Claudia Black as Aeryn Sun in every episode of FARSCAPE

So many lies in so few words.... The Russian government's various Twitter accounts are among the biggest liars on social media, and some of the biggest lies they re-tell almost every year relate to the Soviet Union's invasion of Poland in 1939. This really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.... In February 2022, when Russia invaded Ukraine, the Kremlin's propagandists denied that Russia was doing anything of the kind while the invasion was actually happening, so lying about an invasion that took place a few decades ago must be a piece of cake in comparison. In Russia, it's a legal requirement to refer to the war against Ukraine as a "Special Military Operation" so maybe we should refer to Stalin dividing up Poland with Hitler in 1939 as a "Special Nazi Collaboration Operation". It's amazing to think that Russian citizens have been arrested, charged and convicted for telling the truth about both these events. The above tweets were posted on 17th September 2021.... According to the first tweet, the USSR somehow "entered" Poland without actually invading - which is a crazy thing to say, given that two Red Army groups (consisting of 25 rifle divisions, 16 cavalry divisions and 12 tank brigades with a total of half a million men) stormed into Poland's sovereign territory in the early hours of 17th September 1939 in a simultaneous offensive that was launched along the entire length of Poland's border with the USSR, aiming to occupy the eastern half of the country. This was achieved after 19 days of fighting between the Red Army and the outnumbered and outgunned Polish army (which had already been fighting against the German invaders since 1st September). That sounds like an invasion to me.... It's also worth mentioning that the Soviets were breaking the following treaties and agreements when they invaded Poland: 1. The Peace Treaty between Poland, Russia and the Ukraine signed in Riga on 18th March 1921, in which the eastern frontier of Poland was defined. 2. The Protocol between Estonia, Latvia, Poland, Rumania and the USSR regarding renunciation of war as an instrument of national policy, signed in Moscow on 9th February 1929. 3. The Non-Aggression Treaty between Poland and the USSR signed in Moscow on 25th July 1932. 4. The Convention for the Definition of Aggression signed in London on 3rd July 1933, signed by Estonia, Latvia, Rumania, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and the USSR. 5. The Protocol signed in Moscow on 5th May 1934 between Poland and the USSR, extending until 31st December 1945, the Non-Aggression Treaty of July 25th 1932. 6. The agreement resulting from the notes exchanged in Moscow on 10th September 1934 between the Polish government and the Soviet government, in connection with the entry of the USSR into the League of Nations. This agreement emphasised that the relations between the countries would, in every respect, continue on the basis of all existing agreements between them, including the Treaty of Non-Aggression and the Convention for the Definition of Aggression. 7. The Covenant of the League of Nations, to which the USSR acceded on 17th September 1934. 8. The joint Communique issued in Moscow on 26th November 1938, by the Polish and Soviet governments, which confirmed that relations between them were, and would continue to be, based on all the existing agreements, including the Non-Aggression Treaty dated 25th July 1932, and extended on 5th May 1934. TL;DR - Russia is lying as usual. The next claim in the first tweet is that the Polish territory which the Soviet Union invaded and occupied in 1939 didn't really belong to Poland and had only been part of Poland since 1920. But this is also a lie. Back in the real world, much of what is now western Ukraine has been periodically incorporated into the Polish state ever since the beginning of the 11th century, at the time of the Kievan Rus. And the lands of present day Belarus and Ukraine were part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania when it was united with Poland towards the end of the 14th century. The entire territory of modern Belarus and most of Ukraine remained as part of the Polish-Lithuanian state until the end of the 18th century. Eastern Ukraine was ceded to Russia in the second half of the 17th century and Russia subsequently stole most of the territory of the Polish-Lithuanian state at the end of the 18th century when it conspired with Prussia and Austria to wipe Poland off the map (just like Hitler and Stalin did 150 years later). As well as most of the lands of present day Poland, Russia acquired all of what is now Belarus and more of Ukraine. The area of western Ukraine that was re-claimed by Poland after the First World War became part of Austria and was therefore never in Russia. Today's Russian propagandists like to claim that Belarus, Ukraine and Russia have always been one nation, but the reality is that although all three had common origins in the Kievan Rus, they subsequently underwent hundreds of years of separate development before Belarus and Ukraine were incorporated into the Russian empire and subjected to prolonged periods of forced Russification. At the time of the Kievan Rus it's also the case that Kiev was dominant over Moscow and not vice versa.... Uprisings against Russian rule during the 19th century - notably in 1830 and 1863 - were supported by all parts of the former Polish-Lithuanian state and were savagely repressed by Russia. In Belarus, a particularly brutal campaign of Russification was carried out after the second of these uprisings by the Governor General of Vilna, Mikhail Muravyov-Vilensky. One of the executed leaders of the uprising was a Belarusian called Kastuś Kalinoŭski, who is still regarded as a national hero by many Belarusians today. During the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Belarusian volunteers fighting on the Ukrainian side formed a battalion that was named in his honour, which later became a regiment. In 1917, following the February revolution, the provisional government acknowledged the right of self-determination for the non-Russian nationalities in the Tsarist empire. When the Bolsheviks took over they renounced all Russia's territorial claims to Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, most of Belarus, and Ukraine - and ceded these lands to Germany in the 1918 Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, when most of the territories in question were under German occupation. They were not, by any stretch of the imagination, part of Russia or the USSR at this point - just as there is nothing chiselled in stone to state that whoever rules in Moscow also gets to rule over Belarus and Ukraine. As things turned out, a newly independent Poland and the newly formed Soviet state ended up dividing Belarus and Ukraine between them. The Treaty of Riga, which was signed in 1921 after the Polish-Soviet war, defined Poland's eastern border about half way between where the Polish-Russian border had been prior to the partitions of Poland and where it is today. Poland basically managed to reclaim some of what it had previously lost. The Soviets once again renounced their claims to all territory to the west of the new border, but nevertheless they invaded and occupied it two decades later in 1939. TL;DR - Russia is lying as usual. The first tweet also falsely claims that Poland was already defeated when the Soviet Union invaded and that the Polish government had already fled the country, despite the fact that Poland was far from defeated and the Polish government had not yet crossed the border into Romania. In any case, these lies ignore the rather pertinent fact that the invasion had already been pre-arranged with the Nazis, during and after the signing of the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact of 23rd August 1939, which had defined the "spheres of influence" agreed by Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, ie the territories that each of the signatories could invade without having to worry about retaliation from the other..... How do we know this? After the Second World War, the diplomatic communications between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union that had been stored in the archives of the German Foreign Office were translated into English and published in a book called "Nazi-Soviet Relations 1939-41". The complete collection can now be found online HERE. The records of the correspondence and meetings that took place between August and October 1939 clearly demonstrate how the two tyrannies planned and executed their mutual invasion of Poland. Documents like these are not only fascinating from a historical perspective, but also valuable in that they contradict some of the lies of the Kremlin's post-war propagandists (past and present) and their attempts to rewrite history by downplaying or denying the fact that the Nazis and Soviets were in bed together from August 1939 to June 1941. The archives clearly demonstrate how the Soviets cooperated, coordinated and collaborated with their Nazi allies over and over again during this period. It's true that there was a gap of 16 days between the German invasion (1st September 1939) and the Soviet invasion (17th September 1939), but there were several reasons for the delay, for example: 1. The Soviet leader, Joseph Stalin, was still preoccupied with his undeclared war against Japan, which was only concluded on 15th September. 2. He also wanted to see if the British and French would fulfill their treaty obligations to Poland and attack Germany's undefended western frontier. French mobilisation had begun on 2nd September and their offensive should have started no later than the 17th. 3. It took time to mobilise the Red Army. 4. There were a few minor disagreements between the Soviets and the Nazis. 5. Stalin also had to invent an excuse - ie the propaganda that would justify the invasion of a peaceful neighbour by the world's only communist state, in alliance with a fascist state. This is what actually happened in roughly chronological order.... Following the German invasion of Poland the Nazi foreign minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop, sent a telegram to the German Ambassador in Moscow which included the following request: "We definitely expect to have beaten the Polish Army decisively in a few weeks. We would then keep the area that was established as German sphere of interest at Moscow under military occupation. We would naturally, however, for military reasons, also have to proceed further against such Polish military forces as are at that time located in the Polish area belonging to the Russian sphere of interest. Please discuss this at once with Molotov and see if the Soviet Union does not consider it desirable for Russian forces to move at the proper time against Polish forces in the Russian sphere of interest and, for their part, to occupy this territory. In our estimation this would be not only a relief for us, but also, in the sense of the Moscow agreements, in the Soviet interest as well. In this connection please determine whether we may discuss this matter with the officers who have just arrived here and what the Soviet Government intends their position to be". The Soviet foreign minister, Vyacheslav Molotov, responded with a telegram to the German ambassador on 5th September, which stated that: "....we agree with you that at a suitable time it will be absolutely necessary for us to start concrete action". Soviet mobilisation began on 6th September.  On 9th September, Molotov sent a telegram to Ribbentrop, to inform him that Soviet military intervention "....would take place within the next few days". On 10th September, the Soviet press was full of "in depth analysis" of the situation in Poland, stressing that German victory was imminent. The Soviet ambassador left Poland on 11th September. The next day the Soviet press launched a strident propaganda campaign of fake news about the treatment of the Belarusian and Ukrainian minorities in Poland (which was remarkably similar to the propaganda campaign of fake news the German press had launched about the treatment of the ethnic Germans living in Poland to justify the Nazi invasion), along with claims that the Polish army was scarcely fighting at all. And - of course - as the Polish state was disintegrating, it was imperative for the Red Army to prepare to rush to the aid of their Belarusian and Ukrainian "brothers" (this campaign also had more than a few things in common with the Kremlin’s campaign to justify Russia's 2022 invasion of Ukraine, in which it claimed to be defending "oppressed" ethnic Russians).... On 14th September Molotov explained to the Germans that although the Red Army was ready to invade Poland, in order to justify the invasion politically: "....it was of the greatest importance not to take action until the governmental centre of Poland, the city of Warsaw, had fallen". Molotov therefore asked to be informed as soon as possible when the Germans expected to capture Warsaw. Polish government officials had begun to leave the capital on 7th September to escape the city's imminent encirclement by the German forces, which was complete by 16th September. The government initially relocated to Nałęczów, 85 miles south-east of Warsaw, then to Krzemieniec - under continual attack by the German airforce. They had to keep moving to avoid being captured by the advancing Germans, and followed retreating Polish forces who were forming a bridgehead in south-eastern Poland in the forlorn hope that the promised French advance by 17th September would actually take place. Here, with their back to two friendly nations, Romania and Hungary, the Polish army intended to make a last ditch stand - and if overwhelmed, to cross the border into Romania and make their way to the west to continue the fight from there. The government relocated to Zaleszczyki near the Romanian border on 14th September. When the town was bombed by the Luftwaffe, they relocated to nearby Kuty (the Polish GHQ was now also nearby in Kolomyja), while some of the various foreign ambassadors and their staff crossed the border into Romania. Ribbentrop sent Molotov a message on 15th September which stated that: "The destruction of the Polish Army is rapidly approaching its conclusion, as appears from the review of the military situation of September 14 which has already been communicated to you. We count on the occupation of Warsaw in the next few days". This was premature (Warsaw actually held out until 27th September), but inspired an immediate response from Molotov. According to the German Ambassador in Moscow, Molotov told him that: "....military intervention by the Soviet Union was imminent - perhaps even tomorrow or the day after. Stalin was at present in consultation with the military leaders and he would this very night, in the presence of Molotov, give me the day and hour of the Soviet advance". The USSR then put its invasion plans into action without delay. In the early hours of 17th September a telegram from the German ambassador to the German Foreign Office confirmed the news that the Nazis had been eagerly anticipating: "Stalin received me at 2 o'clock at night in the presence of Molotov and Voroshilov and declared that the Red Army would cross the Soviet border this morning at 6 o'clock along the whole line from Polozk to Kamenetz-Podolsk. In order to avoid incidents, Stalin urgently requested that we see to it that German planes as of today do not fly east of the Bialystok-Brest-Litovsk-Lemberg Line. Soviet planes would begin today to bomb the district east of Lemberg. I promised to do my best with regard to informing the German Air Force but asked in view of the little time left that Soviet planes not approach the above-mentioned line too closely today. The Soviet commission will arrive in Bialystok tomorrow or day after tomorrow at the latest. Stalin read me a note that is to be handed to the Polish Ambassador tonight, to be sent in copy to all the missions in the course of the day and then published. The note contains a justification for the Soviet action. The draft read to me contained three points unacceptable to us. In answer to my objections, Stalin with the utmost readiness so altered the text that the note now seems satisfactory for us". The Nazi and Soviet allies were also squabbling over the wording of a joint declaration to justify the USSR's invasion of Poland. Stalin wanted to use the already prepared excuse that they were going to "protect" the Belarusians and Ukrainians threatened by the German advance, which didn't please the Germans. Even more farcical was the attempt to give the aforementioned note signed by Molotov to the Polish ambassador in Moscow at 3AM on 17th September. The Polish ambassador was first summoned by deputy foreign minister Potemkin but refused to accept the note on behalf of his government. When he returned to his office he found a messenger waiting at the door who attempted to hand him the note, but once again he refused to accept it. The note tried to justify the Soviet invasion on the grounds that the Polish government and Poland itself had ceased to exist, and thus so had all the non-aggression treaties between the two countries. This claim was entirely false - and in any case, the note had been prepared several days before. Stalin kept his word to the Germans about when the Soviet invasion would begin - 6AM - and at the appointed time, Soviet troops invaded Poland. Fortunately for them, there weren't many troops defending Poland's eastern border. The Polish army's south-eastern bridgehead was also rapidly destroyed by the combined pressure of the German and Soviet armies, although nearly 100,000 soldiers did escape before Soviet forces prevented any further troops from crossing into Romania. Many more were captured and deported to the east, including 15,000 officers who were murdered by the NKVD a few months later in what became known as the Katyn Massacre. Nevertheless, the Soviet invasion did face some resistance from Poland's Border Guard Corps, and units of the Polish army continued to fight against both invaders until 6th October 1939. For example, the Soviets captured Grodno on 21st September after two days of combat in which the Soviet army lost several dozen tanks and several hundred soldiers. In retaliation, the Soviets committed mass murders of the Polish population and prisoners of war (something that will also seem depressingly familiar to anyone who followed the news during Russia's invasion of Ukraine in 2022). Meanwhile, the Polish government held a cabinet meeting at 4PM on 17th September, in full knowledge that Soviet forces were rapidly advancing towards them. It was concluded that they should leave for Romania, and from there go on to France. Most of Poland's highest government officials managed to cross the border on the night of 17th-18th September. Marshall Rydz-Śmigły and his GHQ staff crossed the border the next day. No orders for a general surrender of the Polish army were ever given and no general surrender ever took place. The remnants of the Polish army that managed to avoid capture immediately commenced an underground war against both occupiers. The joint declaration by the USSR and Germany was issued on 18th September. And funnily enough it did not mention the Belarusians or Ukrainians - just more lies about Poland ceasing to exist and so on.... Unfortunately for the Polish government, the Romanians, under extreme pressure from the German government, interned all the most senior Polish leaders. But this did not mean that the Polish state ceased to exist. Using Article 24 of the Polish Constitution of April 1935, Polish President Mościcki, who was interned on 18th September - transferred his presidential powers to Władysław Rackiewicz in Paris as soon as he was able - on 29th September - and Władysław Sikorski, who had avoided internment and succeeded in reaching France, was appointed Prime Minister the next day (he had already taken command of all Polish forces that had succeeded in reaching France, on 25th September). Poland had a fully functioning government again within days, and the lasting significance of Romania's internment of Poland's pre-war leadership was that the new government consisted almost entirely of members of the pre-war opposition. A Friendship and Border treaty was signed by Germany and the USSR on 28th September 1939, along with a secret protocol establishing the border between the two countries. Three additional protocols were added to the agreement, the third of which stated that: "Both parties will tolerate no Polish agitation in their territories which affects the territories of the other party. They will suppress in their territories all beginnings of such agitation and inform each other concerning suitable measures for this purpose". The signing of the treaty was accompanied by an announcement stating that both parties wanted an end to the war between Germany, Britain and France - and that if Britain and France refused to stop the war, "....the Governments of Germany and of the USSR shall engage in mutual consultations with regard to necessary measures". According to Molotov: "....it is not only absurd, it is criminal to wage a war to 'smash Hitlerism' under the false slogan of a war for democracy". At a session of the Supreme Soviet on 31st October, he bragged about the USSR's military partnership with Germany: "....it was proved enough for Poland to be dealt one swift blow, first by the German army and then by the Red Army, to wipe out all remains of this monstrous bastard offspring of the Versailles Treaty".

However, Molotov was wrong (as well as being dumb enough to trust the Nazis). Little did he know that a few decades later it would be the Soviet Union that ceased to exist, and that Poland would play a prominent role in its downfall.... TL;DR - Russia is lying as usual. The second tweet repeats the lie about the Polish state ceasing to exist and also makes the ludicrous claim that the USSR cared so much about the Belarusians and Ukrainians living in eastern Poland that it had to rush to their rescue and protect them. As described above, "protecting" the Belarusians and Ukrainians is how the backstabbing invasion of Poland was presented to the Soviet public by Stalin's propaganda machine. But here's the thing - Stalin couldn't give a fuck about the welfare of the Belarusians and Ukrainians. Otherwise he wouldn't have spent the previous few years subjecting the USSR's Belarusian and Ukrainian populations to dekulakisation, forced collectivisation and the Yezhovshchina (purges), brutally suppressing their culture as well as their religious and community life, and sending lots of them to the gulags. There's also the small matter of how millions of Ukrainians on the Soviet side of the border somehow managed to starve to death despite living in the breadbasket of Europe. The people of Soviet Belarus and Ukraine lived in a state of poverty and backwardness compared to the Belarusians and Ukrainians who lived in Poland and this difference in living standards was something that Soviet soldiers couldn't fail to notice after crossing the Polish border (which also helps to explain why they spent so much of their time stealing anything that was removable). There are many accounts of how the invaders reacted to the realisation that the people they'd been sent to "protect" were more prosperous, but this one is as good as any: ...."as we moved ahead we saw that [Polish] people were much better off, both in military life and in everyday life", says Georgy Dragunov, who was astonished to witness the disparity in wealth between the communist Soviet Union and the capitalist Poland. "We saw beautifully furnished houses - even peasant houses. [Even] their poorest people were better off than our people - their furniture was polished. Only later did we start to furnish our apartments with similar sorts of furniture. Each Polish peasant [in eastern Poland] had no less than two horses and every household had three or four cows and a lot of poultry. This was so unexpected for us because of the propaganda - which was [now] wasted on us because we could see electricity in the peasants' houses whereas in Soviet Belarus we didn't have electricity".... (quoted in "World War 2 Behind Closed Doors" by Laurence Rees, first edition, 2008, p25). What Stalin actually cared about was the fact that on the Polish side of the border there were Belarusians and Ukrainians who were beyond his control. It made perfect sense from his perspective to strike a deal with the Nazis to carve up Poland between them (sweet revenge for defeat in the Polish-Soviet war 20 years earlier) and the added bonus was that it enabled him to incorporate all Belarusians and Ukrainians into the USSR, thus making it easier to keep in check any moves towards a genuinely free and independent Belarus or Ukraine. And as already mentioned above, when the Nazi and Soviet allies issued their joint declaration about the invasion and occupation of Poland, it didn't include a single word about the Belarusians or Ukrainians. TL;DR - Russia is lying as usual. In the year of thirty nine Hitler and Stalin had a dine "You take East - West be mine?" Stalin nodded: "sounds mighty fine!" They signed a deal (as allies do) And then they started World War 2 But friends will come and friends will go As Stalin later came to know.... 😊

Musk’s and Bezos’s Great Escape

Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos want to colonize outer space to save humanity, but they couldn't care less about protecting the rights of workers here on earth.

