Hello Emily! I know it's been a while so I completely understand if you can't answer this, but I was wondering wcif Diane's top (post 725901640547385344)? Thanks & have a nice day!

Hello,

You can find her top here

One Life To Live

Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”.  You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box.  I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.”   “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black.  “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle.  “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much.  And then Anton.  And Cecil.  And 11’s wrestling team.  They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish.  Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory.   Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake?  Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.”  I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me.   “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.”  The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out.  The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless.  “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.”  I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs.  “What do you think?  She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that.   My worry must show in my face.  “Why do you ask?  You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”  When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up.  “Like you did such a good job of it.  If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back.  Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides.  Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite.  I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again.   “How is Peeta?” I ask.  “Have you talked to him?”  A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke.  I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door.   I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes.  Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it.   He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why.  I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him.   Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window.  Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast.  In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest.   Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning.  Have the ants do it.   “Saw him the day before yesterday.  Had dinner after watching the tape.  Johanna cooked.  I wish she’d let Peeta do it.   He’s a much better cook, but she insisted.  She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves.    But he’s fine, all things considered.  Just very down.  Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression.  Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in.  My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them.  It’s irrational,of course.   I’m the one who distanced myself.  And I was busy this weekend anyway.  But I do miss it.  All of us together.   “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me.  Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.”  That could explain why I haven’t seen him.  Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid.  The camera crew are everywhere.  I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine.   Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist.  “He showed interest in one of them.  The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves.   I think back to that day.  Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch.    I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came.  It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time.  To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly.  Peeta barely looked at me.  When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats.  Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow.  There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway.  And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it.  The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?”  I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both.  “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea.  That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself.  How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”

It fits.  On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.   

“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch.  “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him.  That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up.  And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there.  That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games.  About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love.   “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.”  “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant.   He knew before I did.  Finnick too.   I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known.  That’s all.”  Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle.  “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him.  There’s some logic to it.  I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up.  And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible.  And it’s not like there’s any other ideas.  I should run it past Aurelius.  See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say.  “At the very least, it can’t hurt.”   The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though.  Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her.  Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there.  I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that.  Because the “stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about.   “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him.  “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard.  She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK.   Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it.  No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself.  You were just doing a job.   That’s where Johanna went wrong.  She was trying to attract publicity.  And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it.  They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage.  So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”  Haymitch regards me with amusement.  “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red.  “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart.  It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head.  And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing.  I judge it to be a good time to leave.   I wander around the Village for a little while.  I want to talk to Johanna.  She’d understand.  But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it.   Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success.   How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week.  She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school.  Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms.  Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course.  When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind.  “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews.   In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake.  But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day.   I was hesitant to go.  I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible.  But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it.  And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded.    Marcus led the way.  Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview.  The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them.  From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time.   “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs.  I got the impression that these woods are very special to you.   What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me.  I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes.  Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions.  Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook.   From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus.  Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine.  Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation.   The woods have been my sanctuary.  Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.”  Startled, my head jerked towards the sound.  Cressida was beside me.  Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus.  She must have hung back and waited for me.   I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida.   In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day.  If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way.  Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did.   At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing.  And then there’s Johanna.  Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered.  There, honest but not too revealing.   Nothing that Cressida could take much from.  I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words.   “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way.  I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more.  “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together.  I’m happy for you both.  Truly.” Her face cleared.  “That’s what Gale said.  But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say.   I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily.  I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been.  I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were.  I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here.  Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood?  If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it.   The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.”  Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit.   “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know.  You and Peeta.  You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response.  How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?”  At least we’re spared media attention.  That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on.  “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating.  It represents so many things to people.  How love and hope endure.  Rebirth instead of destruction.  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.  That it can be good again.  It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them.  I need to take a toilet break.  Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree.  Why did she have to tell me that?  It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too.   And I’m so tired of people and their expectations.  Peeta and I represent nothing.  Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people.   I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others.   When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux.  We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation.  An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine.  Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida.   Messalina was occupied with her notebook.  The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew.  I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything.   He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview.  I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done.  I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us.  So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other.  And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them.  Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house.  One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly.   I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world.  Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door.   I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag.  It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside.  It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean.   The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within.  Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot.  “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus.   “Ok,” I replied, intrigued.  There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us.  Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring.  It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source.   It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature.  The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught.   And then I waited . . . and waited.  I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.

“What’s this about?  Aren’t we supposed – “ I began.   His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss.  It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances.    But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs.  It had to go.  While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast.  My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare.   The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers.  He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion.  And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted.  My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry.   Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot.   Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine.   It felt so, so good.  I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever.  That is, until he started pounding his hips into me.  The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust.  It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too.  Marcus enjoyed himself though.  I could tell from his breathing that he was close.  But then it happened.   A loud snap.  It was unmistakable.  We both heard it.  Even Marcus, occupied as he was.  Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound.  But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus.  He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground.       Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost.  Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order.  I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back.  Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag.   The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring.  But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light.  On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work.  But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.  

Boy On Fire

This scene takes place during Chapter 24 of Mockingjay, after Katniss, Gale, Cressida, Pollux, and Peeta leave Tigris’ shop and make their way to Snow’s mansion.

Part 1 | Part 3 

                                                              ***

The brief burst of energy I felt is waning and I’m already panting as I weave between bodies on the streets and gunfire from the rooftops. It’s all I can do to keep the scarf over my face and I almost trip and fall into the giant hole in the ground where the street has split, leaving nothing but hundreds of writhing creatures and putrid fumes coming from its depths. I sprint towards the edge of the street and carefully make my way across, using door knobs to swing from one section to the next. I’m almost at the edge of the hole when I hear a distinctly familiar yell.

“GO!”

 It’s Gale, I’m sure of it. But I can’t make out where the yell came from. Suddenly, I spot him across the way. He’s struggling hard against the grip of two peacekeepers who are trying to disarm him and drag him into the depths of a house. We may eye contact for a brief moment before I remember I’m armed now too.

 I swing onto the stoop of the house next-door, barely able to keep my balance on the tiny front step as I kick the front door open. Thankfully, there’s no one inside. I take my position and aim at the peacekeepers, who have succeeded in knocking Gale out and are now poised to take him out. I shoot once and miss but manage to knock the weapon out of one of the peacekeeper’s hands. His partner searches for the source of the shot and spots me, bringing his gun up and gently squeezing on the trigger-

 BANG.

 My hands shake as I realize I got him square in the forehead. The other peacekeeper tries desperately to aim with one hand, but he’s out before he can even raise his weapon. There’s nothing I can do to hide Gale from the rest, but I’m hoping that any passing rebel or peacekeeper will see the blood and bodies and assume they’re all dead anyway.

 I make it to the next intersection and break into a full-on sprint. If Gale got captured that means Katniss is either dead or barely escaped. I can’t bear to think it’s the former. The crowd is thinner here and I search frantically for a trace of her braid, the rebel uniform. I hear people yell “The rebels, the rebels!” and find myself pushed back as they come in and attempt to herd the crowd away from the mansion. Then I spot her.

 Same solemn face and big, blue eyes. Prim.

 What is she doing here? Surely Coin wouldn’t sign off on sending her to the frontlines. No matter how many years of training she’s accumulated helping her mother.

 A hovercraft with the capitol seal appears and drops parachutes into the pen of children, who gleefully reach for them. Yank them down from the sky. And have just enough time to form confusion on their faces before the bombs explode.

 The sky rains blood and body parts. I watch as Prim rushes to the aid of a child desperately holding on to the stump where their shoulder used to be. She’s applying a tourniquet, trying to staunch the flow of blood steadily gushing from her wound and I’m thrown back to another wound, another pair of Everdeen hands…

 “PRIM!”

 Katniss. She’s spotted her. She’s running towards her, pushing through the crowd and screaming her name over and over again.

 But something’s wrong.

 Half the parachutes lie on the ground, unopened. Intact. Ready to go off at any moment.

 “KATNISS!”

 I’m pushing through the line of soldiers and refugees, screaming her name, trying desperately to get to her before something terrible happens.

 “PRIM!”

“KATNISS!”

 But it’s no use. She’s blocked out the rest of the world, unable to register anything but the sight of her sister, penned up with the rest of the capitol children, blood steadily coating her uniform.

 Prim catches sight of her. You can just see her make out her name.

 “Katniss?”

 And then the rest of the parachutes go off.

Seven.Berlin,Seriously?

Prince Harry of Wales September of 2015 Kensington Palace,London

"Wassup,Mate!"Skippy exclaimed approaching me."It's been awhile man!"I said."Of course it has,anyways gimme the drinks,"He yelled.I chuckled and got the beer from the freezer.I placed them on the coffee table and plopped down on the sofa.Skippy then took the seat next to me.

We started playing Call Of Duty when Skippy said,"You know boi,it's been forever since we took a vacation..."I scrunched my nose but didn't take my eyes off the screen and replied,"What are you trying to imply?"Skippy chuckled and said,"You are a single man again!We should go out of country for awhile!"Before I could answer,I got killed in the game."Fuck!"I scoffed and the screen read 'game over'.I turnt to him,''Who else is down for a vacation?"

"Well  Sam,Thomas,Guy and I are confirmed.From the girls Chelsy has confirmed but I don't know about Cressida,"Skippy said.I groaned."Seriously,Chelsy and Cressida?The whole media is going to think I am going back to my exes after my break up with Meghan!"I exclaimed.Skip sighed,"Dude!Who cares what the media thinks?they always have some sort of assumption to make.You gotta enjoy your life."I looked at him,not quite convinced."C'mon man!stop chickening out,this ain't the Harry I know,"Skip smirked.

"Oh yeah?I am chickening out?Count me in,I am booking the jet,"I scoffed."Well then,pack your bags for Berlin,Germany !"Skip yelled excitedly.My eyes widened,"Wait hold up!Berlin,seriously?"

Skippy looked baffled,"Yeah what?" "Dude,do you not remember the Nazi costume fiasco?!"I practically screamed."Chill out!its going to alright,nobody except you is going to associate the two events,"Skip tried to reassure.I ran my hands over my face,"I am keeping your word for it."

One week later

It was early in the morning when we arrived in Berlin.The Press still hadn't found out about this trip so on our way out of the airport we were thankfully not bombarded by the paparazzis.The trip was about a week long.

The first two days of the trip was quite peaceful and fun.We travelled around Berlin like normal tourists,except we were disguised and there were two RPOs following us but in disguise,of course.

Everything was fun.We all were having fun except of me.Throughout the entire trip Cressida was clinched to me.She was the kind of ex who was obviously not over the break up but wouldn't admit it.Unfortunately,she is a part of the group so I have to cooperate with her.

Whenever we were outside she'd wrap her arms around mine which was just uncomfortable.Whenever I'd try to resist her response would be,"Come on Harry,stop being so awkward we are friends!"Like okay I get it we are friends but there are some boundaries.

However,the third day of the trip arrived and it was the day I was looking forward to the most.We were going to one of the best clubs in Berlin.A lot of celebrities come to this club so it's privacy was perfect for me.However,it was pretty rare for public figures to party in Berlin so there are very small chances of you meeting them.

I wore a white button up shirt and a pair of suit pants---a classic.The other boys were wearing similar clothings and the girls were short dresses---once again the classic.But,Cressida once again was trying too hard to get my attention and it was getting too much at this point.Thankfully Sam interrupted Cressida's seductive looks towards me by saying,"You know we are quite lucky,today the club is going to have extra security."

"Why so?"Guy asked."Apparently,some celebrities are here tonight and they don't want to be seen here,"Sam smirked."Oo,scandalous,"I said in a mysterious voice.They all laughed."Literally the same day we are going to the club,there are celebrities.Coincidence?I don't think so,"Chelsy said."Illuminati confirmed!"Thomas exclaimed.The laughter grew louder.

Once we arrived at the club we were escorted in safely.As Sam had some connections and obviously because I was there, we were led to one of the VIP sections of the club.The RPOs were at a safe distance from where the whole squad was sitting

It didn't take us long to get drunk.We were all downing the shots too quickly and soon enough we were completely wasted.The music started blasting through the speakers and we ran to the dance floor which there was only one.

We all were dancing like crazy to JLo.We were too drunk to even care and it got so hot that I had to unbutton a few buttons of my shirt.

The squad's fun was interrupted by another group of people entering the dance floor,who were a little less drunk than us,except for a few people.They were a large group mostly guys and two girls.One of the girl,whose back was faced against from my viewing was giggling like crazy and she was most probably the most drunk among the group.

In our drunken state we found out that they are celebrities.I swear,I thought I knew most of those faces but my brain was too fuzzy.Anyways,we were all dancing to Nicki Minaj's Anaconda and all the four girls (Chelsy,Cressida, and the other two ) started twerking and let me tell you it was a sight for sore eyes.You know what I found out the next moment?The super drunk cute girl was Alex!You know,the Alex that I hit on a long time ago and then she kinda rejected me and then I met her a couple of months ago?Yeah that same Alex.

You know,she is quite an interesting character.Most of the time she looks like this badass bitch who could probably cut you in two (which is mostly true,beware,don't hurt her she is scarlet witch,she'll control your mind and make your life a living hell!) but in reality she is this adorable tiny,dorky girl who is also drop dead gorgeous.She is also pretty stubborn.

Anyways,back to the story(drunk Harry stop getting sidetracked)wow author now you'll accuse me?Just admit it that you aren't able to describe what happens properly because you are sleep deprived(stfu and continue idiot)I'll remind you that my gran could behead you(I will cut you harry if you don't continue)Okay,okay chill out.

Suddenly a 5'6 Alexandra Larsson jumped in front of me and squealed,"OH MY GOD HARRY!" I don't know why,but I found it funny so I giggled."WOAH YOU ARE ALEX!"I said poking her nose,as if to see if she was real or just a illusion of drunk!harry.She was actually real!

"Harry look!I have so many friends!"She exclaimed dragging me towards where all the other people were."Woooooow,you have so many friends,I only have a few,"I pouted.She frowned at my reaction and replied,"No don't say that!you have me!I am like equal to soo many friends!"She stretched her arms trying to emphasis on 'so many.'She put her arms forward to hug me and I accepted the hug.As soon as I did,her grip tightened and she started swinging around.

A slow song had started so we continued to do so for the entirety of the song."What are we doing?"I finally asked."I don't know,"She giggled.I didn't say anything,instead I smiled and continued swinging.

All of a sudden,Thinking about Loud started playing.

For some reason,my eyes couldn't leave Alex's figure.Her eyes were a mix of grey and green---something which I just realised,she bleached her hair blonde,she didn't like maintaining women body stereotypes,so she didn't have a perfect slim hourglass figure.She had a beauty spot on her left cheek and another one on the lower right cheek,her eyelashes were very thick and long.Her lips were very plump,they had a pinkish tint.

My eyes travelled back to her eyes and I could see them staring at my own lips.

Then I did something sober me would have never.

I kissed her

And she kissed me back And all of a sudden I was sober once again but drunk by the taste of her lips.

Authors Note I did it.I couldn't wait any longer.What do you think happens next ?😏

The Most Illustrious Visit

Thank you so much for commissioning me again, @breeachuu! Thanks for your patience as well ^v^;)

Summary: Cressida’s pregnancy is the best excuse for Owain’s future past friends to pay him a visit or two. Or maybe three. They need to make sure Cressida is well-attended, after all!

Commission info HERE and HERE!

Cressida's pregnancy, among other things, served to remind her how cherished her husband Owain was by his friends. Of course, Owain was the kind of person who would be loved regardless of situation he were in (back in Nohr, despite his outward weirdness, he was always surrounded by someone with a bright smile), but being able to witness how much his future past companions cared about him made Cressida's heart settle in comfortably with the passing of months.

They showed their appreciation with letters, presents and visits, always conveying their heartfelt feelings towards their friend and his growing family: Some were still amazed at how they all actually managed to have a peaceful future for themselves after a life of fighting, while others enjoyed every single moment and looked forward to meeting the mini-Owain that was on the way.

The word of Cressida's pregnancy spread around like wildfire, and both she, Owain and Frederick knew that it was Lissa's doing -- the princess was never a good secret keeper, after all. Soon even the future past children who lived away from Ylisse had heard the news.

The first ones to visit were, of course, his cousins Morgan and Lucina, as well as the most frequent.

"I came to play again!" Morgan would announce as he saw himself in, comfortable enough to barely knock before entering. "I brought a charm for the baby!"

"Morgan, please; it doesn't matter if he's family or no, we need to actually wait any of them to welcome us instead of barging in-" Lucina reprimanded, pulling her little brother's ear.

"Owowow, Sis! But it's Owain's house! Fellow Justice Cabal member and- owowow!"

"Who has a wife and a soon-to-be-born child, Morgan. Wait for when one of them opens the door, all right?" The princess twisted her lips, lifting her chin.

"Please, Lady Lucina, it's alright." Cressida welcomed them after washing her hands from tending to the back garden. "You two are Owain's family, after all. You'll always be welcome."

"See? See?!" Morgan beamed, disentangling himself from his sister's grip. Lucina once again grabbed him by the ear, though.

"Please don't indulge this behavior, Lady Cressida, or else he will not learn..."

"Siiiisss..." Morgan pouted, leaning his head on Lucina's shoulder. The princess cleared her throat, always unable to say no to his puppy eyes.

"D-don't look at me like that, Morgan. No is no."

The young prince only blinked adorably, making Lucina avert her eyes as her conviction wavered.

Cressida chuckled at the exchange, always amazed at how well the two of them got along as siblings and as cousins to Owain. Despite all those years they spent away from each other, their bonds never wavered, as though something as fickle as time couldn't even scratch the depth of the ties that bound all of them.

"You said you brought a 'charm', but that's quite a bag you're holding there, Sir Morgan." Cressida said, putting the table for the tea. She had witnessed that same exchange happen at least every other day, so she quickly got used to it.

"Oh, allow me to help." Lucina let go of Morgan's ear and stepped inside to fetch the plates and cutlery. They had arrived a little bit before lunch time, and they knew Owain would eat at home instead of the barracks.

Morgan looked at the bag he carried and shrugged. "Well, uncle Frederick asked us to bring another thing he sewed -- you won't believe how intricate the design is! I bet he could make a name for himself in the sewing world if he weren't a knight."

Cressida froze on her step, an eyebrow twitching in response.

After the initial shock of surprise and happiness from finding out that he would be a grandpa, Frederick showed up at their doorstep at dawn the next day with a hand-knitted winter set for a newborn baby. It had little gloves and socks and everything; it was the picture of adorableness.

It actually made the bow knight tear up a bit, feeling that her pregnancy was something real and that she was going to meet her and Owain's child in the near future.

Once again she felt like that the next morning as Frederick brought yet another set in different colors, the little baby’s cap graved with the words 'the best grandchild in the world'. She would stare at it and laugh for the weeks to come, but it kept happening.

