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southslates · 3 years

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leave our lovers / ao3 / 2209 words / one-shot / post-canon / kanej / rated T / tw major character death & suicide attempt

He had been waiting at the docks.

He always was. The routine was that she’d pull up and he’d wait on the docks and then she would try to sneak up on him, but he’d see her and pull away. And then they’d hold hands, or hug, or kiss on the cheek. Depending on the year.

It’d been six years. Kaz thought he might be able to manage the lips today. He’d practiced, thought through the moment, the motions. He would do it—he would kiss the love of his life as she returned today, and he’d feel peace. Her last letter had come a week ago and she’d told him that she wasn’t sure how many journeys she had left at sea. She’d done her work cleaning the oceans out of slavers and set up a network of ships that were doing the job as well. Perhaps just another year or two, she’d written, and then I will spend my time with my family and in Kerch, of course.

It had been an opening. That was what Inej had written; what she had meant was commitment. She had told him I am going to stay with you and not leave you. She had told him I am never yours but I will keep coming back. She had listed out plans about what she would do with the children she collected on her travels, the schools and orphanages she wanted to run under the Dregs’ protections. She’d not even questioned his support.

Kaz and Inej were partners, after all. Sometimes he felt as though he’d left the beating part of his cold heart out on the ocean with her. When she came back he felt as though he was reunited with his soul.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to see the fluttering of red in her cheeks, he wanted to hear that magical laugh as she pulled back from him; she’d ask really Kaz, you’re doing this here, or perhaps, I love you.

He’d never said the words but he wanted to. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore—he wanted a future. He was pulling the Dregs into a legitimate business, he was ruling the Slat and half the Financial District. He was in good books with the Fjerdan and Ravkan governments. This country was his. He wanted to be hers.

Her ship rounded the horizon and his breath caught.

It was minutes later that Kaz realized something was wrong. There was a somber look about the crew on deck. Inej normally wasn’t on top, but quite a few of her hands were, and none were. He ran scenarios through his mind and tried to wonder what could have occurred—perhaps the ship was slightly wrecked? The Wraith looked fine to him, but he was no sailor. He hated the sea.

The boat docked. He held his cane carefully out and turned a cold-eye to Specht. “What’s occurred?”

“Sir . . .” Specht choked. He looked right into Kaz’s eyes—nobody ever did that. “Sir . . .”

Something terrible, dark, indescribable—something like Jordie—fell into the pits of Kaz’s stomach. “Specht?” he croaked in his rasp.

Inej had usually attempted to sneak up on him by this time. He could see her. Ever since that first night at the Menagerie he’d always been able to feel her, thrumming around him, comforting. He couldn’t feel her.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Specht choked. “I’m so, so sorry.”

On the ship’s deck, two of the burly hands pulled a body—clothed in cotton, wrapped in sheets—out from below deck.

Kaz could make out a braid.

Kaz turned and walked away.

When was the last time Kaz Brekker had cried?

Perhaps about Jordie, all those years ago. All those fucking years ago. And now the Reaper’s Barge was streaming down his face. He went back to the Slat and dragged himself up all of the stairs—his newest office was Per Haskell’s, on the bottom floor, but he still kept the one in the attic. It was their room. He picked the door open and then opened it and slid against it and looked at the window.

He could see her there, feeding the crows. Laughing, smiling, facing him. Come on, Kaz. I know they’ll love you. Living things hate me. I don’t hate you. Thank you, darling. She’d been magic. He’d felt it all drain from him—money, vengeance, Jordie’s voice. He’d been surrounded by nothing but her.

Kaz sat against his door and he didn’t move. He cried. He’d made his bed in this room for her last night. The cabinet at the side had some of her clothes. He had her toothbrush. They hadn’t made it that far but they’d been able to sleep in a bed across from each other, holding hands, waking up to see each other.

He'd never kissed her.

He’d never told her he loved her.

And now she was—

Kaz got up. He walked to his desk and took out a pen and a piece of paper and he wrote to Nina. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Can you come? Can you give me one more chance? Can I—

He threw it into the trash. He swallowed. He knew Nina couldn’t bring back the dead. He needed to tell Inej that he loved her. What if she hadn’t known? Why hadn’t he told her before? You are so weak, Kaz Brekker. What kind of man couldn’t tell his girl what she meant to him? And now she was gone.

Now everything was gone. Something knocked at his door. Someone called for him. Jesper or Wylan. Kaz could only see hazily. His locks would hold them. He reached for his safe and pulled out a stack of letters. I think the Slat gets cold, she’d written, wouldn’t your leg fare better in another part of town? She’d written: do you think we could stay in another district, Kaz? Do you think we could ever be more than Dirtyhands and his Wraith?

“Yes,” he said aloud. He had never spoken to Jordie’s ghost, nor his father’s or mother’s. This felt the same and different. He wondered if she was here with him. Would she be with him?

Jesper was pounding at his door. “Kaz!”

He read the letter. He read the letter a thousand times. He soaked up everything. I think I’ve grown a fondness for paintings from Shu Han. They have such an interesting quality to them. He’d stolen one from a mercher’s house two days ago. It was rolled up under his bed. The opposite of Heleen, if you will. There’s so much terrible in the world. I haven’t kept in much contact with Zoya. Let me know how she is when you get back, of course. I miss your terrible stew. Do you think we could visit Ravka next summer? I think if all goes well I’ll have three months at home.

She’d signed off: Yours, Inej.

Kaz read the letter a thousand times, a million. He read it until those words were imprinted in his mind. Then he threw it out his window and watched it fall. Then he fell.

“You need to tell her parents,” Wylan said gently. Kaz sat still. He felt glassy. He hadn’t moved in hours. “We can push off the ceremony till they come. She said she wanted to be cremated and then placed into Fifth Harbor."

Kaz’s voice did not creak. “She said?”

Wylan nodded. Then he handed Kaz a piece of paper, something limp, a page broken off a map. “Specht said this was for you. They didn’t open it.”

Kaz took it and kept staring forward. Wylan took in a deep breath. “I’d ask if you’re okay.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I can only imagine. What do you need?”

“Merchlings to leave me alone.”

Wylan left the study and turned to look at him with a sad frown. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kaz. It’s not what she would have wanted.”

Kaz Brekker always had a reason. It was how he’d built the Slat from nothing.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason.

I coddle my grudges, Kaz thought. He was in his room. He stared into the mirror and then at his hands. They were ungloved, pale and clean and dirty. I treat them with respect and let them have minds of their own. I let justice right itself.

He could almost see a face in the mirror, behind him, cloaked. He wanted to turn to her, to see Inej. She wasn’t coming back. Why did you leave me here? a part of him thought. I’m alone. What do I do now?

He had nobody left. Not that he wanted anybody. He looked into the mirror and saw something else behind him. He was not alone.

Death serves no man, Jordie had said. Kaz had proved him wrong, or thought he had.

“I won,” he said into the mirror, at the ghost behind him who wasn’t there. “Greed bows to me, and death will too. I won. There has to be a way. If I won then, I can find a way now. You’re with me. Let her be with me.”

“I am not her. That wasn’t the fight. You know it.”

Some part of Kaz had always known that he would come out of his youth unscathed. He could say that in retrospect, but he genuinely felt it—luck, risks, the cards were on his side of the game. He didn’t believe in gods, but perhaps something—someone—had been watching over him. Or perhaps he’d truly mastered the art of thinking ten steps before everyone else, of trading in information. Perhaps he was human and it was all his mind. But Dirtyhands could not bring back the dead.

“Yes it was,” he said. The shade behind him laughed. Jordie was always so cruel to him.

“Oh, no,” it crooned. “You have not won. You will be alone always and then you will die. Death serves no man, Kaz Rietveld.”

Inej’s parents came. Kaz didn’t talk to them. He had no words to say. He watched her cremation from a roof.

He had the paper in his pocket. He hadn’t read it. If he was to open it, it would be the end. There would be no coming back.

He opened it. It had four words. He closed it and tucked it into his shirt’s pocket. His breath caught for a final time. He jumped off the roof and his knee buckled. He had been next to this same building when he’d heard Inej’s cries and gone to pick her up six years ago. He’d called her an investment. He choked. He saw Inej’s parents release her into the ocean. He went back to the Slat.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He ignored Anika and Pim. He went to his room and sat at his window. He reached under his bed and threw the Shu painting out of the window. He made sure Inej’s side of the bed was neat. He opened his cabinet’s left drawer and took out two loaves of bread. He tossed those outside of the window too.

Do you believe in magic, Kaz? It’s all just tricks. You know that, I know that. I don’t think it’s all tricks. You’re not normal, Kaz. The way you do it—it isn’t normal. Don’t tell me you think that I’ve got magic hands? Kaz! Inej. Come here. That night he’d unbraided her hair. He’d laid her down to sleep. She’d kissed his cheek.

Six months and I’ll be seeing you again. Tell me you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. Oh, progress? There’s no reason to hide truths. No games, Inej. I’ll miss you too. Once a week? Once a week. Write in more detail, too. I know more happens to you than you say. Jesper writes to me too, you know. Get some sleep, Wraith. Wake me up before you go.

She hadn’t. He’d slept to her hand in his. He looked to his bed now. If he closed his eyes he could see her. He looked at the crows. He thought about magic.

He unlocked his desk and took out a pistol. She’d had it made for him in Novyi Zem. There were crows embedded onto it. He’d never used it.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He closed his eyes and pressed the pistol to one side of his head.

I think I’d like to live somewhere else. Wouldn’t it be nice? To escape the city and spend my old age in the countryside? I think I’ll die young. And I think you’ll cheat death. Living is what’s hard, Kaz. Remember that.

Do you believe in magic? I think you’re magic. I think we’re magic.

“I love you,” he whispered. When he opened his eyes she wasn’t there. “I’ll be there for you.”

He almost pressed the trigger. He didn’t press the trigger. He went to his desk and sat down. He pulled out four words from his pocket.

Kaz. Live for me.

He put the pistol away. He swallowed. He held Sankt Petyr to his chest and prayed to whatever god would grant her good fortune.

#kanej #getting back to tumblr so i needed to archive some stuff sagfkasjf #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #tw character death #tw suicide mention #tw suicide #shadow and bone #dee drabbles #dee writes #kanej fic

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

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I’m bored and you’re headcanons are honestly so quality omfg but anyways write a headcanon of ethan and MC having a high school, slow burn love/not love (angsty ✨✨✨ kinda like us with our muses 💀 I’m not sure if Ethan ends up coming out as gay at the end tho-honestly if he did I’m living for it) love you lots! 💖 your tumblr niece

AHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAH no no nope Ethan will not come out as gay 🤣 But I am going to take full on creative liberty with this and you’re just gonna have to deal 😘

Ethan and Becca Meet in High School

Ethan Ramsey was 26 years old and a TA for the school’s science department. He took the part time role on a year’s contract to help pay off some of his student loans before he started residency.

At 17 years old, Becca was a senior at a small-town high school.

Becca was an interesting student - very quiet but intelligent. She surrounded herself with the strangest group boys. Those boys were her lab bench mates, and were incredibly subpar.

More than once Ethan caught the three boys playing games on their laptops and scrolling their feeds instead of paying attention.

He watched her carry them all on her back through the course. And ask for nothing in return.

It made his blood boil - they were clearly taking advantage of their friend.

The next week Ethan persuaded Ms. Cook changed up the seating arrangements.

Ethan took great pleasure in marking the boys Cs instead of the B+ they were used to getting with Becca’s help.

Second Semester, AP Bio was kicking Becca’s ass. She needed help preparing to get the 5 she needed on the exam in order to rank Top 15 in her class before graduation.

So she attended Ms. Cook’s after school sessions.

It seemed half the class needed extra help, so they were split up into groups. Half with Cook and half with Ramsey. Becca was assigned to Ramsey.

As the days and weeks progressed, the after school group dwindled.

After a choose-your-partner lab that day, Becca ended up with the same group of useless individuals.

At study group that afternoon, Ethan confronted her about it: “I don’t know why you let them take credit for your work. Be proud of your accomplishments.” “Being proud gets you enemies.” “You’d rather have friends and compromise your integrity, than showing everyone what you’re capable of?”

That made her think.

“I’d rather come out of high school unscathed.” “You can’t make everyone love you. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you’ll come into your own.” “And who are you, Dr. Ramsey?” “Someone who took every opportunity I could. I advise you do the same.”

Over the next few weeks they got to know one another better. Ethan becoming her somewhat mentor and encouraging her to speak up more and assert herself.

She took all his words to heart.

He was proud and a little taken aback when she found a fallacy in one of their labs and called Ms. Cook out on it. It resulted in it being postponed to fix the errors.

Being a high school senior meant having to choose what college to go to.

She was getting acceptance letters left and right but she had absolutely no clue what she wanted to to with her life.

“Did you always want to be a doctor?” she asked one afternoon. “No. But it’s what I’m good at.” “How did you know it’s what you wanted to pursue?” “As much as I regret saying this, it felt like a calling.” “Hmph. Okay.” “You don’t agree with the notion?” “I don’t know what I want to do. I’ve applied to so many schools and different programs. How do I know which one’s right?”

They talked about what she’s passionate about and what makes her happiest and what careers she thinks she could pursue.

That got her to think. Think long and hard and over a few days.

She had a new outlook on life - she was on a new quest to find her eternal happiness.

May came around and she took her AP exam. She got a perfect score. _

Becca has eyes. She notices how attractive Dr. Ramsey is. Tbh everyone notices - he’s the thirst of the school district. Her girl friends even ask her about him multiple times a week. All she does is roll her eyes and say he’s too old for them.

Becca had been all but dating Bryce Lahela for the last year and a half.

They were friends.

Friends who kissed and touched and spent almost every Friday and Saturday night together with the gang.

It wasn’t a secret that Bryce was completely enamored by her.

He wanted her. Officially. And he was tried of waiting.

One day after school, Bryce was waiting outside Ms. Cook’s classroom for her.

He nodded at and dodged every student that passed him as he waited. She was the last one to leave.

“Hey,” he gave his megawatt smile. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Don’t you have practice?” “Ended early.”

They exchanged small talk and Bryce finally began to lay everything out in a young, round about way. He kissed her to butter her up.

“Be my girlfriend?” “What’s wrong with what we already have?” “C’mon, Becks,” he pulled her in closer by her beltloop. “No.” “No?” “What’s the point? We’re just going to break up before college.” “You don’t know that.”

She rattled off all her reasons why: they aren’t going to the same school, they’re young, she doesn’t want to resent him, she doesn’t want to fall in love with him just for it to end badly.

Bryce went to fight for her but was interrupted by the slam of a door. The two looked up and saw Dr. Ramsey and Ms. Cook locking up for the evening.

She pulled away from him and turned on her heels.

At the bus stop, Becca sat with her head in her hands.

Ethan came up next to her. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision. You’re going to change immensely over the next few years.” “I know,” she grumbled into her palms. “It just hurts.” _

Becca went to Stony Brook and double majored in Chemistry and Biology.

She then attended Med School at UCLA.

Her second year, a familiar name stared back at her from her required internal medicine textbook: Dr. Ethan Ramsey.

Becca couldn’t help the smile as she remembered him. She’d almost forgot about the TA that impacted her life more than she could ever know.

Out of curiosity she consumed all his research. And when she finished everything, she found his direct email at Edenbrook.

She spent an entire weekend wondering if she should email him - Ask if he remembered her and that she followed his advice. She found her calling and it was helping people, just like him. She thought about throwing a joke in there but figured it had been too many years and it probably wouldn’t translate.

When residency came, she only had applied to Edenbrook.

And that’s when she emailed him.

She hadn’t gotten a response for months.

Actually, she didn’t hear anything until her decision letter came.

That same evening she found an email from him at the top of her inbox: Glad to see you’ve found your voice. We look forward to welcoming you to the team.

Ethan vaguely remembered Becca.

Honestly, he blocked the whole TA part of his life out.

Though, once he received her email, he personally vetted her application. And he was blown away. She wasn’t some naïve teenager.

Becca started working at Edenbrook and wanted nothing more than to learn from Ethan himself.

But he was different - jaded and cynical and not as approachable as she remembered.

He pushed her to reach her potential and she pushed his buttons.

