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feyascorner · 2 months

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10 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks, suggestive content!!!! (new warning hehe)

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. actual????? communication????? after 45k words?!?!?!?!?!? or is it...this chapter is literally them being loser teenagers i love them

To you, his touch is like a drug.

His breath, cool against your hot skin, presses against the shell of your ear as something dangerously close to a whine escapes your lips. You can feel him grin as he lowers his head and places a long kiss on your collarbone. His slender hands slide up your back, grinding you even closer than you already are as he mouths at every nook and cranny of your body. It’s almost like he wants to consume you whole. To drink you until all that’s left is a shuddering mess, your body still begging for his own.

White curls tickle your chin as the strings on your shirt finally come undone. His tongue brushes against the peak of your bare breast, and your eyes meet him in a lust-clouded haze, lips pursed as you swear you could reach your peak just by the way he looks at you. It’s so intimate, so vulnerable, so pleasurable that your eyes half close when the palm of his hand smooths against your clothed core.

He stills, lifting his head to kiss his way up to your neck again. As much as you want to beg him to resume what he’s been doing, he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers bring your face to his.

“Don’t hide from me.”

You shudder. You think you know plenty with how flushed your face is, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lowers back down your chest, grinning as he lays his cheek on your skin teasingly.

“If you look away, I’ll stop, my love.”

“Are you insane? Of course, he’s staying here!”

You lurch up from your pillow as the earth-shattering reality of the morning sun blares you awake. Cheeks burning, you rub at the bags under your eyes, humiliated in the face of nobody but yourself, as you hear more voices from downstairs. None of which even try to keep it quiet. You stare down at your legs, lips pursed.

Only still half-awake, you can practically feel his hands on your waist.

Curses. What are you? A prepubescent teen?

With a loud groan, you force yourself onto your feet. Considering how your dreams will only add to your stress, you might as well.

“Oh, thank gods you’re here. Tell him we’re not taking Astarion with us to the celebration, will you?” Shadowheart hisses as you descend the stairs, still half asleep. “Our wizard seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the leech upstairs.”

You swear Lae’zel snorts.

“It was only a suggestion. I wasn’t sure if we’d want to leave him alone here…isn’t that merely an invitation for him to run away?” Gale rubs his temple with his thumb, clearly exhausted.

You’re fully aware of Astarion’s nightly escapes into the city, but you don’t tell them that. It’s better not to cause a panic.

Shadowheart shrugs. “We’ll tie him to the counter. Hells, we can just lock him into the basement.”

Gale sighs. “He’s not a dog.”

“He acts like it,” Lae’zel grumbles, sinking her teeth into an apple.

“We could ask the Duke to spare some of his soldiers for the night. Make them keep watch while we’re at the party,” Shadowheart offers. “Anything to keep that dirtbag here instead of there. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

Gale’s eyes meet with yours. There’s a sort of expectancy in them that makes you squirm in your shoes as they bore straight into your soul as if he’s aware of your deepest secrets. There are bags under his eyes, surely from having to balance Astarion’s less-than-likable presence with all his other responsibilities in rebuilding the city. A part of you feels guilty for the work you’ve dropped on him, but both parties know it’s for the best.

It’s been made glaringly obvious that you and Astarion shouldn’t be anywhere around one another. It’s only a recipe destined to end in a yelling match or…

Your cheeks flare. Last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.

“We’ll keep him here. Lock him in his room like Shadowheart said,” You finally blurt. “Can you send the invitation back with everyone who’s going? I have someone to visit in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” the cleric smiles, obviously pleased with your decision. Gale only frowns. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

So are you.

You hear the door of Astarion’s room open upstairs and decide you shouldn’t stay any longer. After rushing goodbyes to your companions and another questioning glance from Gale, you scramble to fly out of the house, barely grabbing your bag in the process. The contents weigh more heavily than they usually do, and for good reason. Hopefully, younger vampires feed less than fully grown ones because otherwise, the squirrel you found the night before won’t be able to satiate Berry’s appetite.

It’s hard not to wonder how she’s doing for most of your day. You were initially planning to visit her last night until the unfortunate ambush Petras released onto your already sore limbs. Even now, you constantly rub at the ache of your thighs and arms. The healing potions did plenty, but they couldn’t do everything.

She must be starving, you think. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately for you, however, when you arrive at the Highberry residence, Berry seems perfectly fine. In fact, she’s helping her adopted siblings arrange decorative plants around the house, likely to liven up the place after what’s been happening the past few months. There’s a sense of calm here that doesn’t currently exist in your own household. The scene makes a soft smile pull at your lips, which is more than welcome.

“You didn’t visit last night,” the young girl finally says when you’re with her by the window, far enough from the siblings to be out of earshot. She looks up at you sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve gotten attacked.”

She picks at her fingers.

“Were you worried?” you stifle a laugh, and she shrugs, albeit flustered. “I brought you some—prey. You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” she still takes the worn sack and clutches it close to her. “I went out to find food by myself.”

At this, your eyes widen. “What? You left for the forest? You know that place is dangerous, Berry; it’s not safe for someone as young as you.”

“I’m a spawn. It’s probably safer for me than you,” she squints, and you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“...You’re still a child,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Where’d you learn to hunt anyway? The last time I checked, you could barely fight off a few forest animals.”

Her face flushes red, but she huffs regardless. “The haggard taught me.”

“Hag?...”

“Your friend,” Berry perches either of her arms on the windowsill, staring out at the passing civilians on the street. She whips her head to you and points at either of her fangs, opening wide. “He’s been teaching me to hunt with these.”

“Astarion?” you blink. “He taught you? Willingly?”

It’s rather hard to believe.

“No, I had to follow him. By the time he noticed, he didn’t have much of a choice,” she says proudly, puffing out her chest. Then she deflates again as if she just tasted something sour. “He got two big bears last night but wouldn’t share…So, I had to get my own squirrels because he told me I’d starve otherwise. That old hoot is selfish and mean.”

Well, it certainly sounds like him.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” you scold her gently.

“Maybe by him.”

You want to say that she’s wrong and that Astarion wouldn’t hurt her, but the blasted comb flashes back in your mind, and reality sits heavy in your throat. So, instead, you bite your tongue.

“Have you found any of them yet? The other spawn?” she pushes herself off the wall to stand straight.

“I did—if fighting them counts.”

Her face falls and a part of you regrets even alluding to what happened last night. She begins to fidget with the sharp ends of her nails again and stares at your shoes. “There’s too many of them.”

You’d most certainly know.

“We have the Fist fighting for us,” you assure her, albeit pathetically. Even in your own ears, you don’t sound entirely confident. “And besides, the murder count has been decreasing as of late. If we keep going at this rate, we won’t have more than a body every two weeks—”

“It won’t work that way, though. They’ll just keep coming back.”

Were children always this perceptive?

You’re not sure what to say.

She clenches her fists. “Not all of them are bad, you know.”

“I know, Berry. You’re not a bad person at all; it’s just that—”

“I meant the siblings,” she blurts, finally meeting your eyes. “Aurora…she was nice. She was nothing like Petras.”

Aurora?

You’re suddenly leaning down to her, shoulders tense. “You’ve met the other siblings? Since when?”

“Only once, months ago. Petras tried to convince the others to stay here with him, but they said no,” her brows furrow. “He was furious that day.”

Of course. Why didn’t you realize that earlier? Petras, Dalyria, and Leon were the only ones of the main spawn that remained in the city, and being so swept up with their antics, you’d forgotten to ponder on the motivations of the others. You swallow the dry lump in your throat as realization slaps you across the face.

“So not all of them want to go through with the ascension?” you gasp. Berry pauses but nods slowly.

Help. You could ask them for help. Surely, if they don’t want another Cazador running rampant in the city, they’d be willing to stop the ritual as a whole. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek as your mind races. Were they even aware of what Petras was up to? How many lives he’d taken?

You take her hands to stop her from picking at them, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Berry, where are the other siblings?”

“They told Petras they were leaving for the Underdark like they promised you.”

Gods, bless this girl. Somehow, she’s been more helpful than any other resource you’ve had the past few months—including the Duke, and your vampire spawn. You’d think she might be a blessing from the heavens if it weren’t for all the other bullshit they’ve thrown your way as of late.

“Tell Cora I dropped by,” you smile brightly. Though it’s rare nowadays, you feel almost hopeful. “I’ll come back in a week. Stay put until then.”

By the time you realize how much time has passed being cooped up on your bedroom floor, the sun is already setting. You reach for a candle, flicking a match against the box before lighting a flame to illuminate the pages sprawled around you. In anyone else’s eyes, you might look nearly hysterical, but to you, it feels as if the weight of the entire city is on your shoulders again. In a way, you suppose it is. Unless you want more than just a couple dozen bodies on the city streets in a few months, that is.

Your eyes scan over Dalyria’s drawings for what seems like the millionth time. And for the millionth time, you find nothing. Since the last time you obsessed over her journal, there have been a few additions to your collection: some books on ascension, vampires, and, for some reason, a book on vampire lords.

You’re not sure you see the point in picking up this particular book, considering the spawns’ master is long dead, which means none of them can become a true vampire unless they were to ascend—the exact scenario you’re trying to prevent. But perhaps spending an entire day at the library blossomed a newfound curiosity within you.

There isn’t much in there you don’t already know from first-hand accounts Astarion would recall on the nights you couldn’t fall asleep. There are parts, however, regarding the vampire spawn they can compel that lure your attention.

“Vampire spawn were the masters of stealth and charismatic cunning,” you read mindlessly. “...vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators.”

Vengeance. Is that what it was when he tried to strangle you?

Your jaw clenches, and you feel a sort of buzzing on your lips. What an asshole.

Quickly, you shut the book with a slam as you decide that dwelling on information you’re already well accustomed to is a waste of time. You’d likely be a better source of knowledge than the book itself because of how basic its contents tend to be.

You stare at the cover, which simply illustrates a set of fangs. Cliche, you think, but it’s effective.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

Fortunately, the uncomfortably loud growling of your stomach snaps you out of your trance.

Shoving the book under your bed, you swing the door to your room open to pace to the kitchen. Hopefully, there’s some dinner left over from last night—-worst-case scenario, you have to eat one of those days-old fruits gathered in the bowl on the counter. You don’t have much time to ponder, though, because you hear a familiar groan from downstairs as soon as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Will you please stop leaving dead animals in the cabinet? As grateful as I am that you’re feeding on them rather than our friends, it bloody reeks, Astarion!”

Shit.

Astarion stares up at you with wide eyes on his way up to his room while you blink down at him wearily. Gale continues to mutter mindlessly about whatever trouble the spawn has caused in his sacred kitchen, but Astarion doesn’t seem to pay him any heed. You feel naked under his gaze, but you think putting on at least four more layers of clothing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of how you feel.

“Good morning,” he blurts.

He never greets you. Not like this, anyway.

It’s not even morning.

Fortunately, he looks just as confused at his words as you do.

Searching for a response that won’t come to you, you refer to the lamest solution. A scapegoat, if you will. “I need to walk past you.”

Astarion immediately nods. “Right. Yes, of course.”

He stands to one side of the narrow stairs, and you cautiously squeeze past him. Has it always been this much of a struggle to fit two people on the stairs? It’s terribly awkward as you shuffle by, holding the air in your lungs in hopes that he doesn’t recognize how uneven your breath is. You’re sure he does, but it was worth a try anyway.

Suddenly, Gale is standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of you.

“Where are you going? I thought you needed a healing potion for your stomach,” he aims at Astarion with a raised brow.

The said spawn coughs. You almost choke on the air. “No, I—I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure? That bruise was pretty nasty, my friend. Letting something like that fester will surely only hinder you…”

Astarion closes the door to his room. Slams, more like.

You glance at Gale pitifully, who only crosses his arms with a sigh as he turns to return to the kitchen. “He’s moodier than I was when I was going through puberty.”

Wordlessly, you trail behind him until he resumes whatever dish he’s cooking up inside a pot while you reach for an apple. There’s a comfortable silence as you perch yourself on the counter, legs gently swinging as you chew, cringing whenever you feel a mushier part of the fruit. Gale lifts his ladle to his nose and takes a quick sniff before nodding in satisfaction. He then puts the lid over the pot.

“I’ve never seen Astarion as awkward as he was earlier,” he comments, and you cough.

“He wasn’t that charming in the first place,” you grumble.

“I never said he was charming. Just that he isn’t awkward.”

“Maybe he’s still drunk from last night,” you scoff, blood boiling at the mere thought of how he acted. A strange sense of pride spreads through you, knowing you hit him hard enough to do some damage, but you still think you could’ve hit harder. All those months pent up should’ve garnered far more strength, surely.

“Or perhaps it’s from the kiss.”

You do choke on your apple this time.

After you wheeze out whatever apple chunks were lodged in your throat, your head whips in the wizard’s direction. “Gale, you–”

“It wasn’t voluntary, I’ll have you know,” he cuts in, crossing his arms. “I just happened to leave one of my books on the couch, which I only wished to retrieve for my nightly routine of reading at least 100 pages.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your face deepens in color, even as you beg it not to.

“I, of course, being the most fortunate lad I am, had to walk into the room when his tongue was halfway down your throat.”

You nearly shriek. “There was no tongue!”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief!” he laughs. “I likely would have had to pry my eyes out with one of Lae’zel’s swords otherwise!”

On any other occasion, you’d bite back at him, but you’re too busy drowning in your own humiliation to register half of his words. A blessing and a curse in this case.

“It didn’t mean anything!” you blurt, even though he never really asked. “It was—he kissed me. I punched him afterward, too.”

Gale raises a brow. “Really? It appeared to me that you were kissing back, though it might have just been the angle. Quite passionately, too, but that might’ve been the trick of the light…”

You slap your palms over your ears, praying to the gods that he shut his mouth for once in his damn life. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Does he know that?”

“He hates me! And he’s kissed hundreds of people—I doubt one stupid kiss even bothers him.”

“Yes, but it’s a kiss from you. His ex-lover,” Gale shoots back. “And he doesn’t seem unbothered. Neither of you do.”

“So what?” You know exactly what, but it’s difficult to acknowledge at the moment.

“Tav,” Gale says carefully. “If you’ve—by any chance—begun to grow accustomed to his presence again…and I don’t blame you at all, by the way. I’ve become rather fond myself of forcing him to listen to magic lectures that nobody else is willing to listen to; however…if it’s becoming something more on your end–”

“It’s not,” your tone is more stern this time. Colder. “It never will be.”

“Really?”

“Do I need to punch him again for you to believe me?”

“That’s not quite what I’m getting at. I just witnessed the tension between the two of you, and it would be irresponsible of me as a friend if we didn’t work through what you’re feeling before things start to get out of hand.”

You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “There is no tension, Gale!”

“Now now, I might not be the most experienced out of all of us in romantic affairs, but I’ve had my fair share of them. With a goddess, no less! It would be wise if you heeded my advice and discussed what the kiss meant to both of yo–”

You clap a hand over his mouth, words gritting through your teeth. “Stop saying it!”

His response comes out muffled against your palm.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. I’ll go up to him right now and tell him how I’ll bury him alive if he tries anything again. Would that be enough to shut you up?”

Gale smiles. You don’t return it.

The angry march up to Astarion’s room should’ve been enough to wake up your other companions, but it doesn’t. You knock heavily on his door, foot tapping impatiently as you glare at Gale, who stands halfway up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging. It only makes you want to shrink into your shirt.

When Astarion fails to answer after multiple knocks, you decide you have no time for this. “I’m coming in. Please don’t be naked.”

The door doesn’t even have a lock. His room is empty except for the cold air that hits your cheeks. You realize that the window is swung wide open, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the wooden floors where he’s left his cloak in favor of what you assume to be usual nightwear. You pull the door behind you and cautiously step into his room, eyes glazing over the rest. It’s a stark contrast from your own. Despite how much time he spends in it, there isn’t a speck of dust or an article of laundry where it shouldn’t be. His bed is neatly made, his chair pushed into his desk, and if it weren’t for his books organized on his desk, you’d think nobody even lives here.

You slowly inch toward the window, running your fingertips over his books. They’re worn but somehow still well taken care of. You can feel how old they are, yet their pages remain perfectly intact, without a single crease on any corners.

When you reach the window, you finally notice the vines growing on the sides of the building that protrude just over the window sill. You hear soft thumps from the ceiling, resembling the pace of his footsteps. Or at least, what do you think they’d sound like if he made any sounds while walking.

The asshole knows you’re here. Of course, he does.

With a wary glance at the vines, you firmly grip both hands on the roots and slowly lift yourself off the windowsill. Thankfully, the stones making up the building make for good boosters to haul you up toward the rooftop, even though your instincts suggest you’d likely fall and die an unfortunate death here. Still, somehow, you manage to haul yourself onto the roof's edge with a final groan.

You slump rather unceremoniously onto the angled edge, and the slight snicker from the other occupant of the space doesn’t go unnoticed. You glare at him, and Astarion only grins, leaning back on both elbows. “Should I have lent you a hand?”

“I can climb a wall, thanks,” you snap, crawling to a spot that allows you to lie back and stay a generous distance away from the vampire spawn. The tiles of the roof feel cool against your skin. From only two stories up, you can see a full four streets further than you usually can from your window, where only a few people now shuffle through the city given the time of night. While you think it should be peaceful here, all you can focus on is the undead individual lying a good few feet away from you, staring up at the sky rather than the city.

“As much as I enjoy all the colorful insults you throw at me, I was hoping for some peace tonight,” he finally says.

“This is my rooftop that I paid for. I’ll go where I please.”

Astarion sighs, his eyes still gazing up at the stars. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight? If it’s about the dead animals, I’ve already told Gale I’d store them outside from now on—”

“Last night didn’t happen.”

There. It’s like a weight off your chest. At least, it should feel that way.

He stops, moving to stare from the stars to you. “And since when could you manipulate the very essence of time?”

“Don’t get smart with me unless you want another repeat of yesterday. Maybe I’ll knock out a fang this time,” you hiss.

“The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

This boils your blood just enough for you to tear your gaze away from him and back onto the city. “Just forget it happened.”

“Must I?”

“Yes! It was clearly a lapse of judgment!”

“It was,” he affirms. From the corner of your eye, you can see him put his chin against the palm perched on his elbow, fully turning on his side to face you. “An exciting one. I thought I knew you well enough that I could trust you would never kiss me again.”

You glower. “I was bleeding half to death—I was barely conscious. For all I know, I thought you might’ve been someone else.”

You can both hear the obvious lie in the statement, but neither points it out.

“I do wish you’d stop doing that,” he mutters, staring through lidded eyes. “It’s hard not to pay you any attention when you constantly smell like fresh bait. It’s like seeing an entire feast before you but being unable to have a taste.”

“Yes, because I wanted to get attacked by your brother.”

“Right. That.”

He stares up at the sky again. Hells, if he stares any harder, you’d think his damn eyeballs would fall out. His white curls blow gently against the breeze, and from here, it appears like nighttime was really made for him. Or do all vampires just glow during the night?

“For all it is, I’m truly sorry.”

Your eyes resemble barrels as you turn to look at him. He’s now occupied with his hands—those flawless hands of his that, by some miracle, don't have a single scar on them even after all the two of you have been through. Those very same hands you’ve once loved and that you’ve grown to hate.

“I, of all people, should know what it feels like to have someone forced upon me. And if I had any sort of control over my body at the time, I assure you what happened last night wouldn’t have happened.”

Though it’s not the main point of his apology, you find yourself focusing on the implications. He would’ve never kissed you if he was sober. You know this—you’ve known this—so why you’re so preoccupied by this confession, you have no idea. Internally kicking yourself, you steel your mind to remain calm. He hates you. You hate him. Simple. You only notice, moments later, that he’s still talking.

“---and I’m aware we aren’t on good terms,” he says, softer. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stoop down to the levels of the dirtbags I had to deal with for two centuries. I might have questionable morals about all else, but in that aspect, I’m unlike them.”

Still wide and unblinking, your eyes slowly relax as you soak in his words. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him so sincere (in a manner that isn’t insulting), and it feels like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, you want to deceive yourself that you’d never reached Baldur’s Gate. That you and your companions are still camping in the woods, and Astarion is still only learning to care for another. That he never went to Cazador’s palace, and you never needed to stop the ascension.

You would’ve indulged in such fantasies months ago, but now, they feel too artificial to derive joy from them. They feel too hollow. Fake. Like biting into a poisoned apple. You can sense him waiting for your response, and it takes a moment, but you manage to mumble it out. “It’s fine. I did kiss you back. We were both not in our right minds. Just…forget it happened.”

You don’t know how to decipher the look in his eyes, but you’ve long given up on how to do it in the first place. Because every time you think you finally understand him, it turns out to be a mask or a plot to deceive you. And every time, you don’t see it coming. It’s better not to try at all because it means he has no way to lie to you in the first place.

“Very well,” he says numbly. “It never happened.”

Both your heads turn to look up at the dark sky. The stars twinkle overhead, glistening in their own respectful glories. There’s one in particular that shines the brightest, floating right beside another that dims compared to all the other stars. It seems to drag behind the brighter star like a shadow, always following but never truly acknowledged.

You pity it.

