet in the first floor living room.

Once everyone was gathered, it was time for Haechan to propose his idea.

---

‘What’s this meeting for?’ Mark asked, being the last one to walk in.

‘I’ve been thinking-’ Haechan began.

‘Oh that's never good.’ Renjun quickly interrupted, earning a glare from Haechan in return.

‘As I was saying, I’ve been thinking and, I really want to go home.’

Everyone immediately erupted into chaos about why this shouldn't happen, growing out any clarifications that Haechan was trying to make.

‘Wait, wait!’ Haechan raised his voice over the noise, silencing everyone. ‘Not forever. I’m not saying that I want to move back home I just need to visit it. I want to grab some clothes of mine and I want to see if I can find my sister. She wasn't infected with HD and if there’s a chance she is okay, I need to find her.’

This caused silence to fall over the room, confusion clearly sweeping through everyone's minds. You knew that both Jeno and Renjun knew how important Haechan’s sister was to him and you didn't doubt for a second that they would come with Haechan to get her back, but for the other four boys, you weren't so sure that they would be willing to take that risk. And you were right.

‘Is it going to be safe to go back to your house though?’ Jisung asked.

‘No it isn't.’ Chenle stated bluntly. ‘In fact it may be incredibly dangerous, there will be zombies there, it would be like us willingly walking into a trap.’

In the time you had spent with the boys you had learnt that Jisung and Chenle normally stuck to each other like glue, bouncing off each other’s energy well. Jisung was a lot more thoughtful about what he was going to say and when he was going to say it and seemed a bit more shy around new people, while Chenle would often tell you the truth even if you didn't ask for it. It was never meant in a malicious way and you could tell that the boy didn't have a mean bone in his body, he just found it easier to be honest, it was like honesty was his natural setting. Mark tried to keep everyone together, normally more logical than the younger two and would often take the time to think about all the possibilities before making any kind of decision. And finally, Jaemin, the person who you owed so much to, you had learnt absolutely loved affection. The way he would follow Jisung around to try and get a kiss often reminded you of Haechan. Jaemin was filled with a maturity that was way beyond his years and was often very good at coming up with solutions to problems. His wise nature yet loving personality made him an irreplaceable asset to the team.

‘Haechan, I don’t know what to say yet.’ Mark said, partially to himself. ‘On one hand, we can’t leave your sister and you needing things from your house makes sense, but on the other, it is really dangerous to leave right now. All of us would be risking our lives.’

Haechan didn't seem to know what to say. He had never thought that they would actually be against him trying to save his sister. Suddenly Jeno spoke up:

‘Well I’d be willing to risk my life. Haechan is a loyal friend and I have no doubt that he would do this for any of us if we asked, so I’m not letting him go alone.’

‘Nor am I.’ Renjun chimed in, standing up next to Haechan, as if in solidarity.

‘I’m going too.’ You nodded at Haechan. ‘You're not in this alone.’

Haechan nodded thankfully at you all before just looking at Jaemin for a second, as if pleading him to convince the others, but Jaemin just looked back with a confused look on his face, as if there was something he couldn't quite understand. Haechan then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him ad leaving you all behind.

An uncomfortable silence settled over you all as no one could seem to find a word to say. Then Mark finally spoke, breaking the tension.

‘Guys, I’m sorry but this is so risky, you barely got out of the school and that was only facing three zombies. Even then, y/n still got scratched. How can you expect us to willingly go into a badly infested neighbourhood to get a young girl we don’t know?’

Renjun looked at him in disbelief.

‘Because it’s his sister!’ He took a step closer to Mark very careful to make his point clear as day. ‘You don’t have to come with us, but we are going and we are going to come back with her because, god help me, he is not going to lose her and end up with his father as the only family he has left.’ After that he turned around and stormed out and back towards his shared room with Jeno. Jeno turned to you and you nodded before he quickly followed Renjun, hoping to calm him down. This left just you and the four boys, once again in an uncomfortable silence.

‘Oi.’ Chenle poked Jaemin in the side. ‘Why haven't you said anything?’

Jaemin looked up at you, and cocked his head slightly, his face still holding the slightly confused expression he had before.

‘There’s just something that I can’t get off my mind.’ He kept his eyes trained on you and uttered the sentence you hoped you would never have to hear, purely because of the questions that you knew came with it. ‘It’s about Haechan’s family.’

The other three boys turned to look at Jaemin in confusion, clearly not sharing what thought process was going through his mind. But Jaemin’s eyes never wavered from you, his unflinching stare making you fidget slightly. You didn't break eye contact however, instead asking:

‘What about it?’

‘You all knew. You all knew he would do anything to protect his sister. In fact, you knew that he would go as far as to walk to his house alone and search it from head to toe, when we all know the likelihood is that she isn't alive. I know that siblings are close, but no one else has expressed that desperation to see a family member alive. And then Renjun mentioned his father and how he didn't want him to be Haechan’s only relative and...’

He trailed off for a moment and you held your breath, praying that he would finish that sentence in the way you were expecting him to.

‘... and it made me remember his mother... and her accident.’

Your heart stopped, your eyes shut and, for a moment, the world stopped turning. A singular mention of that woman would bring Haechan to tears that took hours to stop, a night carved into a 8 year old’s memory that would scar for years to come. Even you had trouble thinking about her without getting choked up. Jaemin continued as the rest of the boys were watching in silence.

‘Y/n... I know it is not our place to pry, but there’s clearly something here that we don’t know about and- I don’t want to force you to tell us but, I think it might help us to understand a bit more.’

Mark, Chenle and Jisung all followed Jaemin’s eyes and turned to look at you. You hated to admit it, but you thought it was probably a good idea. So after a quick discussion in Renjun and Jeno’s shared room, where they both agreed that you should tell the others the truth about Haechan, you walked back into the living room. All the boys immediately turned their heads towards you as you opened the door.

‘They agree it’s probably best that you know.’ You told them as you made your way towards an armchair. Jaemin moved up on the sofa next to you that he and Jisung were sharing, allowing Chenle to sit down too, while Mark pulled up a chair to form a small circle.

‘Before I start, I need to tell you that Haechan doesn't know I’m telling you this. It’s a subject that even we can't bring up with him, so please don’t try to yourselves because it will only cause him pain and create divides in the group. None of that do we need or does he deserve. He suffered enough.’ You muttered the last part mostly to yourself, but loud enough that you knew the boys could hear it. The you took a deep breath, watching your hands in your lap, trying to keep yourself as calm as possible, before beginning.

‘Before I tell you about Haechan, you first need to know about another boy that we knew. He was called Donghyuck. He lived a street over from me when we were growing up, and we would see each other all the time so we easily became good friends. He fit seamlessly into the trio that was then just Renjun, Jeno and I, and soon we became a group of four. On the outside, he seemed to have a perfect family. Father, mother, son and daughter. Good jobs, nice house, shiny car, you couldn't find anything wrong with them. Until you looked past the front door. Behind that locked door every night was a sea of threats, drunken words and regretted actions, it was a living nightmare for Donghyuck. His father was an alcoholic. He couldn't go one day without some kind of drink and he was not a nice man at the best of times, let alone when drunk. But it only got worse. It got to the point where it was hard to tell which personality of his was worse, drunk or sober, and it even got to the point where it didn't matter. His mother tried as hard as she could to protect him and his sister from his father, but it was often hopeless. Donghyuck would watch as his mother took beating after beating from the man who swore to love and protect her for as long as he lived. Then, once he had knocked his wife unconscious, he would turn his attention to his children. Donghyuck had always taken after his mother. To anyone who knew both of them, it was as clear as day. he had the same morals, the same thought process, the same priorities and even the same laugh. So when he saw his mother doing everything to protect them, he would do anything to protect his little sister.’

You paused for a minute, looking up at the boys who were hanging on your every word. You knew it had been over ten years since the name Donghyuck was said in your presence, only his sister being able to call him that, so it wasn't surprising to you that the boys had no clue who you were talking about.

‘He would come in the next day, littered with bruises. He always claimed that he fell down the stairs. But hearing that every two weeks rings alarm bells, even in an eight year old’s head. Donghyuck was a terrible liar, it was something we also teased him about. So he knew that lying would get himself caught, and in turn get his father caught, and then break up the family that his mother would try so hard to protect. So he told the truth. He fell down the stairs. It just wasn’t for about a year before we learnt that his father was the reason he fell down the stairs, and that it was less of a fall and more of a throw.’

You paused again, swallowing the emotion that was crawling up your throat. You knew that you were no where near the emotional part of this story, and that was the fact that made you the most upset: the worst was still to come.

‘Jeno was the first to find out about Donghyuck at home. He told me and I told Renjun and before we knew it, Donghyuck had called us together and asked us not to say a word. We didn't really understand why, but he was our friend and he seemed desperate. So we kept quiet, and I wish we didn't.’

Your voice cracked slightly on the final word, giving the indication to the boys listening that something else happened. Chenle leaned forward, asking:

‘What happened? Did something happen to Donghyuck?’

You shook your head, tears beginning to grow in your eyes so you blinked them away. You couldn't afford to get emotional yet.

‘No, not to Donghyuck. Something happened to his mother.’

None of the boys said anything, all of the silently begging you to continue. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice before you continued.

‘Like I said earlier, Donghyuck’s father would always beat his mother unconscious before hurting him or his sister. But one night, she came to and woke up before his father had intended or realised. She woke up and saw him dragging Donghyuck by the scruff of his neck, while he screamed and kicked, begging for his sister to run. And when she did, out of the window and off to a safe house, his father screamed in rage and threw Donghyuck down the stairs. But he threw him hard and he barely touched the stairs before hitting the ground, leaving him there unmoving. All he could register was his mother screaming. She threw herself at her husband, fighting with everything she had in her to avenge and protect her son from further damage, but she was nothing compared to his physical strength, especially in her weakened state. Donghyuck watched as his father pushed his mother, forcing her to step backwards, but there was nothing for her to step onto. She went backwards down the stairs and banged her head on the corner of the bottom one. Donghyuck still couldn't move, in too much pain from his last fall. All he could do was watch while his mother bled and his father ran around staging the house to look like a robbery gone wrong. He then listened to his father ring the police, crying fake tears and asking for help. He watched as the paramedics took his mother and put her into a body bag, as they ripped away the one person who looked out for him, who protected him. In that moment, he changed. He vowed to never be unable to protect anyone again. He vowed to protect his sister, and to protect himself. And, finally, he changed his name. So that no one would call him the name that his father did the night he murdered his mother.’

‘What did he call himself?’ Jisung asked after a second of silence.

A new voice cut through the air, making you all turn around in your seats.

‘Haechan.’

Haechan stood in the doorway arms folded, as if he was trying to be tough and not care about what they thought of his story, but the fact that his eyes were glued to the floor, showed how terrified he was that these boys knew what he had been through. Finally he looked up at the boys sat around you and only when he did that did you all see the tear marks on his cheeks.

‘I called myself Haechan.’

Mark stood up, walked towards him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, forcing Haechan to look up at him.

‘We’re going to get your sister.’

---

You decided to leave the same day as it was still early morning and no one saw any point in wasting time. The longer you waited, the more likely Haechan’s sister was to be dead. Before leaving you had stopped in one of the utility rooms you hadn't been into yet. Mark opened the door and you were greeted with rows upon rows of weapons.

‘My family was keen on having all the means to stay safe.’ Mark explained as you walked into the room, a mixture of awe and fear clouding your mind. ‘This is my father’s room. I haven't been in here more than twice, but given the current situation, I thought these might come in useful. Can anyone here fire a gun?’

Chenle put his hand up, along with Jeno and yourself. When you were younger, Jeno’s parents had taken you two clay pigeon shooting and it had become something of a tradition between the two of you.

Mark nodded at you both.

‘Good. You three can grab these guns, the same one I have. If you have less experience, then grab a pistol. They have less bullets but they're easier to fire and the recoil won't injure you.’

Mark held out a larger gun for you and you grabbed it before switching on the safety and slinging it over your should using the strap. You also decided to grab a pistol when you saw that there were some left over.

‘Wow. Your dad had a lot of guns...’

Mark looked up at you from placing a knife in a holder on his arm.

‘Yeah... I always hated it. I guess I should be thankful now huh?’

He gave you a small smile, which you returned. You took a look at everyone, now that they were fully suited up. Jisung had one pistol, one longer knife and three grenades on him, Chenle had a long knife, one pistol and the larger gun that Mark had given him, Jeno had the same gun and two knives, Jaemin had two pistols and a grenade, Renjun was equipped with a pistol, two knives and a grenade, Mark had the same machine gun as you, a pistol and a knife, Haechan had two pistols, two knives and a grenade and you had the same larger gun as Mark did, one pistol and a knife. Jisung had also recommended for you all to put tape around your forearms as that was a place where zombies usually bite. While it felt very strange and restricted your movements slightly, you were glad the kid had watched so many movies that he came up with this idea.

Once you were all armed and ready, you headed out to the same cars that you drove in to get away from the school. The tanks were basically still full, so you didn't need to worry about running out of gas. You all got into the same cars as before and sat in the same seats. As Jeno and Mark began to drive off you couldn’t help but wonder if this was you subconsciously searching for any kind of stability and routine, now that your life had pretty much fallen apart in around one week.

When driving back to your street, you took the time to think about the conversation you had had with Haechan in the living room that morning. It was just after you had told the boys his story.

~flashback~

The rest of the boys had left the living room, some going to the bathrooms and some getting a quick bite to eat before you set off. You stood in front of Haechan, neither of you saying anything. You weren't really sure what to say, you had essentially just told his bigger secret to four almost strangers without his permission. You guessed the best thing to do would be to apologise.