Every single day since Cressida announced that she was pregnant did Sir Frederick give them something he sewed himself. "He's gonna put the local seamstress out of business," she joked one time, two months after his first present. "... How much yarn is he gonna use? I'm sure he bought everything in Ylisse by now," she sighed deeply after the fourth month, wondering where she's gonna keep so many presents.

Frederick wasn't dumb -- he knew that the clothes of a child, of a baby, no less, wouldn't have a great lifespan. Children grew up quickly, after all. After the first dozens of sets for newborns, Frederick began knitting clothes of varying sizes, so Owain's child would never want for clothes as they grew up.

Cressida felt a droplet of cold sweat itching down her temple, Morgan's words echoing through her mind.

"Lady Cressida?" Lucina tilted her head to the side, taking the plates the bow knight carried. "Are you feeling well? You look pale!"

"Oh wow, it's true!" Morgan put the bag over the couch and trotted to his cousin-in-law, taking her by the hand. "C'mon, let's sit here for a bit, you much be so tired!"

The prince guided her to the very same couch the bag was at, making Cressida's eyes spin. It was as though a swirling energy was emanating from the bag, almost bringing her physical pain.

Frederick didn't simply give them one piece of clothing every day, but a SET of clothing every single morning. Sweaters, socks, belly-warmers, gloves, bonnets, pants... take your pick.

Owain and Cressida's house was a simple one; they didn't have many rooms nor did they have space at the back garden to build an extension, and Frederick's growing pile of presents was already starting to take room they didn't have.

It didn't fit in the baby's closet anymore. Nor did it in their closet. There were baby clothes even inside Owain's herb cabinet! He needed to juggle between his potion-making tools, herbs and a little baby sock that randomly found its way in there.

They sometimes found little wool shorts and tiny gloves at the weirdest places. "I found this little belly warmer under the sink... and this single sock outside at the garden. How did they end up there?" She asked Owain one day, to which he replied that they must've been cursed by the Wool Spirit.

His Father had looked in god's eyes and decided to ignore the plea of thousands of seamstresses who were most likely out of a job by now. Nothing Lissa, Owain or even Chrom said could stop him at this point, and by now Cressida was resigned in accepting everything.

Gulping, the bow knight looked at the bag, its dark energy making her stomach turn. That single thought made her shoulder sag, however. Look at me, she thought, I'm even seeing 'dark energy' in a harmless bag. Maybe Owain's finally rubbing off on me.

"Behold, for this Owain Dark has arrived!" As if on a cue, Owain yelled from outside, skipping through the front stepping stones towards the open front door. "Oh? What manner of evil doers dare to step inside my shrine of redempti- GASP!!" He threw his hands in the air in an extravagant gesture as Morgan dramatically took one hand to his face. "We meet yet again, my mortal allyversary!"

"This time, I shan't lose!" Morgan pointed. "Once our eyes meet, it's time for battle!"

"Stop making a ruckus in other people's house." Lucina bonked her brother on the head, once again pulling him by the ear. "I'm delighted to see that you are well, cousin."

"Our epic battle, interrupted by she who bears the Light Brand!" Owain got on his knees. "Whenever shall we have our bloodthirsty showdown, O fellow Fallen One?"

Morgan massaged his head with both hands, but still managed to laugh. "The conclusion to our thrilling saga... will need to wait for... another day." He paused dramatically, looking at the horizon through the small window, the draft that followed only enough to lift a few strands of hair.

"Oh, look, Owain, Sir Frederick brought another sweater." Cressida's voice filled the theatrical silence as she took the small garment, sized for a child of age 10, out of the bag. "Delightful."

That brought actual shivers down Owain's spine. "H-haha... Father is at it again, I see."

"He never misses a day." Cressida's voice didn't have any strength in it. "It's been five months." She sighed, then shook her head as she put the sweater back inside the bag. "What was that charm you said you brought, Sir Morgan?"

"Hm? Oh yeah! It's actually here with me, haha!" He ran his hands through his pockets, finding a little round bell on a string. "Mother said that this is really good to catch the baby's attention when they're overwhelmed with all the new things around them!"

"Oh, I... actually remember that." Lucina mused as she gazed softly at the bell, her hand still on her brother's ear.

"Eh? Really? She used it on you, Sis?" Morgan gasped, handing the bell to Cressida. Lucina snorted.

"Of course not, silly. She used it on YOU. Sometimes I would catch her jiggling a bell akin to this one over your crib when I was young. Sometimes I thought that she thought you were a cat..."

"Hah, I'm sure I'll need this, then." Cressida took the little bell to her chest, smiling softly despite feeling the dark energy coming from the sweater right beside her. "If she's anything like her father, I know I'll need to distract her with something."

"She?" Lucina and Morgan tilted their heads to the side. "Did you ask someone to see the baby's gender?"

"Oh, excuse me." Cressida covered her mouth, embarrassed. "I just... feel like it's gonna be a girl. Don't mind me, now."

Used to how his wife referred to their child as 'she', Owain helped her up. "If Mighty Cressida, she who bears the chosen one, savior of this land, says our Messiah will be a girl, who are we to argue? We can only bask in her knowledge!"

"That's true." Lucina bobbed her head in agreement, followed by Morgan.

Embarrassed by how well they took that, Cressida snorted. What a close family she ended up being part of!

The visits weren't limited to Owain's own blood relatives, either. The companions with whom he shared the adventures in Nohr and Valla would also drop by time and again.

One day, Inigo and Severa met on their way to visit, their spouses in tow.

"Ho? Finally being honest with your feelings, Severa? Owain IS our oldest friend, after all-" Inigo poked at the front door, a wide smirk on his lips.

"Humph." The mercenary turned her head to the side so fast her pigtails slapped Inigo on the face. "I came here because I'm worried about Cressida, is all. I know what she's going through, after all." She glanced at her husband, who carried their little baby, Caeldori, strapped on his back.

Subaki laughed after being shown in. "She was worried sick back at home. Saying that she'll need to teach Owain how to hold a baby because she worried he would drop his and such."

"H-hey- Subaki!" Severa hissed, stomping on her husband's foot, her face bright red.

Already expecting that, Subaki swiftly took his foot out of the way, making Severa stomp on the floor instead.

"Huh? What's so bad about being worried for your friend? Weird." Hana blurted out, quickly turning to Cressida. "Hah, I win! My belly's bigger than yours." She stuck out her seven months stomach, a proud smile by her lips.

"This is not a competition, love..." Inigo coughed, guiding her to the couch.

"What? Anything can be a competition if you put your heart to it!"

"Well, I can't argue with that." Severa nodded, still trying hard to step on Subaki's foot.

Snorting, Cressida started putting the table for the visitors.

"Hey, c'mon, we don't need these pleasantries." Finally managing to dig her foot on her husband's, Severa quickly ran to Cressida, taking the plates away from her. "You must be so tired every day, having to deal with Owain and stuff."

"Yeah, she tends to the garden while I'm not home- hey!" Owain took his wife by the hand to guide her to the couch, taking a while to understand Severa's poke at him.

Smirking, Severa knew her way around the house due to her frequent visits, and quickly put water to boil so as to serve tea. "What? It's the truth."

Before Owain could open his mouth to retort, a loud voice coming from outside cut him off.

"Cynthia, presenting herself!"

"Uwooooh! A fellow Justice Cabal member!!" Owain jumped out of his seat, running to the door. "T'was Fate that brought you here, Legendary Pegasus Knight, Cynthia!"

"Weh? It was actually my pegasus, but okay- Where can I put her? I don't wanna ruin your garden..."

"Oh, you can circle around the gate and tie her on that tree over there, see? Wait, that's not it! Cynthia! Long time no see!" He opened his arms.

"Just a second!" She ran to tie her pegasus on the aforementioned tree and quickly came back to double high-five her childhood friend. "Surprise! I came crashing down from the very heavens to bless your heroic child! Where's the bride?!"

Wondering what the ruckus was outside, Cressida stuck her head out of the window that was right behind the couch. "Oh? Is that the famous Cynthia the Hero?"

Immediately did the pegasus knight's eyes sparkle. "Is she the one? She has good taste!" She quickly ran inside, her pigtails bouncing on either side of her head. "Nice to meet you, I'm the Heroic Hero, Cynthia! At your service!" She bowed. "I actually met Owain once or twice back at the castle, but I never managed to take a day off to see you! Sorry it took me so long to!"

"Ugh," Severa rolled her eyes. "I won't need to add a cup for her, right? We already have one kid here and mine's a WELL-BEHAVED one."

"Oh? So you allow snakes in your house now, Owain? I'm very experienced in hunting them, you know?" Cynthia narrowed her eyes to Severa, never letting go of Cressida's hands.

"Hah, snake? Look who's talking! You're still wearing pigtails at your age!"

"You're older than me and your pigtails are LONGER!"

"Mine are fashionable, unlike anything you've ever heard before, I'm sure."

"Hey, are they always like this?" Hana elbowed her husband, amused at the bickering. Cressida wondered the same thing, quietly wishing that Cynthia could let go of her hand while they argued.

"Haha... pretty much." Inigo scratched the back of his head. "But they're good friends at heart, you know."

"Very, very deeply." Subaki added, holding little Caeldori on his arms.

"Hey, we're not friends!" Severa snapped.

"Yeah, don't lump me with this bag of unhappiness and- Oh my GOSH, IS THAT YOUR DAUGHTER? She's SO cute!"

"Bag of unhap- uh, yeah, she is-"

Cynthia quickly let go of Cressida and ran to the little baby who cooed and giggled at sound of her mother's voice. "Sooo cute! Peek-a-boo!" The pegasus knight poked the small puffy cheeks, "so unlike your Mommy, aren't you? Aren't youu?"

"Hey!"

"Hah, what a great display of camaraderie!" Owain laughed from the door, with both hands on his hips. Cressida raised one eyebrow in question, but kept her mouth shut.

She wondered if they would ever be able to have that tea.

They all ended up extending their visits to the last minute possible, though Severa and Subaki were the first ones to leave due to needing to tend to Caeldori. As always, they left a small present: a tiny feather hairpin much like the one Cordelia always uses, as well as the one Severa planned to give to her daughter once she grew out her hair.

Cynthia had brought a wooden rocking pegasus, always eager to recruit more girls to her Pegasus Knights. Hana and Inigo brought food they got as a gift after his latest performance at Olivia's stage.

"Haha, old companions are the best!" Still giddy, Owain did the dishes as Cressida lied down, exhausted.

The bow knight smiled, always happy to see how overjoyed her husband was whenever they had a visit. "I'm glad we came here." She said softly, not actually intending for him to hear it.

But he did. And he blushed as an embarrassed smile covered his face. "I can't thank you enough for agreeing to come with me, Mighty Cressida. We'll make this land our daughter's home, but we'll always remind her from whence her mother came from."

"Hmm... I don't mind it either way; it's not like I have many things I miss from Nohr, anyway." She shrugged. "Apart from some foods and sweets... Ah, crap, now I have a craving."

"Oh no!" Owain turned dramatically, spilling water everywhere. "My daughter's gonna be born with a nohrian sweet face!"

It was said that if the pregnant woman didn't eat whatever she was craving for, her child's head would be the shape of the food, regardless of what it was.

Chuckling, Cressida caressed her stomach. "Meh, I'll live. I don't know how to make it, anyway."

Owain looked to the ceiling, as though asking for divine intervention. "It is time... to call the cavalry." He said solemnly, closing his eyes.

Alarmed at his tone, Cressida opened her eyes. "Huh? Owain- what are you planning? Please don't tell me you're gonna hire another dubious-looking cook."

"Hey, that was one time! And he didn't look dubious, he was ragged by war and had three battle scars here-" He pointed to his arm, water dripping out of it.

"Before or after he tried to sack the house? I had to beat him up with a broom! Sir Frederick lectured us for two weeks after that."

Owain deflated, the mention of his father making him put his feet on the ground once more. "Hah, yeah, he was really mad, huh?"

"So, no more dubious-looking people, alright?"

"Fear not, Mighty Cressida, for I have only the purest people in mind! You shall see, mwhahaha!!"

"I'm getting worried..." She whispered to herself, "you are too, aren't you? Please tell Daddy that he's gotta talk to Mommy before inviting people over."

"H-hey, that's foul play-"

"She says you need to ask for her permission, too." Cressida said with a straight face, making Owain crumple on the floor out of cuteness.

"D-daddy will be good, he promises..." He lied down, covering his face. Just imagining both Cressida and their daughter ganging up on him made him feel overjoyed! DOUBLE the cuteness!

Nevertheless, Owain still wrote for two dear friends the next day, receiving their reply on the following morning. "Worry not, for your cravings shall be attended to, my love!" He beamed after reading the letter.

"So much mystery doesn't beckon you, dear. What is this all about?"

"Mwhaha... do you want to know? Do you truly, really, want to know?!" He smirked widely, wiggling his eyebrows.

Cressida turned an unamused gaze away from her husband. "Actually, nevermind."

"W-waiit!" Laughing, he took her hand. "Mighty Cressida wounds me again! But fear not, for this letter is open for you to read!" He pulled her to him, mindful of her stomach, sliding one hand behind her back.

She took the letter with a smile, but folded it and put it on his chest pocket. "It's okay, I'll wait for the surprise my husband so carefully prepared for me."

"I am unworthy of such love and trust!" He nudged her cheek, placing small kisses around her face towards her lips. They lingered on each other, simply enjoying their warm breathing, at peace with their life.

Their daughter was more than halfway there, and they couldn't wait to meet her!

Three days later, they were visited by the people Owain had called for previously: Noire and Brady.

"Behold, for they are the most astounding cooks you shall ever gaze upon!" He extended both hands to the duo, making Noire blush and hide behind the priest.

"I-I just like baking, is all. I'm so glad you called me, Owain! I can't wait to hear your poems again..."

"Ey, musclehead, take the bags inside already; there're fruits in there and they'll spoil if you keep 'em in the sun for too long." Unfazed by his friends loud behaviour, Brady pointed with his chin to the carriage him and Noire used to get there. There were dozens of ingredients there, alongside a few luggages. "We be stayin' for a few days, if that ain't much a problem."

"Dubious-looking cook..." Cressida blurted out, but quickly cleared her throat. "Uh, nice to meet you two, I'm Cressida, Owain's wife."

Brady choked. "Ey, tha's not a nice t-thing to say! I ain't the finest lookin' tool in the shed, but I ain't d-dubious..." He sniffled.

"Wait, are you crying ALREADY?" Owain came back from putting the fruits in the kitchen, "that's a new record, Brady of the Moistened Eyes!"

"P-please don't cry, Brady..." Noire patted his back, worried.

"I ain't crying, ya buncha doofus! It's just the smell of herbs' too strong 'round here. Let's haul ass inside already."

Cressida had heard about the mean-looking priest, but Owain never told her about his... tendency to tear up at any given moment. Later that evening, he said that he had 'vowed' not to say anything, though.

Still, the dichotomy between Brady's scowl, his behavior and the fancy-looking carriage that brought them there made Cressida wonder about his background. He wasn't a prince, that's for sure, since he wasn't at the castle... But was he a noble? That carriage had a crest and everything...

"Owain told us that you've been wanting to eat something from your homeland, Cressida." Noire started after everyone went back inside. "Oh, I'm Noire, by the way! I-I'm sorry for my manners..."

"It's okay, Noire. And that's right, but he really didn't need to call you guys all the way here for a silly craving... I don't even know how to make the sweets, anyway."

"Bulshit!" Brady started washing the fruits and vegetables. He was called there to make healthy and salty food, while Noire was in charge of the desserts and sweets. "A pregnant lady's wishes are final." He shuddered, remembering how even more bossy and prickly his mother, Maribelle, was during her pregnancy of this era's Brady.

"That's right," Noire concurred, remembering her own Mother and her mood swings. "Besides, you don't n-need to know how it was made; just tell me the general ingredients and I can try to recreate it!"

Smiling softly, Cressida sat back on the chair. "Well, if you insist, then by all means..."

Truly, she was blessed to be surrounded by thoughtful and loving people, so far away from home.

Though the taste of home came back on Noire's second try at the dessert. "You're REALLY good at this, Noire! You should open a bakery or something." Cressida mused, finally having her craving satisfied.

"By the beard of Ike! This is exactly like that sweet! You are a genius, Noire!" Owain snarfed down his portion with gusto, throwing a 'poem' in, as Noire liked to say.

The archer giggled shyly, hiding her face behind a table cloth. "Really? I'm glad you both like it so much. I just l-like baking, so I'm not sure about making it a business... Besides, I'm probably not suited to deal with customers." Her voice sounded somber, and Owain and Brady both felt a chill in the air.

Ah, yes.

Yeah, she's better off far from people who can stress her, after all. They nodded silently, taking the conversation in another turn.

The two of them stayed over at the guest room for about a week, and only left after writing down the recipes and where to find the best ingredients for them. "I-if you need me to bake something again, just send a bird! I'm always glad to help."

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart!" Owain bowed to the both of them as they left in yet another fancy carriage, making Cressida once again wonder about Brady's background.

"You have such good friends." She mused, holding his hand as they watched the carriage go.

"I do, don't I? I'm unworthy of them." He breathed out with a wide smile. "I'm glad I never gave up back then; I'm glad I fought until the end to fulfill my promise with Anankos... I'm glad to have gone there to meet you and come back here to show everyone the amazing wife I got in another world."

Cressida closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And to introduce her to the amazing companions you shared most of your life with."

"But of course! Now, what would milady want for dinner? We do have so many possibilities, after all!"

"Oh? Have you become such an accomplished cook in only three days?"

"You wound me, milady! I am the genius Dark Cook, Owain! Ask away and you shall receive!"

"Hah! Alright then, roll up your sleeves..."

Their days went by peacefully for the most part; though of course things would get rowdy whenever they got visitors (or another of Frederick's sweaters). Despite all that, Cressida's pregnancy progressed normally; and the bigger her belly became, the more nervous she and Owain -- especially Owain -- felt.

At that point, Lucina and Morgan visited almost daily, partly because they were worried about the both of them being on their own during the birthing, partly because Lissa compelled them to. Of course, Lissa herself visited and sometimes stayed the night, but she unfortunately couldn't be there every day. And that's what nephews and nieces are for, right?

During one such visits, Cressida started feeling unwell after getting up to put the tray back in the kitchen.

"I-is it coming?!" Morgan caught the tray before it fell on the floor as Lucina attended to Cressida, giving her space to breathe.

"I-I'm not sure? Maybe? O-ouch," she turned uncomfortably as Lucina carried her to the bed. "Yeah, definitely coming."