They grew closer, especially with Naveen’s case. Basically the slow burn in canon happens.

These two get together, officially, once their jobs at the new Bloombrook Diagnostics Hospital were instated and they were definitely both staying in Boston for the foreseeable future. _

Becca didn’t particularly want to go to her 10-year high school reunion. She went because she was being recognized for her accomplishments with a few other alum.

She brought her boyfriend Ethan with her. “If I have to sit through this, so do you.” “I can honestly say I’ve never been to a reunion.” “Well, you’re my excuse to leave early. Gotta put the old man to bed,” she winked.

She was grateful for him playing along instead of taking another shift at work, and it would be nice to just be a couple for once. Without expectations hanging over them as the heads of their respective departments at work.

They had been in the ballroom for less than 15 minutes before they heard the loud whispers circulating.

Seems like Becca wasn’t the only one who remember the sexiest TA in all of high school history and of teenage dreams.

There were a bunch of intrusive questions being thrown at them and people coming up to them for the low down.

They tried not to be rude in their admonishments but the whole situation was awkward as fuck. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring him with her....

But there was no going back now.

And then Bryce sauntered over.

They hadn’t spoken to one another since senior prom when he took her best friend as a date and then hooked up with someone else at the after party.

“Rebecca, you look amazing,” he came in for a hug. “Thank you, Bryce.”

They had awkward catch ups at one side of the table as Ethan sat at the other end fending off questions from other girls and a select group of boys that remembered him.

Bryce and Becca talked about what they’ve been up to, how he’s now a surgeon and what brought him back home.

They lamented about how it’s strange they’re both in medicine and never spoke of that as a career path way back when.

In their long, flowing and unawkward conversation, they settled that it was best they went their separate ways.

They settled on the agreement that they didn’t think they’d end up at the schools they went to if they did date. They assumed love would reign and they’d choose to stay close by, and New York and California were not close by.

With all the long awaited closure finally out of the way, Bryce motioned towards Ethan; “So, you and that guy? How’d that happen?”

She knew what he was thinking and was quick to squash any rumors from starting.

“We work together. Didn’t mean for it to happen, it just kind of fell together.” “You look happy.” “I am.”

Bryce was bold in his next assumption. Knowing Becca as the girl who always spoke about never getting married and being a free bird as her main reasons for never committing to a boy, he wanted to catch her of guard: “Is it love?”

He wasn’t prepared for her answer.

“Yes.”

People change and are allowed to evolve. But it’s hard to imagine someone you once loved as anything other than who they were. And it’s even harder to see them in love with someone else.

#love you the mostest #open heart #open heart headcanons #hc #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #bryce lahela #asked #you weren't expecting this and i wasn't expecting to write this #what did i just write????#Anonymous #bryce x mc

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risingsouls · 3 years

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Recruited: Chapter 9

[A very self-indulgent, not sfw chapter this time! Forgive me if it’s cheesy; I’m super rusty with actually writing smut. :’3

You’ve been warned.

Bonus song for basically Nabs before she gets some ;3]

Nabooru

Gloved fingers dragged through rain-deprived dirt, hands and feet kicking up a cloud of dust as Nabooru skidded along the ground and twisted her body back around to face her Saiyan assailant. They had been at it for hours, deciding their time off was better spent training than goofing off. Thus, as her muscles and depleting energy reserves begged for rest, a change in tactics to either secure a win or put her in the least embarrassing position possible to request a reprieve didn't sound like the worst idea in the world. Scouter or no, the switch up should catch him off guard enough to at least get a few, solid final attacks in.

She dug her heels in to slow herself and regain control of her momentum after his last blow. Once she found a solid enough footing, she propelled herself forward again, charging like an enraged bull. She closed the gap between them in a flash. As she hoped, Vegeta expected her to throw a punch or a kick, a series of blasts or a wave of energy, and left his midsection open. Head lowered, she drove her shoulder hard into his abdomen and wrapped her arms around him. She felt the air whisk from his lungs and his body double over as she drove him backward and through a plateau. They slammed to the ground and Nabooru pinned him, knees straddling either side of his waist.

She drew her arm back and aimed a punishing strike for Vegeta's jaw, only for it to crash through solid earth next to his head as he tilted his head to dodge it. Her left fist followed up, only to be caught. Energy crackled around their joined hands in the stalemate, jaws clenched with the effort to gain an upper hand.

Nabooru noted his smirk a second too late. She just caught the glimpse of his free arm lifting toward her before his forearm collided with her stomach, forcing her off of him and onto her back. He was on her in an instant, arms pinned and crushed at her sides by his powerful thighs and a ball of red ki aimed for her face. She wriggled to try and free herself, only for Vegeta to shove the sphere of energy threateningly closer, the heat of it grazing the tip of her nose.

"Give up."

Nabooru considered attempting to kick him in the head or back, freeing her hand enough to blast or grab some part of him--his inner thigh, groin, ass if she could manage to reach--in a strategy to surprise him enough to regain some control. But the second her fingers twitched, his knees tightened on her hips, and she bit back a pained yelp from the pressure it placed on her hands and pelvis.

"Fine. You win. Would you kindly get that out of my face now?"

Vegeta's frame shook with his taunting chuckle and the light evaporated from his palm. "You almost had me with that stupid tactic," he drawled, his tail whipping the air behind him in slow arcs. His grip on her hips loosened and he wiped blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his glove. "Too bad you couldn't follow through."

She pulled her hands and arms free, taking the moment to admire the musculature of his thighs plainly visible in his battle suit. She tried to make the upward roving of her eyes seem as organic as possible, hoping the way her gaze lingered on the exposed skin where chunks of his armor and suit were missing in his side and shoulder look like she was admiring her own handiwork before settling on his smug face. Blood from where she headbutt him earlier in the spar had trickled down from his forehead and down the bridge of his nose and was now half-dried there. At least he wouldn't leave their bout unscathed.

"I caught you off guard enough, so I'm counting it as a victory."

The prince scoffed, and she followed the shot of his gaze to find Nappa and Raditz landing beside them. "Did we interrupt something?" Nappa jeered, glancing between the pair of them. Nabooru caught the hint of pink dusting Vegeta's cheeks as he growled and sprang to his feet. She sat up herself, ignoring the fleeting thought of missing his weight on top of her. Forcing herself to look anywhere other than his backside. "If you need a little more time, we can come back later."

"Shut up. I hope you two were paying attention to what real sparring looks like."

Raditz snorted. Neither seemed particularly perturbed by Vegeta's growing temper. "Oh, sparring is what you call it? That's not what it looked like from where I'm standing."

Vegeta ignored him. "How much were you two slacking instead of training?" He raised a hand to his scouter. "Do I need to personally test you to see your progress?"

Nabooru rose to her feet and dusted off her backside before joining the trio. "You really think I'd pass up an opportunity to beat up on Raditz?" Nappa asked, causing the other to roll his eyes. "Even our runt is still getting stronger."

"Hmpt. We'll see." He paused to scrub the half dried blood from his face and, upon noting the questioning stares the other two pinned him with, clicked his tongue. "Whatever. You're dismissed. I want you both back here in twelve hours, got it? Your combat has looked sloppy lately, and I won't stand for you messing something up because you refuse to keep up with your training."

Instead of Nappa and Raditz leaving, Vegeta’s blue-white aura surrounded him and he took off, forcing all three left behind to shield their faces from the swirl of dust. “Are you joining us, Nabs?” Raditz asked, sweeping a hand in front of his face to ward off the dirt.

“Not this time.” Nabooru brushed stray strands of hair away from her face. “I might join you later. I need a bath before I do anything else.”

Nappa snorted. “Like I believe that after that performance you two put on. There was plenty more grappling than usual and I refuse to believe it wasn’t on purpose.” He slapped a hand on her back, causing her to hiss in pain. “If you go for it, just think of it as doing us all a favor.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her back on the smirking pair. “You two are the worst.” Feet hovered over the ground and she lifted her hand in salute. “I’ll see you later. Either for a drink or to kick your asses.”

She took the flight back to the resort district at a leisurely pace to reserve what little remained of her energy. Drowning in the bathtub wasn’t exactly her ideal death, and she wanted to enjoy the luxury of one when she only had the option to shower on the bases. She never realized how she had taken advantage of them back home when baths were the only option. Stripping out of her torn, sweat and blood soaked armor and soaking in the scalding hot water to soothe her muscles for hours sounded far better than cavorting around the entertainment district and dealing with crowds full of mostly drunk soldiers. Not to mention catching a wink of sleep before they resumed their grueling training.

Vegeta's decision to spend their off time training neither surprised her nor did it particularly bother her. Considering their conversation a few weeks prior and his suspicions and goals concerning Frieza, she expected and welcomed the workouts over doing nothing or continually searching for ways to spend the next three days, harsh as they already proved to be. Normally, the prince hadn't been particular about how the other two spent their time, however. Did they know his plans? She assumed they did or at least suspected. They knew him better, and his ambitious and entitled nature appended to his royal status was difficult to miss. How soon did Vegeta plan to move forward with his plans? If they kept getting stronger, would Frieza suspect something? Would he care? They couldn't exactly keep their training or any progress made a secret. Was there more to this than just killing Frieza?

Nabooru landed at the entrance to the resort they had chosen to stay in, reaching into her armor and pulling out the key to her room as she stepped onto the elevator. She selected her floor and leaned against the wall. She felt queasy considering what they were doing in full. She despised Frieza and the entire operation, but she risked far more than her own life with this. She didn't know how much she could trust Vegeta, but he offered her an out and that was better than she could get otherwise, it seemed. A way back to her home and her old life. Or whatever her life would be on the new Hyrule. It had to be better than conquering planets for Frieza and his family. Than constantly compromising her morality to keep her people safe and herself alive.

And Vegeta could be worse. For all his threats and insults, he had yet to really harm her. He had shown time and again that if he wanted her dead, he could have done it, both because he was more powerful and he had little qualms with killing. If he wanted to sabotage her, he could have outed her for blowing up the palace on Trimbon or anything else she had stepped out of line with. Perhaps to keep her as loyal as possible, especially now that he decided she was meant to help him in his endeavors, but she would be hard pressed to find anyone on the force without an angle that served their purposes. After all, she had agreed to help Vegeta mostly for her own benefit, to free herself from Frieza and the force and return home. Though his own plight and history, the parallels to her own, didn't hurt his chances of convincing her to risk everything. They could both get what they needed. What they deserved.

The elevator binged and she stepped onto the carpeted floor, heading to the end of the hall where her room was. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, yanking her armor over her head the second the doors slid closed. For all his flaws, she couldn't deny that he, like the other two Saiyans, had grown on her, too. The extra time spent together sparring and the brief conversations following helped, she supposed, as she could see him as more than a dethroned prince with a chip on his shoulder and a thrill for violence. More than anything, he saw her as a warrior first, had since the day they met, as she preferred to be seen. With everyone else underestimating her for her sex or viewing her as a potential bed mate, it went a long way with her. While she doubted he would ever treat her as an equal in any regard, she would survive so long as he continued to respect her as a warrior.

Nabooru struggled out of her torn battle suit and ripped leggings, boots kicked off and gloves dropped haphazardly. She yanked the tie from her hair as she pushed the button to the bathroom door open, the lights motion activated. Clean and simple if not a little small, the bathroom still had what she wanted: a bathtub with complimentary soaps and bubbles. She used her scouter to double check the contents of them as well as the quality of the water, and, finding that none would harm her skin or poison her if accidentally ingested, she filled the tub and dumped a generous portion of the bubbles in the water.

She leaned against the sink counter as she waited for it to fill, tapping through her messages. Only one remained unread, and the origin dropped her heart to the pit of her stomach, worsening her discomfort. It was rare Frieza contacted her, anything he needed to say to her relayed through Vegeta or some other commander. She could only imagine what he wanted to say to her and her alone.

When the foam rose over the lip of the tub, she stepped in and lowered her body into the steaming water. She bent her legs and rested her spine against the back of the basin, letting her head fall back. Hand rose from the water to open the message, her pulse too quick for the relaxing atmosphere she created for herself.

As she feared, it referred to the job on Trimbon. She skimmed through it, chewing her bottom lip to the point of nearly splitting it open. The emperor informed her that she had performed better than expected with her conversations with the rebel leader but lamented her failure to convince him of a peaceful solution, that she could have tried harder in his opinion, resulting in the loss of the greater portion of the planet's army and the palace. Her pay would be garnished for an amount agreed upon between the Empire and Trimbon's royal family once the damages were fully assessed. But the part that sent her mind awhirl with fresh paranoia was the end. A warning, vague but haunting. A reminder that her success and usefulness determined whether the deal between the Empire and her home planet and people stood, and that, should she be tasked with similar in the future, she should be better prepared to push the envelope to obtain the desired result.

Nabooru swallowed hard and pulled her scouter from her ear, sliding it across the tiled floor and away from the tub. She sucked in a breath and submerged herself, the rush of the running water like muffled hoofbeats in her ears. Her chest ached as her mind raced, unearthing the worst case scenarios. He had already destroyed her planet. He would find out why she had blown up the palace and would kill her people for it. He knew what she and Vegeta planned and would punish her by taking the only hope she still had from her. She failed them. All of them. All for a selfish act of consolation. She had no home, no race, she was alone, and--

She broke the surface again and gasped for air. The water threatened to spill over the side, and she leaned forward to turn the faucet off. No, she couldn't think like that. It was just a warning. Paranoia without real evidence to back the thoughts would only drive her closer to madness. The whispered rumor of Frieza's atrocities and Vegeta's suspicions about the fate of his home world were only speculation. Convincing speculation, but without witnessing it for herself...she couldn't afford to let it rule her. The distraction would make her sloppy and ultimately make her fears a reality.

She would stay the course. Continue to train with Vegeta so he or both of them could become powerful enough to kill Frieza. Impossible as it still seemed, it was without a doubt the only true way to ensure her people's safety. With the tyrant in power, their livelihood would always remain tenuous and out of her control.

Dragging her fingers through her wet hair, she closed her eyes in another attempt to relax. She steered her thoughts away from a fate that likely hadn't befallen her home toward the next few days of training and strategizing. Considering ways they could all get strong enough to take on Frieza as soon as they possibly could. Vegeta had mentioned a legend of his people, of a transformation known simply as a Super Saiyan. He said if he could figure out how to unlock it, Frieza would be no match for him. Unfortunately, her pressing on how one achieved the form revealed that the legend didn't elaborate on that with even Nappa and his knowledge of Saiyan lore drawing a blank. They had a goal, at least, but little direction for achieving it. But if anyone could accomplish it, it was Vegeta. The man was impressive in battle, strategic and naturally inclined to combat to a rare degree, and if nothing else, he would make it through sheer force of will.

A few years ago, she never would have imagined she would fight on the same level as someone like him, ki or no ki. The only one back home that gave her a run for her rupees was Ganondorf and Avira if she found her on an off day. Thus, she never imagined this sort of growth or power for herself and a new element to add to her fighting style to boot. She was glad to have someone to help her grow stronger. Test her and push her beyond her limits, even if he did so for purely selfish reasons. No reason he shouldn't benefit from it, too.

Half dozing, her train of thought shifted to their most recent spar, focusing on what she did well and where she could improve. New tactics to try. How to increase every attribute from speed and strength to endurance and stamina. The advantage of switching to less traditional styles as she had toward the end of their bout, and where those succeeded and failed. She went from the pinner to the pinned due to a loss of focus and a split second of carelessness. She could feel his weight on top of her again, his powerful thighs squeezing her hips in punishment for trying to wriggle free. That devilish smirk curling his lips as he slipped his hands beneath her armor and battle suit, gloved fingers gliding up her abs maddeningly slow and his hips pressing downward into hers and…

Her eyes snapped open and she squeezed her legs together, swiping a hand over her face in frustration. For her fantasies to take such a course wasn't particularly rare. When thinking about Ganondorf or Aveil saddened rather than aroused her when she needed to quell her lust, her imagination resorted to her new cohorts instead. For a while, Nappa or Raditz sufficed, but more often than not, they morphed to the prince on top of her or beneath her. Pressing her against a wall or into the mattress. Nipping and sucking along her neck while he pounded into her.

