This is a rather high-risk romance we've embarked upon, isn't it? Brings new meaning to the term 'strange bedfellows'.

Happy Birthday, b-boop5!

Happy Birthday, @b-boop5! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, and that you’ve got something equally wonderful to look forward to later! To start your party right, the lovely @endlessnightlock​ has written a story just for you!

“You know, I don’t understand how you managed to do this-'' Peeta Mellark tosses the words over his shoulder, with an expression on his face that I would describe as mildly put upon. 

I could not say why. Peeta is undoubtedly not the one in a precarious position- that would be me. 

What can I say? I am a bit of a high-spirited young woman- always known for getting into scrapes and mischief, not usually of my own doing. Though, at nearly five and twenty, the word “young” cannot apply to me much longer. Gale Hawthorne, my good friend, likes to tease that I will soon be ready to put out to pasture myself; he finds that joke particularly humorous because of my father’s profession as a sheep farmer.

While I maintain my precarious position on the tree branch, Peeta murmurs something under his breath, but I cannot hear his exact words- he did not direct them at me. 

I am beginning to wonder if he was annoyed by the summons to come to my rescue, although irritation of any sort seems odd coming from Peeta. I hadn’t caught him yet in any state of genuine anger, not even that one occasion on his farm when I watched him get kicked between the legs by one of his rams. His calm, quiet persona is one of his many mysteries. 

Peeta’s been in our county for nearly six months now; he arrived as a virtual stranger and took ownership of old Mr. Thread’s farm that neighbor’s my father’s place. 

Being a young man, he thus opened himself up to a world of gossip, not the typical line of inquiry either, such as how he came to have ownership of an eighty-acre sheep farm at such a tender age. Most of the discussion surrounding Peeta was on the topic of his wavy blond hair and broad shoulders, and his eyes, which are as blue as the lake in the middle of summer. Above all, conversation surrounded his lack of a romantic partner and what that could mean for our community’s unmarried ladies. 

In fact, since his arrival, Peeta’s been the most-talked-about bachelor since that fey Irishman Finnick Odair, who snuck away in the middle of the night with Annie Cresta, the daughter of the vicar. The pair eloped and afterward was the village’s talk for many weeks. 

It was not long after their marriage that he left our village to become a fisherman. The new couple moved to the coast, and I’m told by those who’ve seen them of late that the Odairs have a beautiful bronze-haired baby boy now.

But I digress- back to Peeta Mellark; I must admit he is very likable, and a handsome man to boot. He will have no troubles in his search for a wife when that time comes. I will be sad to see that day come; I have formed a deep affection for him that I surely must let go of once he finds a wife. The thought of Peeta marrying pains me, although I cannot say why.

Regardless of all those thoughts of marriage, I am rather grateful to him despite his current grumpy countenance. I don’t know if I would ever admit to such a thing- he already likes to joke with me too much. 

I think Peeta Mellark’s greatest joy in life is to tie my tongue up between my lips. I must admit that I don’t mind his teasing too much- he is too gentle of a man to ever be cruel in it. 

He is coming to my rescue- courtesy of Prim, that conviving sibling of mine who is currently nowhere in sight. She has never been one to pass up an opportunity to meddle in my business. Prim has been after me for months now, repeatedly saying that it has not gone unnoticed the way I have turned Peeta’s eye and that the village girls are quite jealous of me.

Balderdash! What would a man like Peeta find about me to be to his liking? I’m too wild by half; no sane man would wish to marry me. It’s pure foolishness when there are dozens of prettier, more wifely girls available in the village. He simply regards me as a friendly companion, and that is all there is to it.

Above the particular limb, beneath which Peeta is trying to get his wagon situated, is my straw bonnet, firmly stuck in the tree. My hat’s particular indignity of being stuck in there is woeful enough without the added misery of my head’s firm ensconcement inside its woven-straw prison. 

I am entirely stuck- neither my head nor hat will budge, no matter how much I struggle against my confinement. And I have struggled, but it’s all been in vain. A sharp stick must have impaled itself through both the straw brim and my braided updo at the same time. Fortunately for my neck, which I would prefer not to break today, the limb below where I sit keeps me in place for now.  

“It is a tremendously dull story, really,” I reply, hoping to maintain the breezy tone of voice I was trying to affect. While both of my feet remain dangling from the trunk beneath my bottom, keeping my dignity is no easy task. 

Peeta laughs, and the sound makes me feel a little lighter. “I very much doubt that- nothing is ever dull with you, Ms. Everdeen.”

“You’re correct- my comings and goings are rarely dull,” I admit with a resigned sigh. It was no use pretending otherwise; everyone was aware of the scrapes I often found myself involved in.

If I were at home in my breeches and my boots, this particular incident would never have happened. It is much easier to move about freely when I am unencumbered by this foolish style of dress. 

Also, if my sister’s orange demon-feline were not so horrendous in the first place- not to mention if Prim had left him home today instead of smuggling him inside her spare basket, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Bring him along she did, very unwisely, I might add, to today’s church picnic, and then erred further by leaving him plenty of opportunities to escape the confines of his basket and hightail it for the tallest tree in the churchyard. 

If it weren’t for any of those things, my feet would still be firmly on the ground as they should with my shoes’ soles kissing the earth. 

After a flurry of movement on the ground, Peeta is climbing the tree to dislodge me, aided by a leg up on his wagon. He is not such a good climber as I, he has admitted to me on more than one occasion. Still, he climbs, and it is not long before he is making his way across the branch towards me.

Once he reaches my side, I can see that all traces of his earlier irritation are gone, replaced by the glee in his eyes. I shall not be so lucky to go without some teasing remark, though. As I have said, I do not mind.

“What am I going to do with you, Ms. Everdeen?” Peeta asks, his eyes skating across my face. 

His eyes catch mine, steady and true, and warmth fills my chest. I am delighted to see him, so I cannot keep the smile from my lips as I reply. “I do not know. I would say that you should put me somewhere safe, but I do not know that such a place exists.” 

“Safe from you? I should have to agree.” Peeta holds my gaze. In just a moment, he should be able to get me loose. “Are you quite alright- are you in any pain?” he asks, his hand going to my hat.

I shake my head- well, as much as I can move while it is held in place by the sharp stick in my hair and hat, that is. “No, I am as comfortable as one can be while stuck.”

“Good.” He moves closer to get a good look at the situation involving my hair, hat, and the sharp stick. “Ms. Everdeen, may I ask you something while we are alone?” he asks after what is quite a prolonged silence for such a talkative man. I thought he was taking an inordinately long time.

“Certainly,” I answer, realizing that my heart is doing an odd thing inside my chest at his proximity. I feel a tug on my hair then, indicating to me that he is pulling the stick out of it. My eyes close when his hand goes to my head to keep the hat in place and dull the tugging sensation at my roots.

“Would you allow me to court you?” Peeta asks- his eyes on my hair. He seems apprehensive. “It’s just that I care for you a great deal. You must know that, Ms. Everdeen.”

“Court me- you wish to court me,” I answer dumbly, my brain a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. 

Peeta wishes to court me- he wants to be my beau.

“Yes,” he repeats himself quickly, “I would very much like to if you will allow it.”

At that moment, I realize my head is free, so I look up at Peeta. The sun is behind him, and its glow illuminates his eyelashes, revealing their incredible length to me. 

What a funny thing that I have not noticed that until now. I have not been so aware of Peeta before now, but that has changed in an instant. He is a very wonderful man, both outwardly and in. 

And yes, I realize, I would like him to be my beau. Perhaps more? I think, sudden thoughts of living in his little stone cottage together filling my mind.

My breath catches in my throat at the loveliness his smile when I grin at him. His expression reinforces my newly realized knowledge that I care much for him. 

“I will allow it,” I answer, but quickly add on a disclaimer when he reaches to embrace me; I’ve spent enough time up in a tree for one day. “But only after we are safely on the ground.”

Circuit - Lore Fic

FINALLY!! This lore fic has been about two weeks  in the making now, and finally we can post it!

It’s a bit of backstory regarding Incandescent and Chill (and Wolvesbane, a bit) and the misadventures the thrill-seeking young dragons in the Hewn City get up to - basically an excuse to write a bunch of headcanons for the Shade. And let’s just say, when the most cursed city in an entire Flight territory is way more saturated with magic than usual.. something’s bound to go horribly wrong.

Warnings: Some mild horror themes, unreality/slight derealization/existential crisis stuff, you know. We’re dealing with the 10% More Eldritch Shade here after all. Also, mentions/implications of bullying, eugh.

Probably the darkest thing we’ll actually write out in our character lore, to be honest though things get better after this, it’s just a Not So Pleasant inciting incident-

With that out of the way, onto the show!

"So it's like, a ghost-themed biking group?" Chill had asked on the way to the venue. "Sounds.. kinda forced to me, to be honest." 

His neon friend let out a poorly stifled guffaw, briefly lifting a claw from the handles of her bike to hide her grin. "I don't think you're in any position to say that, Mister 80s band tees."

Chill frowned, clinging a bit tighter to Ink's shoulders as they zoomed through the night aboard the latter's tricked out three wheeler bike; Incandescent's parents hadn't allowed her to get a proper motorcycle, and all Chill had was his old mountain bike, though the Mirror couldn't truthfully say he felt all that safe clinging to the spiny shoulders of a Banescale for dear life on a vehicle meant for one.

Thus, he'd urged her to drive as slowly and carefully (the damage to his "coolness" didn't go unnoticed) as she could manage given her high octane lifestyle - giving them much time to talk on the trip. Plenty of time to sling banter and waste breath meant for more valuable discussions.

"Right, so... you really capitalize on that Halloween aesthetic?" Chill tried again, wording his question carefully to dodge Ink's edgy defenses; for how nice his friend could be, she was like a spring-loaded trap full of retorts ready to snap given the right ammunition. "Everyone thinks you're some sorta cult, but it's just for the rep, right..?"

Ink quirked a wry grin, teeth glinting in the low lights of the city. "Something like that." Her spines rattled with something akin to excitement, making Chill quietly yelp and adjust in the seat to avoid getting skewered. "Reputation's power, right?"

Chill fought the conditioned urge to shoot some witty sarcasm back, though his contemplation was interrupted as the bike came to an abrupt halt, worsened by the sudden prickling of scales against his arms.

"We're here," Ink supplied.

She slid off the bike, radiant scales glistening in the neon lights of the shopping center. Chill barely caught the discarded helmet slung at him, the weight smacking against his chest and knocking the air out of him. He called after her as he fumbled, "Heavy helmet for a hard head!"

Ink gave no indication that she'd heard him, merely striding off towards the parking lot of a nearby pizza place. Chill frowned, disappointed in the lack of acknowledgement. He shook his head as if to rid himself of the childish irritation, before hesitantly beginning to follow Ink.

He kept his head held low, eyes shifting around to observe the creeping murk of the city's almost unnatural darkness; even at only dusk, even with the piercing glow of dozens of light sources (the motorbikes' custom lights, the LED of the storefronts, the subtle hues of his own luminous capsule trait, his overwhelmed mind rattled off) the Hewn City's oppressive night seemed to leech as much warmth and luminescence as it could.

And this was Light territory; a shudder went through Chill as he dared to imagine what Shadow or Ice's expanses looked like at night, away from most sources of radiance.

Slinking past an unrelated crowd congregated by the road (they smelled of pizza, sweat, and ozone, probably some sports team, ugh), the Mirror soon reached his destination, a small group of dragons around his age, some younger, all gathered in the darkest corner of the parking lot.

How convenient.

Some were lazily leaned against their bikes as makeshift lounges, while others stood almost like guards, alert and scanning the area. Chill caught the eye of one of the latter category, a Nocturne with strikingly patterned scales. Their eyes widened as their gazes met, before they scowled and turned away slightly. They muttered something to their companion, a rather anxious looking Fae who was half coiled by the tail around a metal-studded bike just a tad too big for them. The Fae looked almost as out of place as Chill, wearing a brightly patterned hoodie and trying to look tough, though the amusing juxtaposition did little to reassure him.

Just what kind of crowd was this-?

Ink tugged him over, draping an arm over his shoulder in a gesture that, outwardly, may have seemed protective. Chill frowned and glanced up to see the mischievous, "I'm dragging you into shenanigans" grin that betrayed otherwise. He wilted under her conniving gaze, silently resigning himself to whatever hazing or crimes this so-called "biking club" had in mind.

Vandalism? Petty crime? He couldn't say he was up for it, himself, but he hoped whatever the group of off-kilter rebels had planned would at least be fun in the moment. Anything but bike racing, at least...

The wind began to pick up a bit, drowning out some of the quieter chatter around him. He allowed himself to relax, if only a tad bit; perhaps they were just.. hanging out. Loitering was a crime in some places, right? Passive crime, "safe" crime. Chill, figuring that the others had no interest in hanging out with him, distracted himself by counting the treasure in his pockets, wondering if he had enough to get himself a slice of pie. He may have been half Fae, but anyone, enhanced Mirror senses or not, could smell the thick, syrupy scent of apple cobbler wafting through the air from the pizza place.

It was all... so passive. Boring, but pleasant.

Of course, something had to give.

After what seemed like ages of tense stillness, Ink spoke up suddenly, her voice rumbling like a foreboding storm cloud, which Chill felt from where he was currently hugged to her side. Of course, the calm before the storm was over.

Despite everything, her voice was a tad comforting, a familiar sort of "danger" instead of the alarm bells that had initially screamed from every other corner of this place. Chill clung to her subconsciously, glaring out at the others and trying to tune out whatever was said, to just focus on the pure tone... dissociate into the void, or however the halfhearted joke went.

Despite his efforts, a few words slipped by, "Summoning" and "power" and whatnot. Part of the ghost gimmick, he assumed. He shuddered from the sudden, brisk breeze that whipped by, though instead of being hugged closer, he was abruptly shoved towards the center of the crowd.

A yelp escaped him as he stumbled to regain his bearings, his claws painfully catching on some uneven pieces of concrete. He hissed, swaying, before he  glanced around to see what he'd missed in his half-attentive musings. 

When had they formed an actually cohesive circle..? And around him specifically..? He looked back at Ink for explanation, though she averted her gaze. The wind rushed by, now deafening. It'd picked up unnaturally quickly, and Chill soon located its source, a growl ripping from his throat as he once again met the eyes of the Nocturne.

Airborne Parchment?! Where would they get something like that? Instead of using the windbound material for its intended purpose of bringing life to drawn objects, the supposed leader of the group was merely willing forth elemental gales of wind into existence. They didn't seem to have much hold over it, but control wasn't the intention, merely... power.

"What are you doing?!" Chill hollered. He snapped out of his stupor, storming towards the amateur spellslinger. Their eyes seemed to widen a fraction, perhaps in shock, though before more words could be exchanged, their previously awkward Fae companion leapt into action, shooting forth and headbutting Chill right in the stomach.

It wasn't a very hard hit, rather a precise one. Capsule dragons were known for their vulnerable stomach area, and sure enough, Chill reeled back, hardly able to prevent himself from crumpling to his knees back in the center of the circle. He was freezing and burning all at the same time, battered by brisk winds and the uneasy sort of thrum that rippled through the earth itself.

And yet, finally, through the gale, voices rang true. "We've never done this before, true.." It was a tinny, raspy voice that grated on Chill's ears. "But but but!! Someone naïve was needed to call forth the Shade. Call forth, not use as a vessel. He won't be hurt."

"So he's the flippin bait you mean?! Can it with the sugarcoat." A painful shockwave rattled Chill's senses as Ink screamed from somewhere above him. "And you've never done this before? He's a test dummy if anything-"

Her hands are blazing with light, undoubtedly, as she growled, "You said you knew what you were doing."

"Silence," a third, cool voice intercepted. It reverberated much stronger than the rest. "It has already begun. The artifact will draw the Shade near."

The Shade? 

Chill's eyes stung as he forced them open, and he instantly regretted it. His surroundings were awash with too-bright colors, the dragons around him more like blobs of light against the pitch of his surroundings. Alarms blared in the back of his disoriented brain, and he bared his teeth, trying to stand. His claws uselessly scrabbled against the suddenly slick concrete for some purchase, and by the time he managed to stand, he could faintly see something somehow darker than the existing murk rising from the cracks.

Liquid dripping upward, unburdened by the constraints of reality.

And all fell silent, as if the world itself paused to gaze into the void.

He watched it for a moment, himself, mesmerized by its headache-inducing, impossible blackness. It swayed in an inviting, inquisitive manner, hardly blotting out the dull panic slowly igniting in the Mirror's bones. Only the very edges of its fluid form seemed to reflect light, almost like a cartoonish outline that barely detracted from how otherworldly the substance was. 

The Shade..

A quiet, almost breathless whisper shook the stillness, "It worked..."

And Chill's world exploded into white hot pain, impossible fireworks set aflame behind his eyes.

~~~~~

A pulse. A pain. A thrum of negative power. 

A shockwave cuts through the souls of all in the crowd, invasive and calculating and yet erratic all the same. Wild to their perception and coiling and thriving with an intelligence beyond this world. It.. analyzes them, down to the core, samples their magic and minds, and then it's gone. 

The all-encompassing murk seems to draw in all light like an amorphous black hole. It's fluid and yet like plasma, burning and freezing, hollow and yet dense. It moves with a weight that's not quite physical, though fearsome and ancient all the same. Though as soon as the display of eldritch un-energy begins, it stills, settles, coalesces in the center of the circle in a more manageable form.

The summoning worked... or so they'd thought.

The Nocturne stares, captivated. The now useless parchment drops limply from their claws as they breathe, "Oh... Lightweaver.."

Ink breaks the stillness with a snarl, "Orbit!" and in an instant, the Banescale's upon the summoner, a tangle of claws and spikes and conflict. The summoner has no chance to react, the air knocked out of them as Incandescent crushes them prone to the ground and screams in their face, "What did you DO-"

They manage to whisper, "The summoning worked," though their heart's not in it. They cast a forlorn gaze towards the semi-solid insubstantiality. Their poor artifact, perfectly crafted to contain traces of the Shade... lost to this blunder. "At a cost..."

The sentiment sends Ink hysterical. "At a cost?" She devolves into wordless screams, all fight leaving her as she weakly shakes Orbit, who stares into the tearful gaze hollowly. Others break from their frozen state to attempt to break up the fight, life and energy, albeit a tense sort, flooding back.

Life cannot be paused for long, after all. The elements, however dimmed they may be, quickly resume their presence.

Ignoring the halfhearted tussle, the Fae from before hops down from his perch, silently striding past the "fight". His palms flare with magic, bright and cold and merciless, matching the shine of his eyes. Gone is the awkwardness, even in the face of the Shade itself.

The insubstantiality, which has collected into the form of the Mirror that it claimed, raises its "head" slowly, shakily in a false show of weakness. Its eyes, the only spots of light on it, blaze like searchlights, betraying its true strength.

The Fae speaks, that raspy tone adding a hint of menace to his words, "A failure.. another failure." He bares his teeth and snarls, "An expensive failure."

Another? The impossibly lightless plasma inches back, fan-like crests pinning back as it gazes into the wild eyes of disappointment and scorn. The Shade does not know fear... but all this creature knows is the impulse of fight or flight humming in its hollow core.

Something akin to a heartbeat pulses in its "chest". Quick, fearful, hardly present. Move, flee.

The fighting's died down, Ink dragged away from Orbit's huddled and silent form, and all the Banescale does is scream into the sky, into the speckled night. Yet the darkness she screams at is nowhere near the impossibility of the Shade which has claimed her friend.

Fear. The heartbeat stutters. Run.

Elemental ice, wicked and glowing, freezes the spot where the being had been mere moments before. The Fae spits a venomous string of blights, at the summoning, at the lost artifact, at the waste of time. But the residual darkness staining the ground isn't the Shade he'd aimed to erase.

It's already long gone, fleeing through the gaps of reality itself, through the tear from which it arrived.