Musk’s SpaceX just won a $2.9 billion NASA contract to land astronauts on the moon, beating out Bezos.

The money isn’t a big deal for either of them. Musk is worth $179.7 billion. Bezos, $197.8 billion. Together, that’s almost as much as the bottom 40 percent of Americans combined.

And the moon is only their stepping-stone.

Musk says SpaceX will land humans on Mars by 2026 and wants to establish a colony by 2050. Its purpose, he says, will be to ensure the continued survival of our species.

“If we make life multiplanetary, there may come a day when some plants and animals die out on Earth but are still alive on Mars,” he tweeted.

Bezos is also aiming to build extraterrestrial colonies, but in space rather than on Mars. He envisions “very large structures, miles on end” that will “hold a million people or more each.”

But Musk and Bezos are treating their workers like, well, dirt.

Last spring, after calling government stay-at-home orders “fascist” and tweeting “FREE AMERICA NOW,” Musk reopened his Tesla factory in Fremont, California before health officials said it safe to do so. Almost immediately, 10 Tesla workers came down with the virus. As cases mounted, Musk fired workers who took unpaid leave. Seven months later, at least 450 Tesla workers had been infected.

Musk’s production assistants, as they’re called, earn $19 an hour -- hardly enough to afford rent and other costs of living in northern California. Musk is virulently anti-union. A few weeks ago, the National Labor Relations Board found that Tesla illegally interrogated workers over suspected efforts to form a union, fired one and disciplined another for union-related activities, threatened workers if they unionized and barred employees from communicating with the media.

Bezos isn’t treating his earthling employees much better. His warehouses impose strict production quotas and subject workers to seemingly arbitrary firings, total surveillance and 10-hour workdays with only two half-hour breaks – often not enough time to get to a bathroom and back. Bezos boasts that his workers get $15 an hour, but that comes to about $31,000 a year for a full-time worker, less than half the U.S. median family income. And no paid sick leave.

Bezos has fired at least two employees who publicly complained about lack of protective equipment during the pandemic. To thwart the recent union drive in Bessemer, Alabama, Amazon required workers to attend anti-union meetings, warned they’d have to pay union dues (untrue – Alabama is a “right-to-work” state), and threatened them with lost pay and benefits.

Musk and Bezos are the richest people in America and their companies are among the country’s fastest growing. They thereby exert huge influence on how other chief executives understand their obligations to employees.

The gap between the compensation of CEOs and average workers is already at a record high. They inhabit different worlds.

If Musk and Bezos achieve their extraterrestrial aims, these worlds could be literally different. Most workers won’t be able to escape into outer space. A few billionaires are already lining up.

The super-rich have always found means of escaping the perils of everyday life. During the plagues of the 17thcentury, European aristocrats decamped to their country estates. During the 2020 pandemic, wealthy Americans headed to the Hamptons, their ranches in Wyoming or their yachts.

The rich have also found ways to protect themselves from the rest of humanity -- in fortified castles, on hillsides safely above smoke and sewage, in grand mansions far from the madding crowds. Some of today’s super rich have created doomsday bunkers in case of nuclear war or social strife.

But as earthly hazards grow – not just environmental menaces but also social instability related to growing inequality -- escape will become more difficult. Bunkers won’t suffice. Not even space colonies can be counted on.

I’m grateful to Musk for making electric cars and to Bezos for making it easy to order stuff online. But I wish they’d set better examples for protecting and lifting the people who do the work.  

It’s understandable that the super wealthy might wish to escape the gravitational pull of the rest of us. But there’s really no escape. If they’re serious about survival of the species, they need to act more responsibly toward working humans here on terra firma.

Hey, everyone.

So recently I've (predictably) very not well. Actually, whenever I don't post for long periods, just assume my body is trying to kill me. But I've gotten messages from three people asking if I. Okay, which is super sweet. I am actually trying to work on the next All Hearts, a really long ZoLaw post and two request fics, but mixing chronic kidney pain and capitalist society's mandate to work 40+ hours is not recommended.

But to prove I'm okay and still me, here is some Shanks antics with him being a total slut while Mihawk and Beckman just roll their eyes and go along with it. [Shout out to @jhaernyl who not only listens to me ramble about this stuff, but actively encourages it]. I also have many thoughts on the latest episodes and so many screenshots it's embarrassing. Hopefully, when I'm in less pain, I'll get around to actually posting those. Otherwise I just look like an insane person who literally takes by the second frame shots every time Zoro is on screen.

.... What is that? I look like that anyway? Fair.

Shanks Is A Bad Influence

It feels like Buggy and Shanks split up after Roger's death (the crew was told to, and they are the only ones who went to his execution) and I find it impossible to think Shanks didn't immediately set out and find a crew; like, pirating is the only thing this kid knows in life. This means two things:

He set out from East Blue. Also, he seemed at ease and familiar with the East so it's possible he spent like a year there getting everything together. Maybe he even played around in the other blues for a while before heading back to the Grand Line. I say this because his crew is from all over so either he found and recruited them in the Grand Line or visited various blues. Either way, I'm gonna say it took him about two years before getting a 'proper' start. In that case, he would have started out properly at the age of 17 and we know One Piece likes it's parallels.

That still puts Shanks at 17 to Benn Beckmen's 28. How the fuck did Shanks manage that? I'd call it grave robbing, but let's face it, the little tyke probably got up to some actual robbing of graves as well.

My point being everytime Shanks teases Mihawk about keeping this 19 year old kid on his personal island, mostly shirtless, Benn Beckmen just lifts an eyebrow.

Excuse me, captain, who had prefected the 'opps still don't have my sea legs' trip-and-fall into their first mates lap by the age of 17?

Shanks: Beckmen, you caught me! *Shamelessly nuzzles up* Thank goodness! I could be a devil's fruit user after all and - Ahh!

Benn: *Drops Shanks straight over the side of the ship into the water*

Shanks: *Sputtering* What what that!?

Benn: Checking to see if you had eaten a devil's fruit on us, Capatin.

Benn: You didn't.

Smart ass. But he can't resist Shanks forever. Shanks will wear him down eventually.

Next time Mihawk tracks him down for another match - because you know he gets bored way quicker than he'll ever admit and Shanks is at least amusing a challenge - Shanks makes a big deal out of how Mihawk follows him around, "accidentally" revealing they slept together, sighing about how it's so hard to resist him.

Benn Beckmen is just leaning against the side of the ship, sipping his booze.

Shanks: -and I can't stay for hours like last time!!

Mihawk: Are you quite done?

Shanks: *whispering* Does Benn look jealous?

Mihawk: He looks bored. Much like I am. Is this some strange attempt to get out of my challenge, Akagami?

Shanks: What? No, come on I told you I was game. But, hey, could you do me a favor? Maybe like try and kiss me or something? Like take a swing like your going to hit me but then stop shot and grab me by the waist instead.

Mihawk: .... Trickery is beneath you. Besides, you're absolute rubbish at it.

Shanks: Oh, come on, I would totally help you get laid if you asked!

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* I want a proper match afterwards.

Mihawk: *In a forced, monotone voice* After this I will take you to my lair and have my way with you, Akagami.

Mihawk: ... My lair? Really?

Shanks: *Holding up cue card with quickly scribbled line* What? That is how you talk.

Mihawk: I can't believe I wasted precious hours of light tracking you to this atrociously rural port.

Shanks: See? Now, read the next one.

Benn: Captain? If this is going to take all night, I am going to go join the rest of the men in the tavern.

Shanks: Huh? Wait! Benn! What if Miha really stabs me this time!?

Benn: *Salutes Shanks with his bottle* Sounds like that is his plan captain. Have a good 'challenge'.

Shanks: What? No... *Reaching out hand, like he might die if Benn leaves, looking completely devastated* Not even a little jealous...

Mihawk: You couldn't have thought that pantomime would actually work.

Shanks: Benny, don't leave me.... *Turns to Mihawk, immediately brightening* Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Hey, Miha, guess whose free all night and horny as a pirate in the calm belt?

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* Very well.

Mihawk might as well get something for the trip he made. Although, he's reconsidering if the sex was actually worth the trouble after he ends up listening to Shanks worry half the night that Benn is shacking up with someone else (after a couple hours of rough and raw fucking, admittedly).

Is it the hat? He likes his captain's hat. Miha, you think his captain's hat is sexy, don't you?

Mihawk: It's utterly ridiculous.

Shanks: ....

Shanks: ....

Shanks: *Smile* Ahh, Miha, I knew you liked the hat!

Shanks: What do you old Northerns find sexy?

Mihawk: I am only four years older than you.

Mihawk: And silence.

Trying to convince Mihawk to go spy on Beckman for him. Shanks doesn't actually care if he does sleep with someone else, it's more that Beckman didn't immediately turn angry and jealous like Buggy would have that has him paranoid.

Mihawk is going to fuck this annoying red head again just to shut him up.

Mihawk: Maybe he doesn't like red haired boys who don't know when to be quiet?

The next morning Shanks is pacing among his poor crew that's gotten stuck listening to Shanks obsess about Beckman again. IS IT REALLY THE HAIR!?

It's not even a matter of Shanks's age (or obvious immaturity). I mean, Beckman got on board and stayed, didn't he? Beckman just enjoys watching Shanks try so hard to get his attention. Like Benn's attention isn't constantly on Shanks. He had to when his captain is always one step away from disaster.

He only left him with Mihawk because it was clear Dracule is not a real danger to Beckman's captain.

Except maybe insulting him to death. But Beckman is pretty sure Shanks can handle it. He's met Buggy. He's suspects Shanks LIKES it if anything.

It gets to the point where when they dock somewhere and see Mihawk waiting, or come back to the ship and spot his familiar silhouette, most of the crew goes off somewhere for another drink (sometimes the newer kids will stay to watch such an awesome fight, everyone else is like... Look, you'll have plenty of opportunities later. This is not a one off.)

Benn just takes a look around, nods to Mihawk (a silent signal for, "he's all yours, do with him as you please, if anything happens to him I will track you down and make sure your last few hours on this blue world are as painful as humanly possible") and heads off.

Oh, it's just the Hawk boy.

That's fine then.

Benn use to be a sailor on a trade ship between the North, East, West and Grand Line. He's seen it all.

They called him The Gun Slinger BEFORE he joined Shanks's crew and became a pirate.

So this young, broke ass kid from the streets of some near artic northern island trying to pass himself off as a Lower North rich type has a thing for his captain? Not really enough to keep Beckman up at night, no matter how good at swords he's supposed to be

Besides, he's pretty sure for the kid to keep tracking down Shanks, he must be bored out of his skull. He's not going to do anything to endanger their captain.

Not if Shanks is the only thing he can find to keep him entertained.

One day, Mihawk is going to be waiting on the dock when a bunch of Red Haired pirates are stumbling home, laughing and chattering amongst themselves (Shanks's crew always seems to be in a good mood). One of them will catch sight if Mihawk and walk by with a smile, patting him on the shoulder.

The captain's occupied. Seems likely he'll be 'occupied' for a good while, too.

Mihawk won't smile, but he will think "So you finally warmed him up to you, Akagami?" and snort lightly.

Poor Benn, though. Mihawk could never imagine being with someone so much younger than him. Shanks is only four years his junior and already it strains Mihawk to put up with his occasional moments of "youthful whimsy" (aka being an annoying, immature child)

"A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair"

Mihawk just putting that on his Not To Do List.

That lasted until Roronoa.

(Mihawk just looking at Zoro knowing this is bad news.)

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

*Cross out, scribbles*

*Hands back to Benn*

Do Not Do:

- A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair a silly hat, who is overly dramatic and in any way, shape or form related to Gol D Rogers.

Ace: Hey what's up?

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

Go ahead, Benn, laugh it up. Mihawk is aware he has a type. Young, pretty, and utterly insane.

After that night where Shanks was otherwise 'occupied', it's over six months before Mihawk sees his friend his rival again. He is, as expected, far too smug and proud looking.

Shanks: Oh, Miha, so sorry you came all this way, I'm-

Benn: Well, I'm off, captain.

Shanks: What!? But we, you, I... Benn, hessoeexyarentyouworriedforyourcaptain?

Benn: *patting Mihawk on the shoulder* Have fun with him. Don't forget to return him by noon tomorrow, we have a schedule. Oh, but if you can babysit him for at least four hours? That would be great.

Shanks: BABYSIT!?

Mihawk: I suppose I can be troubled to do so.

Shanks: TROUBLED!?

Benn: Thanks, Hawkeyes. I owe you.

Shanks: *Fake tears clinging to his lashes* You two are so mean!

No, don't feel bad for him. Shanks is just trying to guilt the two of them into bed at the same time, and they both know it.

Thanks no thanks, they're not into that. But Shanks can be pretty cute when he's trying so hard (Benn) and at least he's not as boring as everything else in this world (Mihawk) so they allow him to keep up the act

Shanks: *looking at Zoro's wanted poster over Mihawk's shoulder* But I feel like you'd gladly go to bed with him and his captain if he asked. That doesn't seem fair to me. You'd never go that far with me and Benn.

Mihawk: *Eyes Benn*

Mihawk: *DEAD. ONLY.*

Mihawk: I have my reasons.

They can and do agree on plenty of things, including reciprocally not being that attracted to each other.

Shanks: Sounds fake to me

Shanks: But guys!

Shanks: This isn't about you

He's gonna need you guys to drop the egos and focus on what HE wants. I.E., being in the middle of two sexy Northern men.

Honestly, so mean to poor Shanks!

Against All Odds - 19

Today we have to say goodbye to Anna and Henry, this is the last chapter of "Against All Odds".

I'm really a little sad and melancholic. This was my first story here on Tumblr and it has been quite a ride. But it's time to let go and give them the happy ending they deserve. I initially planned to leave it to pure fluff and exclude smut but somehow my hand slipped...it just came over me...and them. So lots of fluff and some smut ahead. Enjoy!

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Anna) Warnings: Lots of fluff, some smut, NSFW, 18 +, sex, dry humping, masturbation, thigh riding, slight daddy kink / male dom, choking, public sex, unprotected sex. Unbeta'ed! English is not my first language, so consider yourself warned, there might be bad grammar and wrong spelling ahead.

All previous parts can be found here: Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and comments are very welcome.

Tags: @lunedelorient @hell1129-blog @willkatfanfromasia @inlovewithhisblueeyes @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective

So here we go...let the grand finale begin...

~~~~~~~

When Henry looked out of the window after his morning routine almost three month after the encounter with Lestat he cursed internally. The weather was really shitty. It was raining lightly and fog was swirling above the woods and meadows that surrounded his farm. He could only hope that the forecast was right and the sun would show soon. He needed this day to be perfect and sunny weather was only a little part of a bigger plan.

It turned out he was lucky. When Anna and Henry walked the dogs together in the afternoon the sun was shining bright from a cloudless blue sky. It was warm for this time of the year and there was a light breeze that rustled through the trees.

"Why don't we take another route today, princess?" Henry looked at Anna with a smile. 

"Sure, where do you want to go?"

"This way." Henry pointed to the left and Anna seemed to be not too enthusiastic about his idea.

"Is that even a regular path? It looks quite overgrown. The dogs will be full of ticks again and we're going to rip our clothes. I'm wearing a brand new jacket." She looked at him with a frown.

Shit.

This was so typical for Anna. She was a practical person, always reasonable, and he loved it that she was so down to earth but today he needed her to take this god damn path. Otherwise his surprise wouldn't work. 

"I just want to discover new places, Baby. Expand our horizons. It's going to be fun." Henry said before he brought up the big guns. It was time for poetry.

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." 

Henry recited with a grin.

"Wow...Robert Frost… I'm impressed." Anna laughed. "Don't be. You made me watch 'Dead Poets Society' three times. I know every single poem that was quoted in that very good movie."  Henry pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the forehead tenderly. "Come on." "Fine. I'm willing to follow you anywhere. Oh Captain, my Captain." Smiling, she gave him a peck on the cheek.  "Captain. I like the sound of that." Henry smirked and took her by the hand.

They followed the path for a while and it turned out that Anna was right. It was overgrown, almost jungle-like in some areas, so they had to climb over some trunks and bushes and squeeze through a thorny bramble hedge but Anna didn't complain. On the contrary. She loved the picturesque atmosphere and took dozens of pictures with her mobile. 

"This is really lovely, Henry. I'm glad we chose this path. It was a good idea to try something new." She beamed and kissed him happily. He chuckled. "Are you saying I was right?" "I wouldn't go that far." Anna grinned before she took another series of photos.

After half an hour and a lot of stumbling through the undergrowth they reached the regular path, that led to a large meadow, that was surrounded by hedges and a low stonewall. Anna took a look around with a frown. "I know this place…" "Yeah, you should." Henry winked and it dawned on her. "This is the place where we first met. Oh my god, Henry. I crouched over a fly agaric over there when Kal knocked me over." "Yes. And I came to your rescue and fell for you almost instantly." He took her in his arms and pulled her close. "That was exactly one year ago." His voice was soft and full of love. "Really? I totally forgot about the date. I'm so unromantic...sorry, Baby." "Don't worry, princess. You have other qualities." Henry smirked before kissing her. He let his hands slide to her ass, giving it a squezze which made Anna moan. "Behave, Cavill." She gave him a sexy smile. "No way." He kissed her again, passionately this time and she returned the kiss with the same vigour. When he finally pulled away he left her panting for breath. "Wow...this keeps getting better and better." "Oh...just wait for it." Henry walked over to a large lime tree and reached behind the trunk. When he turned around again he held a basket in his hands. "Picnic!" Anna cheered. "Oh Darling...this is such a great surprise. And you know I hate surprises...normally." "But not today."  "No, today I love it."

Henry smiled and started flattening a checkered blanket right under the lime. He sat down and patted on the free spot beside him. "Come on, princess. Sit down and let me show you what I've got for you." "There's nothing I'd rather do." Anna plopped down on the blanket, watching Henry unpack the basket. He placed two plates, cutlery, two glasses and a bottle of rosemary water on the blanket. To Anna's big surprise he even raked out the little Bluetooth speaker that normally stood in his kitchen. He connected it to his mobile and started his 80s rock playlist.

"Wow, you've thought of everything. But what about food?" "Mylady wishes for food, mylady shall have food." Henry grinned and got various boxes out of the basket, opening them he started to explain what he had prepared for them. "We have different kinds of cheese, grapes, olives, cherry tomatoes, nuts and raisins, Belgian filled Chocolates plus...and I can proudly say in advance that this is homemade by me...a loaf of delicious freshly baked bread." Anna clapped her hands, beaming all over her face. "Henry...this looks heavenly." "Let's eat then, my love."

Anna was right, the food was delicious and they enjoyed their little picnic very much, taking their time to taste all the things Henry had prepared, chatting and laughing, watching the dogs play and just savouring this carefree time of togetherness. When they were done with eating they cleared the blanket and stuffed everything except the speaker back into the basket. 

Anna cuddled up in Henry's arms. He was sitting under the lime tree now, his back leaning against the trunk. 

"Thank you so much, Baby. This was such a perfect surprise and such a lovely picnic." "Oh we're not done yet...I have another surprise for you." Henry cleared his throat and was about to get up but Anna was faster. She straddled his lap before Henry realized what she was up to.

"Really, Mr. Cavill? Another surprise?" She whispered in his ear. "Is it big?" She looked at him with a smirk before she kissed him. Henry grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. It got hot and erotic very fast. Anna started to rub her pussy against the bulge in his jeans slowly, she felt his hard on through the woolen fabric of the leggings she wore under her denim skirt.

"Oohh...it is big. Huge even." she said, still riding him. "That's not what I meant when I said I had another surprise, babe." Henry moaned. His hands were under her shirt now, stroking her full breasts through her bra. "Do you want to stop?" Anna moved her body away from his lap, straddling one of his thick thighs now. She let her hands slide over his crotch, massaging his dick through his trousers, looking at him innocently.  "Princess…." he growled, grabbing her hips, making her move on his thigh. Anna let out a muffled moan. The friction between his massive leg and her sensitive pussy was pure pleasure even though there were three layers of fabric between his skin and hers. "Henry…" Anna started riding his thigh looking at him. She sighed and licked her lips. "...we have to be quiet and very discreet."  "Don't worry, baby girl. This is private property. Nobody's here except us." "I know...just in case…" Anna was already out of breath because she had picked up speed, rubbing against Henry in a faster rhythm now. Her moans were getting louder. "Do you like it, baby? Riding my thigh like a cheap little slut?" Henry hissed through clenched teeth. His hard-on was throbbing in his jeans painfully. "Rubbing your tight little pussy over me?" Anna just sighed and leaned in to kiss him but Henry stopped her. "Answer me, princess." "Yes...yes, Daddy. I love it." She groaned, feeling her orgasm coming closer and closer. "Good girl. I'm going to reward you." Henry slapped her ass before he started fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. Anna stopped moving, watching him agape with big eyes. "Keep moving, baby."  Henry ordered and Anna obeyed but her eyes never left his hands that were now getting out his rock hard dick. He started stroking himself, letting out a long moan. "Yeah...that's it." He said, locking eyes with Anna. "That's it, princess. Watch me, watch me touching my big cock. Look at me and come for me." "Oh, god...I love your dick, Daddy. It's so thick…" Anna whispered in a sweet voice, panting and moaning while she rode his thigh harder. "No talking, princess." Henry slapped her ass again with his free hand, the other hand pumping his dick that was glistening with pre cum. "But Daddy…" Anna shrieked when she felt the hand that had just slapped her ass on her throat. "No talking…." Henry growled. "Just come for me." The way he squeezed her throat with well measured pressure, giving her the feeling of being completely at his mercy, combined with the sight of his big hand jerking himself off was enough to send her over the edge. Her orgasm was long and intense and she rode it out devouring the sensation. "Good girl." Henry sighed and it took him just another few thrusts into his hand to cum too. Anna leaned forward, resting her forehead on his. "Wow...Baby….that was something. I've never had sex fully dressed before." She grinned at him and gave him a tender kiss. "Yeah, it was great…even though it wasn't part of my plan." Henry smirked, grabbing a napkin to clean up the mess his cum had left on his jeans and Anna's jacket. Anna laughed and got up, straightening her clothes. "So what was your plan? What's the other surprise you have for me?"

Henry looked at her with a frown, getting up too. "You really want to know?" 

"Of course."

"Okay. Then...let's dance." He winked at her with a sly smile and grabbed his phone. He started searching through the playlist and stopped it before playing a certain song.

"May I ask for this dance?" He held out his hand to her and Anna gladly took it.

"Sure." She said and Henry pulled her close and they started to sway their bodies to the music. It was "Forever" by Kiss that was playing. A beautiful ballad Anna and Henry liked a lot. They had made slow, sensual love to this song countless times.

I see my future when I look in your eyes

It took your love to make my heart come alive

'Cause I lived my life believing all love is blind

But everything about you is telling me this time...

Anna looked at Henry and he kissed her. It was a tender kiss, full of love and devotion.

...it's forever, this time I know

And there's no doubt in my mind

Forever, until my life is through

Girl I'll be loving you forever.

When the song was over Henry took a step back, reaching into his pocket, getting out a little box. He had planned this for so long, had played it through in his head again and again but now he was a nervous wreck all of the sudden. He took a deep breath before getting down on one knee opening the box, presenting her a beautiful engagement ring. 

Anna gasped when she realized what was happening. She bit her lip, holding her breath.

"Anna, my love. I know it's only been a year since we met and 9 months that we're together but though this is quite a short span of time it has been the most wonderful and happy time in all my life. You complete me, Darling. You make me whole, you are my home, my heart, my soul, my everything. I love you more than I could ever say and therefore I'm kneeling here, asking you if you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Anna Wagner...do you want to marry me?"

Anna let out a deep breath, beaming with joy.

"Yes...oh my god...yes, Henry. Of course I want to marry you." She took his hands, dragged him up and pulled him into a tight embrace before kissing him tenderly.

"I love you, Cavill."

"I love you, princess."

******

Three years later

When Anna came back from her appointment in town to Old Johnson's Farm in the  afternoon she found Henry sleeping on the couch peacefully. Their little boy Peter -they had named him after Anna's late father- was sleeping on Henry's broad chest, snoring softly, Kal was lying at Henry's feet, snoring not quite so softly.

Anna couldn't help but smile like a love-struck fool. This was all she'd ever wanted. A loyal man, who truly loved and respected her, a home, a family. And now that she had it, it was even better than she could have ever imagined. Henry was a perfect husband and a fantastic father - loving, caring, patient and still the dorky nerd, she had fallen for four years ago. 

After Peter had been born Henry had stepped back from work for a year to spend as much time as possible with them and to have Anna's back who had started to work again part-time after three months. Henry had done a lot of audio books over the last sixth month -it was work he could easily do at home- and he really liked it. Of course it had been a huge success. Henry didn't really get why but Anna knew every time she heard his deep, dark voice that felt like velvet in her ears.

Pete was 14 months old now and from next week on Henry would be away for a while to shoot the next Witcher season. She was a little scared of the times that were awaiting her. It would be the first time for them to be apart for so long and the first time for Anna to face the fact that her husband was going to shoot sex scenes with attractive young women like Anya Chalotra. But she knew she would be able to deal with it. It was already decided that she and Peter would visit Henry on set to meet his co-stars and to get a feeling for his work and the process of acting.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Peter's babbling. She took him from Henry's chest into her arms and hugged him gently. "Shush...little pea...we don't want to wake daddy." She whispered in his ear before kissing his soft, chubby cheeks several times. 

Henry seemed to realize that Peter's weight on his chest was missing and he mumbled something incomprehensible before he turned around, but he didn't wake up. Anna knew he was exhausted. He had been up all night to calm down Pete who was teething. Anna wanted to take turns but Henry wouldn't let her because she had to get up early for work.

"Come on, pumpkin. Let's go feed the horses and let daddy and Kal get some sleep. You wore them out last night."

She smiled when she took another look at the man she loved. "It's really good that your dad has such a broad chest." She said softly to her son with a happy smile on her face. "With a little luck there will be two little pumpkins sleeping on it in seven months' time."

THE END

Builders Discovered a Treasure Hoard of 239 Rare Gold Coins in France  

Three construction workers were busy renovating a historic mansion in Brittany, France, when they came across an intriguing find: a metal box embedded in a wall.

To their astonishment, the box opened to reveal a trove of centuries-old gold coins.

The find occurred on a Friday in late October 2019, recalls the now-63-year-old François Mion, who owns the mansion with his wife. The couple had recently decided to renovate the historic structure to combine three main buildings on the property. Mion was at work in Paris when he received an excited call from his foreman, he tells Yoann Etienne of local television channel France 3.

“I thought it was a joke,” Mion tells Le Télégramme’s Gwendoline Kervella, per Google Translate. “But, no!”

As it turned out, the workers’ luck hadn’t run out yet. The following Monday, the trio discovered yet another cache of gold coins, this time wrapped in a cloth pouch that had been hidden above a wooden beam, reports Agence France-Presse.

All told, 239 rare gold coins were discovered on the property. The treasure will go under the hammer on September 29, per a statement from auction house Ivoire.

The couple first purchased this house in 2012 but decided to renovate in 2019 to unite the main building with a nearby barn and nursery, per the statement.

After the 2019 find, Mion alerted the local authorities and later sent the treasures away to be studied and verified. Archaeologists determined that the coins were minted during the reigns of Kings Louis XIII and Louis XIV, monarchs who ruled France from 1610 to 1643 and 1643 to 1715, respectively. The most recently minted coins were likely created during a series of money reforms that Louis XIV enacted to finance several costly wars. During his 72-year-long reign, Louis XIV also oversaw massive expansions to the Palace of Versailles.

Beginning in 2016, all treasures discovered in France automatically became property of the state. However, since the mansion owners purchased the property in 2012, they have the rights to sell their finds, reports France 3. Per French law, the proceeds from the sale will be split in half, with half going to the married couple who owns the property and half to be split evenly among the three discoverers.

Experts estimate that the sale of the coins will garner between €250,000 and €300,000. One coin in the collection, a rare “double” Louis d’Or made in 1646, is thought to be one of just 120 versions that have survived to the present day—that coin alone is estimated to be worth €15,000, reports the Télégramme.

Per the statement, the mansion dates to the 13th century and would have once belonged to wealthy farmers. Since the coins originated from 19 different mints across France, it’s likely that this treasure was part of a previous mansion owner’s life savings.

“The oldest part dates from the 13th century and the main body of the mansion dates from 1723,” notes Mion in an interview with the Télégramme, per Google Translate. “It is believed to have belonged to wealthy landowners. Research continues on the history of the place.”

By Nora McGreevy.

French Manor Coins Sell for $1.2 Million

The stash of 17th century gold coins found during the renovation of a mansion in Plozévet, Brittany, has sold at auction for a collective €1 million ($1.2 million), far exceeding the pre-sale estimate of  €250,000-300,000 ($296,000-$355,000).

The coins were discovered by stonemasons in 2019. They were in two separate stashes, one set in a metal box in one wall, the other in a bag in another wall. The grand total was 239 coins, all gold, 23 of them minted under Louis XIII, 216 during the reign of Louis XIV. Property owners Véronique and François Mion kept four as souvenirs and put the rest up for auction. There were so many interested buyers at the September 23rd auction and bidding was so intense that it took five hours to get through all the coins.

Bidding opened at 8,000 euros for a very rare double Louis d’Or [with a long lock] , depicting Louis XIV and dating back to 1646. It went for 46,000 euros, the same price as a Louis d’Or from Paris dated 1640 and stamped with the Templar’s Cross.

“Bids were flying from everywhere – in the room, on internet and on the telephone,” said auctioneer Florian D’Oysonville.

France passed a treasure law in 2016 that claims all archaeological materials found as property of the state, but it was not retroactive. Because the owners bought the property in 2012, they were able to sell the coins at auction and split the proceeds of the sale 50/50 with the stonemasons who actually found the treasure.

Museums do get one other bite at the apple, however. French institutions have the right of preemption, meaning they can claim any lot offered at auction for the final price after the hammer falls. The Monnaie de Paris, France’s national mint which has been in continuous operation since 864 A.D., made liberal use of their statutory rights in the sale of the Plozevet Treasure. They preempted 19 of the 235 coins sold. I’d bet a Louis d’Or that the long lock and templar coins were among them. (Spoiler: I do not have a Louis d’Or.)

Hi! Are you still taking prompts? If yes, can you do a Starker one, where Tony is oblivious, and Peter doesn't know what to do, and ask for help to a close friend of Tony and they try to make him jealous by pretending to date and Tony is like of course he is with him he's everything i'm not and having a total breakdown and peter realize that they hurt tony instead and ask for forgivenes and end up together, pleasee? Thank you! If you aren't please just ignore this!

Against my better judgement, my prompts are never closed! Thank you so much for this super sweet/angsty prompt, Nonnie! I realised after finishing this that I never directly included Peter asking for forgiveness, but I hope this feeds you just the same! ❤

TW: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Self-worth issues | Jealousy | Alcohol mention

SFW

Harley Keener is two years Peter’s senior and nicer than Peter could have ever imagined. When Tony had first started to talk about the ‘the first one he pseudo-adopted’ and how Harley had grown into more of a ‘mini me’ than he could’ve imagined, Peter had felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. 

What if Harley was better than him?

What if Tony liked Harley more?

What if, with Harley around, Tony didn’t want Peter around anymore?

He needn’t have worried, though. Harley wasn’t as ‘outwardly’ nerdy as he was, but he was more than happy to gush over the latest Star Wars LEGO offerings, and Tony snarked them both in equal measure. It was surprisingly like having another Ned around, and it took less than a week for Peter to feel stupid for having worried about his place besides the two of them. 

Tony even joked that Harley was the ‘prototype’ and Peter was the ‘updated model’, to which Harley had just rolled his eyes, knocked Tony’s spanner off the table like a cat and gone straight back to talking to Peter about ComicCon.

They became fast friends, and Peter supposed that was somewhat why he tended to forget there was a second person in the lab with them here and there, starkly (heh) reminded of it when Harley flopped down next to him on the penthouse couch one evening and said; “so how long have you been in love with Tony?” 

He could have cried. The Avengers he was around almost every other day for the past two years brushed off his doting as a hero complex and ‘mentor crush’ and it had taken Harley Keener less than three weeks to call him out on its true nature. 

Naturally and mortifyingly it ended up with Peter sniffling against Harley’s shoulder, wailing about how Tony was out of his league, how every single possible thing that could was against them, and how worst of all; Tony wasn’t interested. 

“He’s interested,” Harley had shrugged, gingerly plucking a tissue from the box and holding it out to him. He’d been somewhat cryptic about the basis of his statement, but had enthusiastically proposed a manner of ways in which it could be proven. And Peter…

Peter agreed to one. 

He didn’t know why. He wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment and he certainly didn’t get his kicks out of being humiliatingly, crushingly rejected, but...But Harley had said so make jealous. Tony always wants everything, and when he thinks he can’t have something he just tries harder to get it and Peter had inexplicably said yes. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, Peter didn’t quite know which) the only real, viable option was...Harley himself. None of the other Avengers would work; since they were all taken, straight and/or highly unlikely to be receptive to fake-dating a teen half (or more) their age. 

Neither Ned or MJ had access to the Tower or could really be around any SHIELD, Stark or Avengers activity, and that left quite literally no-one else but Harley. 

“I mean, in a way, its perfect. I’m the grandmaster of the plan anyway, and you don’t have to wordy about hurting my feelings or me falling for you. We can collaborate flawlessly to get you some Grand-Daddy dick,” Harley hummed around the stick candy in his mouth, and Peter wasn’t quite sure what part of that sentence offended him the most. 

“Does literally nobody want me?” he pouted, bottom lip pushed out dramatically as he kicked Harley’s leg out of the way and picked up the PS5 controller. 

“Hey, chin up, munchkin. You’re prettier than half the girls I know. I’m just not wired that way.”

“You’re straight?”

“I’m not anything. It’s like asexuality and aromantic, but both,” Harley pulled a face, clearly trying to remember the term, then shrugged. “Ah, I can never remember it. Anyway, point is, I’m not interested in anyone. You’re a little cherub, for sure, but you’re cute like a cat, not suck-my-dick cute.”

And, well. Cute like a cat? He considered that a high compliment. 

Thus, Operation Get That Grand-Daddy Dick (Peter did not name it) was underway. They both agreed to keep it natural and subtle, since Tony walking in on them half-naked or all over each other was just likely to spook him off. They’d edge into it; hint that they were spending more time together, act a little cosier, maybe get caught holding hands after a week or two. 