The problem was that, since they started training together more often, the fantasies became more frequent and inopportune. She felt herself drifting from fantasizing to considering making it a reality. If Nappa and Raditz hadn’t shown up earlier, she might have tried her hand at shifting their spar to the sexual sor of physical. He was likely more pent up than she was, after all, and she didn’t miss the occasional glances or what she could only define as his brand of flirting while they sparred or conversed. It wasn’t the potential of being turned down that kept her from going for it. Besides caving to her lust for a quick fling conflicting with her attempts to only bed those she felt worthy of her time, it felt sleazy; he was her commander and she didn’t want some petty rift to form between the four of them over her libido deciding to ramp up to higher levels than she had experienced since joining the force. Even more unsettling, she refused to let meaningless sex get misconstrued and used against her for malicious purposes.

Still...if they were careful, no one had to know, and the forbidden lust concept and high stakes did shamefully boost the attractiveness of fooling around with Vegeta. And for all the potential bedmates to choose from, he was the easy choice. Strong, attractive, a sexy growl she wouldn’t mind hearing in her ear, high stamina, a penchant for roughness she guessed…

Nabooru huffed and did a quick scrub of her body, patience with cleaning up properly and relaxing thinned to nothing. She lifted herself out of the tub and flared her ki to dry herself off in a moment. She dug through her supplies and tended to her scrapes and bruises. More than anything she wanted a distraction from her worries about her homeworld. Something more palpable and effective than her thoughts wandering to a railing from the Saiyan prince. She imagined drowning herself in liquor would exacerbate the problem which left sparring, indulging in her fantasies, or sinking to the level of a one night stand with a stranger lurking around. If she played her cards right, perhaps she could get both of the first two options.

She grabbed her spare battle suit and tugged it on, followed by her stockings, boots and gloves. Tying her hair back up and picking up her chest armor, she left her room and trekked down the hall a few doors down. She knocked on the door and, no sooner had her arm returned to her side did the door open, Vegeta standing on the other side. He halted mid-pull on his glove over his fingers and stared, eyebrows knitting together and frown deepening.

“What?” he demanded, tugging the leather over the rest of his palm and down his wrist.

Just that small, innocuous action had her staring for a half second longer at his hand than was socially acceptable. She cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips, hoping her expression and stance displayed annoyance or impatience with his terse greeting and gruff tone. “Spar with me. I’m bored and need to blow off steam.”

“And what makes you think I want to?” Vegeta’s lips twitched upward and his tail unfurled from his waist. “You’ve hardly rested. How much steam could you really blow off if I put you down in a matter of minutes? It’s not as fun for me when you can’t put up a fight, either.”

Her grip on the strap of her armor tightened, an already fiery temper further exacerbated by Frieza’s message and the plague of her body’s betrayal and clouding her mind with lewd imagery. “What else do you have to do? Surely you didn’t plan to go find the other two.” Her nostrils flared with an agitated huff and she ignored the flicker of rage that flashed through obsidian. “You were probably going to hole up in your room for the next several hours and fiddle with your scouter or take a nap or brood over the next mission.”

Vegeta’s increasingly vexed demeanor, the vicious lashing of his tail behind him, did little to deter her rant. “Or maybe you’re going to sit in here and jerk off because you’re too good for anyone that could possibly take interest in a short, egotistical prince long enough for even a quick fuck is your damn hand or absolutely in--!”

The last syllable of her nonsense passed her lips as a pained hiss as, in that split second, Vegeta gripped her by the arm, yanked her into his room, and slammed her into the wall. She felt plaster crack from the force. “Hilarious coming from you when you’ve admitted to being just as pretentious about who you fuck,” he growled, hands on her shoulders to keep her pinned. He remained at arm’s length, his fingers digging into her shoulder blades with bruising force. His smirk returned. Slow. Predatory. The tip of his tail brushed along the swell of her hip. “Even more hilarious that you were about to call yourself insane. Tch, don’t act so surprised; you’re not very subtle and I’ve smelled arousal on you more than once during our spars.”

She closed her gaping mouth and heat surged into her cheeks. She wanted to challenge the claim, but she learned early on how powerful a Saiyan’s sense of smell was. “That’s hardly fair. How do you know it’s not just our fights themselves that get me excited and not necessarily who I’m fighting?”

One hand released her shoulder in favor of gripping her chin and forcing her gaze down to his. He forced his knee between her thighs, and she bit her bottom lip, proving him right in her lack of subtlety. It took everything in her to keep her composure and not grind her hips on his muscled thigh for even the barest amounts of stimulation. Though she may have kept her body still, she knew her hooded gaze, flushed cheeks, and worried lip betrayed the surge of desirous urgings her mind flooded her with. The stubborn air she attempted to maintain fell flat in light of it.

“We’re not fighting now.” His growl had deepened, and his gaze remained locked with hers. Sharp canines peeked from beneath his lips as his smirk widened. “You’re not fighting against this predicament you’re in, either. Your claims are a little contradictory, wouldn’t you say?”

She exhaled, lips remaining parted a touch. Her thoughts of regaining a semblance of ground in this exchange clashed with her desire to simply give in to whatever he planned to do with her, if anything outside of teasing her to near death was on his agenda. She could only come up with a compromise for both. She lifted the outside leg, sure to graze along his as much as possible and in slow motion, and wrapped it around his waist to pull him closer. A slight arch of her spine, and his gaze flicked straight to her chest and back again. She swallowed a pitiful whimper as the move shifted her hips against his thigh, too.

“Aren’t you just clever?” Nabooru pushed her hips forward to meet his (she silently cursed the cut of his armor and the guard that hung from the front and sides), her own lips curling upward. “But I’d say we’re both on the same page here. Thankfully. I love a good spar, but all in all, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for it, let alone using it to get you to shove me up against the wall like this.”

He snorted, and his hand dropped from her chin. It trailed down her throat, and she instinctively tilted her head back. It lingered there for a moment longer, a hint of pressure applied from his palm forcing her breath to hitch, before it slid down the center of her body. Between her breasts. Along her abdomen. He shifted his knee down just enough to allow room for his hand to slide between her legs. “Would have never guessed through that temper tantrum you threw.”

She tossed her previous reservations out the window and pressed down into his touch, a shaky breath easing past her lips. “So, I’m a little pent up,” she breathed. Her fingers dug into the wall behind her; just to have someone else’s fingers between her thighs, caressing her even through her battle suit, might have satisfied her for another few days. “I’m sure you understand. You obviously have something of a sex drive…”

Another growl rumbled in his chest and he eased the fabric to the side. The leather of his gloves offered a far more pleasing sensation than she expected, grazing along sensitive skin before parting the lips and delving between them. He pressed two fingers briefly against her entrance before sliding them back up, settling against her clitoris. He teased the bundle with slow circles and an intermittent jolt of measured ki that weakened her knees and jerked her hips forward. All the while, his gaze remained on her face, watching her every minute reaction.

One thought plunged through the clouded haze of pleasure dulling her reason: more. By the look on his face, the pleasure he took in torturing her, he would keep this up for hours. While better than spending that time on her own, lying in the unfamiliar hotel bed and searching for any creative way of fantasy she could to get herself with, she had to take advantage of what she had access to now before he could rescind the offer and send her on her way, dripping wet, desperate, and unsatisfied. That meant convincing him he needed her, too. For the moment.

With her unencumbered arm, she reached between their bodies. She shoved the front bit of his armor up and slid her hand beneath it, hand resting against his bulge. The motion of his fingers stuttered to a halt and she saw his jaw tighten. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him through his battle suit. For added effect, she released a soft sight and rocked her hips against his hand. In his moment of surprise, she freed herself enough to lean down and flick her tongue over the shell of his ear.

“Do you really want to use your hand for this when you have me right here, Vegeta?”

As she hoped, it was like she flipped a switch. Vegeta released another growl and swatted her hand away, only to grab her waist, pull her from the wall, and shove her forward. Nabooru stumbled a step and fell face first onto the bed. She shifted back and planted her boots on the floor, hinged at the waist over the mattress and backside pushed enticingly outward. He was on her in a second, one hand squeezing her hip while the other likely released his cock from his suit.

A glint of red caught her eye in the moment's reprieve. His scouter. She reached for it, switched it off, and tossed it into a chair in the corner of the room. She had no intention of being particularly noisy in case Nappa or Raditz returned early, but she didn't care to take chances with the scouter next to her head while he plowed her. This endeavor was risky enough for a multitude of reasons. No need to add on to it.

She cast a glance over her shoulder and bit her lip when he slipped his hand from her hip to slide the fabric aside once more. The extra enticement of arching her spine further and pushing her hips out wasn’t needed as the Saiyan had no intention of dragging their meeting out any further. She stifled her gasp by burying her face in her forearm, and her fingers tangled into the too-crisp sheets beneath her. The brief pain when he plunged his full length inside of her subsided quickly, his teasing from before offering more than enough lubrication and her need being more prominent than a concern for being torn asunder. He remained still for the moment, likely to allow them both to adjust to the sudden change in stimulation, and she idly thought that he could probably stay still and she would probably still climax with how desperate she actually was. A shameful revelation when she touted herself as independent and above needing sex regularly. While still mostly true, her delight, her relief with finally having someone to pleasure her besides herself called it into question.

Toes curled in her boots as his hips shifted back from their flush positioning against hers, her worried bottom lip raw and a shudder raced down her spine at the sensation of feeling each inch slide through her until only his tip remained inside. The coarse fur on his tail tickled the bare portion of her thigh as it wound around it, squeezing and slipping into her stocking to caress her inner thigh.

Just when she thought he had snapped out of the trance her taunt placed on him, that he would return to torturing her for his own amusement, Vegeta’s bruising grip returned to her hips and he thrust back into her with a stifled growl, the force shoving her forward and nearly off her feet. For added stability, she planted her free knee on the edge of the mattress, offering a slight shift in the angle of his penetration. She sank her teeth into the leather of her glove at her wrist and moaned, the pace he set brutal and swift, unforgiving and rough. Gold eyes glazed over as the lines between pain and pleasure blurred, a pleasant heat coiling low in her abdomen.

The trail of his touch as it glided from her hip and down the front of her suit bottoms felt like fire, and she pushed her hips up so the tips of his fingers would reach their target quicker. The simplest graze of her clitoris sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and, as he rubbed the sensitive nub, he once more employed pulses of ki to heighten the sensation.

Between gloved fingertips and the relentless thrust of his cock, Nabooru’s focus wavered from playing it safe to wanting to moan and scream his name at the top of her lungs. She wanted nothing more than to orgasm and feel him topple over the edge after her, and, to her mild surprise, he seemed keen on achieving both. The force of her bite left deep indentations in the sturdy leather, alabaster wet with drool upon release. She tucked her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, murmured, desperate praises of the Saiyan prince dripping from her lips as the heat in her belly coiled tighter and threatened to break.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, lips pressed tightly together and trapping her mewls in her throat. His hooded gaze lifted from the point of contact, over the swell of her backside and up her spine to meet her lusty stare. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and his smirk returned just as he sent a more potent, constant shock through his fingers. Her eyes grew wide and she just managed to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. Her legs wobbled beneath her and her whole body arched sharply downward with the force of her climax, each wave stronger than the last.

Vegeta jammed himself fully inside her again amidst her walls tightly clamping around him. A growl ripped from his throat and Nabooru felt him bend over her back, his own body quaking with his climax and his fluids filling her. She moved her hips with his to ride her orgasm out with him, indulging in the slower pace. The sensation of him inside her and the heat that flooded her body. The dull, pleasant ache that already bloomed between her legs. The slight twinge of pain where he held her that preceded bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

Finally, she felt his tail unwind from her thigh and he pulled out of her. As if it was all that kept her upright, she let her body sag to the mattress, her legs squeezing together as another spasm wracked her body. Though quicker and less involved than she preferred, their quick romp accomplished what she needed. Bliss blanked her mind of little more than the prospect of asking for another round and rest. She knew the former would be pushing her luck, however. She could only guess why he had only just now caved along with her, but she imagined this would not be a regular occurrence no matter how much her addled mind wished it could be.

With a soft sigh, she reached back and trailed her fingers along the leg seams of her bottoms, pulling the pliant fabric back up and over her ass. She twisted around onto her back and sat up just as Vegeta tucked himself back into his pants and righted his armor. Another con of their coupling: she hadn't gotten to his toned body bare. They touched each only where necessary. The curse of trying to be quick. As efficient to release as possible.

Nabooru rose to her feet and busied herself with fixing her ponytail, loosened by the rough sex. Arms raised, she paused and her lips twitched in a smile when she caught him watching her, his tail swaying in contentment behind him. When he realized she noticed, he growled and looked away, heading to the corner of the room to retrieve his scouter.

"What are you standing around for?" he snarled, putting his scouter back on. "Get going."

She finished tying her hair up and chuckled. "You sure you don't want a little show or something?" She picked up her abandoned armor and let it hang from her crooked index finger. "I'm rusty, but I bet I can still manage a pretty tantalizing strip tease."

"Go before that tiny brain of yours comes up with any more ridiculous suggestions." He wrapped his tail around his waist again and lowered himself into a nearby chair. He rested his ankle on his knee. "This won't happen again."

Nabooru ignored the twinge of longing that came with his statement; she knew that from the start, didn't she? She went this long without indulging in her desires so she should be set for another three or four years.

She reached out and pressed the button to open the doors. "I'll see you later, then." She fought the urge to glance back at him, cast him a teasing wink, a brush of her hand along her hip, some enticing image for him to stew on, and strode out into the hall and back to her own room.

#fic: recruited #.:not sfw:.#:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#these dummies #i love how complicated it is for them #this doesn't even touch on why vegeta's like nah this it #no more #can't have that #BUT maybe that will come up in another chapter #or i'll write a little supplemental hc on it #for now enjoy this you heathens ;3

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saltpepperbeard · 5 years

Text

Open Up ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Hello hello! Does this still count as an Everlark one shot with a particular character of a particular kind thrown into the mix? I’d hope so lol! But hey there; quite the unexpected twist from me, yes? Considering how much I absolutely ROAST the guy who shows up in this story.

I wanted to do it as a fun little exercise however! Oddly enough, I think it was burning his trading card at Toastcon that gave me the extra motivation to go through with this fjkdskds. CATHARTIC, PERHAPS? I have had a headcanon for quite some time though, one where Gale matures enough to actually come back to Twelve to face Katniss and consequently Peeta as well. I decided to play with that idea, and it was definitely fun/challenging figuring out how everyone would react, Katniss especially.

Now, I know this may be a little less than ideal content for some shippers lol! If you’re anything like me, his name alone is enough to send you into a “HMMNOTHANK” most of the time. But I’d definitely appreciate some open-mindedness for this one! Katniss may not throw up Gale, no, but she definitely has some OPINIONS.

So without further adoooooo...

Open Up

I feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. Curled up into the couch, my hands laced over my stomach, my unborn baby stirring softly within...

The scent of Peeta’s baking cheesebuns a comforting perfume in the air, the rain gently tapping against the glass of the window, the warmth of the fire blanketing both body and soul...

It’s nice. And very much needed. Getting this deep into my pregnancy has caused a whirlwind of emotion. Terrors have been frequenting my dreams more often than not. Panic has overtaken me more than relief has. Uncertainty has danced through my system in contrast to the usual steadiness.

I don’t know; something’s different about today. It feels like everything has fallen into place, everything’s where it should be. All my favorite things have lined up to swaddle me in comfort, swaddle me in relief. Seems like not too many things could threaten such a wonderful, easygoing morning.

“Love?”

The familiar, handsome voice calling from the kitchen breaks me from my thoughts, but not from my eased state, in fact adding to it. A warm smile stretches my cheeks as I reply back.

“Hmm?”

“Doing alright in there?”

I can hear him still working as he talks, pounding dough and bustling around the kitchen. I bite my lip, smiling more as I picture his concentration.

“I guess.”

Now, he halts, giving a firm slap to the dough before pausing.

“You guess?”

I shake my head softly; so protective as always. He’s got even more so with my pregnancy. Even the slightest bit of upset or discomfort on my part will get him leaping to action. If it were anyone else, it would almost be annoying. But with him, with my husband...it’s strangely endearing.

I worry my lip more, puffing with mirth. Shouldn’t worry him, I guess, so my response turns to teasing.