"Morgan, go call Owain, quickly! Tell him to bring the midwife with him. After you come back, I'll go to the palace to tell Aunt Lissa-"

"P-please, anything but that." Cressida held Lucina's hand as Morgan quickly ran out. "Can you just... stay here with me? Not saying anything? Owain and Morgan are gonna be loud enough."

Understanding falling into the princess' mind, Lucina's shoulders sagged as she intertwined her fingers with Cressida's. "Of course. Forgive me for not thinking of that. I'll stay for as long as you allow me."

"Thanks, Lucina, ouch." Cressida breathed out, strangely calm about it all. Maybe she would start freaking out once Owain arrived.

"Do you need anything? I'm a very good masseuse, you know."

"My back hurts a bit, so I might take you on that later, but for now I guess I need to, hufff... Breathe."

"Do you remember the exercises the midwife taught you? I witnessed some of the classes during Mother's second pregnancy, so I might be of use..."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need them, right abouuut... now." She huffed, hearing loud stomps coming from outside.

"CRESSIDA!" Owain banged the door open, huffing. He was carrying the midwife on his arms.

"Put me down now, dearie. There, thank you." The old lady said, patting her dress. "What a eager father he is, hm, Cressida? He snatched me from my home yelling 'BABY! MY BABY! COMING!' without so much of an explanation."

Cressida loudly snorted, covering her mouth so as not to laugh. "I can, uh, see that- ouch, haha!"

"A-are you alright?!" Owain ran to his wife's side as Lucina gave her seat to him. He held her hand, but was quickly thrown out of the chair by the midwife.

"She's fine, dearie. She's not even pale yet! I'll still need to fetch everything from home and call my assistants, if you excuse me..."

"P-please allow me to bring them all over. Stay here with her." He stuttered, dreading the thought of having Cressida be unattended for a single second.

"Oh, well, if you insist, dearie." The midwife sat back down, telling him to find her assistants first so they could bring everything they needed. "Also, you young man over there? Please boil some water, hm? You young lady can bring fresh towels."

Soon the royals scattered to do their assigned chores, the small house getting livelier by the second. As the midwife had said previously, the baby wasn't in much of a hurry to be born. It took Cressida a dozen of hours to finally be able to give birth to a healthy and loud little girl.

"It's really a girl! IT'S A GIRL!" Owain yelled louder than the baby's cries, his own tears falling unnoticed.

Breathing out, exhausted, Cressida looked at the tiny baby with fondness. "Finally we meet, Ophelia."

From outside the room, Lucina and Morgan heard the crying and exchanged a hug, their faces flushed and wet from tears. Every new birth was a new story beginning in a land now and forever blessed by peace! They couldn't wait to meet their little niece!

Dickheads of the Month: January 2022

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of January 2022 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

So it has emerged that proven liar Boris Johnson is using the Tory whips to try and keep any Tory MPs who don't fall in line with The Great Leader onside with threats of blackmail, specifically blackmail aimed at their constituency funding.  And what really stands out is that this isn't at all surprising, given Theresa May had the whips keep a dossier on dirty little secrets of MPs to have them vote in line

...and then along comes Michael Fabricant to try and deny everything William Wragg said by saying that, if he went to the police every time the whips threatened him, the police wouldn't have time to do anything else that only served to confirm Wragg’s story, and then along came Secretary of State for Culture Wars Nadine Dorries to dismiss Wragg as an attention seeker, apparently forgetting her own stint on Celebrity Survivor

Of course it emerged that proven liar Boris Johnson was flagrantly ignoring his own rules during the initial lockdown as it predictably emerged there was a 100-person BYOB party that Michael Reynolds arranged to take place at Downing Street in May 2020, and when this story broke proven liar Alexander Boris De Pfeffel Johnson ran and hid so Michael Ellis was into Commons to take the flak as no minister wanted to do it

...soon followed by proven liar Boris Johnson getting increasingly desperate when trying to deny he knowingly attended a party to the point where he claimed he did not know the rules - rules which not only did he set out, but also spent several hours every single Monday afternoon for months on end outlining on national television

...and when Dominic Raab was sent out to deny the existence of any parties, all he managed to do was confirm the May 20th 2020 party existed by bringing up suggestions it was in his honour

...so it's no wonder that Michael Gove brought out the big guns: if the UK is a Christian country than the public ought to forgive the Tories for routinely breaking their own rules and getting arsey when caught with their pants down

At long last Cressida Dick announced that the Metropolitan Police would investigate the Downing Street parties - and by complete coincidence, this announcement gave proven liar Boris Johnson an excuse to try and delay the Sue Grey report into the Downing Street parties which was due to be published that same week

...soon followed by the Metropolitan Police announcing that, if Sue Grey were to release her report, she needs to remove the sections specific to the Metropolitan Police actually getting off their backsides and investigating the Downing Street parties in case they quote-unquote prejudiced the investigation they were happy to not bother starting until the Grey report was due

The sheer desperation of proven liar Boris Johnson to throw the Tory troll conspiracy theory in Commons of Keir Starmer covering up the accusations into Jimmy Saville really says a lot - but not quite as much as how the increasingly unhinged Nadine Dorries repeated it as she swayed around like a drunken sailor in a gale later that evening outside of the Chamber, meaning she wasn’t protected by parliamentary privilege when she said it

The best defence that proven liar Boris Johnson could come up with when asked about the bungs from David Brownlow to refurbish the Downing Street flat was he can't remember reading the WhatsApp messages he sent blatantly asking for a bribe while also indicating that providing one would get Brownlow’s plans for a Great Exhibition off the ground - yet Lord Geidt somehow believed this, or is simply too spineless to act on what is clearly in front of him

It seems to have slipped the mind of Daniel Kawczynski that, as he was born in Warsaw to Polish parents and is fluent in Polish, that maybe claiming expenses for £22,000 worth of Polish lessons is going to cause people asking questions, chief of which are “Are you taking the piss?” and “No, really, what did you really spend it on?”

The entitlement of Novak Djokovic to roll into Australia expecting a vaccination exemption due to being reigning Australian Open champion, having long railed against mandatory vaccinations while also ducking the question of whether he has been vaccinated, didn’t get him past the immigration desk in Melbourne to the surprise of...mainly just him, his equally obnoxious and entitled family, and his increasingly unhinged fanbase

...and then Novak Djokovic attempted to claim he was exempt because he had Covid in mid-December, which only served to highlight the various times where he violated Serbian law by not remaining in self-isolation for fourteen days - so of course he tried to pin it all on his agent

...and then along came waffling gargoyle Nigel Farage to rant about how the Australian border controls which he’d been saying the UK needed for so long were suddenly draconian, which mainly served to demonstrate that being an anti-lockdown grifter is more valuable than being an anti-migrant grifter

...and then it turns out that Novak Djokovic has either completely changed the entire concept of how time passes, or that one of his documents was altered given the one for the earlier date somehow has a higher registration number than the one from a later date, which is literally impossible

Ask a sensible question of Jacob Rees-Mogg such as whether MPs should be allowed to debate and vote remotely due to the rise of Omicron that Pete Wishart raised in Commons, expect a remarkably cuntish answer such as Rees-Mogg accusing Wishart of being lazy and not liking his job

As defences go, the attempt by Prince Andrew to say that he shouldn’t an American court because Jeffrey Epstein paid off Virginia Giuffre so therefore he’s in the clear certainly isn't a good one - or a successful one, given it got punted into the long grass

Somehow it didn’t occur to Suella Braverman that, as Attorney General, it's not a good idea to respond to the Colston 4 being acquitted by issuing a statement that reads “Trial by jury is an important guardian of liberty & must not be undermined. However...” since that last word and every word which comes after it undermines liberty

...sort of like how GB News damn near collapsed the trial by publishing articles criticising the defendants during the court proceedings which saw them dragged into court facing potential contempt of court charges, which paint a sorry picture of how little media training their presenters have

Some rather blatant bending of the rules by Arsenal in having their match against Tottenham postponed due to a lack of players where they cited Covid, yet the reality was one player had Covid when they asked for the match to be postponed, one suspended, two had been loaned out in the week before the match...and five at the Africa Cup of Nations, which last time I checked wasn't a reason to have a match postponed

Great plan by Hana Horka to deliberately catch Covid from her family in order to get a recovery pass so she could enter certain Czech venues while remaining unvaccinated - inasmuch as the next venue she was booked at was the local funeral home due to a slight case of death

I wonder if Andrew Bridgen has figured out yet that, when being interviewed on camera for a Newsnight interview, saying “The village idiot is in front of the camera” isn't the comeback he thought it was

The only thing more pathetic than Logan Paul being thinking that he was paying $3.5m on Pokemon cards only to discover that he’d been scammed is Logan Paul then posting a video whining about how he had been scammed out of $3.5m he thought he was spending on Pokemon cards

Obviously it needs explaining to Danny Danon that Emma Watson expressing solidarity with Palestine doesn't make her an antisemite, and that flat out calling her one doesn't make you look like UN ambassadorial material

It’s rather sad to see WWE put more effort into releasing a statement top the Toronto Sun where they came across as the worst kind of tattletale by trying to get sponsors to stop associating with AEW based on one match than, oh I don’t know, maybe make their product watchable...but it was fun to see the WWE Attack Squad suddenly lose the “WWE doesn’t even acknowledge AEW” line they hide behind

Mother of the year Sarah Beam had a novel approach to discovering her son had tested positive for Covid: locking him in the boot of her car before driving to a mass testing centre.  For some reason the school she works at has since placed her on leave for an indeterminate amount of time...

Just when you thought that GB News couldn’t get any more ridiculous, they go and have a Winston Churchill impersonator appear on their channel to be interviewed on the 57th anniversary of Churchill’s death

The brain trust at Konami had a genius idea to celebrate the 35th anniversary of Castlevania: by using the 35th anniversary of Castlevania as an excuse to pump out NFTs and put them up for auction on OpenSea even though a fair chunk of them are simply the game’s box art which anyone can download off the internet 

...and hot on their heels Atari (or what passes for Atari these days) decided to go one better by announcing how, to celebrate their 50th anniversary, they are bringing out NFT loot boxes

Sheer genius of WWE to decide that WALTER should be renamed to Gunther Stark because they already filed the trademark - only to learn that he would be sharing the name with a member of the Nazi Kriegsmarine, something they could have avoided with a cursory Google search before filing the trademark

The most important thing that Andrew Rosindell believes the BBC should do is play the national anthem at the end of every day's broadcasting, immediately gaining support from Secretary of State for Culture Wars Nadine Dorries when he suggested this in Commons - apparently forgetting that Radio 4 does this every single day

Not only did Cameron Winklevoss come down on the side of Spotify in the row over whether music is important or whether cashing in on their service allowing frowning thumb Joe Rogan to continue talking utter shite no matter how dangerous it is, but he thought he’d sound clever in using Neil Young's Rockin’ in the Free World against him...which betrayed the fact that Winklevoss hasn’t actually read the lyrics

Sadly people are still asking Edwina Currie for her opinion and, predictably, we get drivel like her telling LBC (after twice trying to duck the question) that the tangible benefits of Jonestown are “Freedom” and “Two fingers to Brussels” which, the last time I checked, doesn’t make up for losing £66bn

And finally, lacking self-awareness as always, is Donald Trump thinking the best choice of music to announce his entrance for a rally in Texas was The Undertaker’s theme, because of all the pieces of music to use it's one based off the funeral march to announce the guy whose non-response to Covid left hundreds of thousands dead and then, to cap it all off, the insurrection he tried to organise added a couple more bodies to the pile

I wish you would write a fic where peeta has a failing bakery because he isn't able to implement anything new and exciting due to parents etc, and katniss is like gordon ramsay in kitchen nightmare trying to convince peeta that he's not an idiot sandwich. Is that too specific? sorry if it is, i've just been thinking about this for a while...

This took an incredibly long time to write, anon, if you’re still around, I’m sorry for that! But this idea gripped me, and wouldn’t be satisfied with a hundred word drabble…

The B Word

rated T

He had watched her all through middle school, and high school too, had spent years of his life imagining her walking into the bakery his parents owned where he could woo her with artisanal breads and fancy cakes.

But this was definitely not part of his fantasy.

“You are an idiot sandwich!” Katniss Everdeen hollered as she pressed two pieces of bread to the sides of his head. It was the good hearty bread too, filled with raisins and nuts, a bestseller at the bakery and one of his favourites. A myriad of emotions played through his mind; horror and humiliation, a feeling that he just might cry, but beneath was that familiar quickening of his heart rate at the way her white chef’s coat strained to cover her pert breasts. Thump thump thump his heart pounded, and she smirked, even as she pressed the bread more firmly to his ears.

Thump thump thump. “Peeta! Get your ass out of bed!” Peeta Mellark groaned as he pried his eyes open in the darkness and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 3:45 am. The alarm wasn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes.

“Dammit, Rye, it’s not even four,” he grumbled, dislodging the pillow - flat and slightly drool-dampened - from over his ear.

“That TV show chick is coming today,” the voice hollered through the door. “It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” Rye was far too perky for a quarter to four in the morning. But despite his pique at being awoken early, Peeta couldn’t blame his brother for being excited. Their little bakery was going to be featured on a brand new show from one of the hottest television personalities in Panem.

Kat Flickerman was a household name, her sarcastic and expletive-filled television show, Kitchen Nightmares, was must-watch TV. And her new show, The B Word, featuring small-town bakeries, was promising to be even better. Mellark’s, a staple in District Twelve for over seventy-five years, would be the first establishment showcased. The publicity and sales uptick that came from being featured on the program more than made up for the embarrassment of having a five-foot-nothing firebrand rip apart every aspect of your business. Or so the producers that contacted his brother said.

Peeta wasn’t convinced. After all, he’d been making a fool of himself in front of the former Katniss Everdeen his whole life, and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

Neither Rye nor their father seemed to remember that world-famous Kat Flickerman had once been Katniss Everdeen, from the poor part of Twelve. But Peeta remembered. He remembered everything about her, though she’d never paid him any attention.

He remembered her sparkling silver eyes as she skipped through the halls of their elementary school, singing to herself. Eyes that dimmed and hardened after her father’s death. He remembered how hollow her cheeks were in the months after that, when he’d leave part of his lunch in her cubby each morning. He remembered how she’d grown into a solitary, sometimes sullen but always striking young woman who worked and studied and never participated in any of the meagre social activities District Twelve offered.

He even knew how a quiet, shy girl from the wrong side of the tracks parlayed a gig reviewing restaurants for her college’s newspaper into fame and fortune, though that part he’d read on her Wikipedia page. He wasn’t sure he understood it though. The Katniss who’d stolen his heart when he was only a boy wasn’t a lot like the girl on fire he saw on television. Not that he watched her shows.

(He definitely watched her shows.)

But none of that mattered anymore, not really. Because Katniss Everdeen left District Twelve five years ago and had never, as far as Peeta knew, come back. There was no mention of District Twelve in any of her bios or interviews. Katniss Everdeen had essentially disappeared. Kat Flickerman - foul-mouthed, foul-tempered, fire and fury Kat Flickerman - was the woman he was going to meet today. And he was fairly sure she wouldn’t remember him anyway. Probably wouldn’t even notice him, unless it was to berate some mistake he’d made or pick apart the menu items.

o-o-o

Peeta had the display cases full of glossy frosted cookies and perfect cupcakes long before the production crew showed up. He knew that there wouldn’t be any filming that morning, save for some generic ‘before’ shots, but still he wanted to put his best foot forward. Mellark’s might not be world-class, but it had been in his family for generations, it was a part of him. Rye, too, was beaming, polishing the countertops until they gleamed in the shafts of sunlight that came through windows so clean they looked devoid of glass. Their father spent an hour on a ladder, writing the day’s wares on the menu board in practiced chalk strokes. Though District Twelve was nothing more than a tiny backwater village, the Mellark men had their pride.

The group that descended on their small shop was definitely not from around there. Loud voices and loud colours shattered the sleepy District Twelve ambiance. The TV crew consisted of a pair of burly cameramen with heavy mobile cameras encasing their bodies like insect shells, a woman director named Cressida who had a shaved head tattooed with green vines, and her assistant, Messalla, a slim young man with several sets of earrings. On careful observation, it appeared his tongue had been pierced, too, and he was wearing a stud with a silver ball the size of a marble. Peeta shuddered slightly. But missing from the crew was the one woman he’d been longing to see.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. She was the star after all, doubtless she’d breeze in only for her own scenes. But his disappointment was almost tangible.

Peeta opened the front shop and kept it running while Rye and their father walked the crew through the back, mapping out electrical outlets and places where spotlighting could be temporarily installed. Occasionally, the sound of laughter floated forward, but for the most part it was a typical Tuesday morning. The regulars wandered in and out, and he chatted with everyone, the comfort of familiarity soothing him.

He had just packed up some cookies for old Sae’s granddaughter when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Standing in the doorway of the shop was a ghost. Katniss Everdeen.

She wasn’t dressed like Kat Flickerman. Instead of a chef’s coat and crisp black pants, she was wearing jeans and a muted orange sweater. Her black hair was in the braid he remembered from their school days, long and thick, glinting blue in the morning sun. She was stunning.

She’d been glancing around the front shop but then froze, lifting her eyes to Peeta’s, as if feeling the weight of his stare. So many times in school she’d caught him staring, and each time he’d looked away quickly, blushing. But not today. Today he held her silver gaze. And then she smiled. “Katniss,” he whispered, or maybe he just thought it. Either way, her smile widened.

“Hello, Peeta,” she said, and his name in her mouth evoked a rush of arousal so potent he was certain she could see it stealing across his face. “It’s been a long time.”

“Five years,” he said without even realizing. He was stunned she even knew his name. Her eyes widened a little, but her soft smile didn’t fall.

“It looks exactly the same in here,” she said, and Peeta stiffened. It was true that the decor hadn’t changed in a long time, except for the addition of some of his paintings, and the fancy European coffeemaker he’d insisted on when he became a partner after college. He’d always thought that was part of the charm of Mellark’s, it’s dependability. He viewed the warm wood and twinkling glass as classic, elegant. But he’d watched enough of Kat Flickerman’s shows to know that she was seeing only tired and shabby. It hurt to envision what her team might do.

“Well,” he drawled. “Not much ever changes in Twelve.”

“You have,” she said, her eyes sweeping over him and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. She was right, though it felt kind of shitty to be reminded. In high school, he’d been all state in wrestling, had worked out every day and watched his diet carefully to make weight. Had been even more serious about his sport in college, until a torn ACL killed that. Nowadays, he stayed fit running and playing pick-up football with the guys. He was in good shape, but he knew he wasn’t lean like before. “Yeah,” she said, distracted, her pink tongue snaking out to sweep over her lower lip. He had the distinct impression that she was checking him out. But that couldn’t be. “You look good,” she murmured.

He crooked an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

Her eyes widened. “I just, uh. I mean. Working here. If, uh. If I worked here I’d weigh a ton for sure.”