‘I’m sorry.’ You lifted your eyes from the floor and looked directly at him. ‘It wasn't my place to tell them that at all and I should have made sure it was okay with you. I’m really sorry.’

When he still said nothing your feelings went out of control slightly, feeling as though you had massively betrayed his trust and he would never forgive you and then you would lose your best friend, the person you cared about more than anyone else you had ever met. With all these thoughts swirling around your head and your anxiety fuelling them to get more and more out of control, you couldn't help the tears that started to form in your eyes.

This made you frustrated with yourself. If either of you should be crying it should be Haechan, he just had to relive the day his mother died. Haechan was also crying, but the point was that you shouldn't be.

Haechan gently wiped away the tears that were gently falling down your cheeks. Then he proceeded to place a feather light kiss on your forehead before bringing you into a hug.

‘Thank you.’ He whispered ‘Renjun and Jeno came to get me as soon as they agreed with you, and I- I wanted to come in and stop you, that's why I was in the doorway, but when I heard you telling them what had happened I just listened. And I remembered my mum and all the good she did and how she always fought for the right things and then I heard you say how I take after her and-’

His words were caught in his throat as he choked on a sob. Haechan had always worn his heart on his sleeve and was never good at hiding his emotions. Talking about his mother was something that had always been impossible for him to do without breaking down. He couldn't even think of her without tearing up. But through the tears he continued, determined to say what was on his mind.

‘It reminded me of how much I need to fight to protect everyone. I know the likelihood is that my sister isn't alive, but I have to check. Mum always taught me how to be strong for others, and I’m going to do that, for her. I promised her I would protect those that I loved, those around me and I can't let her down, especially not now. So thank you, because hearing that story, as painful as it is, reminded me of my reason to fight.’

You kept silent, knowing that Haechan didn't need words right now but just silent reassurance that you were there and you loved him. So you pulled away from him slightly and looked him dead in the eyes before placing a kiss on his cheek. His lips curved into a small smile at your action, making you do it again. As his smile grew wider you soon found yourself peppering kissing across his entire face, forcing him to eventually let out the giggle that you loved so much. He pushed his forehead against yours and you breathed out a sigh of contentment. He pulled back for a second and you watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips and back up to your eyes. Did he want to kiss you? You did the same to him, and watched as he slowly leaned in, as if he was giving you time to pull away.

‘Yo, guys? Mark needs us downstairs... Oh sorry, didn't mean to interrupt but we need to get going soon.’ Chenle stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching as you and Haechan stepped out of your embrace and nodded in thanks. With that uncomfortable note he disappeared down the corridor so fast that there was still a cartoon smoke outline of his body hanging in the air.

‘So we should go?’ Haechan asked after a second of silence.

‘Yeah.’ You replied, a new kind of fear and determination taking over your body. ‘Let’s go home.’

~flashback ends~

You were replaying that moment in your head the entire car ride to your house. Haechan was going to kiss you. Your best friend wanted to kiss you, and you wanted him to. You weren't sure what this meant for your relationship either. You didn't know if it would make things more complicated or if everything would somehow fall into place. Or what if-

‘Y/n!’ Renjun’s voice cut through your whirlwind of thoughts. You turned around and raised an eyebrow at the boy who had been watching you for the past ten minutes. ‘Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it. You're overthinking.’

‘I have anxiety. There’s no other kind of thinking available.’ You sassed back, making Jeno chuckle and Haechan smirk slightly. The boys all knew that, even though you could be very logical and factual about physical situations, when it comes to anything to do with emotions or other people’s opinions, you start to drive yourself crazy with all the different possible scenarios you create in your head. You were always glad that you had them to tell you when to calm down though. So you nodded gratefully at Renjun who smiled back.

In the past week you had also noticed the boys being less teasing with you. Saying they were being more affectionate isn't the right word but, for example, normally Renjun would have rolled his eyes and jokingly complained about how much you need him and how lost you would be without him, but today he just smiled. You didn't mind it, you knew you were being less teasing with them. For you, it’s because of the fear. When you don’t know which moment is going to be your last, you want to treasure those around you so much more.

Suddenly the car pulled to a stop and Jeno’s voice uttered a sentence you had heard a million times before, but it had never had this effect on you.

‘We’re here.’

---

Mark had decided to stop the cars about a minute walk from your street, in a local abandoned park, one you actually used to come to all the time. It made sense, if there were zombies on the road you didn't want to draw masses of attention to yourself by driving into them in two large, black range rovers. You climbed out of the car, pulled then gun off your back and into your hands and looked around you.

Everyone looked nervous, you couldn't blame them. You were nervous too, but you also had a very strong reason for doing this. You began to walk, in silence, and luckily all you, Renjun, Haechan and Jeno lived close to each other. It made it much easier to get to all of your houses. You also learnt that Chenle lived a road over, so they thought they would go there to, and possibly grab some more weapons. Chenle didn't spend a lot of time talking about his family, he simply stated that both his parents were infected so they would be zombies now, and left it at that. It was clear he didn't want any further questions on it.

The streets were empty. You had thought that they would be full of zombies and you would have to fight your way through every step. But you know what they say, be careful what you wish for. Two doors away from Haechan’s house you suddenly heard a strange groaning. It was a noise you had only heard once before and it sent a chill right down your spine.

You all stopped immediately where you were and turned around very slowly. You could see a zombie down the other end of the street, and it didn't look like it had seen you yet. Taking this into consideration, Mark gestured for you to move forwards as quickly and quietly as you could. You had no idea how many more there were wandering around and would be alerted of your presence, were you to fire a gun.

With every step you took, it felt like Haechan’s house was getting further away, your heart pounding so hard you were sure that people could hear it. After what felt like forever, you had made it and Haechan quickly unlocked the door and you got inside.

You spared another look out of the window and saw more and more zombies starting to roam the streets, all of them being walking ghosts of their former selves.

The world became a walking ghost town.

You all tiptoed through the house, Haechan whispering out his sister’s name as loud as he dared. You spilt up slightly, with you and Mark following Haechan to his sister’s room and the others separating into two groups and focusing on seeing what they could get from him house.

As you reached the door to Haechan’s sister’s room, he reached up to push it open when Mark grabbed his hand.

‘Wait!’ He had a look of pure fear across his face.

‘What?’ Haechan stared him down, clearly not pleased that he was stopping him when he was this close to finding out.

‘Just, listen for a minute, I think I heard something.’

And Mark was right, he had heard something. He had heard the noise that none of you ever wanted to hear again. The low groan of a zombie.

That was it for Haechan, he burst open the door and, when he saw the sight in his little sister’s room, nearly crumbled on the spot.

His sister was lying on the floor crying in pain, while his zombified father was biting into her arm.

You and Mark seemed frozen at the sight in front of you. But Haechan didn't even stop to pull out his gun when he threw himself at his father. He pulled the older man off his younger sister and rolled on top of him, grabbing his knife and plunging it straight into his head.

You quickly ran to the little girl on the floor, pulling her head into you lap and stroking her hair as she cried in pain.

Mark ran over to Haechan, who had completely lost control at this point and was stabbing his father over and over again, wherever he could reach. Mark grabbed him by the arms and pulled him off him.

‘Haechan! Haechan, he’s dead. You did it, he’s dead.’ He shouted this right in his ear, somehow managing to shock Haechan back into the current situation.

Haechan’s eyes shot to his sister, currently lying on your legs and he ran towards her.

‘No...’ He whispered as the tears began to fall down his face. ‘Please, I can’t be too late, not again.’

He pulled the dying girl into his arms entirely, not caring about the blood that was getting on his clothes from her various wounds. He cradled the girl he had cared for his entire life, crying into her hair. Then she suddenly spoke. A quiet, yet determined voice that cut through the air like a knife.

‘Donghyuck?’ Her eyes opened slightly and, when she saw her brother in front of her, she smiled.

‘Hi sweetheart, I’m here.’ Haechan smiled back, his full of tears while hers was a smile of pure joy.

‘Good... now I don’t mind dying.’

Haechan’s smile disappeared at that.

‘No, no. You’re not going to die, we’re gonna take you back and patch you up. Don’t be stupid, you’re not going to die.’

‘Hyuckie, I don’t mind. You’re here now that’s all that matters. I knew you would come, you've always been my hero.’

‘But I came too late. I couldn't save you.’ At this point Haechan’s tears were overflowing, as were yours and even Mark’s.

‘But you already have. Every time you took hit from dad or told me to run to y/n’s, you saved me.’

‘Please... I can’t lose you too.’ He hugged her close again at that point, as the rest of the boys found their way to her room, following the noises from the previous attack. Upon seeing the scene in front of them, Jeno fell to his knees and Renjun leant down to comfort him, as the tears fell down both of their cheeks.

‘Don’t worry Hyuckie, I’ll be with Mum. I’m gonna get to see Mum again.’ Again, she looked Haechan directly in the eyes and smiled. There was no sadness in the smile, only pure hope and joy at the thought of seeing her long lost mother. ‘You can do this Hyuckie, you can be stronger than you think. You’re gonna be okay without me.’

‘But you were my drive, how can I keep going now?’

“You find something else. Someone else you care about like you’ve never cared before. Besides, I’m still going to be with you, and so is Mum. Hyuck, she’s so proud of you, you know?’

Haechan just looked at her as he continued to cry and she grimaced slightly in pain, the black veins spreading across her chest. It was clear she didn't have much time left.

‘Hyuck, can you promise me two things?’

‘Of course, anything.’

‘One, please make sure I see Mum. I don’t want to turn into him.’ Her eyes flickered towards their dead father a few meters away and, even though Haechan visibly flinched at his sister’s request to kill her, he still nodded.

‘And two?’ He asked, his voice at a whisper at this point.

‘Be Donghyuck again. Donghyuck was my hero, not Haechan, Donghyuck didn't run away from anything, he fought to protect me. Donghyuck is who came back for me today, please be him again, be my brother.’

Haechan seemed to be stunned into silence, but managed to nod.

‘Thank you.’ She whispered as her voice trailed off and she shut her eyes.

Haechan just sat there holding her and then pulled out his gun. No one said a word, all of you in complete silence, watching as he placed one final kiss on his sister’s head before he replaced his lips with the barrel of his gun, and pulled the trigger. She didn't move, having already been completely limp in his arms before.

Haechan dropped the gun and cried. He cried like you had never seen him cry before. His entire body moved with his sobs as he repeated the same sentence, over and over again, under his breath whilst rocking her back and forwards.

‘She’s with mum now.’

None of you moved, no one knowing what to say or do. You had all known that the likelihood of Haechan’s sister being alive was slim but none of you would have ever expected to be greeted with the sight you were. Not much time had passed before Renjun gently placed a hand on Haechan’s shoulder and spoke in a soft tone.

‘I’m really sorry but we have to go, we have four other houses to get to and the zombies outside must have heard the gunshot.’

Haechan nodded, understanding the situation but he still found it hard to let go of her. He stood up and carried his dead sister over to her bed in the corner of the room. He placed her under the covers, kissed her forehead and whispered a goodbye, as if he was tucking her in for the night. Then he turned around.

‘Haechan-’ Jeno started, but he was cut off.

‘Donghyuck.’ Haechan corrected him. Jeno didn't say anything, just let his friend finish. ‘She wanted me to be Donghyuck, so that’s who I’m going to be. Call me Donghyuck.’

Jeno smiled slightly at that. ‘Let’s go, Donghyuck.’

With that you all stood up and walked out of the room, Donghyuck closing the door behind him. On your way out of his house you stopped briefly at Donghyuck’s bedroom and he grabbed a few different clothes and also the three pictures he always kept in his wallet. One was of Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck and yourself, one was of him, his mother and his sister, and one was of just you and Donghyuck.

After grabbing these you all met at the front door and tried to figure out how you were going to split up for the next houses. Mark pointed out that it may be safer to travel in smaller groups of two or three so that you draw less attention to yourself and keep quieter in the houses. You still had four houses to go to, yours, Renjun’s, Jeno’s and Chenle’s.

‘Not mine.’ Jeno spoke suddenly, causing you all to turn and look at him in confusion.

‘Why not?’ Jisung asked.

‘Because all my family were infected with HD. I know that none of them are alive and I really don't want to see them like that if I can avoid it.’ Jeno avoided eye contact with all of you, clearly more upset about the previous events and this revelation than he was letting on.

Mark nodded and decided to split people up into groups.

“Right, ok then. Renjun, you take Jeno and Jisung to your house, I’ll go with Chenle and Haech- Donghyuck to Chenle’s house and y/n, you take Jaemin to yours. How does that sound?’

You all nodded in agreement, your house was closest so it made the most sense that you only had one person come with you. Less travel meant less danger. You spared a look at Donghyuck and saw him watching you with his eyebrows furrowed, a worried expression on his face. Before you all headed out again, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into his kitchen.

‘Be careful, please? I don’t like that you only have one person with you for backup.’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Jaemin has saved my ass multiple times already and besides, I live closest to you, what's the worst that can happen?’

Donghyuck simply looked at you in disbelief.

‘Sorry...’ You mumbled remembering what he had just had to watch. ‘I guess the worst is pretty bad huh?’ Donghyuck cast his eyes to the floor, making you place a finger under his chin and tilt his head up so that he could look at you. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’ You hesitated for a second before leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his cheek. With that you turned away and walked back towards Jaemin.

The plan was to meet back at the cars in ten minutes exactly. You and Jaemin exited Donghyuck’s house and headed to yours, which was further down the same street. You walked as quickly as you could and, due to the zombies roaming the street in front of your house, you used the back door to enter. Once you were inside Jaemin quickly grabbed your wrist and spun you around, needing to ask you a question.

‘Wait! This may sound harsh but I need to ask, do you want to look for your parents, or do you want to just grab your stuff and go.’

You thought for a second before replying.