“Why did you quit music?” he asks suddenly. “I thought it was…your passion.”

“I can’t see the beauty in it anymore,” you say simply.

Astarion hums. “A shame. I was rather fond of your lyre.”

The brightest star almost appears to move again. The darker one trails right behind.

You raise your brow. “Is this where you run off to every night? To stargaze? It’s pretty, but doesn’t it get boring?”

“It’s not pretty at all, darling,” he grins, attention never leaving the sky. “I watch every night, hoping that the dimmer star dies out before the brighter one notices it’s there.”

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#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #tfbu #astarion x oc #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 companions #gale dekarios

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lynnlovesthestars · 1 month

Note

Okay I only read ONE of your fics and now I’m obsessed, I’m doing one request for Wyll then a second for Gale- you could do either, neither, both- whichever lol

Wyll x Tall!WaterCreature Tav

Idk I just like the thought of a very intimidating/tall creature that even acts tough but completely fumbles and gets insecure once after dating Wyll. Maybe seeing Wyll as the most beautiful thing in the world then getting insecure about being treated so nicely. (Perhaps this could be a smut?)

OH I AM SO LATE AND IM SORRY BUT IT TOOK ME A WHILE, I REWROTE IT A FEW TIMES BEFORE COMPLETING IT, AND JUST TODAY I GOT MY BETA READER'S REPLY SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO IM GOING TO PROVIDE. I HOPE YOULL LIKE IT.. I LEFT IT GENDER NEUTRAL..

Pairing: Wyll x Reader (Tall! water creature- water nymph)

Genre: fluff smut, slight body worship, oral reader recieving, improper use of horns and mentions of forked tongue

WC: 1.5k

Master list

SEASALT

Wyll had many reasons to be intimidated when you two met: years of wandering through the wasteland of the hells made the vastity of the sea foreign to him, including those who lived amongst them. So at first glance he couldn't tell the difference between a Rusalka and you, a simple water nymph.

Initially, when he first started doting you he was always wondering if it was possible for you to be so breathtaking or you charmed him with your voice like sirens were rumored to do. He was relieved- and low-key flustered, when he realized that it was way beyond siren's lullabies, you had lured him with your kindness and those stunning blue eyes he hardly could resist.

He was in love and- despite his poor attempt at hiding it- everyone noticed how his eyes gleamed with a different light when he looked at you.

You had disappeared in the woods to take a bath, no more than a couple hundred meters from camp, while Gale started fixing dinner for everyone, as much as Wyll wanted to resist the urge to join you, fully aware of your shyness, when Gale asked for a volunteer to fetch you, he didn't hesitate to suggest himself.

He quickly scurried through the trees, uncaring if the roots of the trees or the branches would slap him, quickly making his way to the clearing.

You were truly a work of art, swimming fluidly around the lake, with nothing to cover you but water. It was as if you melted in the cold water, becoming one with it and mixing with it in a mesmerizing swirl.

He was so focused on following your movements that he almost forgot why he rushed to find you, and barely made a sound.

His eyes lingered on your hips, and on the curve they formed, they lingered on your chest rising rhythmically as you started another lap, and he wondered what your skin tasted like.

Was it sweet like lake water, or was it salty like an ocean? He wondered what it felt to trace the curves of your body with his devilish tongue, whether it would make you squirm or leave you breathless.

He snapped out of it when he heard the sound of leaves crunching and your figure slowly- or so it seemed to him- leave the water behind you, emerging with grace from the surface, as if the water was a veil over your form.

He quickly cleared his throat, taking a step closer and gently cupping your cheek. “Truly breathtaking” He smiled as he rested his other hand on your naked hip. You couldn't help but blush, the blueish hue of your skin turning a pretty shade of purple in with a blush so warm it would have made water boil.

“I didn’t expect you here” You smiled softly, a smile that would snatch Wyll’s soul away in the blink of an eye.

“Couldn’t resist you” He smiled smitten as he kissed your cheek lovingly. The sweet taste of lake water lingered on his lips as he kissed your jaw, and then right underneath on your neck, sending waves of goosebumps down your spine. The lingering feeling of his lips on your skin almost cut your breath away as he took one long moment to worship your skin.

“Let me taste you” He whispered after hearing your soft moan, giving in to the ache in his stomach for something more;

“What happen to waiting until marriage?” You chuckled as he guided you down to lay on the grass, the pinpricks of the thousands of strands of green grass delicately scraped against your skin, just enhancing your senses. It was pointless to cover yourself, he had already admired every inch by the time you were conscious of his lingering eyes.

“I’m just gonna leave a few kisses, promise” He murmured as his lips trailed down your neck with open mouthed kisses. His touch, his mouth, they were languid as he traced every inch of your skin with it, as no matter how many times he had grasped at your hips, they were never enough for him, they were never engraved well enough in his mind, and so he had to start anew with kisses, fleeting touches, sinking nails, hot tongue until he was satisfied again. Despite the amount of times he spent worshipping evert inch of your body, he would never cease to make you blush, to give you the sweetest of praises, to make you shy under his touch.

His forked tongue quickly found its way to your nipple, gently parting and teasing the peak, flicking it between the two ends before moving to the other. He was already drunk on the sweet moans you were gifting him as he couldn’t help but suck on the other nipple, leaving a small bite before resuming his descent towards your heat.

He traced your stomach with his tongue, down to your navel till your hip, biting, kissing licking as if you were a meal he had been starving for, yet when his breath hit your inner thigh, and you let out his favourite mewl, he sat up, earning a yelp in complaint as you wished to feel his lips scorching your skin again.

His palm reached for your calf, gently bringing it to his lips and leaving another kiss, yet all you could focus on was the way his pants couldn’t hide his hard cock, desperate for his own release.

You were going to ease his pain just like he was easing yours, yet the moment he noticed you sat up, he admonished you.

“Ah, let me worship you” He leaned forward to place his free hand on your still naked chest and gently pushing you back down on the grass. “You have to worry only about my lips, love” He purred as he nibbled again on the soft skin. He was slow and determined, unhurried as he marked and tended your precious leg, it was like a sonnet written with his lips on your flesh only for you to read, and the rhymes where your gasps and his grunts.

It was moments later that his hot breath hit your wetness just enough to leave you yearning for those lush lips around your arousal.

“Say the word and I’ll stop” He murmured before lowering and kissing your swollen sex.

“Don’t you dare” You moaned as his forked tongue traced your length, slowly tantalizing, savoring every centimeter and every drop of slick you were gifting him.

His grip was ironclad on your hips, keeping you in place as he couldn’t help but lick and nibble and dive between your tights, as he helped them around his head.

In the silence of the forest all you could hear were the soft mewls you’d let out and his muffled moans and coos.

He desperately sucked and feasted as his own cock started aching, desperate for any friction, yet when you reached to grab on his horn he knew he was done for, he was going to cum so quickly his eyes rolled back.

Before you knew he was teasing your entrance as well, his dripping finger prodded at your hole a few times before sliding in effortlessly, stealing a hum both from you and him.

He couldn’t help it anymore as he rutted desperately against the grass while he pumped his finger insatiably in you.

It built up quickly, as he stimulated your every sense, clenching eagerly around his finger and already oozing on his swollen lips while he fucked the ground, so quick that you barely had time to register his blissed face that you were taken over by your orgasm.

Wyll drank and drank from your sex, every drop as if it was sustenance he was deprived of all his life, and only when you both were back on the material plane, he rose from your legs.

His pants were unmistakably stained by his own release while his lips glistened with what was left of yours. “I apologize for being so quick” He shook his head with crimson cheeks. “But you were ravenous, my love” H

“Wyll Ravengard, If you apologize again I will punch you” You threatened him softly as you recoiled in your little shell, shy. Pulling your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he crawled closer ready to wrap himself around you and shield your body despite he was shorter.

“My precious” He whispered as he placed a soft kiss on your temple. “Want to stay here for a while longer, or would you rather go back to camp?” He asked as he helped you on his lap.

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podcastenthusiast · 8 months

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I haven't reached Act 2 yet as my Durge but I've seen That Scene with Astarion. A rare fic of mine not written from his POV.

Dark Urge spoilers!

You open your eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. Must be close to midday, you assume, yet you are still exhausted. A long night spent writhing on the ground, compelled by a terrible impulse to butcher the one person you love most will do that, you suppose.

There is dried blood beneath your fingernails. Alfira's? No, no, that's a wretched thing you will always carry with you but it is past, not happening now. Astarion's? No. You will not let it harm him. You didn't. The blood is just your own. This time.

You close your eyes. Sickening visions dance before you. Your limbs ache from straining against the bindings. Your head pounds and your stomach churns, craving only blood. What a pair you and Astarion make.

Voices outside your tent.

"Lu awake yet? I'm booored," Karlach complains.

"My fault, I'm afraid. She didn't get much sleep," says Astarion, smooth as silk as he expertly weaves half-truths together. "We were rather...tied up, you understand."

He sets the snare.

"I think I speak for everyone here when I say I would prefer not to know any details of what you two did together."

And Gale willingly falls for it.

"Agreed," adds Lae'zel. "But your dalliances have now delayed our progress. I will not wait around to become a mindflayer simply because you could not restrain your carnal desires."

"My dear, as I've said we were the very picture of restrained last night--"

Gale makes a mortified sound.

"Please just go wake her up and stop torturing us," Wyll pleads diplomatically.

"Fine. Honestly, you all are no fun," Astarion pouts.

You hear footsteps approaching your tent a few moments later.

"Darling? May I come in?"

"You don't need permission anymore," you remind him.

"Let it never be said I lack proper decorum," he says, slipping into the tent.

After last night, you can scarcely believe he's so willing to share an enclosed space with you. Even now your mind fills with gruesome images--one quick stab would end him, but then you wouldn't get to hear his pretty voice scream in agony. You could cut out his talented tongue. Watch the light bleed slowly from those beautiful ruby eyes.

"You didn't tell them," you say, swallowing down a wave of nausea. "About last night."

"Well spotted."

"You could have."

You don't want him to feel like he owes you for something. You don't want him to fear you either. But you do want him safe, even if that's the cost.

"And why would I? It's hardly my secret to tell, after all."

"I almost killed you."

"Good thing I'm already dead, then."

"Astarion. This is serious!"

"If harsh words and a bite or two qualify as murder, well, I'm guilty as charged a thousand times over."

You don't speak, for a while. He has no idea what a close call it really was.

"When I... I didn't remember, with Alfira. I wasn't fully conscious. But this was different. I was aware of everything and I still couldn't control it. I would've-- I--"

Tears come then, hot and desperate. He wraps you in his arms and you crumble, sobbing against his shoulder. You cling to him like you're drowning and, in a way, you are.

"Oh, pet, shh," he whispers. "Whatever that thing was last night, it wasn't you. I know how it feels to lose control, to be...puppeted. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone half as good as you."

"I'm not good," you choke out. The dark urges so often feel indistinguishable from your own thoughts. You could be deluding yourself. Poor Alfira's blood is on your hands regardless, because you weren't strong enough. Last night proves you could have been. But for how long? What does the oath you swore even matter if you can't protect anyone from yourself?

"Darling, do you think a bad person would cry her eyes out over a vampire spawn? Who, I remind you again, is perfectly fine."

You look at him. He's tired. Worried. A bit hungry. Your guts twist with guilt.

You are so tired, too, and selfish as it is, you cannot do this all alone.

"I think I'm a monster," you whisper.

"Oh, please. You rescue children from harpies."

You keep that story the kid wrote for you trucked away safe in your pack. You read it when you need to remember who you've chosen to be.

"I wanted to drown that child."

The confession pulls another sob from your throat.

"But you didn't," he says. "Now, I'm right here, and I've got you. Get some rest. I'll tell the others you aren't feeling well."

"No, I can--"

"My sweet, if you go out there all teary-eyed and miserable they might think I broke your heart. We can't have that, eh?"

"If you tell them I'm ill, they'll assume you took too much blood last night."

He shrugs. "As good a lie as any. Everyone gets a little carried away from time to time."

"You don't have to lie for me at all."

You recall Gale's cold, accusing stare as he watched you scrub away Alfira's blood until your skin was raw. You imagine the fear and deep relief you would feel were Shadowheart to draw her weapon on you. She isn't one for second chances, let alone third.

"I know that, love. I want to."

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #astarion #astarion romance #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 dark urge #act 1 is so rough emotionally i had to write this #i think he'd later feel a little bad not being there for you after alfira but in my game at least they weren't close enough yet then

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electricaquarius · 4 months

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Alright, it's been asked for so I'm posting it. This is my self insert Tav Joanna taking a bath with Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart and Karlach. No smut, a little Gale/Tav but mostly just yearning. Casual nudity but that's as spicy as it gets. I have no idea about formatting etc so I apologise if this is sloppy.

Some notes about my Tav before we start: She's my self insert so she's tall, has long hair, and is chubby. She's chronically ill (asthmatic) so that's what she made a deal with her patron over. As an aside, if anyone knows which god would be appropriate for that I'd love to hear, as far as I'm aware the Baldur's Gate universe doesn't have an equivalent to Papa Nurgle.

Joanna stretched out her arms and rolled her neck before gathering up her clothes.

'Kaaaaaarlaaaach...' She drawled, in that very obvious 'I-want-something-from-you' tone. She and Karlach were close, perhaps closer than anyone else in their little party, and Joanna knew she could get away with asking a favour.

'Yeah, what do you need from me this time?' Karlach sighed, but was grinning all the same.

'I need to take a bath and do some laundry, you mind coming with to warm up the water?' A snort, and the sound of someone choking on liquid caused Joanna to swivel her head. '... what? Something wrong?'

Wyll could barely put his cup down without spilling it the coughing fit was so strong. Halsin moved to clap him on the back but was waved away. 'You're going to be taking a bath... together?' Eyebrows fully raised, he couldn't and didn't hide the shock on his face.

'... yeah, why?' The whole camp was now oddly silent. 'What, are you telling me I'm the only one here who's used a bath house before?' Joanna was incredulous, she hardly thought a little communal bathing was all that shocking especially when the tadpoles meant that her soul was laid bare before her companions despite her wishes. 'Ugh, never mind. Karlach, you okay with joining me?'

Karlach nodded furiously, overjoyed at the thought of even casual touch after so long. 'Hey, offer's open if anyone else needs to get clean, y'know, just for efficiency.' Her smile was wide enough she felt her cheeks might fall off.

His courage now gathered after the initial shock, Astarion piped up. 'Oh, I suppose my clothes pile is getting rather big, I might as well partake, too.' Karlach looked like she might faint from happiness.

Joanna's stomach fluttered slightly, but she kept it to herself. Astarion was beautiful, charming, but she knew danger when she saw it. Danger, it turns out, has crimson red eyes that glitter in the sunlight. She swallowed hard. 'Sure. Anyone else joining before we head out?'

In all, there were five of them. Gale had joined supposedly to help 'keep a lid on things' but his true motives were hardly so selfless. Shadowheart was also present, needing to take down and wash her pretty black hair for the first time in a while. Thus assembled, they made off for the lake, chatting away. Shadowheart took the time to point out flowers that interested her and Gale's voice was a near constant, talking about the process of learning a spell from a scroll. While he loved to share knowledge, there was an elitist streak in him that Joanna loved to call attention to. She remembered how he'd barely hid his derision on learning she was a warlock, and hadn't *studied* and *learned* magic like he had. There was no animosity there though, or very little. Gale simply didn't have the capacity to hold a grudge for such a minor slight.

Arriving at the pool, Karlach designated a nearby rock as the 'laundry pile' and began to strip off, then took a running leap to cannonball into the water. 'Ah, crap, it's freezing! No wonder you wanted me here!' She shuddered dramatically but soon was in her element, leaning back and swimming back and forth.

Joanna, Shadowheart and Astarion similarly undressed, Gale following after a slight pause. He was uncertain, having hardly been a social butterfly before this tadpole business. Now he was suddenly presented with the opportunity to bathe in the company of some of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen and it gave him pause. Still, he decided it would be far stranger to remain clothed in such a situation and soon followed suit.

There was a happy silence as the group set about washing themselves, enjoying a moment of peace aside from the madness. The water was pleasantly warm thanks to Karlach and being able to wash off days worth of grime was the small mercy everyone needed.

'Hey, you want me to wash your back soldier?' Karlach offered after seeing Joanna struggle with reaching the spot between her shoulder blades.

'Ugh, would you? I just can't quite get it.' She turned and pulled her hair over one shoulder, exposing her back. Karlach paused for a moment, taking in the sight. They were friends, certainly, but did she feel something more? Did she want that? Karlach shook her head slightly and picked up the bar of soap, content with feeling Joanna's soft, creamy skin beneath her hands. She strayed up to Joanna's shoulders, noticing the tension there.

A small, satisfied moan escaped Joanna's lips before she clapped her hands over her mouth and giggled nervously. 'Oh gods, sorry, that just feels really nice.' Karlach didn't draw away but laughed herself, reaching for a small cup to rinse off the soap.

'Oh, please!' Astarion spat, voice thick with derision. 'This feels obscene! Gale, didn't you come here to put a stop to this sort of thing? And you people tell me I'm badly behaved!'

Gale couldn't help but laugh. 'Come on now Astarion, I'm hardly here as a chaperone. Provided we don't stray below the belt I can hardly complain at two friends helping each other wash.'

'No, I suppose you wouldn't! Too busy enjoying the view, eh? I know your sort, you love to watch!' The men continued to squabble, or perhaps flirt with each other. Joanna couldn't tell, and didn't mind much. She felt loved, and at peace for once. Karlach tapped her on the back.

'Alright lovely, you're all done.' Karlach loved being able to casually touch once more. Hugs, pats on the shoulder, ruffling hair, she'd ached for it for so long, and now she could do it once more. Joanna turned and smiled.

'Would you like help with your hair? I saw you messing with it at camp earlier.' Karlach thought she might die from happiness at that moment.

'Would you? Only if you don't mind, I know it's a mess, and tangly, and-' She was cut off by Joanna hopping out of the water.

'Sure, let me grab my comb.' Joanna strayed back to the laundry rock and rifled around in her belongings, unaware of Gale's eyes raking across her form. He stopped dead mid-sentence and Shadowheart had to stifle a laugh. He was so completely transparent, everyone knew and Astarion took great joy in mocking him whenever Joanna was barely out of earshot. Gale had just recovered enough to continue with his diatribe as Joanna returned to the lake, sitting on its edge.

'Alright gorgeous, spin around for me.' She made a spinning gesture with her hand and Karlach was happy to comply. Casual terms of endearment weren't unheard of between them and Karlach was all too happy to hear them. Besides, Joanna would say, Karlach *was* gorgeous, what was wrong with acknowledging it?

She set about work slowly undoing the braids in Karlach's hair and working through the larger tangles with her fingers. Now wet down, Karlach's hair looked far less intimidating to detangle although Joanna worked gently all the same. Karlach closed her eyes and leant back slightly, enjoying someone playing with her hair for the first time in... ever. Concentrating on her task, Joanna began to sing to herself.

'Daisy, Daisy... Give me your answer, do...' It began as a totally unaware expression of joy to be with people she loved, but Karlach made her aware by continuing the verse.

'I'm half crazy, all for the love of you~' She waved her hands back and forth as if conducting herself. Joanna laughed, a blush rising in her cheeks although she didn't mind it, not at all. For once in her life, she felt at ease with being vulnerable with these people, with them knowing exactly who she was and what she was like. After a lifetime of orphanages and distant schoolteachers, she felt at home.

'Sorry, I'll stop now. I'm nearly done.' Karlach had hardly felt the slightest tug of the comb but when she reached up to check her hair felt smooth and silky, no tangles at all. Karlach patted Joanna's thigh reassuringly.

'Hey, I didn't hear anyone complaining. I think everyone's just pleased to see you happy.' Gale nodded in agreement from across the pond, temporarily breaking his death stare on Karlach. It wasn't that she'd done anything wrong of course, he was just green with envy at the thought of taking her place. A small laugh from Joanna was all she had to say in return, needing nothing more than to know she was appreciated.

Everyone now washed, there was a slight squabble over towels before Astarion reluctantly rescinded the one around his hair to Gale so he also could get dry. Their bath together had left him with a lot to think about, and reminded him he needed to act quickly if he wanted to let Joanna know how he felt. To burden her with knowledge of his feelings when she was already with someone else would be too much for him to bear. But, it was for another time. Right now everyone needed to gather their clothes and make back to camp.

Now with tags! @the-samsquantch @kuper5tons @salty-scribe @666spaghetti-ohno Thanks to everyone for expressing interest :3

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale/tav #karlach #gale #hush Duchess

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mcbex · 2 years

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*Pulse*

Life. Is. Hard. Like an incoming thunderstorm, sometimes we can see life's challenges coming from a distance. Beautifully rolling in like a dance to watch. I am smitten with the view, I love the sounds of thunder and the smell of wet grass. Outside, no matter the brood any squall brings, I can only brace for the moment when the rain drops descend. I try to enjoy the view without allowing angst to overwhelm me. I hope for a fast moving clouds or better, if I'm lucky, it will just coast over dubiously threatening danger allowing me to enjoy the ballet of evolution.