Peeta laughed; Katniss couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. She’d always been tiny. “You’re around food every day,” he said. She shrugged.

“But everything you make is fantastic.”

A small, pleased smile teased his lips. But before he could respond, one of the Capitol people came through the swinging doors that separated the front shop. “Kat,” she practically yelled. “We weren’t expecting you for a few hours yet, we haven’t started assembling the tasting.”

Katniss stiffened, seeming to grow taller and more menacing before Peeta’s eyes. Her expression darkened and shuttered, a mask sliding into place. It was a fascinating and frightening process. The woman who acknowledged Cressida with a scowl bore only a superficial resemblance to the woman Peeta had been chatting with.

“I told you I would be choosing the menu items to feature,” Katniss said, and the frostiness of her tone made Peeta shiver.

“Of course,” the other woman said. “We could start now?” All of Cressida’s brashness faded into supplication.

Rye and their father had come into the frontshop and were watching the exchange warily. Peeta stood back as Cressida introduced the rest of his family to Kat. “We can set up in the office,” Mr. Mellark said.

Katniss nodded and followed the others through the swinging doors. His father turned back to Peeta. “Could you bring back some coffee?” he asked, and Peeta’s heart sank. Twenty-six years old, and still low man on the totem pole, still the one who was given the grunt jobs, relegated to the wings, or just dismissed outright. As much as he loved the family business, he hated the family dynamic.

Stuck in the shadows or not, Peeta remembered a few things about Katniss that the rest of his family didn’t know, and one of those was her hatred of coffee. Oh, it was likely that she’d learned to tolerate it over the years, as he’d done himself. Still, he thought as he steamed milk; coffee drinkers are born, not made.

He carried a tray ladened with hot beverages back to the room that acted as staff lounge and office for the Mellark men and the handful of part-timers they employed. Already, half-filled plates littered the table top, various bakery items cut open, then abandoned. And at the head of the table like a queen commanding her court was Katniss, still wearing her Kat Flickerman expression, sheafs of yellow notebook paper scattered around her. Peeta set the tray of coffee in the middle of the table, but he grabbed the lone different cup and placed it wordlessly beside Katniss, then backed away, unwilling to disrupt her.

He couldn’t resist glancing back as he exited the room, and he found Katniss watching his retreat, surprise in her silver eyes and the barest hint of a smile stealing across her lush lips as she traced the rim of the mug of hot chocolate he’d brought her with a single slender finger.

o-o-o

Peeta was busy the rest of the day, manning the ovens, covering the phones, serving the lunch rush. His father reappeared a few times to make more coffee or grab something specific from the display cases, but there wasn’t an opportunity to talk. And with Rye occupied in the back, catering to the Capitolites, there wasn’t time for Peeta to take a break either. By the time the rush was over, and Peeta staggered to the back full-bladdered and empty-stomached, the film crew - and Kat Flickerman - were gone. His father was cleaning up the mess they’d left behind in the office, and Rye was staring at a sheet of yellow paper with a particularly sour expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” Peeta asked as he stuffed half a day-old scone in his mouth. Rye grunted, and tossed the paper his way.

“They want all of this ready and plated for that woman tomorrow evening.”

Peeta scanned the list. There were only six items, and all were things they’d typically make anyway. All except the goat cheese and apple tart - they hadn’t made that particular recipe in years. “I don’t understand–” he started, but Rye cut him off.

“She hated everything, she’s going to rip us to shit.” Peeta rolled his eyes, but held his tongue. There was no point in reminding Rye that this had all been his idea.

“It’s going to be fine,” their father’s tired voice broke the silence. “She never said she hated anything, Rye.”

“You saw her,” he barked. “Cutting everything up, barely picking at it before tossing it aside. Big city bitch, probably never tasted real bakery bread in her life.” It was on the tip of Peeta’s tongue to tell his brother that not only was Katniss not a big city girl, but he knew for certain she’d had Mellark’s cheese buns before. But before he could defend Katniss, Rye turned back to him and smirked. “She wants you to be the one on camera with her.”

Peeta nearly choked on his scone. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sneered. “Guess she can tell you’re easy to push around. Bet she makes you cry.” Rye had inherited their late mother’s cruel streak, though he hadn’t aimed it in Peeta’s direction much since her death.

“Fuck you, Rye,” Peeta spat. Rye only laughed.

“Save the backbone for the camera.”

“Boys,” their father groaned, but Peeta had had enough.

“You can close up alone, asshole,” he snipped at Rye, tossing his apron on the table and heading out the back door.

o-o-o

Filming would take place after normal working hours, when the bakery was closed, both to keep compliant with health codes, and to keep small-town busybodies from trying to usurp the spotlight. But that didn’t change the fact that it was a Wednesday. There were customers to serve and orders to fulfil on top of the list of bakery items the show producers wanted ready for closing.

Apparently, Rye’s bad mood persisted. He stormed into the kitchen hours late, after Peeta had done the entire morning prep himself and had been forced to call in frontshop reinforcements - his father and one of the summer students. Rye bashed around the kitchen and snapped at the customers for an hour until their father simply sent him home again.

“He’s just jealous,” Mr. Mellark told his younger son, “Because Katniss asked for you specifically.”

Peeta looked up from the cookie he was painting with delicate white blossoms and arrow-shaped leaves. “You remember her?” he asked, though it was clear his father did. The older man laughed.

“I’m not yet senile, Peet,” he smiled. “She looks different on television, but seeing her in person yesterday, she hasn’t changed much from that little girl who used to come in here with her daddy way back when.”

Peeta chuckled. “I’d say she’s changed a whole lot, Dad. She used to be so reserved.”

“I have a feeling she still is,” he said cryptically. “She certainly wasn’t having any of your brother’s flirting.” Peeta huffed out a laugh; after the way Rye had treated him over the previous twenty-four hours, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit of pleasure in the idea that Rye had struck out.

His own crush on Katniss had nothing to do with that satisfaction.

“She’s a big celebrity now, Dad. She wouldn’t have time for a small-town baker.”

“Not so sure about that either, but Rye wasn’t the baker she was watching,” he muttered before wandering out to the front shop to help the lone part-timer clean up.

Peeta didn’t have time to ponder what his father meant. There were still cupcakes to frost and cheese buns to bake, and the film crew was due within the hour.

o-o-o

A prep team came twenty minutes before closing to get him ready, parking their small trailer in the lot out back. They clipped and tousled and gelled his hair, then powdered his face. Peeta had dressed in a nice blue button down shirt, but that was nixed in favour of a soft red Henley the crew brought along with them, surprisingly in the right size. They even let him push the sleeves up, the way he was most comfortable.

The woman who arrived later with the film crew was the one he knew from television. In a starched white chef’s jacket, and with hair and makeup done, she was gorgeous, fierce, unforgettable.

Peeta was a goner.

He barely saw her, though, as the director demanded his attention, coaching him on what to expect. “Kat doesn’t work well with being told what to say,” she admitted. “So all of the questions tonight will be unscripted.” Peeta nodded. “Think of it as a laid-back chat with a friend,” Cressida smiled, and Peeta barely bit back a snort. Twelve years in the same schools and they’d barely exchanged ten words; a conversation with Katniss Everdeen would be anything but relaxed.

Another half hour of explaining camera blocking and marks, and finally Cressida led him to the front shop, which had been transformed into a stage. Hot lights blinded him, microphones dangled over his head and it felt like a thousand people were crammed into the space.

Then she was there, Katniss. But no, not Katniss, Kat Flickerman. Aloof and business-like, gorgeous but cold. Untouchable.

Everything went exactly as Cressida had explained. Kat asked him questions, about the history of the shop, about the recipes, about the little town where they’d both grown up (though she didn’t mention that part).

Though Peeta was gregarious by nature, this was so far out of his comfort zone, the cameras, the crowd, all of them fixated on him, watching him interact stiffly with the woman he’d had a crush on since before he even knew what that meant. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and more than once he stammered, fell over his own tongue or outright blanked on an answer. He could feel Katniss’s frustration mounting. The fourth (fifth? thirtieth?) time it happened, Katniss cringed and turned away. “Clear the set,” she bellowed.

The crew leapt to attention; within moments, they were alone. Peeta stared at his shoes while he waited for Katniss to dismiss him too. His father was back in the office, perhaps he could take over and save the show.

Then a small, cool hand landed on his forearm, startling him from his misery. “Take a deep breath,” she said. Her voice was gentle, not Kat Flickerman anymore, but Katniss, the woman he often thought of as his Katniss, though she wasn’t that either. But she smiled at him, the barest quirk of her perfect peach lips. And a deep, guttural sigh escaped him as he started to relax. “Good,” she murmured, her hand on his arm squeezing lightly. “Feeling better?” He could only nod.

She pulled over the plate with the delicate painted cookies, smiling softly at the flowers she clearly recognized. “These were always my favourite when I was a kid,” she murmured.

Peeta looked up in confusion. He knew how much Katniss liked Mellark’s cheese buns, but he couldn’t remember a single time she’d bought the cookies. As if reading his mind, she shrugged. “I’ve never eaten one,” she admitted, softly. “They’re far too pretty to eat. But I used to come by with my sister and look at them in the display window.

He could see it in his mind’s eye; Katniss, her hair in two glossy braids, holding the hand of a smaller blonde girl, both peeking through the window. “Not very often,” she whispered. “Your mom was kind of scary, she’d chase us off if we got too close to the glass.”

Peeta cringed, and started to apologize, but Katniss waved him off. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, still speaking softly, intimately. “You’ve never been anything but kind, always.” She looked away, laughing just lightly under her breath. “I always wondered how you could be so nice, having grown up with her.”

He shrugged, and deflected. “You should try a cookie now. Better late than never.”

Her smile widened, and it transformed her face, elevating her from beautiful to radiant. “Better late than never,” she murmured.

She didn’t eat the cookie, but they continued to talk, and Peeta got more and more comfortable. They talked about recipes - the age-old traditional wares that Mellark’s had been making for generations and the newer flavours and he and Rye enjoyed experimenting with. She admitted that she’d asked for the apple and goat cheese tart because it was one she remembered fondly, something her father had loved all of those years ago.

He filled her in on the things that had happened in Twelve since she moved away, their classmates, who had gotten married, who had children now. She was engrossed and engaged, reminiscing about people Peeta hadn’t even been sure she knew. She laughed at his anecdotes, and it was like bells ringing, clear and bright.

He even found himself telling her how much he loved the bakery, but how he longed to make it more, how he wanted Mellark’s to be a gathering spot, in tradition of the great Parisian cafés. “Have you been to Paris, Peeta?” she asked, and his smile faltered a little. Here he was talking about big cosmopolitan ideas when he’d never even left the district. Katniss, he knew, had been everywhere, had reviewed restaurants not just in Paris, but in Milan and Amsterdam and Vienna… what a fool she must think him, backward, small-town boy with grandiose ideas. He shook his head, embarrassed.

Katniss didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Paris is awful,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Crowded and loud and it smells like cigarettes and pee.” Peeta laughed lightly and she grinned at him, disarming him completely. “But Twelve isn’t any of those things,” she murmured. “I think this is a perfect spot for a café. People are already drawn here, they already gather at Mellarks. It’s always been so warm and inviting here.” Her words tugged at his heart. That’s exactly how he’d always felt about the family business too, how he’d always hoped others would see it. “I know I’d love to sit here and watch the world go by.”

“With a hot chocolate?” Peeta teased lightly, and she looked away, shyly.

“And a cheese bun,” she murmured.

“I wish you would,” he said, barely breathing. “Come back sometime, I mean.” She met his eyes then, and a myriad of emotions played across her expressive face. He just couldn’t understand what they meant.

She took his hand, shocking him with how good, how intensely right it felt. She guided him over to where the largest of his paintings hung, a spring landscape of the meadow that was on the edge of town, dotted with clover and dandelions. “This is yours, isn’t it?” He nodded. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed reverently. She paused, and Peeta could see her weighing her words. “I always thought you’d make a career in art, open a gallery maybe.”

Peeta sighed, looking down at where their hands were still linked. He knew she wasn’t intentionally trying to pick at the barely-healed wound of his dead dreams, but it stung.

“You were always drawing in school,” Katniss continued, oblivious to his turmoil. “You designed the yearbook cover one year, and you won that award when we were seniors.” She trailed off, and they stood silently for several long moments. Finally, Peeta blew out a forceful breath.

“My eldest brother was supposed to take over the bakery. He and my mom, they, uh. There was a car accident,” he whispered, voice cracking. He’d been offered a job right out of college, with a studio in the Capitol, but the accident that took his mother and brother forced him home. Katniss squeezed his hand, hard.

“I heard,” she admitted, and it surprised Peeta. The accident was almost four years ago, well after she moved her mother and sister out of this dumpy town, never to return. “I’m sorry.”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Anyway, my dad was all alone here after that, trying to run this place. So Rye and I agreed to become partners.”

They stood silently, looking over the meadow painting, lost in their thoughts. “Are you happy, Peeta?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“Sometimes,” he said. He was happy in that moment, talking with the girl of his dreams, holding her hand, feeling the warmth of her body just inches away. He was happy right then, and that was something at least.

There was a scuffling sound behind them and they sprang apart. It was the red-headed cameraman, tucked unobtrusively to the side. Peeta hadn’t noticed his return until that moment, so focussed was he on Katniss, on talking and connecting with her, something he had never imagined possible.

But all good things must come to an end. “Do you think you can go on? Just the three of us?” Katniss asked. And Peeta nodded.

o-o-o

It was late when Peeta finally staggered home to the apartment he shared, often reluctantly, with Rye. The set tear-down had been pandemonium, people and equipment flying like a tempest, a whirlwind of follow up questions and paperwork and releases and by the time he could take a deep breath, Katniss was gone, slipped away like a thief in the night without even a farewell, before he could ask her if she’d like to go out with him sometime. And while he was trying not to be disappointed, the fact that after they’d shared what he had thought was a real connection she’d simply vanished without a word hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“How did it go?” Rye’s voice drifted from their shared living room. Peeta popped his head in. Rye was slumped on the couch, a tumbler of what could only be whiskey balanced on his thigh.

“Seemed okay,” Peeta said, carefully. It was hard enough to gauge Rye’s mood when he wasn’t drinking, with the addition of alcohol he wasn’t sure which version of his brother he’d find.

Rye smirked, then lifted his other hand, tipping the bottle in Peeta’s direction. “Have a drink with me,” he said. Still, Peeta hesitated. Rye shook his head. “I’m not going to rip your head off, little brother.”

Peeta grabbed a glass from the sideboard and Rye filled it with a couple of fingers of liquid fire. For a while, they simply sipped in silence. “I’m sorry I was a dick earlier,” Rye said quietly.

Knowing how much it cost his brother to apologize, Peeta nodded. He wasn’t really a grudge holder anyway. “It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s not though.” Rye sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “I was really hoping this show would be the wake-up call Dad needed to let us make real changes at the bakery. It was supposed to be him in front of the camera, getting dressed down by that woman. When she insisted on you, I saw red.” Rye sighed, and downed the remainder of his glass. “You know he’s going to blame us now for every shitty thing she says.” Rye’s bleary eyes met Peeta’s. “If we’re going to be stuck here forever, we should at least be able to drag this place into the modern era.”

Peeta felt a pang of sympathy for his brother. He wasn’t the only one who’d had to give up his dreams for the future to come help their father run the business that neither of them had ever planned on inheriting. Rye’d had big city plans and a big city girlfriend who dumped him when he moved back home to sleepy District Twelve. He had every right to be bitter, even if he sometimes chose inappropriate targets to lash out at.

“She didn’t say anything mean, anyway,” Peeta said. “The whole thing was pretty tame. Not at all what I was expecting.” The beginning had been rough, but he felt good about what they’d filmed after he’d calmed down. He thought he’d presented Mellark’s in a pretty good light, all things told.

“Naw,” Rye said with a sigh. “They’ll add all of that in later. It’s always voiceovers.” That idea shocked Peeta. Was that possible? Would the screaming, nasty Kat Flickerman only make an appearance in the finished version? Surely not?

o-o-o

Days, and then weeks, passed, and while Peeta thought about Katniss often, there wasn’t a peep from her. Not an email, not a phone call, nothing. A cameraman returned to film some exterior and kitchen shots, and though Peeta tried to ask him about Katniss, he was all but mute on the subject.

There had been something between them, that evening in the bakery, he was sure of it, sure she’d felt it too. He couldn’t understand why she’d disappeared. She hadn’t even said goodbye. As if he hadn’t mattered at all.

Rye’s words rolled around his head, festered, made him doubt everything from that day. He compulsively rewatched old episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, looking for any hint that the screaming and cursing was added in after the fact. It was impossible to tell. But with every installment, his memories of sweet Katniss faded, replaced by the snarling mutt.

With every day that passed, his mood plummeted further. Because Rye was right: the majority of the screaming and vitriol could well have been voiced over. He just couldn’t tell what was real and what was not real

A message on the bakery phone almost two months after the filming convinced him. One of the producers wanted to give them a ‘heads up’ on what to expect for the broadcast, scheduled for the next week. It could only have been a warning. He was about to appear on national television looking like a chump, as useless and pathetic as his mother had always told him he was. Peeta deleted the message without even telling his father or brother about it.

There were two more calls after that. Peeta deleted both of those messages too, unheard. The only thing he couldn’t delete was the ache in his heart.

Every gentle thing she’d said to relax him, to ease him back in front of the camera, it had all been lies. Katniss, no, Kat, had used their past, their tenuous connection, just to manipulate him. Just to make him look like the idiot he was.

o-o-o

“I booked the lodge for our viewing party.”

Peeta glanced up from the wedding cake he was working on to stare at his father in confusion. “What?”

“With how many people want to watch the show, I can’t fit them all in at the house.” Peeta’s father still stubbornly lived alone in the bungalow where Peeta had grown up. It was large enough to host two dozen or so, at least.

“They all have televisions, they can watch at home,” Peeta grumbled. Despite his best efforts to ignore the existence of Kat Flickerman’s show entirely, the local station had been aggressively promoting the upcoming episode. Someone from the morning news had been in the week before, interviewing Rye and their father. Peeta had refused to take part.

“My boy,” his father laughed, steadfastly ignoring Peeta’s pique, as he had for weeks. As they’d all done for weeks. His mood had gotten progressively worse the more he thought about Katniss and how she’d used him, and he knew everyone around him could tell. “This is a great occasion! Our little bakery on national television. Of course we’re going to celebrate with all of our friends and customers.” Peeta cringed, but his father continued, undeterred. “I wish my own father was here to see it.”

The reminder of how much this meant to his father had Peeta feeling even worse. “Dad, it’ll be embarrassing, for all of us. I’m going to look like an idiot. People are going to stay away from Mellark’s after that.” He knew he sounded petulant but he didn’t care.