‘Just grab my things and go.’ Your voice shook slightly as you continued. ‘My mum was infected so she won't be alive and, let’s face it, the likelihood is that my dad won’t either. I’d rather not get distracted by false hope.’

Jaemin nodded, his grip on your wrist sliding down so that he squeezed your hand comfortingly before letting go. You quickly explained to him that your bedroom was the first door on the left once you were up the stairs, then you began to walk. You had never thought that walking through the house you grew up in would ever be so terrifying, but every little noise or movement made you jump and swirl you gun around towards it. Eventually you and Jaemin moved side by side, focusing on keeping each other safe no matter what.

You reached the stairs and began to climb them, you speed growing slightly. You weren't sure if zombies could climb stairs, you definitely couldn't picture it but you didn't want to take any risks. Once you reached the top, you turned into your room without wasting a second.

Luckily the house seemed to be completely empty, letting you grab some clothes and shove them into a backpack, while instructing Jaemin to grab somethings from the bathroom. Like Donghyuck, you also had some photos you wanted to take with you, one of your family, one of your group of four, and again, one of just you and Donghyuck. At a final glance you also grabbed your polaroid camera and film so that you could take some photos of your current group. You weren't sure why, you just wanted them. Jaemin arrived back with various things and together you shoved them in your backpacks, but you were both stopped when you heard that guttural groan that was becoming all too familiar.

You shared a frightened glance before listening to it again. Both of you agreed it seemed to come from the room next to yours. You stood up silently and grabbed your guns, switching off the safety as you moved out of your bedroom. You and Jaemin proceeded silently down the stairs where you were greeted with a zombie.

It was your father.

For a few seconds your dad’s zombified body just stared at you, his dull, grey, lifeless eyes boring into your own. Then he moved. He moved a speed which you had never seen before, letting out an inhuman screech while he did so. He landed on you and started biting anywhere he would reach. You pushed against him, pleading with you father to get off and let you go.

Then a bang rang out, stopping his movements. You felt something cold on your face and you dad fell off you to reveal Jaemin stood behind him with his pistol up, the tip still smoking. You brought a shaky hand up to your face and wiped your fingers against you forehead. When you brought them back down, you saw blood.

Your dad’s blood.

You choked on a sob, one that was so desperate to leave you that it almost couldn't. Then you broke down. Jaemin immediately found his way beside you and pulled you into his arms. You could feel him shaking from the fear of the past few moments, while he whispered:

‘I thought I was going to lose you.’

You suddenly felt something wet on you hair and realised that Jaemin was crying too. When you came to this realisation, you turned your body so that you could hug him back, knowing that he would need some comfort as well. This wasn't just you breaking down over your father, it was everything that the past week had thrown upon you. You had lost your entire life, your family, your home, the parents of your close friends who were like a second family. All you had left was your group of eight.

You weren't there for long, knowing that you both had to get back to the cars before your ten minutes were up. You stood up and stretched to a hand to Jaemin who took it gratefully. You kept holding him before you both headed out of the back door and towards the cars.

When you approached them, you saw that the other 6 boys were already there, so you and Jaemin jogged to catch up. Chenle noticed you both first, nudging Donghyuck who was nervously biting his nails. Donghyuck looked up and immediately moved towards you, pulling you in for a tight hug.

‘Oh thank god.’ He whispered, before pulling away and continuing in a normal voice. ‘We heard gun shots and-’ He noticed the blood on your face. ‘Are you okay?’

You nodded. ‘It’s not mine. And you were right Jisung.’ You lifted up your tape covered arm to show him the small dents in it. ‘Tape saved my life.’

Jeno walked forward, using his sleeve to pat and wipe what he could off. ‘Is it a zombie’s?’

You nodded, ‘My dad’s.’

A silence fell over the group as Renjun stepped forward to hug you. He had known your dad for as long as you could remember and you knew he was like a second father to him.

“I’m okay.’ You whispered. ‘Can we please leave here though?’

Renjun nodded as he pulled away. ‘Let’s go.’

With that you all piled into the cars and drove away from the street that once was home to you, but is now only home to the horrible memories created today.

---

It had been 18 hours since you had all gone back home. You had immediately taken a shower and washed off the blood and dirt from your body. In fact, everyone had had showers that night and gone to bed pretty quickly.

Donghyuck was still heartbroken about his sister. You heard him crying in his bed that night and you wasted no time in crawling into it with him. You wrapped him up in your arms and began to gently sing you are my sunshine. You had just made it past the first chorus before his tears had subsided and he thanked you. He told you that he wasn't going to cry about it much more than he already had. He didn't want it to be something that kept him back, no, instead it was fuel to the fire that was driving him forward. He had also finally avenged the death of his mother, allowing him to let her rest in peace and allowing himself to move on.

You were proud of him.

He also cried for your parents. The people who took his sister and him in every time they ran away to your house, which was very often. They respected his boundaries when asking questions about the injuries and often made excuses to invite them over for dinner without his father to give them time out of the house. He confessed that he felt he owed them so many thank yous that he will never be able to say. You reassured him that they knew how grateful he was and that they had loved him like he was their own. They had once told you that Donghyuck was like the son they had never had.

So you lay in bed together that night, humming comforting songs and mourning the losses of your families together.

By the next morning, you all had another meeting. All eight of you sat in the living room on the ground floor, the silence sitting heavily on all of your shoulders.

Mark, who, as the oldest, had become the sort of leader of your group, spoke first.

‘I know yesterday was tough on everyone, and that's why I think it’s best that we leave here as soon as possible.’

The prompted everyone to look up at him in surprise, but, before anyone could interrupt or ask questions, he continued.

‘We had already decided that we couldn't stay here forever and the longer we do, the more bad memories we are making of this place. I think we should leave while we can still remember this place as it used to be. When it was still our home.’

What Mark said actually made a lot of sense to you. When you arrived at the abandoned park, you thought of the times you, Renjun, Jeno and Haechan would spend on the swings. And the time Jeno had help you after you fell off the monkey bars, how the 7 year old boy had insisted on carrying you back to your house and stayed with you while you mum patched you up. You remembered how he had insisted on teaching you the trick of climbing above them instead. You really didn’t want that memory to be replace with a different one. So you voiced your agreement.

‘I think that's a good idea. But we need to actually figure out where we are going to go and how we are going to get there.’

‘I think we need some rules.’ Jaemin spoke up. ‘Things like, never go anywhere alone, and stuff like that.’

Mark nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. We’ll create those after we decide where to go.’

‘Is no one else thinking what I’m thinking? About the zombies?’ CHenle questioned, looking around at all of you.

‘What are you thinking?’ Jisung asked, all of you clearly having no clue what he was on about.

‘That what if it isn't just people who are currently infected. Zombies are the living dead right? So what if the disease mutates and those who are already dead, and have been for years, start living again?’ His question added a new level of danger to an already life threatening situation.

‘The second people start rising we’re really screwed. The dead outnumber the living one hundred to one.’ Renjun stated.

‘Well, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. No need to freak out over something that hasn't happened yet.’

Jaemin’s words made Jeno nod slightly, you only noticing because he was beside you. You nudged him gently with your arm and he turned his head to look at you.

‘Hey, you okay? You’re quieter than normal.’

‘Yeah I’m fine.’ He turned away from you and faced the rest of the group. ‘What about an army base?’

‘An army base?’ Jisung questioned.

‘Yeah. It seems like the place we’ve been talking about. I did a summer training course at one last year and they've got loads of fields that they used for training which we can use those for growing plants and raising cattle, they also have lockers filled with clothes we could wear and there will be left over weapons too. Not to mention that if we could get the security system back up and running, it would probably be the safest place on earth. Of course there will be some zombies there but I'm sure we could take them, I mean, what's the alternative?’ Jeno explained.

It seemed like the perfect solution, almost too good to be true. You knew it was likely to be very infected but Jeno’s question kept ringing around in your head: what’s the alternative?

‘Anyone got any objections to that?’ Mark asked the rest of you, to which you all shook your heads. ‘Great.’

After arguing for the next half and hour or so, you all came up with the 3 rules you agreed to live by from now on:

1: Never go anywhere alone

2: If you hear anything or see anything odd, find the rest of the group immediately

3: When running, no matter what, don’t look back

You had just finished deciding on these rules when a loud crash stopped your conversation.

‘What the hell was that?’ Jaemin stood up, while Mark ran to the front door. He was only gone for a few seconds before he shot back inside.

‘Get up! We have to go!’ He shouted, grabbing Jisung and pulling him up.

Jeno grabbed Chenle while asking ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘Zombies. They’ve got past the gate, I don’t know how it wasn't electrified. But-’

‘What about the cameras, the alarms?’ Renjun interrupted.

‘They rebooted themselves five minutes ago and aren't back online yet. They have scheduled update system that I don’t know how to override.’ Mark explained and he stood by the door of the living room. ‘The zombies outside are about to make it inside the house, we need to get to the escape hatch as fast as we can. Jeno what’s the address of the army base?’

Jeno shouted back some numbers and an area code that you didn't understand, focusing on the sound of groaning that was radiating through Mark’s house.

‘Wait! No I can’t leave, I need to get the photos. Also we need our weapons, we won’t last five minutes without them.’ Donghyuck reasoned, desperation creeping into his voice.

‘There’s cameras there, we can watch and wait for them to leave, then we’ll grab our things and go.’ Mark reassured him. ‘Right the coast is clear, give me five seconds then run straight for the hatch, and remember, don’t look back.’

You all nodded and repeated ‘don’t look back’, knowing that you would run faster. This wasn't about not getting seen, it was about getting there alive.

Mark opened the door and ran first, quickly punching in the code and then the rest of you sprinted. You staggered how you ran to prevent you all crowding the entrance, but when it was your turn, you ran like you never had before. You didn’t look back, but focused only on the gap in the floor with Chenle’s outstretched hand waiting for you. You grabbed it and quickly jumped into the room, ignoring the steps there and instead favouring speed. It wasn’t long before Renjun arrived and then Jaemin, the door closing behind him. All of you breathed a sigh of relief as Mark quickly locked the door before turning on the lights and starting up the cameras. However, Jaemin just stared at the door above him.

Jisung noticed this first. ‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was shaking, not that you could blame him.

‘I- I didn't shut the door behind me.’ Jaemin stuttered, panic lacing his voice. ‘I wasn’t last so I didn't shut it.’

You felt your blood run cold as you looked around your safe room and noticed one person missing.

‘Where’s Jeno?’

The cameras suddenly blinked to life and you saw the house in front of you.

Mark lifted a shaky finger to the screen that showed Jeno and Renjun’s room.

‘There.’

‘No...’ You heard Renjun whisper and he suddenly threw himself against the door that was separating you from the zombies crawling your home. Jaemin grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him back.

Donghyuck immediately made his way over to where Mark was, pressing the button labelled speaker, allowing him to say something through the speakers around the house. Mark quickly flipped the audio switch so that you could hear what Jeno’s reply was.

‘Lee Jeno! What are you doing? Get back here!’ You could hear the strain in his voice.

Jeno sat down on his bed and lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry Donghyuck. I can’t.’

Donghyuck couldn't understand. ‘What do you mean you can't? Yes you can, we’re going to unlock the door and you need to get in here where it’s safe.’

‘That’s just it!’ Jeno shouted. ‘It’s not safe.’

A sob escaped you as you clamped a hand over your mouth while Jeno continued, the rest of you shocked into silence.

‘I’m sorry, but the only way you are getting out of here is if these zombies are killed. Donghyuck was right, you can't leave without your things and you can't leave that room until these things are gone so...’ He paused his sentence while he hoisted his gun onto his shoulder. ‘I’ll get rid of them.’

You walked up to where Donghyuck was, holding down the button yourself.

‘Jeno please... Please don’t do this, come with us, we’ll be safe together.’

Renjun stood next to you, taking his turn to speak.

‘Jeno, please. We can’t lose you.’

Jeno stopped where he was. ‘And I can't lose any of you. So please, let me do this. I’m strong, I’ll be fine.’ His halfhearted attempt at a joke fell flat when the cameras picked up the eleven zombies that were moving quickly through the house. ‘I’ll be fine.’ He repeated, much quieter this time, thinking you couldn't hear him. He was wrong.

You watched hopelessly as Jeno left the room with his gun at the ready and stalked around the house looking for a zombie. By this point, Mark had taken over the speaker button and was telling him where about in the house each zombie was. Your heart was in your mouth while you watched one of your best friends face this alone.

Jeno had taken out six zombies so far, but the last five were all in the same room. And they seemed to move fast. It seemed that zombies all moved at different speeds, and Jeno had somehow left the five fastest to face all at once.

‘Jeno, you need to wait for us. There is a clear path from where we are now to the stairs, we can grab our guns and help you.’ Mark quickly said, trying to stop Jeno from taking them on all at once.

Jeno looked out of the window and shook his head. ‘There’s no time. More are coming and bullets aren't gonna kill them fast enough.’

Jaemin rushed forward and grabbed the speaker from Mark.

‘Jeno, don’t be stupid we are gonna help you. Now wait there!’

‘Okay, okay. But be quick.’ Jeno held up his hands in surrender.

Mark unlocked the door and the rest of you got ready to run back for the stairs. Jeno was behind the door to the kitchen which was on the opposite side to the stairs, meaning you would be able to attack that zombies from both sides. Mark was getting ready to push open the door when Jeno’s voice made you all stop.

“Hey, I love you guys. Never forget that. Thanks for putting up with me for ten years.’

None of you replied, not understanding why it sounded like he was saying goodbye when you were escaping in less than five minutes.

Mark pushed open the door and you all took off. Splitting up once you reached the first floor, you and Donghyuck carried on again up to your shared room. You reached it and grabbed the weapons and backpack from where they were lying on the floor.