In truth, it wasn’t all that different to how they had been before, except that Harley made his smiles even softer, a little more secretive and let his gaze linger when he was sure Tony would notice. They sat and stood closer together than before, and here and there Harley would press a lingering hand to his back or arm. 

They made sure when one or both left they secreted away just out of sight and took a little too long, standing close together by the elevator and making sure to hug ‘longingly’ (whatever that meant in context) should Tony happen to peek. 

And yet for all his smarts, Tony didn’t seem to particularly notice anything amiss until the first time that he spotted them ‘romantically hugging’. Harley was actually a very good hugger, and they stood in front of the elevator together, with Peter facing it and Harley facing the lab. Harley had his chin over Peter’s shoulder and his hands low and tight on his waist, holding him close. 

“Spotted,” Harley whispered quietly, and moments later Tony spoke up. 

“Well that looks cosy.”

Tony’s voice was carefully level, no betrayal of emotion as Peter shyly disentangled himself from Harley, taking a step away as though caught doing something he shouldn’t. He didn’t have to fake the heat in his cheeks when he glanced up at where Tony stood, arms folded, and he fumbled with the strap of his backpack, glancing across at Harley before he gave Tony a meek smile. 

“Um, I’ll-- I’ll see you Friday, Mr. Stark!” he chirped, shuffling around Harley and into the elevator. Tony was still staring at him as the doors began to close, and Harley turned, casting him a wink and a finger-waggling wave. Peter waved back sheepishly and the moment the doors were shut, he whipped out his phone. 

[To: Thing 1] Did he look mad? It looked like he looked mad. Omg. U gotta tell me anything he says :// [19:31]

Harley did in fact text him back two hours later, though there wasn’t much to report. Tony had made a few flippant remarks that could either be parental interest or slight jealousy, and had dropped the subject after a short while in order to focus on his latest project.

Peter slumped. There was snails who had a faster moving love life than he did. With a groan, he stuffed the last of his anxiety snacks in his mouth and flopped back against his pillow to discuss the next step with Harley. 

Social media was their next plan of attack. Tony followed Peter on Instagram and Twitter, and had his Snapchat even if the older man rarely used the platform, so they were going to up the pressure by hanging out outside of the lab (which they did anyway) and posting it to social media. 

It was too soon to cancel plans with Tony to hang out with Harley (and frankly, Peter didn’t want to anyway) so they simply both made themselves unavailable on certain other days, or hung out together without mentioning it to Tony beforehand. 

They got ice cream at the park, went to the art museum downtown, visited several different cultural/ethnic based stores and went to the arcade to kick ass at air hockey over the course of a few weeks, all while keeping up the poorly secretive touching and closeness at the lab. 

And he’d still have more luck getting blood from a stone.

Tony seemed...Either completely oblivious, or just completely unphased. Whilst Peter caught him watching them here and there with an unreadable expression, Tony never directly asked them or overtly commented on what was happening. There was the odd, “enjoy the park yesterday, kid?” or “saw your post the other day, you should try this place next,” but never anything along the lines of what Peter hoped for. 

Even Harley was starting to doubt his original statement that Tony was definitely interested. 

Especially when Tony was the one who started cancelling plans, telling them both to ‘go enjoy themselves’ and ‘live the lives of young people’. He didn’t do it all the time, but here and there they’d both receive a text telling them not to come today. The lingering looks got longer and more weighted, but even so, Tony made no move in either aspect. 

“I think I’m just gonna have to give it up,” Peter admitted to Harley one night over the phone, hanging upside down in his bedroom with the phone dangling on a web besides him. 

“Maybe he’s just not ready for anything right now?” Harley suggested on the other end, between the frantic sounds of tapping buttons. 

“Maybe-- Oh, hang on. I’ve got an inbound from JARVIS. It might be Avengers stuff,” Peter hummed, quickly twisting to tap on the screen to accept the incoming call from JARVIS. 

“Hey, J. What’s up?” He greeted the AI, blinking at the call screen. 

“Apologies for the disturbance, Mr. Parker, but protocol deems that when Mr. Stark is in distress I establish contact with someone on his emergency list in order to inform them.” The AI’s voice was as smooth and unhurried as ever, but Peter frowned at the screen. 

“Distress?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker. Sir’s heart-rate is elevated and he is displaying significant symptoms of sadness, including light drinking, darkened lighting and angered viewing of your social media.”

“Angered viewing of my social media?” Peter echoed, fear ratcheting up as he dropped from the ceiling and moved to tug on a pair of shoes. Fuck, had he let something sip? Was there something in the background of his photos? Had someone figured out who he was? He was hopping towards the door on one foot when JARVIS spoke again, and he had to hop back to pull his phone down from the web. 

“Why is he sad over that? Did I do something wrong?”

JARVIS was silent for a short while, as though the AI was debating on how best to respond. 

“I... Believe Sir may be feeling lonely. Or unworthy of company. There have been a multitude of such instances over the past several years,” JARVIS replied after a pause, as Peter locked the web shooters around his wrist and tugged the Spiderman mask over his head to avoid any cameras, crawling out of his window and leaping out into the brisk air. 

It didn’t take long to swing to the Tower, especially not when panic and concern had him pushing it, testing his muscles and leaving him slightly out of breath by the time he slipped onto the top landing console. 

JARVIS directed him through to the penthouse and up the set of 12 steps that lead to the ‘upper level’ of it, to an open doorway that revealed Tony Stark sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at his phone with a neglected, half-open bottle of whiskey loose in one arm, like a newborn babe. 

“Mr. Stark?” he asked softly, and Tony’s gaze flit up to him, clearing immediately. His mentor cursed and jerked upright, almost sloshing the whole bottle over his bedding. 

“Shit! Kid! Wh’r you doin’ here?” Tony’s voice was just hinting on slurred, the same easiness and lack of concentration that came when you’d had a shot too many. Or five. Peter’s heart cinched as he stared at Tony gingerly putting the bottle on the bedside table, at the redness of his eyes and the messiness of his hair where he’d been running a hand through it, over and over. 

“JARVIS called me. He said you were sad,” Peter managed after a moment, hands wringing the mask between his fingers nervously. He’d never seen Tony like this, this...uncomposed. He looked haggard, tired and sad, and it made Peter feel empty and adrift, unsure of how to approach this new version of the man he loved. 

“Fucking snitch,” the older man grumbled half-heartedly, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Shit. Don’t-- Ignore me, kid. Adults my age are entitled to a night like this once in a while. Go back home, I’m fine. Fuck, you didn’t leave Harley for this, did you?”

“Harley?” Peter parroted, brows furrowing as Tony waved a hand. 

“Go on, kid. Get. Make the most of being young and pretty with someone young and pretty.” Tony reached for the bottle again and Peter found himself striding across the room, placing himself in the way of Tony’s outstretched hand and the whiskey. Tony’s fingertips brushed his stomach and recoiled like he’d been burnt by the contact.

“Mr. Stark, do you think I don’t want to hang out with you anymore?” he asked after a moment, voice fragile. God, he’d hoped to maybe make Tony a little jealous, but nothing like this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And he clearly had. There was nothing but rawness in Tony’s eyes when the older man looked up at him. 

“I’m not taking it personally,” his mentor attempted to joke, but it came out bitter and too flat to land lightly. Peter’s heart cinched in his chest and he shuffled to sit on the edge of the large bed, teeth on his lower lip as Tony turned away from his gaze. 

“Mr. Stark, I’ve never...I’ve never not wanted to hang out with you. Even if I have other friends, too,” he pointed out tentatively, and Tony scoffed lightly. 

“You’re too good for a world like this, shortstack. For someone like me. You should be trailing after someone like Captain Uptight,” Tony muttered lowly, and Peter scowled.

“You’re not less better than he is. Both of you are good people. Both of you make mistakes. Both of you save the world.”

Tony’s brows pinched, and he breathed out something that just barely sounded like then why aren’t I good enough?

Making an executive decision, Peter toed off his sneakers and crawled further up onto the bed, picking up Tony’s arm and settling down against his side, curling up under his arm and wrapping his own around Tony’s waist. 

He could feel Tony’s heart thumping wildly in his chest, could feel his breath hitch and the hesitant way that Tony let his arm settle over Peter, fingers curling in his hoodie. 

“You are,” he offered simply, squeezing gently. “This is my fault. I was acting like a dumb kid, and I thought... I should’ve known that it was just gonna end badly.”

“Is being my mini-me really that bad?” Tony choked out, and Peter pushed himself upright, alarmed. 

“What? No! Mr. Stark, being around you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t ever ever regret being around you! I just... I have to…” He trailed off for a moment, frustrated, then prayed to Harley for forgiveness and sucked in a deep breath. 

“I’m not actually dating Harley. At all. He doesn’t like people that way. Any people. We’re not boyfriends and I don’t want to stop spending time with you to spend time with him. I like spending time with you and you’re still my hero. Tony Stark or Iron Man,” he stated firmly. 

Tony looked at him for a moment, then looked away. 

“You should be with Harley, kid. Or someone like him. Not someone like me. Not someone with my history. I’m a shit person, kid. All this Iron Man stuff hasn’t even wiped half my scoreboard clean. Someone like Harley... He’s the better parts of me. Like you. He’s worth your love”.

Tony seemed almost startled at saying that word, twitching a little before he attempted to turn away from Peter again, gaze finding the far end of the room like he wished he was anywhere but here. 

Peter fidgeted, then sucked in a deep breath. “Please don’t hate me after this,” he fumbled out quickly, then rolled half on top of the older man, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he leaned forwards. 

The kiss was awkward and clumsy and couldn’t have lasted for than two seconds before Tony pulled away, eyes wide and voice rough. 

“Kid, what-- You can’t--”

“If you say you’re not interested, I’ll respect that,” Peter interrupted. “Or if you say I’m too young or whatever. But if you say anything along the lines you of not being enough, or not being worthy, or-- or-- Or whatever it is you feel you aren’t... You’re wrong. The reason me and Harley were acting like that is because I was trying to make you jealous.”

“What-”

“And I know its dumb! I don’t it was childish and I never thought it would hurt you like this. But I’ve lo-- I’ve really liked you. For years. And I know you’re a lot older and we might never be able to be...To be...Normal. I guess. But I want whatever I can get with you, because you’re worth it,” Peter barrelled on, desperate to at least be heard before Tony kicked him out. Except when he trailed off Tony was just... Staring at him.

“It’s just... Hero worship. You still think I’m some magical superhero and you--”

“No offence, Mr. Stark, but you don’t know what I think. Not when it comes to you, clearly,” Peter cut in, cheeks heating at being so brash. Prior to this he wouldn’t have ever dreamed about being so direct and forceful against Tony. 

Well. Not in any PG-rated sense, anyway. 

“Just... We don’t have to talk about it now, okay?” eh offered, sliding off Tony just a little so he was back up against his side, wriggling around until he could grab the faux fur throw on the bottom of the bed, pulling it up over both of them. Tony remained quiet at his side, just watching as he got them both settled. 

“Just... I’m gonna stay, alright? Right here. With you. Because this is where I want to be, and its where I’m gonna stay until... Until you tell me to leave.” His lower lip threatened to wobble with mounting emotion as he lay his head on Tony’s chest, feeling the thick ridges of his scars beneath his shirt. 

A moment later, Tony’s hand settled lightly over his head, fingers sliding tentatively into his hair. 

“And if I never tell you to leave? If I’m selfish and never want to let you go?” the other man whispered. 

“Then I guess that makes us both selfish, because that would make me happy,” Peter mumbled into his chest, wrapping his arm tighter around Tony’s waist. The room went silent for a while, save for their breathing and Tony’s heart thumping beneath his ear. 

“Okay,” Tony rasped after a moment, and Peter smiled. 

“Okay, Hazel Grace.”

“...What?”

“Nevermind. You’re too old for that reference.”

“You’re a little shit.”

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

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games  

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire 

3 In Mockingjay  ( and Some)  

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

 Here is a sort form of the Kisses. 

The Hunger Games 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8 The Kiss  This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

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

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

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)  

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

Now Bonus ones 

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

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

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

1. The surprise Kiss  From Gale That snow knew about 

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

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

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

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

Bonus ones 

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

So their grand total is 6... 

In the Hunger Games  ( Book) 

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

Chapter 19, 

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I  - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19 

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20. 

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch.  ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand,  “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

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

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

Chapter 22

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

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss) 

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

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

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

Chapter 23 

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

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

Chapter 26. 

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27. 

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.  

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

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire 

Chapter 3

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

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

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

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home. 

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

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. 

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

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

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

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

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

Chapter 12

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

Chapter 13

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

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

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

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.  

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

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

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

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

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

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

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

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

See you soon 

Chapter  19

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

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

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

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

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

Chapter 19/20  Cpr is a kind of kissing 

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

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

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE  Chapter 24 if your wondering

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

Chapter 25

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

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

Chapter 26  

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

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

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

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

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

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

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

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

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

“No,” says Coin flatly.

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

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

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

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

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

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

Chapter 18 

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

Chapter 19 

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

 Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranking Lady Gaga's albums, from worst to best

Being a Lady Gaga fan can be an exercise in frustration.

Gaga is far more ambitious than most popstars — I doubt we’ll ever see Ariana Grande or Ed Sheeran make an album as left-field as Born This Way or ARTPOP. But she's also far less consistent, with numerous misbegotten projects.

Gaga's undeniably successful, with five #1 hits, an Oscar and multiple iconic music videos to her name. But her messy album rollouts and tradition of underperforming lead singles make her feel like an underdog compared to the more polished, precise careers of her contemporaries like Taylor Swift, Beyoncé or Bruno Mars.

Gaga is kind of a mess. But she's our mess. This album ranking will cover some records I can't stand — albums that make me constantly hit the fast-forward button, or albums I ignore altogether. But there isn't a single record on here that wasn't a bold move. Even the "back to basics" albums made strong aesthetic choices.

So let's dive into the career of the most fascinating Millennial popstar.

#8: Cheek To Cheek (2014)

This really shouldn't count. It's a Lady Gaga album in name only. But, technically it's a Gaga album, so here we are.

I've got nothing against Gaga having fun playing Rat Pack-era dress-up with Tony Bennett. She's a theatre kid at heart, and I'm sure every theatre kid would kill to make a Great American Songbook covers record like this. It sounds like she and Tony enjoyed themselves, so I'm happy for them!

...but I'm sorry. I can't be objective about Cheek To Cheek, it's the opposite of my taste. There's only so many bland lounge ballads I can take.

BEST SONGS: I have to pick one? "Anything Goes" is cute, I guess.

WORST SONG: "Sophisticated Lady"

#7: A Star Is Born (2018)

Let me first make this clear — A Star Is Born, the movie starring Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga? It's a masterpiece. It's electrifying and tragic and I'm still upset it didn't sweep the Oscars that year. There's even a cute dog! You won't hear me say a bad word about it.

But A Star Is Born, the accompanying soundtrack? It's extremely hit-and-miss.

Yes, it includes arguably Gaga's best-ever song and one of the greatest movie hits ever written, "Shallow." And there's plenty of other great tunes in the tracklist too — "Always Remember Us This Way," "I'll Never Love Again," the "La Vie En Rose" cover.

Even the country-rock songs from Bradley Cooper (who, reminder, is not a professional singer) are mostly good! "Black Eyes" RIPS, and "Maybe It's Time" feels like a long-lost classic.

But sadly, there are so many mediocre filler tracks on this thing. The second half of A Star Is Born's hour-plus runtime (Gaga's longest!) is padded with generic songs like "Look What I've Found," "Heal Me" and "I Don't Know What Love Is." The only good one out of the bunch is the silly, intentionally-bad "Why Did You Do That?"

In the movie, these filler tracks serve a point – they're meant to show Gaga's character selling out. They work in the movie when you hear them for a few seconds and see Cooper make a drunkly disappointed scowl. But I don't want to listen to them, and sadly, they make up half the album.

In other words — A Star Is Born would've made an incredible six or seven-song EP. But as an 63-minute-long record? It's a slog.

BEST SONGS: "Shallow", "Always Remember Us This Way," "Maybe It's Time"

WORST SONG: "Heal Me"

#6: Joanne (2016)

After Born This Way and ARTPOP, I get why Gaga needed to make a more lowkey, back-to-basics album. I also understand that many of these songs have extremely personal lyrics for her.

But is a down-to-earth album what I really want from our most outré popstar? Not really.

Luckily, Joanne is better than that description suggests. Yes, there are some bland acoustic ballads and awkward hippie-era throwbacks (two styles that are really not in Gaga's wheelhouse), but there's also some Springsteen-style heartland rockers! And those go hard in the paint.

Joanne works best when Gaga works the record's dusty aesthetics into her brand of weirdo pop, like on the sizzling "John Wayne," the winking "A-YO" or the delightfully extra Florence Welch duet "Hey Girl."

The record also has "Perfect Illusion" — a glorious red herring of a lead single that sounds nothing like anything else on Joanne. It's a roided-up mixture of woozy Tame Impala production and hair metal histrionics, and it rules. It might be Gaga's best-ever lead single! (at the very least, it's her most underrated.)

And there is one slow tune that's unambiguously great: "Million Reasons," another solid Gaga lighters-in-the-air power ballad pastiche.

Despite what some Little Monsters may tell you, Joanne isn't a disaster. There's some great stuff in there, and even the worst songs are just forgettable. But it's still far from her best.

BEST SONGS: "Perfect Illusion," "Diamond Heart," "Million Reasons"

WORST SONG: "Come To Mama"

#5: Chromatica (2020)

When Chromatica was released near the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, it had been seven years since Gaga had released music in her classic gonzo-synthpop vein. I can easily picture the record serving as an "ugh fine, I'll give you what you want" response to the many Little Monsters annoyed with Gaga's half-decade of folksy ballads and Julie Andrews cosplay.

I'll say this about Chromatica — outside of The Fame Monster, it's her most consistent record. There's not a single track that's a glaring mistake. And the three singles — "Stupid Love," "911" and the triumphant Ariana Grande duet "Rain On Me" — easily stand among her best tracks.