“Just missing someone. He’s wrapped up in his work though, so maybe I shouldn’t bother him.”

I can practically hear the tension in the kitchen break, Peeta sighing before falling victim to laughter.

“Oh,” he snickers, and continues on with baking, “Well, yeah, he is pretty busy making cheesebuns for his two favorite people. Not that he would mind the company, but such a distraction might put said cheesebuns on hold.”

“That might be a risk I’m willing to take,” I murmur back.

I know my husband’s grinning tremendously, the warmth from his smile outdoing the heat from the fire in the hearth.

“Really?” he chuckles, “You’d cast aside cheesebuns for this person? Are we talking about the same Katniss here?”

Now I’m laughing as well, shaking my head once more before heaving my rotund form off my perch, readying myself to saunter towards the kitchen.

“Guess I love him a bit more than his baking. Only a bit though.”

Again, Peeta laughs, a joyous, wonderful sound that brings me to the same level.

“Hmm, sounds about right,” he snorts, “Well, if not a cheesebun, he definitely has a kiss with your name on it.”

My heart flips, absentmindedly licking my lips as I picture his offer. Despite the aches and pains coursing through my body from being late into term, I begin to waddle my way towards the lovely enticements in the kitchen.

“He sounds cheesier than what he’s making,” I say, a blush dusting across my cheeks as I add, “Guess that’s why I love him more.”

“I’m going to cut this third person thing we have going only to say that I love you too.”

I blush even harder, and am just a few waddles away from entering the kitchen, a few waddles away from collapsing into my husband’s embrace, when my jinxing words decide to catch up with me.

Because the morning does indeed shift. Not with anything bad, per say, but with something very unexpected; a series of knocks sounds from our front door.

The warmth surging through me is quick to shift to the opposite, every part of me freezing. I try not to grow anxious, but it’s difficult not to. Though mysterious visitors are often just Haymitch, or Sae, or even Hazelle, some deep recess of my mind always worries about it being someone from the Capitol.

Especially now, with a pure little unscathed life growing deep within me.

What if they’re here to take Peeta and I back on some twisted Victors’ Tour. What if they’re here to reap us into a new set of Games. What if they’re here to take my child, our child, away, leading it to death before I could even ease it into life...

I hadn’t even realized I had been shivering with quick breaths until Peeta’s voice sounds to ground me.

“Katniss?” he asks, his tone a strong whisper, “Who-”

The knocks persist, cutting us both off. My anxiety hikes up, my arms subconsciously wrapping around my stomach. I take steps away from the outside world, visions rolling dark throughout my head.

“I...I can’t...” I wheeze, silently begging my husband for help. He understands almost immediately, our closeness seemingly connecting our minds.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, though I think I can hear a hint of concern, “It’s alright, Katniss. Let me just clean my hands off and then I’ll answ-”

Once more, we’re cut off. This time though, not from knocks. This time, it’s from my name, my name being uttered from someone different than Peeta.

“Katniss?”

I didn’t think it was possible to freeze more. But I do, every ounce of me locking up at the voice on the other side of the wood. It sounds incredibly strange, but all too familiar. Absolutely awful, but oddly wonderful all the same.

Following along with the contrasts, my body remains rigidly still, all except for my arm, which slowly and cautiously reaches for the door’s handle. I don’t know what or who I’m expecting to see. I don’t know what to expect. But when I hear a soft, “I know you’re in there,” I’m able to summon enough strength to breech the final barrier between myself and the “stranger.”

Although it’s definitely not a stranger. And it’s not Sae, or Haymitch, or anyone from the Capitol. And I’m not sure if it’s way better than seeing a Peacekeeper at our door, or far worse.

Talk about locking up; I go utterly cold. My eyes turn wild, my mouth hangs agape, my grip on the door runs iron. And once more, my body and mind go to war, leaving me awkwardly hanging in the middle, unsure of what to do, unsure of how to react.

Part of me wants to start sobbing, crying at the notion of something returning from the dead. Part of me wants to slam the door, to forget I ever saw the person standing before me. Part of me wants to scream until my voice runs raw, shrieking my pain from the past few years.

Instead, I’m left doing absolutely nothing, simply staring in complete shock.

The inner battle within me continues, and a reaction birthed from pure instinct presents itself. Vile things form on the tip of my tongue, anger being the first to pull ahead in my internal fight. But, just as fast, my heart is quick to douse the flames, preventing anything from being said.

It’s quite the brawl, between body and spirit. Before a side can come out on top though, before I can truly react, truly process, I hear shuffling behind me. Then, comes the voice the eases my soul, but unfortunately leaves me more aware of reality.

“Katniss? Who’s at the...”

Much be pretty extraordinary if Peeta finds himself speechless too.

We all remain in a tense, uncomfortable silence for a beat. But of course, my husband is the one to cut through. Amicable and wonderful as always, even in a situation like this. So I’m not surprised at all to feel him slide up behind me, his presence warm and welcoming.

And with a composure I wish I had, I watch as he extends a hand in greeting to the man before us, followed by the name I’ve tried not to think about in years.

“Gale...” Peeta murmurs, “It’s...a surprise to see you back in Twelve!”

Gale.

I’m not sure whether I want to vomit, smile, or dart back into the house.

But with my husband behind me, and the initial shock wearing off, I settle on actually looking at him, actually taking him in.

He looks so incredibly similar to how he did when we parted. I’m not sure how that’s even possible; it’s been years. I guess the only difference would be that he looks fitter, more composed. Like the kind of person who should be working in District Two.

But I can still see the familiarity in his grey eyes, the concentration in his gaze that I saw so often when we were hunting. Now, instead of using it to figure out snares and traps, I watch as it washes over my form. My very vulnerable, very pregnant form. It seems to settle on my stomach, his brow furrowing just enough to rouse a reaction from me.

I suddenly feel incredibly self-conscious, judged, and uncomfortable. I can’t imagine he’s not sneering at the fact that I’m pregnant with another man’s child, scowling in jealousy like he did not too long ago.

Bile rises in my throat, and I cast my gaze downwards, shutting myself out from the situation. The only thing I choose to focus on is my husband, inhaling his therapeutic cinnamon and dill scent, relishing in the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

The small ounce of my conscious paying attention braces for the usual snarky comment from Gale. But strangely enough, he simply returns my husband’s greeting, shaking Peeta’s hand back.

“Peeta. Yeah it’s...definitely been a while.”

His voice even sounds similar. Strong, authoritative, steady. It takes me back to the better times between us, but of course, it also takes me back to the terrible. I feel my throat tighten further, and I still find myself unable to look at him. Instead, I lean back to seek the same comfort I’ve been receiving all these years, my own true solace.

Peeta’s quick to deliver, slipping his hand around my hip when he retracts it from Gale’s, holding me close. I can’t tell if his arm around me is a protective or a possessive gesture. Either way, it does its intended purpose, soothing me and ironing out the high peaks of anxiety.

“How have you been doing?” Peeta asks, thankfully keeping the awkward silences somewhat at bay.

“Ahh, pretty good. Keeping busy in Two.”

The mention of Gale’s job, his life, causes me to shiver slightly. Though Peeta tightens his grip around me, every ounce of his warmth pouring into my veins, my nerves continue to wave. I want nothing more than to bury my face in Peeta’s chest, to hide myself away from all of this. Even though it’s not much, simply catching up and exchanging pleasantries, it’s...more than overwhelming. I wasn’t ready for this. I want to go back to the regular, gentle day we were having, go back to focusing on my life and the life I’m preparing to welcome.

But, Gale being stubborn and Peeta being more than polite, neither give me that option, continuing to converse.

“...Take it things are going well for the two of you?”

Even after all these years, I think I can recognize that tone. Seemingly well intended, but laced with jealousy and negativity. Does nothing but make my urge to flee stronger, my trembles more intense.

Peeta begins to softly caress my hip, my lower back, rubbing tender circles as he carries on with the conversation.

“Yeah. We’re slowly starting to rebuild. Opened the bakery back up, and the forest continues to provide. Life’s been...getting back to normal really.”

My husband definitely doesn’t disappoint; even if Gale had been making some kind of stab at our relationship, at my pregnancy, Peeta stepped entirely around it. It makes me relax a tad, leaning even further into his touch.

“That’s good to hear. You seem like you’re doing much better,” Gale says.

My relaxation is short lived, tensing back up at Gale’s words. That’s...strange for him to say. Years ago he didn’t want Peeta to get better; him being well was too much competition. And now he’s commenting on my husband’s well being?

“I am, thank you,” Peeta murmurs, before looking down in my direction, “It’s been rocky at times but...We’ve really helped each other through a lot.”

“I can tell.”

Gale pauses for a moment, before taking a breath and continuing in a softer voice, “I’m...glad you two have each other.”

Now there’s a silence that even Peeta can’t mend, the both of us stunned at such a different character. I raise my head slightly, though still not looking Gale in the eyes, confusion surging in to mix with the nerves. Almost as if on cue, Gale inhales before breaking through.

“Guess you’re wondering why I’m at your front door?”

It’s like Peeta suddenly becomes fully aware of his surroundings; I guess Gale showing up was enough to shock him into greying out as well. He tenses slightly, looking down at me, back to Gale, and then down at me again, his mouth flopping a few times. I hear him swallow hard, before he releases with a sigh, almost like he was fighting something as well.

“Oh, sorry; would you like to come in out of the rain?”

“Yeah, thanks. Not quite used to this weather anymore.”

The two share a good-natured chuckle, keeping the atmosphere cordial. But, cordial as it may be, and as friendly as my husband is, it doesn’t stop my vision from nearly blacking out. There’s something about inviting Gale into our household that almost makes the contents of my stomach reappear onto our porch. Maybe because inviting him in almost feels like letting him back into my life, neither of which I’m ready for at all.

I can barely handle my pregnancy, can barely handle my past nightmares. How the hell am I expected to handle an individual who carries such immense weight with him, who’s left such a hefty scar across my body?

My form signals to me that I’ve had enough, and before either of them can say anything more, I tear myself away. I move the fastest I have in weeks, practically ignoring the added weight in my abdomen as I glide across the cold floor. I’m quick to find a bathroom, and I barely have time to sink in front of the toilet before the retching begins.

I cough harshly, tears streaming down my face as I fiercely grip the porcelain. Nothing comes up, but my body continues to react, heaving all the while. A scream builds up in my throat, but it comes out as a gag, dampened by all my rampant emotions.

There I remain until both physical and mental exhaustion kick in, my entire form slumping downwards. I wheeze, breathing heavily as I claw my way across the floor, easing myself to the bathroom door. I prop myself against it, leaning on it as I rake my hands across my face, tears still a plenty.

I expect to be reduced to sobs, or screams, but I find that I’m numb instead. I’m motionless, remaining against the doorway, now impervious to the conversation on the other end. I have no choice but to listen in, to be subjected to whatever is so important.

I wait for Gale to drop some big news, some kind of something from the likes of District Two. But instead, the conversation between he and Peeta continues to sound entirely casual.

“Did you want anything to drink? Or eat?” I hear Peeta ask.

“No, I’m good, but thanks,” Gale replies.

I hear them pass through the house, the two of them heading to either the living room or the kitchen. They probably think they’re out of ear shot, or that I’m not listening. They’d be wrong; I’m entirely attuned.

There’s another awkward beat, one silent enough for me to hear my heart pounding in my ears. This time, Gale’s surprisingly the one to break it, with something rather unexpected.

“...So when’s the baby coming?”

I feel my fists tighten on their own accord, an ember of anger alighting within me. It may have been a perfectly innocent question once again, but it reeks of envy and bitterness.

Thankfully, my husband’s warmth combats the negative fire; I can almost feel the heat of his smile as he gingerly answers.

“In a few weeks, we think. That’s what the doctor keeps telling us anyway.”

“You excited?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Peeta chuckles softly, “I’ve wanted to be a Dad for...a while.”

Picturing the look on my husband’s face and hearing his current contentment soothes me, my form easing a bit against the door. But because fire is here to combat my own, Gale speaking gets me tensing right back up again.

“And Katniss?”

I clench my jaw, my hands lacing protectively across my stomach. I’m half-tempted to burst out, to hiss at him to leave and stop questioning my growing family. But I still find myself locked up, Peeta tenderly speaking for me.

“She’s alright,” he murmurs after a breath, “She’s been scared of course.”

I tense further, wishing I had a knife to throw if Gale dares to make some kind of snide comment towards my husband, something about him not helping me properly or me not being ready. Once again, he surprises me, simply remaining silent and allowing Peeta to continue.

“But...I think she’s excited too. She already talks to the baby a lot, and I’ll catch her singing lullabies on the occasion.”

I hear Peeta chuckle gently, before he adds, “She’s going to be a wonderful mother.”

It’s astounding how well and how quickly Peeta can bring me back down, tension sapping from a body with a ghost of a smile to match. I blow out a soft breath, tenderly starting to rub my stomach, only to freeze when another voice interjects.

“...Yeah. She will,” Gale agrees.

That sort of melancholy-laced tone takes me back to when I was so confused, to when I didn’t know what to do with myself or how I was feeling. I expect it to trigger those same awful feelings of guilt, my throat tightening in preparation.

I’m pleased when nothing of the sort arises.

Because no, there’s absolutely no questioning it now. The baby growing within me is Peeta’s. And the heart pounding in my chest belongs to him as well. It’s something that Gale has absolutely no place in wiggling himself into now. It never was. So why the hell is he-

“Guess you’re wondering why I showed up here?”

I inhale sharply; guess he’s answering my question is more like it.

“Kind of,” Peeta admits.

“I came to Twelve for inspections. Decided to come here, kind of at the last minute. Partly because...”

He pauses with an exhale, and I’m barely breathing myself as he continues.

“Peeta, I wanted to apologize. And to thank you.”

It’s like everything in Twelve comes screeching to a halt. Nothing’s audible except for the rain just barely pittering outside, and my breaths puffing out in perplexed bursts. I sit up a bit, needing to shake my head and inwardly ask myself if that was real. Very out of character from what I’m used to, from what I’d expect from him.

Peeta must be on the same wavelength, his question just as soft as the raindrops on the window.

“...Pardon?”

I hear Gale take another breath, his voice taking an oddly soft tone as well.

“You’ve really taken care of each other. I can see that in the short time I’ve been here. But the way you’ve cared for Katniss...I never could’ve...”

He trails off, swallowing the old longing. I can feel myself scowling at the thought of his old self punching through whatever thing he has going now. Peeta must be making some kind of furrowed expression too, because Gale is quick to keep explaining.

“She was my best friend. And I cared about her a lot. Still do.”

I think I can feel my heart twang within my chest. Before I can think about that too much though, the flickering fire of annoyance within comes to the rescue.

“But I was just too wrapped up in myself,” Gale says, sighing, “Too wrapped up in the war. I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention to her as much as I should’ve. I didn’t realize what she wanted, didn’t know what she needed.”

He takes another deep breath.

“Obviously it was you. And I shouldn’t have fought against that as hard as I did.”

I can’t help but nod slightly against the door. Despite my distrust for him though, and the situation, I find myself continuing to listen intently.

“After the rebellion I was worried she’d never heal but...Here she is with you, alive, happy...pregnant...”

Almost as if on cue, the baby stirs softly, and I go back to rubbing my stomach. I can feel the tension levels easing down, only slightly, but still.

“Thank you for giving her this life. For being there for her. Trying to wedge myself between that was...inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

I’m surprised to feel my breath catch, and I lean my head back, looking towards the ceiling as I contemplate things, as I process. Where did this all come from? I never would have expected anything of the sort from him. The last time we saw each other, I was perfectly content on never seeing him ever again. And now he’s here, in my house, apologizing to my husband?

I shake my head again, scowling. Damn Gale. I guess I wasn’t safe from the confusion he inflicts after all.

Admittedly though, this...is far more welcomed. He’s perplexing, but not in the way I was so accustomed to years ago.

I am still annoyed with him though, for making me attempt to figure it out.

There’s another pause, less awkward this time. Peeta must be trying to process things too. I hear him heave a gentle sigh, before he speaks up again.

“You loved her. You didn’t know what to do. We both didn’t.”