When you had both got everything, you nodded at each other and prepared to head back downstairs. You spared a look out of the window and realised that Jeno was right. You didn't have a lot of time. There were zombies crawling the streets and many of them were headed for Mark’s house.

You and Donghyuck had just made it down the stairs to the first floor when a bang resonated through the house, so powerful that it shook the floor where you were standing.

Once it died away, there was pure silence. Even the zombies outside had stopped moaning.

‘What the hell was that?’ Donghyuck asked, looking at you with wide eyes.

The rest of the boys shot out of their room, Mark saying. ‘A grenade. That was a grenade.’

Your heart stopped as you all came to the same horrifying realisation.

Jeno.

---

The next few minutes were a blur. You all shot downstairs to find him, only to be greeted with the remains of the explosion. You couldn't find any sign of Jeno. The only thing Renjun found was the silver identity tab necklace that Jeno had worn since his training camp at the army the previous summer.

Finding that had confirmed your worst suspicions.

Jeno had blown himself up to save the rest of you.

Donghyuck froze, Renjun screamed and you collapsed. All three of you portraying grief in different ways. Donghyuck couldn't move at all. Jaemin actually had to slap him across the face and scream that they needed to go. The blast had attracted every zombie that was roaming the streets. Renjun just yelled. He cursed out everything that had happened. He screamed at the disease and at Jeno for being too brave and too loyal. He cursed his friend for just not letting himself be selfish for once and let them help. Mark and Jisung grabbed him by an arm each and pulled him towards the escape tunnel. You just fell to your knees. The boy who had protected you since the day you met him was dead. The boy who taught you tricks on a skateboard and how to do a cart wheel was dead. The boy who was so scared that you might fall off the monkey bars again that he taught you how to climb across them was dead. And you didn't even tell him goodbye.

Jaemin ran towards you, picking you up and carrying you towards the exit. All the while apologising but saying that you had to go. You vaguely recognised the cars you would be travelling in, different ones this time. Jaemin put you in the passenger seat and you just about registers Chenle and Donghyuck in the backseat through your tears. You could see Chenle crying. You knew that he had looked up to Jeno like the older brother he never had. You curled up into a ball and just sobbed.

And it was like that that you started the next step of your journey. With one less person than when you started.

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theroyalmile · 3 years

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Body by Chemo

Last weekend I went for a 9-mile bike ride to downtown Boston and back. I was admittedly nervous and skeptical about this ride beforehand for a couple of reasons. First, it has been years since I rode a bike, and I know there’s that whole expression “It’s like riding a bike” but I’m not sure that expression is all that accurate. Second, I have never ridden a bike in Boston. Third, I get winded these days going up and down my stairs, so I was not sure I quite “had it in me.” But, my whole household was going, it was a beautiful day, and I had been promising myself I would make an effort to be more active. So off we went. Oh, and there was a promise of breakfast sandwiches and coffee and donuts once we made it downtown- nobody could say no to that.

The beginning of the ride was rocky. The original bike I borrowed was just a little too tall for me, and because of that I felt incredibly unsteady. I traded bikes with one of my roommates and that bike ended up being a better fit for me- a few loops around a parking lot and I thought, “Hey, it really is like riding a bike.” With my confidence reasserted, we hit the bike path.

The bike ride was, overall, beautiful. I did find myself getting winded and had to stop a couple of times. My roommates had been prepared to take it easy with me, and were very supportive. Eventually we made it the 4.5 miles downtown and I felt so incredibly proud for conquering my first time back on a bike and first time biking downtown, all while dealing with the fatigue, shortness of breath and other goodies that come with my chemo treatment. I felt empowered and heartened, which made me feel optimistic about the ride back home.

That optimism was short lived; almost immediately after we took off it became apparent that my body simply could not handle it. I told myself we just had to get out of downtown and back on the bike trail and then I would ask to stop. We made it and I signaled everyone for a quick break. I thought maybe if I caught my breath and had some water it would be okay. One of our bike squad members offered for me to try their bike to see if that made a difference. I hopped on bikes a block or so, and then hopped off almost immediately- it just wasn’t going to work. As I hopped off, right after we had crossed an intersection, I heard two men yelling from a car about some girl having a fat ass, or something to that effect. Regardless of whether they were talking about me or someone else who had crossed the street with us, that was the final kick for me. Any experienced fat girl understands that you will always think those comments are about you, even when they are not. (Disclaimer: I do not mean “fat” as something negative, and I am definitely not looking for people to tell me I’m not fat, I’m simply stating a fact about my body). Anyways, it was at this point I felt the tears of frustration welling up and knew my ride was done. I told the crew I couldn’t go any further and would walk while they biked on.

There is a certain trauma that comes with being fat and exercising. It’s almost like you never want someone to see you fail at any kind of physical activity because it feels like you're reinforcing the stereotype, like, oh of course the fat girl can’t finish the bike ride. My roommate had offered, very kindly, to come back and pick me up in the car. That was an indignancy I couldn’t bear- it was one thing to fail to finish the ride; it was another to have to be driven home. No, I said stubbornly, I would walk my bike home. Caleb of course insisted on walking his bike with me.

As we walked our bikes I became more and more upset. Part of it was the embarrassment of being a fat girl walking a bike home. I almost want to scream at passers by “It’s not because I’m fat- I have cancer!” But another, bigger part of it was the reality of admitting to myself that chemo had changed my body, and it simply wasn’t up to the tasks it might normally have been. Eventually I became upset enough that I had to stop and let myself have a small breakdown. Caleb hugged me while I cried and tried to keep me in perspective. “You’re going through chemo” he reminded me, and tried to help me realize that having made it as far as I had was a feat in itself. He walked across the street to grab me tissues and a gatorade so I could cry, rehydrate, cry, and rehydrate some more.

****

Here’s the thing about chemo- it has made me feel incredibly betrayed by my body. I have always been overweight, since my teenage years or even earlier. Different versions of overweight, but overweight. That was just the way it was, and I had reached a certain level of acceptance of that. But I had always prided myself on how active I could be. Pre-pandemic I could run 4-5 miles no problem. I would hit the gym three times a week, I would get the steps in. I was still fat, I was active, and I felt good about myself.

Because of chemo, I am now fat, inactive, and feel terrible all the time. I get winded walking up stairs, I am exhausted by my five minute walk from the T to my office downtown, and I find a short walk will tire me out for an afternoon. And it’s not just my stamina. It is absolutely everything.

The skin around my mouth had begun peeling and reddening. My cuticles are dry and peeling and hurt. My hands and feet are dry and cracked. My arms are bruised up and down from frequent IVs. I oftentimes cannot open my medicine bottles or jars without help. My hair, of course, is completely gone, not just on my head, but my nostrils too, leaving me with an almost constant runny nose. My eyebrows are thinning, along with my eyelashes, and I pray to whoever is listening to please not take those away from me too. My hands shake, and have turned dark brown from the cytoxan (which thankfully I am done with). My memory is terrible. I am breaking out like I’m back and middle school. My joints hurt, my muscles ache, despite me doing nothing all day. AND I get hot flashes now! Oh and I am hungry all the time. Honestly ALL THE TIME.

Here’s the thing- my body and I have been in a constant battle since I was 12 years old. It took me 10-15 years to learn to love my body for what it was, with the understanding I was never going to have the same body as my friends, was never going to fit their clothes, and was never going to be the traditional idea of “in shape.” But we had come to truce, my body and I. I had found acceptance, and even joy in my body. I had even got to a point where I wore a bikini for the first time since I was a child the summer before the pandemic and it felt amazing, liberating. I followed plus size models like Ashley Graham and Tess Holiday on Instagram and thought heck yeah, if they can do it so can I.

My cancer treatment has taken the pride I had in my body and the control I had over my activity levels and appearance and destroyed every last piece of it. When I was having my worst struggles with my body in college, therapists used to ask me to list my favorite things about my appearance. My top two on that list were always the same: 1) My hair and 2) My boobs. Well, cancer has taken one of those things from me already and will have taken the other by the end of this summer. Like I said, my body has betrayed me now in more ways that I can count. And that betrayal is likely not going to end for a long time. Honestly not until there is no cancer in my body any more. Because let’s be real- that’s the biggest betrayal of all.

Whenever I catch myself in the mirror these days it has the potential to ruin my whole day. There are few outfits that make me feel comfortable and attractive. My face feels round, rounder without hair to frame it. I try not to look too long, lest I find more things to hate. I am terrified of upcoming social gatherings, and wonder how on earth will I be able to feel remotely happy about my appearance for them.

Chemo has reshaped my body in so many ways, some that I am only starting to realize. It is hard, fitting into this new body and becoming accustomed to it. It is even harder learning to love it. Indescribably hard. I think I can get there but sometimes it’s difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Moments like the complete few minutes of despair I felt during our bike ride sometimes make that light seem even further. But it’s important to remember those moments are often fleeting, and can change with a little perspective.

****

After I cried it out on the bike path, I checked the time and realized we really needed to start heading home. Caleb had a vaccine appointment to make and I was an hour away from committing murder of some poor bystander out of sheer frustration. I looked on Google maps and found the walk home would be 48 minutes, probably more pushing a bike and with my sad little chemo lungs. The bike ride home? 12 minutes. So back on the bike I went, and it took every muscle in my body to pedal that 12 minutes home. Fueled by my anger and embarrassment, and the residual tears, we eventually made it all the way home.

I originally found little pride and satisfaction in our trip. All I could think about was how I couldn’t bike the whole thing, and about how those guys in the car had yelled, and how much I hated my biking outfit, and how defeated and mortified I was feeling.

Sometimes perspective takes time, but eventually I found some. I owe a lot of the perspective to Caleb’s support and encouragement both during and after the bike ride, and to my parents pride and excitement as I was telling them about my biking adventure. I also owe a lot of it to a nap, a much needed shower, and a new day. With perspective I rediscovered some of that pride I had lost. Nine miles there and back? I did that shit. And yeah, maybe I didn’t bike the whole thing, but I sure as hell did the whole thing, and did the whole thing while in the midst of chemotherapy treatment. While in the midst of poisoning my body beyond recognition. I am a freaking badass.

And what did I do that evening? Ate my body weight in sushi because I wanted to.

I know there are going to be a lot more ups and downs like this. That bike ride was filled with some very high highs and some very low lows. This is going to happen. And while I don’t know exactly what to expect from my body in the months to come, I do know that whatever happens I’ll see y’all at the beach in July- I’ll be the fat girl with the bald head in a bikini eating an ice cream cone.

#chemo #chemotherapy #chemosucks #breast cancer #body image

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haloshornsinkstains · 3 years

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So for my request, can you write a one shot featuring Toshinori in an Aladdin AU please? I imagine him as a street rat who tries to help out his community (mainly by stealing food, clothes and medicine for the less fortunate) but is considered a controversial figure by the palace guards who would be played by the Pro Heroes of your choosing. what do you think?

Sorry for the long wait. I hope this is okay, my brain went 'Genie' and this happened ^^;;;

“Hey! Don’t leave me here!” Toshinori pounded his fists against the sealed entrance of the cave a few more times before leaning forwards with a groan, his forehead pressed against the cool rock. He cursed quietly under his breath before turning to check on Izuku. The small boy grins, holding up the lamp Toshinori was certain had been in the Vizier’s hands before they were sealed back inside the cave. “Is that?” Izuku nods happily. “Yep. When he decided to double cross us I decided he didn’t deserve to have the lamp.” “Well done young Izuku! He might come back for this and let us out!” Toshinori beams, reaching out a hand for the lamp. “Or-” Izuku laughs, holding it just out of reach, “you could rub it and see if that story about the genie is true?” Carefully Toshinori takes the lamp, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it carefully. After a few moments of careful consideration he gently rubs the side of the lamp, keeping the whole thing carefully away from his body. At first it seems like nothing is going to happen, and he’s just about the settle the lamp on the floor again when it starts to tremble, white smoke pouring from the spout. With a yelp Toshinori practically drops the thing on the floor, Izuku scarbling to shield himself behind the bigger man. After a few moments the smoke condenses into a solid shape, something resembling a dog? Mouse? Toshinori isn't sure, but he does know this is not what he expected. "Mortals, why have you summoned me?" Judging from the glowing eyes and the way it's trying to float over them, the two would be thieves are pretty sure the genie is trying to intimidate them. The effect, however, is somewhat ruined by it's small stature and general rodent-y appearance. Izuku barely stifles a giggle, pressing his face into Toshinori's back to hide his smile. "We were trying to see if you were real, I thought it was just a story." He admitted, shrugging. "You shall be- wait. You didn't think I was real? Why would you rub the lamp if you didn't think I was real? Do you often rub strange lamps?" The genie is back on the floor now, peering up at them utterly perplexed. "Well, the lamp did need a polish anyway. It's not very clean." Toshinori sighed, picking the lamp up again and gesturing at the dirt. "Needed a… look, you try staying clean when you've been trapped in a cave for hundreds of years!" The genie has his hands on his hips now, looking thoroughly peeved. "Needed a clean." Izuku tugged on his friends vest, leaning up to stage whisper at him. "Toshi… I don't think he's a very powerful genie if he can't get out of a simple cave." "You might be right." Unlike Izuku, Toshi's loud whisper wasn't on purpose, but for once his lack of volume control worked in their favour. "I am a powerful genie! The most powerful!" Izuku frowned, gesturing at the cave. "Are you sure?" "Look. I need to be out of the lamp to do magic, and no one has been around to let me out until you guys." Toshinori stared at the genie for a moment. "So, Genie, don't you want to see the outside world? I'm an excellent guide, I know all the best places." He grinned. "Agrabah is a spectacular city." "You could use your first wish to get us out of here." The Genie hummed. "Shall I?" Izuku scoffed, staring down at the small rodent. "So you can only do magic if someone makes a wish? Doesn't sound very powerful to me." "I don't need a wish! I could get us all out of here any time I like!" Izuku folded his arms, nudging Toshinori to pick up the lamp. "Prove it."