~~~~~

Find safety.

Get out of there. Away. Far away.

But where..?

~~~~~

The fragment of Shade rematerializes in the subway. From the darkness itself, it's ejected, the ambient Shadow element of this world rejecting its unnatural presence and leaving it to sizzle in the fluorescent, buzzing lights of the few operational signs in this district.

And yet, it relaxes, collapsing shockingly solidly upon the cold, smooth pavement.

It's silent for once, the normal hustle and bustle of the city having been driven out by recent damages done to this railway. Even the usual stragglers, kids like Ink's club, who normally loiter around the "spooky abandoned subway" for kicks have long since either gone home or to the park to camp out.

Not even the most daring of delinquents would test their luck napping in the hollow depths of the earth. Not in Light territory, especially.

They say Light, for all its pristine brightness, hides something eldritch. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows after all.

Perhaps, this is that something.

With that thought, the insubstantiality lets out a cry.

Get to safety. Hide.

It manages to stand, first shakily onto all fours, then to its hind legs. It limps towards the darkest corner, baking in the light, before it stumbles and trips to its knees again, gasping. The air passes through it, not that it needs to breathe; nonetheless, it curls up and forces itself to inhale and exhale, if only to replicate the life that it'd sensed all around it just minutes before.

Breathe.

It scrabbles at its chest its claws finding little purchase in the slick, incorporeal material making up its form. Frictionless, there's no way to scratch through to tear out the artifact inside, now bound to its metaphorical core.

It’s alive. ALIVE.

Yet the mere contact sends it reeling, light shimmering from within and just barely reflecting off its body, enough to outline its limbs among the tangled darkness, to give some definition to its form.

It’s… I’m real. I'm alive. I'm real.

The tentative balance of energy and nothingness snaps, allows life to win over, if only slightly. He remembers, his eyes glowing not with a pure, absent white like before, but with a blend of violet and fiery hues, a rapidly shifting twilight twinkling in his gaze.

Time releases a breath it'd been holding since the threads of reality first snapped.

They'd summoned The Shade, of all things. They'd tethered it to an artifact, which had tethered itself to him. He could still, if only faintly, feel his own magic humming beneath the oppressive gloom which coated (comprised?) his form, but it was.. contaminated, thoroughly so.

His poor excuse for a heart thumped once more, only seeming to beat prominently when he was struck with powerful emotion. He held his paws to his chest, focusing on that sound, willing it to continue, to prove he was still of the living realm.

Yet the heartbeat stilled soon enough, merely the erratic pulsing of a cursed artifact attempting to keep the Shade in check. To keep things in balance, in control.

The altruistic part of him was glad that such an artifact was now useless to that group. With such potential, to control even a piece of an otherworldly horror... he didn't even want to imagine what it could be used to bring about.

Petty crimes, he at least hoped. Petty crimes deluxe edition, don't get caught.

A bitter laugh escaped him, distorted and crumbling in the umbra. No need to worry about crimes now, at least. Their power... it was his now... it was him now. 

Or perhaps he was its. 

He waved a claw, watched it seem to flicker as if already cutting through atoms in the air with a single gesture, leaving smoky afterimages behind.

As the memories of the past thirty or so minutes flooded back, he realized, he can do just that, he has done just that, slipped out of the physical plane and just moved, perhaps faster than light for a moment, even. 

So that's what teleportation really was.

The childish part of him would've relished in the idea of obtaining cosmic power, like some sort of superhero, though he knows better. His own magic fights constantly within, a storm of elemental energy caught in an endless cycle of extinguishing and reignition, with the artifact in the center, regulating it all.

He's no superhero, and this is no origin story.

He stared at the high, arching ceilings, at the darkness that would've once strained even his Shadow element eyes.

He's no superhero... he's just a circuit.

Feel, Don’t Conceal

Rating: T

Words: 4601

Pairing: Elsamaren

Summary: After finding out that Anna is pregnant, Elsa does a lot of feeling and not concealing, but thankfully Honeymaren is there to welcome her back to the enchanted forest and make her feel more at ease. But they're just friends--right?

read on ao3 if you prefer here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276661

Elsa shook her head, climbing with ease onto Nokk’s back, sighing heavily, too many thoughts racing through her mind to concentrate on anything in particular. Her hand reached out to stroke Nokk’s neck, a soothing gesture that always brought the two closer together, Nokk instantly calming under Elsa’s touch. A gesture that Elsa now hoped would make her feel the same sense of ease.

Nokk whinnied expectantly and Elsa responded by ushering the horse to go, tapping Nokk’s belly with her heels.

Before she knew it, Elsa’s eyes prickled with tears. Not even tiny sputters of water, too—big, fat teardrops barely kept at bay until they spilled harshly down her cheeks.

Her first instinct was to bury her face deep into Nokk’s mane, holding on tighter, giving the horse a desperate hug. Nokk noticed this change and slowed.

Elsa’s cries quickly turned frantic. She gasped for air, clumsily, without thinking about it, barely taking in oxygen. More fat tears rolled down her face.

What had brought her to this point? The second she stepped out of the castle, waving farewell joyfully to Anna, Kristoff, and Olaf, she had felt at peace. Complacent. Happy. Excited, even.

But now…

But now something had cracked. Elsa no longer felt any trace of excitement. No, now she worried.

She worried for Anna. She worried for herself. She wondered what the future would look like. Maybe she even dreaded the future.

This crisis, brought on by her sister’s pregnancy announcement no less, made Elsa feel less than. She had worked tirelessly for years to keep a lid on her emotions.

Conceal, don’t feel. Bury those emotions deep, deep, deep within her core. Don’t let them surface. When they mattered, yes. She had learned that much over the years. She didn’t want them to consume her alive by constantly pushing them away. She could let her emotions out when she wanted to. She had grown to allow that to happen. The thing was—she controlled them. She could have controlled emotional breakdowns when she deemed them warranted. She could let some tears flow onto her pillow in the privacy of her tent in the enchanted forest.

But not here. Not now. Not when she knew the expectant Northuldran faces who would greet her upon her return would not be able to see through her red, swollen eyes. She wasn’t ready for them to see her vulnerable.

But somehow…

But somehow… this. Anna and Kristoff arranging a silly charades baby announcement had broken her. She simply had lost all control over her tears and her emotions and her vulnerability and could do nothing but hug Nokk tighter thinking of this.

She didn’t mean for something so … domestic to affect her.  

Everything was going to change. Everything. Anna, at 22 years old, was going to be a mother. And Kristoff a father. This was the start of a whole new chapter of their lives, and as much as Elsa felt she could be involved as an aunt, she knew that there were new accompanying expectations that she was sure to never live up to. Besides, living in the enchanted forest meant she couldn’t be there for the baby and eventual child and eventual teenager’s big milestones. She would miss so many moments of their life.

And more than that—she would miss so many important moments of Anna’s life. Sure, she would make it back to Arendelle for the birth. Sure, she could go for the christening. But game nights probably wouldn’t exist anymore. At least not in the same way.

Elsa started gasping for air again.

The thought of charades falling by the wayside had sent her spiraling.

Even though she had always hated charades. Always hated how truly godawful she was at it—it was still something she enjoyed doing with her sister. And it was about to change. This hit Elsa palpably. Viscerally. She clutched her chest quickly, worried her heart no longer threatened to beat right out of it.

The baby would be wonderful. Yes. Absolutely wonderful. But would she lose Anna as a result?

Then she would be all alone.

Elsa gasped for air again, trying to take deep breaths. In and out. Taking Nokk’s mane in her hands and twirling it, therapeutically. Or at least—she hoped, therapeutically.

Her mind cleared for a second. A moment of clarity. This whole breakdown situation didn’t even make sense. She worried about losing Anna because she was pregnant? She worried about being alone?

Her tears had started to dry. Breakdown turned contemplation. Perhaps turned revelation.

Alone—curious. Something Elsa didn’t know she cared about. Something Elsa always expected she desired. But maybe she didn’t. Maybe being alone wasn’t all she had expected. Maybe seeing Kristoff and Anna growing together had made an impact on her. Maybe Kristoff brought out the best in Anna. Maybe Anna brought out the best in Kristoff. Maybe they were maturing and adapting and loving to a degree that both fascinated and confused Elsa. In a way that Elsa thought maybe…

Her mind shot to Honeymaren quickly. Smiling. Brown hair flowing graciously in the wind, Gale blowing circles of leaves around her face but Honeymaren graciously batting them away. She laughed, softly first, a little giggle. And then as Gale brought more gusts of wind, Honeymaren guffawed, deep, guttural.

Elsa shot back to reality. She loosened her grip on Nokk’s neck slightly and brought her head up to look at the dark sky. The constellations were out in full force on this cool October night.

She longed to spend an evening staring into the pure majesty of those glistening centers of gas. An evening of solitude. Or, rather—what used to satisfy her craving for transcendental moments gazing at the sky. Now she wanted to share the experience. Perhaps with Anna or Kristoff, even. Ryder, maybe. Olaf, less so. But who was Elsa kidding? One person trumped the rest.

Nokk came to a halt rather suddenly, and it took Elsa awhile to fully comprehend that they had made it back to the forest. She slid easily from the horse, landing with force on brown leaves that rustled and cracked under her feet.

Sounds of leaves rustling grew louder and louder in a crescendo, and Elsa looked around, confused. Worried, even. Knowing that this sound meant somebody had noted her arrival.

She breathed out steadily the second she realized who it was, though. When she heard that wonderful sing-songy voice call out to her. “Elsa! You’re back!”

Elsa’s mouth opened as wide as it could to smile though her eyes still filled steadily with a stream of tears that flowed down a track on her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip to try to stop the flow, to not worry Maren. She could pull together. Not wanting Maren to think of her as any different. As any more human than spirit.

Thankfully Maren started by helping Elsa gather her bags. Somehow she hadn’t made any direct eye contact. This gave Elsa enough time to calm down, to assure that the tears had halted their flow. “Didn’t spend the night this week?”

Now Maren looked up, taking in the delicate strength of Elsa’s features almost shimmering in the night sky.

Elsa looked at the ground, then, shuffling her feet. The leaves rustled again. “No—I… I really wanted to be back here. In the open space.”

Maren nodded, staring intently at Elsa’s face now, curious. Elsa tried to divert her attention to anything else. She wished she had wiped her cheeks when Maren had started gathering up all the bags, and then it wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

Instead, tracks of the tears that had rolled down her cheeks now glistened in the soft glow of the moonlight. Maren took a step toward her, running her fingers along Elsa’s face to dry her tears. “Are you okay? I don’t know why but I got a sense maybe this would be an emotional visit for you...”

“Oh. Well—I’m fine. I…” She didn’t know how to explain. In fact—she didn’t want to explain. The whole mess of what had sent Elsa on this spiral likely involved the very woman who stood before her. Explaining why she cried… it went beyond what Elsa wanted to admit. Far beyond. “I’m okay now,” she chose to say instead.

Then Elsa heard some crunching leaves yet again. Ryder, this time. Her hands quickly brushed her cheeks in recovery, but not fast enough for Ryder to fail to notice.

In typical Ryder fashion he had to call her out, too. “Whoa Elsa what’s eating you?”

Elsa bit her lip while Maren furrowed her eyebrows. Not a funny joke this time, Ryder.

“That EXCLUSIVE family game night not all it was cracked up to be, huh? I can’t believe we weren’t invited. Talk about a slap in the face.”

Maren rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, Ryder,” she said, turning away from him quickly, ignoring his offended ‘hey.’ She reached out her hand for Elsa to take. “Come on, Elsa what do you say we get out of here?”

Elsa nodded, but said nothing, grabbing Maren’s hand in sheer resolve, feeling her stomach drop the second her fingers interlaced with Maren’s. Elsa had to squeeze her eyes tightly to keep herself from internally screaming about how badly she had it. How thankful she was that these feelings were starting to surface… that they had finally been set free…

But at the same time how worried she was that those feelings were not returned.

Technically they were holding hands right now. Technically. Sure, it served a purpose. But their hands were interlaced and it was intimate and beautiful and wonderful. But it didn’t mean anything. No, not necessarily.

Maren pulled her faster, so much so that Elsa almost feared her arm was about to break free from her shoulder socket. She giggled. “Where are we going?”

“I have somewhere to show you,” she smiled. Well—Elsa couldn’t exactly see Maren’s face, but she could make out the smile from her tone of voice.

They sprinted for what felt like ten minutes or so, long enough that Elsa found herself panting quickly to try to catch her breath. Maren seemed unphased. That girl was amazing.

When Honeymaren pulled Elsa onto the perch, positioning her perfectly so she could take in the expansive view, Elsa took in a breath.

A small clearing of trees gave them a wonderful area of grass and fallen leaves, high up on top of a cliff, providing them with an uninterrupted view of the enchanted forest. Of the lakes, of the earth giants, of the ocean leading to Ahtohallan. And most importantly… a beautiful view of the stars. So many constellations sparkled full force on that autumn night.

“Isn’t this the prettiest view you’ve ever seen?” Maren bumps into Elsa, encouraging her to sing its praises. To geek out a little bit.

“It really is.”

“I stumbled upon it while picking some berries earlier today. When you were back in Arendelle. Perfect timing, really. Like it’s fate or something, you know?”

Elsa felt like she could hear her heart beating faster and faster within her chest. What was Maren saying? Like what’s fate? Them being here… them watching the stars in this exact location? Or… well—probably just that Maren found somewhere Elsa would love to see the same day Elsa decided to have a mental breakdown. That had to be it, right?

“Yes. Really, it must be fate.” Elsa was unable to think of anything else to say. She couldn’t—every single word or phrase felt indescribably risky.

“It’s so strange, really. That I’ve lived here my whole life but there’s still so much to discover.”

Elsa smiled, then. Honeymaren has some kind of uncanny ability to get reflective and deep, always living fully and freely in every single moment. Searching for and uncovering meanings within the most basic of situations. Something Elsa had always admired in her … friend.

“Do you want to stay here awhile? Watch the stars? Maybe you can teach me a little bit about astrology or the constellations or anything, really. I know you love that kind of stuff.”

Elsa nodded. Still shy. Excited, but shy. She could think of nothing else she would rather do that night than watch the stars with Honeymaren.

They both sank down to the ground. The grass was a little damp, no doubt giving them some mud stains they’d later have to wash from their clothing. But neither paid any mind to this. Leaves crinkled from their weight and they shifted closer together, so close that Elsa’s right arm grazed Maren’s left.

Elsa sighed. She felt better already.

Not alone… decidedly not alone.

And this. Sitting close to someone else… someone like Maren, and making so little noise, the two of them just taking in each other’s energy. It was almost as if they were alone together.

Alone but not alone. Well, alone but not lonely, perhaps was the distinction.

Elsa took in the silence for a while. The silence brought her peace. She could hear the sounds of the few birds that remained, the sounds of the earth giants as they shook the ground with their movements, the sound of Maren breathing right next to her. That was the most beautiful sound of all.

She took a deep breath before finally breaking the silence. “Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”

“No,” Maren said. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“Oh… I—well, I’m ready now. If…”

“Then tell me, Els. I’m all ears. Whatever’s best for you.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Maybe we can ease into it,” Maren said, flopping over so she faced Elsa, leaning her head on her hand. “Random thought. But… I’m guessing you can’t tell me anything about the exclusive game night for a while, huh?”

Elsa’s jaw dropped slightly. “How did you...?”

“I had a hunch. Your sister’s been looking pretty pale these past couple weeks. And she only ate one teeny tiny bit of food at the last game night before giving Kristoff the rest. And, that time, she was looking green.”

“Wow. You’re really observant.” Elsa realized then that she had actually seen zero of the signs. “I didn’t even… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured she wanted to tell you herself. In a cool way, too, I’m betting.”

Elsa nodded. “She did.” And then Maren laughed. That same laugh Elsa had thought of earlier… that same exquisite laugh.

“Guess she didn’t need those Honeymaren-approved herbs for very long...”

“No. She told me at least a hundred times she was going to stop those a few weeks before their royal wedding. Because…” Elsa cleared her throat to do her best Anna impression. “Nobody would count up to the exact week in legitimacy claims.’”

“And yet you still had no idea?”

Elsa grimaced while Maren laughed again. “When you put it that way…”

“So… do you want kids?”

“No,” Elsa said quickly, decisively. “Do you?

“I don’t think so. But I haven’t given it much thought, honestly. Which… almost certainly means no for someone like me.”

A palpable silence fell between them then. Elsa hadn’t expected Honeymaren’s answer and she had to take a moment to acknowledge their compatibility in something Elsa never expected.

Sure, she still didn’t know how Honeymaren felt about her. But at least now Elsa knew that maybe there could be a future… she wouldn’t hold Maren back from anything. They could just… be together. The two of them. Alone together.

Elsa sighed. Knowing now was as good a time as any to finally bare her heart and soul. “I think that’s part of why I’m… I don’t know. Freaking out. We’re just so different—me and Anna. Our lives are going to change. And I have no sense of what that means for our relationship. How can we still be as close as we have been these past 4 years once she has 8 or 10 or 12 kids, you know?”

“Of course, Els. That’s scary. Change is scary. Especially when it’s something you hold so close to your heart that’s changing.”

“I don’t know what to do about it. I want to be happy for her. And I am. I’m so happy for her and Kristoff, but at the same time… I think I’m sad for me. I’m sad that I’m going to be left out. That I won’t ever be able to relate to this experience and I’m not part of their family, really. I’m not a Bjorgman, and… nothing’s going to be the same.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with being sad. You can be happy and at the same time you can be sad. There’s no rule that says you can only be one or the other. And besides, you are part of their family. You’re going to be Aunt Elsa. Maybe you won’t have the same last name, but I can assure you they’ll love you and need you and want you all the same. Especially if they have 12 kids. I mean. Damn. They’re gonna need Aunt Elsa’s help round the clock.”

Elsa took a moment to really understand what Honeymaren just said. “And Anna won’t… think of me less because I don’t want the same things she does? She won’t pull away because I’ll never have mother things to talk about?”

“I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t know Anna the way you do. But… it’s hard for me to believe that Anna would ever shut you out.”

Elsa gulped, then. Reminded of all the times and all the years she shut Anna out. Was it true that Elsa actually feared this? That she truly believed and worried that Anna would edge her out of their family life?

No—she couldn’t. That was just so… illogical. Clearly Anna would never do such a thing. Never. But.

Elsa was still worried.

So she said the two words that played on repeat in her brain. “I know.” But even though she knew, she still worried. She still had that plaguing fear.

And Maren capitalized on it. “Then what are you afraid of?”

“It’s scary because there’s no way to know for sure. It’s scary because the worst-case scenario is… bad. It’s really bad. And I…” Elsa went quiet suddenly. She was about to expose the biggest revelation of the evening. But she didn’t mean to say this to anybody. Especially not Honeymaren.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I don’t want to have kids. But I also don’t want to be alone. I think… I think I want what Anna and Kristoff have. They were so excited, Maren. I wish you could’ve seen them.”

“They’re great together. And hey, Els. There’s nothing written in the stars that says that you have to be alone for the rest of your life. You’re young. You’ve got years to not be alone. And besides… I don’t know how much it counts for since I’m not Kristoff or anything, but. I’m your friend. I’m here to make sure you’re not lonely, okay? Me and Ryder and Anna and Kristoff too. Until you find your own Kristoff, that is.”

Elsa blushed. She knew she wasn’t quite ready to explain that Kristoff or anybody like Kristoff didn’t quite tickle her fancy, but for Maren to say anything like this already meant so much. Before she knew it, tears prickled in her eyes. Happy tears this time. Thankful tears this time. Hopeful tears. “You know I’ve never really had a friend before. Or well—a friend like you.” Honeymaren moved closer to Elsa, rolling over on her back, dropping her hand down to start brushing with Elsa’s own. “Thank you. I… honestly, you’ve already helped me so much.”

“Wow, you’re really feelings-y tonight, Els.” Honeymaren brought her hand closer still. Elsa tensed up. Not knowing quite what to expect but still knowing exactly what she wanted. If Maren actually grabbed her hand… if Maren actually reached out and interlaced Elsa’s fingers into her own, then that had to mean something, right? It wasn’t some kind of hand holding to get somewhere. It was a hand hold to seal their friendship. At the very least their friendship.

But Elsa didn’t want to overstep any bounds so she grew timid. “Oh, I’m sorry—is—”

“No, I like it,” Maren said, now seizing Elsa’s hand.

Her heart beat quickly. Her breath caught in her throat. This was it. This was exactly what she wanted. And it felt just as magical as she ever could expect. She only hoped that Honeymaren felt similarly…

And she feared she would never know.