His father smiled. “I spoke with that director, Peet, the one with the strange tattoos? She called the house the other night.” Peeta groaned inwardly; he’d underestimated that woman’s tenacity. “She says the show looks great, that you were a natural.” Peeta knew there was no point arguing with his father. Once the elder Mellark had his mind set, he was intractable.

“How many people did you invite?” Peeta groused.

“Oh sixty, maybe. Plus the guys from the bowling league.” Peeta’s heart sank; at this rate, the entire town was going to be witness to his humiliation. “But don’t worry, I’m having Rooba cater it.”

“Geez, Dad, don’t you think that’s too much?” The elder Mellark set down his own piping bag and grasped his son’s shoulders, turning him until they were face to face.

“What’s gotten into you, son? You’re not usually this pessimistic,” he said, his hands squeezing soothingly. It took every bit of Peeta’s strength to hold his tongue. As much as he loved his father, the shame was his alone to bear.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I just don’t think it went very well.” The two men stared at each other, and Peeta knew without a doubt that his father hadn’t bought his explanation. But he wasn’t ready to share his heartbreak, his stupidity. He’d been so caught up in that long-held crush he’d almost willfully ignored reality. Mr. Mellark simply sighed.

“I wish you’d talk to me Peeta. But okay.” He clapped Peeta on the shoulder, and turned back to his work.

o-o-o

Three days before the show was to air, there was a call on Peeta’s cell from an unfamiliar number. He let it go to voicemail. The bakery phone had been ringing non-stop it seemed with calls from media outlets, wanting interviews in advance of the airing. He assumed one of his well-meaning friends had given his number to someone at the D12 Gazette.

But when he picked up the message later, he nearly dropped his phone in the sink.

It was Katniss.

The message was brief, simply a request for him to return her call and a number, her number.

Peeta had no intention of calling her back. But it didn’t stop him from listening to the message five, ten, fifteen times.

There were two more messages the next day. He wanted to delete them unheard, but he couldn’t. Even wounded and wary, the bone-deep need to hear her voice prevailed. The content of each was the same, but her tone seemed progressively more urgent. The sound of her voice, the way she called herself Katniss instead of Kat, all of it pulled at his heartstrings, confused him even more.

The same cowardice and insecurity that had kept him from seeking her out their whole childhood silenced him now. Though his fingers twitched to redial her number, he did nothing.

o-o-o

“I said no, Dad.” Peeta knew he was being petulant but on this point he was firm: he was not going to his father’s viewing party. He’d capitulated to helping his father set up, he wasn’t a complete dick. But he’d decided the best thing for him to do would be to hole up in his apartment during the actual airing.

If only because he couldn’t get a last minute flight out of the country.

Rye, ironically, had been the most understanding about Peeta’s desire to avoid the show and all of the insanity their father was planning around it. “I’ll text you,” he said the evening before, when Peeta told him he wasn’t even intending on watching. “Let you know how bad it is.”

“I just don’t understand what you’re afraid of,” Mr. Mellark said with a shake of his head. “You’re going to be on national television, it’s exciting. The promos look terrific.” Those, Peeta had been unable to avoid. And while they hadn’t looked scathing, he no longer trusted his instincts.

“You’ve watched her other shows,” he groaned, the thousandth time he’d made the same argument, but his father was having none of it.

“This was different and you know it. You had a connection with Katniss, we could all see it.”

“Stop,” Peeta barked, and his father’s eyes widened. Peeta cringed, sad and ashamed of himself for taking his foul mood out on his father. “That was just for the cameras,” he said softly, giving voice to what his head had been telling him for weeks. “None of that was real.”

“You’re wrong, Peet. I know what I saw.”

“You know I had a crush on her, that’s all,” Peeta groaned, but his father cut him off.

“No,” has said firmly. “I saw how she looked at you.”

“Then why did she disappear? Two months, Dad, and not a word.” It wasn’t completely accurate, but Peeta wasn’t going to mention the messages to his father, who would surely read more into them than was there.

“I don’t know, son. Maybe for the same reason you’re avoiding her now.” Peeta shot a startled look at his father, who simply shook his head.

o-o-o

Peeta paced his apartment like a caged tiger, the dark television taunting him. The broadcast was scheduled to start any minute, his father’s party was more than an hour old, and he was alone with only a six pack of microbrew and his demons to keep him company.

One last message had come to his phone just a couple of hours earlier, a text message this time. Please talk to me, Peeta, was all it read. He’d been so tempted, so damned tempted to reply. Had started typing a dozen times, but erased every word. What could they possibly have to say to each other now? Too much time had passed.

The television called to him though, a siren song he was powerless to resist. He told himself he’d only watch the beginning, would shut it off as soon as she started yelling. But the moment Katniss appeared onscreen in the opening credits, beautiful face larger than life with glossed lips smirking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to look away.

The tone of the program was markedly different from her Kitchen Nightmares shows. The camera showed flattering pictures of the exterior and interior of the bakery while his own voice spoke overtop, recounting the history, the generations of Mellarks who had lovingly built the bakery into the the hub of District Twelve that it was.

But that was only the beginning.

The video unfurled almost like a love letter. But not to the bakery, or not exactly anyway. Instead, it showed Peeta himself, over and over. Peeta painstakingly frosting gorgeous cupcakes. Peeta laughing with a customer. Peeta kneeling before one of the small children that frequented the shop, handing her a cookie from the jar he kept behind the counter. Typical scenes from his everyday work, scenes he hadn’t even realized he’d been filmed in. Over and over he was shown smiling, laughing, creating.

Finally, Kat Flickerman began to speak. Rye was right that her part would be voiceovers, would be words she hadn’t spoken during the interview. But there was no swearing, no cursing. No yelling about the quality of the food or the shabbiness of the surroundings. No idiot sandwiches.

Kat Flickerman, Katniss, talked about the warm, welcoming atmosphere at Mellark’s, the three kind bakers who treated every customer like a friend. She paraphrased Peeta’s own hushed confessions about the improvements he wanted to make, and presented them as if they were things already planned to be implemented. Peeta, sitting on the couch in his apartment, laughed out loud. Somehow, Katniss had managed to manipulate the entire show in a way that would force his father to bring Mellark’s into the modern era after all. As if she knew exactly what he wanted.

Of course, she had known. He’d told her, when they’d spoken so intimately, about his hopes. He hadn’t realized how closely she was listening. But now, as he thought back, he understood that she’d directed their discussion back to his dreams for the future, time and again, and then worked all of those things into the show.

All but the one he hadn’t confessed. How he felt about her. How he thought she was gorgeous, more radiant than the sun. And now, because he’d wasted so long being wounded, he’d never get the chance.

His phone buzzed near continuously on the table beside him, but he didn’t spare it a glance.

As the ending credits rolled, there was a gentle tap-tap-tap at the apartment door. It could have been any number of people, friends or neighbours who knew he was home. But as he stood to answer, he was struck with the certainty that it was Katniss standing on the other side.

His hands shook as he unbolted the door and pulled it open. She wore a dress the colour of candlelight, her hair was loose and she had just a hint of makeup. “You didn’t come to the party,” she said, a glint of accusation in her silver eyes.

“I didn’t know you’d be there,” he said honestly, unblinking as he took her in. As if he could have forgotten how beautiful she was, watching her shows compulsively over the past few weeks. But the camera never captured her luminosity, the way she lit up a room, commanded the attention of everyone within it. He was awestruck.

“Your father invited me,” she murmured. “Can I come in?” Peeta shook off his stupor and ushered her into his space with a muttered apology.

The television still blared, playing a Food Network promo, and Peeta quickly muted it. “Did, you, uh. Did you want a drink? Beer?” Peeta asked, not meeting her eyes. She nodded.

Only when they were settled side by side on his couch did Katniss speak again. “You watched?” It wasn’t a question, not really. Peeta nodded. She raised a single eyebrow at him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he said quietly. She frowned.

“You were waiting for me to scream, rip apart your family business, destroy your reputation?” There was no amusement in her tone. Peeta felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Kind of,” he admitted.

She’s silent for a long time, picking at the edge of the label on her bottle. “Did you really think I’d do that to you?” she asked, and there was a fragility, a vulnerability to the words.

Peeta sighed. “I didn’t know what to think,” he said.

“I thought…” She sighed. “The way we… connected,” she whispered. “I guess I thought you’d know.”

Peeta battled with himself briefly, whether to be honest with her or not. The warm room, the beer and the uncertainty in her eyes convinced him. “I couldn’t tell what was real,” he said, “and what was for the camera.”

“You really thought I’d manipulate you like that?” Katniss stared at the bottle in her hands, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I know my reputation, I know that people think I’m a bitch,” she said softly. “But we’ve known each other since we were children. I thought you knew me. The real me, at least a little.” She glanced up at him and his breath caught. She was so open, so guileless. But he still wasn’t certain what to believe.

“We never really spoke, back then,” he said. “And I know that was my fault. I was a coward.”

Katniss shook her head. “You were always kind, even when no one else noticed I existed. You saved me back then, you know. When my mom lost herself.” Those stunning silver eyes searched his own. “I owe you.”

“You’ve never owed me anything,” Peeta said, but Katniss wasn’t done talking. She set her bottle on the table and turned slightly to face him.

“That’s why I did this show. To pay you back.” Peeta was more confused than ever. “I had a plan,” she continued. “When I heard that you were here, instead of in the Capitol, I started lobbying the network to create this show.”

“What?”

“Delly Cartwright,” she said. “My sister keeps in touch with her brother. She said that you were back home, running the bakery. It took awhile to get the go-ahead for this show.” He’d been at the bakery more than three years, surely she didn’t mean that long? “I’ve always kept track of you,” she said, answering his unasked question.

“Why?” His voice was hoarse. She shrugged helplessly. “You disappeared, after the taping,” he blurted. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was really confused. And afraid.”

“Of me?” Peeta was incredulous.

“I’ve never been able to forget you, Peeta. I only intended on breezing in, giving you some publicity, then leaving again.” She brushed her hands together, as if wiping him away. “I thought paying you back would get you out of my mind.” Peeta flinched; that hurt to hear. He dropped his gaze to the bottle in his hands and swallowed back his disappointment.

“But then I got here,” she continued. “And you were even nicer than I remembered. And…” He glanced up at the pause. She was biting her bottom lip, her cheeks were flaming. “And even more handsome. I didn’t expect to be so attracted to you,” she whispered.

They stared at each other, the air between them charged. Then Katniss began to squirm, as if embarrassed.

“I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I can remember,” Peeta said, and Katniss’s eyes widened.

“Me?” she squeaked.

“You really don’t understand the effect you have on me. That’s why I was such a doofus when you were at the bakery. I’ve never known how to talk to you.”

“You did just fine,” she smiled, tiny and tentative, but real. “I didn’t want to leave. It, uh. Well, it scared the crap out of me. I’m not very good with people.”

“You’re here now,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Katniss said. “But I want to find out.”

She shuffled just a tiny bit closer to him, and he reached out a tentative hand to cup her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, thick black lashes brushing her cheek. When he finally pressed his lips against hers, she sighed, and in that tiny, involuntary noise he found certainty.

The kiss was slow, almost chaste, a teaser of what could be possible.

A slow smile spread across his face as he pulled back, staring into her hazy silver eyes. Was it possible, that they could be on the same page? But as quickly as the hope flared it his chest, it was extinguished. Katniss, Kat, had a life, a busy life full of travel and tapings and all of it far from sleepy District Twelve. What they shared at the bakery, what they were sharing now, that was all they’d ever get. His hand dropped into his lap, his eyes followed suit.

“I, um. I’m going to be producing the new show out of a little studio in Victor’s Village,” she said. “I signed the lease on the studio space three weeks ago.” They were still so close that he could feel the words on his skin, a caress. A promise.

Victor’s Village was only a twenty minute drive away. Peeta shook his head, certain he’d heard wrong. “I thought you lived in the Capitol?”

“I do, or, well, I did anyway,” Katniss said. “I moved my mother there as soon as I could afford to. It was too hard for her, being in Twelve, surrounded by all of her memories.” Katniss pursed her lips, and Peeta’s eyes were drawn to them, plump and perfectly kissable. Lips he’d now tasted, after so many years of imagining. “But it’s the opposite for me,” she continued. “I hate the Capitol, I hate the noise and the crowds and the smell. Being back here, it made me realize how much I missed it. Missed home.”

“You’re going to be living in Victor’s Village?” Peeta asked, still struggling to understand what was happening. Katniss shrugged.

“I was thinking twenty minutes isn’t such a bad commute. Maybe…” she trailed off, then sighed. “Maybe it’s time for me to come home, where I belong.”

“To Twelve?” He could hardly breathe.

“I’d still have to travel a lot, for filmings. But yeah.” She laughed. “The people here, they don’t care about Kat Flickerman. To them, I’m Russ Everdeen’s kid, not some hot shot television personality. I walked here, from your dad’s party, and there was no paparazzi, no TMZ following my every move. There was just old Mr. Mitchell waving at me from his porch and asking after my mother.”

This time, Katniss reached for him, her small hand cool against his feverish skin. “And you’re here,” she whispered, just before she kissed him. This time, he was the one moaning as her tongue curled around his own.

With a little tug, she was in his lap, and he marvelled at how perfectly her body fit against his, how right she felt in his arms. Kissing Katniss Everdeen was incredible, something he was certain he’d never get enough of.

“Peeta,” she whispered against his lips. “I want–”

The door to the apartment crashed open, startling Peeta, pulling them apart. “Peet, why aren’t you answering your phone? You’ll never– oh.” Rye stood before them, slack-jawed. Katniss buried her face in Peeta’s shoulder, but he could feel her smile.  

“Okay,” Rye chuckled. “Yeah. This uh. This makes a lot of sense. I’ll just…” He turned back towards the door.

“Rye,” Peeta called before his brother could leave. “Is Dad okay?”

Rye glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “Yeah, man. He really is. I’ll tell you more later. Or tomorrow.” And with one last laugh, he was gone.

“Cockblocked,” Peeta groaned, and Katniss laughed, hugging him tightly. He stroked her hair as his heart rate slowed.

Peeta smiled down at the woman in his arms, who was still laughing softly. He kissed the tip of her nose. Though he longed to go right back to making out with her, he was grateful for the interruption. After waiting so long, they both deserved to do things right. “Have you eaten?” he asked. She shook her head. “Let me take you out for dinner,” he said, the words he’d wanted to say all of those weeks ago.

“I’d like that,” Katniss smiled.

————–

I wish you would write a fic where...

i have a Prompt for the queen : Jo asks Effie for advice about a man she likes or a crush or something

Here you go! [X] or [X]

Always Love

Plutarch’s house was impressive and everythingEffie would have aspired to once upon a time. Five years after the war though,she found it… lacking. It was tooostensibly grand, not quite as cold and soulless as her parents’ house had beenbut close enough that she felt uncomfortable in it.

The crux of the matter, she decided as sheslipped away from the room where everyone was gathered to get some air on thebalcony, was that she missed Twelve and their home even if they hadn’t beengone for more than two days by that point.

It would be a long week, she mused. A very, very long week.

She just hoped they would survive this fifthanniversary of the rebellion.

The garden at the back of the house was small,which was not surprising given that the house was in the heart of the city, andthere wasn’t much to see in the dark aside for the high hedge that separatedthem from the neighbor’s property.

She leaned against the stone balustrade andlistened to the echoes of voices inside. Plutarch’s and Fulvia’s dominated, ofcourse, trying to pretend everything was fine just like they had been from thestart of the evening. The tensions though…

Katniss and Peeta had remained in Twelve,declining to attend on the condition that they would make a filmed apparitionat the local celebrations. Annie had been spared the chore on account on herson but she would be expected to show up on camera in Four too.

The rest of them hadn’t been granted the sameliberty. Well, aside for her whohadn’t been invited and strongly advised to stay as far away from cameras asshe could manage. It had enraged Haymitch to the point he had clearly statedthat he would come with her at his arm or not at all. Apparently, they weremore interested in parading Haymitch around than in keeping the last breathingescort from the public.

Still, Haymitch hadn’t wanted to come in thefirst place, had dragged his feet all the way and she could understand him.

Cressida and Polux, at least, were happy to bethere and to see everyone. Gale Hawthorne seemed equally content to seeeveryone again – except for her, who he had not only ignored but been as rudeto as he could get away with when Haymitch was glaring at him. It suited Effiejust fine, she didn’t really like him. Beetee’s behavior was awkward both withher and Haymitch but she figured it had to do with the Hummingbird Operationthat Twelve’s victor had never forgiven the rebels for. The two of them hadalways been good friends but Effie had the feeling that this friendship wasforever damaged. For the same reasons, Haymitch was cold and distant withPlutarch, treating him more like a colleague than a friend, and in turn it madeFulvia defensive and passive-aggressive. And since she and Fulvia had no lovelost for each other, it made for a tense situation.

“I still say you’re a cheater and one day I’mgonna find out how you do it.” Jo declared, joining her on the balcony.

Effie flashed her an amused smile, glancingback at the sliding doors before fishing a cigarette from the packet Johannawas offering her. Haymitch was busy nodding at whatever Cressida was tellinghim, clearly bored given the way he was making his whiskey twirl in his glass.What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Johanna seemed unconcerned by the less thanstellar evening they were all having – and if Effie had found a way to decline Plutarch’sinvitation to dinner she would havebut, just as he was impossible for the Secretary of Communications not toinvite them, it was impossible for them to refuse without insulting anyone. Thepool table in one of the smallest drawing rooms had been a nice surprise thatthe two of them had jumped on. It had brought back memories. She and Johanna hadhad a habit of playing pool whenever the possibility arose…

… and of Effie kicking her butt – which she hadbeen pleased to notice was still a thing.

“I am simply that good.” she grinned, wedging the cigarette between her lips andcupping her hands around it so Johanna could light it despite the small breeze.

It was a bit too cold to be standing out therewithout a coat for too long but it beat going back inside and facing theawkwardness so she wrapped an arm around her stomach and stomped her right heelto warm her foot. She was glad she had opted for the high-waist dove greytailor pants instead of a skirt even if the lilac blouse she had paired it withwas a little too thin for the weather. The brand new purple shoes she hadbought that afternoon – because there was noway she would come to the city and notdo some shopping, to Haymitch’s utter despair – were killing her and whileit was a familiar sort of ache, it wasn’t one she had felt in a while. Wintersin Twelve required boots to travel through the snow and in summer… Thelandscape wasn’t exactly heels-friendly.

“It’s weird, right?” Johanna cringed aftermaking sure the sliding door was closed and nobody could hear them. She perchedherself on the stone balustrade, her back to the garden, watching what wasgoing on inside. “Too much like before.”