But although "all bangers, no ballads" album sounds rad in theory, it doesn't really succeed in practice. Chromatica is solid, but it's also a very same-y record. It feels like Gaga had one really great idea for the album ('90s club music with super-depressing lyrics) and repeated it over and over and over again to diminishing results.

There are some songs that are able to separate themselves: the three singles, of course, as well as the goofy "Babylon" and "Sine From Above," the Elton John duet that's the closest Chromatica gets to a ballad. But by the end of the album, you feel more worn out than electrified.

Also — and this is probably unfair, but still — Chromatica came out just a couple months after another retro-dance blockbuster pop album: Dua Lipa's magnum opus, Future Nostalgia. That's not a flattering comparison.

BEST SONGS: "Rain On Me," "Stupid Love," "911"

WORST SONG: "1000 Doves"

#4: The Fame (2008)

Out of all of Gaga's records, The Fame is most like a time capsule. It REEKS of late '00s/early '10s pop — which isn't an entirely fair criticism, seeing as Gaga popularized that era's sleazy, synthy aesthetic. It's also not a bad thing! I don't mind a little nostalgia!

As you already know, The Fame's singles are masterworks. "Just Dance," "Poker Face," "Paparazzi" — these tracks have titanic legacies for good reason. And although it's probably the least-beloved of this album's hits, despite being a total banger, "LoveGame" should still be commended for having arguably the most Gaga lyric ever (you know, the "disco stick" line).

And even though those tracks are front-loaded on The Fame, there are some gems deeper in the tracklist. "Summerboy" is basically Gwen Stefani covering The Strokes (so obviously, it's great). "Eh, Eh" is adorable. "Starstruck" is the most 2008 song ever recorded, with aggressive Auto-Tune and Flo Rida showing up to make Starbucks jokes.

Sadly, The Fame still feels like Gaga before she became fully-formed at certain points. The back half has a number of songs that feel like generic club tracks forced by the label, and "Paper Gangsta" is one of the clunkiest songs in Gaga's catalogue.

But at the very least, the bad songs on The Fame at least serve as little nostalgia bombs for that era of pop. And the best songs are untouchable classics.

BEST SONGS: "Paparazzi," "Just Dance," "Summerboy"

WORST SONG: "Paper Gangsta"

#3: ARTPOP (2013)

For much of Gaga's career, she's been ahead of the curve. She tries something, and a year or a few years later, other popstars try something similar to diminishing results.

That doesn't just apply to the successful stuff, like Gaga's extravagant music videos inspiring many copycats from 2010-2013. It also applies to the mid-late '10s trend of legacy popstars making a controversial record with risky aesthetic or lyrical choices that backfired: reputation. Witness. Man of The Woods.

Gaga did this first, with ARTPOP — arguably the most abrasive, and bizzare major label album released by a major modern popstar. And she did it better, because unlike Swift, Perry and Timberlake, Gaga's weirdness was for real. And it was in service of some prime, hyper-aggressive bangers.

ARTPOP isn't Gaga's best work — some of her experiments on it are major misfires, from the obnoxious "Mary Jane Holland" to the bland Born This Way leftover (and Romani slur-utilizing) "Gypsy."

But when ARTPOP is on, it's ON. The opening stretch in particular, from "Aura" to "Venus" to "G.U.Y." to "Sexxx Dreams," is chaotic synthpop at its finest. Those songs took Gaga's classic sound to an apocalyptic, demented extreme, and they're fantastic.

"MANiCURE" is a great glam-rock banger, "Dope" is another classic Gaga piano ballad, the title track is some sikly-smooth dreampop; even the misguided, clunky trap anthem "Jewels N' Drugs" is bad in a hilarious, charming way!

Trust me: ARTPOP will go down in history not as a flop, but as a gutsy, underrated record from a legend. Less Witness, more In Utero.

BEST SONGS: "G.U.Y.," "Venus," "Sexxx Dreams"

WORST SONG: "Gypsy"

#2: The Fame Monster (2009)

Objectively speaking, this is probably the best Gaga album.

It's her one record with no fluff, no filler — only 34 minutes and 8 tracks, all of them stellar.

It's the record that took Gaga from "wow, this new woman is a fresh new face in pop!" to "this woman IS pop."

It's the record with her signature track, "Bad Romance," which was accompanied by arguably the greatest music video of the 21st Century. (It also has my absolute favorite Gaga track, the relentlessly catchy "Telephone.")

I don't think I need to explain what makes mega-smashes "Bad Romance" and "Telephone" and "Alejandro" great, nor the accompanying legendary deep cuts "Speechless" and "Dance In The Dark." They speak for themselves.

However — the sleek, calculated perfection of The Fame Monster, while incredible, isn't something I return to often. It's just not the side of Gaga that's my favorite. That honor would have to go to...

BEST SONGS: "Telephone," "Dance In The Dark," "Bad Romance"

WORST SONG: "So Happy I Could Die" (but it's still pretty solid)

#1: Born This Way (2011)

One of my favorite podcasts is Blank Check. The concept of the show is to analyze each movie by a famous director — in particular, those who had big success early on and then got a blank check to make whatever crazy passion project they wanted. Here's a great example: because Batman was a massive hit, Tim Burton got to make whatever Hot Topic-core movies he wanted to for decades, from Edward Scissorhands to a creepy Willy Wonka remake.

That long-winded tangent is just to say: Born This Way was Lady Gaga's blank check. By early 2011, she had conquered the pop universe, notching hit after hit after hit. Every other pop star was copying her quirky music videos. So the label let Gaga do whatever she wanted — and she didn't waste that opportunity.

Born This Way is wildly overproduced. It's both extremely trend-chasing (those synths were cutting edge at the time but charmingly dated now), but also deeply uncaring about what the teens want (I don't think Springsteen and Queen homages were big at the time). And I love every messy, overblown second of it.

From the hair-metal/synthpop hybrid opener "Marry The Night" to the majestic '80s power ballad "The Edge of Glory," Born This Way starts at an 11. And Gaga never takes her foot off the pedal for the album's entire hour-plus run time. Clanging electric guitars, thunderous synths and Clarence Clemons (!!!) sax solos collide into each other as Gaga champions every misfit and loser in the world. It's gloriously corny in the best way possible.

Born This Way is also the perfect middle ground of pop-savvy Gaga and gonzo Gaga. It doesn't go quite as hard as ARTPOP, but the hooks are stronger. And the oddball moments are tons of fun, from the sci-fi biker anthem "Highway Unicorn" to the goofy presidential-sex banger "Government Hooker" ("Put your hands on me/John F. Kennedy" might be the greatest line in pop history).

Born This Way will always be my favorite Gaga album. It's armed with nuclear-grade hooks, slamming beats, and soaring anthems. Although it's not as untouchably pristine as the Mt. Rushmore of '10s pop classics (for the record, that's 1989, EMOTION, Lemonade and, of course, Melodrama), Gaga isn't best served by meticulousness. She's proudly tacky and histrionic, and so that's what makes Born This Way an utter joy.

BEST SONGS: "The Edge of Glory," "You and I," "Marry The Night"

WORST SONG: "Bloody Mary"

LiLi  

19 Nov 2019 to 8 Feb 2021

Vinnie

13 March 2019 to 18 January 2021

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My heart is broken.  Between these two recent losses and the betta who succumbed to old age earlier in January, I’ve lost half my beloved fish so far this year.

Vinnie was never as robust as his tankmate, Sally (who was purchased the same day from the same tank at the store).  She was half again his size.  He began to have trouble staying upright, lying sideways on the bottom, and a couple days later he stopped eating.  I used clove oil to end his suffering.  It was terribly sad but I had seen it coming for months since he was lagging behind Sally.  Sometimes goldfish (especially ones with pet store genetics) just fail to thrive, and when they reach around the two year mark something goes haywire and that’s it.  I’ve seen it before, so I knew the signs, but Vinnie was a really sweet little fish and I would loved to have him around longer.

LiLi’s passing was an utter shock, however.  She had been absolutely normal--eating, swimming, napping, being friendly--until suddenly she went sideways/upside down and appeared to be partly paralyzed while having twitching fits.  About an hour later she was gone.  Boom, just like that.  No warning signs at all.  She had always been an active fish who really seemed to enjoy life, and she had been growing a lot.  She had a great relationship with her tankmate, Maui, and was always friendly to people, too.  She loved swimming through the bubble curtain and perching herself on top of plants to nap.  She ate lunch enthusiastically that day, had her usual afternoon snooze with Maui in their favorite spots, then was up, bopping around, acting like her usual perky self, and then...something catastrophic happened inside her, and she was gone.

I wasn’t having a great few weeks anyway, as far as mental health goes, but I had been plodding along.  This absolutely devastated me.  I actually called into work today because I just wasn’t up to it.  I’m slowly getting myself together now, but I’m still in a state of shock.

I’ve had a few other goldfish in the past 19 years who have keeled over this fast, but it’s very rare, and I’ve never watched the whole thing happen in front of my eyes.  Other times I saw them being totally normal, then an hour or two later looked and found them dead.  This time I saw it all, helpless to do a damn thing about it.  I keep reliving it in my mind.

My fish are like my babies.  I’ve cried so much in the last 48 hours my eyes are a wreck and my head feels like I’ve been conked with a baseball bat.

So now I have a 55-gallon tank and a 37-gallon tank, each with a single goldfish in it.  The next step seems obvious, right?  Take Sally out of the 37-gallon and have her join Maui in the 55-gallon.  Except I tried to introduce her to LiLi and Maui shortly after Vinnie died, and she was a holy terror.  

Backing up, I had long suspected I guessed the sexes of both Sally and Vinnie wrong.  Sally would occasionally get into a mood where she would chase Vinnie relentlessly.  She actually had been doing that just before his final decline, which I’m sure didn’t help him any, but as I said he had been showing signs of not thriving long before that incident.

LiLi was a bit more than twice Sally’s size, and Maui is half again LiLi’s size, so I didn’t figure Sally’s aggression would go anywhere.  For the first few hours they were together, they seemed to get along great!  They swam together, smelling and inspecting each other, with her following them around the tank in a “let me give you the grand tour” kind of way, but there were no signs of aggression.  They ate supper together with no more jostling than usual for goldfish.  Then, a few hours into the evening, Sally just went nuts.  She started chasing the other two, driving hard into them, pushing them over, just being a huge pain in the peduncle.  She took after Maui more than LiLi, but she’d break off from harassing him to chase her around a bit, too.  At first I thought they were just working out a pecking order and let them sort it out, but it continued for a half hour without a lull, and I could tell Maui and LiLi were getting really stressed.  Sally got a stern talking-to and a trip back into the 37-gallon tank.

Sally’s been quite content by herself in the weeks since then.  I expected her to get lonely and mopey, but so far she really hasn’t.  She’s been active, her appetite is good, and she seems to get her social needs met by me spending the vast majority of my leisure time in the computer chair an arm’s length away from her.

Goldfish almost always need another member of their species around to bond with and socialize with.  I’ve had goldfish who have deeply mourned their tank mates and been lethargic and bored by themselves.  I’ve only had one who preferred to be alone.  I’m hoping Sally isn’t the second.

Maybe the dynamic will be different with only one other fish to get to know instead of two.  Maybe because she’s been by herself for much longer now she’ll be happier to see another of her own kind.  I don’t know, but I have to try.  If Sally and Maui can share the bigger tank, I can get another pair of tiny ones to grow up in the 37-gallon.  If they can’t cohabitate then I’m left trying to find a new tankmate for Maui, who definitely needs one.

I don’t know why it’s so damn hard to find fantail goldfish online.  I’ve had both ryukins and orandas in the past (the latter only because I bought what I thought were fantails who ended up growing wens) but I vastly prefer the more normal body types of fantails and veiltails.  No headgrowth that can interfere with their sight or breathing.  No buggy eyes.  No deformed humps.  Just...a fish with long fins.  I know the egg-shaped body of a fantail isn’t exactly natural, either, but it’s much closer to that of their wild carp ancestors, and less likely to lead to health problems.

I have searched extensively online through the years for a source of quality fantails or veiltails, and found one place that is no longer in business (where Maui and the late Aolani came from), and another that stopped carrying non-pond varieties a couple months after I got LiLi from them.

The local brick-and-mortar pet stores really only have larger fantails when someone surrenders one due to it being too big for their tank.  There isn’t enough demand to carry them normally.  Last time I was in the market I asked the locally-owned pet store to call me if anyone brought in a large fantail.  I never heard back from them, which I understand if there was nothing to report, but I don’t know how long they kept my note on file.  Probably not indefinitely.

It’s so frustrating.  And a big part of my healing process after I’ve lost a fish is to welcome a new one home.  When I can’t do that I have nothing to distract me from the loss, and I just feel bad every time I see the “widowed” fish being alone.

So yeah.  2021 is not the year of the fish.

he hit me like a tidal wave pt.8

happy valentines day guys and welcome to the valentines day chapter. it doesn’t really have anything to do with valentines day but it’s spicy. you might notice that i kinda changed their ages so the boys are 18, Sydney is 19 almost 20, and Noelle and Thomas are 16. this chapter is a little spicy. it’s mostly just heavily implied stuff cause i’m not really comfortable writing smut. also i want to stress that this is very consensual because I don’t fuck with non-con. ok please enjoy.

title from Everything All at Once by Andrew Muccitelli and this chapter was heavily inspired by the positions album by Ariana Grande especially west side and obvious

all character are from @lumosinlove

Fish: Hey, what day do you want to see the Cubs play?

Lo: oh idk i don’t have a shift this weekend

Fish: Yeah, me neither. So game this Saturday?

Lo: yeah i’m good with that

Lo: i’m cold come cuddle

Fish: Ok. I’ll be right over babe!

Finn walked into his room about 20 minutes later, after being let in by Sydney. Logan opened the covers and Finn claimed in on top of him. 

“Your squishing me,” Logan laughed, hugging Finn around the waist.

Finn only responded by kissing his neck. 

“Who’s home?” Finn said in a low voice.

“I- um just Sydney,” Logan blushed.

“Don’t worry we won’t do anything you aren’t ok with. I just wanted to know our options.”

Logan blushed harder and snuggled closer to Finn. He loved the rasp in his voice when he got like this. 

“I was promised cuddles,” 

“Then I’m happy to oblige,” he said pulling Logan closer.

Logan felt so sleepy in his arms and soon drifted off to sleep. 

Logan was awakened by his phone buzzing. He answered it and head Leo’s voice.

“Hey,” Leo said, “you tried to call me earlier.”

“Oh yeah, I just wanted to tell you that Finn and I are coming to this Saturday’s game.”

“That’s awesome! The boys will be so excited.”

“Finn’s actually right here,” Finn lifted his head up from where it was snuggled against Logan’s neck, “Finn say hi,”

“Hi Leo,” he said.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were together right now or I wouldn’t have called.”

“No your totally good. Ok see you at the game.”

“I can’t wait, bye.”

“Bye,” Logan and Finn said together, then Logan hung up.

Finn took the phone from Logan. 

“What?” Logan smirked.

“I- I, um, go close the door.”

Logan’s stomach flipped, “ok,” he got up and closed the door , locking it for good measure.”

Logan came back to sit on the bed, “don’t tell me my Finn is jealous.”

“Of course not, I just love you so much and I want to remind you.” 

“Oh really, and how are you gonna do that?”

“I’m gonna need you to shut up first.” 

Logan leaned forward, “make me.”

Logan knew he had done it now. Logan knew Finn would never admit that he liked Logan’s bratty attitude. Finn sat up kissing Logan and pushing him down on the bed. He gripped Logan’s hips so hard, Logan knew there would be bruises tomorrow. He love to make Finn go wild. 

Finn kisses down Logan’s neck causing him to moan and claw at his back. Logan knew he would be apologizing to Sydney for how loud he was. Finn tugged at Logan’s shirt. 

“You can do whatever you want I’m yours.” Logan panted.

Finn nodded, “tell me the second you want to stop or if you don’t like something.” 

“Always baby. I love you.”

“I love you so much.”

Logan and Finn walked out of his room about 2 hours. Logan was never so thankful for the stamina he got from hockey. He also realized practice tomorrow would be rough.

They walked into the kitchen to find Sydney standing there making a sandwich. Logan did his best to not show that he was slightly limping, but of course she noticed.

“Bottom,” she snorted.

“Rude,” he gasped.

“Hey, I get joking rights after what I just had to hear. Noise canceling headphones might have blocked out some of it but you are just too loud.”

Finn blushed, not meeting her eyes. 

“Don’t worry I don’t care, I just want some heads up next time.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Finn saluted her.

“You should just be lucky Noelle wasn’t home.”

Sydney was about a year and a half older than Logan. She was taking a gap year to work and travel before she started college. Noelle was 2 years younger and in Junior year. She had skipped a year of school in elementary so she was really young for a Junior. Logan realized how glad he was too. 

“Anyway, you two are disgustingly cute. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

“If your sister hadn’t heard us before, I would have you meaning against the kitchen counter,” Finn whispered.

“Bonk,” Logan hit him on the head, “go to horny jail.”

Everything Stays

Big thanks to @theatreandcomicfreak for helping me work out my idea!! Can’t thank you enough <3<3<3 

This is a Jasonette song fic to Everything Stays from Adventure Time, had this idea like a week ago and I’ve been working on it for almost 2 days now. It is the longest thing I’ve written so i hope you enjoy, and I didn’t check over it to much so sorry if there are many errors, but otherwise I hope y’all enjoy :>

///

Here she stood, it made it all to real. ‘Here lies Jason Todd, may he finally have peace’ A sob wrecked her small frame, Marinette no longer had an excuse to accept the inevitable. Years had past yet she still didn’t want to believe he was gone, it still feels like yesterday when she first met the boy with attachment issues. 

It was a busy day in the bakery, the family was preparing for the massive gala they were catering. Marinette was now 12 so her parents let her help with preparations, they would need all hands on deck, this wasn’t any gala it was the Wayne Gala. Bruce Wayne himself had come in with the request a few months prior, it was to celebrate some achievement the Paris branch had achieved, it was something had gone completely over Marinette’s head at the time, she was just happy to help her stressed parents. The gala was tomorrow and they were finishing the decoration on the treats, everything from cupcakes and small pastries to thousands of macaroons still needed the finishing touches. To say it was hectic would be an understatement but the family had done it, 2 am everything was ready for transport to the venue. 

Mari had dressed in a simple but elegant baby pink gown for the gala, her parents had dressed in formal attire with pink accents to match their branding. After the family with the help of the buildings staff set up Sabine and Tom decided to let Mari enjoy the gala, all the dresses of the high class event was sure to be an inspiration to the little fashion designer. As the doors opened to the massive ballroom a little girl was sitting off to the side to absorbed in drawing designs out of the Gothic architecture to notice. The gentle music was calming and helped inspire her more, once she had filled many pages she looked up and it was then the man himself made his grand entrance.

Bruce Wayne made an extravagant entrance after finally getting his new ward to put on his clothes presentably. Jason was hiding behind him, he had been living with Bruce for a few months now but that didn’t mean he was used to the attention, let alone positive attention.  The large crowds combined with Dick not being there, Jason clung to his pseudo-brother like a lifeline, was getting to the young boy. Blue eyes surveyed the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to hide or sneak out, currently no luck came his way as he clung to Bruce’s leg, the older gentleman lightly petting his head, noting the kid’s distress. 

Bruce quickly looked over the room, remembering that a little girl around Jason’s age was here with her parents who were catering. The parents seemed kind enough so when he spotted their child he subtly pointed Jason her way right as she was getting up. Jason nodded and while reluctant to leave the one person he knew, made a beeline to the wall where the small girl was. She had just finished smoothing out her dress when Jason reached her. Hand on the wall, slightly out of breath, he looked at her. A kind smile graced her lip, her hand already out, “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

That was the start of a beautiful friendship, while it lasted at least, the two were attached at the hip for the rest of his stay in Paris. She made him feel at ease and Mari was more than happy to make a new friend her age. The pair spent hours getting to know each other and became inseparable. It was a pleasant surprise for both sets of guardians, but not an unwelcome one. The call Dick got the night of the gala was not the one he expected, but one of Jason telling him all about the kind girl who told him stories about her life. Dick was happy Jason was able to find someone to be with while he wasn’t able to make it due to classes starting up again. When the Wayne’s had to go back to Gotham tears were shed, but promises to talk everyday and tight hugs were shared. 

It wasn’t until almost two and a half years later that Marinette’s heart broke. She had been trying to contact him for a few weeks with no response, not totally unusual but still worrying, that she finally got a response that broke her. The news was playing in the background, but she couldn't hear it anymore, “Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne has died today as a result of fatal injuries” that was all she needed to hear to break down. She couldn't look at the screen when they showed his face, she didn’t read the letters she got from the Waynes, or acknowledge the invitation to his funeral. The pile was growing on her desk, the dust forming a noticeable layer, she couldn’t, it she did it would be all to real. For over a month she didn’t leave her room, her sobs could be heard from the living room. It took her almost two months before she would return to school, two weeks more before she said a real sentence to anyone besides her parents. Everyone who knew the sunshine that was Marinette was worried about her but didn’t want to make it worse so they just gave silent hugs and support where they could. Three and a half months after the funeral she was more or less back to her former self, though anyone who knew her before knew what things to avoid. 