In speaking with some friends recently I become aware of just how difficult life can be for all of us. Through this past year I've been trying to put my finger on a pulse. Attempting an elusive understanding of the world. I've been working on trying to see things through a new lens, a 21st century glass. Even if the old way tends to be what unfolds. Between making time for loved ones, seeking Gods truth and working on my own follies, I'm wishing I could make time stand still. If only for a moment, while I hold these people dear to me. I'm fully aware that these are the days I will remember when I'm old and weary, except that I'm weary now.

I need to remember however much struggle there is and in spite of how much I inquire about my path, we are made to question. We are destine to make decisions. We are thinkers, doers, supporters and lovers and friends. We are made to look at the world and see what we can do to make it better. Then act upon it. In all of that, being led by the pulse of the universe is often more arduous than we let on. I think, for me at least, it's mostly because I often take on too much of the weight. Which clouds the path and muddies the rules. Sometimes, although I try so hard, I still receive malice, disdain or rejection as my answers, instead of hope. Which makes me wonder, why doesn't God react. Why He doesn't do more. Why does He make me wait so much, so often? Can He hear me? Haven't we all asked, Why God, for so many reasons? I know I don't belong to this world, it doesn't change that I sometimes want the world to love me, just a little.

I come to a memory of young mother hood. That very first night. I was exhausted from birth and all the commotion child birth brings. My head was swimming. I sent my son down the hall to be with the nurses so I could rest. I remember waking at night to hear him crying across the maternity ward. A distance I maybe shouldn’t have been able to breach with my ears. A sound familiar to me, although I had never heard it before. Being a mother for mere hours I already knew the call of what was mine. This is the case with God. He is my father. He knew all of me at the birth of the universe. Doesn't he already reach for me? Doesn't he know my needs before I realize the storm is overhead? Of course. And if am his, he knows me more intimately than I knew my children while I carried them. In these words and these feelings I can say that no matter the storm, thunderous or mild none is too great for the pulse of my heart. Although I will never stop searching for his heart beat, he already knows every step I will take while here on earth. I must not let the gale win. I must stand on the porch of the monsoon and know it will not over take my home. It certainly makes the view more enjoyable, even if the work is still hard.

"Sometimes God quiets the storm. Sometimes he lets the storm rage and he calms you,"- Nicky Gumbel

Psalm 32:8 I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you,

Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will. make your path straight.

Psalm 18:36 You provide a broad path for my feet, so that my ankles do not give way.

#godthoughts

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

Slightly paraphrased, but Peeta talking about that moment he developed his crush on Katniss is just too sweet 😊

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 22-24 are below the cut (sprinkled in some psychology thoughts again).

heart

Honestly, I think the people in Panem would perceive the whole everlark storyline the same way we perceive and react to our ships on tv (desperately wanting to reach through the screen, shoving the characters forcefully together, screaming “And now, kiss!”); especially the Capitolites who barely recognize the tributes (or people in the districts, in general) as people. The people in the districts would definitely view the whole thing more under a “reality tv” kind of lens, questioning how much of the relationship is real or not (we know that Finnick certainly thought that the entire thing was just a spiel, until Peeta hit that forcefield). The time spent in the cave must have been pretty convincing, though.

mind

I think that Katniss is still torn here - On the one hand, she kind of wants to believe that Peeta is actually into her (remember the happiness she felt when Peeta told her how his crush on her began, and it all added up and seemed so real), but on the other hand she’s terrified of that possibility because A) lingering trauma from her mom’s depression in response the Mr. Everdeen’s death, B) Katniss never even considered falling in love, so that’s a sudden unexpected thing to deal with, and C) maybe it’s just for the sake of the Games; and wouldn’t that hurt, getting your hopes up only to learn it was only for show? (How about we ask Peeta about that?)

soul

Yeah, that quote about Peeta only eating stale bread also struck me as quite sad. It just further adds to his understanding how there should be more to life than just survival, though. (One day, I’ll make that post about Peeta, Katniss, and Maslow’s pyramid of needs, I swear! I’ve already gathered some research material)

Chapter 22

My mother’s hand strokes my cheek and I don’t push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don’t trust her. - Ugh, I can’t... Katniss misses her mom, misses being cared for😢 I’m so glad we’re going to see her patch up her relationship with her mom in CF... On a different note, Katniss craving that gentle touch just perfectly illustrates why she’s so drawn to Peeta, who is generally such a gentle soul (I mean, he’s literally the person stroking her cheek here 😊)

He [Peeta] doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness. - As I was saying... 😉

“I’ll go hunting soon,” I say. “Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.” - I love them so much😊🥰 And then Peeta makes sure she’s well-fed and hydrated, he rubs her cold feet and tucks her into the sleeping back... and she let’s him! 💗

“He [Thresh] let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” asks Peeta in disbelief. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain,” I say. “And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he says. - Oof. This exchange here is interesting in many ways: 1) it highlights their different experiences, tied to their different socioeconomic backgrounds, basically, and 2) that Katniss is very much aware of this difference, but we also see hints of her own ignorance here - because Peeta didn’t have to starve in his childhood, she thinks that he can’t possibly understand this level of hardship; but there are other ways in which one can suffer/lack fundamental needs, which brings us to 3) Peeta’s response about being “obviously too dim to get it”; I think this is a clue to his mom being also verbally abusive towards him: she called him “stupid creature” when he burnt those loaves of bread for Katniss and when he’s losing it in the attic of the Justice Building in D11 in CF he is mad that Katniss and Haymitch keep things from him “like [he’s] too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them”, which - to me - sounds like he’s tired of being treated that way (i.e. the way his mother treats him)

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a a small child. - God, this is a teenager in a murder-arena who feels like wanting to go home is a childish notion instead of a totally legitimate wish for anyone in that situation, regardless of age 😢

It’s not that Peeta’s soft exactly, and he’s proved he’s not a coward. But there are things you don’t question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Gale questions everything. What would Peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Gale’s tirades against the Capitol? - Geez, Katniss, give Peeta some credit here! A) It’s not like Peeta can walk around District 12 talking publicly about the injustices happening there - she and Peeta hadn’t even talked with each other before the reaping, whereas Gale is her best friend who rants to her while they are outside the confines of D12 and B) Peeta is literally the one who introduced the whole “not a piece in their Games”-idea to her; why would he be clutching his pearls over Katniss and Gale’s irreverent banter?! Just because Peeta didn’t live on the brink of starvation (she again brings up how his house smells like bread and - at this point - still thinks that the family running the bakery actually gets to eat what they produce just like that), doesn’t mean he doesn’t see how shitty life in D12 is - he can still want better conditions for those who are worse off than him!

“I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” - Well, we’ll see this song and dance again in CF...

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 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.” - I wish CF Katniss would remember this moment when she is questioning her motives about saving Peeta’s life in the arena - You. Care. For. This. Boy! You. Value. Him. For. Who. He. Is!!!

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. [...] 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. - Whoo! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 😉

I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe. - He makes her feel safe in a murder-arena!!! 😭 This is the kind of stuff that makes everlark just a top tier romance, tbh

Peeta telling Katniss about his crush starting on their first day of school 🥰😭 - and her reaction to it... For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy - yes, because you have a crush on him, too! - and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff [...] So, if those details are true... could it all be true? - YESSSSSSSS!!!

“You have a... remarkable memory, “ I say haltingly. - as a severely socially awkward person... I felt that lame response in my bones 😅

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. - God, this would be such an amazing moment if it didn’t get tainted by that immediate sponsor gift, which just serves to muddle Katniss’s feelings with her sense of survival, further complicating her relationship with Peeta... *sigh*

Chapter 23

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you...” “I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. “Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. - Peeta is the master of being a cheeky little shit and adorable flirt at the same time

“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 appreciate that while Peeta has had a crush on Katniss forever, he clearly didn’t spend the entire time pining after her, oblivious to the rest of the world - he has a life outside of Katniss Everdeen, but ultimately, it all lead back to her

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!” “Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. - Laugh all you want, this is going to end up being your future anyway 😄

He [Haymitch]’s at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to bready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he’s holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of tring to keep us alive. - Katniss is already worrying about her “new pal”, I see ;)

Maybe he [Haymitch] wasn’t always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. - Honestly, that sounds absolutely awful...

Poor, Katniss, when she learns of Thresh’s death :( - But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh’s murder. - It’s horrible how compassion and basic human decency gets construed as ‘weakness’ in the world of Hunger Games (esp. the Capitol)

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. - Honestly, I think a word analysis of THG-series could be interesting; how often does Katniss mention “warmth”, “steady/steadiness” “safe/safety/security” in connection with “Peeta”?

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he says. “Bet that’s expensive,” I say. “Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says Peeta [...] Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it’s true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread - Katniss is starting to realize that the lives of the merchants isn’t a cushy as she thought; also, in a way, we see a “prettier” version of how Panem treats the districts overall -> feeding the districts just enough that they can do their work (plus/minus a couple of people who’ll die of starvation, but at a small, for Capitolites insignificant margin), but not so much that they are in good shape to rebel; here, the merchants of D12 have just enough that they can live a “decent” life (they know it could be worse -> the Seam), but they don’t have enough to live a free, comfortable, self-determined life either. This also just further drives a wedge between the inhabitants of D12 (the merchants won’t want to rebel because they don’t want to get ‘demoted’ in their lifestyle, starving like the people from the Seam, and the Seam folk feel resentful towards the merchant people, while also not having the resources to rebel, due to their awful socioeconomic conditions)

What would be my life like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what my identity is. - It’s so sad who Katniss has been so consumed with ensuring that her most base needs are fulfilled that she barely has had the time to really figure out who she is and what she wants from life (If we’re talking Maslow’s pyramid of needs, Katniss would primarily be stuck on the lowest tier 😢)

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. - Honestly, Katniss counting on being good friends with Peeta after the Games is the highest honor she can bestow on him at that moment (she’s so into him, lol); of course, knowing that their relationship is going to be a bit rocky once they’ve come back makes this thought a little sad... but we also know they’ll make up (and out ;) in the future

Peeta licking his plate and blowing a kiss out to Effie is such an adorable goofball-moment 😊

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. - This moment would be so cute (also, Peeta’s so confident in Katniss’s skills to protect him, which is adorable - toxic masculinity who?) but... Ugh, he’s just so giddy here, it kind of breaks my heart for when he learns later that (at least some) of Katniss’s reactions were just for show

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds,” I say. “Your call, Just tell me what you need me to do,” Peeta says. - Love how Peeta’s always ready to follow Katniss’s lead :)

Ideally, I’d dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt [...] “Katniss,” he says. “We need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” [...] “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” - Teamwork! If it weren’t for Katniss worrying for Peeta’s safety, they’d be on the same page here

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I haunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. “What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. - I really like how Peeta’s challenges Katniss here; he doesn’t just go along with everything she says, while still being quite reasonable

I feel like I’m eleven, again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. [...] I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. - I don’t know, but Katniss feeling tethered to Peeta makes me think of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, according to which children with a secure attachment to their primary caregiver use their “attachment figure as a safe base to explore the environment”... Of course, Ainsworth’s Strange Situation was conducted with young children, but attachment styles are supposed to influence the relationships we form with people in our later lives as well (including romantic relationships)... I dunno, just a random association that popped into my brain 😅

Chapter 24

Peeta’s a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. - Heh, Peeta sure knows how to handle fire, huh, Katniss (or should I say: Girl on Fire?) 😏

I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for him 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 greateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. - Aww, this is so sweet (and domestic)!

It’s funny. I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. [...] But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. - They are a team! Katniss doesn’t have to face the horrors of the Games alone anymore! It keeps boiling down to this.

#thgagain #thg #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #everlark

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lovewillthaw-j · 4 years

Text

Saving Elsa

An alternate in-movie fic (my first!). Set in between Anna climbing out of the cave, and waking the Giants.

Inspired by Mego’s fanart, which also inspired my edit:

TW: depression, grief, drowning, hypothermia

Anna blinked in the sunlight. The beauty of the dawn in the Enchanted forest could not fill the enormous emptiness within her. She felt utterly lost without Elsa and Olaf. She knew she had to destroy the dam, but that would flood Arendelle and hurt her people. And besides, she had no idea how to destroy such a massive structure of stone without Elsa’s help.

Elsa. It hurt to think about Elsa, but as she stood there, uncertain about the next step, gradually, thoughts of finding Elsa’s body began to fill her mind till it overpowered every other thought. Even if she didn’t know where Elsa had gone, she was going to try. Anna knew she could not survive the torture of another funeral with no body to bury. She knew she had chased Elsa all the way to the North Mountain 3 years ago, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give up without trying.

Retrace my steps, she thought. She lifted her head and looked around and was gradually aware of the sound of water flowing in the river. The river! I can follow it back to the path. She followed the sound of the water and gradually made her way to the river bank. The Giants were still asleep and she was careful not to wake them. Trudging along the bank, beyond ear shot of the Giants, she slowly made her way through the forest, stumbling a few times whenever she got distracted by thoughts of Elsa. Finally, she came to the spot where the boat had left Elsa's icy path. She recognised the branch that Olaf’s little hand had grabbed onto previously and felt a sting of pain. Reaching her hand into her satchel, she felt Olaf’s wooden arms and coal buttons. Tears streamed down her face, but she steeled herself and said to herself, I must keep going. For Elsa.

A twinkle of ice crystals caught her eye. Elsa’s icy path had melted but there was still some lingering frost. She felt the ground with her hands and confirmed that it was cold and wet. I’m definitely on the right path, she thought.

Onward she trudged, on the path that she had so recently been on. She was hungry and tired and her legs and lungs were crying for a rest but she didn’t feel them calling out to her and pressed on. Finally she came to the stone at the last spot that she had been with Elsa, near their parents’ ship. Hot tears came to her eyes as she was reminded of Elsa's last hug and the last image of her parents before they died.

The sounds of waves crashing on the shore became apparent and she was re-energised as she remembered that Elsa had mentioned that the Dark Sea was too dangerous, just before their final parting. Had Elsa tried to cross the Dark Sea?

She ran to the beach and faced the waves of the Dark Sea. Suddenly, she noticed Elsa’s boots and outer cloak neatly lying on a rock. She wept over Elsa’s cloak, caressing it with her hands and burying her nose in it, smelling Elsa’s scent. Time stood still as she clawed and groped at the cloak, the closest she had been to Elsa since the horrible separation a day ago.

And then she saw them. Through her tears, she realised that there were footprints in the black sand, leading straight into the water. Elsa’s bare footprints. From the distance between the footprints, she surmised that Elsa had been running. She had run straight into the water. And now she was dead. Her body, lost at sea. Just like Agnarr’s and Iduna’s. A mindless fury took over her and she stood and ran to the water’s edge, screaming at the waves.

Dark Sea!!! You have taken the lives of my parents and now, my sister!! What more can you take away from me!! I have no one to bury!! I have nothing left to live for!! Why don’t you finish me off too!!

So saying, she plunged into the water and swam as far as she could, fighting the cold and brutal waves. She felt her consciousness slipping away from her and in a haze, thought she heard a horse neighing. A horse? I must be hallucinating, she thought. Suddenly, the sea spat her back out onto the shore. Relentless, Anna tried to run into the sea again, but within a few minutes, found herself back on the shore. What was going on?

Night had fallen and Anna was shivering. She was soaked to the skin and very, very cold. She had lost her cloak when she went down that waterfall. Momentarily giving up on trying to drown herself, Anna crawled back to the rock with Elsa’s cloak and boots, shaking violently. She pulled Elsa’s cloak over her and felt a moment of irritation when she realised it was so thin that it afforded no warmth at all. Thanks a lot sis, only you could wear a peekaboo cloak and not feel cold. Her muscles were cramping from the violent spasms and Anna felt that she would not survive much longer. Her eyelids closed and out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Elsa’s boot moving by itself.

Darkness. And then, warmth. And a crackling fire.

Hours had passed and she woke up to find herself lying by a roaring fire and a little creature was resting on her bosom. A warm, wriggly...Salamander?! It was Bruni!!

Bruni!! You’re here? You made a fire to keep me warm? Anna noticed she was completely dry and felt much better. She was so relieved to have a companion, even if she wasn’t sure if he fully understood her. She held him in her hands and continued to speak to him.

Thank you so much Bruni. How did you know I was here? Bruni jumped out of her hands and ran to Elsa’s boot and crawled inside, then poked his head out, licking his eyeball and staring at her as if to say, I’ve been hiding in this boot waiting for Elsa to return!! Anna laughed as she realised that Elsa might have stepped on Bruni if she had put on her boots while he was in it! Laughing felt good. She felt like she hadn’t laughed in years.

Now what? What could she do to find Elsa? Say Bruni, do you know what happened to Elsa? Bruni looked at her quizzically, not seeming to understand. Sigh, you don’t speak, do you, thought Anna. She stood up and walked to the water’s edge. Why did the water spit me out, she thought to herself. She stooped and dipped her hands into the water. At this, suddenly Bruni hissed and sparks flew out of his body. He ran towards her and chased her back from the water’s edge, little tongues of flame emanating from his body. What’s wrong Bruni? What did I do? Suddenly, the flames erupted from Bruni, but instead of causing a fire, the fire took the shape of a horse.

A horse, Bruni? I don’t understand? What are you trying to...

A sudden ROAR of water from the ocean rang out and a mighty water horse emerged from the ocean and stepped on to the beach. The horse looked condescendingly at Bruni and took a menancing step forward. Bruni extinguished his flame and ran away, but he couldn’t resist turning his head back and sticking his tongue out at the horse.

Slowly Anna realised that this must be the water spirit! She had only encountered Gale, Bruni and the Earth Giants. Air, Fire, Earth and Water. This explained the neighing sounds she heard when the water spit her out!

She curtsied formally to the magnificent horse and said, I’m princess... err... Queen Anna I suppose, of Arendelle. You must be the water spirit. I’m so sorry for shouting at you just now, I'm just trying to find my sister, Elsa. Thanks for saving my life just now. The Nokk bowed to Anna and she strode forward and stroked the Nokk’s neck.

Suddenly, the Nokk bent lower and indicated that Anna was supposed to mount it. Surprised, Anna mounted the horse, not knowing anything better to do. Wait a moment, she said, as the Nokk stood up. Can Bruni come along? I’m still cold. Neighing a snort of irritation, the horse nodded its head. Gleefully, Bruni ran and jumped into Anna’s hands and ran up to her shoulder where he perched himself. Anna felt grateful for Bruni’s presence, both for the warmth and the comfort of a familiar face.

With a whoosh! the Nokk broke into a gallop across the Dark Sea, taking Anna’s breath away as she flew over the black waters. Where is the Nokk taking me? she wondered to herself. Did Elsa come by this way too? Bruni happily stuck his tongue out and enjoyed the sea breeze. In the distance, Ahtohallan emerged, it’s frozen river glowing brightly against the dark stone. Anna gasped at the magnificent sight of the magical river. As the Nokk passed between the reflective pillars of ice that marked out the path to Ahtohallan, she stared at her reflection and her wonder increased. A powerful force seemed to be situated within Ahtohallan and she felt it drawing her in.

The Nokk slowed to a trot and gracefully stopped at Ahtohallan’s beach. Dismounting, Anna thanked the horse and it splashed back into the sea, disappearing in an instant. Now what? Anna asked Bruni. In response, Bruni jumped off Anna’s shoulder and ran to the open doorway of Ahtohallan, which Anna hadn’t noticed. Okay, keep going forward. Anna strode towards the doorway and gasped as she saw the four pillars with the spirits’ crystal logos carved into them. Bruni ran up the pillar with the Fire emblem on it, smiling proudly at her as the pillar momentarily lit up with an pink glow. Okay, well done to you, said Anna. But you’d better come with me cos it’s really cold here, okay Bruni? I’m not Elsa. Bruni obligingly ran back to Anna and climbed onto her shoulder once more as Anna walked through the doorway of Ahtohallan.

On and on Anna walked within Ahtohallan, it’s magic getting stronger and stronger as she went deeper within. She wasn’t sure what all this had to do with Elsa, but she knew from Mother’s lullaby that in Ahtohallan, all is found, all the answers, and she was going to go as far in as she could and ask Ahtohallan where Elsa was. She came to a slippery tunnel and gingerly made her way across. However, to her consternation, the tunnel ended in a sudden steep drop into a huge cavern. She could see the tunnel’s continuation on the other side, but there was no way across. (Unknown to her, Elsa had recently come this way and had made her way across pillars of ice, however, these had all flurried away when Elsa froze to death)

Bruni, what do we do now? asked Anna, hearing her voice echo in the cavern. I can’t get across this huge gap and I can’t see anyway to climb down there. Bruni cocked his head at her but didn’t seem to know how to help her. Nevertheless, Anna was bolder now after having met 2 spirits. Plus, she knew that Gale had had a special connection with her mother and Elsa had tamed Gale. She called out, confidently, her voice ringing in the cavern: Gale! GALE! Please. It’s Anna. Remember me? Please, I need your help. I know you are able to carry me to the other side.