It’s the first time throughout this exchange that my husband’s words have made my throat tighten. I find myself worrying my bottom lip, knowing it’s the truth but hating to hear it.

Following the pattern of oddity, Gale gives a sort snort.

“No, if I really loved her I wouldn’t have acted how I did. To either of you.”

The sigh that departs from deep within my lungs syncs up perfectly with Peeta’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, “It’s in the past now.”

“...You can’t speak for Katniss though.”

“No,” Peeta agrees, “I can’t.”

And he’s right. He can’t. Peeta understands me like no one else does, but I don’t even think he can figure out the complexity of what all I’m feeling right now. For the record, I don’t think I can either.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. Things have already been so crazy lately. I didn’t need more wounds from my past to reopen.

And I don’t want to forgive him.

But I feel...eased. I feel slightly lifted. It’s equivalent to putting a bandaid on a scar, sure. Doesn’t erase the fact that the scar is still there. But...it still feels oddly better than having the scar ugly and untreated.

Before I can get too wrapped up in my thoughts, Peeta’s gentle and sincere voice breaks through.

“...Thank you though, Gale. I appreciate the apology.”

Some kind of movement is audible, and I imagine the two are shaking hands again. If anything, I guess I’m glad that Gale and Peeta are on better terms.

But where does that leave me.

It’s like they read my mind, my energy, directing their conversation my way after another pause.

“Should...we check on her?” Gale asks.

Peeta replies with a long breath, before audibly answering.

“I think...she just needs some time. This was all very sudden. Guess anything else will have to happen on her terms.”

I love you, Peeta.

I let out a shaky breath, feeling Gale’s tension before he relents.

“Right. Sorry for showing up with no notice.”

“It’s alright,” Peeta murmurs, letting out a huff of mirth, “Definitely took us by surprise though.”

They both share a strained, quiet laugh, before things go quiet. There’s the awkwardness again, like neither of them are sure where to proceed. They both know they can’t force me out. So after a few more pauses, Gale backs off with a sigh.

“Alright. Well, good seeing you, Peeta,” he says, “Take care of yourself.”

“You too. Safe travels.”

More pauses, before I hear a pair of departing footsteps, followed by another. I recognize the heavier tread of my husband, sounding like it’s slowly departing off towards the kitchen again. Gale sounds closer, likely heading for the front door.

And that’s when I feel completely strange. That’s when all the swirling emotions take hold. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know is about to take place. But I find myself standing up and bursting through the door, tearing back through the house.

I round a corner, and freeze at the sight of him. His back is turned to me as he collects his things, but he raises his head and stills at my approach. I thought I had been silent on my feet, but I guess my pregnancy makes my footsteps a bit harder. That, or his hunting background must still be evident despite years in District Two.

Either way, I inwardly curse, and consider darting away before he can say anything.

I find that I’m still locked into place though. And he beats me to it anyway.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Him talking to Peeta was easy to stomach. But for some reason, him talking to me after so long instantly makes me defensive, a scowl hardening my features with building nasty words to match.

“I wouldn’t forgive me either,” he continues, still turned away from me, “But I have to apologize to you anyway.”

I feel myself trembling, close to bolting or yelling, I’m not sure which. Again, he doesn’t give the luxury of deciding. He instead turns to face me, our grey eyes connecting in a strange hold. It’s very quick to make me feel nauseous, the whole thing a bit much to handle. I don’t know why I chased him in the first place.

I want Peeta. I want to go back into hiding. I want...

“Katniss...” he says, his voice saddened and just barely above a whisper.

My nostrils flare, numerous responses attempting to surface but failing. He takes it as a cue to go on.

“Will you at least listen to what I have to say?”

My body tenses up, like a cat arching its spine. I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either. That leaves us in a strange limbo for a bit, with Gale being the one to venture out of it.

“I was bent out of shape. I was too caught up in my own interests. So caught up that I forgot how to treat you as my best friend. Hardly anything else mattered.”

I’m heaving shaky breaths, feeling a glassy, angry sheen form at the bottom of my eyes.

“It wasn’t right of me at all. It won me the battle I was fighting but at what cost.”

I watch as he swallows hard, his expression dropping further.

“Katniss, I’m so sorry about...”

He chokes on his apology, unable to finish. I know what he’s referring to though. The thought is enough to break the glass, a single, hot tear rolling down my cheek. I want so badly to swipe it away, but I’m completely motionless.

At this, he seems to droop, pain clearly reading across his face.

“I’m sorry...”

I close my eyes, trying not to think too hard about anything. I attempt to shut it out, reverting to hardness as I always have.

“We’ve been here before, Gale,” I say, my tone cold but catching slightly at the utterance of his name.

“I know. And nothing I can say will fix it.”

“No.”

He heaves a shaky breath himself, and switches course away from that awful topic.

“So, I guess I’ll just say that...I’m so happy for you.”

This is enough to bring my eyes back into view, and I’m stunned to see him wearing a sad smile.

“I never would have been able to say this years ago. But really, I’m happy you’re here, with Peeta. He...really cares about you. And it’s good to see that you’re happy too. That you love him.”

I blink slowly, instinctively resting my hands atop my stomach at the talk of my husband, the talk of love.

“That’s all I could have wanted. You to be happy and safe. And he’s done that for you. All that and more. I’m glad, Katniss. I really am.”

I don’t want to believe him. I don’t want to believe any of this. But his expression, his voice...It all seems so oddly genuine. I mean, why would he show up here to say all of this if he didn’t really mean it?

My breath catches, and I blow it out slowly, beginning to shift my hands across the strained fabric of my shirt, comforting myself. I nearly stop when I see Gale’s gaze momentarily flit down to my stomach, but it’s too quick of a glance.

“Seeing you...like this...I know everything’s just right for you. And that he was right all along.”

“It is. He is.”

I of course expect him to sulk, but he simply nods, continuing to gently smile.

“I think I can breathe easier now, that’s for sure.”

I fall slightly agape, unable to hide the perplexity swirling around my subconscious.

“Why...do you...”

“Care?” he finishes for me.

When I give a slight nod, he continues, “Spending time away from home made me reflect I guess. It’s weird being there without really knowing anyone. It’s weird not being able to hunt.”

It’s his turn to look away, his eyes flitting down for a moment before reconnecting with mine.

“...I’ve missed you, Katniss.”

It’s back to me looking away, my throat tightening up as well. I can feel his gaze on me, and lets out a mirthless puff of air.

“Know that’s probably not mutual.”

I’m about to start scowling at what sounds like a guilt trip, but he sweeps away my building annoyance.

“Which is okay. And...understandable,” he huffs.

Another awkward beat, the two of us shifting on our feet. Of course Gale is the one to cut it, his voice the gentlest it’s been this entire time.

“I just had to apologize. Get that all off my chest. I owed it to both you and Peeta for too long. I really am sorry, Katniss. For everything.”

When I don’t respond, hanging my head as moisture settles in my eyes again, he lets out another sigh.

I won’t forgive him. I can’t forgive him. But I can at least...accept this, accept what he’s said. I can at least acknowledge that I appreciate his strange shift in mindsets.

Not with words though, of course. Not by saying something. So, almost as if on their own accord, my feet are carrying me towards him, closing our proximity for the first time in nearly a decade. I barely have the time to register his shocked expression before I’m against him, as best as my rotund stomach will allow.

The feeling of him against me, the ashen scent that floods my nose, is almost enough to make me gag, to make me think that this was a mistake. I’ve gotten accustomed to speaking through physical gestures. But with him, with Gale...

I tense, my breath speeding up considerably. But when he slowly and hesitantly completes the embrace, when his arms come around me...

There’s an absence of warmth, yes. But the familiarity, the promise of sincerity in his apology...

One or two tears manage to break free, streaming down my cheeks and signalling a breach in my composure. I have to break away before I let my emotions get the best of me. I guess after all of these years, after everything that happened, I still can’t let him see me cry. So I tug back against his hug, breaking it and avoiding his gaze.

“You and Peeta take care of yourselves,” he murmurs, finally signalling his departure.

I nod softly, starting to fidget with the bottom of my shirt.

“And...congratulations,” he says; I can see him nod towards my stomach out of the corner of my eye, “I can’t believe you’re about to become a mother...”

Again, I nod, my lip trembling ever so slightly.

There’s another pause, and then he murmurs his departing words.

“Good seeing you, Catnip...”

I heave at the utterance of the old nickname, finally looking at him again. He gives me one last saddened smile, before slowly turning back towards the door. He opens it, and is quick to venture out into the rainy weather, his form disappearing into the mists of Twelve like a shadowy apparition, like he was never even here.

I walk out onto the porch after he goes, before stepping into the gentle rain myself. I need it to stay in touch with reality. I need it to make sure that wasn’t some weird dream.

My grey gaze travels skyward towards the matching clouds, allowing the cold droplets to splash across my face. It feels cleansing, therapeutic.

Kind of like...the whole exchange that was just had. Cold, could be considered unpleasant even, but...perhaps needed. Cathartic.

Like some kind of weird closure to something that was so painful.

I open my eyes and lower my head, blinking away the tears and rain. I suddenly feel chilled out in the deluge, after such a conversation, needing warmth like nothing else. I spin on my heels and dart back into the house, seeking the only person who can give me that.

“...Peeta?” I call, though it comes out more like a whimper, my composure swaying dangerously.

“In here, love,” he tenderly replies.

I follow his voice into the living room to find him sitting on the couch in front of the roaring fire, a fresh plate of cheesebuns on the coffee table beside him. He’s wrapped in a blanket, and as grey meets soft blue, he holds it open in an invitation, one I don’t hesitate in taking.

In mere seconds I’m against him, burying my face into his neck, into everything that he is. And as he wraps half of the blanket around me, as he nuzzles me and peppers me with comforting kisses, all the crazy emotions that had been boiling up in me surface.

I cry. I sob. I wheeze my tears against my husband until I can barely breathe. He’s extraordinarily patient with me throughout, letting me get it out and not saying a word, simply stroking my hair or giving me soft kisses.

When I’ve exhausted myself, when I’ve drained myself of feeling, I sniffle and reveal my face again, snuggling further against Peeta. He of course is aware of the shift, and wraps his arms around me in a loving embrace.

“Hey...” he whispers, pressing his lips against my forehead, “You okay?”

“I...I think so...” I whisper back, my chest continuing to shiver with the occasional sob.

Peeta nods slowly, and continues to caress and kiss me. I have to give him credit; he doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask any questions about what happened. He puts the conversation entirely in my hands, only discussing what I feel comfortable with.

I allow the shivers coursing through my system to lessen, the fire and rain to soothe, and my husband to nurture, before I softly speak up again.

“He tried to apologize before...”

Peeta stops peppering me with his lips only to lean back a tad, listening intently to my soft explanation.

“After...after Prim...”

Her name comes out as a croak, which gets me another gentle kiss to the cheek before my husband leans back once more.

“I couldn’t forgive him then. Still couldn’t now.”

I can see Peeta’s mouth slightly tighten out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t say anything, simply nodding.

“I don’t know though...Something felt...different today...Better...”

“Yeah?” Peeta murmurs.

“Yeah...I don’t know. Maybe I’m just wrapped up in how unexpected it was...And weird...”

My husband lets out a puff of mirth, his hand softly drifting across my shoulder, rubbing gentle caresses

“It was...pretty weird, admittedly,” he agrees with a chuckle, before his voice runs serious again, “But...I think it was a good thing...”

I nod slowly, simply gazing towards the fire as I think things over. The flames have lessened a bit, not crackling and popping as strongly. Just like Gale; his flames seemed to have died down too. Neither are as aggressive anymore, as overpowering. That’s definitely not a bad thing at all.

A soft sigh huffs from my nose. I wonder if he’s ever going to stop by again. I don’t think I’d be affected if he didn’t. But I also don’t think I’d be full of hatred if he did.

Strange. I didn’t expect to make some sort of semblance of peace with so many things today. Everything really does seem to be easing into harmony, into gentleness.

“What about you?” I finally murmur into the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“How’re you feeling about it?”

“Oh,” Peeta replies with a puff of soft laughter, “Ah, about the same as you I guess. Weirded out.”

I return the huff of laughter, and my husband chuckles more before continuing.

“I just...never expected him to show me gratitude.”

“Or apologize.”

“Oh, you heard?”

I nod, my voice dropping a tad in pitch, protectiveness and possessiveness swirling throughout.

“About time he actually showed you proper respect and appreciation.”

My sudden seriousness must take Peeta by surprise, because he halts his caresses and movements. When he gets a load of my scowl though, my grumpiness, he lets out another soft huff, his facial expression melting back into tenderness.

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t really matter in this, sweetheart. What’s more important to me is that he showed that respect to you.”

“No, he needed to understand how much I love you, Peeta. How much you mean to me. I don’t think he does entirely, don’t think anyone does. At least he has a better idea now.”

Again, I’ve stunned my husband. Only this time, I can see a wonderful, shy smile slowly stretching his features. It reminds me of the smile he gave me when I thanked him for the pearl, or the smile he gave me when I first told him I loved him.

He hangs his head a bit, letting out a soft laugh.

“You’re...incredible, you know that?”

I feel my scowl shifting towards a smile now as well, shaking my head at his compliment.

“Alright. Well, how about we say that...it was good for both of us, and that I love you to the point where I can’t properly express it myself,” he murmurs.

“Hmm...Guess I’ll have to settle for that.”

This time when Peeta laughs, I’m unable to stop myself from doing so too. And I finally turn to look at him for the first time since sitting down, as he’s actually the person I can give a proper physical gesture to.

“Peeta?”

“Hmm?”

I take a moment to appreciate his tender stare, his striking features, his ever growing smile when our eyes meet. I cannot help but smile softly in return, my tone growing lighter.

“There’s...a kiss with your name on it...”

The way his face manages to light up even more, even brighter than the embers beside us, melts my heart.

We kiss and embrace until we run hotter than the fire, until the cheesebuns beside us run cold. We caress until the cold dampness still clinging to my skin shifts elsewhere, until the possessiveness really wants to take over. We ravish each other until we drown out the rain pounding on the roof, until we give each other all the love and appreciation we can offer.

Later, we lay in bed as both us and the evening weather cool down, our bare bodies tangled and our hands laced across our precious one nestled within me. Mental and physical exhaustion set in as I nestle closer to Peeta, lazily peppering him with kisses. But after everything, after such an odd turn of events...I feel whole.

My week had started with mounting worry, with growing fear. And now, it’s ending with heightening peace, with easing tension. It’s ending with things tying up in strange, lovely little knots. It’d ending with more of a focus on what’s ahead, less of what’s behind us.

In the loving arms of my husband, I don’t have any nightmares. And with the apologies still hanging in my conscious, my scars hurt a little less.

#Everlark #Everlark fanfiction #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Gale Hawthorne #(...i haven't used that tag since like 2014 lmao WHO IS SHE)#Galey Bird #thg #Mockingjay #...DOIN' ME A SPOOKERS THIS ONE IS LOL #i even had to get Sweet Sweet Validation from some fandom ladies before going through with posting #Listen #L i s t e n #I think deep down I'm totally okay with Katniss and Gale being friends #If he had been okay with Peeta like Peeta had been with him #And had respected Katniss' choices/decisions a bit more #And didn't let his emotions/wants get the better of him #MIGHT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO TOLERATE HIM WAY WAY MORE #He just...got way too wrapped up in his own interests #And so I like to THINK that after a long while of being alone in Two #He reflected and kind of came to his senses #And realized what he had done to both Katniss AND Peeta #Hence him coming to try and make better amends #Just to try and tie up the SEVERLY loose and painful ends #...YA FEEL LOL #I FEEL #I'M ALL ABOUT PEOPLE HEALING #SO I //GUESS// GALEY BIRD IS ULTIMATELY INCLUDED #you know what this story's called #Growth lmao

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conoscenze · 5 years

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self-esteem // part two.

As the title says, this is a continuation of this post, in which are featured five out of the ten muses of this blog. (Number may grow in the future.) Not much else to say!

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS, EMOTIONAL & MENTAL ABUSE, AND IN GENERAL COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF SELF-LOATHING. Nothing except the latter goes much in detail. Enjoy!