Six months later, she had caught up on all the work she missed and the new school year was starting Mari saved the life of an old man by the bakery on her way to class. It was later that day Ladybug and Chat Noir made their first appearance, almost 16 and she was tasked with saving the city she loved from a maniac who controlled people with butterflies and bad emotions. It was a good thing she learned how to keep her emotions in check before she was given this mantle. Chat and Ladybug decided to break to rule of not knowing each other's identities after it was clear they would need more help and had to call on other heroes. Fu wasn't happy about it but trusted their decision, it was about this time he started to teach Marinette how to become the next Guardian. 

Six months after becoming heros the duo knew each other’s identities, a year after there was a team of full time heros. It was after they had been fighting for over a year and a half that the team agreed they needed more than themselves, they called the Justice League. At first they were ignored but through persistence they got the back up they needed. Two and a half years after becoming Ladybug Hawk Moth was tracked down and  in cuffs before he could transform. The Watch Tower had been monitoring the Akumas and traced his location down to the Agreste manor, Nathile had put up no fight, and gave herself willingly to the authorities. 

Three years had passed since she had been given earrings that changed her life when a note appeared on her balcony inviting her to the Watch Tower. At 19 years old Marinette was apart of the Justice League, the rest of her team had moved on. They had lives to live, and while they didn’t regret being heroes they had other obligations. Adrien fell off the map with some help, he didn’t want or need the spotlight any more he was done, Luka was Touring with Jagged Stone, Kagami had become a world class fencer and had to carry on her family name, Alya was becoming the next Nadja so she was the face of the Tv network, Nino was well on his way to being a famous DJ, Alix had extreme sports to compete in and street art to make, Cholé had began to take over the hotel business and working to make it international, Kim was an Olympic swimmer and Max was on his way to being a  head engineer at one of the leading technology companies in the world. Marinette was the Guardian and while they all said they would continue to help she couldn’t ask them to do that. 

For the next 2 years she spent most of her time at the Tower, slowly building money from commissions to buy a house of her own. MDC was known around the world and was commission only, you had to know someone who knew someone to even get a chance to get a design. Close to her 22nd birthday she finally started to look for a place of her own, she needed a proper place for the Kawmi after all. After many long nights Marientte decided to move to the last place she knew he was. It hurt but she had put it off long enough, and to Gotham she went.

When she told Batman where she planned to move he was surprised initially but helped her find a place to call home. She ended up settling on a home in the outskirts of the city, isolated enough for privacy but plenty of room and ways to get to the city. When Bruce got a call from the girl about 2 weeks after her 22nd birthday asking if he could tell her where Jason was he was shocked to say the least. ‘Does she know’ was the first thing going through his head, granted it had been almost 4 years since Jason had come back from the dead but as far as he knew, no one outside of the BatFam inner circles and the Outlaws knew that. The fact that she hadn’t gone to the funeral and never mentioned him until now perplexed him as well, what had suddenly changed. Sure both had learned the other’s identity when she joined the League but that was a while ago, why now. The choked sobs brought him back to reality and the young women on the other side of the line, he gave her directions to the former grave. They left it there because they couldn’t bring it in them to remove it, it was a reminder.

Let’s go in the garden

Today was the day Marinette told herself. It had been years, she could do it, no matter how hard it was. She picked some marigolds, lilies and roses before leaving her home. If she was going to do this she might as well bring something to leave there. Marigolds, why did she ever plant those, must have been because subconsciously it was something he always called her. A single tear fell down her cheek before she wiped it away and tried to smile.

You’ll find something waiting

Right there where you left it lying upside down

Marinette’s small bag didn’t hold much; just her keys, phone, some tissues and the letters finally opened. She had finally opened them the day she asked Bruce where she could see him again, but couldn’t make herself read them until the night before. She cried reading about it again, condolences and an open invitation to stay with the Waynes for a while if she needed to. She felt 15 again, crying alone in her room. Only this time she wasn’t alone, she had the Kwamis and they helped her sleep. The tear stains still noticeable on the one she couldn’t bear to open from Jason himself. It was to be given to her if he ever died, she still wasn’t ready to full accept he was gone. She may be older but it still felt like there was a hoel in her heart that she couldn’t fill.

When you finally find it, you’ll see how it’s faded

The underside is lighter when you turn it around

Marinette finally did it, the tall gates towered over her. She hesitated as she reached to open the last barrier keeping her from the inevitable. A hand absentmindedly went to the earrings. She had thought about it once, using the wish, but she knew better. The cost could have been anything and while she missed him she wasn’t that selfish. How was she to know that is even what he wanted, it wasn’t right so she only had the thought once on the anniversary of his death after she found out about the wish. 

Everything stays right where you left it

The metal was cold when her hand finally made contact, this was happening. Almost 6 years after and she was finally going to have to admit it to herself. But it was okay, that is what he would want, wasn’t it? Shaking her head before she went down that rabbit hole again she followed the cobblestone path to the Wayne plot of the cemetery. No backing out now. The whole area was varying states of care, you could tell who had family that loved them and who was the last of the line. Many headstones had vines covering them, clearly older than the pristine graves with fresh flowers and candles still burning. How the candle stays lit in a place where rain seemed more common than the sun she wouldn't know. 

Everything stays 

The sizable plot had a small black fence around it. There were five distinctive burials. The tomb of Martha and Thomas Wayne was white and while simple it was elegant. Not a single crack and a single dying rose laid beneath the inscription ‘May Martha and Thomas Wayne rest in peace, hand in hand forever’, it was sweet. Truly loving parents taken from this world to soon. Next to the tomb was a far more simple Romanian burial, the grass still growing a healthy green. Mary and John buried how they would have been back in their home land, Bruce insisted they rest in the same place his family did. It was the day it was clear how much Bruce really valued family. 

But it still changes

Mari finally brought herself to look at the last grave.  ‘Here lies Jason Todd, may he finally have peace,’ seeing the words made her break down. It was all to real, the dirt was even looking recently moved. Her sobs must have been heard from the other side of Gotham, her legs gave out. Lightly tracing his name she finally let out everything she had been holding on to for years. Her broken heart was allowed to properly feel the hurt it had locked away so long ago. The flowers forgotten by her side, she stayed kneeling on the fresh dirt crying her eyes out for what must have been hours before she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays

Dick Grayson was doing his monthly flower change at the graves when he heard broken sobbing. His slow pace suddenly was a light jog, someone sounded broken, he had to help. Turning the corner he saw the unmistakable midnight hair and crumpled figure of the one person he never thought he’d see again in civilian life, let alone here. The one place he swore she’d never be, on his brother’s grave. He did the one thing he could think of and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair from her tear stained face and pulled her into a comforting hug. “It’s good to see you again Mari,” she held him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this realm. 

Let’s go in the garden

“You want to come back to the manor with me, I’m sure Bruce would love to see you again. Alfred too,” her small head nod and last sniffles was enough of a confirmation to him. Helping her up, Dick took Mari’s hand and lead her to his car. During the ride he brought her up to speed about the new members, (Tim, Damian, Stephine, Cass), about how many pets they had, about really anything in their lives. Throughout she was slowly perking up again, laughing at his anecdotes about his siblings, completely avoiding bringing up Jason. Dick had already warned those at the Manor she was coming with him, and not to mention Jason.  By the time they had arrived everyone was filled in and Mari had a smile on her face and a soft laugh as she heard about Damian bringing a cow home.

You’ll find something waiting

The movement the dark wooden doors opened Mari was engulfed with the smell of fresh cookies and a welcoming embrace of none other than Alfred. “Long time no see,” she patted his back and she returned the hug, the slight guilt in her tone immediately washed away when he held her tighter. 

The family led her to the living room, she meets the other members of the house she was told about in her way there. Everyone was kind in their own ways, though those who had not heard of her before that day were wary of the newcomer. She livened up the room, it seemed that comfort and warmth followed her wherever she went. Alfred had brought tea and cookies for everyone and they talked about where life had taken them since they had last talked, then the topic came up.

Right there where you left it lying upside down

Damian didn’t mean to make the slip août Jason being a prick, he really hadn’t but the second Mari quieted he knew he said something he shouldn’t have. ‘How you you know’ was all that went through her mind, but quickly brushed the thought off, this could help. Everyone in the room held their breath as they waited to see how she would act, Dick had warned them and they didn’t understand until now. To say they were surprised when she had a small smile on her face after whipping a single tear would be an understatement. 

When you finally find it, you’ll see how it’s faded

Marinette started to tell stories of her and Jason, about their close friendship. Everyone who knew the edgy man in question were in awe that he was once a ‘normal’ kid without problems expressing his feelings. She told them about the late night calls, the constant letters and gifts they would send each other. She spoke so roundly of him they couldn’t figure out why she had never come up until Dick had found her at his grave, what fallout must have happened caused her name to never be said, why were Alfred and Dick so happy to see her, so many questions went through the newer members’ heads.

The underside is lighter when you turn it around

Throughout her stories she had started to mess with the chain around her neck, it was going to need to be replaced soon, the daily wear was getting to it. When Marinette finally took it out to show, Dick’s eyes widened, he knew pendant. Mari gave it a sad smile before exhaling it was the last thing she had of him, it was the thing she valued most. It was the last gift he had sent her, a silver pendant with a warn robin resting on a blossom branch. Dick had helped Jason pick that out so many years ago. She told the group how she never took it off, only to fix the chain or replace it.  Eventually she admitted, both to herself and the people in the room, her still existing feeling, “I think that’s why I couldn’t let it be real, let him go… I always wanted to be by his side, with him through thick and thin.”

Everything stays right where you left it

Everyone in the room heard the helmet thump when it hit the hardwood floors. Standing in the doorway was one Red Hood, domino mask still on with his mouth hanging open wide. Marinette was quickly out of her seat ready to strike should he pose a threat, but Dick’s gentle hand on her shoulder made her relax slightly, still not taking her eyes off of the new comer. “Jay-bird…” Dick wasn’t able to finish what he was saying or stop her when Mari launched herself at Jason, crying openingly again as she held onto him for dear life. 

Everything stays 

After the initial shock of finally seeing her again he returned the hold, just as strong petting her hair lightly, “I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” the pair didn’t care to notice when the rest of the Waynes left the room to give them privacy, nor did they care. They were finally in each other’s arms after so long, the dam broke all over again for Mari but this time her tears were joyous, her Jay was back in her arms. It didn’t matter how what mattered was he was there and he was real, actually here not some joke or illusion but the real thing, nothing would take him from her again if she had a say about it.

But it still changes

Finally pulling back to look at each other they took in the small changes. Marinette’s hair was longer and to her mid back hanging in a low ponytail, her freckles seemed more prominent. She stood tall and confident, it was clear she was built and while the years had been tough she had come out stronger because of it. Her eyes were still the most beautiful blue Jason had ever seen. Jason had become tall and puberty did him many favors. His muscles would show in pretty much any shirt he wore. And while those were big changes the most noticeable to Mari was the unnatural white streak in the inky mess of hair he had and the supernatural green that seemed to move in his eyes. It was still him though, nothing could change the fact he was still the Jason Mari had fallen for and couldn’t bring herself to let go.

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

Mari took his hand, leading him to the couch so they could properly catch up. The helmet forgotten and domino mask on the coffee table. If anyone had walked in they didn’t stay. They talked for hours and hours, the sun was rising by the time Mari had yawned for the first time, it had been a long day. “I could take you home if you’d like,” reluctant to see her leave. “Why would I go anywhere, you’re right here,” she made herself at home on his chest snuggling ever slightly closer. The light breathing lulled Jason to sleep not long after. 

In little ways, when everything stays

Tim was the one who found the pair sleeping, in what looked like the first time in a while, peacefully. Sneakily taking a picture to send to the family chat he left the room to get more coffee, they deserved to sleep.

Marinette woke up to slight nudging and warmth, “Come on Mari, we should eat.” Startled she jumped up, almost hitting the table, forgetting where she was for a second she panicked but seeing his face brought back memories from the night before. “Oh thank god it’s you,” and with that she pulled them both in the direction of what smelled like food. Alfred had left out some food for the two before going out for the day. Marinette left after eating leaving her phone number with him and in return she got a small business card from him.

Do down to the ocean

Two days later and Marinette sat kicking her legs of the dock in the warehouse district. The card just told her to wait on this dock today and to be there by 6 in something casual but flexible. Is here she sat, waiting with light blue jeans, black vans and a dark red hoodie, music played in her ear as she waited. Being early she had nothing to worry about, she trusted he’d show up and it’s not like if something did happen she couldn’t protect herself.

They crystal tide is rising

The cargo ship in the dock next to the one she was sitting on was almost finished unloading its crates. A horn behind her brought her out of her thoughts, a motorcycle was waiting for her expectantly.

The waters’ gotten higher as the shore washes out

Grabbing the extra black helmet Mari held on tight to the person already on the bike. Once she was secure they sped off down the docks and to the amusement park all the while she was having the time of her life. Speed was something she loved and he gave it to her, taking the scenic route so they admire the view of the ocean and enjoy the ride.

Keep your eyes wide open, even when the sun is blazin’

The moon controls the tide, it can cause you to drown

Skitting to a stop in front of the waterfront amusement park Jason took off his helmet, a sly smirk as he watched Mari jump up and down in excitement. “That was the most fun I've had in years!!!” she handed him the helmet taking in the lights of the park, they were like stars on the dark night sky, shining in a rainbow of colors. “Well Cream Puff, we are just beginning, I got a lot of missed dates to make up to you,” Jason slung an arm around her shoulders and lead her into the park. They stayed up all night playing the carnival style games, winning each other prizes until they couldn't hold any more. As the sun rose they ended up back at Mari’s home collapsing on her bed in a fit of giggles, it was just like old times. Their prizes surrounding them as the two as they looked in each others eyes, they felt like they were 14 again. Maybe they could make this work, not maybe they would.

Everything stays, right where you’ve left it

Everything stays, but it still changes

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways

When everything stays

2020 VMA’s Recap!

Every year, I always look forward to a few things and one of those things is definitely the MTV Video Music Awards. The VMA’s have been iconic every year since it’s inauguration in 1984 with Madonna’s Like A Virgin performance. As the insanely obsessed pop culture person that I am, the VMA’s are like a national holiday and I prepare myself heavily before they happen. For this year, obviously things are different because of a little thing called the Covid-19 Pandemic but anyhow, I was still excited. When the nominees got announced I was a very mixed bag of emotions. I was very excited because Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande got the most nominations of the year (9) but, I was disappointed because Harry Styles and Dua Lipa only got technical nominations and didn’t get any in the main category. One of my friends shared the same disappointment with me and they said how every nominee in Video of the Year was from North America and I didn’t even think of that. I wish they didn’t nominate some things... but that’s alright. As the weeks went on, I voted for my faves and MTV announced Keke Palmer was hosting whichreally got me excited again because she is a queen. Also, when they announced the performers, my favorites being Miley, Gaga, Ariana, and Doja, I became thrilled.

Now, here I am with my Rain on Me shirt on, a few hours after the ceremony ended and I got to say, I am IMPRESSED!!! That was an AMAZING ceremony. For an award show during a pandemic, I got to say MTV pulled, it, off. Let’s get into it!:

OH. MY. GAGA. 

Lady Gaga was the star of the night and I am NOT disappointed one bit. Going into the night as the most nominated artist (tied with Ariana) I had high hopes. When I heard she was performing, I screamed because I couldn’t believe we were FINALLY getting a performance in the Chromatica era. Knowing that she had so much planned for the era, it’s been sad to see none of it come to fruition. Now let’s live in the present. THIS PERFORMANCE?!? FREAKING INCREDIBLE. I don’t even know where to start. The beginning of the performance with the old television, her laying down on the couch (mask on!), and seeing the TV have the 1999 VMA’s (with BRITNEY mentioned!) was when I knew it was going to be one of the best performances of her career. THEN, she WENT DOWN THE POLL and Chromatica II started playing and I almost threw up. I was so excited that she chose to do that interlude and sing some of 911 (maybe the third single?)! I was shook. Next, she had a quick change and started singing Rain on Me, and I immediately was hyperventilating. When Ariana came out, I really thought I was gonna pass out. In that moment, I was just seeing a dream come true in front of my eyes. I saw two of my ultimate QUEENS come together and give me all the life I need. I mean, the outfits, the masks, the chemistry, ARIANA’S HIGH NOTE?! GAGA’S VOCALS?! I can’t even. After that, when she started walking to the Brain piano, I thought she was about to do 1000 Doves (Piano Version) but I was mistaken! It was the first single, STUPID LOVE! Honestly, I was so happy she performed Stupid Love and got it’s moment because that wasn’t even performed live yet before tonight. Her speech in between the Stupid Love performance was beautiful and I loved when she brought the beat in and danced her ass off. Ugh, I just love her so much. 

Onto the actual awards, I cannot believe that she won FIVE! I expected Best Collaboration and was hoping for Artist of the Year but I was NOT expecting Song of the Year! The one that I didn’t even know was happening thought was the FIRST EVER, TRICON AWARD?! The fact that MTV gave Gaga her OWN award for being an icon, a legend and a triple threat was filling my Little Monster heart with such PRIDE and JOY! Seeing her go up on that stage in a new look with a new mask each time, gave me a little boost of serotonin each time. She is just a goddess. There is no one like her and there NEVER will be. 

GOOD GOLLY, MISS MILEY

It feels amazing to be a Miley stan tonight. Miley has been one of my absolute role models since I was a child. I have followed her and supported her my whole life even when people didn’t and I got to say, tonight felt really good. Her performance was PHENOMENAL. Starting off with her GORGEOUS silhouette in that STUNNING black dress and  cross necklace with the red chrome light shook me because I was not expecting that. And, that break before the first chorus?!? LOVED. After, it went to a blue chrome and she started walking while it went full color. When I saw her walk towards some stairs, I had to catch my breath. Suddenly, I see a disco ball. Then she took the bottom half of the dress off and hopped on the disco ball and I SCREAMED. LOUDLY. The fact that she has such an ICONIC moment like Wrecking Ball where she can do something eerily similar and EVERYBODY knows it, is fucking SENSATIONAL! HER VOCALS WERE ON POINT, FACE BEAT, BODY SNATCHED. She just gave the most perfect glam rock pop star performance that I’ve ever seen. Miley having this mainstream moment again just made me so happy. ALSO?! SHE WON TWO AWARDS TONIGHT. I cannot believe Miley won two VMA’s tonight. She doesn’t win a lot of awards (which is extremely disappointing) and to see her win TWO for MOTHER’S DAUGHTER a single from last year that peaked at #54 on the Billboard Hot 100 felt incredible. I just love when she gets the recognition she deserves.   

Other Thoughts:

The Weeknd’s opening performance was so great!! Recently, I have gotten sick of Blinding Lights but this performance totally revitalized for me how great of a song that is. I don’t know how he was up so high but he did an awesome job and the fireworks were great! Also, I’m happy he finally won his first two VMA’s for Best R&B (even though it’s a pop song) and Video of the Year. 

Keke’s hosting was entertaining as hell. She was the perfect host for a time like this for many reasons. She’s funny, relatable, beautiful, entertaining and so many more positive things. I found her really funny and I just love her presence as a whole. Even her little performance was cute too! 

Doja Cat actually blew me away. I was not expecting her to serve that hard. The performance was so futuristic and felt like I was in a new universe. I loved her outfit and LOVED the Say So mix! Also, so happy she included Like That because it’s such a jam. I love Doja and ever since I discovered Juicy last year I've been stanning and this definitely solidified the stan for me. I am so happy that she won (RIGHTFULLY SO!) for Best New Artist. She has had a great rise and her performance definitely gives me high hopes for her future. 

My rankings of the performances are:

Pre Show:

1. Chloe x Halle - Ungodly Hour (THESE QUEENS ARE THE FUTURE!)