With a flurry of tiny ice particles, Gale appeared and swirled around Anna, playing with her hair and tickling her sides. Her satchel momentarily flapped open in the breeze and the ice particles flurried inside, wandered over Olaf’s remains, and sailed out again. I know, I miss him too, Gale. Thank you for coming, now can you carry me -

With a gust of wind, in mid-sentence, Anna suddenly found herself floating in the air. Bruni was thoroughly enjoying himself as Gale transported them both over. Whoa! That was sudden, Gale. But thank you very much. Anna continued her trek into Ahtohallan, coming upon the great hall where Elsa had recently re-arranged the giant pillars of ice. The architecture of this place was breathtakingly beautiful. She passed through another doorway and came to an enormous cave where, unbeknownst to her, Elsa had recently seen Iduna and created the snowy images of memories, all of which had since flurried away. There was another dark doorway framed in snow leading out of the cave, which Anna walked into. This led to a downward sloping path, and terminated again in a steep cliff with a sharp drop. Anna strained her eyes to look at the ground below.

Suddenly, Anna spotted a tiny figure that looked like Elsa. An anguished cry escaped her lips. Elsa was far away, at the bottom of the cliff and she was not moving. In fact, she looked completely different and...white. White as ice. No no no no... This isn't happening...say its not true...

Gale, please hurry!! No sooner had the words left her mouth, Anna felt Gale carrying her down the cliff gently. It was very cold here, even Bruni’s warmth seemed insufficient to battle the biting cold. The descent felt like an eternity to Anna, and she knew Elsa had gone too deep, against Mother’s warning.

ELSAAAAA!!!!!!!

cried Anna, running towards the cold, still statue of ice. She repeatedly called and called her sister's name as she hugged her cold body desperately, willing her to come back to life. Anna held Elsa's face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. She kissed Elsa’s frozen lips but nothing happened. Please. PLEASE. Ahtohallan, spirits, anybody. Undo this, this spell, whatever magic is going on here. Her voice sounded thin and empty in the bitter cold air.

Bruni! Can you warm her up? Please? Bruni gave her a sad look. She had never seen Bruni in grief before. Anna placed Bruni on Elsa's body, but Bruni did not even attempt to make any heat. Thoroughly exhausted and defeated, Anna clung onto Elsa and cried anew, tears flowing freely. This is the end, thought Anna. I can't bring Elsa's body back to Arendelle. She's become one with the ice of Ahtohallan. Oh how cruel can this be. I've come all the way here with the help of 3 spirits, which is pretty incredible, but in the end I'm sadder than ever before. I'm really ready to succumb now.

Her tears flowed down her cheek and dropped onto Elsa's cold, hard face. Suddenly, the tears glowed with light and were absorbed into Elsa’s face. The light from her tears travelled within Elsa’s frozen body and went towards Elsa’s heart. Then, a glow glimmered through Elsa's body and travelled up her left arm, which was frozen and stretched up to the heavens. It was only then that Anna realised how different Elsa looked, without her braid and in a totally new dress emblazoned with the spirit symbols. Had Elsa met the fifth spirit? Was Elsa THE fifth spirit?

A beam of light and snow came out of Elsa's icy hand, though it was feeble and much less powerful than what Anna was accustomed to. Elsa remained frozen stiff but the snow gradually collected and formed into...an image of her parents. The glow in Elsa's body then faded but Anna hardly noticed as the snowy images of her parents came alive and started speaking.

Iduna: Darling, I've been thinking. It might be time to tell Anna about Elsa. I can't bear keeping her shut out anymore. She's maturing now. She can be responsible.

Agnarr: It's not Anna I'm worried about. What if we let them get close again and the feelings are too much for Elsa? Joy brings out her powers as strongly as fear.

Iduna: But if anyone can find a way to help her, it's Anna.

Agnarr: You may be right about that. There's not much that girl can't do.

Iduna: Her love could hold up the world.

Agnarr: Lucky for the world. Okay. We'll tell her when we return.

The images of her parents stopped moving. Anna wept again, happy tears this time. This was truly a magical place of memories. She embraced the icy images of her father and mother with deep hugs, and felt their love pour into her anew, even though it had been six years since she'd last seen them set sail. Thank you. Thank you so much for that. Her mother's words rang in her memory.

If anyone can find a way to help her, it's Anna.

Anna held Elsa by her waist, wondering what she could do. Her tears had somehow developed some power of their own when they touched Elsa, she realised. Could she do it again? On a hunch, she got down and placed one hand on the icy floor and kept her other hand on Elsa’s body, and she spoke out loud: Elsa, I love you. Ahtohallan, spirits, this is my beloved sister and I would do anything to bring her back. Please, show me something I can do.

Magically, the ground under Anna's hand glowed and ice crystals started to rise from the ground and coalesce into images! Anna gazed in amazement as a small-sized version of the dam appeared in front of her. But there was more. She could make out 3 blocky figures moving slowly towards the dam, in the distance. Suddenly, she realised she was looking at three Earth Giants and just then, they started throwing rocks at the miniature dam. As she followed the trajectory of the flying rocks, she saw a tiny version of herself running on top of the dam, dodging the rocks as they crashed into the dam, destroying it. Then the image faded away and morphed into a small version of Elsa, in her current frozen state, but coming back to life. The images then froze.

Anna sat down heavily, trying to process what she had just witnessed, here in Ahtohallan, the place of memories. She figured that she must be seeing "memories" from the future - visions. That didn’t sound too far-fetched, considering that Elsa had seen a memory from 35 years in the past. Momentarily, Anna wondered if she had gained powers herself and she absentmindedly tried to lift her hand and conjure up snow. Nothing happened.

I don’t want ice or any form of powers, anyhow. I’m happy to be me and I just want you back, Elsa. She knew her request had been answered. She now knew how to save Elsa and how to destroy the dam. Now all that was left was to get it done.

Thank you, she breathed. Thank you Ahtohallan.

Elsa, I'm going to save you.

======

How this continues: with Gale and Nokk's help, Anna leaves Ahtohallan and re-crosses the Dark Sea, reaching the Earth giants. The story then continues as it did in the movie (Wake up!!!!!). With some important adjustments 1) Anna is not as sad when talking to Kristoff 2) When Elsa gallops toward Anna on Nokk, Anna is not sad, but surprised because she thought she would have to go back to Ahtohallan to get her. 3) When Elsa says “You saved me”, Anna replies “Yeah, I know!!!!” to which Elsa is shocked and then, Anna shares that she too has been to Ahtohallan.

For those who aren’t aware, the scene of Iduna and Agnarr is directly lifted from the Deleted Scene, A Place Of Our Own. I just wanted to include it...

Headcanons applied in this fic - 1) 5th spirit’s powers are to extract memories from water; 2) Anna, as the other half of the bridge, can also communicate with the spirits and they help her get to Ahtohallan as she has no powers; 3) Anna becomes the 5th spirit for a short while - there was some transference when her tears fell onto Elsa; 4) Iduna is a memory, not a ghost; 5) Ahtohallan (Sentient) shows memories of the parents to the girls to comfort them and strengthen their resolve; 6) I was inspired by Rapunzel’s tears falling onto and reviving Eugene; 7) This fic features Brunanna heavily =) ; 8) I like the idea that Bruni and Nokk are “rivals” (water vs fire) and Bruni is cheeky towards Nokk.

#my fic #frozen 2 #frozen #disney frozen #elsa and anna

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

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Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire

3 In Mockingjay ( and Some)

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES. ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek)

Here is a sort form of the Kisses.

The Hunger Games

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games)

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here)

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one)

5. Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return.

7. Katniss just wants the Games to End and they Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss 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.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more.

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss.

12. They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food.

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do what you want

14. So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone

15. This one is when they Both said listen if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss.

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the rewatch of the games

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras. and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden. She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured. And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie.

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies

7. The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one)

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t have as many kisses).

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two

Now Bonus ones

1. Catching Fire After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.

so grand total is 30 kisses on all platforms the books and the movies.

So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too

1. The surprise Kiss From Gale That snow knew about

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses Katniss on the Cheek

Bonus ones

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena,

So their grand total is 6...

In the Hunger Games ( Book)

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

Chapter 19,

"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.

A little Later on Chapter 19

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.

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.

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. ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand, “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit)

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

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss)

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. “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 22 ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in)

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

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 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 26.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but This part honestly Just says so much)

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.

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 3

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.

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.

Chapter 4

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.

Chapter 5

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.

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.

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 9 I am being petty yes for this Part...

“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.

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. 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 ( Okay this hug tho)

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?”

“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.

Chapter 17

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.

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?

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

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 19/20 Cpr is a kind of kissing

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?” 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 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!”

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. “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 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.

Chapter 19

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 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

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 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.

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.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales Kisses will be added below

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

「 light your sword ↠ lee minho 」

◦ warnings : mentions of blood & violence

The city of Kalmburg has it that no one has ever surpassed Lee Minho when it comes to the art of swordsmanship.

“If you’re going to take on a guy who can parry a crossbow bolt with his sword as he’s contending against five other men, it’s time to re-evaluate the direction of your life—preferably while running away as fast as you can.”

The man walks up to the center of the town square every single day at the crack of dawn, his figure fully covered in a big black cloak, the hood thrown lazily over his head. All you can see is the strides he takes with his black combat boots. He almost belongs, but not quite. Kalmburg is known for its dashingly ornamental architecture — a white granite surface with serene spires can be seen from the castle at the top of the hill, soothing atmosphere and generically nice residents. Some say no beauty can be compared to its sunrise due to the dashing sight of a lake situated before the town square’s gate.

Whereas, Lee Minho gives people a stark contrast with his dark aura and the black sword hung firmly on his back. He easily takes in everyone’s attention with a single sweep, his midnight orbs setting on nothing before he leaves as expressionless as he’s entered. His purposes and motives always remain hidden; hence the allure. Though it’s not hard to see how he’s making a good living on a daily basis.

For one, he slays monsters; and for another, he deals with people. Outsiders might be surprised at how many units the Nobles are more than willing to pay him as long as he comes back alive, with the beast’s head limb in his hands. There were times when he’d come back covered in a sea monster’s gastric juice, other times he could barely walk back to the town because his spleens got severely damaged. But most of the time, he’d return as though he just got back from a stroll, outstretching his palm to collect the payment.

Dealing with people is far more troublesome than those deadly creatures, Minho constantly tells himself so. It’s true, after all. Because when careless juveniles aren’t able to snatch their parents’ spare change on the dining table, they decide it’s a brilliant idea to challenge him for a duel. If they win, he’ll have to follow their request without receiving a single penny. But if things go the other way around, they will most likely come home crying for their mother. Such a nuisance.

Today is no different.

Moving into the morning light is a shadow wolf. His paws kiss the earth not gracefully, but rather with evident difficulties and there’s a ray of exhaustion in that pair of bronzed eyes. The wolf has seen better days. His silver-white fur is thin and it clings to his frame like an old cloak in a gale. Even from several yards away, Minho can count each rib as they’re sticking out, he sees dejection in his movements as if he’s gonna let himself tumble to the ground any moment.

Minho carefully inhales, pulling out a silver dart from the back of his belt. He raises his hand and aims precisely for the pine tree, just a strand of hair away from the wolf’s ear. When he exhales, the thin needle comes flying past the creature before embedding itself to the wooden surface.

The wolf whips his head towards the swordsman, locking eyes as he lets out a mere cry of pain, crimson dripping down on the side of his head. As Minho pulls his hood off of his face, slightly dubious that the creature of darkness will turn into a wisp of black smoke to take flight deeper into the forest, the wolf shakes his head before lying down on the soil, unable to coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his bloodied paws, he closes his eyes. He’s giving up on his life.

“Something’s wrong. Shadow wolves’ blood isn’t supposed to be red,” Minho holds his breath in utter disbelief, taking a step backward. He’s got the wrong target. No, that client scammed him.

A branch snaps.

Minho reaches for his sword when the sound of thin air being ripped apart rings inside his eardrums, two blades coming in contact with each other and he has to squint slightly when tiny sparks of flame come to life between the weapons. Instead of looking at the raider, he quickly deflects their slash again. Hypothetically speaking, there are two possibilities: the first is that both swords are too weak to withstand the pressure of the blow, so they’ll simply break - in the exact same fashion. The second is in which case both blades are durable enough to field the contact, they will bounce right back. But his unwanted guest seems to detest him so much to the point they keep their sword grinding against his until their weapons slip against each other, creating a wave of grating shriek resonating through the woods, dust being thrown in the air.

He stumbles backward, the sole of his shoes tearing the leaves below into bits. His vision shakes a little from the sudden attack before trying to focus on the figure before him. The first thing that he sees is the white wolf on the button of your silver-accent cloak. That’s the royal guards’ emblem.

“You,” the female voice catches him by surprise. “Lay another finger on that wolf now, I dare you.” You know all too well who this man is, and like hell you’re going to let him do what he wants just because of some cheap units.

Minho’s fully aware that his beating heart is thundering inside his chest, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline flowing in his veins or those round eyes glaring at him from under the sunlight. He sees the grip on the hilt of your rapier being tightened and that’s when he regains his composure, taking in a deep breath. If he gave up now because of a pretty face with a deadly blade, he’d damn his reputation as a swordsman.

“Oh that wolf is all yours,” he smiles at you fakely, wiping the beads of sweat on his cheekbones away. “But you’re going to have to do better than snooping around on people.”

Minho steadies his grip on his sword, trying to keep himself together in the deafening silence, “So, who’s making the first move now?” The tonal mockery in his voice irks you and he seems to notice that too by the slight smirk tugging at his lips when the muscles on your face twitch.

One. Breathe in.

You’re getting into your stance sideways, your blade eye level. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

Two. Breathe out.

Minho isn’t letting his guard down this time despite being slightly impressed with your skills. Usually, there aren’t many girls who take up sword fighting, at least not in his hometown so he thought you’d be sort of a novice. But your dexterity is beyond incredible, he can hardly see the tip of your sword.

Three. “I am.”

You charge first by swinging your rapier at him from above, Minho receiving the clash with the flat of his blade. He circles away from you, keeping his sword in motion while constantly changing his stances and attacks. Rapiers aren’t very suitable for slashing or slicing since the blade is so long and thin, it can only allow its owner more speed, more precise stabs and thrusts but greatly lowers their defense. So if he can just catch you off guard…

When the tip of your sword grazes just above his clothed ribs, Minho’s reflexes kick in and his blade knocks yours away almost immediately. With the bewildered look on your face as a signal, he dodges as you attempt another stab at his left ear. This causes you to trip on your heels, your balance quivering the moment his sword slashes at the button of your cloak rather than your neck. To prevent yourself from falling, you jump and do a backflip safely, breath’s fraying as the piece of clothing is completely ditched by a tree.

“You are strong, just like the rumors,” you breathe out a stoic comment, chest heaving up and down rapidly.

“You aren’t too bad yourself either,” Minho grins; he hasn’t felt this much eagerness to fight someone other than monsters before. In other words, he’s never faced someone who knows what they’re doing with a sword as skilled as you are.

You cock a brow at him, confused, “Why are you smiling?”

“I don’t know, actually,” he shakes his head and hearty waves of laughter bubble up inside his stomach. The brunet sheaths his sword with a loud ‘clunk’, walking towards you to place a warm hand on your shoulder. “But good fight, you really know how to hold a sword.”

“Wait...aren’t we going to finish this?”

Minho picks up your cloak from the ground, outstretching his palm, “You seem like a person who knows what it takes so I don’t think that’d be necessary anymore. But I’d be glad to take you on again?”

This man is baffling you, and not in a good way either. Nonetheless, you still slide your sword back into its sheath and accept his handshake. “So you’re going to leave that wolf alone right?”

“Only if you tell me what happened to it,” Minho replies firmly, receiving a nod of approval from you. He actually seems like a solid person. Perhaps you can trust him.

“That’s my brother, Chan.”

#lee know #skzwritersclub #stayshub #stray kids lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids minho #stray kids fantasy au #minho x reader #lee minho #fantasy au #lino fic #maya writing smth fantasy?#unheard of and uncalled for #but I’m whipped for swordsman lee minho forgive me

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jlalafics · 4 years

Text

“Baptism”-an Everlark one-shot

Hello! Was it possible? Could I fit all three requested sentence prompts into one story?

I did.

Anyway, the three prompts I was given are:

“Oh god, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” (Anon request)

“What took you so long? I missed you…” (From @omercilessmoon)

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.” (Anon request)

I hope I did all of you justice.

Happy Reading!

Also, thank you to @keelaree for my bomb cover. Love you!

Summary: “Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.”

_______

Baptism

The Baptism of Josephine Lily Hawthorne

The church bells rang atop the Church of St. Anne as people gathered inside dressed in their Sunday best. In the first few pews sat the excited parents, Gale and Madge Hawthorne, along with their families.

Madge, in a rose dress, smiled in greeting to anyone who came into the church, showing off the dark-haired Josephine dressed in a multi-tier white dress and matching bonnet. Beside her, Gale greeted everyone stoically, a hint of pride in his smoky eyes.

However as soon as they were alone, his face fell into a mask of anxiety.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gale whispered to his wife.

“Not if I get to him first,” Madge replied through clenched teeth. “Thank God, Katniss is always a stickler about being on time.”

They were twenty minutes past their allotted time. Besides them, there were two other families waiting for their babies to get baptized.

Gale turned to the entrance doors behind them just as Katniss peeked in to shake her head.

“Dead,” the man swore to his wife. “There’s going to be a funeral right after this baptism.”

++++++

In the church vestibule, Katniss paced as one of the parish attendants closed the door so the service could begin.

“Every fucking time,” she swore quietly.

Why did Peeta always do this?

On the other hand, why were they always picked?

Actually, Katniss already knew why.

She was single. Peeta was single.

Everyone else in their group of friends had already put a ring on it and then reproduced.

Finnick and Annie Odair were first, getting married right out of university. Gale and Madge’s wedding happened two years later to which she played Best Woman to Peeta’s Man of Honor.

Recently, her own sister had betrayed her by marrying Cato, Peeta’s former roommate. The two were currently finishing up their Hawaiian honeymoon while the rest of them celebrated the blessed event of watching Joey Hawthorne getting water splashed on her sweet little head.

The sounds of rushed footsteps broke her from her reverie, and she turned to see Peeta running over to join her.

Katniss crossed his arms as he slowed. “What took you so long? I missed you…”

Peeta raised a brow as he buttoned his suit jacket. “You did?”

“Fuck no! I’m just tired of freezing my tits off waiting for you to show up,” she growled at him. “They want both godparents there before they can bathe the baby!”

“Katniss, please. You’re in church and God doesn’t appreciate your filthy mouth,” he replied, his tone heavy with snark. “Though it is one of your better attributes.” Peeta grinned. “Your tits too, but I’ll only admit that because we’re in the house of God—”

He was quickly silenced as Katniss grabbed his crotch and squeezed…hard.

“Listen,” she hissed, her face inches from his. “You are a giant pain in my ass but, for some reason, we are always stuck together. I would appreciate it if you would just do me the courtesy of not making me and the entire party wait while you do whatever the hell you do.” His mouth opened in an attempt to speak and she tightened her grip. “Do you understand?”

Peeta’s face had gone stark white, though his glare was as biting as ever. “You bit—”

“Hey guys?”

Katniss quickly released Peeta from her death grip and turn to find Gale peeking his head out.

“We’re ready for you,” he said. Gale’s face suddenly went scarlet. “Also, the sound really carries through the whole church…”

Katniss’ jaw dropped. “How much did they hear?”

“How much should I donate?” Peeta asked as he tried to smooth down the creases in his pants.

“Everything and enough to pay for Joey’s first year of college,” Gale told them. “Now, get in.”

Chastised, the two followed their friend down the aisle and to the baptismal font where Madge waited with their goddaughter. The woman glared at Peeta before handing Joey to him carefully.

From across the font, Katniss watched him as he gazed down at Joey, a smile lighting up his face. In turn, Joey cooed at her godfather.

She couldn’t help but smile at the charming pair—

“Katniss?”

Her eyes went to Gale, his grey eyes panicked as he leaned towards her.

“Father just asked if you renounce Satan…and you didn’t respond.”

“Oh—" She looked to the priest. “I totally renounce him!”

Her eyes went to the ground, trying to ignore the quiet snicker coming from across the baptismal post.

Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.

++++++

The Hawthorne Residence

“That shit was hilarious!” Annie cackled as they sat at the kitchen table, eating some leftover cake from the reception. “They asked you if you renounced Satan and there was twenty-second pause!”

“I am horrified.” Katniss forked a hefty piece of cake before plopping it into her mouth. She looked to the woman loading dishes into the dishwasher. “Your parents must be horrified, Madge. I am so sorry.”

“It was actually kind of funny,” Madge told her easily. “I told my side of the family that you were Gale’s first choice for godmother. Hazelle, however, has probably lit a dozen candles for you.”

“Well, she’s known me since I was kid so I’m pretty sure she’s lit more than a dozen for me,” Katniss retorted.

There was a flurry of tiny steps as Nolan Odair rushed into the kitchen, jumping into his mother’s lap and burying his little face into her chest. She, in turn, affectionately caressed his dark locks and placed a kiss atop his head.

Another set of footsteps followed as Finnick stepped into the kitchen, a smirk rising on his handsome face as his green eyes settled on Katniss.

“Hey Katniss! Do you renounce Satan?”

“If he’ll help me get rid of your annoying butt,” she deadpanned before digging in for more cake.