Fujunko, I’d say, has a very normal situation. While she did grow up bullied and isolated from others due to her family situation, she has always been a strong child because of her grandmother’s support. She thinks of herself as pretty okay, average even, and truth be told she lacks a proper conception and opinion of herself because she is always more focused on what she does, rather than who she is. Fujunko is modest and humble, and is aware of her faults and that she should fix them. The prospect of that doesn’t weigh for her, it instead fuels her determination further because she knows she’ll be an even better person once she might succeed. Perhaps the only thing she is a little self-conscious about is her sexuality, or more specifically the fact that she has always lived in an environment that is full of sexualization as well as other things related to sex. For example, not many people know she lives in Kabukicho because she is well aware of that district’s reputation. Along with that, even without having visitors coming over, she prepared a special spot where to hide her hentai manga and porn magazines. Fujunko is conscious of her sexuality and how active her libido is, and she’s not truly ashamed of it---perhaps it’s more of a situation where she would rather not risk looking like a complete pervert. Being degraded to just that would be greatly inconveniencing.

Min-Seo defines her self-worth based on others’ opinions. Ever since she was young, she has always been influenced by the judgement of others, the prime example being her own parents. Self-made people that base one’s worth through what they can achieve and how they can handle business: from the very start Min-Seo was expected to fit in that archetype as well, she was pampered and educated to retain that mindset much like her father and her mother. The moment Min-Seo decided to direct herself towards something less academic, but rather more artistic (cooking isn’t exactly seen as something material, in her family) they turned their backs on her. Maybe she could’ve been able to pass not too unscathed had they just done that. Instead they decided to stick their fingers and salt into the wounds, considering Min-Seo is not a hard read: it’s obvious how she constantly craves approval from others, no matter about what. Her parents were disappointed, and decided to make her understand to what extent they felt hurt. Victims of a crime she never committed in first place. She thinks that acting according to her own personality and morals is wrong in itself. A lot of times Min-Seo doubts her actions, questions her worth, wonders about her existence in itself. The weight that her parents’ expectations have on her back is far too much for her to handle without breaking. Min-Seo can persevere, but one thing is for sure: she will forever be scarred by her own lack of assertiveness. This is her conviction. The way she constantly puts herself down for every little thing may come across as attention-seeking, and it wouldn’t be wrong to think so. In a way, she is craving of attention and validation, even though she constantly denies so if directly asked. She wants to be looked at for who she is, but she is too scared to disappoint others in doing it. Thus, she is content with superficial reassurances and compliments---they satisfy, even if a little, her need for that bit of positivity while not digging in too deep. Because who likes a loser that’s constantly fretting over the future and her own identity?

Marzanna is another complex case, mostly due to the fact that her ego made, for the most part, an incredible shift. Its timeline can be divided very neatly: pre-Nev, the time previous to her “punishment”; and post-Nev, the time spent living in the human world with her reborn appearance, which she dons to this day. It wasn’t exactly a drastic change, as it came gradually with its own time, but the differences between before and after are rather striking. Impressive as they are quite scary. However, as a deity, Marzanna will always retain a sense of superiority. Obviously, pre-Nev she was much more cruel, merciless, violent---a goddess of Death and Winter true to her name. But going along with the myths, even then she possessed a very intricate personality due to her double-nature as a goddess of Harvest and Rebirth. You could say she played “both parts”, even if her nature was still prevalently more inclined to be the vicious Marzanna all humans worshipping her cult feared. That respect and terror in her regards constantly fuelled her ego and pride, hence why she rarely took kindly to those who critiqued her ways and manners (which were basically non-existent). After all the whereabouts in the Underworld, there was a change. Marzanna, the first time she came out of her “cocoon”, did not seem like Marzanna at all. Though it took her time to settle comfortably in her new body and her new life amongst humans, she managed to prove not only to Veles and Perun, but also to herself, that she was capable of being better. Of real emotions other than bitterness, anger, and spite. Marzanna became humble, she felt humble, and wanted to be kind to others without expecting anything in return. This doesn’t mean that she forgot who she was and what she did---Marzanna remembers everything very clearly. And, an important note, is that her “rebirth” did not erase the being she was before. Marzanna is gentle---but she still is prideful, she still can be fearsome, she, of her own will, can hurt others to her liking. The difference is that now her patience is much broader and more difficult to abuse of, seeing as she has learned how to properly control herself. If you bring into discussion the matter of self-worth, though, Marzanna will state with confidence that she doesn’t think of herself as neither too worthless, nor worthy. She is right in the middle. She would be telling the truth. There are certain things she is especially self-deprecating about, such as Jarilo and Vesna and her past wrongdoings, but they don’t feel so heavy that she needs to chastise herself because of them. Rather, she believes acknowledging them will help in avoiding further mistakes that may bring to those very same terrible choices. So, in short, Marzanna has decent self-esteem, and considers herself not exactly the best person, whilst not belittling her own efforts. She strongly believes in self-improvement, and despite not liking enjoying the memories about the things she has done and said, she doesn’t deny having acted upon them out of her own free will. While she is kind around humans, she still retains a bit of sense of condescending superiority, as perhaps remnant of her once-fiery pride. She’s not the kind to abuse of her nature, however, preferring to conceal it.

Annaliese is confident, it’s not difficult to tell. Although her past is rather bizarre---between neglectful, bigoted parents, a difficult life in the orphanage and a quite null life before the one in the convent---she seems to have come unscathed out of most of her experiences. In fact, one could even dare say that no matter how bad a thing could be, she will make the best of it and treasure the good part of her experience. Annaliese is a simple woman with a rather picky mind, because while she does not necessarily forget the horrible things said and done to her, they don’t affect her. They literally wash off as easily as rain. Is it in her nature to be so simply careless? Most’s insecurities (at least in the case of this blog) stem from the fear of other’s judgement and opinions, and they can augment following more events worth of a great shock or a trauma. For some reason, this does not apply to Annaliese---she has a stable view of herself, which is nor exceedingly high nor stratospherically low. It could be her airheadness playing a part as well, considering she’s not too aware of her own flaws and faults: but when met with confrontation about them, as long as it’s reasonable, she is willing to listen (hoping the other party will be kind enough as to explain properly what they mean). Annaliese considers hostile approaches annoying and useless to deal with, and perhaps this way of “shrugging them off” came with the stern teachings of the orphanage she grew up in, which was handled by the clergy. It is very stereotypical, and mostly true, for religious people to be obstinately stubborn about their beliefs. This could apply to Annaliese, who is outright unwilling to communicate with someone who is not able to take on a calmer attitude. Annaliese thinks of herself as decent, and doesn’t really take to mind her flaws nor her merits. She almost only acts on instinct, meaning she doesn’t use her head all that much. This means any ill judgement is typically rejected without batting an eye, and without giving thought to it---almost as if it was never heard in first place. This also means that if she feels unjustly attacked, she will act upon personal pride to try and defend herself.

Momoko is... complex. That, in itself, is not the correct word to describe her situation with self-esteem. Let’s start with the fact that Momoko has a very distorted view on many things, varying from common knowledge to specific psychological matters such as love, affection. She also has a very hard time dealing with what’s real and what’s not, as she constantly lives in a hazy and confused status that’s constantly oscillating between reality and hallucinations. It’s enough of an example to mention how her dreams, as described by her, almost exactly resemble her daily life. Sometimes, her brain---high on medications---creates hallucinations out of nowhere, be it auditory, sensory, or visual. Momoko lives her life constantly on edge because of this. To understand exactly why she ended up living in this perpetual state of uncertainty about what’s real and what not, you’d have to know what happened in her past. Considering that, as of now, it’s for the most part concealed and vague, we’ll try to explain without having to necessarily explore that specific aspect. As a first, Momoko thinks mostly two things about herself: “I’m a miserable piece of shit” and “But at least I’m better than the cockroaches”. She considers herself a despicable, lowly being, without a doubt. But at the same time she contradicts her own belief, by stating that she is superior in comparison to what she calls “cockroaches”. It’s a rather interesting paradox, as well as huge. She hates herself whilst not truly hating herself---confused as her own perception of reality is. Momoko judges others for anything simply because she can, and because she doesn’t feel the need to repress hostile and rude thoughts. It took her some time, and a lot of pressure from her medics, to understand that it’d be best if she kept comments to herself---but when she’s alone, or in a scarcely populated area, she doesn’t refrain from commenting under her breath any and all evil things she can think of. It’s efficient for distancing others from approaching her, is her conscious thought. Subconsciously, she is feeding her own ego, which is dramatically starving for some sort of validation. Momoko feeds her own self-esteem however she can, and since only anger runs through her veins, she will fuel her confidence with hatred towards others. Acting out based on her impulses and pleasures (such as hurting small living beings and being a disturbingly active member of the darknet community) doesn’t truly feed into this illusion of hers, it’s useful to fulfill a sense of utility. Momoko is conscious and makes use of her own intelligence, despite the fact that it doesn’t make her feel good about herself. Her own self-worth isn’t based on her skills. Then if her pride is based on her hatred towards others---the “cockroaches”, as she calls them (though it’s not exclusive to other people); what is her self-loathing based on? A very good question. The most clear-cut answer is her unveiled past, of course, and the events that occurred in her middle-school years. But since we cannot explore that part of her timeline yet, a possible answer could be... her self-consciousness. Momoko has never been particularly subject to bullying---nor to others’ judgement. In fact, while she was often picked on, she just as perpetually fought back with teeth and nails. Momoko always had a strong confidence regarding herself ever since she was a kid. So, one would be curious as to why she would grow up to resent herself to the point which she literally can reach starving points of two full days, one would be dying to understand what is pushing her to risk her (so far) untainted criminal record with all the illegal actions she follows on her own accord. Momoko is conscious of her actions. She knows what she does is horrible. And she doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Time and time again she’s bared strong self-fulfilled conviction in her own actions, and rarely does she feel like she is in the wrong. Even when presented with proof, it’s hard to convince her that she might be the one at fault. Then what is it? What is the cause of her self-hatred, if not aforementioned self-consciousness? Could it be something rooted in that so-mysterious event that caused her whole life to go downhill? Honestly? Momoko does not know. She hates herself---because she is human, that much is obvious. She doesn’t feel remorse when she acts vile, and that’s when she feels good about herself. Having emotions is the bane of her. She hates feeling. Perhaps this could be the reason. It’s her own nature as an emotional human being that she despises the most.

#now this is REALLY long #brace yourselves fellas this is a ride #if you need pictures to skim more easily ghgjghghg im sorry this is a Bit of a textbooky thing i guess. as in. it can get boring?#or at least i assume bc this shit.... yO. INTERESTING.#fujunko || disclosed information.#min seo || disclosed information.#marzanna || disclosed information.#annaliese || disclosed information.#momoko || disclosed information.#outta violence || ooc.#long post /#again ask if theres anything to tag!#i wont be arsed to let this wait more than it should so ofc im posting right away

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naughtyfandomfreakwriter · 5 years

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Chapter One - The Red Reaping

Word Count: 8,932

I remember wearing the braids in my hair. I remember watching her on every screen around. I remember the nightshade berries, and the quarter quell, and the rebellion.

I remember it all, even as everyone tries to forget.

When she lost… when the districts were forced back in line, I remember… I never forgot Katniss Everdeen.

I was only a child when the rebellion failed. The Mocking Jay was made quiet and the Capitol ruled supreme. President Snow had vanquished another uprising.

However, the people still remembered, and that needed to be changed. The Capitol had never seen a Hunger Game with more drama and although they couldn’t be happier to be safe and spoiled once more, they still adored the romance of Peeta and Katniss.

You could trust President Snow to use this to his advantage. As the districts needed to be punished, he left it to his game makers to formulate a new challenge. While the Summer months were used to continue the hunger games, the Winter would set a new game that would still cost lives. Each rebellion had to pay a price, after all.

The Red Games were instituted. A game that would give the capital the love and drama they so craved, while acting as a punishment to the districts. A twisted bloodbath for the next generation.

It was the morning of the Red Reaping. It was easy to tell, what with all the noise outside. With a groan, I turned onto my stomach, face in my pillow.

“Quiet please,” I couldn’t help but groan as I reached for my remote. I knew well enough already which button to press to hush the outside world and block out the light. One tap and my favourite starry night sky played on the window screen.

I should be lucky to live in the Capital, but some days it was damn near intolerable.

On a day like today, I knew my family would want me up and dressed as early as possible but they knew not to come wake me themselves. I never liked this day, and only my father understood.

I never enjoyed any of the capital events. Not since my family and I returned from District 7.

My father, Damiin Silver, was a peace keeper assigned to the Lumber district. I only spent three years there before dad got a promotion and moved back to the Capital. Still, the memories remain the same. The hunger, the weight on their shoulders, it made an impression that no amount of wealth could fix. My Mom, Letta, always said I was too young and impressionable when we lived there. She blames that time on why I’m so hard to handle. She’s not wrong.

Finally dragging myself out of bed, I move to the mirror to braid my hair.

Mom also blames my fascination with Katniss on my time in the district. She’s not wrong.

I’ve been a fan of braids for so long most people don’t even relate it to the Mocking Jay anymore. It’s just an out of date style I refuse to give up. Though that seems to make sense from the way I wear my clothes as simple as possible. I remember a time when I dressed like everyone else. Now the idea of such ostentatious clothing seems uncomfortable.

I looked in the mirror when I finished. Brown hair that faded into gold swept into a side braid, my curvy figure made obvious in a simple peach dress and gold belt. The silk flowers in a pale pink peach sewn to the dress would be about the only thing that seemed ‘capital’ about my outfit outside of its colour. Painting my face might be the only thing I actually enjoyed about getting ready. Glueing gold lashes to my own, adding a peach colour to my lids, applying another gold bar of colour down the center of two delicate pink lips, it was like crafting a mask, one I hid behind as much as I could.

I tried to live between words. Just colourful enough not to draw attention but never enough for the standards of fashion applied to the Capital. A sense of invisibility was always the aim.

“Alright, Gemma. Let’s get this over with.”

With a heavy breath, I walked out of the room. Downstairs, Mom and Dad were already eating and celebrating. Havvery, the Avox assigned to my family, served as Mom twitted on about her plans for the day. There was a time I’d have to endure those plans but for this year, I’ll be graciously separated, just as I was last year and the year before that.

“Oh Darling, you couldn’t have… tried a little?” Mom asked.

Of course, my style is never more critiqued than on days like today. At 20 years old you’d think she’d get tired of judging my looks. They’d been the same for quite some time.

“Leave her be,” my Dad chimed in, eyes on his screen working already. Busy days like today demanded a lot from a peacekeeper as high in rank as he.

“Just, a bit of glitter, or maybe a necklace or two,” she continued to complain.

“I’m fine,” I brushed off, heading for the food set out in a bright spread. A sweet orange would be enough while getting me out of the house quickly. I was only just starting to peel the skin when I felt a snap on my ear.

“Ouch!” I cried out, reaching to feel cold metal on my ear and turning to see my mother. She’d clipped on a gold dangling earring and waited with the other.

“Please,” she begged.

I turned around to my food, which she took as an invitation to add the other. I flinched again.

It was such a talent that my mother could so easily reach my limit of her shallow vanity. Of all the people I knew, she was the most like the capitol. No wonder the Districts revolted.

Standing from the table I moved with my fruit in hand.

“I’m meeting Belba before everything starts,” I didn’t want to spend anymore time with my mother than I had to. Not today.

“Darling, I thought we could head down together-”

I didn’t let her finish. I was out the door and into the loud chaotic streets before she could stop me.

The Red Reaping was one of the big parties of the year. It was the first party of the Red Games and although it was a brisk fall day, everyone dressed up for the event. I slipped on my knitted coat with the thinnest of fur trims and continued to eat my orange. Around me everyone was shouting and laughing. Parts of the city played music and there was literal dancing in the streets.

Absolute luxury paired with excited gossiping. It was so different from District 7.

I could easily imagine the trepidation and fear as each citizen from age 18 to 29 dressed for the reaping. It was a more conservative fear, cloaked by the brave faces the older citizens wore. The Hunger Reapings, with their younger children, laid their terror quite plainly on their faces. It had always been so strange to watch a child my age make for the town square knowing I was safe and they weren’t.

‘Trig…’ I thought, the name scarcely on my lips when a familiar voice stopped me.