Moments later the three of them landed outside in the sand, the genie staring up at them with the closest thing to an "I told you so" expression his features could muster. Toshinori laughed happily, eyes wide with wonder as he stared at the lamp in his hand. "That was great! Did you see that young Izuku? He truly is a powerful genie!" He beamed happily at the genie. "Come, master genie, I shall show you the wonders of Agrabah as promised!" It started well at least. They managed to show the genie most of the market, chatting with traders Toshinori knew well, sharing food with various townspeople as they came out of their houses to greet him. The genie, for his part, was fascinated. Babbling on about how much the world had changed since he was sealed away, how great the food was, the arts… it was both fascinating and a little overwhelming. They kept up this way until they were close to the palace, naturally, that was where things started to fall apart. “And this is the Royal Palace!” Toshinori grinned, gesturing towards the grand building from their hiding spot between two houses. “That’s where the Sultan and his only child live.” “And the Vizier who sent us to steal you,” Izuku piped up, “probably a good thing we didn’t hand the lamp over though. That guy is awful.” “Huh. So this is a scheming advisor kind of deal then?” The genie hummed thoughtfully. “I guess it-” “OI! YOU THERE! TOSHINORI! DON’T THINK YOU’RE GETTING AWAY FROM US THIS TIME!” Izuku groaned and Toshi poked his head out between the houses, waving cheerfully at the guards now racing towards them. “Good to see you again Aizawa, Yamada, gotta dash!” He sprinted away, darting between buildings with Izuku and the Genie dragged along behind him. Eventually they came across a fabric store, the sounds of the guards boots and clanking armour just far enough away to ensure they couldn’t be seen through the twisting alleyways, ducking inside he raced up towards the roof, ignoring the indignant yelps from the women inside.

Collapsing down behind a chimney Toshi laughed happily, beaming up at the other two. “Well, that was fun.” The genie frowned down at him. “Does this happen a lot? You seemed to know those guys…” “Those were palace guards. Toshinori likes to sneak into the palace to talk to the Royal Heir, and has this terrible habit of stealing food and medicine and redistributing it around the city, the Guards don’t appreciate it so much. So you could say we know them, yeah.” Izuku sighed, sinking down onto the floor next to Toshi. “I just wanted to help people, it’s not my fault that the best way I can do that is by redistributing the palace supplies. They have more than enough medicine to go around you know? And I could take ten times the amount of food before the Sultan would even notice his dinner got a little smaller!.” “No wonder the people here seem to like you so much.” Toshi blinked up at the genie. “Well, I’m not-” “Yeah, among other things he’s helped a lot of people.” Izuku nodded. “Though none of that explains why he keeps sneaking up to see the Royal Heir, or trying to sneak them out of the palace.” “Look, they want to see the world, not stay cooped up in some stuffy palace.” Toshi huffed. “And it gets them away from that creepy Vizier.” “I see.” The genie nodded, though he didn’t sound at all convinced. “Ah yes! That reminds me, I think I know what I want to do with those wishes now.” Toshi grinned, eyes sparkling. “We’re going to help the people of Agrabah and rescue a royal!”

#halo.writes #halo.answers #princeasimdiya12 #my hero academia #yagi toshinori #aladdin AU

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nakediconoclast · 3 years

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About a certain livestock de-wormer...

Ivermectin

Before I even start this post, let me get the legal shit out of the way.I am not a doctor. I haven't even been to a doctor in over 5 years.I have no medical training except for maybe 100 hours of outdated first aid training when I was in the army 40 years ago and my First Sergeant needed a break from me.I am not a pharmacist, although back in the 1980s and 90s, I have dispensed dru..... Wait, I better leave that one alone.The point being, don't take my word for shit here. Do your own research. I'm going to refer to the drug as IM in this post because I don't want Google/Blogger taking my blog down or red-paging it for not toeing the party line. It is not my purpose to try to talk you into taking it any more than I'd try to talk you out of taking the vaccine if that's what you want to do. Your body, your choice.All I'm doing is making you aware of it if you haven't already checked it out, and to pass on my own experiences and thoughts. IM has been approved for use in humans, although it's more widely known as an parasitic medication for livestock.IM, sold under the brand name Stromectol among others, is a medication that is used to treat parasite infestations. In humans, this includes head lice, scabies, river blindness (onchocerciasis), strongyloidiasis, trichuriasis, ascariasis, and lymphatic filariasis. In veterinary medicine, it is used to prevent and treat heartworm and acariasis, among other indications. It can be taken by mouth or applied to the skin for external infestations.MORE Question: If it's already been proven safe for human use, why isn't there full speed ahead testing being done to see if it works for covid?Answer: Big Pharma. IM has been off patent for years and is dirt cheap. If it's found out to be effective for covid, guess who's profits are going to nosedive in that vaccine market? * Back a few weeks ago, a very good friend who shall remain nameless - fuck it, I'll out him, it was WiscoDave - initiated a conversation with me about IM and wanted to know if I had considered taking it to 1) prevent covid and 2) use it to cure covid if I were to contract it. Me, being invincible, said no, so he turned me onto a few links and pretty much left it at that.He's a sly devil - he knew I'd eventually get bored and read them. One of them concerned a study in India. As you may recall, there was a major outbreak a couple months ago and motherfuckers were dying like flies, then all of a sudden..... nothing.Why? Because they introduced IM. HERE is the link to the study in the first sentence of this paragraph.HERE is a 25 minute youtube video along the same lines. There's more out there if you take a few seconds to look them up. Okay, I read that, then I started digging and found more articles and videos on youtube, although youtube seems to be pulling a bunch of them if they even mention covid and IM.To make a long story short, I figured to give it a try. Hell, I never was shy about trying new drugs when I was younger, so it wasn't that big of a deal.My reasoning was this: While I may be invincible, my wife is not and with her health problems, she is one of those high risk people. She doesn't get out much, so about the only way she'd get it would be from me, so I needed to protect myself, but I really don't want to get vaccinated.Besides, I keep hearing about all the deaths and complications from taking the vaccines, but I've yet to hear about anybody dying from taking IM. On top of that, every day I read about fully vaccinated people being diagnosed with covid in spite of their precautions, so even if I got vaccinated, there's a good possibility that's not going to protect my wife from getting it. Wisco had also directed me to Ann Barnhardt's IM page HERE and told me to be sure that I read it - it tells you where to buy it, how to buy it, what kinds to buy (very important!) and dosage instructions. So, armed with that knowledge, I went into town to score some of this miracle drug in the liquid form. First stop was the Farmer's Co-op in town. There was none to be had and the old boy behind the counter said they can't keep it in stock for the past few months. That seemed a little weird seeing as I haven't noticed a massive influx of livestock around here lately - unless people are buying it up to use on themselves. Bubba also told me he couldn't guarantee a hold for me when it did come in, so I headed down to Tractor Supply. Once there, I couldn't find the liquid 1% solution so I asked one of the guys and immediately started getting the 3rd degree - just exactly what I did I want it for and shit like that, so I told him it was to worm a sick donkey. He went to the back to see if there was any there, but came back to tell me there was none in stock, so I asked him to order it for me. He hemmed and hawed around until the manager walked by and told him to order anything I wanted, with as much money as I've spent in that store, so he ordered a 50ml bottle for me and I got it 3-4 days later.While I'm on the subject of Tractor Supply, if you order something online from your home, YOU pay the shipping. If you have them order it for you, it ships to your address and shipping is free - something to keep in mind. Ten bucks is ten bucks. Anyways, after I got home and was re-reading Miss Ann's page, I realized I saw the 1.87% paste there at Tractor Supply, so I hustled back down there and scored a tube for about 8 bucks.Once I got it home, I figured to give it a whirl as a preventive measure, but I didn't want to use the liquid, figuring to hold off on that in case it became 'unavailable' in the future.Now Wisco had told me the paste tasted like ass, but what the fuck, I've eaten British food before. I ain't scared. Besides, this shit was apple flavored. So I took a piece of bread, squeezed out the recommended dose (I thought), put it on the bread, folded it over and wolfed it down. I got a very slight taste of bitter apple, so I shoveled in a load of Copenhagen and that was the end of that. Now, while IM in the liquid form is taken orally, it's drawn from the bottle and measured using a syringe which can be bought at Tractor Supply, livestock supply stores and even online at vet supply sites such as Chewy.com.In the liquid form and by using a little math, you can get the dosage down for your body weight pretty easily. Using the paste, the tube dispenses the doses in 50 kilogram increments for your body weight. Luckily, as I found out, it's pretty fucking hard to overdose yourself. As I was putting the tube away, I realized I had accidentally dosed myself with double the amount recommended for my weight. It's okay to round up - better a little too much than too little according to everything I had read, but damn, I really rounded up.Like I said, the shit measures out in 50 kilo increments for body weight and I did 3 clicks instead of 2. I weigh 170 pounds and took enough for a 330 pounder.I sat down and waited to die. What I got was a very slight headache and I do mean very slight - it wasn't even bad enough to require aspirin. I didn't even cop a buzz, damn it. Okay, that's my experience. Did I have any side effects? Nope.Did I get sick to my stomach? Huh-uh.Does my dick still get hard in the morning? Most of the time, but that's my age showing.Any frothing at the mouth? Only when I brush my teeth.Do my trigger fingers still work? Yes, praise the Lord.Any newfound empathy or tolerance for Biden? Fuck no.Do I have an urge to gallop in the pasture? What happens in that pasture is between me and God. Obviously, there's precautions.Ladies, you probably don't want to take it if you're pregnant or trying to get pregnant.If you're taking medication, you most definitely want to talk with your doctor first to see if there's going to be any kind of interactions. There's a website HERE that you can check, but I think I'd want to hear it from a doctor. How you word those questions is up to you, but if it was me I wouldn't ask IF I can take it, I'd let him or her know I was going to take it and what should I know. Okay, bottom line for me: Like I said earlier, I've heard of many, many cases of horrible side effects and even deaths from taking the vaccines, but I've yet to hear of anybody taking the correct dosage of IM having any adverse effects. I'm sure there's some out there, but if they were even remotely common, the FDA would be spreading those examples everywhere. Instead, they're putting out vague warnings like this HERE.Do I believe the hype about how deadly covid is for healthy people? No. But I do believe it can make you sicker than a dog, and I generally try to avoid shit like that. And again, I do have to protect my wife by protecting myself. With her health issues, death is a very real possibility. * So, if you are considering it, please go to Ann Barnhardt's page on the stuff and read it. Again, you'll find instructions on the kind to buy (they're not all the same), dosage, how to take it, and even a little video on how to use the paste.HEREIf you're concerned about the correct dosage, she addresses that as well.HERE

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

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CCCSweet Moments Between these two Including every Kiss This wont Include the Bread story or When Katniss Pushed him and Regreated it. ( Beause those are in other posts) It’s a very long one

Hunger Games.

Chapter 5 But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 6

"You're shivering," says Peeta. The wind and the story have blown all the warmth from my body. The girl's scream. Had it been her last? 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?

Chapter 9/10 ( Peeta Confessing his love)

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.

Chapter 19

"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."

Chapter 19 ( Had to add some Flirting from the stream

"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.

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.

Chapter 20

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

Chapter 21

And Gale. I know him. He won't be shouting and cheering. But he'll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he's hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale's not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I'm careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don't return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn't need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I'm not there to remove it, he'll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue's spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I'm about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

"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.

Chapter 23

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?"

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

Chapter 23 ( Just a sweet moment)

"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.

Chapter 24

"Can't we go back to the cave?" he asks. "It's near water and easy to defend." I sigh. Several more hours of walking - or should I say crashing - through the woods to reach an area we'll just have to leave in the morning to hunt. But Peeta doesn't ask for much. He's followed my instructions all day and I'm sure if things were reversed, he wouldn't make me spend the night in a tree. It dawns on me that I haven't been very nice to Peeta today. Nagging him about how loud he was, screaming at him over disappearing. The playful romance we had sustained in the cave has disappeared out in the open, under the hot sun, with the threat of Cato looming over us. Haymitch has probably just about had it with me. And as for the audience. I reach up and give him a kiss. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

Chapter 24

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It's not much, but out here in the wilderness, it's the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's still here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad that I don't have to face Cato alone.

Chapter 25 "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!"

* NOT A Kissing but cuddling moment sorta*

"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.

Chaper 26

I spew the berries from my mouth, wiping my tongue with the end of my shirt to make sure no juice remains. Peeta pulls me to the lake where we both flush our mouths with water and then collapse into each other's arms. "You didn't swallow any?" I ask him. He shakes his head. "You?"

"Guess I'd be dead by now if I did," I say. I can see his lips moving in reply, but I can't hear him over the roar of the crowd in the Capitol that they're playing live over the speakers. 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.

Chapter 26 ( Had to add this one in here )

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.

Chapter 27

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.

Chapter 27 Rewatching the games

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.

Chapter 27 Final interview of the book

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.

Chapter 27 A sweet moment then Freaking Haymitch Ruined it... I guess Peeta had to learn the truth at some point

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.

CATCHING FIRE

Chapter 1 (

I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It's stupid, of course. Hardly anybody knows me better than Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance became a key strategy for our survival in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy for Peeta. I'm not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing but painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how, on the Victory Tour, Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again.

A little later on Chapter 1.