Gale walked into the room along with Peeta. “Be nice to him.”

The latter still held their Goddaughter in his arms and Joey, now fully awake, looked pretty content. Katniss had to admit that Peeta had that special charm about him. She watched him through their college years captivate women, both young and old.

No one was immune to Peeta Mellark.

Except for her.

“And, why should I be nice?” Katniss asked her friend.

“Because he’s going to be a Dad again,” Peeta informed her.

Annie looked to her husband. “I thought we were going to tell them together!”

“We were!” Finnick turned to Peeta. “How did you know?”

“Annie hates chocolate cake,” the man replied. “And she’s wolfing it down like there’s no tomorrow.” Leaning down, Peeta kissed their friend’s cheek. “Congratulations Annie. Here’s hoping that you’ll have the girl you want so Finnick will finally leave you alone.”

Finnick looked aghast. “How dare you. She seduced me!”

Annie grinned, looking to her husband. “It’s true. Couldn’t keep my hands off him.”

The rest of the group all congratulated the couple, each one raising a glass of wine or, in Nolan’s case, a juice box, to the second time parents.

Afterwards, they all settled back, and Katniss reached to get another piece of cake.

“This tastes amazing,” she mused, her eyes closing and a content hum vibrating against her lips. “I just want to rub up on the person who made it.”

“Oh God, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” She opened her eyes to find Peeta staring, his blue eyes full of mirth at the sight of her. He handed Joey to Madge before removing his suit jacket. “Do you really mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About rubbing up on the person who made that cake,” he replied as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to fold them up.

Katniss watched; each fold revealed his forearms for her perusal. “Why?”

He sat across from her, taking her fork to cut a piece of cake before placing it in his mouth.

“Because I made it.”

She was faintly aware that the fork had previously been engulfed in her mouth; that she had licked chocolate off the same spears that were between his lips.

Katniss shook her head. “You lie.”

“It’s true,” Madge told her from the counter as she rocked Joey. “Peeta’s family owns a bakery.”

“No kidding.” She couldn’t help but smile as Peeta’s cheeks colored. “Why did I never know this when we were in college?”

“Because you were too busy in college to even look at me,” he replied quietly.

Katniss grinned. “If I had known, maybe I would’ve sucked up to you more.”

Peeta groaned, trying not to smile. “You’re killing me.”

“Plus, Peeta was getting enough sucking in college, if you know what I mean,” Finnick informed her gaily.

The smile fell off her face. “Moment over.”

“Damn you, Finnick!” Peeta looked to her, crestfallen. “So…no rubbing?”

Katniss snorted. “I’m afraid not today.”

However, she left with half the cake.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

“Hello, Mags. I’m Dr. Katniss Everdeen.” She sat beside the older woman’s bed. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Mags replied softly. “Do you know when my husband is visiting?”

Mags’ husband had passed away several years ago.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with the nurses—do you know what month it is?”

“September,” the woman answered.

It was July.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Katniss gave her a smile. “It’s about lunchtime. Did you have any requests?”

“I’m fine,” Mags told her kindly. “My Harris will be bringing my lunch. We eat every meal together, you know.”

“Alright.” Katniss stood up. “I’ll give you some time to get ready for your visit. Thanks for speaking with me.”

As soon as she stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Dr. Haymitch Abernathy, her mentor, joined her side.

“How was she today?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“Better in terms of her mood as she was completely stable during our interaction,” Katniss told him before frowning. “However, she’s forgotten about Harris’ passing again. When she remembers, it’s going to be difficult.”

“If she remembers. Her memory has deteriorated quickly in the last six months.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Abernathy,” she replied. “I know how much she means to you.”

“She was a fine neighbor who was always kind to the wayward young man next door,” he said with a grin. “And she did introduce me to her pretty niece.”

“Yeah—I mean, Effie is way too good for you,” Katniss replied with a snort.

“Watch yourself, Dr. Everdeen, or I might not be so favorable when it comes to next month’s shifts,” he told her, though a smile played on his lips. “Effie is expecting you over soon, by the way.”

“I’m off next Sunday,” she replied. “I’ll be over for brunch.”

He nodded as they reached the nurses’ station. “I have a new case that I’d like you to shadow.”

“Sure,” Katniss said easily. “Where’s the chart?”

The elevator behind them dinged. “Actually, I can just introduce you now—”

“Katniss?”

She whirled at the voice and found Peeta approaching them. He gently guided the man he was with until they stood in front of her and Dr. Abernathy.

The man looked to her and gave her a shaky, yet kind, smile. “You know my son?”

Peeta’s father—they had the same smile.

“Yes, Mr. Mellark. Peeta and I went to the same university.”

“Katniss is loads smarter than me,” Peeta informed his father. He looked her over in her doctor’s coat, her printed blouse and bootcut dress pants peeking out from beneath. “Obviously.”

“She is my prized intern,” Haymitch informed the men. “Dr. Everdeen, this is our new patient, Brian Mellark. Brian, Dr. Katniss Everdeen will be shadowing me on your case.”

Katniss took the man’s hand, clasping his fingers between hers. She felt the tremble, already knowing that she was looking at someone who was suffering from Parkinson’s. However, Katniss could tell that Brian had a fighting spirit.

“Nice to meet you officially, Mr. Mellark,” she said.

“Brian please,” he insisted. “Any friend of Peeta’s is a friend of mine.”

“Well—” Her eyes went to the man who stood beside Dr. Abernathy. “—Peeta and I just happen to share a goddaughter, so we’re practically family.” She began to guide him towards the exam rooms, making sure to follow his pace in order to gauge his current mobility. “I have a feeling we’ll be sharing another one in about seven-ish months.”

They made a slight right into the exam room and she helped Brian into a nearby chair.

“I actually really hope that they don’t pick us,” Peeta told her. “I mean, you’re practically banned from the last church we were in.”

Dr. Abernathy guffawed. “Why is that?”

“Because when they asked if she renounced Satan…she paused.”

“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I was momentarily distracted by a certain tardy godfather!”

“So, you were looking at me.” Peeta smirked at her. “Katniss, I’m flattered.”

Katniss looked to Brian. “How do you even deal with him?”

The man chuckled, briefly giving his son an affectionate smile. “He grows on you eventually.”

She raised a brow. “Like a fungus?”

“Exactly.”

“Dad!” Peeta cried out in embarrassment as they all chuckled at him.

Dr. Abernathy grinned. “I think we’re all going to have fun.”

++++++

“So, does anyone know?” Katniss asked as she and Peeta stood outside of exam room. “Madge? Finnick?”

Peeta shook his head. “It’s new.” He leaned against the adjacent wall. “My mom noticed the tremble about three months ago, so she took him to his primary doctor. He ran some tests and then recommended that we see Dr. Abernathy.”

Katniss nodded. “Your Dad is in good hands. Dr. Abernathy is the best.”

“I feel like I know nothing about you,” Peeta suddenly said. “How long have you been working here?”

“I’ve been an intern here for about two years and I hope to stay as long as I can,” she told him. “The world needs more neurologists.”

Peeta reached over, straightening her coat for her.

“I’m impressed.” His gaze went to neat braid resting against her shoulder and her breath caught as his fingers grazed the tip. “Dr. Everdeen.”

“I’m impressed by your cakes,” she offered. “I can’t bake for the life of me.”

“I guess that’s why you’re going to have to keep me around,” he quipped. “After all, the cake that I made for Joey’s christening was the whole reason I was late and earned your ire. I had to help my Dad close the bakery and then spent the night making the cake. The bakery is about two hours away from the church and I overslept.”

“You should’ve told me,” Katniss said, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Brian’s condition was serious, and it was obvious that he would have to completely cut back from working at the bakery sooner than anyone thought.

“It’s fine,” he told her easily. “I am glad that you liked the cake.”

Katniss chuckled. “I owe you a rub down, too.”

She did not just say that.

Oh God—was she actually flirting with Peeta?

A grin rose on his lips, making her forget her faux pas.

“I’m going to make you five more cakes just for saying that.”

++++++

The Baptism of Alice Riley Odair

“I’m sorry!” Katniss rushed to the front of the church, removing her coat, and tossing it on a pew before joining the rest of the group. “I got held up at work.”

Finnick went to her, placing the infant in her arms. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous baby?”

Katniss’ eyes went to the baby and she leaned down to sniff the baby��s strawberry-colored hair.

“She is very beautiful…” Her words caught and everyone looked up at her show of emotion. However, Katniss gathered herself and looked around the nearly empty church. Besides Finnick and Annie’s parents, their group—which now included her sister and Cato—was the only one in attendance. “I guess it’s a solo baptism?”

Annie smiled. “Finnick insisted that no other babies take up his princess’ spotlight.”

She nodded before her attention went to the priest to begin the ceremony.

However, Katniss knew he was watching her.

Because this time, Peeta forgot to renounce Satan.

++++++

The Odair Residence

“I brought you some cake.”

Peeta sat next to Katniss on the back steps leading down to the wide backyard of the Odair Home. Inside, the reception continued as servers walked about offering the hundreds of guests champagne and canapes.

No one even noticed the beautiful English-inspired garden outside the double doors—or the two missing godparents.

“They haven’t even started serving the cake,” Katniss replied softly. However, she took a piece from the plate that she was sure was part of the Odair family china.

“I might’ve brought an extra cake,” he told her, leaning back against the steps. “You’ve been crying.” Katniss looked to him in surprise. “Your eyes were shiny when you got to the church and your nose was a little red, like you’ve been sniffling a lot. You can talk to me if you want. I mean, I think our friendship has grown in the last few months.”

It was true.

Since his father’s first appointment, Peeta had become a constant visitor to the clinic, along with Brian. His father’s treatment was a combination of medications and lifestyle changes prescribed by Katniss and Dr. Abernathy. However, every patient usually needed some time to find the best dosage and medication for themselves; it took Brian three months before they found a working regiment.

While his father worked with her and Dr. Abernathy, Peeta had been his father’s constant companion and, after each appointment, they found themselves often talking by the nurses’ station until Brian was ready to leave.

Sometimes, she thought that Brian let them talk a little too long.

Katniss took a deep breath. “Mags died last night.”

“Katniss…I’m so sorry,” Peeta told her sincerely. “I know how much she meant to you and Haymitch.”

Her eyes welled up once more and this time, she didn’t brush the tears away.

“I knew that she was getting worse,” she explained in a thick voice. “But it just happened so suddenly. I was at the nurses’ station charting and she coded…” Her face fell into her hands. “Haymitch and I tried so hard to get her back…but we knew it was over.” She looked up at the man next to her. “I have never seen Haymitch look so defeated.”

She was suddenly engulfed in Peeta’s embrace.

“This all sounds like a good reason to cry. You cared for Mags and so did Haymitch. She will always be a big part of your life and career. She’ll be the patient that you’ll always remember.”

“I knew neurology was going to be hard. It’s all about dealing with the brain. All parts of it…the parts that effect the physical body…the parts that effect emotional parts. But Mags was more than a patient to me. I cared about her and she was my first patient at the institute.”

Katniss groaned into the balmy air in aggravation.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten into something easier? Like obstetrics?” She let out a wet laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard—”

“Prim is pregnant,” he finished for her. “They made the announcement about five minutes ago.”

“I guess this is our magic third,” she told him.

“I hope it’s a boy this time,” Peeta replied. “That way Finnick can freak out over Alice possibly having a future boyfriend.”

Katniss rested against his chest. “That might just cheer me up—a panicked Finnick Odair.” She looked up at him and gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

She was abruptly aware how close they were…how Peeta’s thumb caressed the top of her hand causing a zing of electricity to surge through her body. His nose was nestled in her loose waves and Katniss found herself wishing that he would just—

She liked him.

More than liked him, really.

Katniss could almost imagine herself waking up in the arms that held her; they made her feel safe and loved. She could see a life where they would spend Sundays making bread at the family bakery so that their children could visit Brian and Peeta’s mom Miranda and cheer up their ailing Grandpa. She imagined kisses that made her forget stressful days and conversations that lasted until they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

It all seemed wonderful.

But it wasn’t real.

Also, Peeta didn’t like her like that.

They were friends and they shared godchildren. If it didn’t work out, they would be splitting up the whole group.

She would lose him.

And her heart couldn’t take that.

Slowly, Katniss pulled away.

“We should go back in.”

She rushed away before he could even respond.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

Katniss sat back after examining Brian; he seemed comfortable, his tremors under control. However, he did admit to struggling during workouts. She noted his discomfort but knew that it would be some time before he’d feel stronger.

“I think it’s the combination of medication that’s making you feel so tired,” Katniss told him. “Anyone taking that combination would probably feel the way you do. Give it time and continue working out. However, if you continue to feel this way in a few months, then we should consider looking into other regiments, maybe physical therapy.”

“I agree with Dr. Everdeen. Your symptoms seem to be side effects of your medications,” Dr. Abernathy told the man. “However, I also see a definite improvement with your tremors. Do you have any questions?”

“I do have some questions for you, Dr. Abernathy,” Brian replied.

The doctor nodded before looking to Katniss. “Why don’t you set up Brian’s next appointment up with Peeta?”

“He should be outside,” Brian told her with a smile.

“Nice seeing you, Brian,” she told him before giving him a quick hug. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station as usual.”

Gathering her things, Katniss stepped out into the hallway and found Peeta waiting expectantly for her. He approached as she closed the door, giving her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she said shyly. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“The reception,” he finished, joining her side. “Do you think we could talk…privately?”

“Sure.”

Katniss led him down the hallway towards the opposite end as Peeta followed silently behind her. It had been a little over three months since they had seen one another. She had been busy at the clinic as well helping Prim and Cato move into their new house.

“Brian told me that you’ve taken over a lot of the day to day operations at the bakery,” she said as they walked into an empty conference room.

“Both my brothers were more interested in the business and marketing aspects of the bakery,” he explained. “I enjoy baking and we were able to hire a recent graduate from the Culinary Institute to assist me. Also, my mom is helping out in the front along with Susie, my sister-in-law.”

Closing the door behind her, Katniss went to the counter where a coffee maker and hot water dispenser sat next to a sink.

“Did you want any coffee? Oh wait—you like tea,” she said absently as she filled the dispenser before opening the cabinets. “We have chamomile, black, rooibos—”

“Katniss.” She turned to find Peeta right in front of her and instinctively she pushed back against the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe,” Katniss found herself admitting. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m not good with vulnerability…and feelings, in general. I chose a career where I had to rein that all in.”

“Whether you like it or not, emotions tend to come out,” he replied. “Prime example is Mags. You never reined it in when it came to her, did you?”

“Towards the end I did,” she told him. “I had to introduce myself to her everyday and it broke me every time.”

“Just because you let someone in and it hurt, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let anyone else in,” Peeta pointed out.

Katniss met his eyes. “And by anyone, you mean you?”

“I like you!” he burst out, blue eyes frenzied. “Hell, I might even love you, but you can’t run away because you’re scared.” His hands went to her shoulders. “Katniss, you’re smart…and kind…and beautiful beyond words and I know that I don’t have a chance in hell with you—but I have to try.”

Her chest filled at his words. “You might love me?”

Peeta shook his head. “No, that’s a cop out. I do love you. Even when you hated me, I loved you.”

“I never hated you,” she said. “I might have been annoyed with your tendency to be late…and your complete lack of tact sometimes…and in college, the fact that there was always a different girl on your arm—”

“I tried and failed to compensate for the one person I wanted,” he explained. “All of us…you and me…Annie…Finnick…Gale and Madge…even your sister and Cato are so interconnected. I thought that it would go badly if I even approached you with the intent of becoming more.”

Her hand went to his cheek. “And now?”

Peeta let out a shaky breath. “I will gladly take their wrath just to be with you.”

“I wouldn’t let them hurt you,” she told him quietly. “But I am scared. It could all go to shit in a few months…or a year…or even tomorrow.”

Peeta stepped closer, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks.

“If we just have tomorrow, then we should make it a hell of a day, shouldn’t we?”

Katniss took a deep breath, her eyes tracing over his face and landing at the smoothness of his mouth before she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He beamed. “Okay?” His hands rested against the curves of her waist. “I’m not used to you being so agreeable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured as he gazed at her in soft reverence. “Peeta?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.”

Peeta smirked. “As much as I’d love that, I’ve waited much longer to do this—"

Before Katniss could respond, his mouth swept hers and she felt herself sag into him. Her arms reached around his neck and she anchored herself to the hard planes of his front. His tongue traced against the entrance of her mouth before gently dipping in to caress her own.

A hum escaped her mouth at the taste of him.

Peeta Mellark could be utterly annoying sometimes.

But he was also utterly addicting.

“Ahem.”

They separated quickly, righting themselves before looking to Dr. Abernathy.

“I’ve made Brian’s appointment because I couldn’t seem to find my intern,” he informed the two. His eyes went to Peeta. “However, your father seemed to think that you two needed to talk.”

“I apologize,” she replied breathlessly as she smoothed down her hair. Katniss turned to Peeta, still reeling over what had just happened. “Peeta, I’ll follow up with you about all of this…later.”

“Follow up?” Peeta chuckled before placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.” He went to the door and clapped Dr. Abernathy on the shoulder before stepping out.

Katniss looked to her mentor. “It won’t happen again.”

“Brian really didn’t have any questions,” her mentor informed her as they walked out into the hallway. “But I’m sure Effie will. She will never let it go if you and your boyfriend don’t come to dinner next weekend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she told him. The man eyed her. “At least, I’m not sure if he is.”

“With a kiss like that, I’m pretty sure he is,” Dr. Abernathy said. “I’m happy for you.”

Katniss felt her face heat. “Thanks.”

“And, I think that Dr. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark would look very impressive on your office nameplate.”

She whipped around at him. “What?”

“When your internship is complete, I’m offering you an official spot here,” he told her with a grin.

For the first time in her professional career, Katniss hugged her boss.

++++++

The Baptism of Lennox James Sloan

“Aren’t you worried?” Madge turned to Prim, who held her son. “The service is starting in five minutes.”

“I know my sister,” Prim insisted. “She’ll be here.”

“Yes, but Katniss has been a little off these past few months,” Annie added. “Kind of distracted.”

The women stood up front while Finnick, Gale, and Cato sat in the first pew along with the Everdeens and Sloans.

“She’s fine—” The slamming shut of the church doors cut her off and the subject of their discussion hurried in along with Lennox’s godfather. “—I told you she’d be right on time!”

“Sorry!” Katniss stopped at the first pew as Peeta helped her out of her coat, revealing a peach dress that brightened her complexion. “Got caught up—”

“We expect this from Peeta,” Finnick joked. “But this is a first offense for you.”

Katniss blushed, stepping up to join the girls. Peeta followed along as Prim handed Lennox to him.

“I overslept,” she explained. “My alarm didn’t go off—here let me fix your tie, Peeta—or I slept through it.” Peeta quickly turned to Prim to give Lennox back and she gave him a quick smile as he gently placed her son in her arms.

Katniss removed the tie, smoothing it out before placing it back around the collar of Peeta’s button down. The group gawked at the fluidity of it as Katniss created a Windsor knot before patting down the collar.

“I’ve hardly gotten any sleep,” she continued distractedly, her hands brushing at Peeta’s suit jacket.

Prim couldn’t help but grin.

Katniss had insisted on keeping her and Peeta’s relationship a secret until after the Lennox’s baptism.

However, in one obviously intimate gesture, Katniss had revealed their secret.

“And, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Cato asked as he joined them along with Gale and Finnick.

He grinned wickedly at his sister-in-law.

Of course, Prim had to tell her husband that the relationship he knew would happen eventually had actually come to fruition. She didn’t know which one of them was happier.

“I’ve been…reading,” she grounded out. “A lot.”

“Then you must be reading until you can’t keep your eyes open,” Cato replied, and Prim elbowed him.

Katniss looked at him in confusion. “Um…yeah?”

Peeta turned to Katniss, his blue eyes shining at her.

“I’m sure Katniss is an avid reader. Probably one of those readers who won’t stop until they’ve finished.”

Cato grimaced. “Gross.”

“What the hell am I missing?” Gale asked.

Madge finally caught on and so did Annie, both discreetly high fiving in celebration.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” his wife assured him. “Let’s go take our seats.”

The priest entered and Prim and Cato went to greet him.

Katniss and Peeta joined them, the latter’s hand not-so-discreetly on the small of Katniss’s back, his thumb caressing the spot as they listened to the man’s instructions.

Gale’s eyes widened in realization and he turned to the group, his grin wide.

“I call godfather!”

FIN.

#Baptism #Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #Everlark one-shot #godparents!Everlark

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theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Silvaze Pirate AU: Present or Plunder

I’ve had this for a while, I always thought Silvers powers would be capable of creating a great ghost ship. I hope you enjoy!

"Your majesty, are you certain this is the best course of action?" Gardon, an elderly Koala who served as the royal retainer, whispered to his young ruler. "Forgive my saying this seems a little… blunt? A little too direct perhaps, would you disagree?"