2. Machine Gun Kelly w/ blackbear & Travis Barker - My Ex’s Best Friend/Bloody Valentine (I have become really obsessed with his new music recently and love him)

3. Tate McRae - You Broke Me First (surprised by this cause I didn’t know anything about her before but she did a good job!)

4. Jack Harlow - What’s Poppin (cute ig)

5. Lewis Capaldi - Before You Go (🙂)

Main Show: 1. Lady Gaga w/ Ariana Grande - Chromatica II, 911, Rain on Me, Stupid Love (FUCKING AMAZING. SENSATIONAL, &, UNREAL)

2. Miley Cyrus - Midnight Sky (MY QUEEN SO ICONIC I LOVE HER SO MUCH)

3. Doja Cat - Say So/Like That (SO FUTURISTIC AND SOLIDIFIED HER WIN AND SHOWED THAT SHE CAN SERVE)

4. The Weeknd - Blinding Lights (really made me love the song so much more)

5. BTS - Dynamite (I like these boys but the fanbase is so much it stresses me out).

6. JP Saxe & Julia Michaels - If The World Was Ending (so cute, love Julia)

7. Dababy - Peep Hole, Blind, & Rockstar 

8. Maluma - Hawái (loved the drive in aspect)

9. Keke Palmer - Snack (wish she had more time)

10. Black Eyed Peas w/ Nicky Jam & Tyga - Vida Loca/I Gotta Feeling (no one can take Fergie’s place)

11. CNCO - Beso

To end this, I’m just gonna leave this picture here. :)

chapter 7 - there’s no one like you, sava

SATURDAY

14:35

Eva What time r you guys gonna hit the party?

Silvia Around 21? Me and Fede were gonna get together and pregame around 19, you guys wanna come?

Sana I’m good, I’ll probably be late to the party anyways. Gotta do something with my mom.

Eva Where are you pregaming?

Fede My place, mom and dad are in Venice for the wknd.

Eva What about Ele?

Eleonora I’m good too, I have a ton of school stuff before I get to the party.

Silvia Ok, that’s chill.

Silvia Brb, gotta go raid my closet to find something to wear.

Fede Ugh, same. Crisis incoming.

SATURDAY 20:56

Filippo stopped his car in front of Edoardo’s grand house, his eyes gazing over the house approvingly. There were people standing on the front lawn of the house, some of them smoking cigarettes under the night sky, and the open doors of the house emitted a warm glow. Eleonora hopped out of Filippo’s car, but before she could slam the door shut, her brother said:

“Hey, I don’t know why you’ve been feeling so down for a few days, but promise me you’ll try to have fun?” Filo’s voice was full of concern, his eyes sympathetic. It was clear that he was trying to detect any clues of Eleonora’s thoughts on the girl’s face, but there were none to be found.

Eleonora nodded, adjusting the bag on her shoulder in an attempt to avoid eye contact with her brother. “I promise, Filo. I’m fine.”

Filippo’s eyes on her were knowing, and for a moment he hesitated  as if there was still something to say. But instead he smiled, nodded and gestured for his little sister to go, his smile wavering only for a second. Eleonora slammed the door shut and followed Filippo’s car with her eyes until it was out of view, stalling on the moment she would actually have to turn and face everyone - especially Edoardo - at the party that was clearly already raging on. A few people were already greeting Eleonora before she even reached the house itself; some of the faces were familiar friends of Edoardo’s, some of them complete strangers. But they all knew who she was.

“Ele!” Eva crashed onto Eleonora as soon as she stepped, her arms wrapping around the girl. Eva was wearing a pair of shorts over her bikini, her hair still damp from the chlorine water. Eva smelled of alcohol, chlorine and a fragrance that Eleonora had learned long ago to associate to her; it was a sweet scent, somewhat fruity and bubbly. Just like Eva herself.

Eleonora pulled back from her friend’s embrace. “Hi! How’s it going?”

Eva spread her arms and spun around in a drunken manner, giggling as she did so. “Amazing! It’s been so much, Federico threw me into the pool!”

Eleonora turned her gaze to the other side of the crowded livingroom, where Federico and Chicco were loudly playing a game of cards, surrounded by a curious crowd of intoxicated teenagers. Even Silvia and Sana were following the progress of the game, the blonde girl clutching a half-empty bottle of wine in her left hand. Loud music was emitting from the glass doors that led to the backyard, where the majority of the party was obviously happening - it was a pool party, after all.

For the first time in a while Eleonora felt nervous at the thought of seeing Edoardo, but she didn’t protest when Eva grabbed her by her arm and started leading her across the crowd, slipping through the masses of people like it was her second nature. “Eleonora, you have to come swimming with us!”

Eleonora shook her head at Eva as they stepped outside, the warm night air caressing their faces. “No, I… Totally forgot my bathing suit at home.”

Music was blasting from a large set of speakers, and the pool was filled with drunken people moving their bodies to the beat, there were couples making out in the water, there were girls dipping their toes into the pool. And then there was Edoardo, shirtless, immersed in conversation with a bunch of friends. Eleonora stood there for a second, frozen, trying to decide whether to continue her little effort of completely avoiding the boy, who she had barely said a word to after their little scene on the roof terrace of Eleonora’s apartment.

But before Eleonora could come to a conclusion, Edoardo looked up, his eyes setting immediately on Eleonora. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes lit up in the slightest, most warming way possible. But just as fast it had appeared, the expression was gone. Edoardo turned back to his friends, said a few words to them and then turned back to Eleonora. Eva’s eyes were curiously jumping between her and Edoardo as the boy made his way up to them, his expression stern when he stopped in his tracks right in front of Eleonora, so close that she swore she could almost taste the chlorine on Edoardo’s skin.

“Hi,” Edoardo said, his eyes hard on Eleonora’s.

Eleonora felt breathless. “Hey.”

Eva looked like a frightened child left in the middle of their parent’s argument, leaning backwards on her heels when she caught the cold expression in Edoardo’s eyes. Eleonora could see Eva gaze glossing over the crowd until she spotted Elias sitting on the edge of the pool. “Guys, I gotta go say to Elias,” the redhead said, her care-free voice so artificial it almost made Eleonora chuckle. “I’ll catch you later, though!”

Edoardo waited until Eva was far enough not to hear them before he said anything. His hand reached for Eleonora’s almost instinctively, his fingers brushing at hers. “I missed you.”

Eleonora felt like there was not one single coherent thought in her heard when Edoardo was looking at her like this, his fingers still caressing the skin on her palm like it was the most natural thing for him to do. There was a worried look twisting his usually carefree features, and Eleonora felt so guilty that it felt nearly impossible to maintain the eye contact Edoardo was so desperately seeking. Eleonora brushed a lock of hair behind her own ear, shrugging. “Sorry, I uh… Got really caught up with school. It’s crazy how much homework piles up once you have actual friends to hang out with.”

Edoardo was not dumb. He caught the artifical tone of lightness in Eleonora’s voice, he heard how desperately the girl was trying to make a joke out of the entire situation. Edoardo gave the girl a half-assed smile to giver her some peace of mind, and it seemed to work - something in Eleonora’s posture changed, and it looked like she released a breath she had been holding in for minutes. “Okay, I get it.”

They both were lying, and they both knew it. There was a hint of blame in Edoardo’s eyes, and there was a hint of a secretive shame in Eleonora’s, but neither said anything about it. It had always been better to brush things under the mat in Edoardo’s experience, so he figured that Eleonora  would not be any different. Maybe it was useless to try to figure things out with her - maybe it just freaked her out. Maybe she needed some time.

Time. The only thing that Edoardo and Eleonora were seemingly running out of. Fuck. Edoardo felt pain in his chest when he remembered Eleonora’s strange message: Fine. But after that we tell everyone that we’re over. The girl had put a clock on their time together, and the clock was running on its last hours. And even the thought of that felt somehow painful to both of them, yet neither knew nothing of each other’s feelings.

“You wanna go swimming?” Edoardo asked, desperate to break the heavy moment between the two.

Eleonora shook her head again. “I forgot to bring my bathing suit.”

Edoardo laughed, and this time there was truth in the gesture. “You forgot to bring a bathing suit. To a pool party.”

“Well, you know me,” Eleonora said, her tone nearly playful this time. “I’m all over the place.”

Edoardo smiled tenderly, turning his gaze to the sky with a laugh. “Yes you are, Sava.”

23:58

The party had gotten only louder the past hours, and even Eleonora had gotten to the same, festive mood as her friends around her. The girl was sitting on the backyard lawn with Eva, the two of them slightly detached from the rest of the party so that they could hear each other speak - and though they were sitting on the edge of the lawn, Eleonora swore she could still feel the bass of the music in the back of her teeth. She took a sip of her beer, her eyes peeled on the city lights below them. If there was something Eleonora loved about Edoardo’s house, it was the view; the slight hill the neighbourhood was situated on offered an amazing view across Rome, and it was only better at night.

Eva next to her looked thoughtful, her fingers fidgeting with the glass bottle. “So, how are things with you and Edoardo?”

It was a simple question, but Eleonora didn’t know how to answer. She tore her gaze off of the city, taking an extended sip of her beer - the alcohol was humming in her bloodstream, making everything warmer, safer. And suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing, Eleonora felt the absolute need to confess the truth to her best friend who was now eyeing her with a worried look in her eyes. Eleonora opened her mouth, but it felt like the words were getting stuck to the back of her throat, suffocating her.

“Ele?”

The brunette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “We’re faking it.”

“What?” Eva asked, confused.

“We’re faking it,” Eleonora repeated, turning her gaze to the redhead beside her. “The relationship is fake, we’ve been pretending for like a month. Edoardo wanted to make his ex jealous and I wanted to get the opportunity to meet new friends at school.”

Eva stared at her, clearly waiting for the girl to burst into drunken laughter. The moment never came, and the redheaded girl kept opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to give Eleonora something to hold on to - some kind words, some consolation, anything. But what the hell was she supposed to say. “Oh.”

“I’ll just pretend that this isn’t the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard,” Eva continued, shaking her head. “Well, how long are you guys gonna go on?”

“Today’s the last day,” Eleonora stated, her voice almost cold. “I told Edoardo that we’re done.”

“But why?” Eva asked her best friend, taking a long sip of her beer.

“It’s nothing,” the brunette lied, avoiding Eva’s eye contact.

“You’re full of shit, Sava.”

Eleonora hesitated, as she knew that there was no point in lying to her friend. Eva had gotten to know her so well that it’d just be insulting to continue lying to her and pretend like the girl didn’t know the truth. And besides, why wouldn’t she tell Eva? She had already told some of the truth to her, so there really was no point in withholding the rest of the story from the redhead.

“Well… I’m just so confused. Edoardo’s still hung up on Elena, and I’m yet one of the girls that fell for the Incanti charm just to get nothing back,” Eleonora huffed out, shaking her head. She took a sip of her beer. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Listen, Eleonora,” Eva started, putting her beer bottle between her feet to prevent it from tipping over. “I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been doing the past month, but clearly you have not been seeing any of the obvious signs around you. Edoardo likes you, girl. I can tell by the way he looks at you - like he’s trying to figure you out, and he quite can’t, but he’s just enjoying the fact that you’re there.”

Eleonora couldn’t help a slight smile from climbing up her lips, and she turned her gaze to the grass to hide it from Eva.  The girl continued: “So I’d say if there’s anyone who stupidly fell for someone who doesn’t like them back, it’s not you. It’s Edoardo.”

There was a certainty in Eva’s words, and whether it was the alcohol in Eleonora’s system or something else, Eleonora felt slightly more confident. “You think he likes me?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Eva said, truthfully. “He’s probably just waiting for a sign. He’s a respectable guy after all, not one to jump a girl who gives no indication that they’re interested in him. Though I doubt that there have been many girls in his path that have not been interested.”

03:45

It wasn’t even four in the morning when Eleonora woke up in one of the guest bedrooms, still fully clothed. The girl scrambled up from the bed, noticing that Eva, Fede and Silvia were laying on the bed, as well. No wonder it had been uncomfortable - the bed was barely big enough for two people. Eleonora made her way out of the bedroom barefoot, closing the door quietly in attempt not to wake up her friends. She made her way down the hallway and back to the livingroom, where many people were passed out on the couches, some of them still clutching half-empty bottles. It was still dark outside, the night air in the backyard illuminated only by the lights in the pool.

Eleonora walked to the backdoors, avoiding the empty beer bottles, cups and the occasional human being lying on the wooden floors, careful not to wake up anyone. The chlorine-scented night air felt good on Eleonora’s burning skin, and for a minute she considered whether it was too late to call Filippo to pick her up - maybe he was awake, it was the weekend, after all. Though if he were awake at this hour, it was more likely that he was in no condition to drive, as he had mentioned a new club opening in Trastevere. Fuck.

Edoardo’s voice pierced the silence, making Eleonora jump. “You’re awake.”

Edoardo was sitting on the steps that led to the pool, submerged in water up to his chest. His arms were spread on the edges of the pool, a cigarette between his fingers. There was a bottle of vodka and an ashtray on the edge of the pool, close enough for the boy to reach - clearly he had taken advantage of the party dying down to have a moment of his own, as Edoardo had never been to person to fall asleep early. It was something Eleonora had learned over the course of their weeks together, through countless of late night text messages and hang outs.

“Yeah,” Eleonora admitted eventually, walking to other side of the pool. She sat down on the edge, putting her feet in the warm water. Edoardo followed her with his lazy gaze, frowning as Eleonora seemed to sit down as far away from him as possible.

“Are you okay?” Eleonora asked eventually, forcing herself to look at Edoardo. The blue light illuminated his features beautifully, colouring him in a completely new way. The light bounced off of his eyes, and Eleonora couldn’t look away.

Edoardo took one last drag of his cigarette before stumping it onto the ashtray. “I’m good. You know, though I was pretty fucking surprised that all of a sudden you wanted us to end this.”

There was such a deep hurt in his voice that Eleonora nearly flinched - it was like a knife thrown right across the pool. The girl turned her gaze back to the surface of the water, suddenly feeling the burn of Edoardo’s disappointment.  “Shouldn’t you be thanking me? Elena’s so damn jealous that for a moment I thought that she might actually kill me.”

Edoardo sighed, throwing his head back to look at the stars. “You know, for such a smart person you can be really fucking dense sometimes, Sava.”

“What?” Asked Eleonora, her voice sharp.

“This has nothing to do with Elena anymore,” Edoardo stated, looking at Eleonora again. “At least not for me.”

“What do you mean?” The girl asked again, suddenly feeling extremely nervous under Edoardo’s gaze.

“You know what was the only thing I cared about tonight? The only reason I was so excited?” Edoardo asked and paused like he wanted to give his words more weight. “You. I got to see you. And that was all I could think about all damn day. And you know what that means?”

Eleonora shrugged, a smile twitching at her lips. “You have severe problems with concentrating?”

Edoardo rolled his eyes and splashed some water, though it did not reach Eleonora on the other edge of the pool. “You are impossible.”

A wider smile twitched at Eleonora’s features, and for a brief moment Edoardo was relieved. They fell into a silence that felt somehow fragile, like the slightest of sounds could break it. Edoardo wanted to break it. He wanted to shatter it, he wanted to say every single thing that had been keeping him up for days, he wanted Eleonora know how he felt. The words kept getting stuck in his mouth, and after a few moment he gave up, turning his gaze to the side. And that’s when Eleonora started moving.

The girl pulled off the long cardigan she had borrowed from Silvia, leaving only the white, simple dress she had worn to the party. For a moment she hesitated on something. Seconds passed, and Edoardo swore every last one of them felt like eternity. And when Eleonora dropped into the pool, Edoardo couldn’t tear his eyes off of the girl.

“Uh. You’re coming in. In your dress,” Edoardo said, stalling on the words like he was trying to figure out the sight in front of him.

Eleonora shrugged as she made her way closer to the boy, the water getting more shallow as she got closer to Edoardo. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit, remember?”  

Eleonora didn’t stop until she was close enough to Edoardo to touch him; she stood there, shivering in the cool night air, the weight of her soaked dress pulling her down. She looked beautiful even then, the blue light dancing on her features, creating shadows on her eyes. Edoardo sat there on the stairs looking at her, and suddenly it felt ridiculous that they were so far apart.

Eleonora took a deep breath. “Hi.”

A wide smile spread across Edoardo’s features, lighting up his eyes. His right arm reached for Eleonora under the water, wrapping around her waist. Slowly he pulled Eleonora to his lap on the stairs, his eyes locked on hers. His voice was rough when he whispered: “There is no one like you, Sava.”

Eleonora’s hand made its way to the back of Edoardo’s neck. She felt breathless as she sat there, looking at him, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling at her skin. Edoardo’s left made its way to her waist, securing his grip on her like he was scared Eleonora would disappear from under his touch. Eleonora’s eyes on him were gentle, and though her hand was shaking - from nervousness? - as she brushed a runaway curl from Edoardo’s eyes, there was a certainty in her eyes that she had lacked before. Something had changed in her, something in the way she looked at Edoardo, her lips so close he could almost feel them brushing against his own.

And that’s when Edoardo kissed her, making Eleonora gasp against his lips. It was slow at first, careful. Edoardo’s arms around her were secure but gentle, and the kiss on his lips so intoxicating it felt ridiculous that it had taken him almost four weeks to finally give into the feeling that had been driving him insane for days on end. The kiss started deepening when Edoardo felt Eleonora’s hand sliding from the back of his neck to his jaw, her small hand cupping his face.

“What?” Edoardo asked, breathless, when Eleonora pulled away a mere few inches.

Eleonora shook her head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Slowly, their lips crashed again. Edoardo’s arms let go of Eleonora’s waist and wrapped around the girl, pulling her so close she could feel Edoardo’s racing heartbeat against her own. The water splashed around them from the sudden movement, and Eleonora giggled the most adorable laughter against Edoardo’s lips, making his heart jump ever so slightly. How had it taken him so long to get here? How was it possible that he had wasted these past weeks not kissing Eleonora? Fuck.

 She was the best thing he had ever felt, and if Edoardo could have frozen this moment, at four in the morning, and live it forever, he would have. 

chapter 1 - this will sound dumb

chapter 2 - we need rules

chapter 3 - we’re in this mess together

chapter 4 - just don’t do anything i wouldn’t 

chapter 5 - so fucking special

chapter 6 - it’ll mess everything up

Friday, October 30, 2020

U.S. refugee admissions (Foreign Policy) The number of refugees allowed into the United States in the coming year will be at its lowest level in modern times, after the White House announced just 15,000 refugees would be allowed settle in the country next year. According to a White House memo, 5,000 of those places will go to refugees facing religious persecution, 4,000 are reserved for refugees from Iraq who helped the United States, and 1,000 for refugees from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras; 5,000 open slots remain, although refugees from Somalia, Syria, and Yemen are banned unless they can meet special humanitarian criteria. The future of U.S. refugee policy hangs on Tuesday’s vote: Former Vice President Joe Biden has promised to increase annual refugee admissions to 125,000, while the Guardian reports that a second Trump administration would seek to slash such admissions to zero.

Days From Election, Police Killing of Black Man Roils Philadelphia (NYT) There is a grim familiarity to it all. In the final days of a bitter election, it is a reprise of the terrible images that the country has come to know all too well this year: The shaky cellphone video, the abrupt death of a Black man at the hands of the police. The howls of grief at the scene. The protests that formed immediately. The looting of stores that lasted late into the night. It began on Monday, when two officers confronted Walter Wallace Jr., a 27-year-old with a history of mental health problems. A lawyer for the family said that he was experiencing a crisis that day and that the family told officers about it when they arrived at the scene. In an encounter captured in video that appeared on social media, Mr. Wallace is seen walking into the street in the direction of the officers, who back away and aim their guns at him. Someone yells repeatedly at Mr. Wallace to “put the knife down.” The officers then fire multiple rounds. After Mr. Wallace falls to the ground, his mother screams and rushes to his body. Mr. Wallace later died of his wounds at a nearby hospital, and the neighborhood exploded in rage. In the days since, dozens have been arrested, cars have been burned and 53 officers have been hurt. On Tuesday, Gov. Tom Wolf called in the National Guard. On Wednesday, the city declared a 9 p.m. curfew. And once again, the people in the neighborhood where it all took place were left to consider what had happened and what, if anything, could be done about it.

Zeta soaks Southeast after swamping Gulf Coast; 6 dead (AP) Millions of people were without power and at least six were dead Thursday after Hurricane Zeta slammed into Louisiana and made a beeline across the South, leaving shattered buildings, thousands of downed trees and fresh anguish over a record-setting hurricane season. From the bayous of the Gulf Coast to Atlanta and beyond, Southerners used to dealing with dangerous weather were left to pick up the pieces once again. In Atlanta and New Orleans, drivers dodged trees in roads and navigated intersections without traffic signals. As many as 2.6 million homes and businesses lost power across seven states, but the lights were coming back on slowly. The sun came out and temperatures cooled, but trees were still swaying as the storm’s remnants blew through. Louisiana Gov. John Bel Edwards said the state sustained “catastrophic” damage on Grand Isle in Jefferson Parish, where Zeta punched three breaches in the levee. Edwards ordered the Louisiana National Guard to fly in soldiers to assist with search and rescue efforts and urged continued caution.