Elsa turned her attention back to the night sky. The stars glistened beautifully, the cool and crisp air keeping everything clear. She could already identify at least three constellations, more, she was sure if she kept looking.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Elsa said, finding lines of Pegasus gleaming on the canvas of the night sky. “It’s so peaceful... almost like nothing else exists. I can hear you breathing. I can see the stars...”

“You told me you’d teach me about them. The constellations. What can you see?”

“I’m looking at Pegasus right now.” Elsa pointed at the sky, drawing out the flying horse as much as she could, holding out hope that Honeymaren could see exactly what Elsa did. “There’s something called ‘The Great Square’ which is right up there. You see? Four stars that look like a square?”

Maren beamed. “Yes! Yes, I think I see the square.”

“And then if you just look a little bit to the right—do you see Pegasus now?”

“I think so?” Honeymaren grasped Elsa’s other hand now and pointed at the stars she thought formed Pegasus but actually looked more like random lines. But she was right, and Elsa nodded enthusiastically at her successes.

“You can find Andromeda from The Great Square too. If you look to where it’s pointing. I mean, the kind of left most point of the square leads to Andromeda…all the stars leading away from that square. Right…” Elsa leads their combined hands over to the left. “Here. You see?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think I can make out Lacterta, but that’s a little harder to show you. Oh! I know Grus is meant to be out tonight, too.”

“Elsa, your inner nerd is showing through,” Honeymaren said, laughing a little.

But Elsa ignored her. “Oh, and Aquarius, which is pretty special since it’s your sign.”

“Are you gonna to go off about astrology again?”

“I know you love it.”

“Okay, fine. I do. You’re right. What did you say the rest of my signs are? Can you just---give me a whole new reading? Because I love it when you do that.”

Love.

Elsa’s heart fluttered at the word. It didn’t mean anything, most likely. Just a word chosen by Honeymaren to describe their friendship. Probably.

But she had still said love.

And Elsa obviously knew Honeymaren’s entire chart off the top of her head. So she was ready to impress. “Well, you’re sun Aquarius and moon Sagittarius which means you’re really free-spirited, adventurous, you act without thinking but not in a bad way! And you’re honest and direct… you like talking about… philosophy and the future. And you’re really, really creative. The most creative. Plus your Pisces rising means you care a lot about people and you’re sensitive and empathetic. I’m not just saying this, okay? You have a great chart, Maren.”

“Cool. Good for me, then, huh? Oh, and pretty cool you remembered all that too, Els,” Honeymaren said, biting her lip before asking her next question.“So are we compatible? Is it written in the stars that we’re meant to be… friends?”

Elsa didn’t know if she imagined that pause before Honeymaren said anything about them being friends. But she heard it. She really thought she heard it. And it made her squeeze Maren’s hand a little tighter.

“I’m the ball of anxiety to your go with the flow creativity. So, yes. I think we balance each other out.”

“Aww.”

“Oh! I have a fun idea,” Elsa said, dropping Maren’s hand quickly, slightly regretting it but then bringing her hands together in a sweeping motion, bits of ice and snow flying out as she did this. She sat up and held the newly created ice object out to Maren. “This is a sextant. It’s what navigators used to find their position based on the stars. Well, also the moon and the planets. But the stars are my favorite. Basically, if we wanted to do some ocean navigation we would just have to look for Polaris,” Elsa stepped toward Maren, guiding her closer, placing the ice sextant into her hands, using her astute eye to position Maren properly so she could see Polaris through the curves of ice. “Just like that… can you see it?” Maren nodded and Elsa kept her hands perfectly on top of Maren’s. So much so that her heart beat heavily in her chest. Thwump thwump. Thwump thwump. Elsa shivered a bit, too excited. She leaned in closer. “And then we would measure its latitude. If we were on the water, that is.” Maren laughed at that. “So that wherever we go, no matter where it is, we always have Polaris to guide us home,” Elsa said, leaving the sextant in Maren’s hands but taking a few steps away from her. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Looking at Elsa, utterly dumbfounded, Maren cocked her head. “How did you learn all of this?”

And Elsa smiled. “I could see the stars from my window. When I was younger and stuck in there all the time. That was my one connection to the outside. The stars…” Maren cocked her head again. “Oh and I read a lot of books.”

Another one of those perfect belly laughs escaped Maren’s lips. She shook her head slightly. “You and your books!”

“What? You can learn so much from reading!” Elsa pouted playfully and walked up to Maren, grabbing the sextant in a way that made it disappear in one quick poof.

“Nerd!” Maren stuck out her tongue.

“Hey!” Elsa yelled.

And then Maren bit her lip. She walked slowly up to Elsa and grabbed both of her hands. “I mean that in a good way. The best way.”

There was no way this could be platonic, right?

Maybe Elsa would write to Anna later and ask. This didn’t feel platonic. This didn’t feel like anything other than… romance.

This felt like a partnership. Even if it were just friendship, it still was still empowering and enlightening. Lifting her up to feel the exact opposite of lonely. And if Honeymaren meant everything she said earlier, then this was for real. This was forever.

Friends, at the very least.

Friends. Or something more.

And as Elsa’s hands sensed the warmth radiating from Maren’s… she realized that not all change was bad. Not all change incited the worst kind of fear in Elsa’s core. Sure, she still had such intense fear that somehow she would be edged out of Anna’s growing family. Sure, she worried that their relationship would suffer when Anna acknowledged that Elsa would never truly enter the same chapter in life. But… it would be okay.

Elsa could count the reasons why it would be okay.

These hands. This view. This girl.

It would be okay, it would be okay.

It will be okay.

It will.

Soothing Soul

I just had to write this drabble/scene with Elsa and Anna cuddling, and Elsa’s thoughts.

The bedroom had barely changed after Elsa stopped living in the castle. Maybe it had a few added features from her second home to the north, but her bed was still there, her curtains the same ones she had left. It still felt welcoming to her with each visit; she never felt a stranger.

The biggest reason for that, was of course, Anna.

She was telling Elsa about her day, standing at the foot of the bed as Elsa laid back on it in a light blue gown, hair spread over the pillow. Anna gestured wildly with her hands. "And then 'BOOM!' Olaf finally fell off the barrel - but good news he still rolled it off the dock and at least outside the store! Unfortunately the man's horse will never be the same, but he was going to retire him anyway." Sighed and clasped her hands together, looking at Elsa.

Elsa let out a light chuckle. "Sounds like a busy day, Anna. You must be exhausted, and yet you stayed up so late for me. I'm sorry." Elsa was a little tired too, though she didn't run out of energy very quickly anymore.

"Don't be sorry," Anna said with a bright smile. "So Gale was being unreasonable and you needed to help her settle down. It happens! I think."

Another chuckle and Elsa nodded softly. "It happens. But I'm still sorry. I can see it in your face, you're tired."

Anna nodded and then dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Queening is so tiring. I love it! But I've never been so tired." She rubbed her hands on the sides of her own little green and brown dress.

"Mmm. It is. It took me a long time to get used to it."Admittedly it probably took her far longer than it should have with how much she worried at the start about endangering everyone again. Learning how to assume her responsibilities and handle her life with an open door hadn't exactly been a small feat. And not all of her subjects were at ease at the beginning either.

Apparently she had been thinking about it a little too long because Anna shifted to look back toward her, and then flopped on the bed where she was, legs awkwardly just touching the ground. "Look who I'm talking to!I don't even know how you did this after you uh...well.."

"Threw a snow tantrum and stormed off to a hideout and turned you into an ice statue?" Elsa meant to joke, but swallowed thickly after the last bit. "You are learning after being dragged around an enchantment forest and being chased by giants, which is impressive." Well, that didn't make much sense but it was a try.

"Totally different situations Elsa," Anna said but she laughed. And then she yawned.

"You should go to bed, Anna." Elsa knew better though. Anna always insisted on being in her room until she passed out on her bed. Elsa didn't mind. She had all the solitude she needed whenever she wanted, and treasured every second with her sister. She missed her dearly when they were separated.

"But you just got here," Anna replied, and didn't move.

In response, Elsa sighed and held out her hand. "Come on."

Anna moved her head to peek and then picked it up quickly with her smile again as she took her hand. She let Elsa pull her up the bed and then expected her to let go. Elsa did, but then she put her arm around Anna and dragged her close.

Usually they fell asleep talking on the bed, laying on their sides until someone fell asleep. It would always be Anna, and even when Elsa did sleep it wasn't for long. But she would stay for Anna. If she woke up, she just focused on checking in on the spirits while staying relaxed in the bed.

With Anna's head on her shoulder and her arm around her waist, Elsa relaxed and stroked her hair. "Sleep Anna. You need it, you know that."

"I knooooow." And yet Anna still whined. "But I want to tell you more and I want to hear-hear what you've been doing." The last word was followed by another yawn.

"I'll be here in the morning," Elsa assured her. Part of her always felt she should reassure Anna of that. Anna had never shown any sign she disbelieved her, but she still deserved to feel content.

"Yea...you might have to wake me up." Anna wiggled closer, and Elsa turned slightly toward her.

"We'll see about that," Elsa teased. If Anna needed her sleep she should get it...to a point. The girl was a heavy sleeper and Kristoff had a list of events they were almost late to due to it.

Another laugh from Anna, like music to Elsa's ears. "Olaf will come looking for us if you don't. You don't want him to wake you."

Elsa cringed. He didn't tend to come in uninvited, but that didn't mean he hadn't woken her in the past - when she fell asleep on the couch after long days mostly. "You're right." She looked down and brushed some stray hairs out of Anna's face. "I'll just stop him first. Will you sleep now?"

"I can try, but I want to talk," she tried to say firmly, failing. Anna's voice was so small when she was tired.

"I'll pet your nose," Elsa joked.

"Okay."

"...Oh Anna." Elsa huffed and started to stroke the bridge of Anna's nose, humming softly. She kept it a light tune, simple and repetitive as she ran her finger along Anna's cute little nose.

She really did have the best sister. Elsa wished she could have always shown her such affection and be better. Better in many ways. They lost so many years and when they were finally close again, something came up. So, all she could do when she saw her was try to care for her and pour every ounce of devotion into their time together. It was the least she could do.

"Sleep now, please sleep," she whispered to her, still stroking. She closed her own eyes as her own energy and soul seemed to intertwine with Anna's, soothing and resting her. It was something she could physically feel and while she couldn't completely make sense of that part of her, she enjoyed it. When she calmed Gale or any of the other spirits, she felt it too, but different than with Anna.

She noticed as Anna's breathing deepened and became very steady. The arm across her didn't loosen up nor did anything else change. Anna stayed attached and snuggled up to her.

Elsa wouldn't have it any other way.

One Victor. CH 19. P1.

Chapter 19 is almost done! Seriously, I have to write one more scene and edit stuff a bit, but I’m mostly done. So, I decided to share this snippet with you. 

If you want to find the rest of this fic, go HERE.

As usual, all this is unbetaed and still subject to change. Hope you enjoy. Tell me what you think. 

One Victor. CH 19. P1. 

“So, what do you think? Is this OK?” Peeta slid the open book across the table so that Katniss could see his work. 

“It’s perfect,” Katniss said, running her fingers along the edge of the book so as not to smudge Peeta’s artwork. The bunch of yellow flowers was so lifelike she could almost smell them. “I’ll add the information tomorrow, once the ink is dry.”

Peeta looked at the clock on his kitchen wall. It was 6:45. “You better get going, the alarm’s about to ring.” 

Katniss sighed. Tired. Annoyed. It was the same thing every day: wake up, go to school, check up on Prim, go to Victors’ Village, rush before curfew, put dinner on the table, do homework, go to sleep, start again.

Life in District 12 had never been particularly exciting, but Katniss Everdeen had never lived within the confines of her district. She couldn’t even remember a time when the woods weren’t a part of her life. She had grown to rely on them for nourishment and needed them to bring peace and contentment to her soul.

Sadly, Peacekeeper Thread’s hold on the district was tighter than ever and —with everyone walking in a straight line— Katniss’s days of roaming through the woods and stalking prey had become a thing of the past. 

Luckily, thanks to her arrangement with Peeta, the lockdown didn’t mean empty cupboards and hunger. With the food she received, Katniss and her family could now enjoy the kind of peace that came from knowing where their next meal would come from; a sense of ease she hadn’t experienced since before her father’s death. 

Of course, she didn’t miss the constant worry of having to provide for her family —or the terror of going back empty-handed after a long day out in the woods— but she still missed the thrill of doing what most wouldn’t. The sound of the forest moving around her; the smell of the trees; the soft brush of the mountain air caressing her cheeks; the feel of her father’s bow between her fingers; the pride that came from landing that one perfect shot.

She still went by the fence every day —like a stubborn criminal returning to the scene of the crime— and every day, she was met with the buzz of electricity coursing through the wire. 

Sometimes she didn’t know what was worse, confirming the woods were still out of limits or knowing that —after her last adventure— she might not even have the guts to sneak out ever again. 

Even as her days blended together in a monotonous repetition, Katniss still enjoyed a few things. Helping Peeta out in the greenhouse remained one of her favorite activities —just the thought of the small glass building thriving in spite of its surroundings made her smile-- but, lately, there was something else she liked even more.  

The day after her little adventure in the woods, Katniss had shown up at Peeta’s back door with a shy smile on her lips and a sort of peace offering in her hunting bag. 

She couldn’t explain why she felt so rotten for having put him through the entire ordeal, but Katniss knew he had been worried, and she hoped her small token would help make up for his troubles. 

Peeta’s mouth dropped open as soon as she produced her family’s plant book, leaving it on his kitchen table with an almost theatrical flourish.

“Would you still like to work on it?” she asked, her voice tight with anxiety. She wanted Peeta to say yes so badly, her heart ached.  

They had both mentioned the project in passing a few times, but her misunderstanding with Gale had made her weary, and the idea of misreading Peeta’s intentions scared her so much that she hadn’t followed through yet, somehow convinced that he had only offered his help to be polite.  

With the gentlest of touches, Peeta ran his fingers over the cover. “I do, but only if it’s OK with you.”

“It is,” Katniss assured him.

Peeta pulled out a chair and sat down. 

Katniss pushed the book in his direction and took a seat; watching as he opened it and began peering through the entries. 

“Where should we start?” he asked, smiling like a boy who’s just received the best birthday present ever. 

They worked on the book practically every day. They always left it for last. After tending to Peeta’s vegetable and herb garden, and prepping and storing the food for later use, they went into his kitchen and sat down to work. 

Unlike the hours they spent in the greenhouse, --where Peeta chatted about the most random topics, usually making her laugh and pulling her into conversation— the time they spent with the book was one of silent reflection. Once they settled on the plant they were recording, no words were needed. Katniss didn’t understand why sitting like that, immersed in the comfortable calm they shared, thrilled her so but, as days went by, she found herself yearning for those stolen moments almost as much as she longed for her time in the woods. 

 In the soft light of impending dusk, she followed Peeta’s hands as he worked, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to her previously black and yellowish book.  

Sometimes, while Peeta diligently made sketches on scraps of paper trying to get every detail right, Katniss’s mind wondered. 

Three weeks had gone by since she had found Bonnie and Twill by her father’s lake and, in that time, no one had mentioned them again. 

She wasn’t surprised by Peeta’s silence. As a victor, he was probably privy to information she couldn’t even begin to imagine —information he wasn’t at liberty to disclose. 

She had never given much thought to these things before, but learning that Peeta carried a signal scrambler in his pocket —and had another one installed on the kitchen wall; she was now convinced that the green blinking light over his stove couldn’t be anything else— had made her realize that the blue-eyed victor with the winning smile had some secrets to keep. 

But Peeta wasn’t the only person who knew about the escapees and, after years of hearing her hunting partner’s rants against the Capitol, Gale’s silence on the matter unnerved her. Why was it that, in the face of real change —actual rebellion— Gale had suddenly become tight-lipped? 

Had Thread’s measures tempered his spirits or was Gale still fighting —secretly scheming with those discontents he had mentioned in New Years’? If so, had he approached Peeta? 

The first option saddened her —she hated the idea of her friend’s spirit being crushed under Thread’s boots— but it was something she could understand. A lot of miners had been arrested recently. Ending up in the peacekeepers’ cells was no joke. Katniss wouldn’t have blamed Gale for walking away from his ideals when his family’s safety was on the line. 

But the second… the second scared her so much she pushed it out of her mind almost at once.

Days trickled by. Katniss went to school, checked up on Prim, worked in Peeta’s greenhouse, wrote in her family’s plant book, and kept her theories and questions to herself. 

Deep down, she didn’t mind, holding on to her routine soothed her and, really, it wasn’t as though she had much to say. When it came to politics, Katniss had learned from an early age to steer clear of trouble. Even as a small girl, she had understood the importance of watching what she said, always fearful —like her mother had been— that Prim might repeat her words and get in trouble. 

After all, Katniss had spent years ignoring Gale’s heated rants when they went out to the woods, not because she didn’t agree with him, but because she didn’t see the point of attracting unwanted attention when she had a family who depended on her. 

 But things were different now, something big was happening in Panem —something most people had only ever dreamed of— and, with her days blending together with tedious dullness, Katniss was growing curious. She was also growing anxious.

As thrilling as news of an uprising had been, hearing what the Peacekeepers had done in Eight sobered her. Thread and his men had already done plenty in Twelve —and that was without provocation— what would happen if things got out of hand? President Snow would show no mercy. He wouldn’t think twice before killing off another district --same as he had Thirteen. Even if it was only to make an example of it.

District 12 was small and weak, and it didn’t develop nuclear weapons. It would take every person in the district to stand up to the Capitol for anything to really happen, and that would never be. 

She hated admitting it, but Gale was right. The tesserae system, the lack of job opportunities for people from the Seam, the way merchant businesses were passed down from one generation to another. More than the Games, these were the things that kept the people in Twelve pitted against each other; the things that made it impossible for a rebellion to succeed. 

With all these thoughts pressing down on her, Katniss couldn’t stop being cautious —couldn’t forget that she had a lot to lose. Curiosity wouldn’t put food on her table —and it certainly wouldn’t keep Prim safe— so, Katniss bit her lip and did what she had always done: kept her thoughts and theories to herself. 

Still, when she was at home, all the silence and prudence in the world didn’t stop her from paying attention whenever she watched TV. Every night, she sat in her living room and waited for Bonnie and Twill’s elusive mockingjay to show up on the corner of her screen. It never did, but that was hardly surprising, District 13 wasn’t the kind of topic that came up in the daily news.

Her repeated failure to put the matter to rest frustrated her, but there was nothing she could do. She had a full, busy life. She didn’t have time to sit around and wait for a random story to pop up on her screen.

XXXXX

Peeta stood up and stretched his back. He hadn’t been painting for long, but the chairs in his kitchen weren’t that comfortable, and he was tired. The long, sleepless nights of late were finally catching up to him.

A few steps away, Katniss began gathering her things. Now that winter had begun to withdraw, she had cast her old coat aside and gone back to wearing her father’s old hunting jacket. The leather garment was a couple sizes too big for her slight frame, but Peeta suspected she liked wearing it because it reminded her of her dad. Whatever her reasons, he welcomed the change. It made her seem happier, she looked a lot more like her usual self.

Wanting to keep Katniss around just a few minutes longer, Peeta asked, “Would you mind giving me a hand before you leave?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

Peeta pointed to a couple of wooden crates on his counter. “Could you help me carry one over to Haymitch’s?”

Reaching the counter, Katniss slid her hands under one of the crates and pulled it into her arms. “Lead the way.”

XXXXX

Haymitch’s house was worse than a pigsty. Mouse droppings, piles of unwashed clothes, and discarded wrappings littered the hallway. 

Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the revolting stench of liquor, vomit, and burned meat that hung in the air, Katniss followed Peeta through the long entrance corridor and into the kitchen. 

Alerted by the sound of visitors, Haymitch quietly slipped into the room. 

At the sight of the victor, Katniss tightened her hold on her crate and shuffled back a couple of steps. She had seen Haymitch hundreds of times before, usually skulking around the Hob, but she’d never been close enough to smell him. 

Surprise quickly gave way to disgust. 

Maybe it was because she had grown used to Peeta, who was stylish and handsome, and every bit what a victor was supposed to be, but she couldn’t quite believe that the paunchy, middle-aged man with greasy black hair and gray Seam eyes who stood across from her had once won the Hunger Games. 