He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?" "I couldn't shake you awake," I say. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta." "Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out. I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part. Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It's not until he's handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?" "No, I ate at the Hob," I say. "But thank you." My voice doesn't sound like my own, it's so formal. Just as it's been every time I've spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. "You're welcome," he says back stiffly. Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." He's right, of course. The audience will be expecting the pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who can barely look each other in the eye. But all I say is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Then I swing out the window, drop to the ground, and head across the green to my house.

Chapter 3

For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I make out Peeta coming through his front door. In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And I know I must. My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won't expose me in front of the cameras. Won't condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He's still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

Okay ( I skipped over the Talk between Snow and Katniss ) Basically hes not convinced about that Katniss loves Peeta and is kinda a Di** about Katniss having the company of another guy when Gale Literally just surprised kissed her Taking her By Surprise so yeah this is what this post is below about basically

His face sobers, grows older in the glow of the red tail-lights. "Then you can't fail." "If you could just help me get through this trip - " I begin. "No, Katniss, it's not just this trip," he says. "What do you mean?" I say. "Even if you pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after with that boy." The full impact of what he's saying hits me. I will never have a life with Gale, even if I want to. I will never be allowed to live alone. I will have to be forever in love with Peeta. The Capitol will insist on it. I'll have a few years maybe, because I'm still only sixteen, to stay with my mother and Prim. And then ... and then ... "Do you understand what I mean?" he presses me. I nod. He means there's only one future, if I want to keep those I love alive and stay alive myself. I'll have to marry Peeta.

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It'll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It's not like I don't deserve it, but I still don't want to hear it. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture," I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. "I'll try to keep it brief." Peeta takes a seat beside me. "I thought you were Haymitch," I say. "No, he's still working on that muffin." I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. "Bad day, huh?" "It's nothing," I say. He takes a deep breath. "Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry." His apology takes me by surprise. It's true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don't hold that against him. In the arena, I'd played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn't honestly know how I felt about him. I still don't, really. "I'm sorry, too," I say. I'm not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there's a real chance I'm about to destroy him. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don't want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends," he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn't keep him safe. "Okay," I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he'd come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I'm glad we're speaking again. "So what's wrong?" he asks. I can't tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. "Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine ... but I don't know what your favorite color is?" he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. "Green. What's yours?" "Orange," he says. "Orange? Like Effie's hair?" I say. "A bit more muted," he says. "More like ... sunset." Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it's all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn't want me to. I'd better stick to small talk. "You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them," I say. "Well, I've got a whole train car full." He rises and offers me his hand. "Come on." It's good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. At the door, I remember. "I've got to apologize to Effie first." "Don't be afraid to lay it on thick," Peeta tells me.

Chapter 4 * The Speeches In district 11*

Peeta had his personal comments written on a card, but he doesn't pull it out. Instead he speaks in his simple, winning style about Thresh and Rue making it to the final eight, about how they both kept me alive - thereby keeping him alive - and about how this is a debt we can never repay. And then he hesitates before adding something that wasn't written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives." The crowd can't help but respond with gasps and murmurs. There is no precedent for what Peeta has done. I don't even know if it's legal. He probably doesn't know, either, so he didn't ask in case it isn't. As for the families, they just stare at us in shock. Their lives were changed forever when Thresh and Rue were lost, but this gift will change them again. A month of tribute winnings can easily provide for a family for a year. As long as we live, they will not hunger. I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.

"Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. And even if I had pledged all my winnings to the families, it would not excuse my silence today. "Wait, please." I don't know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they've been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. "I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that." For the first time the old hunched woman - is she Thresh's grandmother? - raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips. The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath. I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread." I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine. What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena.

Chapter 5 Katniss Tells Peeta everything

Peeta relates all that occurred in the square. The whistle, the salute, our hesitation on the verandah, the murder of the old man. "What's going on, Haymitch?" "It will be better coming from you," Haymitch says to me. I don't agree. I think it will be a hundred times worse coming from me. But I tell Peeta everything as calmly as I can. About President Snow, the unrest in the districts. I don't even omit the kiss with Gale. I lay out how we are all in jeopardy, how the whole country is in jeopardy because of my trick with the berries. "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone who had doubted believe I acted out of love. Calm things down. But obviously, all I've done today is. get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished." I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. "Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money," says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. "This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them." "It's not like that, Peeta - " I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don't I even rate the truth from you?" "You're always so reliably good, Peeta," says Haymitch. "So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that." "Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue's and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky if they survive the day!" Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I've never seen him like this. "He's right, Haymitch," I say. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol." "Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you?" asks Peeta. His voice is quieter now. "Something I wasn't part of." "No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn't send," I say. "Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up," says Peeta. I haven't thought much about this. How it must have looked from Peeta's perspective when I appeared in the arena having received burn medicine and bread when he, who was at death's door, had gotten nothing. Like Haymitch was keeping me alive at his expense. "Look, boy - " Haymitch begins. "Don't bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I'd have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into," says Peeta. "From now on, you'll be fully informed," Haymitch promises. "I better be," says Peeta. He doesn't even bother to look at me before he leaves. The dust he disrupted billows up and looks for new places to land. My hair, my eyes, my shiny gold pin. "Did you choose me, Haymitch?" I ask. "Yeah," he says. "Why? You like him better," I say. "That's true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive," he says. "I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home." "Oh" is all I can think to say. "You'll see, the choices you'll have to make. If we survive this," says Haymitch. "You'll learn." Well, I've learned one thing today. This place is not a larger version of District 12. Our fence is unguarded and rarely charged. Our Peacekeepers are unwelcome but less brutal. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. Here in 11, they suffer more acutely and feel more desperation. President Snow is right. A spark could be enough to set them ablaze. Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances ... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? "Come on. We've got a dinner to attend," says Haymitch

Basically the rest of Chapter 5

Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. First the prep teams, then her, the stylists, Haymitch. Peeta and I, of course, bring up the rear. Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our little procession begins down the steps, Peeta and I join hands. "Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions," says Peeta. "And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past." I remember the shock of hearing Peeta confess his love for me in front of all of Panem. Haymitch had known about that and not told me. "I think I broke a few things myself after that interview." "Just an urn," he says. "And your hands. There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?" I say. "No point," says Peeta. We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step lead as Effie directed. "Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?" I'm so startled I answer. "Yes." With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? "That's fifteen. Let's do it," he says. A light hits us, and I put on the most dazzling smile I can. We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it's the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having. Even without our personal speeches to trigger dissent - needless to say the ones we gave in District 11 were edited out before the event was broadcast - you can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to run over. Not everywhere. Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors' ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. When they chant my name, it is more of a cry for vengeance than a cheer. When the Peacekeepers move in to quiet an unruly crowd, it presses back instead of retreating. And I know that there's nothing I could ever do to change this. No show of love, however believable, will turn this tide. If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then these people will embrace insanity, too. Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don't work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other's arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train. When Effie brings it up to me, I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't. The back-to-back appearances in 2 and 1 are their own special kind of awful. Cato and Clove, the tributes from District 2, might have both made it home if Peeta and I hadn't. I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? I suppose that before the Games I didn't pay attention, and afterward I didn't want to know. By the time we reach the Capitol, we are desperate. We make endless appearances to adoring crowds. There is no danger of an uprising here among the privileged, among those whose names are never placed in the reaping balls, whose children never die for the supposed crimes committed generations ago. We don't need to convince anybody in the Capitol of our love but hold to the slim hope that we can still reach some of those we failed to convince in the districts. Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I'm the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. "I thought he wanted it, anyway," I say. "Not like this," Haymitch says. "He wanted it to be real."

That night, on the stage before the Training Center, we bubble our way through a list of questions. Caesar Flickerman, in his twinkling midnight blue suit, his hair, eyelids, and lips still dyed powder blue, flawlessly guides us through the interview. When he asks us about the future, Peeta gets down on one knee, pours out his heart, and begs me to marry him. I, of course, accept. Caesar is beside himself, the Capitol audience is hysterical, shots of crowds around Panem show a country besotted with happiness. President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers digging into my arms, his face smiling into mine, I dare to raise my eyebrows. They ask what my lips can't. Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving everything over to you, keeping up the game, promising to marry Peeta enough? In answer, he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Chapter 6 So Katniss and Peeta gave it all and Snow is still not convinced so Katniss is like screw you I’ll run away.

Only not here, not quite yet. It's essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, if I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. These are the people I must take with me when I escape into the wild. How I will convince them, where we will go in the dead of winter, what it will take to evade capture are unanswered questions. But at least now I know what I must do. So instead of crumpling to the ground and weeping, I find myself standing up straighter and with more confidence than I have in weeks. My smile, while somewhat insane, is not forced. And when President Snow silences the audience and says, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" I pull off girl-almost-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch. Caesar Flickerman asks if the president has a date in mind. "Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," says the president. The audience gives a big laugh and the president puts his arm around me. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty." "You'll probably have to pass a new law," I say with a giggle. "If that's what it takes," says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh, the fun we two have together.

Chapter 6 ( The Party of the year)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.

Just then Portia appears with a large man who looks vaguely familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Peeta if he can steal me for a dance. Peeta's recovered his camera face and good-naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached. I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don't want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I'm not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. But he seems to sense this and holds me almost at arm's length as we turn on the floor. ( Leaving room for Jesus as they say )

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta's arm. I don't remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he's already awake. "No nightmares," he says. "What?" I ask. "You didn't have any nightmares last night," he says. He's right. For the first time in ages I've slept through the night. "I had a dream, though," I say, thinking back. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice." "Where did she take you?" he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. "I don't know. We never arrived," I say. "But I felt happy." "Well, you slept like you were happy," he says. "Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say. "I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says. "You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. "It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're here." Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it's like being hit in the gut. He's only answering my question honestly. He's not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I've been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don't know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we're officially engaged now. "Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," he says. That's right, we're almost home.

Chapter 7 ( Basically The

"Been hunting?" he asks. You can see he doesn't think it's a good idea. "Not really. Going to town?" I ask. "Yes. I'm supposed to eat dinner with my family," he says. "Well, I can at least walk you in." The road from the Victor's Village to the square gets little use. It's a safe enough place to talk. But I can't seem to get the words out. Proposing it to Gale was such a disaster. I gnaw on my chapped lips. The square gets closer with every step. I may not have an opportunity again soon. I take a deep breath and let the words rush out. "Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?" Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn't need to check my face to see if I'm serious. "Depends on why you're asking." "President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out," I say. "By 'we' do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?" he asks. "My family. Yours, if they want to come. Haymitch, maybe," I say. "What about Gale?" he says. "I don't know. He might have other plans," I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me a rueful smile. "I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I'll go." I feel a slight twinge of hope. "You will?" "Yeah. But I don't think for a minute you will," he says. I jerk my arm away. "Then you don't know me. Be ready. It could be any time." I take off walking and he follows a pace or two behind. "Katniss," Peeta says. I don't slow down. If he thinks it's a bad idea, I don't want to know, because it's the only one I have. "Katniss, hold up." I kick a dirty, frozen chunk of snow off the path and let him catch up. The coal dust makes everything look especially ugly. "I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won't be making things worse for everyone." He raises his head. "What's that?" I lift my chin. I've been so consumed with my own worries, I haven't noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. "Come on," Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don't know why. I can't place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. When we reach the square, it's clear something's happening, but the crowd's too thick to see. Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I'm halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. "Get down. Get out of here!" He's whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. "What?" I say, trying to force my way back up. "Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!" he says. Whatever it is, it's terrible. I yank away from his hand and begin to push my way through the crowd. People see me, recognize my face, and then look panicked. Hands shove me back. Voices hiss.

Chapter 9 * After Gales Whipping* The next day.

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

Chapter 9 Basically

"I've heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain." Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it's been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. "Where's Peeta?" I say. "He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn't want to leave his house unattended during the storm," says my mother. "Did he get back all right?" I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. "Why don't you give him a call and check?" she says. I go into the study, a room I've pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers. "Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home," I say. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you," he says. "I know, but with the weather and all," I say. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking." There's a long pause. "How's Gale?" "All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now," I say. "And your face?" he asks. "I've got some, too," I say. "Have you seen Haymitch today?" "I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says. "I wanted to talk to - to both of you." I don't dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. "Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down," he says. "Nothing much will happen before that, anyway." "No, nothing much," I agree. It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply snow coat to my cheek, try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it will help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get, I call Peeta to see if he wants to go into town with me.

Chapter 9 Katniss and Peeta realize People fear them and the Peacekeepers too

Nothing much will happen during the blizzard. That's what Peeta and I had agreed. But we couldn't have been more wrong. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, march on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nests of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions - an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows - set up in the center of the square. "Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch. Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their living there. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in- - " I can't finish the sentence. "Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer," he says. "Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare." He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" Then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home." "Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family." "I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her. "I'll go, too. Drop by the bakery on my way home," he says. "Thanks." I'm suddenly very scared at what I might find. The streets are almost deserted, which would not be so unusual at this time of day if people were at the mines, kids at school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, through cracks in shutters. An uprising, I think. What an idiot I am. There's an inherent flaw in the plan that both Gale and I were too blind to see. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. We've done that our whole lives, or our families have. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I expect them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches? Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows and draw the curtains tightly. We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale'd be in the best possible hands." "Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mother says he'll be back in the mines in a couple of weeks." "May not be open until then, anyway," says Hazelle. "Word is they're closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty washtub. "You closed down, too?" I ask. "Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now." "Maybe it's the snow," says Peeta. "No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says. Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be all right." I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mother will send something for Posy." When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob." "I'll go with you," he says. "No. I've dragged you into enough trouble," I tell him. "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?" He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't even bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one would try to save it. The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days," I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. "I want to check on Greasy Sae." "Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them," he says. We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers' faces.