Blaze the cat, the sole monarch of Sol, stood at the bow of a warship; eyes locked on a horizon obscured by mist. Eight of her ships and, if reports were to be believed, countless pirate vessels had undergone a plundering described by many supernatural. Due east of Southern Isle, a few miles from the common trade route, was an area prone to thick fog yet strong winds. When the wind was right merchant ships, desperate to meet deadlines, often took this sub-route in hopes of making up for lost time. No one had been injured, the ships went undamaged, but whenever her vessels had entered the fog an ultimatum allegedly sounded. It was best described as a demand for tribute, the choice to throw their valuables to the depths or have phantasmal light seize them. Regardless of the truth, to steal from vessels bearing her flag was a declaration of war.

"Blunt as it may be, they only attack singular ships; we cannot bring our naval might. I want to put an end to this nonsense as quickly as possible. I'll prove this is a pirate front, apprehend the perpetrators and drag them home for trial." She'd spoken plainly, focused on the task at hand rather than formality, as was often the case.

"Of course your highness, forgive me." The old man lowered his head, regalia jangling as he bowed. "You know I worry."

"I'm aware, though, regardless of the reason for this venture," Blaze spared him a glance, the faintest outline of a smile graced her lips, "It is nice to be outside castle grounds. Especially on less serious business." Though Gardon was Blaze's most trusted advisor he'd practically raised her and that, naturally, came with some baggage. He was the closest she had to a parent, she the closest he had to a daughter and yet she was his ruler. "Do drop the titles, while we're out here at least."

He sighed, resuming his usual high shouldered and stiff posture. "If you insist. Shouldn't be long till we breach the fog, are you prepared?"

Free of her kingdom the feline had shed her royal garb and a far more comfortable outfit had taken its place. A purple long coat, adorned with silver buttons bearing the royal insignia, obscured a white dress shirt. A pair of cavalier boots protected her feet while matching black tights shielded her legs. For fighting her foes, two swords hung at Blaze's waist. They were simple sabres, designed for duelling rather than combat, but her aim was always to subjugate rather than kill. She could, of course, rely upon the curse that ran in her blood but that came with repercussions. If those pirates came to trial branded the news would travel far and fast, dissuading other pirates but terrifying her people. They wanted a princess who'd rule them justly, not some demon sat on the throne.

"I won't know until I face them, will I?" As she spoke, turning fully to Gardon, she found his form faintly obscured. Despite her efforts, the fog had crept up on them. "Ideally this vessel serves as my transport but, if I fail, it's armed for a reason. Have the crew ready themselves, the so-called ghost ship should soon be upon us."

With less than a second's hesitation, the koala turned and began to roar orders in a voice the stark opposite that prior. Blaze heard footsteps pound across the deck and the sounds of heavy canons being rolled into place, all the while her gaze was fixed ahead; awaiting whatever form dared emerge from it. Her fur bristled against the salty wind, ears flickering as she tried to identify any shapes in the fog or hear something besides the crashing of waves.

She folded her arms, brow furrowing at her wasted effort, and turned to the stern of the ship. Despite the mist's attempt to obscure them, she saw men and women stood ready; twenty individuals discounting herself and Gardon. No lives had been taken in prior raids, but had these pirates faced such adversity? Twenty-one soldiers, each prepared to die for their princess, but ultimately; they were twenty-one lives she sought to protect. She'd trained since she could walk but it'd been months since she last truly fought and her presence alone likely wouldn't dissuade her foes, not without some show of power. Perhaps unleashing her curse would be enough; showing those pirates something truly supernatu-

Blaze lurched backwards, the wind had dropped from the sails… no, it was more than that. She cast her eyes up to them only to find they'd fully furled, the ropes that once held them were swaying as if caught in a gale; floating beyond the reach of her crew. Waves broke against the hull of the ship and yet it refused to rock. Before she could turn, Blaze sighted her shadow cast in eerie light; a pulsing blue glow that stretched her shade to its utmost lengths before returning it to its regular shape. Hands at her sword hilts Blaze spun on her heel, jaw shut tight as she steadied herself through bewilderment. The white miasma had been cast cyan; ghostly light shone from her own ship's hull as though it had been slathered in ectoplasm. But that couldn't be the case; it had to be some trick! She racked her mind; it had to be some weather phenomena or a trick of the lig-

"Present or Plunder?" The ultimatum was dealt, a booming voice echoed from the fog. But it was no ghostly moan nor haunting shriek, it was the voice of a regular person. This had to be a trick; it simply had to be!

Flinching at her own hesitation the princess turned back, drawing her swords lest the fool could see her. "You are no privateer! What right do you have to plunder? Pirates shall be punished to the full extent of the law! Surrender lest I drag you from your ship, repent and your lives will be spare!"

Silence swept over the sea, the wind did not whistle and her crew refused to move. Blaze knew she had chosen her words well, her voice was known throughout the land and, furthermore, she had given clear warning. No sailor, on their ship or hers, could claim she hadn't been merciful; other countries would have fired into the fog without hesitation.

The pirate's response was clear. "You have chosen Plunder. Your goods are forfeit. Cast your treasures into the depths or I will take them myself."

"Ready the cannons!" With her word Blaze drew her cutlasses, amber eyes sharpened in an attempt to cut through the fog. Unable to see, she shouted again. "You face the crown! Without surrender, there will be no mercy!"

As her first demand hadn't been met, Blaze doubted her opponent would reconsider but that shout was more intended to bolster her crew. To those of weaker minds and dispositions, this would seem like the attack of an adult. Whatever phenomena caused this ethereal light would, undoubtedly, cause the disappearance of their belongings; she just had to determine how and why.

Just as she began to ponder it, Blaze felt herself grow lighter; there was a tugging at her fingertips. It took but a moment to react but her grasp tightened as a bizarre blaring noise swept across the ship, it sounded like the moan of an alien whale. An invisible force had grabbed hold of her swords and (tug as she might) was refusing to let go; the pirates were trying to steal her swords from her very grasp. Digging in her heels, the feline's fangs came to bear. There was a scream behind her, she heard someone cry the word ghost, her bolstering had been for nought; she had to help them!

Irritated but unwilling to part with her swords, her curse bubbled to the surface; blistering flame were leaking from the mark on her back. Soon fire danced across her shoulders and wove its way along her arms, quickly arriving at her hands. With a roar and a final heave, those flames shot up her sword and tore away whatever had grasped them; allowing the princess to quickly return the blades to their sheathes and lock them in place. Despite having learned from this interaction, she was still puzzled. There was no hand grasping at her blades, yet they had been pulled away from her. Perhaps it was a bizarre magnetic phenomenon? If utilised correctly, that could explain her sabres being taken… but then why wasn't the metal on her clothes reacting and why had her flames-

Above the clamour Blaze heard Gardon yell out; "Your majesty! Come quickly!" But as she turned the feline found the fog had grown thicker still, her crew reduced to dark shapes moving within the cyan tinted clouds.

She dropped from the ship's head, racing across the deck and toward the largest cluster of ship hands. Though her journey was quick, with each and every step new shapes appeared through the miasma. Objects wear tearing themselves from the deck and floating toward the sky. Blaze heard koalas cry out as they were robbed of their swords, she heard the sounds of metal clattering and the deck creaking as it was relieved of strain. Following the elder's shouts, she managed to reach him; only half visible through the miasma.

"There's no gold on the ship so they're taking our weapons!" Gardon cried out, clinging to a koala as they clang to a cannon that was starting to float away.

"I've got it!" Blaze shouted, hardly even thinking as she clambered and swung her way up and atop the canon. Despite their combined mass, the cannon still hung in the air. She'd intended to set both it and herself alight when a thought dawned upon her. "Let go, both of you!"

"Blaze! What are you doing?!" Her elder subordinate yelled.

"Clearly we can't stop them stealing from us, whatever they're doing it's spread too far and they've already claimed too much!" She called back. "But, if they hope to steal our weapons, I'll make sure they get more than they bargained for!"

The koala quickly understood, she watched him open his mouth to shout again only for it to close. His eyes shut tight. "Are you sure about this?"

She wasn't, she was doing this on a whim, but she wasn't going to let that show. Steeling her brow and locking her swords beneath the weapon's barrel, further securing herself to it, she turned from him and gave one last shout. "Of course I am, let go!"

There was a final moment of hesitation, but she felt the canon shift higher into the air. She glanced back to the koalas only to find they'd vanished from view, her ship followed suit as she flew beyond its bow. She could make out other canons as she flew but, beyond that, the shape of their plundered weapons was beyond discerning. They'd travelled light, bringing canons, flintlocks and a few dozen swords. Considering the goods they'd plundered from her fleet alone, this was barely a drop in the bucket. Eventually, the smog started to thin and soon she could see that same eerie light ahead.

The enemy was anchored in the eye of the fog cloud, as she drew closer the clear zone granted her a perfect view of both her stolen goods and the ship. The tales of a ghost ship seemed a magnitude truer as it came into view; the vessel's sails were tattered and its hull was punctured in several places. The same blue light that had plundered her ship seemed to coat this boat's entirety, making it hard to identify the hull's shape; let alone any identifiable markings. What little Blaze could see was jagged and broken; it seemed that little more than the glow and great clumps of barnacles were holding the ship together. Rationally, logically, it shouldn't have been able to float, let alone sail.

But, beyond the state of the ship, something far more confusing caught her eye. Despite its state, beneath the rot and the damage, this ship was so very familiar to her. The sail bore the royal crest, despite the state the sails; Blaze could make out seven emeralds emblazoned upon them. The ship's figurehead was familiar too, a crowned feline with a single outstretched arm (now merely a stump), and even the ship's scale was so very familiar to Blaze. It was damaged, almost beyond the point of recognition, but this ship was so very similar to the one she'd just left. Her ship, her family's ship, the one of a kind ship that'd been constructed almost one hundred years ago; The Sunflower. Whatever trick these thieves were playing, it was getting stranger by the moment.

This bizarreness was compounded as Blaze watched the first of her weapons approach the desk, a swarm of ten or fifteen cutlasses. Before they could make contact with the deck, Blaze watched as the wood panelling cracked and buckled upward to create a wide crevice. The swords flew in without hesitation; over the hum of glowing energy Blaze manage to hear them clatter against something. As more and more equipment vanished into the hole, it became apparent Blaze's cannon would soon do the same. From her position atop the barrel she was free to look down, the hull was half-full with shining objects; among the swords and flintlocks were copper trinkets, necklaces and coinage.

Before the deck could engulf her, only half expecting it'd bear her brunt, Blaze leapt from the canon; landing on the deck, a few metres from the opening. The wood, held in place by that blue light, was secure to stand on; it didn't even creak beneath her. A cursory glance to her surroundings gleamed little more than what she'd already noticed. This ship, despite how damaged it looked, was a mirror of her own. Eventually the last of her ship's weapons vanished into the hull and, like the doors to a cellar, the frayed wooden boards returned to their prior position; the deck had mended itself. Now alone on this supposed ghost ship, Blaze couldn't deny there was an eeriness in the air. The sooner she got to the bottom of this, the sooner she found whoever had made that demand, the better.

As she started to walk, the princess realised she wasn't actually stepping on the deck. The touch of her heel against the floor made a bizarre sparking noise and, despite the boards being uneven and broken, it was as though she was stepping on solid, flat, concrete. The light was creating some kind of barrier between her and the ship, preventing her from touching the decrepit wood beneath. Alike her own when it entered the fog, this ship refused to rock with the tide too; hanging in place, unaffected by the waves. Further adding to the eeriness, the deck was lifeless. Not a single crewmember was present and, search as she might, Blaze could find no signs of daily life. There was no mess; no bags left unattended and no sign of sailors' tools (no spyglasses, no ropes and, most astonishingly, no weapons). Beneath the cyan barrier, the deck looked filthy; no fewer than ten generations of barnacles and limpets lined the hull.

Her denial had started to waver; these supernatural sights were growing too great in number. Loot had flown through the air, this ship was floating despite being decrepit and it seemed to sail without a crew. There was no natural explanation for this; it was either the work of some miraculous gadgetry or the rumours were-

After biting her tongue Blaze screamed out. "What need does a ghost have of weapons and gold? You are no spirit; you are a pirate merely masquerading as the dead to avoid punishment! Show yourself!"

It was not fear but outrage driving her shouts; this farcical ship went against all she had learned. Her family were cursed, powerful yes but feared for their power. Supernatural fire was no plaything, born without a spark or match-strike it was a deadly tool easily mishandled. Regardless of how this power was achieved, its wielder was abusing what she'd been forced to hide. The strong were meant to act sparingly, do what had to be done and no more. If there was a supernatural presence piloting this ship, they were using such power to satiate their greed. It was a misuse of power, a misuse so flagrant it brought Blaze's blood to boil.

"If you will not show yourself willingly, I will force you out!" She drew her swords, igniting the right blade's tip. "Failure to heed my words will result in the immolation of your ship, its plunder included!"

Regardless of who manned this ship, they failed to heed her final warning. With the flick of her wrist, the fire leapt from her blade to the floor, sizzling away at the cyan aura before setting the wood itself alight. Despite her training, she felt her fingers clench around her swords' hilts as she waited for a reaction.

She didn't have to wait for long; her ears flickered as the wood began to buckle behind her. Without hesitation she threw herself forward, leaping toward the mast and turning to face what she anticipated to be a gnashing maw of wood. Instead, the hole remained small; just big enough for her to fall through. Unsettling silence continued to rule, a glance to the deck found her flames were spreading very slowly. The coating on the wood was impeding their propagation.

Her eyes raced back to the hole only to find it sealed, hovering roughly a foot from the deck was a form shrouded in brown burlap. Chains hung from their wrists and the bottom of their tattered cloak, their face was obscured by the shadow of their hood and cyan light flared from a pair of billowing sleeves. This figure had all the trappings of a ghost; there was no denying that.

The whole ship seemed to shake as they spoke, the surrounding light flared wildly. "You chose plunder and thus your ship was plundered. Leave this ship with a lesson learned, provide me with a gift and your vessel will go untouched. Share this lesson, lest others share your fate."

The feline pointed her swords at this so-called ghost. "You have stolen from my people just as you have stolen from me, those goods are not yours to keep! You have committed piracy and will be sentenced as a pirate, continued resistance will worsen your charge."

The figure seemed to take pause at her resistance. Though their head was obscured and their clothes were billowy, their body language spoke volumes to Blaze. They were floating no higher than a foot from the ground. This being was looking down on her, just as it had talked down to her, and acting as though she was at fault. Acting as though her intrusion on this ship, a ship modelled after her own, was more boorish than his continuous theft.

"If you will not leave willingly, you will be forced to leave," As if to emphasise their point, the figure closed their right fist. Out of the corner of her eye, Blaze watched as ghostly aura smothered her burgeoning flame. "This is your final warning."

"And I have warned you, several times; surrender or I will show you no mercy!" The princess growled back, grip further tightening on her blade's hilts. "You will not hear me submit!"

Again, the figure fell silent. Blaze swore that, beneath his heavy robes, she saw a set of yellow eyes blink and dart around. They weren't attacking her, not yet at least, but they certainly weren't surrendering. The so-called ghost hung there, hands flaring with a light brighter than that on the ship. The longer they hung, stationary in the air, the angrier Blaze found herself growing. It was all so stereotypical; the light, the robes, the chains and even the obscured face. Though she couldn't explain her surroundings, not rationally at least, she half believed the form to be some kind of marionette; a puppet being manipulated by crafty pirates. She didn't dare break her gaze from them but she knew that the crow's nest was overhead, the angle was strange but it didn't seem impossible.

Regardless of what they were, Blaze was at her wit's end. If they would not surrender by choice then there was no alternative. With a hiss behind her breath, Blaze gave up negotiating. "So be it, I'll take you in by force."

The princess began her approach, swords unlit but raised to strike. The puppet shifted slightly in the air, backing away from her. Knowing it'd be a mistake to let him flee, let alone strike first, the feline pounced with both blades drawn over her shoulders. Her attack was successful, her blunted swords had smashed against his shoulder, but it was as though she'd struck stone rather than flesh. Cyan sparks flew from the point of impact as their form was sent careening towards the deck, Blaze thought she'd secured a clean hit but the ground reacted; swallowing them whole and resealing before she could even land.

Alone on the deck again, Blaze tried to corral her frustration. Taking her right blade, Blaze swung it where the hole had formed. Her weapon caught no strings and a glance to the crow's nest revealed no opponents, the robed figured wasn't a puppet.

It wasn't long before the silence was broken; the sound of splintering wood filled her ears. She spun on her heel only to find the figure hadn't remerged. Five planks had sprung from the deck and were rocketing toward her. She managed to knock the first two away but the third shifted mid-flight, it came at her long ways and struck her in the gut but the initial impact wasn't the problem. The plank kept moving, its considerable speed was pushing her back and keeping her feet from the ground; it was attempting to throw her from the ship!

A snarl slipped her throat; flames exploded from her back and quickly chased along her arms. Orange sparks spat and fought with cyan, crackling and exploding before one gave way; her flames ignited the wood. Her heels found the ground, the beam crumbled into ash as the fire consumed both it and the cyan light that held it together.

Before she could understand what she'd done, the remaining two boards were racing toward her; crossed over each other in to create an X. Without so much as a thought, Blaze thrust her right sword forward; her curse rushed across her body and from the weapon's end, flying toward the cross as a bolt of red flame.

The contact was bright and explosive. As she squinted to see, Blaze had prepared her offhand to strike away whatever remained but when the light cleared, only dust and splinters reached her. The wood had been liberated from the cyan hue and either crumbled or burned, too dilapidated to maintain its form.

Again, before she could consider what she'd done, Blaze heard the whir of electric wind and the buckling of wood. Regaining her bearings, she found herself on the starboard bow; only a few metres from the deck's edge. Unable to locate the crackling's source (nor the figure), Blaze started to stalk across the deck; heading towards the mast. She attempted to move quietly, assuming if that person was relying on sound rather than sight, and prepared to ignite at the first sign of movement.

She managed twelve paces before the wood creaked beneath her. Blaze ignited, casting her amber gaze across the deck, but she still couldn't sight her opponent. She quickly shifted the fire to her weapons; cloaking them in orange heat, before taking another, hesitant, step forward. The ship was still wrapped in cyan light, nothing had changed, but she knew her opponent was out there. It was time for a shift, it was time to swap from defence to offence.

Blaze swung her weapons forward and the fire flew from them again, two burning bolts raced from the metal and detonated upon contact with the ship's sail. The thin material was a far better conductor of flame; the fabric began to rapidly ignite. Almost immediately she heard the deck stir but again, glancing to her surroundings, she couldn't locate the figure. By the time her gaze returned to the sail the fire had been extinguished but a large black hole had formed near its centre; her crest had been removed.

Flames were just beginning to engulf her blades when she heard the loudest shifting of wood yet, a cacophonous splintering that was easy to locate. She looked at the peak of the mast and saw the hooded figure, but she didn't have time to focus on them.

The crow's nest had been torn off and broken into pieces, a hail of glowing wood was tumbling towards the deck. There was no time to move, the mass was too great and spread too widely! She engulfed her blades and dug in her heels, bracing for impact rather than even attempting to flee. As rubble came down she slashed with all her might, batting away and atomising a good portion. But the wood came in waves, by the time she'd deflected one the second was upon her. Rubble struck her from all angles, glancing off her shoulders and back. It hurt less than she'd anticipated, the rot had lightened the wood, but the damage wasn't insignificant; the figure's psychic grasp was reinforcing the wood.

As she attempted to rise from her buckled position, Blaze felt her swords slip free from her grasp and clatter across the ground. The electric humming had grown louder again, chains were dangling at the edge of her vision. Despite losing her weapons, Blaze attempted to pounce only for a bizarre feeling to engulf her midsection. Then it spread to her legs, then it spread to her upper body and, before she could react, the guardian was entirely engulfed. Cyan light had fully surrounded her; she couldn't move and she couldn't see but she could breathe.

Surrounded by the light, having watched the figure conjure it, she could no longer act as though it was a natural phenomenon. It didn't feel like she was being crushed, the hold itself was painless, but Blaze knew how dire her position was. This was a power like hers; this was a curse. At best; she was going to be flung back to her ship, at worst; she'd been taken hostage. But, just as she believed hope was fading, a thought dawned upon her.

"I gave you warnings, I asked you to leave. Don't make me force you, I don't want to hurt you." The light obscured their form, but Blaze could make out their outline. The figure was so close. "Remain still and I will return you to your ship, unharmed. Resist and I'll be forced to fight, I don't want to fight you!"

But Blaze wasn't listening to the figure's further ultimatums; she'd come up with a plan. She was preparing to strike. The feline was pooling heat near the small of her back. The cyan light could muffle her flames but, equally, her flames could burn away the light. There was air in here; if she could breathe then she could burn. Whatever this ghostly power was, Blaze knew she could fight it. It meant relying on the power she hated, but it was the only way.

The flames exploded from her back and ignited the light surrounding her, it spat and exploded as her own orange flames came to engulf her entire body. Soon she was totally free from their psychic grasp, she landed on her feet. Looking up at the figure, she caught sight of their face in the light of her flames. He had yellow eyes and, by the state of his muzzle, he was incredibly gaunt; beyond that, she couldn't make out much.