Unperturbed by Katniss’s presence, Haymitch pointed a half-empty liquor bottle in Peeta’s general direction. “Hey, Kid,” he slurred. “Whatcha got there?”  

Peeta looked down at the jars and containers he carried. “The usual.” 

Eager to get back out to the fresh air, Katniss looked around trying to find an empty space for her crate. Every surface seemed to be covered in empty bottles and dirty plates. “Where can I—,”

Haymitch waved his bottle in the air. “Just leave that on the table, Sweetheart.”

The jars in Peeta’s crate rattled as dropped it on the counter. “Don’t call her that,” he growled.

Startled by the anger in Peeta’s voice, Katniss stiffened. She had never heard him speak so forcefully before. 

Seemingly undisturbed by Peeta’s outburst, Haymitch shrugged. Pointing his chin at Katniss, he asked, “How old are you, girl?”

Annoyed to be under Haymitch’s scrutiny, Katniss pulled her shoulders back. “I’ll be seventeen in May.”

“Ah!” Haymitch raised his liquor bottle as if in triumph. Looking back at Peeta, he added, “Don’t worry, Boy, I’ll learn her name when she’s 18.” 

Peeta’s lips turned white as he pressed them together to bite back a retort. Looking away from his mentor, he went to the kitchen table and began to move the dirty dishes out of the way so that Katniss could deposit her box. 

“This place is a mess,” she grumbled, too nauseated by her surroundings to be polite. “Have you ever considered getting a housekeeper?”

Amused by Katniss’s discomfort, Haymitch tilted his head to one side. “What? You angling for a job, Sweetheart?”

“Ew, no!” Katniss shook her head in disgust. It wasn’t a bad offer, even with all the filth, but she still had two more years of school ahead of her. “I don’t have that kind of time. You need someone who can come here every day.”

A wide smile broke on Haymitch’s face, and he started laughing. “You hear this, Boy?”

Peeta nodded, his previous bad mood forgotten, replaced by a bright smile. “I think she’s right, you know? You could use someone.” He turned to Katniss. “Do you know anyone who might be interested?”

It only took her a second to find an answer. “I do,” she said, adding an enthusiastic nod for emphasis. “I think Hazelle would be perfect for the job.” 

“Hazelle?” Peeta shook his head, the name unfamiliar.

“Gale’s mother,” Katniss explained. “She washes clothes for a living, but she hasn’t had much work lately —what with the shortages, and all— I’m sure she wouldn’t mind leaving that for something more steady.”

“Could you tell her to come over tomorrow?” Peeta asked.

“Yeah. I’ll stop by in the morning before school.”

“Hey, I’m still standing here!” Haymitch complained. “Don’t I have a say?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your say,” Peeta said, already moving to show Katniss the exit. He didn’t want to keep her any longer. This had taken longer than he expected, and the curfew alarm was about to ring. “But it won’t hurt to have her come by and take a look.”

“It won’t hurt you, you mean,” Haymitch yelled back.

“Is he always like this?” Katniss whispered once they had reached the front door.

Peeta shrugged. Haymitch was more of an acquired taste, he couldn’t expect her to understand.

XXXXX

Katniss had just reached the wrought iron gates of Victors’ Village when Peeta stepped back into Haymitch’s home. 

The old victor was busy rummaging through the contents of the crate Katniss had left on his table. “So, you know any of these people?”

Peeta leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know Gale. He’s alright.”

Haymitch pulled a big round jar out of the box and smacked his lips in appreciation. He loved pickled cabbage. Cradling the jar against his chest, he fixed Peeta with the most solemn look he could muster. “Alright, alright?”

Peeta nodded. “This is a good idea, Haymitch.”

With a grunt, Haymitch twisted the jar open. After dropping the lid on the table, he turned to look for a fork. “OK. Set it up, then.”

two announcements in one day, i know - we’re just outta control. anyway!! we’re here to give you our first preview!! seeing as we think it ties in nicely with our development contest we’re giving you the chance to check out the storm’s member groups!! you can see them all below the cut and hopefully you can find somewhere to drop your character! 

examples: molly weasley, lexie grey, ned stark, mary winchester, sookie st. james, phoebe halliwell, charles boyle, wendy darling, diana prince, samwise gamgee.

Caring, trustworthy and warm – these characters will always put other people’s needs before their own. That’s not to say that they’re pushovers; but they are more than willing to put themselves on the line to help others. They’re family-orientated and work better surrounded by people that they care about rather than on their own. A little stuck in their ways, they tend to like routine and knowing what’s going on – but that’s not to say that, with a gentle push in the right direction, they’re not willing to bend every now and again. They’re the problem-solvers and the ones you go to for advice or just a shoulder to cry on. They’re compassionate, understanding and honest whilst arguably a little meddlesome; but it’s only because they can’t help but try to get stuck in and help solve a situation if they see someone struggling. Principled and empathetic, they make the best kind of friends and add just a touch of calm to your life.

aesthetic: open fires, fluffy blankets, picnic baskets full to the brim, honey covered pancakes, hufflepuffs, freckled skin, handmade get-well-soon cards, bubble baths, chunky knit sweaters, old vinyls, reading glasses, cluttered kitchens, the smell of freshly baked bread, mom-jeans, the colour of leaves changing at fall.

examples: ryan reynolds, steve trevor, jim halpert, glenn rhee, rebecca pearson, neville longbottom, gale hawthorne, april kepner, mushu, chandler bing, robb stark, jake peralta.

These characters are your regular joe bloggs: they’re content and happy to drift through life without causing a scene or making a fuss. That’s not to say, however, that you should underestimate them -- though they’re not constantly battling to be the centre of attention, they’re smart, realistic and have a tonne of creative and fun ideas to throw into any situation. They’d be the person you called at 3am to help you bury a body without asking questions, basically. They’re the type of person to keep you grounded but can also be easily persuaded into some grand adventure, even if that’s just ice cream at 2 in the morning. Sure, maybe they pass up opportunities in favour of living a quiet life – but they’re a big personality that make any room fun and engaging. They won’t leave someone sat by themselves at a party, that’s for sure, and you’ll usually find them with a smart quip or funny joke to make the mood lighter.

aesthetic: fresh bed sheets, the smell after rain, street lamps reflecting off the pavement, listening to rain whilst wrapped up in a blanket, dog-eared books, slightly burnt toast, messily packed suitcases, dishes piled by the sink, thirty phone notifications, overgrown pot plants.

examples: katniss everdeen, prue halliwell, betty cooper, legolas, mary crawley, peggy carter, hermione granger, spock, cristina yang, amy dunne, arya stark, margaery tyrell, miranda priestley, shuri.

These characters ooze class and sophistication from every pore. They’re your studious, practical and just downright smart characters. They hold themselves, and everyone else, to pretty high standards and honestly believe that they know best in every, and any, given situation. They can be a little condescending without meaning to be at times but it usually comes from a place of good intention. No one can question the drive these characters have and, nine times out of ten, when they set a goal for themselves: they’ll achieve it. Whilst their minds are brilliant things to behold, they sometimes need a little help when it comes to the more emotional side of life. They hate to show weakness but despite their hard exterior, these characters feel a lot - probably because they’re notorious overthinkers. They’re definitely people that you want fighting in your corner with their quick wit and determination – just make sure you don’t wrong them, because if they’re good at anything then it’s holding a grudge.

aesthetic: to do lists, post-it notes on the fridge, colour-coded diaries, black coffee, late nights in the office, bulging bookcases, crisp white shirts, half-eaten toast, organised desks, the cold side of the pillow, early morning sun creeping through a crack in the curtains, opened take out containers, pinterest boards, alarm clocks, flickering light bulbs.

examples: haymitch abernathy, ginny weasley, alex karev, han solo, rosa diaz, cersei lannister, tony stark, jessica jones, draco malfoy, thorin oakenshield, jon snow, nick carraway, laura moon.

Dark and brooding; these characters are the ones most likely to pick a fight. They’re opinionated, feisty and it constantly feels like they woke up on the wrong side of the bed. These characters act like they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and usually aren’t willing to let anyone else in to help them. They’re independent, resilient and incredibly resourceful but it often hinders their likability by… a lot. They can get incredibly narrow-minded and focus on what they don’t have instead of what they do. Stormy and tempestuous they’re most likely to pick a fight with you over nothing just because you looked at them the wrong way. It’s not all bad though; they’re fierce protectors and are unfailingly loyal to those they consider close. Yes, they have hot tempers and they’re prone to serious bouts of jealousy and possessiveness… but the bottom line is that they don’t really care what you think about them so, in a way, they’re arguably the freest type of character.

aesthetic: unmade beds, thunderstorms rolling in, cracked mirrors, cups of half-finished coffee, whiskey, leather jackets, ripped knee jeans, beaten up converse, piles of clothes, organised chaos, park benches at night, seedy bars, haphazardly open drawers, half-smoked cigarettes, shattered glass, lipstick stains on shirt collars.

examples: luna lovegood, arwen undómiel, george o’malley, cinderella, rory gilmore, veronica lodge, jane villanueva, jane porter, arthur weasley, lucy pevensie, jane bennett, bilbo baggins, phoebe buffay.

These are your happy-go-lucky characters. The dreamers, the trendsetters… the ones who brighten up a room every time they walk in. They dream big and sometimes get a little lost along the way, forgetting about reality for a little while. They’re rebellious and brave and are willing to put everything on the line to achieve what they want to achieve. They’re the inspirational friend who manages to juggle two jobs, ten hobbies and writing a book on the side – you know? They feel a lot pretty much all of the time – from one extreme to the other. They fall in love at least twice a day – three times on a Sunday – and they cry at sad television adverts every single time. It’s hard not to feel moved when you’re around one of these characters or even just a little inspired by their total acceptance of who they are as a person. They might not know exactly who they are yet but they’re sure on their way. Just don’t mistake them for being the wishy-washy type because they’re determined little creatures who tend to get exactly what they want without fail.

aesthetic: surprise parties, quaint coffee shops, the first signs of spring, oversized cardigans, personalised thank you notes, sun kissed skin, movie marathons, dainty jewellery, potted plants, binge watching Netflix, brightly coloured rooms, belly laughs, vintage furniture.

examples: ron weasley, cheryl blossom, petra solano, sirius black, james t. kirk, monica geller, flynn rider, meredith grey, jyn erso, lara croft, elizabeth bennett, claire fraser, amy santiago.

These characters want to stand out. Whether it’s for their brains, their looks, their charity or their scandals… they want to make a difference. It’s not always entirely for the good of others either; they like the praise, attention and constant affirmation. Sometimes it’s selfishly motivated and other times these characters are just genuinely looking for some love and validation. Honestly? Most of the time, deep down, these characters are cripplingly insecure and make up for that by throwing themselves out there; whether that’s with their sense of humour, their work ethic or even just straight up being rude… whatever sets them apart from the crowd and gets them noticed, right? They might be the most morally-loose of the groups and they may get a little… crazy sometimes; trampling on other people’s feelings and forgetting that their actions have consequences but they’re just searching for that big-time confirmation that they matter… to someone.

aesthetic: drunk phone calls at 3am, photo albums full to the brim, eyes rolling, clothes left in the washer, the first bout of frost, way too loud music, staying in the club until closing, bold colours, thunder and lightning, over the top gestures, first over the finish line, shouting matches.

Powder Keg - Ch 3

Happy Monday, Everlarkers! Last week’s episode of EYOA’s Powder Keg left our Katniss with a dilemma - call in Grumpy Gale on his day off, or spend an entire day with archnemesis Peeta, who somehow broke her heart.

You chose for Katniss to throw caution to the wind and spend the day with Peeta. What happens next? Our own @burkygirl continues the drama (hang on to your hats, kids, this one’s a doozy!)

As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, November the 22nd. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…

The door to the staff room slams behind me as I storm away. I have got to get some fresh air. I need to be alone for 10 seconds or I’m going to scream. Fucking Johanna. She might as well have stuffed us into a get-along shirt like a couple of bratty kids. And what kind of choice is that anyway? As if I’m going to drag Gale up here on his day off to deal with a bunch of kids just because Dickwad is doing a tap dance on my very last nerve. That's not fair to Gale. He works two jobs to help his mom take care of his brothers and sisters and this is the only day he gets to sleep in. And anyway, I definitely don't need him running up here and trying to save me.

The cold air slices through my lungs the minute I step outside. I close my eyes and breathe deeply; each sharp, frosty inhale forcing the red haze just a little bit farther away. When I’m calm, I go back inside and find Peeta in the staff room packing up his gear to go home for the day.

“What are you doing?”

His expression is flat, emotionless as he methodically packs his bag. “What does it look like? I’m obviously not going to get any work here today. I might as well go home and help Dad at the bakery if I’m going to work for free.”

My attempt at another calming breath comes out like an impatient huff instead. “We have a class, like, any minute.”

His eyes snap to mine. “You didn’t call Hawthorne?”

I throw myself in a scruffy armchair that must have gotten dragged in here when it was no longer presentable for the guest area. “No. I am not going to do that to Gale on his day off. Just stay away from me, Mellark, and it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to do that if we’re supposed to work together all day.” Peeta runs his fingers through his hair until it’s standing on end. “I just don’t get why we can’t be friends, Katniss. We used to be, or at least, I thought we were. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to hate my guts.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You completely humiliated me and you don’t even remember it?”

He leans against his locker with a puzzled grimace painted on his features. “No. Elaborate.”

I don’t - I can’t - answer that. Three years later, the wound is still too raw. I’ll cry or kill him. Neither option is acceptable so I jump out of my chair and go back outside to wait for the kids.

The worst, most painful part of all of this is that he can't even recall what he did to me.

Three years ago, I thought Peeta and I were well on our way to being a couple.

Nearly every morning, he’d greet me on the slopes, his eyes as bright and blue as the sky behind him. We’d spend the day carving up the slopes, skiing in and out of each other’s turns just like he did today. We drank hot chocolate in the lodge while we warmed our toes by the fire, Peeta’s arm thrown over my shoulders. I’d laugh at his corny jokes and tell stories about the time I spent here with my dad. Some nights, we’d stay for night skiing and we’d fly down the mountain together, the snow beneath us a sparkling carpet of sugar as we whooshed along under the glow of the lights. Then Peeta would drive me home and we’d listen to classic rock as we bumped down the mountain.

Gale tried to warn me about him. He said I was reading too much into Peeta’s friendly gestures, that he was a player and I needed to be careful. Gale had been hinting at wanting to be more than friends with me for awhile, so I just brushed it off. I told him he didn’t know Peeta, that he wouldn’t do that to me.

A few days before Christmas, Peeta and I were lingering in the warmth of his truck, listening to tunes and reliving the best parts of our day when he turned toward me and his crooked smile grew serious.

“You’re a really great girl, Katniss,” he said, and then his gaze flicked away. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his thumb drummed on the steering wheel.

“Thanks,” I managed to choke out. “I like hanging out with you too.” The drumming stopped and Peeta reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My pulse skittered as his fingers trailed along my jaw. I stirred in my seat, my body yearning to close the space between us. As if of a will of its own, my chin lifted and I admired the way the dashboard lights made him look like he’d been sculpted from marble.

His lips were firm and warm when they met mine and my body melted beneath them. His fingers threaded through my hair tugging me closer and I gasped in response, giving him the chance to capture my bottom lip between his own. My hands flew up to his shoulders, enjoying their strength and revelling in the warmth of his presence and the spicy goodness of his cologne. He tasted of chocolate and cinnamon and it made me greedy for more. I welcomed his tongue as it slipped past my lips, sliding against mine, twisting around it before flicking across the roof of my mouth and backing away, forcing me to chase it into the warm darkness of its cave where I plundered its depths.

A light flickered on the front porch of the house and Peeta dragged his lips away, framing my face in his hands and lowering his forehead against mine.

“I think someone is sending us a signal,” he panted. “I should let you go inside.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Peeta pressed his lips against my forehead and then climbed out of his truck. While he got my skis out of the back, I pulled the rest of my gear from the cab. He carried my skis to the door and then a shy smile crossed his face. “Did you hear about the party in the dorms at the lodge tomorrow night? The instructors have been inviting some of the guests our age. Are you going?”

I’d heard about it. Gale had asked me to go with him. I’d said no. Parties weren’t exactly my scene, especially with the out of town ski instructors, but with Peeta at my side, it might be worth my time.

“Yeah, I think so.”

His smile turned to a grin and he bent down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you then,” then he turned back to his truck, his hands stuffed into his pockets. I went inside and, ignoring the questioning looks from my mother, headed straight to my room.

When I arrived at the party the next night, it was in full swing. The air was filled with smoke and the clinking of bottles as people relaxed to the music. I scanned the room for faces I knew. Johanna, not yet a manager, was wrapped around a hulking blonde instructor named Gloss. A guy named Finnick had his head in the lap of a shy girl whose name, I think, was Annie. Gale was scowling in a corner, his beer clutched in his fist. And in the middle of it all was Peeta, his arm wrapped around another girl our age named Bristel who was snuggled up beside him. A wave of emotions crashed over me, extinguishing any flame I might have been tending for Peeta. It was a potent brew, a blend of humiliation and disappointment. Tears threatened and I bit down on my lip so that I didn’t give them both a piece of my mind.

I stood there, waiting for him to notice my arrival. When his gaze fell upon me, he gave me a wave and returned to his conversation with her. I’d been dismissed. Clearly, the night before had just been a lark, something to do because he was bored. He was a jerk. An ass. A party-barge-sized douche.

My thoughts were swirling so fast I heard nothing as I walked out, starting back for my mother’s car that I’d borrowed for the evening. As I sat in the dark trying not to cry, I heard a tap at the window. Gale needed a ride home. I told him to get in and we drove back to town in silence.

I never spoke to Peeta after that night and to this day, Gale has never so much as offered me an “I told you so.”

My dismay when I heard Peeta and I would be both hanging around the instructor’s lounge this winter was almost too much to bear. I was going to have to deal with him everyday, just to have a shot at this sweet job that is double what anything else pays in town. And now we have to spend all day teaching a bunch of nine-year-olds to ski? My life sucks sweaty balls.

The bus rumbles up the road and I can see the kids bouncing up and down in their seats. The door opens wide and they all pile out, jabbering away at the top of their lungs.

A young teacher is the last to disembark. She makes her way to me and shakes my hand with a smile.

“I’m Madge Undersee,” she says, “and this is my class. As you can see, we’re very excited.”

“Katniss,” I tell her. “Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay.”

“And I’m Peeta,” says my nemesis, who has appeared beside me, and I watch as Madge falls under his spell. She giggles. Giggles! It’s disgusting.

“We’re your instructors for the day.” He turns to me. “Shall we get started?”

At my nod, Madge claps her hands and calls out to her students who soon fall into silence.

When they are quiet, I speak up, unwilling to let Peeta establish himself as the leader for the day.

“Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay,” I say to the wriggling masses. “I’m Katniss and this is Peeta. We’re going to get you on skis in a bit, but first we have to go over some rules. These are for your safety and-”

And just like that, they’ve tuned me out and returned to talking to each other. A sharp, “Class!” from their teacher brings them back in line.

Peeta holds up his orange helmet. “This is your brain bucket,” he calls out and the kids laugh. “You put it on before you put on your skis and you don’t take it off until you take your skis off. Got it?”

Twenty-two heads nod.

“Peeta and I are your teachers today,” I tell them. “No one leaves the bunny hill until we say you’re ready.” A couple of boys in the back of the crowd roll their eyes.

Beside me, Peeta clears his throat. “But we know you all can do it and even if you don’t get down a big hill today you’ll learn enough today that you might be able to do it next time.”

Ugh. He’s so good at this stuff. It makes me crazy. I’m the one who’s been practically raising a kid since I was one myself and with a cheesy grin and a bad joke, he's won them over.

It’s a bit like the way my dad used to handle his students, which annoys me further.

“Are we allowed to have snowboards?” pipes up one of the eye rollers.

I look to the teacher who gives a slight nod. The potential for a clear division of labour emerges.

So now I’ve got a choice to make. I can divide them up, boarders and skiers, and cross my fingers that they won’t all choose boards just to hang out with Peeta, or we can go with them to get their equipment and test them together.

One option means Peeta and I each have a separate class to teach today, lowering the risk of a blow-up. It also means I run the risk of having his success compared to mine, again, when I’m already in serious jeopardy of losing this job.

What should I do?

Down The Rabbithole Ch1