Chaper 11 Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I'll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man's face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. "Hello," I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. "Here she is, just in time for dinner," she says a little too brightly. I'm very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. "Can I help you with something?" I ask the Peacekeepers. "Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," says the woman. "They've been waiting for hours," my mother adds. They've been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. "Must be an important message," I say. "May we ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?" the woman asks. "Easier to ask where I haven't been," I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who's standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or "invited" by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I'm glad to see them. "So where haven't you been?" says Haymitch in a bored voice. "Well, I haven't been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim's goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives," I say to Prim emphatically. "No, I didn't," says Prim. "I told you exactly." "You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine," I say. "The east entrance," Prim corrects me. "You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?' and you said, 'Yeah,'" I say. "The slag heap next to the east entrance," says Prim patiently. "No. When did you say that?" I demand. "Last night," Haymitch chimes in. "It was definitely the east," adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. "I'm sorry, but it's what I've been saying. You don't listen when people talk to you." "Bet people told you he didn't live there today and you didn't listen again," says Haymitch. "Shut up, Haymitch," I say, clearly indicating he's right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. "Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up," I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they've made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man's smiling but the woman is unconvinced. "What's in the bag?" she asks sharply.

I know she's hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. "See for yourself."

"Oh, good," says my mother, examining the cloth. "We're running low on bandages."

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. "Ooh, peppermints," he says, popping one in his mouth.

"They're mine." I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. "None of you deserves candy!" I say.

"What, because we're right?" Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. "Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?"

"Better," I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I'm suddenly remembering they're there. "You have a message for me?"

"From Head Peacekeeper Thread," says the woman. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."

"Didn't it already?" I ask, a little too innocently.

"He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin," says the woman.

"Thank you. I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse." I'm pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman's jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11 They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

"What is it?" says Peeta, holding me steadily. "Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone's had a bad day, too." He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. "What happened?" "I slipped and fell," I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. "On some ice." But we all know the house must be bugged and it's not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother's fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. "There might be a break," she says. She checks the other foot. "This one seems all right." She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. Prim's dispatched to get my pajamas and robe. When I'm changed, my mother makes a snow pack for my left heel and props it up on a hassock. I eat three bowls of stew and half a loaf of bread while the others dine at the table. I stare at the fire, thinking of Bonnie and Twill, hoping that the heavy, wet snow has erased my tracks. Prim comes and sits on the floor next to me, leaning her head against my knee. We suck on peppermints as I brush her soft blond hair back behind her ear. "How was school?" I ask. "All right. We learned about coal by-products," she says. We stare at the fire for a while. "Are you going to try on your wedding dresses?" "Not tonight. Tomorrow probably," I say. "Wait until I get home, okay?" she says. "Sure." If they don't arrest me first. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I'm so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can't quite form, I know I'm not allowed to ask that. "Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep," I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. "Almost thought you'd changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner." I'm foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I'd made a run for it, maybe with Gale. "No, I'd have told you," I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it's not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me." As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it.

I'm further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It's a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It's an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother's side of the family started it ages ago. The book's composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I've wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn't because I'm no artist and it's so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That's where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I'm satisfied they're right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It's quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I've seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers' guns away from me in District 11. I don't know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don't notice much because they're so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, "You know, I think this is the first time we've ever done anything normal together." "Yeah," I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. "Nice for a change." Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it's mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol's power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I'm looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it's probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

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

Chapter 14 ( Basically they Start training like Caeers the way it’s writen the song Under pressure would fit well so Now they are on there way to the games again) Also sobering Haymitch up... ( And Peeta has been the drill sargent ) In this part he has a change of heart.

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn't asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. "Couldn't sleep?" "Not for long," I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. "Want to talk about it?" he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven't even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It's the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he's offered me any sort of affection. He's been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I'll never see him again, that's for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won't see it or he'll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. "I brought an extra cup," he says. "Thanks," I say. "And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice," he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. "What's with him?" I say. "I think he feels bad for us," says Peeta. "Right," I say, pouring the milk. "I mean it. I don't think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in," says Peeta. "Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions." "I'm guessing they'll get over it once the blood starts flowing," I say flatly. Really, if there's one thing I don't have time for, it's worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. "So, you're watching all the tapes again?"

Chapter 14 They decide to watch Haymitch’s Games ( Okay call me mean I am skipping over Haymitch’s Games because this would be extra long)

"It's the only Quell we have. We might pick up something valuable about how they work," I say. But I feel weird. It seems like some major invasion of Haymitch's privacy. I don't know why it should, since the whole thing was public. But it does. I have to admit I'm also extremely curious. "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it." "Okay," Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while. Finally Peeta says, "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." "Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," I say. "You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!" I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind - and maybe I have, a little. "Almost, but not quite," says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling. I've spent all these weeks getting to know who my competitors are, without even thinking about who my teammates are. Now a new kind of confidence is lighting up inside of me, because I think I finally know who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am. And surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get Peeta home alive.

Chapter 15

It's interesting, though, when I think of what Peeta said about the attendant on the train being unhappy about the victors having to fight again. About people in the Capitol not liking it. I still think all of that will be forgotten once the gong sounds, but it's something of a revelation that those in the Capitol feel anything at all about us. They certainly don't have a problem watching children murdered every year. But maybe they know too much about the victors, especially the ones who've been celebrities for ages, to forget we're human beings. It's more like watching your own friends die. More like the Games are for those of us in the districts.

For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself." He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Peeta is coming. Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off. Peeta's beside me, dressed in an outfit identical to mine. "What did Finnick Odair want?" he asks. I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure. Especially you," I say.

"Oh. And why especially me?" he says with a smile.

"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."

"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "Shall we?" He holds out a hand to help me into the chariot.

I climb up and pull him up after me. "Hold still," I say, and straighten his crown. "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be fabulous again."

"Absolutely. But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything," he says. "Where are they, anyway?"

"I don't know." I eye the procession of chariots. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." We do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chattering, and I know that, once again, we'll be the talk of the opening ceremonies. We're almost at the door. I crane my head around, but neither Portia nor Cinna, who were with us right up to the final second last year, are anywhere in sight. "Are we supposed to hold hands this year?" I ask.

"I guess they've left it up to us," says Peeta.

I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I'm determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it's Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we will go into this as one.

The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. I simply fix my eyes on a point far in the distance and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. I can't help catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.

And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.

Chapter 16

"What are you so angry about?" Peeta asks, wiping the gravy from his shirtfront. "Because I teased you on the elevator? I'm sorry. I thought you would just laugh about it." "Forget it," I say with a shake of my head. "It's a lot of things." "Darius," he says. "Darius. The Games. Haymitch making us team up with the others," I say. "It can just be you and me, you know," he says. "I know. But maybe Haymitch is right," I say. "Don't tell him I said so, but he usually is, where the Games are concerned." "Well, you can have final say about our allies. But right now, I'm leaning toward Chaff and Seeder," says Peeta. "I'm okay with Seeder, not Chaff," I say. "Not yet, anyway." "Come on and eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again," says Peeta.

After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality." "They saw her shoot," says Peeta with a smile. "Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself." "You're that good?" Haymitch asks me. "So good that Brutus wants you?" I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags and District Three." "Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind." After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased some, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction. And the more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because, on the whole, I don't hate them. And some I like. And a lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I'm to save Peeta.

Chapter 17 Okay short form prior they admitted in there seassons what they did and Kinda forbidden stuff. Now Haymitch has to do DAMAGE Control.

"No, but there's a first time for everything," Cinna answers. And it turns out he's right. Because when Peeta and I each pull a twelve, we make Hunger Games history. No one feels like celebrating, though. "Why did they do that?" I ask. "So that the others will have no choice but to target you," says Haymitch flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you." Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. "I'm sorry if I made things worse," I say. "No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?" he says. "I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?" I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn't understood what he meant. Now I do. "Me, too," he tells me. "And I'm not saying I'm not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I'm perfectly honest about it ..." "If you're perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway," I say. "It's crossed my mind," says Peeta. It's crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I'll never leave that arena alive, I'm still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn't pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta's defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. "But even if that happens, everyone will know we've gone out fighting, right?" Peeta asks. "Everyone will," I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow's dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I'm still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me ... but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol's rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta ... in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, "So what should we do with our last few days?"

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you," Peeta replies.

"Come on, then," I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn't realize until now how starved I've been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn't wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight's streaming through the windows.

"No nightmares," he says.

"No nightmares," I confirm. "You?"

"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

"Really?" says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves."

"It's too bad we can't go somewhere," I say wistfully.

"Who says we can't?" he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. "What?" I ask.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I'll never have, I just let the word slip out. "Okay."

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It's a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it," he says.

"Thanks," I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.

We don't go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

"I'm glad. I'm tired of making everyone around me so miserable," says Peeta. "Everybody crying. Or Haymitch ..." He doesn't need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we're roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. "You remember what Cinna told us," Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Peeta has to return to his room for prep, and I'm left alone with Venia and Flavius. The usual chatter has been suspended. In fact, there's little talk at all, other than to have me raise my chin or comment on a makeup technique. It's nearly lunch when I feel something dripping on my shoulder and turn to find Flavius, who's snipping away at my hair with silent tears running down his face. Venia gives him a look, and he gently sets the scissors on the table and leaves.

Katniss talking about the toasting

Back home everything is so much simpler. A woman usually rents a white dress that's been worn hundreds of times. The man wears something clean that's not mining clothes. They fill out some forms at the Justice Building and are assigned a house. Family and friends gather for a meal or bit of cake, if it can be afforded. Even if it can't, there's always a traditional song we sing as the new couple crosses the threshold of their home. And we have our own little ceremony, where they make their first fire, toast a bit of bread, and share it. Maybe it's old-fashioned, but no one really feels married in District 12 until after the toasting.

Chapter 17 Katnisses Interview

By the time I'm introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The sight of me in my white silk bridal gown practically causes a riot. No more me, no more star-crossed lovers living happily ever after, no more wedding. I can see even Caesar's professionalism showing some cracks as he tries to quiet them so I can speak, but my three minutes are ticking quickly away. Finally there's a lull and he gets out, "So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" My voice trembles as I speak. "Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding ... but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just ... the most beautiful thing?" I don't have to look at Cinna for a signal. I know this is the right time. I begin to twirl slowly, raising the sleeves of my heavy gown above my head. When I hear the screams of the crowd, I think it's because I must look stunning. Then I notice something is rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year in the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress. I begin to panic as the smoke thickens. Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage. Somehow I'm afraid to stop because my flesh doesn't seem to be burning and I know Cinna must be behind whatever is happening. So I keep spinning and spinning. For a split second I'm gasping, completely engulfed in the strange flames. Then all at once, the fire is gone. I slowly come to a stop, wondering if I'm naked and why Cinna has arranged to burn away my wedding dress. But I'm not naked. I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

Chapter 18

I'm still smoldering a little, so it's with a tentative hand that Caesar reaches out to touch my headpiece. The white has burned away, leaving a smooth, fitted veil of black that drapes into the neckline of the dress in the back. "Feathers," says Caesar. "You're like a bird." "A mockingjay, I think," I say, giving my wings a small flap. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token." A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar's face, and I can tell he knows that the mockingjay isn't just my token. That it's come to symbolize so much more. That what will be seen as a flashy costume change in the Capitol is resonating in an entirely different way throughout the districts. But he makes the best of it. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestures for Cinna to rise. He does, and makes a small, gracious bow. And suddenly I am so afraid for him. What has he done? Something terribly dangerous. An act of rebellion in itself. And he's done it for me. I remember his words ... "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself." ... and I'm afraid he has hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost on President Snow. The audience, who's been stunned into silence, breaks into wild applause. I can barely hear the buzzer that indicates that my three minutes are up. Caesar thanks me and I go back to my seat, my dress now feeling lighter than air.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who's headed for his interview, he doesn't meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta's confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that's on everyone's minds. "So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?" asks Caesar. "I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next ..." Peeta trails off. "You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?" An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. "I feel quite certain of it," says Caesar. "We're already married," says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can't see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? "But ... how can that be?" asks Caesar. "Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts. But there's this thing we do," says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. "Were your families there?" asks Caesar. "No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss's mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it," Peeta says. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us." "So this was before the Quell?" says Caesar. "Of course before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew," says Peeta, starting to get upset. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?" "You couldn't, Peeta." Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together." Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. "I'm not glad," says Peeta. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially." This takes even Caesar aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" "Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby." There. He's done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna's talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can't ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can't absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don't make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn't it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn't it? If I hadn't spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can't rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar's lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can't hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem? I look back to the crowd, but the faces of Rue's mother and father swim before my eyes. Their sorrow. Their loss. I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast. And then it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings, or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens begin to pop into blackness. It's too late, though. In the confusion they didn't cut us off in time. Everyone has seen.

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. "There isn't much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?"

"Nothing," I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I'm just as glad I didn't know, didn't have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won't let him. I'm certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I'll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don't know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we'll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. "See you soon," he says. "See you soon," I answer. Chapter 19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don't know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

"Hello, again," he says, and gives me a kiss. "We've got allies."

"Yes. Just as Haymitch intended," I answer. "Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?" Peeta asks.

"Only Mags, I think," I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

"Well, I can't leave Mags behind," says Finnick. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me."