“Gemma! Over here,” Belba called over. She was a tree amongst most people, that was only worsened by the tall heels she always wore. I rushed through the crowd to her side, accepting the hug she had to bend over to give.

“You made it out of the house, I see.”

“Not unscathed,” I added, showing off the earrings that had turned my earlobes red from their sudden addition. They were fake and so they pinched to stay in place.

“Here,” Belba smiled. She took them off of me gently and turned me around. I could feel her moving a bit at my hair and soon the clips framed by braid instead of tormenting my ears.

“Thank you,” I genuinely spoke, my hands feeling behind my head to where they now sat.

Belba was always so wonderful at fashion. She had dreams of becoming a fashion icon in the city and was well on her way with an internship under Tigress’ guiding hand. I trusted her as Belba was my best friend and understood my minimalist wishes. She always took my odd desires and found ways to merge them with the excessive expectations of the city. In a way, she hid me in the crowd, misdirecting others from my near rebellious tendencies.

“I’m at your service,” Belba giggled. She gave an elaborate bow and it was then I noticed the ring on her left hand. It wasn’t hard to see, sparkling silver against dark ebony skin. Not to mention the ring was huge.

“Is… Is that…” I stammered.

Belba nodded. “It is!” She excitedly exclaimed. “Fredrick proposed!”

I took her hand and examined the ring. I couldn’t have been more excited for Belba! She and Fredrick deserved happiness. They were wonderful but…. “You’re not in the Reaping then.”

The smiles on both of our faces fell. Belba shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to leave you alone in this but—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted.

“We could wait to register out until next year.”

I shook my head at Belba’s offer. “No point in putting your name in for my sake. Capitol forbid you’re picked and married off to some district boy,” I joked.

She laughed out of kindness at my joke but the pity never left her eyes.

“I know you hate today,” she added quietly.

“I hate all days like today. No need to make this one special,” I forced a smile which Belba understood. I was done talking about it. She was so supportive in ways I could never fully thank. Of everyone in my life, Belba was the only one I could really stand. She let me be me.

“Let’s go,” she sighed and looped her arm with mine. She’d walk with me to the city circle, where she wouldn’t be able to stay with me.

It was odd the first years of the Red Games. Capitol citizens had never done their own reaping and so they looked unorganized and almost comical as those eligible stood in the centre of the circle. There were many of varying ages, a colourful pageantry of dull witted singles. It took a few years before age restrictions were put on the capitol entrants. When a 73 year old woman was picked as the Capitol’s 4th Red Games Rose, they limited the ages to match the districts.

Any single capitol citizen between the ages of 18 to 29 must participate. The gender required switches ever year. Of course this isn’t forced in the capitol. Everyone is beyond excited to play the Rose in the games. Well, apart from myself… but to refuse to be part of the reaping is to show rebellion and the last rebellion was too recent to risk pointing yourself out like that.

The districts were different, of course. Two tributes between the ages of 18 and 29 of each district are chosen, their gender is picked by the Rose after our reaping. In the districts, this day is just like the Hunger Reapings. It’s the same forced participation that few survive, as deadly a game as the Hunger games themselves. So, just as you survive your time in the Hunger reaping pools, you’re entered into the Red reapings and no one is safe until they turn 30.

This year will technically be my first year. When I was 18 I was registered out by a betrothal. The next year the Rose was a male pick and so now…. Now my name rests with all the others. My mom couldn’t stop talking about it, watching previous years competitions and thrilling at the idea that I might be picked. I had to bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut, and by now I had a very sore tongue.

It was easy to be the Rose. A capitol citizen to be an object of desire for others to fight over. The arena was the Capitol, events and parties, but there was a small arena. One in the city that pitted the tributes against each other. The Rose had all the control. Who would be spared, who would be thrown in ‘The Pit’ as it was affectionately called by everyone, who would survive to continue playing. And after all the torment and blood. The Victor and the Rose would be married and live in the capitol as celebrities for the rest of their lives. It was easy to see how a normal Capitol citizen would be thrilled to play the Rose.

But not me.

Belba finally released my arm as we arrived at the check in.

“Try to have fun,” she offered but the stern look on my face told her I’d do otherwise. She rolled her eyes in response. “Just twenty minutes of your time and then you can find me. Fredrick’s got a great spot to watch the fireworks. We’ll have a blast! Just twenty minutes.”

I sighed and offered a soft smile. She was right. A short twenty minutes and I could pretend all this celebration was for something other than death. It was little asked of me in comparison to the citizens outside the city.

“I’ll see you after,” I confirmed and turned to line up.

The line was jittery and nervous, it reminded me of District 7, though the energy there came from dread, not excitement. The line moved quickly as eager women and men rushed into the centre of the circle. Soon, chariots of doomed tributes would be standing there instead.

Cameras lined the area and broadcasted over large screens. Everyone was dressed rather extravagantly. After so many years, everyone wanted to look their best if chosen. Your future partner was watching after all.

Now the citizens have learned to line up properly. They stand in rows based on age. I couldn’t wait until I grew old enough to stand in the very back rows, covered by high collars and even higher hair. For now, I was nearer the front in spectacular view of the cameras and without many people to hid behind. Still, I managed to find a particularly tall wig to stand behind in the hopes of remaining anonymous and unseen.

Twenty minutes, twenty minutes, just twenty minutes.

I looked down at where they pricked my finger to admit me. A small prick that many whined and moaned about even if it was such a quick and easy prick. Some faced much worst pain in their beauty procedures, this was only worth complaining about because of its lack of immediate reward.

The space will get tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. We all tightly press amongst each other as more eligible citizens clamour for their chance at fame and love. In the stands on all sides the older and younger generations sat with just as much anticipation. And beyond the city circle, others would be at venues and private parties watching the broadcast.

The people around me jabbered on, pointing out cameras with waving hands and discussing their chances. In front of us all was a stage with a bowl of names. One single bowl. My name rested in their twice, unless my mother purchased more entries for me. I was never sure if the same option was offered to the districts but really, who would pay money to have their name in there more often. Here it was an option heavily used, which was why the bowl in the center of the stage held far more little papers than their were people standing. It was five times the size of the capitol bowls.

The likelihood of my name being in there more than twice would have been high were it not for my father. Ever since my engagement ended, my mother had placed all her attention on finding me another match. No one was surprised at her enthusiasm and obsession with the Red Games this year. It was her chance to force me into a match. The only thing that stopped her at every turn was my father. Thank the Capitol for him.

The excited chatter only got worse and I knew why before I saw him. President Snow had taken his place in his large golden seat. Game makers filed out to stand on the stage with last years winners. Married now, Dawn and Tennitt stood hand in hand. Tennitt was what you might expect from the Capitol. He was tall and thin with bright orange hair and a sparkling blue suite. His white gloved hands held that of Dawn’s. Her slanted almond eyes looked about the crowd. Long black hair swept down her back, much longer than they’d been in the games last year. Her pale complexion looked odd against her orange dress, puffy and made to match her new husband. She was quiet, as she’d been in the games. There was something… empty in her eyes. It contrasted with the pleasant smile she kept plastered on her lips. She belonged to the Capitol now. There seemed to be no trace left of her District 2.

Everyone roared with sound until the President stood.

“Welcome to the 8th Annual Red Games,” he began.

The president’s speech was a blathering of self satisfaction, boasting commentary and fluff to fill the spaces. It was the same warning to districts not to rebel. The first year he’d had the thought to mention Katniss by name, which created unrest and anger through the districts. The next he only called her the rebel but still that only caused unrest. Now he was smart enough to pretend the girl on fire had never existed. It was a far firmer point to the districts who fell in line now.

With his words done the crowd was in a roar of applause again, this time for the Victor and Rose as they stood together for their chance to speak. Tennitt spoke of finding his love, his words eloquent and flowery. In reality they meant nothing. Dawn had her own chance to speak but it was much shorter. The way she spoke, it all sounded rehearsed and not of her own.

Finally the Capital’s representative stood. He’ll spend his time ushering the new Rose around, a job the district representatives would have killed for. His was a position hard fought as his Rose is a winner every. single. year. No matter what.

Garth Havensbee a short man dressed in emerald green with a pocket square of orange to match his last Rose. He looked pompous, and far too pleased with himself to be where he was, a celebrity in his own right. His voice was nasally as he offered a “Happy Red Games and may the rose bloom.” It was the newest version of ‘May the odds be every in your favour’. A constantly repeated mantra through these games that caused a wave of cheers.

Garth motioned for the crowds to calm and I looked about. There was no chance of me finding Belba and Fredrick, or any of my family. There were just too many people in the stands. Still, I couldn’t help but look just in case. It was better than listening to yet another speech about finding love and fighting for its prize. It was laughable to think Love could be found anywhere in these games.

The way a tribute won, was through violence and lies. Each district would offer up two tributes of the chosen gender. Some years that’s girls, others its boys, most of the time it’s one of each. Then the tributes are brought to the capital where they must woe the rose. It’s their only chance of survival. Each week, a set of tributes will be thrown in the pit to fight to the death. The winner continues to court the Rose. This all continues until there is only one. So a tribute is expected to romance a Capitol citizen, spoiled and naive, so that they might live as a prisoner. At least the victor of the hunger games would be sent home to live their lives in peace. The Victor of the Red Games would never be free. The most they could hope for would be a gilded cage.

The crowd suddenly picked up in volume, jumping and screaming in excitement. I looked back to the front to see Garth dramatically waved his hand over the bowl. Oh, it was selection time.

“Alright ladies, are you ready?” He asked and the crowds around me screamed. I had to cover my ears to block out the screeching.

Garth dipped his hand into the bowl, stirring the names around and I held my breath as I was jostled around by the ensuing mosh pit. Trust to Capitol to show such undignified behaviour during a reaping.

‘Not me, not me, not me,’ I chanted in my head. I didn’t really think it could be my name pulled. There were hundreds of thousands of slips in that bowl. My two slips had very little chance of being pulled amongst the incredible number. Still, I held my breath while the anticipation grew and grew.

Garth lifted his hand into the air, a slip of paper in his stubby fingers. He made a great show of opening the paper and the accompanying roar was near deafening. He opened his mouth and the audience never ceased their cheering so that he had to yell the name into the microphone to even be heard.

“Gemma Silver.”

One time, when I was young, I was playing by the waters edge with some friends. We always liked the way the current felt against our legs. The nearer you got to the dams the stronger the current. I had been fooling around when I slipped on a rock and found myself submerged under the current, being pulled away towards the dam. I remember the way the water encased me, how muted everything else became around me as I was swept away without any ability to resist.

That’s how I felt now, stunned as the world slowed and went silent around me. Of course the screaming was still rampant as people turned to look for Gemma. A few who knew me began pointing and the whole crowd excitedly pushed me towards the front. I was swept away in such a daze that sound didn’t seem to return until Garth was staring right at me. He was pausing for something. It took a moment to realize he’d asked me a question.

“What?” I asked, my own voice a foreign whisper to my own ears.

“What’s your choice for Tributes?” He asked again with a nasally laugh. The crowds joined, enjoying my speechlessness.

“I….” I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to tell them to redraw, to tell them I choose no gender, that I wanted no part in this. But the world watched, every set of eyes trained on my face, every voice paused in one silent moment as they waited on my choice.

“Come on darling, we haven’t got all day,” Garth prompted away from the mic for only me to hear. He was becoming impatient with my silence. The crowds itched with anticipation as well.

“Male,” I squeaked out.

“She’s chosen male!” Garth declared and the whole stadium erupted into more cheers. Garth took my hand and raised it into the air to which the audience grew impossibly louder.

I could only stand and watch as the Capitol celebrated. I… I had given in, just like that. I had become a part of what I hated most about this place. For all my desire to rebel and change the world…. I gave in. I was a coward.

It was a blur after that. The Panam anthem played and a few more words were said before I was swept away yet again, this time by peacekeeper staff, gently guiding me out of the city circle and into a tall tower nearby where what seemed to be a private party for the game makers and other important people was taking place. So many came up to me, congratulating me and complimenting me. I could only whisper hushed thank you’s and nothing more. I managed to find a window which overlooked the city streets. People filled the area so it was a messy moving river of colours. I stared down as I processed what had just happened to me.

I was reaped. I was the Rose now. I’d be married off to someone from the districts after I cause the murder of 23 men. I was everything I hated about this place.

No, this wasn’t happening. None of that could be true. This was all just a bad dream, a horribly bad dream, just like the one I’d been having every night for the last week.

It began as a memory. I was nine again, living in District 7. School had just finished and all the kids were rushing out of the school to head home. The Hunger Games were being broadcasted and everyone was to go straight home to watch it. I was heading that way when I was pushed to the ground. I spun around to look up and see Trig’s face. Her usually olive complexion was paler and her eyes were rimmed in red from tears, but she wasn’t sad. She was angry. Rage painted her face as my best friend looked down at me.

“You! You’re one of them! This is your fault!” She yelled at me.

I didn’t understand and words failed me which was the wrong answer as Trig swung back and kicked me in the side. It tore the breath from my body as a huddled on my side, cradling the pain.

“You killed my brother!” She screamed again and kicked me in the stomach. My lungs struggled for air without success as pain I’d never felt before ran through me. By now, teachers had come by and grabbed Trig, pulling her away from me. I was helped up from the ground in time to make eye contact with Trig. Her dark brown eyes held a fury as she thrashed against the men pulling her away.

“I hate you! I hate you!” She screamed to me as she was dragged back to the school for punishment.

In reality, Trig would never speak to me again. Her brother had died in the 73rd Hunger Games that day and she’d forever blame the Capitol and all born there for it, including myself.

However in the nightmare, Trig would escape the men holding her and come barreling towards me. A knife appeared in her hand as she tackled me to the ground. She’d slice at my neck and laugh as I bled out, just like her brother Carver died. I felt every moment of it and by the third dream I knew it was coming. I’d struggle against her, attempting release but she’d always manage to hold my down and slit my throat. I’d wake up wrapped in my blankets like knots and in a cold sweat.

I gasped rather dramatically when I felt a hand pull at my shoulder to turn me around. Belba stood before me with Fredrick not too far behind her.

“Congratulations!” She loudly proclaimed but as she leaned forward to hug me, she whispered in my ear. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only shake my head and fight back the anger that was beginning inside me. Belba sighed and released me, holding on to my shoulders to look over me.

“Of all the people who could have been drawn…” she murmured for only me to hear. She understood how much I didn’t want this.

I opened my mouth to speak but a shrill squeal came from the room in it’s place. My mother came in, loud and ecstatic, she made it over to me and wrapped me in her arms.

“Gemma, we did it! You’re the Rose! Oh the life you’re going to lead now!” She cried. I had to pry her arms off of me to get some air. The feathers at her neck were chocking as it was, let alone her smothering affection. The last thing I needed was her joy.

Luckily, her mother turned her attentions to the other people in the room.

“Can you believe it? My daughter! The Rose! I couldn’t be more proud!” She coed loudly to the room. I could already see her eyes darting around to see who were the most influential and important people in the room. It took everything in me not to die of embarrassment.

My father came around then, looping his arm around my shoulder and only speaking to me.

“This is going to be quite the adventure, eh Gemma? Nothing is going to be the same,” he optimistically remarked.

It was hard to ignore the heaviness in my heart at his words. He meant them in celebration, but I felt them in dismay and despair.

The rest of the party felt like a blur. Important people shook my hand and asked me ridiculous questions such as what colour would be my signature or how tall I hoped my future husband might be. It all felt so trivial and it only worsened my mood. Guilt wracked me at every turn.

“Gemma! Over here!” Belba called at one point. I drifted over to her and the woman standing before her. “Gemma this is Belladonna. She’ll be your stylist this year!”

Belba was starry eyed as she looked over the lean woman who wore all black apart from a red rose. It would seem understated were it not for the large black cages that sat on either hip and her shoulders. A black veil reached over her left eye and gave her a dangerous look. Her blond hair was pin straight, ending in a sharp bob and complimenting her dark carmel skin.

“Charmed,” she purred, holding out her hand covered in a black lace glove. Her black lips quirked up in a smirk when I took her hand and shook it in a daze.