(A story based on the concept art of Vivziepop's old project Allison. I do not own any of the charcters, I just wanted to make a story of it based off my own headcannons. If you don't know what it is please go look it up. It was made by the same person who made Hazbin Hotel.)

Allison Gale is newly turned twenty two fresh out of college and just learnt her grandmother had sadly passed away and had left everything to Allison. Well, she doesn't have any place else to go so why not move out of state? But unluckily for her, she's about to get dragged down the rabbit hole by a crazy but familiar old face.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was a beautiful day.

The sun rays shone down upon the world as the calm quiet woods sounded with the life of birds and insects happy the sun warmed them from up above. The light shone through the tree leaves as their branches leaned over the road and blocked most of the sunlight, casting long shadows to dance on the old dirt road that only lead deeper and deeper into the forbidden woods- Well almost forbidden. The yellow blur of the taxi as it kicked up dirt was the only thing interrupting the silence of the silent woods as it sped down the dust path. Shining light went inside the cab and caught on the dark reddish-brown eyes attached to the sweet strawberry blonde haired lady as she stared out of the window watching the green world go by. It's was almost like a dream to come back all these years to the place she used to play and live as a small little girl. Running through the woods, climbing trees, swimming in the giant pond, playing with her blue furred imaginary and her granny coming out to find her and dragging her back in again. She almost smiled remembering the thoughts, or she would have if another thought didn't hit her. What would her granny say if she saw her no? Washed up without a job and dropped out of college at twenty two. A great way to start off life, am I right? A small bump sent her jostling and reaching a hand over to grab the large suitcase in the set next to her and the smaller gym bag on top of that, scrambling to not them fall on the bed of the car as another bump threatened to send them over again...When no more bumps can after a few moments she slowly let go and sighed when they didn't fall over and leaned back into her seat.

"You ok back there?," the cab driver bluntly asked not even taking his eyes off the road. His tone was just bored instead of that chipper happy tone from when she got rides back in her own town.

She pushed some of that strawberry blonde hair out of her face and taking a breath. "Y-Yeah. I-I'm ok. Thanks." He didn't answer her back and she sighed, looking back out the windows at all the pine trees and other nature scenes. "This forest sure is big."

"It's the Oceanic Forest. Our world is one half water and these woods make up a big chunk of it what land we have left." She jumped slightly and blinked back at him. He muttered something else under his breath she didn't quite catch, his black eyes seemed almost nervous gazing out at the woods like he was expecting some kind of monster to pop out in front of him and glance back up at her with a almost stern look. "....Some folks say this place is cursed. Cursed for thousands of years."

"I-I know, but it all sounds rather silly." She shook her head and looked back out the window with a small smile. "Fairies and strange powers that doom anyone who harms the forests. Heard it over and over before. Curse thee those who's hearts are easily closed minded." She gave a chuckle to it all trying to lighten the mood but stopped once her eyes looked over and caught him giving her a stern look through the rear view mirror.

"These aren't things that should be joked about young lady. If I had it my way, I'd turn around right here and now and drive back as fast as I could to the safety of the sidewalks and man made houses." His eyes darted back to the brightly lit dirt road and even though it was daytime he acted like it was night time and something would jump out at them at any given second. "B-But lucky for you my boss would have my hide if I turned down any job. I've seen things. Strange things. That no one could explain in these very woods."

Her eyes scrunched up in curiousity and perhaps mild fear at why he was acting so weird. "Like what exactly?"

"Shadows! If you look out right now and look around you may or may not see one!" He stated matter of factly and looked around quickly again at the peaceful woods. "It doesn't matter if it's day or night for them. They'll always move around waiting for their victims, but as long as you stay out they'll leave you alone. Oh, nono. They'll creep to the very EDGE of the last tree that begins the forest line and reach out for you I heard. Snatch you if you get too close. But they'll never fully leave the safety of their vast woods. Just never go into the woods and stay away, and you will always b-be safe." His voice trembled as his grip on the steering wheel increased. "May god have mercy on the poor souls who don't heed the warnings and travel to places they don't belong."

Another moment of silence passed and she temporarily gazed out the window. She didn't know why but she squinted her eyes out the window at the forest surrounding them and especially the shadows. There wasn't anyway she was superspicious but looking never- She jumped seeing something move behind a tree, but quickly relaxed when her brain registered it as a deer. The poor thing ran off probably from the car speeding through it's home and she smiled. Fairies and shadow ghost and curses. And she supposed Santa Clause and the Sand Man were right around the corner too. Her small smile returned as she looked over to the driver again.

"And I don't suppose there's a legend behind these woods too is there?" She couldn't help but sound a little amused which still made him irritated.

"This isn't funny! People say these woods were cursed by demons and witches thousands of years ago. Making this place a literal hell on earth!"

"Well. I grew up in these woods. And nothing ever bad happened to me or my granny when she was alive," she said smiling back out into the beautiful woods, "I played in the woods all the time as a kid, and I never saw any scary shadows or anything."

...."Then you're really lucky young lady." He seemed to almost shudder with his next warning. "If I were you I'd handle up whatever business I had with this dead grandma's place and get out of here."

...This time she scowled. "I can't! She left it to me, a-and I don't have anywhere else to go." Her face glanced off to the floor of the cab as her faced turned sour. Remembering the faces of the landlord who happily evicted her for bills she couldn't pay anymore, the cousin who conveniently didn't have any room for her to stay, or the teacher who wouldn't let her go back to school when she couldn't afford the college anymore. Working the dead end job at the local pizza place wasn't enough money and she only had a highschool degree. God she really did mess up huh?

"Mark my words. Nothing good could ever come from this place. Just don't say I didn't warn you, Kid."

The rest of the trip there was rather peaceful except for the man staring at the woods around them with a scared matter, until she saw it. Pale white paint chipping off the old looking brown wood giving the small house an old abandoned look. It was-...Not lot she remembered. And it only made it more apparent when they got closer. The old metal fence was barely hanging into it's place in the ground and wild vines were all plastered over it, making the tall grass and weeds look even more eerily. It...It looked like the place had been abandoned for years as it rolled closer and eventually loomed over them with a shadow once they came to a stop right in front of it. She just...stared at it. This wasn't the same white house and neat yard she remembered from when she was little-

"That's no house, that's termites holding hands...No offense."

"...I-It's ok. Nothing a lawnmower and paint can't fix."

He hummed. "Well my job's done. Grab your stuff and get out so I can leave."

She looked to him and blinked. "You're not going to help me?"

He looked around to her with a stern face and gripped the steering wheel tighter, "Lady! I ain't getting out of this cab and getting snatched up!"

She scowled but didn't argue when she pushed her door open and got out, turning around and grabbing her bags, pulling the heavy suitcase and bag out and hitting the ground with a thud, she scowled and mumbled to herself before slamming the door shut and dragging them a few feet away from the- SCREEE!! A cloud of blinding dust and screeching tires suddenly hit her and filled her lungs. Those hands went up to cover her mouth and wave at the air in a futile attempt to swat away the dirt stinging her eyes and making her eyes sting. Reddish-brown eyes blinked and through the settling dust and saw the faint sight of a blurry yellow taxi speeding away with a dust trail kicking up behind it. A growl escaped her throat and she scowled at the fading menace.

"HEY!! YOU JERK!!", She yelled back. Not that it would do her any good now or ever.

She groaned loudly and with a grunt, she leaned back down to grab the two giant and heavy bags filled with personal belongings and began to pull and tug them towards the house. That took a while with her small form heaving the objects through the tall weeds and grass towards the front door of the old home the shadow of the old place looking over her swallowing her whole and blocking out the sunlight, once she got to the porch she stopped though. Looking over the steps with a scowl before sighing, and continuing, the luggage thumping and jarring being pulled past each step. It always seemed like it was harder bringing things up stairs than down don't you think? One back breaking pull later, they were redropped onto the hard old porch and she sighed. Hands going to her back as she stretched it out with a pop and brown-red eyes looked around the front door and everything around it. ...Where did the lawyer say the key was again? OH!! RIGHT!! She quickly looked to her feet and smiled at the old welcome mat under her, stepping off and leaning down to grab and lift it, underneath was a small golden key that looked to match the doorknob. With a smile she stoof back up and went to insert it into the keyhole, with a twist and click, it opened. She just stood there as the door very loudly opened revealing the inside of the house and it-......It looked exactly as she remembered. The large living room opened up to her was littered in old worn furniture, a small shelf lined with her grandmother's old glass figurine collection still stood there as small shiny glass statues ranging from a small cat to a couple kissing each other stood proudly. She remembered sitting by the fireplace right next to it staring at the figurines and making up stories about those figurines. How the couple was a secret runaway princess and her lover. How the ballerina next to them was the greatest dancer in the world with many admires, how the cat was a glass version of her imaginary friend. She giggled remembering the funny things they would get into when she was younger. Everything looked the exact same. It was almost like-...she never left. As if she turned her head- Her eyes turned to glance at the old rocking chair by the fireplace- her granny would still be right there. Rocking back and forth, knitting her whatever new sweater or clothes she needed. Like she said when she was a little girl:

"You don't need distractions like television and all that nonsense. The woods and imagination take you places other's can't even dream about-"

"Go play. Create fantasies a bundle." She slowly muttered to herself. She still stared at the rocking chair, a light breeze blowing in through the open door, blowing her hair around and the rocking chair moved just slightly in the wind. ....She sadly smiled and turned back around. Discarding the key into her pocket and turning back to the luggage still sitting behind her on the porch with a sigh. She still had a lot of work to do. So that's why five minutes later she was pulling both bags across the floor one giant tug at a time, she would go one bag at a time but she just wanted to get this over with. It was when she encountered the stairs leading up to the second floor of the building when she wished she had superpowers of flight or teleportation or strength. It'd make things very easier, but alas magic didn't exist. While going up the stairs she passed by different picture frames hung on the walls, some really old black and white photos, others looking a bit more modern but still older. An old black n white photo of her young grandparents on their wedding day, a new one of her granny as a young lady, another of her holding a younger version of her- She stopped and stared at the picture of herself...A younger her. She remembered the day this was taken. Mother's day when she was just six years old, she made her and her granny matching flower crowns and she took the photo...She smiled a bit at the fond memories of giggling and sweet scented flowers. Before she grunted and started pulling again. The heavy bags hitting each step making a giant thump sound that vibrated through the empty house. She passed the mirror hanging against the wall as well and if she would've taken a look at it she might've seen the pink and yellow strange mitchmatched eyes blinking at her from the fan on the ceiling as she continued to grunt and pull the heavy thing up the stairs away from the mirror, but those eyes remained glued on her as the small blue person just blinked and turned as she reached the top of the stairs. She gave a sigh...before grunting and starting to pull the thing towards the old bedroom she used to stay in. The pink door to the far right. The small blue figure on the ceiling fan tilted his head at the obvious struggling before she just dropped them with a growl to the floor. Looking at them for a long moment before giving them a kick of frustration and turning to the pink door. She hesitated....before pushing it wide open and walking in. The small blue figure tilted his head to the right before blinking, arching his body and shaking lightly before hopping down off the fan and landing to the floor with the softest thud. He crept over to the doorway and poked their head in to watch her. She looked all around the small room. Faded beige walls with flower wall paper stared back at her, a regular sized bed, dresser, and desk lined the left wall and a small shelf with old toys and books leaned against the other side. A smile came to her face seeing the old pictures still tacked onto the wall. One of a crudely drawn grandma and child holding hands and another next to them a small blue crudely drawn kitty wearing some kind of white shirt and red bowtie. Unconciously she raised a hand and touched the picture with a smile at the memories. Oh the adventures she had as a child. She missed the small blue head (that looked oddly like a better version of the blue cat in the drawing) when she turned back to the door and went over to regrab at the heavy things, grunting as she pulled them in and laid them in the middle of the floor and sighed. Before unzipping the first bag on top and reaching inside to pull out a pair of clothes. These things wouldn't put themselves away, and she had a lot of work to do later fixing up the place and cleaning all the dust up.

The small figure that hid from before peeked out from the top of the doorway upside down and kept quickly ducking whenever she turned her head in that direction. Always missing the figure as she worked to unpack and definitely didn't see the wide fanged grin. Or hear the mischevious giggles. Or even hear the playful voice.

"Welcome back, Allison."

Manifestor // 16

Plot:  Set in a world where Witchcraft is real, and the government hunts down those who practice magic, Thomas must flee to an underground safehouse after being discovered. Now fighting a war against Witches who seek the end of non-magic people, Thomas must learn to control and harvest his powers, as well as the manifestation of his sides to bring about peace and unity in the Human and Witch world. (Nanowrimo 2018) 

--

Training with Dan is a lot different from training with Jack, Dan has a very fluid form of movement, and he controls water like an extension of his entire body. Jack was and is a very strong fighter, he works off of his anger and it gives him the best control over his emotions, but his fighting technique is always to do first and think later.

The British boy, whose fingertips carve water from the Earth, has a deep respect for his craft. He doesn’t see water as a pet needing to be tamed, but as a part of his soul, an equal. Most Water specialists are the same in this respect; they’re very mellow, firm people with great control over what they do once they’ve trained. When you’ve got something as harsh and wild as fire at your fingertips, it’s a little harder to see the fire as more than an angry beast emerging from the darkest parts of your fury.

Dan brings water to his hands in a fluid motion; he turns it at his fingertips, shapes it into little creations and lets it float around his body. It hadn’t quite sunk in to Thomas just yet that this man had murdered more than one person, and it’s hard to see that watching him cross-legged with his eyes shut and a mirage of water creatures swimming around him. It’s one of the reasons the American really truly thinks that whoever those people were must have really pushed Dan past a breaking point of no return.

Then his eyes dart open and glow a mellow blue for a second, the water darts outwards like he had landed in a pool, thrashing outwards against the walls so hard a resounding crash echoed through the wall. If that had been a person, they would have been unlikely to have lived to tell the tale. The water turns to ice ad shatters on the ground, before dissolving.

Thomas is, to say the least, very impressed as Dan stands and braces his hands “Ready?” Thomas nods, preparing himself, he knows that the other won’t actively kill him, but his reflexes were certainly tuning in for the moment, heart thumping in his chest as Anxiety raises; thanks Virgil. The water pours towards him and the feeling of hot pressure worms immediately through his system, traveling along his bloodstream and then unleashing through the palms of his hands.

The water meets a solid gale force, blowing back towards Dan, who tries to not to flinch as he is bathed head to toe in cold water. Thomas releases the wind force with a slightly amused expression and despite everything, Dan dissolves into laughter, pulling his damp curls from his eyes as Thomas apologizes. The American’s defenses down, he flicks his wrists and soaks the other playfully resulting in the two of them burst into laughter.

It had been a while since either of them had ever really laughed at all, but they did now, soaked in cold water and shivering ever so slightly. Thomas can’t breathe but for the first time in a few days it’s not out of pain or anger or Anxiety, he fills his body bubble with laughter over the simplest relief he’s had since he first left this place.

A blow of warm air following the opening of a door startles them, red-faced from laughter to face the amused faces of Phil and Jack, who are looking between them and shaking their head. Phil’s hands' ripple as the air around them distorts, producing warm air to dry them both out. “Honestly can’t leave you alone for a minute,” He chuckles, with a fond look in his eyes as he meet’s Dan’s gaze, who looks bashful.

Jack is smiling, it’s the first time Thomas has seen him really smile in a while, through a very tired expression albeit, but a smile nonetheless. He shakes his head and walks closer, “Honestly you two, I didn’t think a water fight would be on the to-do list,” But he’s not upset, there’s relief written in the code of his tone, he’s happy to see the two of them relax despite the entire situation. “Dodie’s made us some dinner, me and Phil have just finished piling all of our stuff into Thomas’ room, it’ll make it easier to access our things and it’s probably best we stay together as much as we can,”

The four of them trudge out of the room with various noises of agreement in regards to Jack’s statement. Heading towards the hall they remain quiet, falling back into a sober routine as the realization they were hunted people now, they were prey to the deadliest predator this Earth could offer. It was hard to smile now as reality set in.

They sat down at a table; Jack was balancing a fireball over his fingers as he eats, restless and jittery. Dan poured himself a glass of ice water from the palm of his hand, whilst Phil and Thomas simply look between them and eat as if they hadn’t tasted food in days. Thomas can’t actually recall when he’d last eaten, if it had been a day or two ago, a night or two ago. His stomach lurched halfway through his plate however and he rested the fork down to allow his body to adjust to its newfound nourishment.

Dodie is trying to smile, she had changed and showered somewhere between her own training and offering to make dinner whilst the boys had changed, Dan could barely stand the feeling of water on his wounds, and Phil had been too busy to entertain the thought, flicking through rooms to gather anything that could be helpful to them.

Dodie places a hand on Jack’s shoulder to try and ease up his shaking nerves and cease the clatter of his bouncing leg against the table. “So you two are both Manifestors right?” Dan finally asks, placing his fork back on his plate and taking a sip of his water “That must be loud,” Thomas chuckles in response and nods.

“They’re even arguing right now,” He supplies with a tired smirk, and he’s not lying. He can hear Logan and Roman shouting at each other through a string of curse words, he can’t hear Virgil but he can feel him in every blood vessel and nerve ending in his body, he can also hear Patton trying to subdue them, trying to calm them down, until it suddenly goes very quiet. “Patton?” He calls out and the other rises, hair a slight mess and face very flushed, with glasses askew and cardigan missing from around his shoulders. “What happened?”

“Oh I shut them up,” The moral side beams “I gave Virgil a fidget cube, Logan a Rubix cube and Roman a coloring book with crayons, just to calm them down for now, would you like to see them?” Thomas blinks slightly, more than impressed that his side had actually come up with a contingency plan for when the other three got out of hand.

“No, it’s okay, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” Patton nods in response, indicating that everything was in fact okay “Thank you, Patton, you can go now,” his morality sinks down out view and Thomas turns back to the others. “He’s my morality, or my heart if you like, everything went quiet and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay and they hadn’t actually managed to kill each other, but turns out Patton has actually figured out ways to shut them up,”

Dan chuckles and Jack sighs, distracted, “I wish Chase had the brains to think of something like that, I think he finds it funny when they all start bickering, he especially enjoys laughing at…” He trails off “Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” He shovels a forkful of food into his mouth and Thomas recognizes the expression on his face, he was talking about Anti, but as Dan and Phil had never had the wondrous blessing off dealing with the egocentric and bloodthirsty glitch, he obviously did not want to discuss it in front of them.

“I think if I had sides, I’d constantly be giving my depression a lecture,” Dan chuckles, but it’s sad in the way the sound twists almost like a choked version of happiness for a moment. Thomas made a very brief note about using humor as a coping mechanism, and that he should probably ask Dan if he’s okay every now and then. A smile wasn’t always happiness and a joke in this context is very often a veil or mask for the truth.

“I’d be asking my Logic where he is,” Phil chuckles around a mouthful of food, trying not to laugh and choke as he’s eating his food. “Like excuse me, can you clog up those impulsive thoughts for me, I really don’t need to eat paper right now,” Thomas snorts and picks up his fork to try and eat some more food, his stomach seems to feel like it’s less under attack as he chews and swallows in a slow ritual.