“I know what you mean.” she sighed, flickingashes and resolutely keeping her back to the room.

She didn’t want to see.

Haymitch had been good at keeping his alcoholconsumption to a minimum during the last couple of years. She hadn’t asked himto stop and he had never promised he would but she liked to think they hadfound a compromise that worked for everyone. He went on binges sometimes, baddays happened, she understood that, but for the most part, he kept to two orthree glasses a day. Enough to stop the shakes, not enough to get drunk. It hadbeen a painfully slow process to reduce his daily amount and she was only tooaware of how fragile a balance it was.

They had been back in the city only two daysand already he was compulsively refilling his glass. And tonight… Well, tonightwasn’t helping. By her count, this was his fifth glass of whiskey that evening,not counting the wine at dinner, and she was fairly sure he had already downeda couple before they arrived at Plutarch’s.

The problem, as Johanna had pointed out, wasthat the whole thing was too reminiscent of the Games. A special train had beencommandeered for them by the government, the hotel they had been directed towas as lavish as the penthouse had been, prep teams and stylists had beenassigned to them, there were schedules to follow, a ridiculous amount ofevents, red carpets and parties to attend, people they were expected to knowthe names of… Haymitch hated all of that with passion.

The fact that Effie had been more or less toldto keep a low profile wasn’t helping.

He had stubbornly – and loudly – told Plutarch that he would go nowhere without her and thus the government’s half-cooked plan towhisk her in and out by side doors had been tossed through the window. Effiedid her best to satisfy everyone by staying close to Haymitch but not beingtoo… flamboyant.

“What’s the deal with Haymitch and Beetee?” Joasked.

Effie took a long drag of her cigarette andblew out the smoke, watching it being carried away by the wind. She wasn’t surewhat Johanna knew or not of what had really happened with the Capitol childrenat the City Circle and it wasn’t her place to reveal it. The information wasconfidential for a reason. “They had a disagreement about something. Do notconcern yourself with it.”

Johanna watched her with clear suspicion butthen shrugged and focused on her cigarette for a while. Silence didn’t lastlong though. “Gale doesn’t like you much.”

“You don’t say.” she deadpanned. “It completelyescaped my notice.”

Seven’s victor chuckled. “Can’t blame him. Idon’t like you much either.”

“You like me a little.” she accused with somefondness. She didn’t think she and Johanna would ever manage to be friends inthe traditional sense of the word but… Sharing a cell created bonds that werehard to undo or deny. Sharing a family also made it difficult not to getsomehow closer.

Annie, Johanna and little Finn visited Twelveevery winter so the boy could enjoy some snow and they all spent a week in Fourin summer. It had been a thing for the last four years and if Effie hadanything to say about it, it would continue to be.

“You’re not the worst bitch.” Jo admitted witha wince, as if it was physically painful for her to say as much.

“Why, thankyou.” she replied, rolling her eyes. She took a quick drag before going on.“I am not very fond of him anyway. Not only is he a rude young man but hishistory with Katniss alone…”

“What kind of history are we talking here?”Johanna cut in. “She fucked him?”

Effie hesitated, watching the red glow of hercigarette. “I do not think so. And reallymust you be so vulgar all the time?”

“Then, what?” the victor insisted. “’Cause hewas following her around like a puppy in Thirteen. It was sickening to watch.He had it bad. Maybe not worse thanPeeta but bad.”

“She never discussed it with me.” shecountered. “From what I know he was her best friend and from what I gatheredfrom Haymitch and Peeta, she might have had feelings for him at some point.They had a fallout during the war.”

“And she chose Peeta.” Jo snorted. “Must suckto be the default guy.”

“Peeta is notthe default guy.” she frowned. “And why are you so interested in this all of asudden?”

“Just making sure I’m not stepping on anytoes.” Johanna dismissed. “Not that I care much but I like to know what kind ofmess I’m going in for.”

Effie blinked and then groaned. “Please, do not tell me you plan on seducing GaleHawthorne.”

“Won’t tell you, then.” Jo snickered, crushingher cigarette on the stone balcony only to immediately tug another one from herbattered packet.

“This is a terribleidea.” she warned, crushing the bud of her own cigarette in a similar fashion.She glanced back at the room because she wasn’t sure where to dispose of itproperly but since nobody was paying them any attention and Plutarch had astaff waiting hand on foot on him, she simply tossed it on the floor and nudgedit toward the edge of the balcony. “Truly, Johanna…”

“Not thatterrible.” Seven’s victor cackled and Effie was startled to realize herbrown eyes were sparkling. Johanna’s eyes neversparkled and certainly not like that.“That guy knows how to use his cock.”

“Jo!”she exclaimed in outrage. However her curiosity won over her offended sense ofpropriety. “How do you even know…”

“After the whole execution disaster.” Johannashrugged. “We were stuck here for weeksbefore we were cleared to go to Four, remember?” She remembered little thatdidn’t have to do with Katniss’ trial. That and trying not to let her demonsget the better of her had been her only focus at that time. “He was waiting tobe transferred to his command in Two. He was pissed, I was bored.”

“You slept with him.” she stated just so it wasclear and out there.

“Oh, yeah.”Jo confirmed with a salacious grin and a wriggle of her eyebrows. “Saw himaround a few times too. He came to Four for work a couple of years ago. Istopped in Two on my way to Seven once or twice…”

“You are having an affair with Gale Hawthorne.”she heard herself squeal like a teenager, her eyes wide. She couldn’t have beenmore stunned if Haymitch had come out right there and had asked her to marryhim.

“Not an affair.”the victor denied with a growl. “We just fuck.Sometimes. Used to, at least.”

The happy spark in Johanna’s eyes vanished andthe more familiar scowl was back on her face. The way she took a drag of hercigarette could only be described as angry.

Effie had knownthis meant trouble. Gale Hawthorne was trouble. She was ready to bet he hadbroken up whatever had been going on and had sent her on her merry way now thathe had had whatever he wanted. Men were cruel like that. They grew bored. Theygrew stupid.

Not everyone could be lucky enough to find aHaymitch.

“What happened?” she asked, careful to keep hertone neutral. Much like Twelve’s victor, Johanna had a thing for sympathy. Theyboth tended to mistake it for pity.

“Went to his room last night.” Johanna saidafter a few seconds. “Naked.”

Effie pursed her lips in disapproval becausewhile she admired the tactic – had in fact used it a few times herself – shewas pretty sure that the victor hadn’t bothered hiding under a dressing gown ora coat and had trounced around the hotel corridors in her birthday suit. “Of course, you did.”

Jo shot her an annoyed glare but continued herstory. “He opens the door, looks at me and tells me we’re not doing thisanymore. You believe that? I was there. Naked.And the guy has the nerves to tell meto pack it?” Effie turned around to glare at Gale through the sliding doors. Hemust have sensed that he was being the target of very angry stares because he looked at them, still talking toPlutarch, and lifted – far too cocky –interrogative eyebrows. Johanna actually growled. “Asshole.”

“We can make him pay.” she immediately offeredbecause that was what you did when a man hurt a friend. “I can… Oh, I can start rumors about him havinga micropenis.” She didn’t have the influence she used to but a word here and ahint there should do the trick. There were a ton of journalists following themaround for the celebrations after all. “Orwe could trip him down the stairs at the ball tomorrow. Falling in front of ahundred cameras might bruise his ego.”

Jo didn’t appear to have heard her, too busybeing locked in a staring down contest with the young man. “He’s such an ass. Fuck him. Why can’t he be happy with what he’s got? Any other manwould be glad to have that much. Asshole has the nerves to turn me down when Iknock on his door naked?”

“I toldyou I did not like him.” she huffed, shocked by the smug smile Gale was nowtossing Jo.  “Handsome men always feelthe need to collect conquests and he looks arrogant too.”

Seven’s victor spared her a brief look beforegoing back to her glaring. “You’ve got it backwards.”

“I beg your pardon?” she frowned.

Jo’s foot kicked the stone pillar of thebalustrade with obvious frustration. “Okay, so maybe it happened more than just a few times.”

And Effie’s mind flashed back to Anniementioning Johanna had been going away for a few days at a time now and thenthe last time they had visited them. Seven’s victor had claimed she needed thespace and Annie had just beamed proudly because she was doing alright alone withher son. And since Finn had always been the main focus, nobody had spared athought for what Johanna had been doing away from Four.

“So… It is a relationship?” she hesitated.

“No.”Jo spat. “I’m not the relationship kind of girls. It’s justsex. Awesome sex. At least it was until he went and fucked everything up.”

“By telling you he wanted to put an end to whatseems to me like a casual relationship regardless of the label you want to puton it?” she teased a little.

“By telling me he fucking loves me.” Seven’s victor growled. “Didn’t ask for it, didI? Told him I just wanted the sex and he went on and on about how he couldn’tdo this another time… Like I care what sort of twisted thing he had going onwith Katniss.”

Effie was starting to get a full picture andshe cleared her throat, choosing to inspect her manicure.

“You just asked me about it.” she pointed out.

“Not ‘cause I care.” Johanna denied. “Just toknow. Whose side are you on anyway?”

She ignored that last accusation. “Thisconversation about his feelings… Did it happen last night?”

While the victor was naked in the corridor…

“Last month.” Jo grumbled. “The asshole said hewasn’t going to sleep with me anymore until I figure out what I want. I commitor no more sex.” Seven’s victor made a face. “I told him to go fuck himself. That I was done.”

“But you went to his room last night.” shegrinned.

“I thought maybe he was done being an idiot.”Johanna muttered. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

Effie briefly bit on her bottom lip, restingher hip against the balustrade to study the younger woman. “Do you like him?”

“I like his cock.” Jo retorted crudely. And toofast.

“To the risk of you trying to behead me with anaxe…” She let her sentence trail off but when she only got a glare and noactual threat, she went on, deciding that Johanna had only been seeking heradvice the whole time without actuallyasking. “It seems to me you do havesome feelings for him.” Seven’s victor opened her mouth and Effie hurried inspeaking before she was interrupted. “I am not saying you are in love with himbut perhaps… Perhaps you do like him?Might he be more than just a sex-friend?”

“People don’t go from fuck buddies to… Whatever he wants us to be.” Jo scowled.

“Haymitch and I did.” she offered.

“Please, Trinket.” the victor scoffed. “You’vebeen in love with him for how long?”

“And he did not want anything to do with that.”she shrugged. “Because he was scared of what would happen if we left the casualfor something more serious and, at the time, he had his reasons but now we are safe, Johanna. If you are afraid of…”

“I’m not afraid!” Jo snarled, raising her voiceenough that it carried inside through the closed door. Effie was aware thateveryone had frozen to glance  at them.While most of their friends were good enough to pretend nothing was amiss, Galewas still staring. And now Haymitch was too. Seven’s victor didn’t seem tonotice, too busy glaring and sneering at her. “I’m not afraid and if you everaccuse me of that again, I swear…”

The threat in the victor’s voice was real andEffie probably should have heeded it because, unlike Haymitch, she wasn’t allbark and no bite. She had long moved past her fears for Jo’s abrupt mannersthough. Compared to what Peacekeepers could do…

“You lost people you loved and you feel guiltyabout it.” she interrupted in a soft voice. The first time the Capitol hadtried to sell her, Johanna had stabbed the man, which had resulted in her wholefamily being murdered. In the victor’s mind, she was the one who should be deadand Finnick alive. Never mind the fact that she had been forced to see hermentor, the man who had supported her and helped her after her family’s death,die right in front of her eyes. There was plenty of guilt to go around. “Andyou are scared it will happen again. You feel that way about Annie and Finn toobut you do not have a choice in keeping them with you, do you? At least you donot feel that you have a choice because you think you oweit to Finnick to take care of them. A lover, now… Letting him in would be your choice ultimately. Openingyourself to that possible pain…”

“You’ve become a head doctor?” Jo mocked butEffie didn’t let herself be distracted.

“It isscary, Johanna.” she granted. “But it can be wonderful too. If that man loves you… If he truly loves you…”

“Maybe I can’tlove.” the victor spat. “Ever thought of that?Maybe I don’t even want to. Maybe Ijust…” Johanna shook her head. “What do I even talk to you for? You’re no fucking help. You can’t understand…”

“Oh, I think you can love.” Effie countered. “You love Finn and Annie. And I thinkyou might be a little bit in love with that man too. You cannot let fear ruleyour life or you are letting Snow win. It does not matter if he is dead. If yourun away from something good because you are too scared to lose it… Then youlet him win. And you know what Finnick would say about that…”

Johanna had jumped on her feet at some pointduring her little speech, hands balled into fists and dangerous scowl on herface. For a second, Effie wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to get punched and shewas only too aware that Haymitch and Gale were both making a beeline for thebalcony.

“Fuck you.” Jo spat and then stormed out,bumping into Gale’s shoulder in the process.

“You’re okay?” Haymitch grumbled, immediatelyreaching for Effie’s arm.

“I think Johanna would like an escort back tothe hotel.” she told the younger man firmly. Gale stared at her and then noddedbefore taking off after the victor, to the puzzlement of everyone left in theroom.

“What’s going on?” Haymitch insisted, a frownon his face. “Since when does Jo need an escort anywhere?”

She chuckled and wrapped both arms around hisneck, watching him grow red with embarrassment because they were in public –and not the familiar audience of the children either. Still, she was pleasedwhen he held her waist, pulling her against him.

“Love, darling.” she offered mysteriously,kissing him before he could figure it all out. “Always love.”

Chapter 6

AN: So, there’s an optional part that you can choose not to read if you don’t want to. I labeled it. :) Thank you for reading and feedback are always appreciated.

What Happens In Vegas

There’s a saying that goes ‘What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas’. Well, everyone knows that; it was just terribly unfortunate for Harry to have a scandal involving Las Vegas. However, Harry wanted this trip to be different. The weekend he had been with friends for what is called ‘The Wild Weekend Part 2’, Harry found himself feeling different; he didn’t long for the parties, the alcohol, or even crave to look at hot girls. No.

Being with Isabella Clarke, Harry felt entirely different. He is always kept on his toes- in a good way. Every day, it is proven that it will take him a while to probably know Isabella fully. He always wants to be with her, to talk to her, to listen to her, and to know more about her. Many would think that knowing her for a year and a half now would make him bored. But, no.

Bella still surprises him.

The prince is yelling at the top of his lungs in horror and fear and adrenaline as he sat on the passenger side while Bella drove like a maniac around the Las Vegas Motor Speedway; given that she is supposed to speed and make use of the ever famous engine of their rented Lamborghini Aventador SV. “BELLA! ISABELLA!!! HIT THE BREAKS!” he continued yelling as they neared a corner and seeing Bella with no intention of even slightly slowing down. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” he yelled and Bella only answered him with a laugh while pressing the clutch, changing gears, and then speeding some more as if she’s a professional race car driver.

“LET ME DOWN! LET ME DOWN!” Harry yelled seeing the pit stop where he can see his friends standing and watching the show.

They passed by in an almost blur.

And there you are thinking that it’s going to be a normal day. His mind taunted and Harry gripped the handle above his head. He woke up today with a kiss on the lips from Bella which quickly went into a heated make out session not until Thomas van Straubenzee decided to burst in their room to tell them that lunch is ready. During lunch, his friends got a good conversation with Bella even if they had thrown a few sexual innuendos here and there.

But now, he feels like he’s living the last seconds of his life.

Albeit, he trusts Bella with his life but seeing a woman like her drive around like a maniac makes him nervous and uneasy especially when she’s at the driver’s seat. Finally, Bella parked on the pit stop with Harry breathing heavily on the passenger’s seat. Turning to smile at Harry who probably looked like he’s having a heart attack, she asked “Would you like another lap?”

Harry looked at the woman beside him incredulously. He still couldn’t believe that driving like a maniac is one of Bella’s talents. “Where the fuck did you learn to drive like that?” he asked incredulously and Bella snorted but forced herself to not laugh at Harry’s reaction. “I feel like my legs are bloody jell-o. I’m serious.”

Bella now laughed before leaning in and giving Harry a quick kiss on the lips. “You love it.”

The doctor got out of the car and watched Harry wobble out of the Lamborghini; she chuckled before turning to look at his friends who are standing by the shade with open mouths. “What?” she asked the three men as she passed by them to grab a drink of water by the fountain.

All she heard as she passed by was Arthur telling Harry, “Mate, we all drive like pussies.”

They spent the afternoon at the speedway. All men became Bella’s passengers much to Harry’s annoyance. It is absolutely amusing for Harry to watch his friends fawn over his girlfriend. Arthur Landon, who makes sure that he’s never caught in a picture with Harry, is taking selfies with Isabella Clarke like she’s an old friend.

“I’m your friend.” Harry said jokingly as he wrapped his arm around Bella’s shoulders and pulling her to him and away from Skippy who’s now taking selfies with her with wacky faces- kissing the top of her head. Bella, in turn, looked up at Harry with a smile on her face.

Arthur Landon is one to always be cautious of Harry’s choice in women. Being long-time friends with the prince, Arthur had possibly met every woman Harry had dated. Given, Harry will only be in a serious relationship with a sophisticated trustworthy woman. However, Arthur will always categorize them as celebrity because, truthfully, Harry only goes into serious relationships with women who already have a name or is creating a name with the public.  

It was only his observation and he didn’t mean any negative toward it. Chelsy Davy was an aspiring model when Harry met her, Cressida Bonas is an actress and model, and Meghan is an actress/model/humanitarian. Obviously, they were all fit for royalty. It shocked Arthur Landon when the tabloids had released a picture of Harry visiting a woman’s home- it took him a while to recognize the woman as the same one they made a bet on. At first, he thought that it was just another fling and Harry will get sick of it when he finally gets married to Meghan.

Well, obviously, Harry didn’t marry Meghan.

But, Arthur can see the difference between Harry’s past love interest and Isabella Margaret Clarke- or as they call her, the hot doctor. It’s the way Harry looks at her was the first thing Arthur noticed; Harry had never looked at a woman like he does to Bella. It is not creepy or lustful but instead, Arthur can see that Harry feels a lot deeper for the doctor- he respects her and is very much protective of her. He never saw Harry grope Bella’s ass ever since Bella arrived- which is a miracle on its own.

It is quite obvious that the two are in love with each other and are very much serious.

“Stop with the loving looks, you two.” Skippy then groaned and Harry quickly gave him the finger. “I can’t stand it!”

They went back to the Sky Suites Villas of Aria and, thankfully, the paps haven’t heard of the couple vacationing yet. “Where should we go?” Thomas asked plopping on one of the dining chairs and looking at Arthur who shrugged. “Skippy?”

“I just want a place filled with hot women.” Skippy answered.

Thomas looked back at Harry and Bella who are both sitting on the couch wrapped around each other talking quietly among them. “Oi, lovebirds!” he called making both look back at him as well. “Where should we go?”