“Quite a shock to the system, this sudden surge in fame,” Belladonna offered but there was something in her eyes like she meant more that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

I could only nod before the designer began to circle me. She gently touched the few flowers on my dress and the gold clips in my hair with her spidery like fingers.

“A flower to be sure, but is there anything beneath it,” she commented to herself.

It was then my mother came barreling over. Letta had indulged too much on wine already. Her bleach blond hair was falling out of it’s careful curls and the literal nest she’d secured this morning was falling to the side.

“Gemma! My sweet girl,” she came over and pinched my cheeks. It hurt nearly as much as her checkered dress hurt my eyes. “You’re going to get married. You’ll have a wedding after all,” she explained a little too emotionally.

I looked about at the attention she was drawing. My shoulders tensed with it.

“You know, when Marcius broke off the engagement I was afraid you’d never find a man, or a partner. Honestly I thought Belba might have been your girlfriend for a time but then she found fredrick and I thought you’d be all alone.” Letta continued.

It was all too much, too loud, too embarrassing.

“Stop it mother,” I tried to speak through gritted teeth but she either didn’t hear me over her performance or didn’t care. Instead she placed her hands on my shoulders to speak directly to me, and the crowd that gathered around us.

“You were always such a hard one to match up. No matter how hard I tried, and believe me I tried, I couldn’t seem to get a man to stick around for you but now! Now they’ll have no choice, eh piglet?”

It was a cruel nickname my mother had for me when I was young. I carried too much weight in her opinion, my body not quite the style it should be and my refusal to take Capitol measures to fix it was what spurned the name. I grew out of it to some degree, my baby fat becoming a fuller womanly figure. Still, she could not help but comment on the willowy form that was popular in the city and my much curvier shape.

It was that name that made me snap. “Enough!” I screamed and pushed aside my mothers doting hands aside.

The room was silent from my outburst but I didn’t care. The startled eyes could look at me all they want, it wouldn’t help calm the simmering rage beneath my skin.

“The one thing I’m most grateful for mother, is the time I’ll have away from you,” I hissed before turning and storming out of the room.

All eyes watched and I could hear one quiet comment over the silence.

“The flower has some thorns,” Belladonna spoke.

I walked home that night. Few people stopped me as few people thought the Rose would be anywhere but the largest party of the night. I managed to get home with relative ease and went straight for my bedroom where I locked the door. The room was still silenced from this morning, the first quiet I’d found since this morning.

Finally I could have a moment of peace. A moment to process. A moment to sink to the floor and cry.

It felt like hours alone. I managed to pick myself off the floor and into my bed where I hid under the covers, hoping this was all a dream. No matter how many times I shut my eyes when they opened, it still wasn’t a dream.

A pounding fist on my door startled me. Letta’s voice came through.

“Gemma! Open this door this instant!” She screeched. I could hear my father trying to make her see reason and not confront me but she wasn’t having any of it.

My rage renewed I stood and marched to the door, opening it to both of their surprise.

“Gemma!” My mother seemed as angry as I was, even more of a mess than the last time I’d seen her. “What were you thinking!? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me!”

“I embarrassed you?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! Your blow ups, Gemma they’ll be the death of me I swear,” she tried to head into my room for her next performance but I refused to step out of the way for her.

“I wish they would already,” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“Gemma,” my father scolded but Letta took the insult and ran with it.

“You wish me dead? Is that it?” Large fake tears began to fall over her rosy cheeks. “Oh isn’t that wonderful. I give my daughter the world and she wants me dead.”

“Quit your crying, we all know you don’t mean a word of it,” I spat.

“Oh I mean it! These tears are real but they’re not for me! They’re for you!” She tried but I rolled my eyes. “You know this is the reason Marcius left you,” she tried.

Without thinking I reeled back and slapped her across the face. Silence prevailed as shock replaced my mothers dramatics. Not even my father dared to say another word.

“How DARE you!? I should-”

“You should what?” Letta was interrupted by a nasally voice. Behind her and my father stood Havvery and some guests he’d let into the house. Garth stood with Belladonna and a few others behind her.

“I.. I… she…” Letta sputtered but Garth was already moving past her towards me.

“Might I come in?” He asked and I stepped aside for him, casting Letta another dirty look. The others followed and when only Letta and my father were left in the hallway Garth offered a pleasant thanks and shut the door.

“Gemma Silver, I believe you’ve had the change to meet Belladonna Ivy.” I gave a not to Garth’s words. “Well this is Remington and Imogen, members of her, and now your, style team.”

I had no words, the sudden change from a fight to such polite introductions was staggering. Garth used this as a chance to speak a rehearsed welcome he must have given to all the Roses.

“As we begin the 8th Annual Red Games you will become the centre of focus for all of Panam. As such it is imperative that you make a good impression on the country. As such I will help guild you through these tasks and assist in any way I can. Together we will craft your love story and show Panam that life is always better unified.”

I was barely listening as he spoke and it seemed Garth didn’t care much.

“Now, I will take my leave. Belladonna will see that you are ready for your send off and we’ll head out on this marvellous adventure,” he spoke, again rather board.

I only nodded again. Garth accepted that and left to no doubt calm my mother down, perhaps scold her a bit if I was lucky. Though luck hadn’t exactly been on my side as of late.

Belladonna began rounding me once more. Her assistants, Remington and Imogen, who happened to look like twins with their lavender hair, near white skin and sweeping fitted cloaks. The only differences lied in their eyes. Remington’s were a soft grey and Imogen were a deep jade. They began taking notes on a small tablet while Belladonna circled me like prey. She came to the front and took my chin, raising it to meet my eyes.

“Tears of joy perhaps?” She commented, noting the redness of them and what must have been streaks of gold carried down my cheeks with my tears. She didn’t need me to answer. Instead she moved to my bed where Imogen placed a large box, unsnapping latches and opening all the various folding trays. Inside lay a smattering of colours, all waiting to paint my face. Her collection of paints and brushes put mine to shame. Belladonna spoke while examining the many tools and trays.

“My job is different than most stylists. Where most stylists are meant to help tributes find sponsors, my role is far more important.” She stopped and turned to me. “I am to make you worth dying for.”

My heart dropped at the idea. I hadn’t even thought of what the tributes might think of me.

“Now now, not to fear,” Belladonna sensed my fears all too clearly and reached for me, pushing my hair back and taking my face in her hands.

“This is your kindness to them, do you understand? They will be chosen, no matter who the rose is, tributes will be chosen and will die. It’s a service to them, you see, that you make yourself a worthy prize for all the loss they’ll face.”

Her words added more pressure that I hadn’t even thought to add to my shoulders. I would be their ruin and now I had to make myself worth that ruin? I had only hours ago let myself down. How could I not do the same to 24 unfortunate souls I’d yet to meet?

“Where are they?” Belladonna asked, confused.

For a moment I thought she might be speaking to her assistants but it seemed she was looking for something on my face.

“What?”

“Your thorns dear, where did they go? I saw them at the party,” she clarified with a kind smile on her black lips that didn’t match her usual mischievous grin.

She waited until I cracked the smallest of smiles before she released me and headed back to her work. My face was cleaned and drops were placed in my eyes to calm their redness. I was stripped down and placed in a robe as well, my hair untied around my shoulders to start from scratch.

“You made a sweet impression at the reaping, but let’s not have them think you’re some kind of soft girl. You’ll need to be capable. You’ll need to seem in control.”

The way Belladonna spoke, I had the impression the tributes were still more on her mind than the Capitol. That did ease my worry in some way. If her worries were alined with my own it would make this all so much easier.

Belladona began, painting my face with brushes and powders. She and her large cages stood in my way that I couldn’t see her work. Behind me I could hear the twin assistants working and moving, all in silence.

All the while Belladonna made small conversation. She asked me questions, about my family and my life. I wasn’t sure if it was to get to know me or to ease and distract me but it worked on all accounts. Soon she turned me and began working on my hair. I could see now that the twins were laying out clothing options, accessories and more that Belladonna gave the most subtle cues to. I couldn’t even perceive them but they seemed to know what she wanted.

The colours that laid on my bed weren’t far off from my peach choices this morning. White crossing strips of ribbon were embellished by flowers in blues, lavenders and soft pinks.

“So we’re taking the rose thing rather literal this year,” I commented to Belladonna. I instantly regretted it, I shouldn’t have been so rude to someone who was just trying to help.

“Oh the flowers aren’t about your title,” she corrected without skipping a beat. “The capitol can be cold, fake and cruel. Every district knows this but you, you will be different.” She finished with one last pin in my hair and encouraged me to stand with a push to my shoulders. The twins were already removing my robe and holding out a nude strapless one piece. The lines in it and corseting gave detail and shape as I stepped in.

“Though the Capitol look can be very alluring, it won’t be to tributes. I want to make a statement that separates you from the rest of us. A beacon for tributes to flock to.”

Once laced into the corseting, the white ribbons were lifted over my head. I could see now what the idea was. Each white ribbon wrapped around me as though the outline of a dress rather than the full piece. It began around my neck in a chocker and down my shoulders. More lines moved across my waist and at my hips the ribbon became stiff, moving away from me to create an a-line gown that reached to the flood. Through t it reacted the illusion of a dress my full leg was shown all the way to my one piece. This would have been rather risqué were it not for the flowers that wrapped around my waist and flowed down the ribbon cage. It was beautiful to be sure but…

“Ah, ah ah,” Belladonna waved her finger before me. “No second guessing yourself.” She took my shoulders and turned me towards my mirror.

On the other side of the mirror stood a beauty. Every line of ribbon the dress created was meant to accentuate my figure, making me look mature and kind of sexy, while the flowers made me look feminine. My make up matched that tone, colours that were reflected in the flowers of my dress had been painted on my lids, making my eyes large and my skin dewy. My hair was far less tamed than most in the capitol these days. My hair was pulled back in loose braids, nearly falling apart, that ran down my back. Delicate flowers had been woven into my brown hair all the way to its gold ends.

Belladonna picked and perfected a few of those flowers as she stood behind me. Imogen placed simple pearl earrings on my ears while Remington added a perfect violet gold band to my finger.

“You, my dear, will be a natural beauty amongst a world of harsh illusions.”

I gawked, unaware my curvy shape could be celebrated rather than altered. The look felt, simple and authentic yet would not be questioned by the capitol citizens. “Thank you,” I whispered as my hands began to explore the garden at my hips.

“Don’t thank me yet, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Belladonna added as she made a motion to the twins. In mere moments the entirety of their tools and things were packed away and ready to leave.

I was lead out to my living room where Letta and my father sat. Father read from his tablet while mother bowed her head. It was clear that Garth had been disciplining my mother. He all but ignored my father behind him and stood directly before Letta.

“We’re ready,” Belladonna announced and Garth lifted his gaze with a smile.

“Ah, aren’t you lovely,” he complimented and moved to my side with an offered hand. “Now, we’ll take you to the train station where we’ll begin the Reaping Tour. It is customary to say your goodbyes here.” He let his gaze turn to my uninterested father and emotionally exhausting mother.

“Goodbye,” I gave in a short tone. Father gave a wave and a smile, knowing he’d see me soon. Letta only made a blubbering sound, unhappy she wasn’t being doted on for her fake tears.

I gave Garth a nod and he seem to be quite understanding of my lack of sentiment. He lead me out the door without question into an awaiting black car.

This time I, or rather the car, was clearly noticed. They waved and screamed from either side even though I was sure they couldn’t see me through the tint of the car.

“You can stand and wave if you’d like,” Garth informed me when he noticed where my attention was. He motioned to the sunroof above us.

“No,” I spoke and cast my eyes down to my floral ring.

I’d been right not to wave. There was no need. It seemed the whole city had turned out at the station.

Citizens and reporters with their insect like cameras trained directly on my face all pushed to get just a little closer as the car doors opened. Peacekeepers kept them at bay but it seemed a struggle for them, especially once they caught sight of me. They screamed and hollered for even a second of my attention. This was fame it seemed.

I caught a glimpse of myself on a television screen on the wall that was airing my arrival live and felt gratified that I appeared just as Belladonna hoped. I looked natural, especially amongst the capitals vivid colours and multitude of augmentations.

I gave small sweet smiles but I just couldn’t hide how overwhelming this was.

I was ushered towards the train, eager to be out of the spotlight. Still, I was forced to stand a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up my images, then we were allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train began to move at once.

The speed initially took my breath away. It had been years since I’d been on a train. The last one brought me back to the capitol almost eleven years ago. It was one of the high-speed Capitol model just like this one. I ran a hand over one of the chairs, it even smelt the same as before.

The staff on the train wore Red outfits with golden trim and showed us each to our rooms. I was surprised as I passed door after door. Twelve to be exact, one for each district on this section of the train. Their handlers and designers would be at the other end of the train. My room was larger and set just before the last car of the train. I’d be close to the viewing room with all it’s windows, but every single person on the train would know where to find me.

Stepping inside my chambers had a lavish suite. It would have been a well sized room were it not for the monstrous bed taking up most of the space. There’d have been room for a sitting area otherwise. Instead I had only a bathroom and dressing area apart from the sleeping area. I wouldn’t have seemed so… spoiled if I didn’t know exactly why the bed was so large.

Though I’d avoided watching too much of either games, it was impossible to ignore. It was broadcasted everywhere and all anyone talked about. I’d seen the blood and carnage. I’d seen the parties and events. I’d even heard of and seen one of the more heated nights between the rose and a tribute. I could never understand how the rose agreed to allow the broadcast of such an intimate moment. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it, let alone be broadcast doing it.

The drawers were filled with fine clothes all approved by Belladonna, as was expected. They were simple and comfortable. The real dresses were in Belledonna’s room, those were the dresses for the cameras. For now I was free to wear whatever I wanted.

After carefully taking off my outfit I looked over the clothing and opted for the thick, warm robe instead. I pulled out my hair and all it’s flowers as well as wiping off my make up. They’d just re-dress me again when we arrived at district one in a few hours. That was our first stop. District one. The district took turns deciding which way they would be reaped. The rose was to be present at each so the order the districts were reaped mattered strategically, it added time alone on the train with the rose. This year would begin at 1 and end at 12B

The only thing I kept on was the violet ring.

Flowers weren’t often real in the Capitol. They were silk or other materials and the ones that were grown were genetic mutations meant to look perfect. The petrified violet on my hand however, that was a real flower. Or it had been once upon a time. I let my finger stroke over the now preserved petals. Real, genuine beauty. That’s what I wanted to be. Belladonna’s natural look was to make me stand out and it had certainly done that. I wanted more. I wanted to be separate.

I’d always played the rebel. I stood up to the capitol in meaningless, insignificant ways. A braid, a secret aversion to games, a reluctance to participate fully. It was pitiful attempts to make up for my birth given status. This time I would make it clear, I would pick a side. I would choose the districts and their tributes instead of the capitol I was born to. No matter what happened, I would be on their side.

Garth came to collect me for supper. I followed him through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There was a table set for myself and my team.

I sat at the head of the table. Garth took the seat to my right and Belladonna to my left with the twins beside her. The rest of the table held countless chairs with no place settings. It would be for each of my doomed suitors. A shiver ran down my spine at the horrid idea.

Supper came in course after silent course. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Garth kept blathering on about all the exciting things I would experience in each district. After the Reaping they would put on some sort of feast, celebration or custom to entertain me. It would all be for me. I knew Garth was trying to cheer me up and get me excited but every word grated on my nerves and worsened my guilt.

I remained quiet until the meal was over and the moment I was free I excused myself and rushed straight to the last car to be alone. This time of night it was actually beautiful, the capitol was so bright that seeing the stars was impossible. Out here, they twinkled far above me, perfectly displayed through the glass ceiling of the car. I curled up on one of the chairs and stared at the sky.

All night the parties in the Capitol would continue. They would rerun my reaping, speak about all the things they could find out about me through the day. My age, my parents of which Letta would be thrilled, my past in District 7, my past engagement and tragic break up with Marcius, it would all be playing all night for the Capitol to indulge. My life, their entertainment.

I didn’t mean to but I fell asleep in that chair. When I woke to sunlight I ached from being curled up. It took time to stretch myself out. The sun felt too bright and I stumbled even though the train was no longer moving. We were stopped at District 1’s station, ready for the first of district reapings.

#The Red Games #Hunger Games #Fanfiction #Chapters #smutless

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