Chapter 19 and 20

But there is no other side. I know this before anyone else, even though I am farthest from the top. My eyes catch on a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first I think it's the glare from the sun or the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it's fixed in space, not shifting when I move. And that's when I connect the square with Wiress and Beetee in the Training Center and realize what lies before us. My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta's knife swings out to slash away some vines. There's a sharp zapping sound. For an instant, the trees are gone and I see open space over a short stretch of bare earth. Then Peeta's flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground. I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. "Peeta?" There's a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he's unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there's no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

"Peeta!" I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it's no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. "Peeta!" Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. "Let me." His fingers touch points at Peeta's neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta's nostrils shut. "No!" I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta's dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick's hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I'm stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta's nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he's not kissing him. He's got Peeta's nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he's blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta's chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta's jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I've gotten through my shock, I understand what he's trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I've seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it's unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick's world is different. Whatever he's doing, he's done it before. There's a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I'm deciding it's too late, that Peeta's dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. "Peeta?" I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. "Careful," he says weakly. "There's a force field up ahead." I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. "Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof," he says. "I'm all right, though. Just a little shaken." "You were dead! Your heart stopped!" I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I'm starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. "Well, it seems to be working now," he says. "It's all right, Katniss." I nod my head but the sounds aren't stopping. "Katniss?" Now Peeta's worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. "It's okay. It's just her hormones," says Finnick. "From the baby." I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. "No. It's not - " I get out, but I'm cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It's stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn't and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. "How are you?" he asks Peeta. "Do you think you can move on?" "No, he has to rest," I say. My nose is running like crazy and I don't even have a shred of fabric to use as a handkerchief. Mags rips off a handful of hanging moss from a tree limb and gives it to me. I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I blow my nose loudly and mop the tears off my face. It's nice, the moss. Absorbent and surprisingly soft. I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta's chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. "Is this your token?" I ask. "Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match," he says. "No, of course I don't mind." I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it's hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 22

"Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" I say. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks. "Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say. "Not if I keep looking at you," he says. We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other's backs where the undershirts don't protect our skin. "I'm going to wake Peeta," I say. "No, wait," says Finnick. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his." Well, there's so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," I say in a soft, singsong voice. His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. "Aa!" Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I'm thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I'd thought. Not so bad at all, really. And just as I've come to this conclusion, a parachute lands next to us with a fresh loaf of bread. Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food. Chapter 23

Johanna narrows her brown eyes at me in hatred. "Lay off her?" she hisses. She steps forward before I can react and slaps me so hard I see stars. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You - " Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her out into the water and repeatedly dunks her while she screams a lot of really insulting things at me. But I don't shoot. Because she's with Finnick and because of what she said, about getting them for me. "What did she mean? She got them for me?" I ask Peeta. "I don't know. You did want them originally," he reminds me. "Yeah, I did. Originally." But that answers nothing. I look down at Beetee's inert body. "But I won't have them long unless we do something.

Chapter 24

know it's stopped when I feel Peeta's hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It's all right, Katniss," he whispers. "You didn't hear them," I answer. "I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn't her," he says. "It was a jabberjay." "It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it," I say. "No, that's what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer's eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren't Glimmer's eyes. And that wasn't Prim's voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying," he says. "No, they were torturing her," I answer. "She's probably dead." "Katniss, Prim isn't dead. How could they kill Prim? We're almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?" Peeta says. "Seven more of us die," I say hopelessly. "No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?" He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. "What happens? At the final eight?" I know he's trying to help me, so I make myself think. "At the final eight?" I repeat. "They interview your family and friends back home." "That's right," says Peeta. "They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they've killed them all?" "No?" I ask, still unsure. "No. That's how we know Prim's alive. She'll be the first one they interview, won't she?" he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It's just ... those voices ... "First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge," he continues. "It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games. Not them." "You really believe that?" I say. "I really do," says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he's fixated on Peeta, his words. "Do you believe it, Finnick?" I ask. "It could be true. I don't know," he says. "Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it ..." "Oh, yes. It's not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school," says Beetee. "Of course Peeta's right. The whole country adores Katniss's little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands," says Johanna flatly. "Don't want that, do they?" She throws back her head and shouts, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!" My mouth drops open in shock. No one, ever, says anything like this in the Games. Absolutely, they've cut away from Johanna, are editing her out. But I have heard her and can never think about her again in the same way. She'll never win any awards for kindness, but she certainly is gutsy. Or crazy. She picks up some shells and heads toward the jungle. "I'm getting water," she says. I can't help catching her hand as she passes me. "Don't go in there. The birds - " I remember the birds must be gone, but I still don't want anyone in there. Not even her.

THE BEACH SCENE Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I'm still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can't drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. "Katniss," he says softly, "it's no use pretending we don't know what the other one is trying to do." No, I guess there isn't, but it's no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don't miss one wretched word. "I don't know what kind of deal you think you've made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well." Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn't be suspicious. "So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us." This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta's eyes. "Why are you saying this now?" "Because I don't want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there's no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You're my whole life," he says. "I would never be happy again." I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. "It's different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard. But there are other people who'd make your life worth living." Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn't notice before and the disk pops open. It's not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon ... it is the perfect weapon. "Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta's intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I'll marry him. So Peeta's giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn't ever have doubts about it. Everything. That's what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. "No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do," I say. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. It's the first crack of the lightning storm - the bolt hitting the tree at midnight - that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn't real. "I can't sleep anymore," he says. "One of you should rest." Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we're wrapped around each other. "Or both of you. I can watch alone." Peeta won't let him, though. "It's too dangerous," he says. "I'm not tired. You lie down, Katniss." I don't object because I do need to sleep if I'm to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. "You're going to make a great mother, you know," he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn't used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that's never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta's child could be safe.

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. "For you." I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. "Thanks," I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it's like they can read my thoughts. "The locket didn't work, did it?" Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. "Katniss?" "It worked," I say. "But not the way I wanted it to," he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26

I don't like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee's right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can't think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it's Beetee. "It's okay," I tell Peeta. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up." "Not into the lightning zone," Beetee reminds me. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage." I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. "Ready?"

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," says Coin flatly.

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

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

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

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

"Always." In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It's a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He's got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn't fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn't ruled out that he's in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I'm standing about a yard from the bed. There's nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. "Hey." "Hey," he responds. It's like his voice, almost his voice, except there's something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. "Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," I say. "Look at you, for starters." It's like he's waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?" I know he's been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. "Well, you've looked better." Haymitch's advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta's laughter. "And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through." "Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." I'm doing everything wrong. I don't know why I feel so defensive. He's been tortured! He's been hijacked! What's wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I'm not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." I've just reached the door when his voice stops me. "Katniss. I remember about the bread." The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. "They showed you the tape of me talking about it," I say. "No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" he asks. "I made it the day you were rescued," I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. "So what do you remember?" "You. In the rain," he says softly. "Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead." "That's it. That's what happened," I say. "The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how." "We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then...for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. "I must have loved you a lot." "You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough. "And did you love me?" he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." "That's not an answer," he tells me. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers." "I was trying to kill all of you," I say. "You had me treed." "Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery - this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly. "And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" he asks. "No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" Haymitch doesn't protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I'm so upset. When I do, it's almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 17

"Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. "Haymitch says he's getting better," she says. "Maybe. But he's changed," I say. "So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?" she asks me.

"No," I answer.

"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things." She neatly returns my keepsakes to the drawer and climbs into the bed across from me just as the lights go out. "You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?"

"Like I couldn't take you," I answer. Then we laugh, since both our bodies are so wrecked, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, my ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help.

Peeta makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and me. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?" "Still dragging," says Johanna. Spasms cause Peeta's hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion. Is it all he can do to keep them from my neck? I can feel the tension in Gale's muscles next to me, fear an altercation. But Gale simply says, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." "What's that?" asks Peeta. "You," Gale answers. "You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?" "That they've replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself," says Johanna. Gale finishes his milk. "You done?" he asks me. I rise and we cross to drop off our trays. At the door, an old man stops me because I'm still clutching the rest of my gravy bread in my hand. Something in my expression, or maybe the fact that I've made no attempt to conceal it, makes him go easy on me. He lets me stuff the bread in my mouth and move on. Gale and I are almost to my compartment when he speaks again. "I didn't expect that."

Chapter 18

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

The following evening, the newest member of our squad arrives. With no manacles. No guards. Strolling out of the train station with his gun swinging from the strap over his shoulder. There's shock, confusion, resistance, but451 is stamped on the back of Peeta's hand in fresh ink. Boggs relieves him of his weapon and goes to make a call. "It won't matter," Peeta tells the rest of us. "The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up." Maybe they do. But if Coin sent Peeta here, she's decided something else as well. That I'm of more use to her dead than alive.

Chapter 19

Squad 451 and the television crew collect dinner from the canteen and gather in a tense circle to eat. At first I think that Peeta is the cause of the unease, but by the end of the meal, I realize more than a few unfriendly looks have been directed my way. This is a quick turnaround, since I'm pretty sure when Peeta appeared the whole team was concerned about how dangerous he might be, especially to me. But it's not until I get a phone call through to Haymitch that I understand. "What are you trying to do? Provoke him into an attack?" he asks me. "Of course not. I just want him to leave me alone," I say. "Well, he can't. Not after what the Capitol put him through," says Haymitch. "Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he'd kill you, but Peeta doesn't know that. He doesn't understand what's happened to him. So you can't blame him - "

"I don't!" I say.

"You do! You're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it's time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?" demands Haymitch.

I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn.

"You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?" Haymitch says. When I don't respond, he disconnects after a curt "Try and remember."

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. "These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth." That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta's direction. "I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as...an ally." That's a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. "Ally." Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out." He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up." The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite color...it's green?" "That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange." "Orange?" He seems unconvinced. "Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once." "Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you." But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 20

Isn't it obvious?" No one even knew Peeta had regained consciousness. I don't know how long he's been watching, but by the look of misery on his face, long enough to see what happened on the street. How he went mad, tried to bash my head in, and hurled Mitchell into the pod. He painfully pushes himself up to a sitting position and directs his words to Gale. "Our next move...is to kill me."

Chapter 21

That makes two requests for Peeta's death in less than an hour. "Don't be ridiculous," says Jackson. "I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta. "You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him. "Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!" "It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick. "You can't take me with you. It's only a matter of time before I kill someone else." Peeta looks around at our conflicted faces. "Maybe you think it's kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that's the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you'd be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?" Peeta. Back in Snow's hands. Tortured and tormented until no bits of his former self will ever emerge again. For some reason, the last stanza to "The Hanging Tree" starts running through my head. The one where the man wants his lover dead rather than have her face the evil that awaits her in the world. ‘

Chapter 21

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. "Should we free his hands?" asks Leeg 1. "No!" Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. "No," I echo. "But I want the key." Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. "There's still time. You should sleep." Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn't recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It's the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. "You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers. "Real," I answer. It seems to require more explanation. "Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other." After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

"Leave me," he whispers. "I can't hang on." "Yes. You can!" I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. "I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them." Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me." Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. "No. I don't want to..." I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs

Chapter 23

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta's wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs. "You've got to keep them clean, otherwise the infection could spread and - " "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it." "Was I?" The comment throws him into confusion. Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention, because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs. Then all the energy saps from his body. "I'm so tired, Katniss." "Go to sleep," I say. He won't until I've rearranged his handcuffs and shackled him to one of the stair supports. It can't be comfortable, lying there with his arms above his head. But in a few minutes, he drifts off, too.

Chapter 23

I think it's time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There's a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, "Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow." "You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn't," I reply.

"Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks. "Of course she didn't. But she trusted Boggs, and he'd clearly wanted you to go on."

"I never even told Boggs what I planned to do," I say.

"You told everyone in Command!" Gale says. "It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.'"

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. "But not like this," I say. "It's been a complete disaster."

"I think it would be considered a highly successful mission," says Gale. "We've infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol's defenses can be breached. We've managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol's news. We've thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us."

"Trust me, Plutarch's thrilled," Cressida adds.

"That's because Plutarch doesn't care who dies," I say. "Not as long as his Games are a success."

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn't offer an opinion.

"What do you think, Peeta?" I finally ask him.

"I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have." He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. "None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow."

I don't know why his voice reaches me when no one else's can. But if he's right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. "Where are we, Cressida?"

Chapter 24

"I'm leaving in the morning," I say. "I'm going with you," Gale says. "What should we do with the others?" "Pollux and Cressida could be useful. They're good guides," I say. Pollux and Cressida aren't actually the problem. "But Peeta's too..." "Unpredictable," finishes Gale. "Do you think he'd still let us leave him behind?" "We can make the argument that he'll endanger us," I say. "He might stay here, if we're convincing." Peeta's fairly rational about our suggestion. He readily agrees that his company could put the other four of us at risk. I'm thinking this may all work out, that he can just sit out the war in Tigris's cellar, when he announces he's going out on his own. "To do what?" asks Cressida. "I'm not sure exactly. The one thing that I might still be useful at is causing a diversion. You saw what happened to that man who looked like me," he says. "What if you...lose control?" I say. "You mean...go mutt? Well, if I feel that coming on, I'll try to get back here," he assures me. "And if Snow gets you again?" asks Gale. "You don't even have a gun." "I'll just have to take my chances," says Peeta. "Like the rest of you." The two exchange a long look, and then Gale reaches into his breast pocket. He places his nightlock tablet in Peeta's hand. Peeta lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. "What about you?" "Don't worry. Beetee showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. If that fails, I've got my knife. And I'll have Katniss," says Gale with a smile. "She won't give them the satisfaction of taking me alive." The thought of Peacekeepers dragging Gale away starts the tune playing in my head again.... Are you, are you Coming to the tree "Take it, Peeta," I say in a strained voice. I reach out and close his fingers over the pill. "No one will be there to help you."

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. "You're back," I say. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta says. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I feel defensive. "What are you doing?" "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell's very faint but still laces the air. It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow's greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure. Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family's plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don't know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really go away.

I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

#thg #everlark #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #CatchingFire #catching fire #mockingjay #cf #Peeta #Peeta Mellark #katniss and peeta #Katniss #katniss everdeen #mockingjay part 1 #mockingjay part 2 #every everlark moment

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