“Believe me, having a Logical side does not prevent that,” Jack chimes in with a smile, Thomas exhales with relief through his nose, glad to see his friend now had something to take his mind off the worst of things. “The number of times Chase has been like ‘please don’t do that’ and I’ve just gone and done it anyway, it’s a surprise he doesn’t quit his job really,”

Dodie smiles at the four quietly, she wasn’t much of a talker, which was interesting given that her previous job had been counseling. Instead, she listens to them talk and feels her spirits lift just a little as the pieces of the men she’d known before travesty had struck started to come back, piece by piece, like a puzzle.

Ko-fi

My version of Kathleen Kennedy’s Star Wars: The Great Demise

Literally just made up a better trilogy than KK, "slightly” altered.  Before TFA, kid KR witnesses something traumatic, deeply scaring him emotionally, so much so his mind represses the memory, but still feels the effects of it.  Luke takes him under his wing and hopes that learning to control the Force will help KR find peace.  KR learns but is still scarred emotionally.  Luke tries a technique of opening KR's mind so Luke can find out what's wrong.  He finds it but KR can't handle going through it right now and Luke stops, feeling sorry for KR.  A short time later Sidius comes to him in a dream, manipulating him because Luke's idea to enter KR's mind leaves it wide open for a while.  After some time Luke realizes that KR is acting very strangely, deeply troubled, and distant.  Luke tries asking to help but continually gets rebuffed.  Finally one nightHe should have been seduced to the dark side and made to think Luke was evil by Sidius.  Luke suspects something is really bothering KR, Luke tries to get a glimpse of KR's mind to try and help.  Immediately notices KR has a huge block, something Luke finds disturbing, wondering how the block in KR's got there.  He is especially troubled because he felt something he can't quite place, something familiar, like a half forgotten dream.

After talking with Han and Leia, they convince Luke to try even harder because KR looks up to him so much.  Luke thinks maybe the block won't be as strong if KR is asleep.  Luke tries to enter KR's mind and manages to get through only to discover Sidius brainwashing KR.  Luke's presence is felt by KR and Sidius, and the two combined force Luke out. Luke immediately runs to KR's quarters, hoping he's not too late to help KR.  By the time he gets there, KR is gone, Luke can't even feel his presence (maybe KR attacks Luke, but Luke barely fights back, trying to talk KR back to the Light.  KR causes an accident causing many to be about crushed by a building or something and Luke has to use all his power to save people and KR gets away) Luke feels incredibly guilty for not helping KR and leaving him open to Sidius.  Ashamed he's partly responsible for KR going to the Dark Side, Luke exiles himself to that island.  Copy the rest of TFA because I don't want to rewrite 2 movies right now.  However whenthe scene of KR kills Han, it cuts away from KR to Sidius so we know that Sidius knows what's going on through his connection in KR's mind. Han initially convinces KR to come home, not for Han's sake but fo Leia's.  Sidius is getting angrier and angrier, similar scene happens, but then suddenly it cuts to Sidious close up screaming, "DO IT!!!"  The order is so powerful everybody in the chamber with KR hears it somehow.  Han immediately understands what just happened, his son is controlling his son, looks KR in the eyes, gets stabbed with a heart broken face.  KR snaps out of it, realizes everything that just happened. KR is shocked and confused about what he just did, "Dad... I... I..."  He's crying. Han is heart broken, not because his son killed him, but because his son is lost and confused, he couldn't protect his son, he failed him.  He cups KR's face with his hand and responds the perfect line, "I know"

Mary Sue shows up, tries to give Luke his lightsaber, Luke is taken aback at the shock of being handed a lightsaber, he takes it and pauses, it's obvious from his face he did not expect that and is thinking a million things at once. 

Luke then says, "This isn’t my lightsaber." Mary Sue, "Well, then whose is it?"  She's confused Luke, "My father's" MS is shocked and trips over words, not knowing what to say, eventually she mutters "But... but your father was Darth Vader.  I thought the Sith only used red lightsabers?" Luke, "He wasn't always Darth Vader"

Chewie gets off the ship after shutting it down, a warm smile spreads over  Luke’s face, he affectionatelly calls out, “Chewie!  How you doing you big dumb animal?”

Luke, MS, and Chewie walk into a cave that's Luke's home.  They sit around a campfire Luke opposite MS and Chewie, Luke has 4 bowls, hands them a bowl of something.  MS is aprehensive to eat it, asks "What is this?"  Luke says some name.  Cut to MS still apprehensive.  Luke says it tastes better than it looks.  A short time goes by then Luke finally realizes Han isn't there.

Luke puzzled, "Chewie?  What’s keeping Han?” Chewie responds, "*Chewie noise*" Cut to Luke shocked, looks back and forth between the two hoping MS will denyy it.  Then looks at Chewie, "How?" MS cuts in telling KR did it, goes off on KR not realizing he was trained by Luke and his nephew. Luke gets up, and silently walks out of the cave into a dark, calm night.  MS doesn't understand, looks at Chewie, "Chewie?" Chewie responds, "*Chewie noise*" MS repeats what Chewie said as questions, making sure she heard him correctly, and so we know what he said. Luke is sitting, hunched over, sobbing, face down, hood obscuring his face, his foearms resing on his thighs, physically shaking he's so distraught.   As he keeps crying the it starts raining, and gets harder and harder, a hurricane is forming (shows you how powerful he is).  He slowly stops and the hurricane slowly dissapates.  Cut to KR in his chambers.  He hears Luke's voice. "Ben"  KR looks around expecting to see Luke, Luke says something else, KR realizes Luke is in his head, 

"Come home Ben".   KR says, "That's not my name anymore old man". Luke, "You were never good at hiding your feelings, you know who you really are" KR, "Get out" Luke "You are the grandson of Anikan Skywalker. KR "Get out" Luke "You are my nephew" KR  "Get out!" Luke "You are the son of Leia Skywalker" KR "GET OUT!" Luke "You are the son of Han Solo" KR "Get out, get out, get out, GET OOOUUUT!!!" KR looks around and no longer feels or hears Luke.

Cut to Luke’s face PISSED OFF.  Thunder clouds form in seconds, gale force winds, lightning striking every couple of seconds.  Luke is losing it. Light and Dark together, MS&C come out to see what’s going on, MS tries to go to Luke, but Chewie puts his hand on her shoulder and motions her inside.  Then we hear a familiar laughter along with Luke.  He looks around sees nothing, we hear a voice making fun of Luke’s anger.  Then Yoda appears, Luke talks about the situation, the scene heavily mirrors Luke’s scene with Obi-Wan on Dagobah RotJ.  Luke is walking next to a floating Yoda.  Luke doubts himself, he can’t kill KR and he’s no match for Plagueis (Luke knows who he really is).  Yoda chuckles, then says, “Jedi master you are but still much to learn you have.  Come, little time we have”  

Next scene MS and Chewie wake up to Luke standing over them.  He’s in a good mood, makes a small joke at their expense to show he’s in a playful mood, his hope has returned to him.  Next scene is the 3 walking down hill, they walk past the sea cow thing, MS asks what’s that thing.  Luke says something like

“Where’d you think you dinner last night came from?”

MS disgusted “You mean I ate one of those?”

Camera shows a native walking up to it Luke looking back ove his shouler “No” MS thinks he’s going to kill it.  Native sits down and proceeds to milk it.  MS “ew, gross”  Millenium Falcon takes off, cut to scene of cockpit, Luke and Chewie in the captains’ chairs. MS “Where are we going? We need to go to *wherever Leia is*.” Luke looks at Chewie who knows exactly what’s the plan, “Chewie?” Chewie responds, "*Chewie noise*" MS looks shocked. Luke looks out in the cockpit window in front of himself and nods, he knows exacly what he’s doing. Scene of Sidious asking KR why his mind is closed to him.  KR tells him about Luke in his head.  Doesn’t tell him that he also doesn’t want Sidious in his head. While traveling, L, MS, and C are sitting in the common area.  Luke is playing Chewie space chess, both are calm, old soldiers who’d rather die fighting today than running for the rest of their lives.  MS is pacing, anxiously talking too fast and too much.  Luke decides that she needs to learn the ways of he Force if she is to become a Jedi, it can’t fade into nothing.  Luke looks around for something to train MS with, after searching with his back to the camera, he stops. Camera is now looking up to look from the position of what he found, a broad smirc spreads across his face.  Turns around and reveals the floating lazer ball and the blast shielded helmet.  After a while she gets fed up from not being able to block lazers and quits in dispair, "How could anyone learn to use the Force like this?"  Chewie gives Luke a knowing look then makes a noice at him.  Luke returns the look with a smile. 

They arrive and sneak on the ship Sidious is on.  Everything rhymes with ANH, this time Luke is the master.  Luke tells MS to stay out of sight, him and Chewie have a score to settle.  L&C see there are too many people to sneak by or Luke to mind control.  A stormtrooper accidentally walks into where they're hiding,  Chewie knocks him unconscience.  Luke says, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  Chewie noice.  Eveyone thinks it's going to be like ANH, next frame is the back of them (Luke maybe in a stormtrooper outfit to really sell it to the audience) walking away from the camera.  The audience assumes it's Luke w/ fake prisoner Chewie.  Frame of them meeting a guy at a service desk, the desk hiding thier hands hanging at their sides.  Desk guy says, "Yes?", short pause to let the audience think about what's Luke about to say.  The same thing as ANH?  Chewie then pushes Luke closer to the desk, Luke's hands fly up to balance himself and reveals he's the one if cuffs.  Chewie noise, guy acknowleges Chewie caught this Stormtrooper who diserted or a spy posing as a ST.  

KR is alerted Luke is there either by feeling his Force presence or Sidious does and tells KR to capture Luke. Luke feels they're about to be caught and tells Chewie to hide and get back to the ship.  Chewie hides and Luke takes off his ST gear.  KR and a squadron of STs surround Luke, he goes peacefully to Sidious.  Luke continuously tells KR this isn't him.  Search your feelings, etc.  They arrive Sidious thanks KR.  MS sees ST's assembling and somehow sneaks off the ship and goes looking for L&C.  Luke and Sidious are exchanging insults about their side is stronger, Sidious getting angrier and angrier.  Scene of Chewie hiding with a view of L&S, setting up his bow.  KR leaves, ashamed of himself.  Scene of MS and KR run into each other, KR starts a monologue.  Sidious has had enough of Luke and orders his Red Guard to kill Luke, camera pans to each one to show their weapons.  They start walking toward Luke, surrounding him.  Luke gives Sidious the look of annoyance.  Shot from above with the RG surrounding Luke and getting really close.  He uses the Force and all RGs collapse.   Looks back at Sidious with the look of "You thought that was going to stop me?"  Scene of Chewie rushing to get his bow ready, drops a part, he can't see where it fell, but knows it's under something, shot of him trying to find it with his hand. Scenes are getting faster, KR tries to convince MS to join him, KR hates the world and himself, tells MS you have to kill the past (he wants to run from it).  Scence of Luke starting a monologe, switch to Chewie w/ Luke's speech being the major souund.  Switch to KR giving an oddly similar speech to MS, again quick scene.  Luke's speech takes off right where KR's left off, STs start piling through the doors.  Quickly to Chewie still trying to find the part with his hand.  KR continues Luke's speech to MS.  Chewie stil searching, sees STs pilling in and starts to get anxious about what we all think is going to happen, Luke's speech sounds like it's coming to and end.  KR continues, but only a couple words becausee the shots are quickly cycling through the 3 situations to build rising tension.  Several more cycles.  Luke sees the last of the STs pile in aiming their blasters at him while he sounds like he's about to finish, Chewie's hand find the part, finishes the bow, and takes aim at Sidious.  Scene of KR finishing the speech with something very ominous.  Scene with almost no noise of Luke, then a hundred blasters fire at him. Quick shot of Chewie shocked, then shot of KR's eyes glaring at MS, he attacks her.  Shot of STs still firing at a growing cloud of smoke.  Cut to Chewie taking aim then firing at Sidious, Sidious catches it, sees where it came from and redirects back to Chewie still hidden, probably behind a vent grate. Chewie sees what happened and takes off before he’s hit.  Shot of KR and MS, KR is toying with her like Vader to Luke in ESB. ST slowing down firing, lots of smoke in the air, Sidious starts walking from his throne to where Luke fell.  Scene of Chewie running for his life.  KR pins down MS with his lightsaber pointed at her throat.  Scene of throne room, smoke disapating.  Chewie running.  KR says something like join me or die.  She closes her eyes, resolved to her fate.

Sidious is standing joyfully over the spot Luke fell, the last of the smoke clears, only Luke's robes and lightsaber, he did the same thing as Obi-Wan, that must be what Yoda taught him back on the Jedi temple island.  Sidious, "WHAT!?!?!".  Scene of KR getting reading to strike.  Audience, "hey, shouldn't this scene been of Chewie?" KR and MS hear thundering footsteps, KR turns back to MS, audience can't hear loud footsteps anymore.  As he prepares his strike, he sees MS staring at something behind him, turns around and the audience sees Chewie when he does.  Chewie clobbers him and knocks KR out.  MS is too injured to move, bleeding heavily, tells Chewie to save himself, he picks her up and runs with her to the MF. They make it, Chewie lays her down in a bed, starts the MF, and takes off.

Scene of Leia stopping mid sentence, she looks worried, someone notices and asks if she's okay, she responds with "I don't know.  I just had a feeling like part of me screamed out then was silence"  You show Leia too can use the Force, again, without making her suddenly without training, proficient in the Force.  People are more likely to accept a passive abiliy rather than actively using the Force.  Scene of Sidious chewing out KR, tries to show KR how powerful the Dark Side is pointing out how easily he killed Luke, points to Luke's robes, then walks out of the room.  Next scene is Chewie attending to MS now that they're in hyperspace, he's worried she won't make it.  Back to KR walking toward Luke's robes, kneels down, then notices a lightsaber, picks it up, turns it on, it's Vader's green. Chewie and MS arrive where Leia is, he lands, calls for medical help for MS.  There is a rush to save MS. Next scene starts with SW theme very soft, some time later MS in bed unconscience, Fin and Po in the background Chewie more in front, huge window covering an entire wall, a blizzard rages outside (winter would be the theme of VIII, very deep blues but overall not much color, VII would be autumn, IX would be spring, X is the start of MS, P, & F’s journey) Leia walks in, "Chewie, you and MS went to planet X to find Luke.  What happened?  Where is he?"  She already knows the answer, Chewie responds, she gasps while covering her mouth and looking away.  Chewie puts his hand on her shoulder, Leia turns around and starts crying as she hugs Chewie for comfort, SW theme gets louder till the next scene.  She's lost everyone, says she doesn't care about the resistance anymore, she just wants KR to come home.  Wideshot of everyone with the blizzard giving the room a dark blue color.  

Screen wipe to wide shot in space outside of KR chambers, SW theme soft in the background. Next a scene of KR walking into his chambers, shot of a desk/table in the foreground and a blurry background of his bed.  KR walks past and sets down Vader's green on the table, walks to his bed and sits down, very out of focus.  He takes off his helmet, sets it to his right and stares at the lightsaber.  Eventually the camera focuses on him to reveal tears.  He looks down, sees his helmet and what it means.  Grabs it and proceeds to smash it against a wall till it shatters.  He collapses into a sitting position in greif on his bed.  PoV of his hands shacking, feeling a thousand emotions, he says, "What have I done?"  SW theme starts building, KR gets up, walks off screen, camera focuses on the lightsaber for a few seconds, pans to KR standing infront of a window starring into space.  It seems like it's about to pan to space, then "Ben".  

We and KR know who the voice belongs to, he twists his head around to see the owner of that voice, a split second later SW credits theme, role credits.

I haven't given much thought to IX yet, but it would focus on Luke trying to mentor KR and bringing him back to the Light.  KR is ashamed of himself, doesn’t feel he should be saved, pretends he hates Luke and constantly tells him to leave.  Resistance is on life support, though MS and the resistance seem to be constantly slipping through Sidious's finger.  At first they think it's luck or Sidious is over confident and making hasty decisions.  Finn and MS get captured and taken to a holding area near by.  There's no chance of escaping, they suddenly hear shouts and blasters being fired, then silence.  MS walks to the bars to see if she can see something.  As she's stretching her neak to see something, the door unlocks and opens a couple inches.  They hesitantly make their way toward the exit.  They discover where the fighting happened and nothing but dead bodies everywhere, only STs.  MS is now sure someone has been helping them, audience gets hints who that person is.  

Skipping over a lot, Sidious asks why KR is still shielding his mind even though Luke is dead.  KR gives a hard to believe answer.  KR eventually confronts Sidious at the end while Sidious's fleet comes out of hyperspeed right where Leia and the last of the Resistance are holding out.  He easily takes out the new Red Guards, but is overwhelmed by Sidious's force ability.  As he’s getting tortured, Force red lightning, he hears, “Ben”.  *more torture*  “Fight it Ben” *more torture* “Fight it!”  *more torture* KR takes out Vader’s saber *even worse torture* “Use the force”  *more torture* KR drops the LS, collapses on all four.  Shot of his face trying to overcome. Scene of chaos in the Resistance, no hope, Leia goes to her room, sits on her bed then grabs a picture from the bedstand.  She starts crying, it's a picture of Han, Luke, Chewie, Leia, and KR from long ago.  She hugs it, and says she just wants KR to be okay.  She unknowingly reaches out to KR, he feels Leia and a picture of her on the planet flashes before him.  He slowly starts to overcome Sidious's Force over him,  

Sidious, "Kylo Ren, now you see there’s no point fighting, all your...” KR "My name is not Kylo Ren." Sidious "??? shocked KR managed was able to defy him" KR "I am the grandson of Anikan Skywalker."  Gets to one knee Sidious is shocked, then angry, LOTS more red Force lightning.  KR "I am the nephew of Luke Skywalker." Slowly standing up Sidious uses so much Dark Side he’s actually in pain. KR "I am the son of Leia Skywalker."  Slowly standing up Sidious is starts showing fear, he's uses the Force to throw things at KR but always misses.  Lands one, it shatters. KR Smoke/dust hides KR "I am the son of Han Solo." Smoke/dust disapates.  We see Force lightning is stopping in front of KR.  First it’s unclear what’s KR doing, it then appears he’s actually gathering Sidious’s lightning.  Eventually Sidious seems to run out.  The red lightning turns blue, a few seconds, then KR releases it, causing a huge boom, things get violently knocked over, and Sidious gets knocked towards his throne.Sidious has now crawled all the way back to his throne.  KR walks up, "My name is Ben Solo" runs him through with Vader’s LS.

Movie ends with BS and Leia reuniting, some celebration then very similar to RotJ, no Ewoks, Luke shows up as a Force ghost, haven't decided if Luke showed himself to KR and counciled him, or remained invisible and only whispered things in his ear so KR thought it was his guilt, and not actually Luke. Wouldn’t prefer it because this is the end of Luke’s, he needs lots of screen time. BS sees Luke, heads over and apologizes, Luke is crying in happiness, he brought BS back to the Light and reunited him with Leia.  BS asks how Luke knew he wasn't completely gone.  Can’t think of something good right now. BS turns to see what's Luke looking at, camera pans to Leia.  BS turns around to talk to Luke again, but he's gone.  BS slowly walks back to the party, he hears in his own head Luke's voice, "Remember, the Force will be with you.  Always"  Leia sees him and he walks over, camera pulling back.  We see Leia still overjoyed her son has returned, they hug, Leia keeps a hand on his arm, afraid to lose him again.  Then pan to Luke (possibly Yoda, OLD Anakin, and Obi-wan Kenobi as ghosts), Luke is happy.  He saved his nephew, his story came full circle.  Close up Luke again, overjoyed, looking at the crowd of happy people, he slowly fades away.  High shot of the whole crowd, Leia and BS in the center.  SW theme credit 