His ghastly light would mute her burning and, as long as she kept control, she wouldn't end up scaring him. This was an opponent she could fight fairly, an opponent she could fight without holding back. Leaping from the deck, Blaze ignited her fists. She didn't speak, she hardly even thought, for this was the time to strike. She lunged up at him, her flames battered against his cyan hue, but this time Blaze struck true; she felt her knuckle contact his chest. The floating man doubled over at that contact, their body was pulled upward and beyond her reach, but that fine. Blaze had hit him once; she knew she could hit him again.

The figure thrust his right hand towards her and, for a moment, Blaze felt the light's pressure on her shoulders. She reignited without hesitation, rending the light from her body and showing him that his method wouldn't work. He had three choices; tear apart this ship fighting her, fight her on his own or give up fighting.

Light flared around her, the debris from the crow's nest began to hover. He'd chosen option one.

Blaze immolated herself, she allowed fire to fully engulf her body and obscure her vision. Her curse's cracking filled her ears, overwhelming the psychic hum. She felt the wood touch her body but the impact was reduced further still, the rotten wood was being ignited and disintegrated before it could even touch her. When the impacts finally ceased and she subdued her flames enough to see, Blaze was alone on the deck. She scanned the sky, he'd vanished again but she knew how to draw him out.

Channelling the fire that garbed her, Blaze formed a fireball more than a foot in diameter. She launched the orb towards the mast but, as it made contact, the fireball detonated and spread; smaller fires split off to surround the smoking central pillar. She watched the inferno swell and spread, slowly creeping across the deck and leaving gashes in its wake. The ship had already been in poor condition, incapable of sailing was it not for the energy engulfing it, but their battle had more thoroughly destroyed it. Psychic energy had glazed over the holes and perhaps made them safe to walk over, but the ship was twice the wreck it'd once been.

The deck creaked, her flames were snuffed and Blaze sighted the so-called ghost in the corner of her vision. She spun and threw an open fist, a smaller fireball shot free of her palm and exploded against his glowing body. "If you don't want to fight, then surrender!"

The figure was sent tumbling backwards, only managing to stabilise himself by dragging his feet along the ground. Blaze bolted after him; not only had he landed, the light had faded from his form! Only his hands were glowing! Blaze pounced at her opportunity, tackling him to the deck and pushing her hands against his collarbone. She'd won! The pirate was within her grasp!

His hood fell as she pinned him, revealing a tangled mess of overgrown quills. Amber eyes met bright yellow before they scanned the rest of his face. Bones were visible through his skin and, were it not for his panting, she would half-believe that he was a corpse. Black bags hung beneath his eyes, as though he'd gone weeks without sleep, and she saw neither resistance nor fear in his eyes. Instead, she couldn't help thinking that he looked regretful.

The moment Blaze caught her breath; she began the interrogation. "Speak your name."

Those eyes shut tight; she felt him tense once more before again flopping loosely in her grasp, seeming to concede to her. She knew better than to trust him though. "M-My name is Silver," That name matched no pirate she knew; his appearance was entirely alien to her too.

"Do you know my name?" She rhetorically asked. "Do you understand the weight of your crimes?"

"I-I understand what I've done but... I know you are a royal, I-I just don't know which one," He bafflingly admitted. "What year is it?"

Her brow hardened further, her pulse was pounding and adrenaline was racing through her. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I don't, I'm telling you the truth!" Blaze leant on him a little harder, even if he looked near death he clearly had the strength to shout. In response, he quietened down but his stutter returned. "I know th-that seems stupid but I really don't know! I know this is the sea of Sol, I know we're the 'Merchant's Tunnel' and your ship is called The Sunflower, its been part of your family for generations, but I really don't know what year it is and I'm not sure who you are."

Maintaining her tight grip, Blaze posed an alternate question, "If you profess not to know my name yet know my lineage then answer me this; who do you think I am?"

"Maybe Percival the Eleventh…?" He answered, before quickly hazarding another guess. "Although, judging by your canons, you might be the Twelfth…?"

Confusion, aided by curiosity, forcibly undercut her ferocity. He looked no older than her, despite his tired and sickly state, and yet he had mistaken her for her elder relatives. She felt her adrenaline begin to abate. "Percival was my grandmother's name and my mother's name but it is not mine."

"W-Wait, y-you're Blaze?" He hadn't called her your majesty, everyone referred to her by royal titles yet he had failed to both upon first addressing her and now; having identified her. Against her better judgement, her grip on his burlap slacked. "If you're Blaze then it's almost too late! I-I thought I was at least half a century earlier!"

Feeling him begin to panic, slipping loose of her grasp, Blaze quickly realised her folly. She pressed further down on him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the entirety of her thin frame pushed to pin him. "I said not to move!"

Pain broke across his brow, his eyes shut again. "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I-I-I…" He froze up, a brief silence followed his stutter. When he reopened his eyes the beginnings of tears had formed. "There's a lot I can tell you, but I don't think you'll believe me."

Blaze felt something in her chest (some hint of compassion perhaps) but, being her royal self, she knew to quash it. She distracted herself by further taking in his person, difficult as that was at such close proximity. The longer she stared the thinner and more ragged he appeared; she'd never seen anyone quite like him. Few citizens lived poorly in her kingdom, fewer still that she saw first hand, but he bordered on being malnourished. Hedgehogs were rare in the kingdom too, but the layout of his quills was simply bizarre and perhaps a result his overgrowth. His physical body was intriguing but not as intriguing as his curse. Though the light had weakened around the ship it still brightly flickered from his palms. Upon closer inspection, seeing how the light refracted through his mucky gloves, she determined those circular marks dyed his flesh rather than his gloves or fur. Somehow, a curse had affixed itself to him.

She waited a few moments longer before resuming, allowing them both some respite. "Where did you steal this power from?" She noticed her voice was sapped of its commanding venom. "Abilities like ours aren't meant for mortals, what foolish occult pact did you make?"

"M-My blessing? I've always had it," Silver claimed. "I've been psychic for as long as I can remember, I-I guess I just got lucky, like you did?"

"Like I di-

She hadn't dared to think of her curse as a blessing, let alone say it. No one ever had, not even Gardon. While in some ways his words made sense, her power kept her kingdom protected, but fear of it separated her from the masses. Still, though her brow furrowed further, that feeling in her chest grew, glowing kindling of compassion. At the very least, he wasn't all bad. This hedgehog hadn't tried to kill her despite resisting, he hadn't fought until she'd attacked him and he'd submitted after she'd defeated him. He seemed to be under some kind of delusion rather than being intentionally malicious. All of a sudden, her grip on him felt a lot looser. Try as she might to smother it, that kindling of compassion was growing brighter. As far as she knew, he hadn't claimed a single life; he hadn't even harmed a single seaman.

A sigh slid passed her lips. "I'm going to let go, you can sit up but do not move from that spot." Quickly deciding she was being too limp-wristed with him she quickly snapped. "I-If you do, my generous demeanour will quickly sour. You'll be back on the deck before you can blink."

His expression softened, as she slid off of the hedgehog he slowly rose to sit beside her; gangly legs poking free of his wrappings and revealing a second set of cuffs. Thin as he was, the hedgehog was almost a head taller than her. "Um… thank you, Blaze."

Neither the terms your majesty nor your highness passed his lips, just Blaze. Again, compassion bubbled in her gut; she felt a strange heat on her face. Being unable to look away, certain he'd capitalise on her weakness, propagated that warmth. She continued the interrogation in hopes of quashing this feeling. "Explain yourself! Why are you out here, why are you stealing from my vessels?"

"W-Well, I don't expect you to believe me but I didn't simply sail out here; at least, I didn't sail out here as you did," He started to explain. "I don't quite understand it myself, but I used this ship to cross a sea of time. I came here from the future."

Before she could even respond, he flinched slightly and his face crumpled. The hedgehog clearly wasn't expecting to be believed and, in truth, he had reason to think that. His claim was ludicrous, but then today had been a ludicrous day. She'd set out expecting to disprove a ghost tale only to find herself face to face with a cursed boy on a decrepit version of her own flagship. At this point, he could say he was an alien and she might have believed him.

A sigh, not far from a grumble, slipped past her lips. "Continue."

"Y-Your kingdom is going to fall. It's going to overtaken by a shadowy puppet-master and his pet monster. They'll shackle your people and work them, to death destroy all who disobey their will." The hedgehog continued to explain. "That's why I'm here, that's why I'm stealing from the past. I'm gathering all I can to rise up against them, give us a fighting chance. I figured that if I stole things from now, he wouldn't have them to use against us then," He quickly listed the types of items he'd stolen. "Weapons, trinkets and valuables; anything that can be used to fight, anything that can be melted down to make weapons and anything we can use for barter."

"That is difficult to believe." Blaze informed him, the strangeness of his tale offsetting her embarrassment. "Though, perhaps, not impossible; if you can provide further explanation. You say you crossed a sea of time to get here, how exactly did you do that?"

"I-I can show you," He offered, before quickly catching himself. "If you'll let me?"

She extended a hand to him, both offering to help him up but setting a rule. "You may stand as long as I hold you. If I release you, then you are to sit. If you flee then you will be made to sit."

Blaze watched a small smile line his lips, she felt his weak grasp and heard the waver return to his voice. "I-I'm not sure I could even stand without you holding me. It's taking all I have left to keep us from sinking…"

This proved true, as she tugged him to his feet he wobbled before stumbling into her. He unleashed an avalanche of apologies like they'd been building up over years but she was too focused on suppressing her blush to care. Her position meant physical contact was a rarity; she'd touched this time travelling pirate more than anyone in recent memory. Not only that but she'd offered her hand to him, pinned him to the deck and now slung his arm around her shoulder. She was initiating this far more than he was.

With his free hand, he pointed her toward the back of the ship, offering what little movement his limp legs would allow. She'd noticed it before, but he really was frail. Admittedly, Blaze hadn't had to hoist someone along like this before but she reckoned that Gardon, who was two-thirds of Silver's height, likely weighed more than him. As she brought her free arm around his waist her fingers struggled to find his form beneath burlap and matted fur. When she did find his side, providing additional support to aid his walking, she felt ribs through his skin. It was the same thinness, the same starvation evident in his pale muzzle. The majority of his weight seemed to be made up of the cuffs binding his extremities, rather than his body. The remains of a broken chain, hanging from both of his wrists, raised both questions and concerns. No wonder his feet were dragging, no wonder he'd flown everywhere, the set on his ankles were even thicker. The hedgehog hadn't flown to condescend her; he flew because he was in pain.

Just as she recalled his mention of her people in chains, the hedgehog began to speak again. He must have followed her gaze. "We're all bound, but those with strength are given stronger bonds. I managed to break the chains myself but I could never get the wrist parts off," As if to emphasise, he gave his wrist a little shake. "I acted as though my power was weak, I hoped if I did they'd leave me alone, but they just pushed me until I showed them more."

"What did they make you do?" Blaze dared to enquire.

"Build, dig…" He began to explain. "They tried to get me to do a lot of things, but I only really did those two. When all seemed lost you brought down the castle, so there was plenty for me to excavate. I-I tried to do it slowly…"

There was pain in the last of his words; Blaze cursed herself for softening further. "While I am glad I made some form of final stand and loosed one last act of defiance." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. She was talking as though she believed him. Well, she did believe him; whether she liked it or not. "You shouldn't have drawn their ire trying to maintain my final effort."

Silver shook his head. "There were a lot of things they wanted in the palace, I never quite understood what or why though. They talked a lot about jewels and emeralds, saying they'd help secure world dominance. I never found any but they were always talking about emeralds, always promising they'd set me free if I found one. I never did but, if I ever did, I'd probably have buried it even deeper."

The mention of emeralds caught more than its share of Blaze's attention and she was about to enquire more when she ears caught the wheeze on his breath, she halted at the cyan light surrounding the ship flickered but quickly returned. The fight had taken most of his stamina but there was a reason that reserve was so low. Not only was he malnourished; he was clearly sick.

"You stole so why not steal food too? Weapons and gold are far more valuable, I assume you'd have no qualms with doing that?" Blaze questioned.

"I-I have from time to time, bits of hardtack and cheese, but," Silver grimaced. "I don't like doing this, I only wanted to steal what I had to. Only what could help those in the future. I wasn't stealing to make myself comfortable, if I stole food it'd go rotten. There's nowhere to keep it on this boat."

There was a difference between being comfortable and healthy but, clearly, this Silver hadn't considered that. Blaze felt another wave of compassion surge through her, she could relate to him in a way she hadn't really related to anyone. He'd taken on this duty without hesitation and fully committed himself to it, working himself to death was stupid, of course, but it was certainly endearing.

Before she could ask more questions, they'd arrived at the ship's cabin.

With the wave of his hand, the door opened. The inside was stripped bare, the inner walls untouched by cyan light, save for a small object near the centre of the room. It looked to be a stone, roughly hexagonal in shape and an inch or two larger than her palm. With a point, a cyan bubble surrounded the rock and brought it up to hover before them.

"I know it doesn't look like much now but when I found it there was a strange light, almost like fire." He reminisced, wheeze hanging on every word. "I figured that meant it was important so I hid it from them, took it with me wherever I went in case they found it. When they had me lift up your ship the stone kind of reacted, the light surrounded both me and boat. We vanished into this weird blue and yellow swirl for a while? I don't know how to really describe it… but we reappeared on an island in the middle of nowhere. Ships passed on their routes and I recognised their symbols from other wrecks I'd pulled up. It took me a while but I eventually pieced it all together."

Blaze plucked the stone from his aura and immediately felt a bizarre sense of familiarity. Its shape was similar to a set of emeralds she knew and Silver's tale lined up with stories she'd heard; the colouration and texture were wrong though. Drawing the claw of her right thumb, she scratched along its black surface. Black, rock-like, dust was freed by her scraping. She had brought down the castle, or so Silver had said, but perhaps that wasn't all she'd done.

"Close your eyes Silver, I'm going to try something."

Once he complied, she set the hand wielding the emerald alight; engulfing the stone in bright orange flames. The response was immediate; what looked to be tar or rock of some nature, was quickly melted away to reveal a vibrant purple beneath. Her assumption had been confirmed confirmed; as the filth was purged a reliquary was revealed. The sight filled her with equal measures of awe and dread.

"Silver, you did find one of the emeralds," She revealed, indicating that he should reopen his eyes. "But this goes against so much of what I know. The emeralds are inert, fables surround them but they've been sealed away for hundreds of years. There has been no reason to call upon them, no cause great enough to draw them out."

"But that means no one has checked on them, right? Maybe something changed and they've started working again?" He questioned.

"The Sol Emeralds only have power during times of crisis. They are a collection of seven reliquaries, capable of performing extraordinary feats of magic. They last showed their power during Percival the First's rule. When her parents were assassinated and she was left to rule alone, a child of only seven years, they aided in her protection; losing their power as she herself grew more powerful," Blaze exposited before turning back to him. "Do you understand what this is? What this means?"

"Not really, you said a lot of really big words, I-I... I really don't know what a reliquary is," He seemed to perk up a little though, a small smile forming as he pointed toward the stone. "That's a Sol emerald though and it's important, right? I got that much. They work in times of crisis and the kingdom being in ruin must have counted as one of those times?"

"You've understood the essentials, this more than proves your story to be true," She briskly walked him from the cabin and back onto the deck, the gravity of the situation still impacting her. "We must depart for my ship and make haste toward the palace."

"Y-You might be able to depart, I can't," Silver's denial forced her to take pause. "I mean, what about the plunder? If I leave this ship, everything will sink to the bottom of the ocean. Some of it might survive but the gunpowder won't and things will start rusting," He described. "And what about everyone in the future, without that stone, I can't get back to them!"

"You told me that my kingdom will fall; that my people will suffer and the skeleton of my castle will be defiled by a tyrant, lusting for weapons of war. I will not let that happen. It is my duty, both as princess and guardian, to protect my people." Blaze thoroughly explained, not daring to waste a word. "I will put your information to good use and prevent this disaster, be it through the defence of my kingdom or caging this puppeteer and slaying his monster. But, with you by my side, I think we can undo this tragedy rather than heal it in post." She continued, throwing him a glance. "You have stolen much from me over these past months but the righteousness of your cause has swayed me."

"Swayed you?" Silver's head tilted, confusion spread across his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You will not be taken to the gallows, instead…" Blaze hesitated. She was dealing with a crisis but, simultaneously, dealing with a person the likes of which she never had before. One who called her by her name and thought her curse was a blessing. Her mind and heart were at war. "Instead you will stay with me, no matter how long this campaign lasts; I want you by my side," Clearly oblivious, he blinked at her. Blaze couldn't maintain her stare; she finally tore her gaze from his gangly frame. "Y-You're so naïve, must I be blunt with you?"

"I think I would appreciate it?" He gulped, very much unfazed by their situation.

"This is most unorthodox, I-I wish to take you…" She scrambled for the right words. "A-As a companion," That term was close, but not quite what she meant. "A partner of sorts, t-to aid me in preventing this travesty. You have acted to protect my people, so I will protect you from the stockade."

"You mean like friends?" He bluntly inquired, "I've not really had many friends, but they're supposed to help each other; aren't they? So if you want to help me and I want to help you…"

Friendship had no place in a princes' life, she'd specifically worded her proposal to avoid that term, but having met the hedgehog's bright yellow eyes; Blaze couldn't refute his offer. "If that is how you'd prefer to word it, yes."

"I think I'd like that a lot," A smile managed to break across his muzzle. "I haven't really had any friends, just people I've met and been separated from. To think my first would be someone so incredible, it's amazing!"

Feeling that heat on her face again, Blaze tried to press on and ignore his embarrassing words. "Are you strong enough for one return trip, to lift me to my ship then pull me back? I need to announce our plan to my crew."

"I-I don't think so, not while keeping The Sunflower afloat," Silver admitted, the weakened glow of his hands acting as proof. "I could sail closer to your ship though? Get you within leaping distance, or shouting distance at the very least?"

The feline allowed herself a small smile. "That will do nicely, thank you."

Blaze felt him shift slightly, the wind began to catch her fur and she heard the ship groan as it began to glide across the water. Soon the fog obscured her vision and the sound of Gardon panicking found her ears, loudening with each passing second. The old man was clearly panicking, he'd be glad to see her in one piece but before that, Blaze gave her new friend another glance. Though Silver claimed he could do this much, even through the fog, Blaze could see that his eyes were clenched shut and his hands were balled. She'd have to stay here with him, prepared to grab him and leap if his power ran out.

Regardless, before he fell, she wanted to say some final words to him. "Silver?"

"Y-Y-Yes?" He was clearly struggling to talk, overwhelmed by psychic strain.

"I'll do all I can to make this right," She promised, hoisting him a little higher and thus bearing more of his weight. "Your efforts won't be for nought, I will defend my kingdom."

"I-I'm far from done Blaze," Tired as he was, steely determination returned to his voice. His tone wasn't dissimilar to when he'd made his demands. "We'll make this right, together," The feline tightened her grip on him.

She'd found an ally, one she already trusted unlike any she'd made prior, but the guardian doubted her care alone would shield him. His power would prove useful, his knowledge and kindness would too, but the curse affixed to his hands would draw prying eyes and dangerous parties. Rumours would swirl like a maelstrom, engulfing both her and the hedgehog. Blaze knew she would have to hide him from her own people; if they'd fear her for embracing her powers then they'd surely fear his blessing.

This wasn't going to be easy, sneaking him into the castle would be difficult (let alone keeping him safe and hidden there), but Blaze was determined to help her new companion. As the ghost-ship drew closer to its past counterpart, the many mysteries this venture had uncovered started to nag at the princess. Who was this puppet master and where had they come from, how had they overwhelmed the entirety of her armada and when would they strike? Were her people in danger now or did they have a few more years to prepare? Only one thing was certain, the moment her feet touched the shore she would start preparing. Her words couldn't be mere consolation, Silver's efforts wouldn't be for nought; they were going to make this right.

#silvaze #Blaze the Cat #Silver the Hedgehog #sonic au

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starrystarrybabe · 5 years

Text

Oh, How the Mighty Fall [In Love] CHAPTER ELEVEN (Ben Hardy x OC)

Lily Anne Mercury is brought in to help with Bohemian Rhapsody at the request of her Uncle Bri and Uncle Rog, and along the way, she might meet someone to share her life with. The only problem with this is that while their friends and the world can see that they’re perfect for each other, they’re going to be fully blind to this for a while.

DISCLAIMER: I’m fully aware that it would’ve been physically impossible for Jim and Freddie to have a child even with this method during the time they were alive, but the idea of Freddie as a dad and the idea of how his child would turn out to be was just too sweet for me to not write.

So sorry for the long ass wait! I went through a rut and real life became too much, and I finally got the chance to continue today. I got to school two weeks ago, so a lot is happening.

CHAPTER ONE, CHAPTER TWO, CHAPTER THREE, CHAPTER FOUR, CHAPTER FIVE, CHAPTER SIX, CHAPTER SEVEN, CHAPTER EIGHT, CHAPTER NINE, CHAPTER TEN

Triggers: none that I noticed

FACECLAIMS:

Kelly Gale as Lily Anne Mercury

Sira P. Kante as Ezichi Adebayo

Erika Linder as Bronwyn Ryan-Hughes

Bree Kish as Madigan Ryan-Hughes

Sonakshi Sinha as Anusha Laghari

Lily has been feeling exceptionally nauseous and moody these past few days, and now she knows why since it is typical for the second month of pregnancy to be the time morning sickness, food aversion, and a host of other unsavory symptoms to arrive. This particular morning, she awakens from her slumber and runs to her en suite bathroom, vomiting up last night’s Indian food. She groans as Katie opens the door and comes inside.