“Marquee?” Harry suggested and Skippy gave him a thumbs up.

“Hot women all over.”

Harry stood from beside Bella and made his way to sit on one of the dining chairs. “Why the need to suddenly look for hot women?” he asked Skippy.

“You and hot doctor makes me feel insecure.” He said and he looked up when he felt someone pat his shoulder just to see Bella smiling at him.

“Are we going to eat soon?” she suddenly asked and the boys remained quiet- just staring at her making her look at Harry awkwardly. “Babe?”

“Not really. Why?” Harry answered giving Bella a comforting smile- well aware that his friends are being weird towards his girlfriend. “Would you like to take a bath first?”

“Hopefully.”

“Go ahead.” Harry said making Bella nod and walk off towards their room.

Skippy turned to look at Harry with a dreamy look on his face, “Can I have her instead?”

Knowing that his friend was only joking, Harry shook his head with a smile on his face. “Get your own, mate.” He said and suddenly, his smile turned mischievous. The thought of Bella being in the jacuzzi naked turning him on. “I’ll be right back.” He said following Bella to their room.

“What do you think he’s going to do?” Thomas asked no one as they watched Harry climb the stairs towards the second floor of the penthouse.

Arthur sighed with a smile on his face, “What do you think?”

“Lucky wanker.” Skippy chimed.

Harry can hear Bella turning on the tap and he quickly took off his shirt and pants before slowly creeping inside the bathroom. He watched Bella lay on the Jacuzzi that’s still filling with water- her toes playing with the tap. “I know you’re in there.” She suddenly said making Harry furrow his eyebrows. “Reflection, babe.”

Busted. He thought but the sight of Bella in there naked made it hard for him to move. Just go near her. His mind urged and he started walking over to Bella who looked up at him with a smile on her face- her beautiful face. “Can I join you?” he asked and she nodded.

Mature

 Slowly, he removed his boxers before getting in the jacuzzi, the warm water now slightly covering Bella’s breasts. He sat opposite her, staring at her. Instantly, he felt his manhood twitch. He wanted her so bad, his mind ran on what he wanted to do to her. And as if she can hear his thoughts, she moved to sit in between her legs- her back facing him.

Harry kissed her shoulder before going up to her neck slowly giving out feather kisses making her shiver- his hands traced the contour of her curves as he started nibbling on her neck. “Harry.” She moaned as he sucked at the base of her neck. Her hands reached back up and gripped the ends of his hair, arching her back towards him making Harry groan- his right hand grabbing her breast while the other slid down in between her legs.

Bella gasped and quickly bit her bottom lip as he felt his fingers play with her clitoris. It’s a mixture of senses and the warm water is adding to her euphoria. They will hear you if you’re too loud. She worried remembering that they’re in a penthouse with men who are possibly going to hear her and Harry have sex. “Harry.” She moaned again one her hand going back down into the water to stop Harry from playing with her but his hand that’s holding her breast quickly stopped her by taking a hold of her arm.

He can feel her resisting and he craned his neck forward to look at her face. Her eyes are closed from pleasure but she’s biting down on her lip hard. “They won’t hear you.” He whispered huskily on her ear knowing fully well why she’s biting her lip. “I want to hear you.”

She moaned loudly when she felt his finger enter her. “God.” She whimpered, her breathing getting heavier and it didn’t take long before she screamed out in pleasure- shaking from the orgasm.

Harry feels like he’s an animal about to have his prey. He growled and quickly turned Bella to face him and kissed her roughly- she kissed back with the same enthusiasm. Her legs straddled him as she sat on top of his lap- her hips grinding on his, her moans loud. “I want you so bad.” He whispered pulling away and slightly sliding down to give her an easier access to his manhood.

She guided his length inside her and slowly started riding him. It’s a rhythm that drove Harry mad but he didn’t want it to end yet and so he tried his best to calm himself by gripping her hips tightly guiding her and kissing her passionately. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He groaned breathing heavily as Bella’s pace quickened on top of him and she started nibbling his neck. Her moans are like ecstasy for him- with her, all he can feel is the pleasure.

A pleasure so addictive.

“Don’t stop.” He breathed and his grip on her tightened as he helped her move. “I fucking love you.” He groaned as he came inside her- his arms now encircled around her.

“I fucking love you too.” Bella giggled slightly pulling away before giving Harry a peck on the lips. “Your friends might be suspecting.”

“Let them.”

End of Mature

 Their night was wild, they went to Marquee and partied hard. However, Bella didn’t drink as she’s still not allowed to consume alcohol. And so, she’s on babysitting duty and made sure Harry did not get too drunk. They danced with each other to every music and looked very much in love.

“Give it up, Skip!” Harry laughed as Skippy danced in front of him and Bella wildly drunk.

“I’m going to steal your girl!” Skippy laughed and pulled Bella’s hand. “Dance with me, mi’lady.”

Bella laughed but danced along with Skippy. Harry laughed watching his girlfriend and friend dance like there’s no tomorrow- he needn’t be jealous with his friend. He knew that he could trust Skippy- even though he had an obvious crush on Bella. After a while, Harry took Bella back and they danced together.

“Harry.” Arthur Landon suddenly whispered on Harry’s ear. “People are taking pictures.”

Reality started setting in and Harry looked around to see a few people indeed taking pictures of him and Bella. He frowned, he didn’t want the night to end but if they stay longer, more people will notice that they were there. “We’ll get going.” He told Arthur who nodded.

“I’m sorry to cut our dancing short.” Harry apologized to Bella once they’re back in the penthouse and Bella furrowed her eyebrows at him. “There were people taking pictures and-“

She shook her head making Harry stop. “It’s fine. I understand.”

The prince sighed watching Bella sit on the bed and take off her heels. “I feel guilty, you know. You should be having fun.”

“And so do you.” She retorted. “But I am happy here with you. So..” she then trailed off before looking up at Harry with a smile. “Seriously, I’ll be happy here with you with just movies and a tub of ice cream.”

Harry smiled, “Your happiness is so easily given.” He said sitting beside Bella and looking at the doctor. “I am so happy that I have you, you know.”

“Are you going to be cheesy on me now?” she laughed poking him at the side. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

That night they spent cuddled together as they watched movies and eating ice cream until Bella fell asleep. Harry stared at her sleeping face; the unfaltering calmness that she has. It amazes Harry that Bella had never complained to him about the attention and the negativity; she never pressured him to defend her or release statements. She just keeps her head up high and yet still remain humble.

“I love you.” He whispered kissing her lips softly and she pulled herself to him tighter in response.

The next morning, Harry is awoken by his phone ringing and he looked at the screen to see William’s name on the screen. It’s bloody late in England. He thought. “Hello?” he answered groggily.

“CHECK THE INTERNET! YOU’VE BEEN HACKED!” William yelled and that was enough to wake Harry who sat up quickly making Bella wake up. “NOW!”

 As if on que, Fred entered their bedroom and handed over a magazine towards Harry and Bella crawled her way to Harry to see what the fuss is about. “What?” she mumbled taking the magazine off Harry’s hands. “How?” she said flipping to the centerfold of the magazine and gaping at the pictures.

Harry can only sigh, “I don’t know.”

Chasing Hope

Summary: “If I ask you to name all the things you love, how long will it take for you to name yourself?” A story on finding hope, forgiveness and love in a world they never imagined they would survive. Post-MJ. Previously

4. The Grass is Always Greener

   ‘What would I do if I weren’t afraid?’

With road infrastructure still unstable and trains making trips only to transport the bare necessity such as food, the letter she wrote him took quite a while to reach and she never received any reply. While she was not expecting one, it also meant that the letter he had written to President Paylor must have been important to him.

Still, she was only human and Effie couldn’t help but feel a little slighted that he did not write back to her at least once. Peeta comforted her by saying that Haymitch’s reply simply got lost in the country and since she wasn’t President Paylor, people might not have taken great care to ensure the letter reached its recipient safely.

Effie continued writing to him simply because she found comfort in penning down her thoughts and knowing that at the end of it, the man reading it would be Haymitch. The letters usually contained updates on Peeta’s progress with Dr. Aurelius, the rebuilding efforts in the Capitol and the documentary on the war wreckage Cressida and Pollux was filming. She hardly mentioned herself in those letters other than to tell him in as little word as possible that she was well.

She was far from it but it was not something she wanted to discuss, especially in a letter and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know too much about how she was coping when he had left her behind to her fate.

Of course, Effie realised that her feelings were in conflict with one another. One on hand, she found ease in knowing that she was writing it to Haymitch and on the other, she still resented him for what happened to her. It was something Dr. Aurelius had pointed out to her and it was something that she needed to work on.

Effie very much wanted to tell Haymitch of the nights she woke up in cold sweats from nightmares and the lonely nights when she fought sleep. She wanted to tell him of the hours spend by the open window of her apartment, smoking until dawn broke through.

She had caught Peeta throwing her worried looks more often than not but she had become quite adept at masking the dark circles under her eyes with concealer.

Even walking down the street became a threat to her safety. She kept this to herself just as she kept her head high and her chins up, never once giving those who harassed or ridiculed her the satisfaction that in some ways, she was affected by their words and actions. The looks and the words whispered behind her back made her skin prickled and the accusations that she was only alive because Twelve’s old victor needed his pet to keep his bed warm made her blanched, never mind the fact that he was in Twelve and she was here. At some point, she even began to believe them. After all, Haymitch had never alluded to them being any more than just two persons who had sex with each other. He must have cared about her in some ways to keep her alive but with her being ridiculed every day she was finding it difficult to believe that he did.

All in all, people weren’t sure what to make of her, a Capitol escort who assisted the district rebels and the Mockingjay. It was difficult to put her cleanly into a category – us or them – when she appeared to be both.

She had heard them speculating that she was only playing sides and that she would ultimately always choose whichever side that was winning. It hurt because it had always been about protecting her victors.

Effie wrapped her coat tighter around her against the strong wind. As she walked passed a group of Capitol children with lollipops in hand sitting by the one of the few remaining benches that was not destroyed in the war, she smiled at them. They returned her smile but when she looked up to see one of their mother’s suspicious look, Effie hurried along.

“Have you thought of it?”

Effie sighed. This was not the first time this week Peeta had asked her this question but today, there was a certain urgency to it. He waited for an answer, neatly folding his shirts and pants into the bag in the meantime.

“I have, yes,” she answered.

“And…?”

“I have given it some thought but … I don’t know,” she let out a breath. “There are so many things to take into account and there are just too many uncertainties.”

“Nothing is ever certain. Are you worried about the lack of shops for you to patronize?”

Peeta was teasing, of course. He knew that she was not that shallow to worry about such things when there are more pressing issues on hand.

“Obviously,” Effie deadpanned, her eyes twinkling. “You know I only wear the best and if your district does not provide…”

It made him laugh and she liked that he was a little more at ease lately.

“But really, you don’t have to worry so much. It is a free country now and we can stay wherever we want. People won’t think it odd if they were to see you in a district.”

“Not if it’s Twelve,” she said quietly. “Why do you want to return to Twelve, Peeta? You said it yourself, we can stay where we choose to.”

She already knew the answer, of course, but she wanted to hear it out loud from him and know that despite everything, he had never wavered in his feelings for Katniss. It warmed her heart to know that something so pure still survived through it all.

“Katniss,” he answered earnestly. “She’s…. She’s home.”

Effie wondered what that was like, to find a home in someone. A home, to her, had always been a place where she could toe off her shoes and relax, some place where she can shed the pretenses of being an escort.

“It will be nice to get away from all this for a little while, wouldn’t it?” Peeta went on. “I – I know it is getting to you, Effie. You might keep it from me but I know. You’re not sleeping and you’d come in this hospital room every day looking over your shoulder, a little shaken. I noticed but I didn’t want to press.”

She kept her silence. Peeta had always been observant and she was fooling herself thinking she could shelter it from him.

“What would you have here once I’m gone? What would you do with yourself?”

That question was like a blow to her chest. She had never been good alone and without Peeta, she would be on her own.

“You will have us there. Twelve is not much. It is not the Capitol but…We’re there,” Peeta sat at the edge of his hospital bed, looking at her. “What are you really afraid of?”

There were countless things but the ones that featured prominently was the fact that she was District Twelve’s escort.

“For one, I do not think I will be welcomed there. I have reaped countless of Twelve’s children. I will not be a face they want to see so soon.”

“You were. Besides, from the looks of it, you don’t feel welcomed here either. Here, there, what’s the difference, you have to start somewhere.”

“Where will I stay?”

“Do you really think that is an issue?” Peeta countered. “I have a house. It is still standing, same as Katniss’ and Haymitch’s. That’s three houses you can choose from.”

While she might have chosen Haymitch’s house if the circumstances were different, that was the last place she wanted to be. She did not think she could stand being in the same house with him for hours especially so since she needed to sort out her feelings for him first. The yearning for him was in direct clash with her resentment for him. It was odd and it was a discourse she needed to get a handle on.

“What would I do there?”

“You’re resourceful, you will think of something,” he argued.

“Haymitch… I do not know how I feel about… “

“All these fears…” Peeta shook his head and stepped closer to clasp her hands. “Let me ask you something. What would you do if you weren’t afraid? What would you do if you know you cannot fail?”

That caught her attention. She had never considered it that way.

“You can start with a visit, hmm? Perhaps a week or two, and if you do not like Twelve, well… You can always visit Annie and Johanna,” Peeta grinned. “If you don’t get out of the Capitol to broaden your options, you will be stuck here forever.”

“Yes,” she agreed and shuddered at the thought of being trapped in this city with people constantly pointing at her. “I can do that.”

Next week, we'll get back into Haymitch's head but in the meantime, leave a comment/reply and share your thoughts on this chapter.

a/n: as I won't be in Singapore next Saturday, you will only get one chapter on the sunday instead of two. :)

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter.  As always thanks to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fantic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which can be read on AO3 and FanFiction Chapter 29 “Peeta!  Peeta!  Wait!” I shout.   He stops and turns.   I break into a run to arrive at his side breathless.   “Hi” I pant. “Do you mind if I walk with you?” A brief shake of the head.  “No, it’s OK.” And then he turns his eyes back to the road. “I . . . um . . .”  Oh, just get this over with.   “I was sorry to hear about you and Lace.  If there’s anything I can do.  You know, if you want to talk.  Or anything.” “Thanks.  But there’s nothing anyone can do.  And I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s OK.” “Of course,” I say, deflated.   “Whatever you want.” Already I regret the impulse that had me tearing out the village gates and down the road after him.  All of yesterday I was trying to build up the courage to go see him.  To offer support, or friendship, or a shoulder to cry on; whatever Peeta wanted that I could provide.  But it just seemed wrong somehow, after so many weeks of avoiding any visits to his home, to turn up unexpectedly, and at such a time, to say what, exactly?   So, when I saw him from my sitting room window, heading towards town, I saw the perfect opening.  We both had to walk to work.  It was part of our normal day.   I abandoned my tea and toast, stuffed feet into shoes, arms into a jacket, grabbed my pack by the door and sped after him.  But now I see the flaw in my plan.  If I had gone to his home, I could have said, “well, if you need anything, just ask,” and then left having done all that I can.   But what do I do now?  He doesn’t want me around, that’s clear.  But if I make my excuses and leave, then it appears as if I don’t really care, and that’s the last thing I want him to think.   But it soon becomes obvious that I’m going to have to make some kind of conversation or suffer dead silence for the remainder of the walk.  Talk is Peeta’s talent, not mine, but I can tell by the set of his jaw and the way he keeps his eyes straight ahead that it’s not going to come from him.   “You’ll never guess who’s in 12,” I say with an attempt at brightness. “Cressida.  Johanna told me. She’s here to report on the new national park.  And she ordered a wedding cake from the bakery.” “Oh.” Damn Johanna. That’s all I had.  “Well, Johanna doesn’t know who she’s marrying. It’s – “ “Katniss, I don’t care.   I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m just not in the mood.  Not for anything.  Do you mind?” Mind what?  Not talking?  Is it me? Is that what he’s not in the mood for? Is he asking me to leave?  I look to his face for clues.  It’s hard and set, his gaze fixed on something in the middle distance.  He’s shut me out.  I haven’t felt this from Peeta since we returned from our first Games when he’d barely look at me. I try to be sympathetic, to understand that he’s in very dark place right now but the sting of rejection hits hard.   It’s not my fault they broke up.  Why is he taking it out on me?  “No, of course not,” I say stiffly.   “I’ll just run ahead then.”  

I put about 200 meters between us before I slow down to a walk.  Anger gives way to remorse.   I shouldn’t have reacted like that.   I made it about me when it’s Peeta who’s had his heart broken. The last thing he’ll want to hear is talk about weddings.   But it’s done now and there’s no taking it back.  He won’t appreciate it if I go back to apologize and put myself in his company again.  The best I can do for him is to leave him be until he’s ready. But at least he’s back at work, and that’s a good thing.  And it only took three days.  It took Lace one.  I know, because I checked.  As much as I dislike her, I was glad to see she hasn’t been brought so low that she’s unable to work.  But I suppose there’s rent to pay and customer orders waiting.   Same for Peeta with those cake orders.  You carry on.  You go through the motions until life has meaning again.  That was the advice Dr Aurelius gave me in those early days. And it does work.   But I did want to talk to him about Cressida and what her presence here means to us.   And perhaps more pressingly, what to do with Johanna.  Because while she’s been bustling around trying to help the two of us, she’s possibly the one most in need of help. Marcus didn’t return home alone that night. He brought a guest.  And while he busied himself in the kitchen making dinner, Cressida and I had the chance to catch up.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to explain the current situation with Peeta and me.  It didn’t take long for this experienced television director to ferret out most of the facts from the local inhabitants.  Marcus seems to have contributed too.  At least, insomuch as the part I’ve played in the development of this new national park. The fact that he presently resides in my house would also have told her something.   I was right that the government has forbidden any media intrusion into the lives of Victors, unless that Victor has forfeited that right by seeking it out.  Even Plutarch Heavensbee, now Director of Communications, has to abide by this rule.  Cressida told me he wanted to send a TV crew to my house to launch a new singing program before Paylor put a stop to it.  I dimly recalled being asked if I’d like to perform for a TV show he had planned. That was on the hovercraft that brought Haymitch and me back to 12. “Panem’s Got Talent?” I asked.  “The one that has representatives from each district?” “That’s it,” said Cressida.  “He wanted you to be a mentor.” Mentor?  Is he kidding?  Plutarch has really no idea. “I should warn you,” said Cressida delicately, “that your association with Marcus could expose you to unwanted publicity if it’s assumed you’ve taken on a public role.  And any publicity that you attract will also expose Peeta to the same risk.  I’m afraid there’s no separating the two of you.  Not with your history.”   “Is that what happened to Johanna?  She told me how she’s been screwed by the media.” I didn’t add “and by you” but my tone implied it.