13. My body reacts before my mind does and I'm running out the door, across the lawns of the Victor's Village, into the dark beyond. Moisture from the sodden ground soaks my socks and I'm aware of the sharp bite of the wind, but I don't stop. Where? Where to go? The woods, of course. I'm at the fence before the hum makes me remember how very trapped I am. I back away, panting, turn on my heel, and take off again. The next thing I know I'm on my hands and knees in the cellar of one of the empty houses in the Victor's Village. Faint shafts of moonlight come in through the window wells above my head. I'm cold and wet and winded, but my escape attempt has done nothing to subdue the hysteria rising up inside me. It will drown me unless it's released. I ball up the front of my shirt, stuff it into my mouth, and begin to scream. How long this continues, I don't know. But when I stop, my voice is almost gone. I curl up on my side and stare at the patches of moonlight on the cement floor. Back in the arena. Back in the place of nightmares. That's where I am going. I have to admit I didn't see it coming. I saw a multitude of other things. Being publicly humiliated, tortured, and executed. Fleeing through the wilderness, pursued by Peacekeepers and hovercraft. Marriage to Peeta with our children forced into the arena. But never that I myself would have to be a player in the Games again. Why? Because there's no precedent for it. Victors are out of the reaping for life. That's the deal if you win. Until now. There's some kind of sheeting, the kind they put down when they paint. I pull it over me like a blanket. In the distance, someone is calling my name. But at the moment, I excuse myself from thinking about even those I love most. I think only of me. And what lies ahead. The sheeting's stiff but holds warmth. My muscles relax, my heart rate slows. I see the wooden box in the little boy's hands, President Snow drawing out the yellowed envelope. Is it possible that this was really the Quarter Quell written down seventy-five years ago? It seems unlikely. It's just too perfect an answer for the troubles that face the Capitol today. Getting rid of me and subduing the districts all in one neat little package. I hear President Snow's voice in my head. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors." Yes, victors are our strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty-three of us will be killed to show how even that hope was an illusion. I'm glad I won only last year. Otherwise I'd know all the other victors, not just because I see them on television but because they're guests at every Games. Even if they're not mentoring like Haymitch always has to, most return to the Capitol each year for the event. I think a lot of them are friends. Whereas the only friend I'll have to worry about killing will be either Peeta or Haymitch. Peeta or Haymitch! I sit straight up, throwing off the sheeting. What just went through my mind? There's no situation in which I would ever kill Peeta or Haymitch. But one of them will be in the arena with me, and that's a fact. They may have even decided between them who it will be. Whoever is picked first, the other will have the option of volunteering to take his place. I already know what will happen. Peeta will ask Haymitch to let him go into the arena with me no matter what. For my sake. To protect me. I stumble around the cellar, looking for an exit. How did I even get into this place? I feel my way up the steps to the kitchen and see the glass window in the door has been shattered. Must be why my hand seems to be bleeding. I hurry back into the night and head straight to Haymitch's house. He's sitting alone at the kitchen table, a half-emptied bottle of white liquor in one fist, his knife in the other. Drunk as a skunk. "Ah, there she is. All tuckered out. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in alone? And now you're here to ask me ... what?" he says. I don't answer. The window's wide open and the wind cuts through me just as if I were outside. "I'll admit, it was easier for the boy. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. Begging me for another chance to go in. But what can you say?" He mimics my voice. '"Take his place, Haymitch, because all things being equal, I'd rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you? I bite my lip because once he's said it, I'm afraid that's what I do want. For Peeta to live, even if it means Haymitch's death. No, I don't. He's dreadful, of course, but Haymitch is my family now. What did I come for? I think. What could I possibly want here? "I came for a drink," I say. Haymitch bursts out laughing and slams the bottle on the table before me. I run my sleeve across the top and take a couple gulps before I come up choking. It takes a few minutes to compose myself, and even then my eyes and nose are still streaming. But inside me, the liquor feels like fire and I like it. "Maybe it should be you," I say matter-of-factly as I pull up a chair. "You hate life, anyway." "Very true," says Haymitch. "And since last time I tried to keep you alive... seems like I'm obligated to save the boy this time." "That's another good point," I say, wiping my nose and tipping up the bottle again. "Peeta's argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you," says Haymitch. I knew it. In this way, Peeta's not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel. "You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know," Haymitch says. "Yeah, yeah," I say brusquely. "No question, he's the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?" "I don't know." Haymitch sighs. "Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name's drawn at the reaping, it won't matter. He'll just volunteer to take my place." We sit for a while in silence. "It'd be bad for you in the arena, wouldn't it? Knowing all the others?" I ask. "Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable wherever I am." He nods at the bottle. "Can I have that back now?" "No," I say, wrapping my arms around it. Haymitch pulls another bottle out from under the table and gives the top a twist. But I realize I am not just here for a drink. There's something else I want from Haymitch. "Okay, I figured out what I'm asking," I say. "If it is Peeta and me in the Games, this time we try to keep him alive." Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain. "Like you said, it's going to be bad no matter how you slice it. And whatever Peeta wants, it's his turn to be saved. We both owe him that." My voice takes on a pleading tone. "Besides, the Capitol hates me so much, I'm as good as dead now. He still might have a chance. Please, Haymitch. Say you'll help me." He frowns at his bottle, weighing my words. "All right," he says finally. "Thanks," I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don't want to. My head's spinning from the drink, and I'm so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. "I was wrong. We should have gone when you said," he whispers. "No," I say. I'm having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale's jacket, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's not too late," he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I've got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. "Yeah, it is." My knees give way and he's holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything. When I wake up, I barely get to the toilet before the white liquor makes its reappearance. It burns just as much coming up as it did going down, and tastes twice as bad. I'm trembling and sweaty when I finish vomiting, but at least most of the stuff is out of my system. Enough made it into my bloodstream, though, to result in a pounding headache, parched mouth, and boiling stomach. I turn on the shower and stand under the warm rain for a minute before I realize I'm still in my underclothes. My mother must have just stripped off my filthy outer ones and tucked me in bed. I throw the wet undergarments into the sink and pour shampoo on my head. My hands sting, and that's when I notice the stitches, small and even, across one palm and up the side of the other hand. Vaguely I remember breaking that glass window last night. I scrub myself from head to toe, only stopping to throw up again right in the shower. It's mostly just bile and goes down the drain with the sweet-smelling bubbles. Finally clean, I pull on my robe and head back to bed, ignoring my dripping hair. I climb under the blankets, sure this is what it must feel like to be poisoned. The footsteps on the stairs renew my panic from last night. I'm not ready to see my mother and Prim. I have to pull myself together to be calm and reassuring, the way I was when we said our good-byes the day of the last reaping. I have to be strong. I struggle into an upright position, push my wet hair off my throbbing temples, and brace myself for this meeting. They appear in the doorway, holding tea and toast, their faces filled with concern. I open my mouth, planning to start off with some kind of joke, and burst into tears. So much for being strong. My mother sits on the side of the bed and Prim crawls right up next to me and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I am mostly cried out. Then Prim gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots, while my mother coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets on me and I drift off again. I can tell by the light it's late afternoon when I come round again. There's a glass of water on my bedside table and I gulp it down thirstily. My stomach and head still feel rocky, but much better than they did earlier. I rise, dress, and braid back my hair. Before I go down, I pause at the top of the stairs, feeling slightly embarrassed about the way I've handled the news of the Quarter Quell. My erratic flight, drinking with Haymitch, weeping. Given the circumstances, I guess I deserve one day of indulgence. I'm glad the cameras weren't here for it, though. Downstairs, my mother and Prim embrace me again, but they're not overly emotional. I know they're holding things in to make it easier on me. Looking at Prim's face, it's hard to imagine she's the same frail little girl I left behind on reaping day nine months ago. The combination of that ordeal and all that has followed - the cruelty in the district, the parade of sick and wounded that she often treats by herself now if my mother's hands are too full - these things have aged her years. She's grown quite a bit, too; we're practically the same height now, but that isn't what makes her seem so much older. My mother ladles out a mug of broth for me, and I ask for a second mug to take to Haymitch. Then I walk across the lawn to his house. He's only just waking up and accepts the mug without comment. We sit there, almost peacefully, sipping our broth and watching the sun set through his living room window. I hear someone walking around upstairs and I assume it's Hazelle, but a few minutes later Peeta comes down and tosses a cardboard box of empty liquor bottles on the table with finality. "There, it's done," he says. It's taking all of Haymitch's resources to focus his eyes on the bottles, so I speak up. "What's done?" "I've poured all the liquor down the drain," says Peeta. This seems to jolt Haymitch out of his stupor, and he paws through the box in disbelief. "You what?" "I tossed the lot," says Peeta. "He'll just buy more," I say. "No, he won't," says Peeta. "I tracked down Ripper this morning and told her I'd turn her in the second she sold to either of you. I paid her off, too, just for good measure, but I don't think she's eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody." Haymitch takes a swipe with his knife but Peeta deflects it so easily it's pathetic. Anger rises up in me. "What business is it of yours what he does?" "It's completely my business. However it falls out, two of us are going to be in the arena again with the other as mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team. Especially not you, Katniss," says Peeta to me. "What?" I sputter indignantly. It would be more convincing if I weren't still so hungover. "Last night's the only time I've ever even been drunk." "Yeah, and look at the shape you're in," says Peeta. I don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this. I turn to Haymitch. "Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor." "Then I'll turn you both in. Let you sober up in the stocks," says Peeta. "What's the point to this?" asks Haymitch. "The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor," says Peeta. "Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!" He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door. Haymitch and I wince at the bang. "I don't like self-righteous people," I say. "What's to like?" says Haymitch, who begins sucking the dregs out of the empty bottles. "You and me. That's who he plans on coming home," I say. "Well, then the joke's on him," says Haymitch. But after a few days, we agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well. Every night we watch the old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won. I realize we never met any of them on the Victory Tour, which seems odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Haymitch says the last thing President Snow would've wanted was to show Peeta and me - especially me - bonding with other victors in potentially rebellious districts. Victors have a special status, and if they appeared to be supporting my defiance of the Capitol, it would've been dangerous politically. Adjusting for age, I realize some of our opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring. Peeta takes copious notes, Haymitch volunteers information about the victors' personalities, and slowly we begin to know our competition. Every morning we do exercises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch our muscles. Every afternoon we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees. Officially, tributes aren't supposed to train, but no one tries to stop us. Even in regular years, the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 show up able to wield spears and swords. This is nothing by comparison. After all the years of abuse, Haymitch's body resists improvement. He's still remarkably strong, but the shortest run winds him. And you'd think a guy who sleeps every night with a knife might actually be able to hit the side of a house with one, but his hands shake so badly it takes weeks for him to achieve even that. Peeta and I excel under the new regimen, though. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. My mother puts us on a special diet to gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles. Madge sneaks us her father's Capitol newspapers. Predictions on who will be victor of the victors show us among the favorites. Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares. It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me. One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he even admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate." "Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be a happy little victor all by myself." "And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale. I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted ... "Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say. I know he didn't mean the question literally, but this is as much as I can honestly give. Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it. To me, there's no point in talking about things that might have been. Even if I had killed Peeta in the arena, I still wouldn't have wanted to marry anyone. I only got engaged to save people's lives, and that completely backfired. I'm afraid, anyway, that any kind of emotional scene with Gale might cause him to do something drastic. Like start that uprising in the mines. And as Haymitch says, District 12 isn't ready for that. If anything, they're less ready than before the Quarter Quell announcement, because the following morning another hundred Peacekeepers arrived on the train. Since I don't plan on making it back alive a second time, the sooner Gale lets me go, the better. I do plan on saying one or two things to him after the reaping, when we're allowed an hour for good-byes. To let Gale know how essential he's been to me all these years. How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage. But I never get the chance. The day of the reaping's hot and sultry. The population of District 12 waits, sweating and silent, in the square with machine guns trained on them. I stand alone in a small roped-off area with Peeta and Haymitch in a similar pen to the right of me. The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls' reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch's name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place. We are immediately marched into the Justice Building to find Head Peacekeeper Thread waiting for us. "New procedure," he says with a smile. We're ushered out the back door, into a car, and taken to the train station. There are no cameras on the platform, no crowd to send us on our way. Haymitch and Effie appear, escorted by guards. Peacekeepers hurry us all onto the train and slam the door. The wheels begin to turn. And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.

7 My slumbers are filled with disturbing dreams. The face of the redheaded girl intertwines with gory images from earlier Hunger Games, with my mother withdrawn and unreachable, with Prim emaciated and terrified. I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of light. Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a misty, haunted air. My head aches and I must have bitten into the side of my cheek in the night. My tongue probes the ragged flesh and I taste blood. Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I arbitrarily punch buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me. Then I'm deluged in lemony foam that I have to scrape off with a heavy bristled brush. Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing. When I'm dried and moisturized with lotion, I find an outfit has been left for me at the front of the closet. Tight black pants, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic, and leather shoes. I put my hair in the single braid down my back. This is the first time since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself. No fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. Just me. Looking like I could be headed for the woods. It calms me. Haymitch didn't give us an exact time to meet for breakfast and no one has contacted me this morning, but I'm hungry so I head down to the dining room, hoping there will be food. I'm not disappointed. While the table is empty, a long board off to the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young man, an Avox, stands at attention by the spread. When I ask if I can serve myself, he nods assent. I load a plate with eggs, sausages, batter cakes covered in thick orange preserves, slices of pale purple melon. As I gorge myself, I watch the sun rise over the Capitol. I have a second plate of hot grain smothered in beef stew. Finally, I fill a plate with rolls and sit at the table, breaking oil bits and dipping them into hot chocolate, the way Peeta did on the train. My mind wanders to my mother and Prim. They must be up. My mother getting their breakfast of mush. Prim milking her goat before school. Just two mornings ago, I was home. Can that be right? Yes, just two. And now how empty the house feels, even from a distance. What did they say last night about my fiery debut at the Games? Did it give them hope, or simply add to their terror when they saw the reality of twenty-four tributes circled together, knowing only one could live? Haymitch and Peeta come in, bid me good morning, fill their plates. It makes me irritated that Peeta is wearing exactly the same outfit I am. I need to say something to Cinna. This twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the Games begin. Surely, they must know this. Then I remember Haymitch telling me to do exactly what the stylists tell me to do. If it was anyone but Cinna, I might be tempted to ignore him. But after last night's triumph, I don't have a lot of room to criticize his choices. I'm nervous about the training. There will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we'll each get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. The thought of meeting the other tributes face-to-face makes me queasy. I turn the roll I have just taken from the basket over and over in my hands, but my appetite is gone. When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the table. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" I ask. "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. I exchange a look with Peeta. "I don't have any secret skills," he says. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I never thought about Peeta eating the squirrels I shot. Somehow I always pictured the baker quietly going off and frying them up for himself. Not out of greed. But because town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse. "You can coach us together," I tell Haymitch. Peeta nods. "All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch. "I can't do anything," says Peeta. "Unless you count baking bread." "Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch. "Not really. But I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow." "And you're good?" asks Haymitch. I have to think about it. I've been putting food on the table for four years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father was, but he'd had more practice. I've better aim than Gale, but I've had more practice. He's a genius with traps and snares. "I'm all right," I say. "She's excellent," says Peeta. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." This assessment of my skills from Peeta takes me totally by surprise. First, that he ever noticed. Second, that he's talking me up. "What are you doing?" I ask him suspiciously. "What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," says Peeta. I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "Tell him that. That's not nothing." "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," he shoots back. "He can wrestle," I tell Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." "What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" says Peeta in disgust. "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I can hear my voice rising in anger. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" bursts out Peeta. "Oh, she meant you," I say with a wave of dismissal. "She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is," says Peeta. That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta's eyes and know he isn't lying. Suddenly I'm behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I sound eleven years old when I speak. "But only because someone helped me." Peeta's eyes flicker down to the roll in my hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." "No more than you," I say. Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." He runs his fingernail along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me. What on earth does he mean? People help me? When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with, things changed. I'm a tough trader. Or am I? What effect do I have? That I'm weak and needy? Is he suggesting that I got good deals because people pitied me? I try to think if this is true. Perhaps some of the merchants were a little generous in their trades, but I always attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides, my game is first-class. No one pitied me! I glower at the roll sure he meant to insult me. After about a minute of this, Haymitch says, "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?" "I know a few basic snares," I mutter. "That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch. Peeta and I nod. "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training." I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam. I sit on the bed, hating Haymitch, hating Peeta, hating myself for mentioning that day long ago in the rain. It's such a joke! Peeta and I going along pretending to be friends! Talking up each other's strengths, insisting the other take credit for their abilities. Because, in fact, at some point, we're going to have to knock it off and accept we're bitter adversaries. Which I'd be prepared to do right now if it wasn't for Haymitch's stupid instruction that we stick together in training. It's my own fault, I guess, for telling him he didn't have to coach us separately. But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? but a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread. It's almost ten. I clean my teeth and smooth back my hair again. Anger temporarily blocked out my nervousness about meeting the other tributes, but now I can feel my anxiety rising again. By the time I meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator, I catch myself biting my nails. I stop at once. The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. Although it's not yet ten, we're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle. They each have a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts. While someone pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only two dressed alike. As soon as we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per our mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if we want to practice with a partner. When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations, my eyes can't help flitting around to the other tributes. It's the first time we've been assembled, on level ground, in simple clothes. My heart sinks. Almost all of the boys and at least half of the girls are bigger than I am, even though many of the tributes have never been fed properly. You can see it in their bones, their skin, the hollow look in their eyes. I may be smaller naturally, but overall my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge in that area. I stand straight, and while I'm thin, I'm strong. The meat and plants from the woods combined with the exertion it took to get them have given me a healthier body than most of those I see around me. The exceptions are the kids from the wealthier districts, the volunteers, the ones who have been fed and trained throughout their lives for this moment. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this look about them. It's technically against the rules to train tributes before they reach the Capitol but it happens every year. In District 12, we call them the Career Tributes, or just the Careers. And like as not, the winner will be one of them. The slight advantage I held coming into the Training Center, my fiery entrance last night, seems to vanish in the presence of my competition. The other tributes were jealous of us, but not because we were amazing, because our stylists were. Now I see nothing but contempt in the glances of the Career Tributes. Each must have fifty to a hundred pounds on me. They project arrogance and brutality. When Atala releases us, they head straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the gym and handle them with ease. I'm thinking that it's lucky I'm a fast runner when Peeta nudges my arm and I jump. He is still beside me, per Haymitch's instructions. His expression is sober. "Where would you like to start?" I look around at the Career Tributes who are showing off, clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons with a knife or an ax. "Suppose we tie some knots," I say. "Right you are," says Peeta. We cross to an empty station where the trainer seems pleased to have students. You get the feeling that the knot-tying class is not the Hunger games hot spot. When he realizes I know something about snares, he shows us a simple, excellent trap that will leave a human competitor dangling by a leg from a tree. We concentrate on this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it. Then we move on to camouflage. Peeta genuinely seems to enjoy this station, swirling a combination of mud and clay and berry juices around on his pale skin, weaving disguises from vines and leaves. The trainer who runs the camouflage station is full of enthusiasm at his work. "I do the cakes," he admits to me. "The cakes?" I ask. I've been preoccupied with watching the boy from District 2 send a spear through a dummy's heart from fifteen yards. "What cakes?" "At home. The iced ones, for the bakery," he says. He means the ones they display in the windows. Fancy cakes with flowers and pretty things painted in frosting. They're for birthdays and New Year's Day. When we're in the square, Prim always drags me over to admire them, although we'd never be able to afford one. There's little enough beauty in District 12, though, so I can hardly deny her this. I look more critically at the design on Peeta's arm. The alternating pattern of light and dark suggests sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. I wonder how he knows this, since I doubt he's ever been beyond the fence. Has he been able to pick this up from just that scraggly old apple tree in his backyard? Somehow the whole thing  -  his skill, those inaccessible cakes, the praise of the camouflage expert  -  annoys me. "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death," I say. "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake  - " begins Peeta. "Say we move on," I break in. So the next three days pass with Peeta and I going quietly from station to station. We do pick up some valuable skills, from starting fires, to knife throwing, to making shelter. Despite Haymitch's order to appear mediocre, Peeta excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye. We steer clear of archery and weightlifting though, wanting to save those for our private sessions. The Gamemakers appeared early on the first day. Twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes. They sit in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, ignoring the lot of us. But they do seem to be keeping their eye on the District 12 tributes. Several times I've looked up to find one fixated on me. They consult with the trainers during our meals as well. We see them all gathered together when we come back. Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. The Career Tributes tend to gather rowdily around one table, as if to prove their superiority, that they have no fear of one another and consider the rest of us beneath notice. Most of the other tributes sit alone, like lost sheep. No one says a word to us. Peeta and I eat together, and since Haymitch keeps dogging us about it, try to keep up a friendly conversation during the meals. It's not easy to find a topic. Talking of home is painful. Talking of the present unbearable. One day, Peeta empties our breadbasket and points out how they have been careful to include types from the districts along with the refined bread of the Capitol. The fish-shaped loaf tinted green with seaweed from District 4. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds from District 11. Somehow, although it's made from the same stuff, it looks a lot more appetizing than the ugly drop biscuits that are the standard fare at home. "And there you have it," says Peeta, scooping the breads back in the basket. "You certainly know a lot," I say. "Only about bread," he says. "Okay, now laugh as if I've said something funny." We both give a somewhat convincing laugh and ignore the stares from around the room. "All right, I'll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk," says Peeta. It's wearing us both out, Haymitch's direction to be friendly. Because ever since I slammed my door, there's been a chill in the air between us. But we have our orders. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" I ask. "No, but it sounds fascinating," says Peeta. I try and animate my face as I recall the event, a true story, in which I'd foolishly challenged a black bear over the rights to a beehive. Peeta laughs and asks questions right on cue. He's much better at this than I am. On the second day, while we're taking a shot at spear throwing, he whispers to me. "I think we have a shadow." I throw my spear, which I'm not too bad at actually, if I don't have to throw too far, and see the little girl from District 11 standing back a bit, watching us. She's the twelve-year-old, the one who reminded me so of Prim in stature. Up close she looks about ten. She has bright, dark, eyes and satiny brown skin and stands tilted up on her toes with her arms slightly extended to her sides, as if ready to take wing at the slightest sound. It's impossible not to think of a bird. I pick up another spear while Peeta throws. "I think her name's Rue," he says softly. I bite my lip. Rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue. Primrose. Neither of them could tip the scale at seventy pounds soaking wet. "What can we do about it?" I ask him, more harshly than I intended. "Nothing to do," he says back. "Just making conversation." Now that I know she's there, it's hard to ignore the child. She slips up and joins us at different stations. Like me, she's clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. She can hit the target every time with a slingshot. But what is a slingshot against a 220-pound male with a sword? Back on the District 12 floor, Haymitch and Effie grill us throughout breakfast and dinner about every moment of the day. What we did, who watched us, how the other tributes size up. Cinna and Portia aren't around, so there's no one to add any sanity to the meals. Not that Haymitch and Effie are fighting anymore. Instead they seem to be of one mind, determined to whip us into shape. Full of endless directions about what we should do and not do in training. Peeta is more patient, but I become fed up and surly. When we finally escape to bed on the second night, Peeta mumbles, "Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink." I make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Then catch myself. It's messing with my mind too much, trying to keep straight when we're supposedly friends and when we're not. At least when we get into the arena, I'll know where we stand. "Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around." "All right, Katniss," he says tiredly. After that, we only talk in front of people. On the third day of training, they start to call us out of lunch for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district, first the boy, then the girl tribute. As usual, District 12 is slated to go last. We linger in the dining room, unsure where else to go. No one comes back once they have left. As the room empties, the pressure to appear friendly lightens. By the time they call Rue, we are left alone. We sit in silence until they summon Peeta. He rises. "Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights." The words come out of my mouth without permission. "Thanks. I will," he says. "You. shoot straight." I nod. I don't know why I said anything at all. Although if I'm going to lose, I'd rather Peeta win than the others. Better for our district, for my mother and Prim. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I smooth my hair, set my shoulders back, and walk into the gymnasium. Instantly, I know I'm in trouble. They've been here too long, the Gamemakers. Sat through twenty-three other demonstrations. Had too much to wine, most of them. Want more than anything to go home. There's nothing I can do but continue with the plan. I walk to the archery station. Oh, the weapons! I've been itching to get my hands on them for days! Bows made of wood and plastic and metal and materials I can't even name. Arrows with feathers cut in flawless uniform lines. I choose a bow, string it, and sling the matching quiver of arrows over my shoulder. There's a shooting range, but it's much too limited. Standard bull's-eyes and human silhouettes. I walk to the center of the gymnasium and pick my first target. The dummy used for knife practice. Even as I pull back on the bow I know something is wrong. The string's tighter than the one I use at home. The arrow's more rigid. I miss the dummy by a couple of inches and lose what little attention I had been commanding. For a moment, I'm humiliated, then I head back to the bull's-eye. I shoot again and again until I get the feel of these new weapons. Back in the center of the gymnasium, I take my initial position and skewer the dummy right through the heart. Then I sever the rope that holds the sandbag for boxing, and the bag splits open as it slams to the ground. Without pausing, I shoulder-roll forward, come up on one knee, and send an arrow into one of the hanging lights high above the gymnasium floor. A shower of sparks bursts from the fixture. It's excellent shooting. I turn to the Gamemakers. A few are nodding approval, but the majority of them are fixated on a roast pig that has just arrived at their banquet table. Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don't even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I'm being upstaged by a dead pig. My heart starts to pound, I can feel my face burning. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakers' table. I hear shouts of alarm as people stumble back. The arrow skewers the apple in the pig's mouth and pins it to the wall behind it. Everyone stares at me in disbelief. "Thank you for your consideration," I say. Then I give a slight bow and walk straight toward the exit without being dismissed.

8 As I stride toward the elevator, I fling my bow to one side and my quiver to the other. I brush past the gaping Avoxes who guard the elevators and hit the number twelve button with my fist. The doors slide together and I zip upward. I actually make it back to my floor before the tears start running down my cheeks. I can hear the others calling me from the sitting room, but I fly down the hall into my room, bolt the door, and fling myself onto my bed. Then I really begin to sob. Now I've done it! Now I've ruined everything! If I'd stood even a ghost of chance, it vanished when I sent that arrow flying at the Gamemakers. What will they do to me now? Arrest me? Execute me? Cut my tongue and turn me into an Avox so I can wait on the future tributes of Panem? What was I thinking, shooting at the Gamemakers? Of course, I wasn't, I was shooting at that apple because I was so angry at being ignored. I wasn't trying to kill one of them. If I were, they'd be dead! Oh, what does it matter? It's not like I was going to win the Games anyway. Who cares what they do to me? What really scares me is what they might do to my mother and Prim, how my family might suffer now because of my impulsiveness. Will they take their few belongings, or send my mother to prison and Prim to the community home, or kill them? They wouldn't kill them, would they? Why not? What do they care? I should have stayed and apologized. Or laughed, like it was a big joke. Then maybe I would have found some leniency. But instead I stalked out of the place in the most disrespectful manner possible. Haymitch and Effie are knocking on my door. I shout for them to go away and eventually they do. It takes at least an hour for me to cry myself out. Then I just lay curled up on the bed, stroking the silken sheets, watching the sun set over the artificial candy Capitol. At first, I expect guards to come for me. But as time passes, it seems less likely. I calm down. They still need a girl tribute from District 12, don't they? If the Gamemakers want to punish me, they can do it publicly. Wait until I'm in the arena and sic starving wild animals on me. You can bet they'll make sure I don't have a bow and arrow to defend myself. Before that though, they'll give me a score so low, no one in their right mind would sponsor me. That's what will happen tonight. Since the training isn't open to viewers, the Gamemakers announce a score for each player. It gives the audience a starting place for the betting that will continue throughout the Games. The number, which is between one and twelve, one being irredeemably bad and twelve being unattainably high, signifies the promise of the tribute. The mark is not a guarantee of which person will win. It's only an indication of the potential a tribute showed in training. Often, because of the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go down almost immediately. And a few years ago, the boy who won the Games only received a three. Still, the scores can help or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. I had been hoping my shooting skills might get me a six or a seven, even if I'm not particularly powerful. Now I'm sure I'll have the lowest score of the twenty-four. If no one sponsors me, my odds of staying alive decrease to almost zero. When Effie taps on the door to call me to dinner, I decide I may as well go. The scores will be televised tonight. It's not like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, but it's still red and splotchy. Everyone's waiting at the table, even Cinna and Portia. I wish the stylists hadn't shown up because for some reason, I don't like the idea of disappointing them. It's as if I've thrown away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies without a thought. I avoid looking at anyone as I take tiny spoonfuls of fish soup. The saltiness reminds me of my tears. The adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast, and I let my eyes meet Peeta's. He raises his eyebrows. A question. What happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then, as they're serving the main course, I hear Haymitch say, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?" Peeta jumps in. "I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go." That makes me feel a bit better. It's not like Peeta attacked the Gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too. "And you, sweetheart?" says Haymitch. Somehow Haymitch calling me sweetheart ticks me off enough that I'm at least able to speak. "I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." Everyone stops eating. "You what?" The horror in Effie's voice confirms my worse suspicions. "I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just. I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" I say defiantly. "And what did they say?" says Cinna carefully. "Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," I say. "Without being dismissed?" gasps Effie. "I dismissed myself," I said. I remember how I promised Prim that I really would try to win and I feel like a ton of coal has dropped on me. "Well, that's that," says Haymitch. Then he butters a roll. "Do you think they'll arrest me?" I ask. "Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage," says Haymitch. "What about my family?" I say. "Will they punish them?" "Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense. See they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort," says Haymitch. "More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena." "Well, they've already promised to do that to us any way," says Peeta. "Very true," says Haymitch. And I realize the impossible has happened. They have actually cheered me up. Haymitch picks up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Effie frown, and dunks it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to chuckle. "What were their faces like?" I can feel the edges of my mouth tilting up. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." An image pops into my mind. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch." Haymitch guffaws and we all start laughing except Effie, although even she is suppressing a smile. "Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." Then her eyes dart around as if she's said something totally outrageous. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think," she says to no one in particular. "I'll get a very bad score," I say. "Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," said Portia. "I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," says Peeta. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot." I grin at him and realize that I'm starving. I cut off a piece of pork, dunk it in mashed potatoes, and start eating. It's okay. My family is safe. And if they are safe, no real harm has been done. After dinner, we go to sitting room to watch the scores announced on television. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average a five. Surprisingly, little Rue comes up with a seven. I don't know what she showed the judges, but she's so tiny it must have been impressive. District 12 comes up last, as usual. Peeta pulls an eight so at least a couple of the Gamemakers must have been watching him. I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up, expecting the worst. Then they're flashing the number eleven on the screen. Eleven! Effie Trinket lets out a squeal, and everybody is slapping me on the back and cheering and congratulating me. But it doesn't seem real. "There must be a mistake. How. how could that happen?" I ask Haymitch. "Guess they liked your temper," he says. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat." "Katniss, the girl who was on fire," says Cinna and gives me a hug. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress." "More flames?" I ask. "Of a sort," he says mischievously. Peeta and I congratulate each other, another awkward moment. We've both done well, but what does that mean for the other? I escape to my room as quickly as possible and burrow down under the covers. The stress of the day, particularly the crying, has worn me out. I drift off, reprieved, relieved, and with the number eleven still flashing behind my eyelids. At dawn, I lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come up on a beautiful morning. It's Sunday. A day off at home. I wonder if Gale is in the woods yet. Usually we devote all of Sunday to stocking up for the week. Rising early, hunting and gathering, then trading at the Hob. I think of Gale without me. Both of us can hunt alone, but we're better as a pair. Particularly if we're trying for bigger game. But also in the littler things, having a partner lightened the load, could even make the arduous task of filling my family's table enjoyable. I had been struggling along on my own for about six months when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sunday in October, the air cool and pungent with dying things. I'd spent the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly warmer afternoon wading in shallow ponds harvesting Katniss. The only meat I'd shot was a squirrel that had practically run over my toes in its quest for acorns, but the animals would still be afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home, lugging my burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards away was another. I recognized the twitch-up snares because my father had used them. When the prey is caught, it's yanked into the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I'd been trying to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn't help dropping my sacks to examine this one. My fingers were just on the wire above one of the rabbits when a voice rang out. "That's dangerous." I jumped back several feet as Gale materialized from behind a tree. He must have been watching me the whole time. He was only fourteen, but he cleared six feet and was as good as an adult to me. I'd seen him around the Seam and at school. And one other time. He'd lost his father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I'd stood by while he received his medal of valor in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. I remembered his two little brothers clutching his mother, a woman whose swollen belly announced she was just days away from giving birth. "What's your name?" he said, coming over and disengaging the rabbit from the snare. He had another three hanging from his belt. "Katniss," I said, barely audible. "Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death, or hadn't you heard?" he said. "Katniss," I said louder. "And I wasn't stealing it. I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything." He scowled at me, not convinced. "So where'd you get the squirrel?" "I shot it." I pulled my bow off my shoulder. I was still using the small version my father had made me, but I'd been practicing with the full-size one when I could. I was hoping that by spring I might be able to bring down some bigger game. Gale's eyes fastened on the bow. "Can I see that?" I handed it over. "Just remember, stealing's punishable by death." That was the first time I ever saw him smile. It transformed him from someone menacing to someone you wished you knew. But it took several months before I returned that smile. We talked hunting then. I told him I might be able to get him a bow if he had something to trade. Not food. I wanted knowledge. I wanted to set my own snares that caught a belt of fat rabbits in one day. He agreed something might be worked out. As the seasons went by, we grudgingly began to share our knowledge, our weapons, our secret places that were thick with wild plums or turkeys. He taught me snares and fishing. I showed him what plants to eat and eventually gave him one of our precious bows. And then one day, without either of us saying it, we became a team. Dividing the work and the spoils. Making sure that both our families had food. Gale gave me a sense of security I'd lacked since my father's death. His companionship replaced the long solitary hours in the woods. I became a much better hunter when I didn't have to look over my shoulder constantly, when someone was watching my back. But he turned into so much more than a hunting partner. He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice inside the fence. In exchange, he trusted me with his. Being out in the woods with Gale. sometimes I was actually happy. I call him my friend, but in the last year it's seemed too casual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But, of course, I don't want that. I don't want him in the arena where he'd be dead in a few days. I just. I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must. I think of the eleven flashing under my name last night. I know exactly what he'd say to me. "Well, there's some room for improvement there." And then he'd give me a smile and I'd return it without hesitating now. I can't help comparing what I have with Gale to what I'm pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale's motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter's. It's not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that? Effie's knocking at the door, reminding me there's another "big, big, big day!" ahead. Tomorrow night will be our televised interviews. I guess the whole team will have their hands full readying us for that. I get up and take a quick shower, being a bit more careful about the buttons I hit, and head down to the dining room. Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch are huddled around the table talking in hushed voices. That seems odd, but hunger wins out over curiosity and I load up my plate with breakfast before I join them. The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one's talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" "That's right," says Haymitch. "You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and cat at the same time," I say. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. "What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember. Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."