“I guess I should say congratulations, Lily,” Katie says, getting her a glass of water.

Lily groans and gargles before weakly spitting into the toilet and flushing it. She presses her cheek to the cold toilet seat and smiles at her assistant. “Thank you, Katie. I appreciate it.”

“Can I get you anything to eat before today’s rehearsal? Any tea? You shouldn’t drink coffee while pregnant.”

Lily sits up slowly and sighs. “I’ll take a chocolate croissant and an earl grey tea with two sugars. Buy yourself something to eat as well, love. Whatever you want, it’s on me.”

“But--”

Lily waves dismissively. “I know, I know. You’re not a charity case, my dear. Just let me treat you this once, please. It’s the last day of the tour and you’ve been a trooper.”

Katie sighs. “Of course, Lily. I’ll be right back with your breakfast.”

When Katie leaves, Lily gets out of the bathroom and flops into bed, curling up under the plush comforter. Her phone buzzes, and she picks it up to see that Ben is trying to FaceTime her. She presses the accept button and smiles weakly at him.

“Hello, love. How are you?” He asks, looking concerned. “You look pale.”

She sighs, moving to a more comfortable position. “I had my first bout of morning sickness just five minutes ago. It was disgusting.”

Ben nods, looking down before meeting her eyes again. “But… doesn’t morning sickness mean the child is healthy?”

She nods, smiling. “Yep. Little Baby Jones is developing as he or she should.”

Ben smiles, letting out a little laugh. “Little Baby Jones?”

She grins. “Do you like that? The band came up with it and I thought it sounded lovely.”

Ben nods, running a hand through his hair. “Little Baby Jones. I love it.”

Ryan Reynolds comes up behind Ben and grins into the camera. “Hi. Sorry to intrude, but congratulations, you two!”

Ben is on set for reshoots today, just for a few scenes with Ryan.

Lily grins. “Thank you, Ryan. How’s Blake’s pregnancy going?”

Ryan shrugs. “Just like the last two. She’s a bit mad at me right now because the kid won’t stop kicking, but she’ll get over it.”

Ben laughs and looks to Lily. “Surely you won’t blame me for when Little Baby Jones kicks.” He looks fearful. “Right?”

Lily purses her lips. “I’ll be very hormonal. Don’t hold your breath, Hardy.”

Ben nods and Ryan claps him on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright. Just change all the diapers the first week after she gives birth and she won’t be angry anymore.”

Lily smiles. “I like that idea! Very clever, Ryan.” She smiles at Ben. “I’ll let you two go now. Break a leg!”

Ben smiles at her when Ryan leaves to go to his trailer. “I love you, Lil. See you tonight.”

She smiles back at him. “I love you too, Ben. I can’t wait to get home.”

Lily yawns, exhausted as she exits the car and walks back to her home. She holds her travel pillow in one hand and has her backpack in the other, and shuffles through the door to see a fresh vase of roses and lilies with a handmade sign in Ben’s handwriting, saying “Welcome home, Lily!” She smiles sleepily and crouches down as Reykja and Frankie jump on her to kiss her, wearing new collars that have bow ties on them. She scratches their heads as the security detail puts her suitcases in the foyer, and closes her eyes, holding the pups in her arms, moving to sit on the ground.

“I missed you too, babies. Mama has gifts for both of you, don’t worry.” She kisses the pups and smiles.

The security detail leaves and locks the door behind them, and she hears a welcome voice as she opens her eyes.

“Do you like their bow ties? I thought you’d appreciate it,” Ben says, leaning against the wall of the foyer wearing gray sweats and a loose blue sweater.

Lily looks up at him, nodding. “I do appreciate it. They’re ready for the Met Gala.”

Ben laughs and helps her up before hugging her tightly. Lily breathes in the scent of his cologne, her face pressed up against his sweater, and relishes in his warmth. His hand travels to her back, fingers splayed against the oversized sweater that was once his, and he closes his eyes.

“I missed you,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Same here,” she replies. “It’s lonely at night without you next to me. You’re my favorite pillow.”

He smiles, looking down at her. “I just washed the sheets and am ready to be a human pillow.”

She looks up with a tired smile. “How’d I ever get so lucky?”

He gives her a peck before pulling away from her to bring up her backpack. “You earned me, and I earned you, somehow.”

She scoffs. “You would be a gift to anyone, Ben. I’m the lucky one in this relationship.”

Ben looks at her and raises a brow. “What did I say about you putting yourself down?”

She purses her lips. “That I shouldn’t do it and you love me?”

He kisses her forehead. “That’s right.”

They go upstairs to their bedroom, and Ben smiles as Lily flops face-first onto the bed, the dogs jumping up to lick her face. He shoos the dogs away, and helps her roll onto her back, positioning her to lay on her pillow. Frankie and Reykja sniff the air before moving to lick Lily’s stomach, and she smiles at the sight.

“They know,” she says, scratching their heads. “You two will have a little sibling to protect. Isn’t that exciting?”

The pups snuggle into her stomach protectively, and Lily smiles at Ben, who moves them to the foot of the bed in order to cover her with the duvet and curl up around her, one hand resting on her stomach. She places her own hand over his and closes her eyes.

“When should we tell everyone the news?” Ben asks, kissing her shoulder.

Lily shrugs. “I think at the party in two days. It would be a good surprise for everyone, and we wouldn’t have to make the announcement more than twice.”

Ben nods, holding her closer. “We should visit my parents to tell them about the baby.”

She turns around, fear in her eyes. “I’ve only ever FaceTimed with you and your parents, and the first time I meet them you’re just going to drop the ball that I’m pregnant?”

Ben nods slowly. “I mean, is there any other way to do it at this point? We shouldn’t wait any longer.”

She sighs, closing her eyes. “What if they don't like me and think I tried to trap you in a relationship with this child?”

Ben shakes his head, kissing her forehead. “They don’t think that, Lily. They trust my judgment, and if I thought we weren’t going to stay together for a good long time, I would have asked you to reconsider if you wanted the baby or not.”

She raises a brow. “A good long time? Is that your way of saying forever?”

Ben takes a moment before nodding. “I guess so. I really hope you feel the same way because you’re never getting rid of me.”

She smiles and pulls him down for a kiss. “You’re the best annoyance I could ever have.”

He kisses her and laughs, curling up next to her contently.

Lily twists the ring on her finger nervously as Ben drives them over to his parents’ house two hours away in Bournemouth. They’re thirty minutes away, and Lily has bought onesies for her baby’s grandparents to tell them the news.

Ben looks over at his nervous girlfriend and puts a hand on hers, prompting her to look over at him. She holds his hand, and he brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently.

“Everything will be okay, love. I promise you that they will be happy and supportive,” he reassures her.

She smiles at him weakly. “I hope so. I want your parents to like me. I know they’ll like their grandchild, because Little Baby Jones is half you. I’m not worried about that. Hopefully them liking the baby will make them like me, since I’m making the baby.”

Ben lets out a little laugh. “You’re overthinking it, love.”

She sighs deeply and nods. “I know. Sorry.”

Ben smiles and as they hit a red light, leans over to kiss her cheek. “They’ll love you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

She smiles at Ben as he begins driving again. “How are you feeling about all this?”

Ben takes a deep breath. “I’m excited. My mum can’t wait to meet you, and my dad is happy that I found someone who loves me just as much as I love them. They already like you. I think they’ll be shocked and happy about Little Baby Jones, but ultimately, supportive.”

She nods. “Even if they aren’t, I’m betting on Roger crying tomorrow when he finds out, and that will fill me with joy.”

Ben lets out a huff of laughter. “We’re videoing their reactions, right? I feel like we should.”

She nods. “Definitely. We should make home videos for Little Baby Jones. Freddie did it for me while he was still alive. Jim kept it up, but his camera work was shoddier than Freddie’s.”

Ben smiles, imagining his child grow up, and being able to show them videos of themselves as a baby. It’s so cute he almost cries. He kisses Lily’s hand.

“We should look for good cameras online and get one as soon as possible,” he tells her, and she grins at him, kissing his cheek.

Ben rings the doorbell with one hand and holds Lily’s hand in the other, squeezing it as he hears his mother run towards the door, calling out to his father to turn off the television and greet his son. The door opens and Lily is faced with a short woman with blonde hair and Ben’s eyes, and a smile that could light up a dark room. She gasps as she sees Lily and brings her in for a hug, and Lily is surprised, but reciprocates the gesture.

“Oh, Lily! It’s so nice to meet you in person!” She pulls away, pushing some hair out of Lily’s face. “I’ve heard so much about you from Ben. You’re even more beautiful than he described you to be.”

Lily smiles at a flushed Ben whose eyes are very interested in the ground and turns back to Ben’s mom. “I certainly hope he only told you the good things about me. The tabloids will tell you the rest.”

Ben’s mom turns to her son and pulls him down, kissing his cheek. “Oh, he adores you, Lily. He’s never been so excited to tell me that he got a girlfriend.”

Lily grins, and watches as Ben hugs his mom. The woman waves them inside, and as Lily enters the humble home, her boyfriend is embraced by his father, who has the exact same nose as him, and even though he’s turning gray, she can still see some brown curls.

After hugging his son, Ben’s dad turns his attention to Lily and smiles. “Finally Ben brings you over! He’s been talking about you for months.” He hugs Lily and pats her on the back.

“I’m sorry it took this long to meet you! It’s just been hectic for me, work-wise,” Lily replies, smiling at the man.

Ben’s dad nods. “You just got back from a huge tour, didn’t you?”

Lily nods. “Yep! A huge North American tour. It was exhausting but amazing.”

Ben’s mom leads them to the dinner table and they sit down to eat a homecooked meal.

After a hearty dinner and a wonderful conversation that has brought Ben’s parents and Lily closer together, Ben squeezes Lily’s hand. She looks over at him and raises a brow.

“Do you want to give them their gifts now?” He asks.

She nods, and watches as he hands over the presents to his confused parents.

Ben’s mom frowns. “What is this? You didn’t have to bring us presents.”

Ben gestures to the bags. “Open it and you’ll see.”

The parents open the bags at the same time and pull out the onesies, going quiet in shock. Ben’s mom looks like she’s about to cry, and his dad’s jaw has dropped and won’t come back up.

Lily takes a deep breath. “The reason this visit was on such short notice is that I wanted you two to meet me before our relationship progressed and the press found out I’m pregnant. I realize everything has moved very fast, but I promise you that my feelings for your son will not fizzle out. We spent so long waiting for the right time to confess that we wasted ten months on useless pining, and even though this baby came rather quickly--”

“Was it planned?” Ben’s mom asks, looking at Lily.

Ben shakes his head. “Not at all. You know I wouldn’t decide to have a child with someone just a few months into dating them. We were careful, but this happened, and we decided that we should keep the baby.”

His mom smiles, wiping away tears. “How far along are you?”

Lily smiles at her. “I’m about two months along. I don’t know exactly how old Little Baby Jones is, but based on my symptoms and the timing of things, that’s my guess.”

Ben’s dad clears his throat and wipes away tears. “I’ll need to see if they make baby-sized rugby jerseys.”

Ben looks over at his parents. “You’re not mad or shocked?”

Ben’s mom shakes her head. “Oh, we’re shocked, alright. But mad? Love, you found the perfect woman for you and now you’re making a family with her. How could we possibly be mad about that?”

Ben’s dad looks over at Lily and smiles. “You’re an amazing person, Lily. It is an honor to have you become a part of our family.”

Lily smiles and nods. “I’m glad that I can be a part of it.”

Ben’s mom gasps. “Oh!”

Ben turns to face his mother. “What is it, mum?”

She grins. “The baby will be here for Christmas! Oh my lord, my little grandbaby will be able to be a part of the Christmas celebration!”

Ben’s dad nods and looks at the young couple across from him. “If you two feel up to driving over for Christmas, please do. The whole extended family will be here, and they’ve been waiting for Ben to settle down with a nice woman and have a child. We all have. Little did we know that we’d be sharing the grandparent title with Freddie Mercury.”

Lily laughs. “We’re going to tell Brian and Roger and the rest of the BoRhap cast tomorrow about the baby. My bandmates already know because they helped me get the tests on the road.” She grins. “I was planning on having Brian and Roger also be grandparents for this baby.”

Ben’s dad leans back, smiling and holding the onesie. “Never thought I’d meet Queen, and now they’re gonna be part of my family.”

Ben’s mom smiles fondly at Ben and Lily. “This is amazing news, you two. Congratulations. You’ll be amazing parents.” She bashfully looks down. “However, if you need a weekend off, we will gladly take the little one and babysit them for you two.”

Ben lets out a laugh and wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders. “We’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

On the car ride home, Lily smiles and holds Ben’s hand, her other on her stomach. She’s so happy that his parents like her, and even happier that they cannot wait to meet their grandchild.

The next day, Lily sets up a camera in a houseplant, and Ben makes sure all the gift bags are properly labeled and prepared. They’re getting food delivered since they’re all too tired to even think about cooking, and the Taylors and Mays are joining the band and the BoRhap boys for the get-together.

Lily is wearing a loose top with a pair of jeans, and looks at herself in the mirror, her bump barely visible. She can still tell it’s there, though. Ben walks in the room and sees her examining herself and smiles at her.

“You’re barely showing, Lily,” he says.

She sighs, looking in the mirror. “I know, but with the rumors I need to be extra cautious. People will already be suspicious and this looks like a bit more than bloating.”

He walks over and places his hand on her stomach, kissing her forehead. “It’ll all be okay. We’ll be fine.”

She closes her eyes and leans into his touch, smiling. “Thanks, Ben.”

Ben pulls her into a hug. “You’re welcome, Lil.”

The party is in full swing, and Lily smiles as Ben comes back into the room with a bottle of beer, sitting next to her on the loveseat and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Joe sits with Anusha across from them, and Gwil is next to Lucy on another couch. Rami is making himself and her cocktails. Bron and Madi are picking up the food they’ve ordered, and Roger and Brian and their respective wives have just arrived.

They’re discussing the tour and the funny shenanigans that went on during their time on the bus, and when Roger pitches in with stories of Freddie and himself taking care of a drunken Brian during their early tour days. Brian immediately turns red, but Lily and the band prompt Roger to talk more, and they are all enthralled by the stories the older man has to articulate.

Of course, when Bron gets into the shenanigans Room 301 got into on tour, she pointedly avoids telling them the best one.

After a filling dinner and wonderful conversation, Lily looks over at Ben and he passes out the gift bags to everyone. She smiles as her friends and family examine the bags.

“As thanks to all of you for being such good companions, Ben and I bought these gifts for you. I think you’ll love them, and I’m very excited for you all to see what they are.” She looks at Ben before pressing her lips together. “You can open them now if you want.”

As the gift bags are opened, the reactions begin to make their appearance.

Joe’s face is reminiscent of a child’s at Christmas. He pulls out the onesie and gasps, a smile spreading across his face. Anusha pulls her onesie out and her jaw drops as she looks at Lily, who’s leaning back in the loveseat, a smile on her face.

“I knew it!” Joe exclaims, standing up and laughing.

Anusha is still staring at her friend. “You really wanted to lock him down in this relationship, didn’t you, Lily?”

Lily laughs and looks over to see Gwil, Rami, and Lucy digesting the information. Lucy looks over at her and a smile spreads across her face before she hugs her tightly, letting out a squeal.

Rami is still speechless, but Gwil gets up and hugs Ben tightly.

“Congratulations, Ben. Congratulations to both of you! This is amazing, really. Unexpected, but wonderful!” Gwil hugs Lily as well, and she smiles.

Rami nods, smiling. “This is a great gift, guys. I’m so glad I get to be a part of your baby’s life.”

Lily squeezes Ben’s hand, and he speaks up.

“I know this is kind of sudden, but we’re really happy about it. I can’t wait to be a father. I feel even better about this because I know Little Baby Jones will have a wonderful support system.”

Lily looks at Roger and Brian, who are still looking at their onesies in awe. Roger’s fingers shake, and Sarina holds his hand. Anita is wiping away tears.

Brian smiles and nods approvingly. “Little Baby Jones can come to the animal sanctuary as often as they’d like.”

Anita nods. “We will gladly babysit.”

Sarina rubs Roger’s back, tears in her eyes. “We have more than enough children to keep the baby occupied if you need a break.”

Roger finally speaks up, letting out a laugh. “Fucking finally!”

Ben blinks, confused. “Huh?”

Roger huffs. “I have five kids. Five. A few of them are older than Lily. Do they have kids of their own? Of course not!” He shakes his head. “I’ve been waiting for my first grandchild for years now, and for the child to come from you and Lily— who finally got her shit together and admitted that she liked you—“

“Blame me like that again and you won’t be Little Baby Jones’ grandfather,” Lily threatens, raising a brow.

Roger raises his hands in surrender. “All I want to say is that I’m very excited to have a new child to corrupt. Especially since you two are such a good couple and I’ve wanted you two to date from the day you met.”

Lily hugs Roger and after they part, he hugs Ben tightly, whispering something to him that makes him smile.

Brian hugs Lily, sobbing into her shoulder. She comforts him, smiling. Anita comforts her husband as he pulls away, rubbing his eyes. Lily squeezes Brian’s hand.

“I-I’m so happy. Pardon the tears, please. It’s just... you deserve this, both of you. A child is the best gift you could possibly receive. You two will be amazing parents, I know it.”

Lily smiles as Ben comes up to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Roger speaks up, grinning. “Enough tears! We need to celebrate! Where’s the champagne?”

Lily laughs and sits back on the couch when Ben goes to find the champagne. She leans into Roger, smiling.

“I’m so proud of you, love,” he whispers to her, kissing her forehead. “You chose a good man.”

She smiles up at him. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

He ruffles her hair as Ben, Ezichi, and Gwil come back with champagne glasses and sparkling seltzer for Lily.

After they toast, Joe gasps and everyone turns to face him.

“What’s up, mate?” Ben asks.

Joe grins. “Can you imagine how cute that kid is gonna be? I don’t think we properly spent time thinking about how gorgeous a baby with Ben’s eyes and Lily’s hair would be.”

Lily nods. “That’s what I want. A tan baby with dark hair and green eyes.”

A few hours later, they’re looking at pictures of babies on Pinterest and grinning.

“Lily, Little Baby Jones could be a model!” Anusha exclaims.

Lily leans against Ben’s chest, smiling as their friends gush over the child yet to come.

Later that night, Lily posts a picture of her ultrasound on Instagram with the caption, “Little Baby Jones, coming December 2020!”

She wakes up to enthusiastic comments and a phone call from her Aunt Kash. She sits up in bed and smiles as Ben holds onto her in sleep, one hand firmly on her stomach. The pups sleep at her feet, guarding her unborn baby from any harm.

“Hello?” She whispers. “We need to be quiet, Auntie. Ben is still sleeping, as are the pups.”

Ben shifts in his sleep, cuddling further into Lily. She places one hand onto his head, running her hands through the curls growing out from the haircut he’s just had.

Kashmira lets out a little laugh. “I’ll try, but it will be hard. I’m just so happy, Lily! You deserve this and will be an amazing parent.”

Lily smiles. “Thank you, Auntie. I’m excited. Ben will be a great dad, I just know it.”

Ben lets out a little puff of air and groans, adjusting himself to be even further on top of Lily.

Kash lets out a shaky breath and Lily can tell she’s smiling. “I’m just so happy. We need to get together and go shopping for the baby. You’re going to be the best mother, and that child will be— there’s no way you’ll produce an ugly child, not with yours and Ben’s genetics.”

“He is quite the beauty, isn’t he?” Lily says, smiling down at her man.

“Quite. I’ll let you get back to him, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m so happy and proud.”

“Alright. Thank you for calling, Auntie. Come over soon and we can have dinner,” Lily says, smiling.

“Of course! We’ll set a date. I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Lily hangs up and puts down her phone, looking down at Ben, who opens his eyes and blinks sleepily, yawning and nuzzling into her stomach.

“Mm... who was that?” He mumbles, eyes shut.

“My Aunt Kash. She was congratulating us on Little Baby Jones,” Lily says, running a hand through his hair.

He smiles up at Lily, eyes heavy. “I have a name for the baby.”

She raises a brow. “What is it?”

Ben rolls over and yawns again. “Taylor May.”

Lily nods, smiling gently. “Brian and Roger would love that.”

Ben looks up at Lily. “Would you?”

Lily thinks for a moment. “Taylor May Jones. That’s a solid name. Not to effeminate. Not too masculine. I like it. Taylor would also work for a boy. I think we should keep it in consideration.”

Ben smiles and nods. “Alright. I’m okay with that.”

Lily leans back against her pillows. “You want a girl, don’t you?”

Ben closes his eyes. “I’d be perfectly happy with either.”

She lets out a little laugh as he dozes off again.

He definitely wants a girl.

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#starry writes #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #lucy boynton #rami malek #borhap fics

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