“What has she told you?” she asked warily.   “That you did a TV special on her that made her look like a fool.”  Johanna didn’t actually say that, but that was the consequence.  A pretentious title, the naked interview, the mocking comments on social media that followed.  “You know better than most what Johanna’s gone through.  She didn’t deserve that.” Cressida glanced over at the door.   Noise could be heard from the kitchen. Satisfied, she leaned closer to me and said in a hushed voice, “Johanna got what she wanted.  The TV special was her idea.  She chose the name, the content, and how she’d be interviewed.  I thought it was a bad idea from the beginning but Marcus said to indulge her, so I did.  The trash we ended up with wasn’t intended to see the light of day, but Johanna went over my head to ask Plutarch when it would be aired.  A week later as it turned out, in prime time.  It was the highest rating show for the time slot, even beating “One Life to Live” that ran at the same time.  Didn’t anyone here see it?” Hundreds, if not thousands, probably.  But no one I know.   No, that’s not right.  Lace did.  That’s how she knew where to hit Johanna exactly where it hurts that night at the pub.   “We watch “One Life to Live.”  I mean, Haymitch does.  And I don’t watch much television.  I guess that’s why we missed it.” Cressida continued, “it caused a frenzy on social media and Marcus’s opponents had a field day.  Johanna didn’t seem to care but Marcus certainly did.”   “Why does he put up with her if she’s so much trouble?” “For the same reasons anyone puts up with her. We know what’s she suffered, and how much this country owes her.  She’s also oddly likeable, despite being a pain in the butt most of the time. And she was an enormous help to Marcus in 7 in rallying public support against the logging companies.  He also feels responsible, since he was the one who said to go ahead with the interview. But he couldn’t have known Plutarch would get hold of it.  I’m mostly to blame.  I shouldn’t have agreed to do it, or at least made sure the tape was destroyed immediately after.  I know what Plutarch’s like.  Anything for ratings.  Even exploiting a sick woman isn’t too low for him.” “You think Johanna’s sick?” Cressida sighed. “Sick might not be the right word.   But she has problems.  I think she struggles to find her identity now that the Games and the war are over.  It’s probably why she became so intensely involved with the conservation movement in 7. She needs to feel relevant.  It was a very difficult situation for Marcus. On one hand, he was grateful for her support but on the other hand she invited ridicule every time she stripped off in public and chained herself to a tree.”

Marcus must have freaked out when he learned that Johanna had followed him to 12.  But she’s been no trouble.  I suppose it’s partly because people are generally supportive of a national park here and she’s had nothing to do.  She’s also found a new cause to fill her time – Peeta and me. “She hasn’t done anything like that since she’s been here,” I said.  I don’t count the exposed cleavage for Arthur’s benefit as “stripping off.” “Are you sure about that?” No.  I don’t see Johanna all that much considering she’s only across the road from me. Just visits within the confines of the Village and outings to the pub on Saturday nights.  “What has she done?” Cressida proceeded to tell me about a recent incident at the ice-cream parlor.  Johanna had treated herself to the four-scoop special – four scoops of ice-cream piled on top of one another in a cone.  While she was seated at a table all four scoops of the melting ice-cream tumbled down her front and into her lap. “She took off her dress and all she had under it was a G-string.  And since that was wet, it came off too.  One of my crew heard it from the proprietor of the dress-making shop in the main street. She was there when it happened.  And then Johanna caused further scandal when she asked if anyone wanted to lick it off.”   I snorted in disbelief.  Max, with his ear for gossip, would surely have heard about it and then told me.  Besides, Johanna never wears dresses, preferring either trousers or shorts.     “It’s not true,” I told Cressida.  “The owner of the dress-making shop is Peeta’s ex-fiancé.  She hates Johanna.”  I guess the opportunity to get back at Johanna proved too tempting for Lace.   What’s most concerning though is that Cressida found it plausible. Marcus came in at the moment to announce that dinner was ready and there was no more talk of Johanna.  Over a meal of nut loaf and salad, Cressida told of us her forthcoming wedding.  I murmured the usual congratulations.  She hesitated when she named the groom. She could have saved herself the worry.   I don’t care who Gale marries.  They are well-suited, actually. Cressida’s in the television industry and Gale, with his fancy new job, makes frequent appearances on it.  It’s how their relationship blossomed, with Cressida behind the camera and Gale in front of it in a series of interviews she directed. I learned that he’s still based in 2 and he has something to do with the planning of a new military base to replace the one he helped destroy in the war.  Cressida went into some detail about it, but I wasn’t really listening. I was trying to match the boy I had known with this new incarnation of himself.    That boy had raged against the Capitol and laughed at their ridiculous fashions.  And now he’s almost one of them and about to marry a bald woman with a tattooed head.   To be accurate, a half bald woman. Cressida has grown her hair on one side: long, blond and falling over one eye.   A more disturbing topic of conversation was the end of Marcus’s work here in 12.  A team will arrive later in the year to lay down tracks and erect viewing platforms, signs and other structures but Marcus will have long gone by then.  I said little while he and Cressida talked of his plans in 13.  Marcus shot me an inquiring look a couple of times but I kept my face blank.   I knew the day was coming but I’ve put off thinking about it.  What’s the point?  I can’t leave 12 and Marcus has an important job to do that takes him to places where I can’t follow.   I risk a quick glance over my shoulder to see where Peeta is.   I walk faster than he does and I expect to see that he’s a long way behind but instead I find that he’s gained considerable ground on me.  My feet must have slowed and I quicken my stride until we’re at a comfortable distance again.  If all I can do for him is to give him space, then I’m determined that he shall have it.   He doesn’t need my clumsy attempts at sympathy or distraction right now.  Or even worse, my awkward silences.  And, to be honest, there’s another more selfish reason.  I don’t know how I should act around him.  It’s just easier to keep away. In any case, Johanna was wrong to urge me to see him so soon.  It’s been only a few days.  An ex-lover, even if he doesn’t remember how it felt to love her, can only be a painful reminder of what he’s lost.  But at least he knows now that I am here for him when he’s ready.    And in the meantime, Johanna will take good care of him. What Cressida told me should make me anxious but it’s actually done the opposite.  They’ll help each other.  Peeta needs a sympathetic ear and not to be alone in that big house of his.  And Johanna needs something to occupy her time now that a reunion between Peeta and me is no longer possible.  Johanna’s problems will likely start when Peeta has recovered and she no longer has a reason to stay in 12.  And then what?

What does a victor do when the fighting is over and all that’s left is yourself?  You could return to your family, but Johanna doesn’t have one.  Snow had them killed.  You could reunite with your lover but Johanna didn’t have one of those either.  Too risky. A lover gave Snow something to hold over you.  Or you could return to what once defined you, maybe not as a permanent solution, but as a starting point at least.   For me, it was hunting.  For Peeta, baking.  For Haymitch, drinking.  For Beetee, science.  For Enobaria, celebrity.  For Annie, whose life was Finnick, his son to care for.   And Johanna goes back to what?  Chopping wood?  I can’t imagine any satisfaction from that.   I don’t really know Johanna that well.   I know she can kill viciously.  I don’t hold it against her.  To survive, you do what you have to.  And like Peeta and me, she would have been told to put on a show. Only for Johanna it was helpless weakling turned ruthless killer in the blink of an eye rather than tragic star-crossed lovers.   I didn’t like her when we first met.  Even now, I feel irritated just thinking about it. That time in the elevator when she stepped out of her costume to expose her naked body to Peeta and me.  And then how Peeta reacted to it.  Laughing at me.  You’re so pure, Katniss.   For a split second, I’m tempted to turn around and run back to tell him what pure Katniss got up to last night.  But then, just as quickly, resentment gives way to dejection.  He wouldn’t care.   Probably just give me a strange look and continue walking.  

Anyway, it’s Johanna I should be thinking about.  Why does it always have to come back to Peeta with me?  It’s over, Everdeen.  Move on. Although it is hard to keep my mind off him when he’s behind me and I’m trying to keep my distance.  Another fleeting glance over my shoulder.  He’s gained again.  I quicken my pace in response.  Either Peeta walks faster than he used to, or I’ve slowed down.   So, Johanna.  In spite of our mutual dislike, we formed something of a bond in 13, united as we were in our determination to bring down Snow and we became allies, if not actual friends.  But our plan to infiltrate the Capitol together came to naught when Johanna failed her final exam in combat training.  Her fear of water was what did it.  She feared it so much, she avoided showering and made do with an ineffectual wipe with a damp cloth.  Dirt accumulated under her nails and I wondered if people from 7 bathed.  

She looks clean enough to me now though which makes me think she must have been treated for it since.   I guess if all Johanna does, after everything she’s endured, is a willingness to take off her clothes at the slightest excuse, then she’s come out of it pretty well.  It’s her natural inhibition about nakedness taken to an extreme with a dash of attention seeking thrown in.   Well, more than a dash.  A huge dollop, actually.   But at least she does it for a good cause, dubious in value as it may seem to others.   She just needs another way to express herself.  Something more socially acceptable.  And there was something else that Cressida hinted at.  A purpose.  A reason to get out of bed in the morning.  We all need that.   What I do know about her is that she loves her home district.  I recall the bundle of pine needles I made for her.  “Smells like home,” she said, her eyes full with tears.   And something else.  A conversation we had in 13.  Of Johanna admitting to being jealous of me.  I told her, “You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would’ve had to feed you lines.”  And her answer, “True. But no one likes me.”   But she’s wrong about that.  Johanna is immensely popular with the citizens of 7.  I bet no one fed her lines when she was fighting the logging companies.  Along with loyalty, courage, dedication to a cause, a willingness to work hard and a hide as tough as an elephant’s, there must be something Johanna is suited for.

By the time I reach the school, Peeta has already turned down a side street to the bakery.  He’ll probably get straight onto the cake orders.  He’s found therapy in his work before and I hope he does again. I know it will be a hard slog.  How do you recover from a love you’ll never have again?   I wish I had the answer.  

When it’s time to go home, I make sure that Peeta’s not in sight first.  But I need not worry.  He got home well before me.  I know because at my front door is a white bakery box from Carter’s.  I lift the lid and inside is a small cake lavishly frosted with katniss and primrose flowers.  Tucked into the side is an envelope.  I wait until I’m inside the house to open it.  I expect to find a written apology as the cake is obviously a peace offering. But there’s no letter.  I tip the contents into my hand.  It’s a locket on a chain.  The same locket he gave me in the Quell.  

Punishing her Insubordination

Thank you for commissioning me again, @breeachuu! I’m liking more and more to write Cressida’s interactions with Takumi, so thanks for letting me do it again! ;D

Summary: After their usual morning ritual, Cressida and Takumi go back to being soldiers. But once back again at their own little world, Takumi has to punish his beloved for belittling him earlier... in the most pleasing way possible.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

Part 1 - Part 2

Takumi's and Cressida's morning ritual had become something crucial to their general moods throughout the day -- just the action of taking the time to talk to one another while doing something so intimate as to brush each other's hair brought them peace and relaxed them to no end.

It gave them strength to face another day of marching and fighting.

As a bow knight, Cressida was under Takumi's direct command, as the prince who oversaw the archers and other types of physical ranged units (such as ninjas). She had a squad of her own, consisting of other bow knights whom she had to oversee as well as command during battle.

They had left the Astral Realm after a good night's sleep, going back to find that only one hour had passed in the real world. Being able to go in and out of the AR freely had helped their campaign immensely: they would travel farther in seemingly less time, and their soldiers would always be well rested. Morale was through the roof.

"You're in high spirits, Takumi." Hinoka nudged her little brother as they marched. "Did something good happen?"

Takumi could feel Cressida's gaze piercing his back and could already imagine the smirk growing at the corners of her lips. He blushed and turned away from his sister. "What? Can't I have a good day or do I always have to be the grump brother?"

Hinoka laughed, patting Takumi's back. "Hahaha! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have teased. I'm just glad to see you so happy, Takumi." Her hand lingered on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "It makes me glad to see your smile."

"I- I wasn't smiling that much!" He covered his face with one arm. "... was I?"

Once again the princess laughed. "You were! And now look at you; beet red!"

"Arrrgh, you're making me lose face in front of the soldiers, Hinoka!" He stomped his foot, scowling.

Though, to Hinoka and Cressida (who obviously observed everything from afar), it only looked like an adorable pout and cheek puff. The princess ruffled her brother's hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease. But I meant what I said."

"Alright, alright..." He looked down. Part of him, the prideful one, wanting to push away her hand; but the biggest part, the little brother one, wanted her to keep patting for just a bit longer.

Cressida smiled softly, feeling warmth wash over her heart. She really did love him, gods.

The march had progressed smoothly for yet another day (only two encounters with a few Faceless blocking their way, too), and soon it was time to divide the army so as to take turns inside the AR: A group would stay outside for one real world hour while the other would go in and spend one AR night there. After that, the real world group would go in to rest.

Takumi's group was included in the first one (previously they had been the second), so they all went through the portal to get ready to rest. Women and men had separate bath houses that would always be packed with the soldiers wanting to quickly wash themselves so as to go to bed refreshed and restored.

Cressida usually kept to herself while bathing, so she was one of the first women to get out (and to be amazed at the line outside, as well), almost bumping into Takumi as he himself left the men's bath house.

His hair was down and his face was flushed due to the water's heat. He wore his usual yukata for after baths (same as Cressida's -- a present from him, might she add), wearing an unusually relaxed expression for finally being clean.

Ahhh, he was so adorable.

Once their eyes met, both of their shoulders sagged as they walked to each other so as to head back to their tent. Cressida waited until they were far from the bustling soldiers near the baths to pinch Takumi's side.

He almost yelped, jumping far from her. "Ouch! What was that for?!"

Cressida smirked and kept walking. "Well, I was just remembering how you told me this morning about me being good with my hands... So I was just testing if you'd say it again."

As if his face wasn't red enough from the heat, Takumi blushed deeply. "Humph. You'll have to WORK to receive praise, you know."

Both of them had reached their tent at that very moment, which Cressida used to turn back to face her beloved. "Oh?" She took a few too many steps towards him, closing in on his face. "Is that a challenge?" She smiled, feeling the hot air leaving his breath into hers.

Takumi stammered, opening and closing his mouth. Cressida took that opening and stole a kiss on his neck, making him once again almost yelp.

But, this time, he didn't step away. Rather, he stepped inside their tent as Cressida kissed his neck again, her hands exploring his abdomen under his yukata. She trailed her mouth upwards, kissing his jawline, chin and finally lips, making him let out a controlled moan. He didn't want to admit it again, but Cressida would make him do it.

They deepened their kiss as she inserted her tongue into his mouth, their bodies lowering themselves to the futon on the floor. Cressida's hands masterfully pulled down his yukata, without undoing the knot on his waist, keeping him mostly dressed. Takumi freed his arms from the sleeves, his upper body now completely exposed as he caressed his beloved's hair under their increasingly long kisses.

Cressida bit Takumi's lower lip as she trailed one hand from his chest to his abdomen, towards his inner thighs. She looked down to see the bulge protruding out of the yukata and sighed in pleasure, resting her head by the space between his shoulder and neck, knowing how mildly ticklish he was there and purposely prickling her bangs over him.

"Ahg, C-Cressida..." Takumi bemoaned as she reached his erection under his clothes, freeing it so she could see it -- it already had preseminal fluid on its glans, making the bow knight gulp in anticipation.

Takumi threw his head back in pleasure as Cressida ever so slowly started to move her hand up and down, pulling the skin over his hot shaft. She could feel his breath becoming more and more raspid as she moved, biting her lower lip in excitement.

That tent right there, although not their definite home, was already a place where they could be themselves by themselves. Takumi placed both hands on the futon behind his back so as to keep himself sitting up -- otherwise he would have had fallen on it to simply enjoy Cressida's masterful skills.

"Ah... hah..." He panted right by her hair, enjoying how she always held his erection with three fingers, pressing her thumb on the opposite side, sliding the little finger across his lower abdomen, making him shiver with goosebumps and pleasure at the same time.

She would tease him and start slowly, but always accompany the rate of his increasingly fast breathing. He started squeezing his eyes when he felt the orgasm coming, but then Cressida stopped abruptly.

"C-Cressida?" He panted, opening one eye, his legs already trembling with the prospect of the climax. "What happened?"

"Well?" She smirked, putting her index over the tip of his glans.

Takumi twitched, once again closing his eyes in pleasure. "What...?"

"I thought you were going to compliment me again..." She took her finger out. "Maybe I shouldn't continue, after all."

"What?!" He shot his eyes open, feeling betrayed as well even more aroused. "You're being TOO insubordinate with your commanding officer, did you know that?" He held her arms, pushing her down on the futon. "I guess it'll fall to ME to punish you, huh?"

Cressida immediately put both hands over her head. "Oh my, whatever should I do? I made my superior mad--hmmph!" She wanted to tease a bit more, but frankly, Takumi's coherence was too far gone, engulfed by lust and desire.

He kissed her deeply, making her lift her neck so as to be able to keep up with his hunger, feeling his hands open her yukata to show her bare chest under it. Immediately did he go to work on them: he sucked, kissed and bit one nipple while massaging the other with his free hand.

Cressida brushed her thighs in anticipation, feeling her insides pulsate. "Ahn... T-Takumi..." She gripped at the sheets under her, biting her lip with such strength it whitened.

However, Takumi couldn't handle waiting anymore -- he pulled her legs open and pushed her underwear to the side, prodding his erection by her vaginal opening. "This will be your punishment... for trying to embarrass me." He panted, smirking.

Cressida could feel herself gapping for him, smirking in return as she squeezed her eyes in pleasure. "If you want, I can succeed next tim--eahhhnn..." She was penetrated mid sentence, throwing her head into a lustful turmoil.

Takumi had already been close to the climax moments before, and as such, he started penetrating her with vigor, pounding her sensitive spot. Cressida dug her nails on his nude back, calling his name under her choked voice -- he was so eagerly penetrating her that made her lose her voice and roll her eyes in pleasure.

"Taku-mi...!" She called by his ear, hearing her own name under strangled moans, squeezing him inside of her.

"Dammit, I can't... Cressida..." He moaned, not being able to hold back the orgasm any longer. "Cressida, Cressida..." He pounded her with everything he had, his pleased voice making her own orgasm loom in closer.

She loved how he couldn't stop call her name when he was at the peak of his pleasure -- she knew it was because of her and her only that he was feeling like that, and that in itself made her come.

They reached the climax at the same time; Cressida squeezing him with all she had -- her legs, arms and insides -- as he stretched himself before the fatigue hit them both, melting them into one another.

They panted by each other's cheeks, loving smiles painted across their faces. As they shared one last kiss, their heartbeats as one, Takumi thought that he wouldn't mind being teased if it meant that another one of these would come later.