Violent criminal groups are eroding Mexico’s authority and claiming more territory (Washington Post) Organized crime here once meant a handful of cartels shipping narcotics up the highways to the United States. In a fundamental shift, the criminals of today are reaching ever deeper into the country, infiltrating communities, police forces and town halls. A dizzying range of armed groups—perhaps more than 200—have diversified into a broadening array of activities. They’re not only moving drugs but kidnapping Mexicans, trafficking migrants and shaking down businesses from lime growers to mining companies. It can be easy to miss how much the nation’s criminal threat has evolved. Mexico is the United States’ No. 1 trading partner, a country of humming factories and tranquil beach resorts. But despite 14 years of military operations—and $3 billion in U.S. anti-narcotics aid—criminal organizations are transforming the Mexican landscape: In a classified study produced in 2018 but not previously reported, CIA analysts concluded that drug-trafficking groups had gained effective control over about 20 percent of Mexico, according to several current and former U.S. officials. / Homicides in the last two years have surged to their highest levels in six decades; 2020 is on track to set another record. Mexico’s murder rate is more than four times that of the United States. / Hundreds of thousands of people have fled their homes to escape violence; the Mexican Congress is poised to pass the country’s first law to help the internally displaced. / More than 77,000 people have disappeared, authorities reported this year, a far larger total than previous governments acknowledged. It is the greatest such crisis in Latin America since the “dirty wars” of the 1970s and 1980s. / The State Department is urging Americans to avoid travel to half of Mexico’s states, tagging five of them as Level 4 for danger—the same as Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq. President Andrés Manuel López Obrador has created a 100,000-member national guard to reclaim areas with little state presence. It’s not clear that will make a significant difference. Years of Mexican and U.S. strategy—arresting drug kingpins, training Mexican police, overhauling the justice system—have failed to curb the violence.

Many Cubans hope US election will lead to renewed ties (AP) Not so long ago the tables at Woow!!! restaurant in Havana were filled with tourists ordering mojitos and plates of grilled octopus. But as President Donald Trump rolled back Obama-era measures opening Cuba relations, the restaurant grew increasingly empty. Now entrepreneurs like Orlando Alain Rodríguez are keeping a close eye on the upcoming U.S. presidential election in hope that a win by Democratic challenger Joe Biden might lead to a renewal of a relationship cut short. “The Trump era has been like a virus to tourism in Cuba,” said Rodríguez, the owner of Woow!!! and another restaurant feeling the pinch. Few countries in Latin America have seen as dramatic a change in U.S. relations during the Trump administration or have as much at stake in who wins the election. Former President Barack Obama restored diplomatic relations, loosened restrictions on travel and remittances and became the first U.S. chief of state to set foot in the island in 88 years. The result was a boom in tourism and business growth on the island. Trump has steadily reversed that opening, tapping into the frustrations of a wide segment of the Cuban American community that does not support opening relations while a communist government remains in power. He put into effect part of a previously suspended U.S. law that permits American citizens to sue companies that have benefited from private properties confiscated by the Cuban government, put a new cap on remittances, reduced commercial flights and banned cruises. The president has also forbidden Americans from buying cigars, rum or staying in government-run hotels. A Trump reelection would likely spell another four years of tightened U.S. sanctions while many expect a Biden administration to carry out at least some opening.

Winter gloom settles over Europe (Washington Post) The clocks were dialed back an hour across Europe this week, and the long nights come early now. The hospitals are filling up, as the cafes are shutting down. Governments are threatening to cancel Christmas gatherings. As new coronavirus infections surge again in Europe, breaking daily records, the mood is growing dark on the continent—and it’s not even November. The reprieve of summer feels a long time ago, and Europe is entering a serious funk. Germany and France announced national lockdowns Wednesday to try to get the virus under control. The new measures are less restrictive than in the spring, and yet they face more resistance. People are no longer so willing to remain confined to their homes, venturing onto balconies in the evenings to applaud health-care workers. Many people remain scared of covid-19, but they are exhausted and frustrated—and growing angry and rebellious. In a sign of the times, the head of the World Health Organization recognized the “pandemic fatigue that people are feeling” but urged “we must not give up.” The smugness in Europe about having bested the Americans under President Trump is fading with the daily record-breaking counts.

Young and Jobless in Europe: ‘It’s Been Desperate’ (NYT) Like millions of young people across Europe, Rebecca Lee, 25, has suddenly found herself shut out of the labor market as the economic toll of the pandemic intensifies. Her job as a personal assistant at a London architecture firm, where she had worked for two years, was eliminated in September, leaving her looking for work of any kind. Ms. Lee, who has a degree in illustration from the University of Westminster, sent out nearly 100 job applications. After scores of rejections, and even being wait-listed for a food delivery gig at Deliveroo, she finally landed a two-month contract at a family-aid charity that pays 10 pounds (about $13) an hour. “At the moment I will take anything I can get,” Ms. Lee said. “It’s been desperate.” The coronavirus pandemic is rapidly fueling a new youth unemployment crisis in Europe. Young people are being disproportionately hit, economically and socially, by lockdown restrictions, forcing many to make painful adjustments and leaving policymakers grasping for solutions. Years of job growth has eroded in a matter of months, leaving more than twice as many young people than other adults out of work. The jobless rate for people 25 and under jumped from 14.7 percent in January to 17.6 percent in August. Europe is not the only place where younger workers face a jobs crunch. Young Americans are especially vulnerable to the downturn. In China, young adults are struggling for jobs in the post-outbreak era. But in Europe, the pandemic’s economic impact puts an entire generation at risk, according to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development.

3 dead in church attack, plunging France into dual emergency (AP) A man armed with a knife attacked people inside a French church and killed three Thursday, prompting the government to raise its security alert status to the maximum level hours before a nationwide coronavirus lockdown. The attack in Mediterranean city of Nice was the third in two months in France that authorities have attributed to Muslim extremists, including the beheading of a teacher. It comes during a growing furor over caricatures of the Prophet Muhammad that were republished in recent months by the satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo—renewing vociferous debate in France and the Muslim world over the depictions that Muslims consider offensive but are protected by French free speech laws. Other confrontations and attacks were reported Thursday in the southern French city of Avignon and in the Saudi city of Jiddah, but it was not immediately clear if they were linked to the attack in Nice.

Germany does not believe Thai king has breached state business ban: source (Reuters) Germany does not believe that Thailand’s king has so far breached its ban on conducting politics while staying there, a parliamentary source said on Wednesday, after lawmakers were briefed by the government. Following a meeting of the Bundestag’s foreign affairs committee, the source said the government had briefed lawmakers that it believes the king is permitted to make occasional decisions, as long as he does not continuously conduct business from German soil. When asked about the status of the king, the government told the committee he has a visa that allows him to stay in Germany for several years as a private person and also enjoys diplomatic immunity as a head of state. Thailand’s political crisis has made the king’s presence a challenge for Germany, but revoking the visa of a visiting head of state could cause a major diplomatic incident.

China’s New Confidence on Display (Foreign Policy) The Chinese leadership is currently meeting in Beijing to set economic and political goals for the next five years. In the run-up to the plenum, speeches by President Xi Jinping and others have demonstrated a bold confidence that this is China’s moment. As economic policymaker Liu He put it, “Bad things are turning into good ones.” Despite the damage to China’s global reputation this year, its leaders seem to believe that Western economic weakness and mishandling of the coronavirus have created opportunities. That may be true, but it may also encourage dangerous overconfidence, as happened in 2009, when the Chinese leadership was convinced the economic crisis had significantly weakened Washington. That overconfidence is most frightening when it comes to Taiwan, where recent saber-rattling has again raised the specter of an invasion. Distinguishing signal from noise on Taiwan is difficult, but the traditional restraints on Chinese military action—fear of U.S. intervention, reputational damage, and corruption inside the People’s Liberation Army—have weakened. The odds of Chinese action in Taiwan increase if the U.S. election doesn’t produce a clear result, or if a lame duck President Donald Trump embarks on a scorched-earth program on his way out—since Beijing may be convinced that a distracted Washington has no will to block it.

One And Only You (Park Jinyoung/Reader)

Clusterfuck.

That was the only way to describe how your day was going.

Allow you to list the reasons.

Firstly, you hadn't had more than a grand total of two hours of sleep last night, as a result of which, you were exhausted beyond belief. And the only thing that seemed to help was consuming coffee like your life depended on it.

Secondly, you had recieved your grades for your latest assignment. And you had failed. Miserably. Resulting in your professor summoning you to his office and personally giving you an earful about how you needed to up your grades or else you were going to end up failing the semester.

And thirdly, you had just realized that you had another report due. Tomorrow. And you had only managed to finish half of the first draft.

Stressed out of your mind for all the aforementioned reasons, you sat in the library, your head in your hands, your tired, bloodshot eyes staring at your laptop. Listlessly reading through the half draft you had managed to write up.

Come on, you encouraged yourself. You can do this.

There was one, solitary silver lining to your day: tonight you were going to have a night in with your roommate. Park Jinyoung.

Now, Jinyoung and you. You two shared an equation that was equal parts easy and complicated.

Sure, he was your roommate, and had been for the past six months. And you both were great friends. You never fought, cooked together, cleaned together, paid for the utilities together. It was a running joke among your mutual friend circle that you and Nyoung (your nickname for him), lived less like roommates and more like a married couple. That is how well the two of you got along.

Which led you to the more complicated part of your relationship with Jinyoung. The obvious and ever growing sexual tension between you two. It sprung out of nowhere, in even the most innocuous situations.

He'd be going laundry and you'd walk into the laundry room with a basket full of your own clothes, only to stop in your tracks and drool over how peachy his ass looked in his sweatpants as he bent over, loading the machine with clothes. Or when you'd be getting out of the bathroom, freshly showered, a towel wrapped around your body and you'd catch him pausing to gawk at you while you made your way to your room. Or when you both would be having one of your epic Netflix marathons and you'd turn to grab a handful of cheese popcorn from your shared bucket, only to find him looking at you. And then his gaze would flit to your lips for a second, before catching your eyes. And you'd find yourself doing the same, silently admiring how plump and rosy his lips looked and how they'd feel against yours...

Neither of you had acted upon your desires. Yet.

Perhaps neither of you wanted to ruin the friendship that you had with the other.

Or perhaps he wasn't as interested in you as you thought. Perhaps you were overthinking. Misreading the signs.

Whatever it was, your friendship with Park Jinyoung remained just that. A friendship. Nothing more, nothing less.

And for the time-being, you were perfectly okay with it.

Thinking about him so much prompted you to reach out into the pocket of your jeans and pull out your cellphone.

You quickly typed out a text for him.

You (14:09): Hey, Nyoung! I'll be back by 6. You want me to pick up some jajangmyeon for you on the way back?

You knew that the black bean noodles from the deli round the block were his favourite. He could never say no to them.

He replied right back, your phone buzzing as the notification popped up. And your lips turned up into a grin. Yep, he couldn't say no to some jajangmyeon.

But when you picked up your phone and began to read his actual message, your smile vanished.

Nyoung (14:10): About tonight... I'm so sorry, princess. I won't be able to make it. I've gotta go to Jaebum's. Group assignment to complete.

Your heart fell upon reading the text and your eyes began to fill up with frustrated tears as you stared at his words.

Granted, crying over a cancelled night in was an overreaction on your part. But considering how crappy your day had been going so far, you had really been looking forward to a chilled night at home with Jinyoung.

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and began to type out a reply to Jinyoung, but your phone buzzed with the reception of another text.

It wasn't from Jinyoung.

Mark (14:12): Don't look so glum, pretty girl!

Your head shot up and you found Mark, sitting two tables away from you, his eyes on you.

When your gaze found his, he smiled.

A wave of warmth filled you up and you began to type a response to him instead.

You (14:13): Its been a shitty day, M.

He replied immediately.

Mark (14:13): I know, babe. I know. Anything I can do to make you feel better?

You smiled at your phone, reading his words. Mark Tuan was a classmate of yours. And he had the infamous reputation of being a fuckboy. But despite his notoriety, you knew him to be a really, really nice guy. And the fact that he had noticed your sadness, even from two tables away in this deathly silent library, it meant that he cared for you on some level.

Another text came from him.

Mark (14:15): You free tonight? Maybe we could go out and grab some drinks?

You replied immediately, jumping at the opportunity for hanging out with someone who could distract you from your worries. Especially after Jinyoung had bailed out on you.

You (14:16): I'm in. Name the time and place.

Looking up, you saw Mark read your message, a grin spreading across his own lips.

Mark (14:17): Perfect! I'll meet you outside the uni main gate at 7?

You quickly replied in the affirmative, your heart swelling with happiness. Perhaps tonight wasn't going to be a waste after all.

You were just about to keep your phone aside and return to your assignment when your phone vibrated again.

This time it was Jinyoung.

Nyoung (14:18): I'm really sorry, princess. Reply to me, please? You want me to pick up some chocolate ice-cream from Ben and Jerry's for you when I get back? Maybe we could have a late night movie session?

You knew that Jinyoung was genuinely feeling bad and was trying to compensate for cancelling on your night. But you really couldn't help the frustration that had been bubbling up inside you ever since he texted you to cancel.

You (14:19): Don't bother. I'm going out with Mark.

Your reply to him was curt. Clipped.

That should do it, you thought. That will show him.

And sure enough your phone began to buzz as texts from him began to pour in successively. You knew Jinyoung did not like Mark. But you liked him well enough. And you weren't going to let Jinyoung's dislike for Mark ruin tonight for you.

No sir.

You quickly silenced your phone and shoved it back into your pocket.

Taking in a deep breath and another long sip of your iced coffee, you returned to your class work.

______________________

The day hadn't turned out to be as bad as you had been expecting.

By the time 7 pm rolled around, you had finished typing out your essay and emailed it to your professor for submission.

And when you met Mark at the uni gate, your night became instantly better.

Mark had brought along Jackson and Bambam. And your quartet had decided to paint the town red.

You accompanied the boys to their favourite bar, proceeding to get completely sloshed. It was a riot. Lots of laughter and jokes. And the drinks kept flowing. The four of you bought rounds upon rounds and you didn't even remember how many glasses of tequila pineapple rum punch you had drunk.

Losing track of time with the boys was easy. And when all of you finally boarded an Uber, wasted beyond belief, you glanced at the little clock on the cab's dash.

2:56 am.

"Holy shit," you mumbled to yourself before turning to the guys.

"Guys, can you drop me home?" you asked and they all groaned.

"Nooo, ___________," Jackson said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Don't go yet! We've gotta go to that diner, remember? The waffles and burgers are to die for!"

While the idea of some good and greasy food, especially after drinking so much, felt tempting, you wanted to go home. To the comfort of your own bed.

"I'm sorry guys," you said, apologetically, leaning into Mark as the car took a turn around the corner. "I've gotta go..."

______________

It was around thirty minutes later that you finally reached home.

Turning the key in your front door lock, you opened it and entered, before quietly shutting the door behind you. You didn't want to wake Jinyoung.

You kicked off your heels. The balls of your feet were in pain after being in heels all night. Just as you turned to walk into the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water, you heard a low voice.

"So. You're finally back," came Jinyoung's voice and you jumped in surprise.

You let out a starled squeak and turned around. "You scared me!" you said, placing a hand on your chest to steady your hammering heartbeat. "Why are to still up?"

He walked toward you and you noticed, in the dim light of the living room, that he was wearing only his sweatpants, that hung low on hips, and a deep frown set between his brows. He looked fucking delicious. But you pushed away that thought.

"I couldn't sleep. I was worried about you," he said.

You rolled your eyes at that. "I can take care of myself," you replied.

Side-stepping him, you were about to head into the kitchen for some water. But his hand around your wrist stopped you.

He whirled you around and pushed you against the nearest wall, eyes suddenly filled with an anger that you hadn't ever seen before.

"What the fuck, Nyoung?"

"That's what you wore tonight?" he asked, voice dropping an octave as he eyed your tight, low-necked top. "Were you trying to impress Mark? Lure him into your bed?"

You didn't know where this sudden possessiveness was coming from. And in your drunken state, your defiance rose tenfold.

"So what if I was?" you replied spitefully. "You didn't want to spend time with me. I'm not going to sit at home waiting for you. You're not my boyfrien-"

You were never able to finish your tirade because his lips came crashing down upon yours, silencing you effectively.

The pressure of his lips upon yours was fierce and possessive. And when his tongue coaxed your lips apart to lick into your mouth, you could taste vodka on him.

He was drunk too.

Your hands threaded into his hair and you pulled him to yourself your mind screaming at you all the while.

It is happening,the voice inside your head roared in triumph. It was finally happening.

Eager to give as much as you got, you kissed him back, reciprocating his ardour. Tongue lashing against his, lips moving together with his, teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip.

When it became absolutely necessary to breathe, you broke away from him and he seized the opportunity to grasp your head by the roots, tilting your head back to press open-mouthed kisses into your exposed neck.

You clung to his shoulders, your knees weakening steadily.

"Fucking hell... I need you..." Jinyoung groaned against your skin.

"My bed?" you asked, and he nodded, grasping your hand and pulling you along.

Once you were in your bedroom, you both turned to each other, hands frantically working to undress the other between kisses.

He practically tore away your clothes, an urgency in his motions that mimicked your own.

Once you both were finally bare before each other, Jinyoung pushed you down on your bed, where you landed with a huff.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes hungrily raking over your body. Appraising you.

"How are you so beautiful, princess?" he said, crawling up the length of your body, settling on his knees between your legs.

"You're not quite bad yourself, Mr. Park," you replied, eyeing his broad shoulders. His strong arms. His sculpted abs. His muscular thighs. And his-

Oh god, he was magnificent.

Between his legs, his length stood erect, rigid with arousal. Tip flushed a deep red, oozing precum.

Raising a hand, you took him into your palm, stroking him leisurely. All the way from base to tip.

"Princess..." he groaned, teeth biting on his lip. "Don't. I want to be inside you."

You knew exactly what he felt. Because you felt it too. Your need for him was apparent in the wetness soaking you, dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

Both of you had wanted this for so long that right now, you just wanted to get to it.

Languid explorations of each other's bodies could wait.

Right now, you just needed each other.

"Fuck me, Jinyoung," you said to him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips. Showing him how turned on you were for him. How wet you were for him.

Wasting no time, he delved in with two fingers, making you hiss in delight while he explored you. He was testing you, seeing if you were indeed prepared to receive him.

Whether it was the effect of the alcohol, or the effect of him, or both, you were drenched. And his fingers slid into you with minimal resistance, your slickness granting him an almost effortess access while he breached you with two fingers.

"Jinyoung," you whined, unable to keep your restlessness reined in. While his fingers felt good inside you, it was his cock you were after. "Get inside me. Now."

He chuckled at the needy inflection of your voice, but withdrew his fingers immediately. He didn't want to tease you very much right now either, wanting to be inside you as well.

With one hand, he grasped the base of his length, aligning himself with you, his other hand holding you in place, resting on your hip.

When he sank into you, you both let out an wordless sound of absolute relief. After pining for each other for months, here you were, finally one.

There was the slightest sliver of pain, while your walls became accustomed to his size, but by the time he completely bottomed out, you were in heaven.

"Fuck..." you breathed, letting your head fall back onto your pillow. The feeling of him, hot and throbbing, nestled snugly within your sheath, it was already too much. "Move, Nyoung..."

He let out an airy laugh, and began to chastise you condescendingly. "Patience is a virtue, princess-ah!"

You never allowed him to finish his sentence, clenching hard around him, causing him to choke on his words.

"So that's how you want to play, you brat?" he asked you, withdrawing from you, almost all the way until the tip. Before surging back in.

"Yes..." you moaned, when his hips snapped into yours, a sudden burst of pleasure erupting within you.

Jinyoung had a dark, determined look on his face and he did seized your wrists, pinning them down on either side of your head while he hovered above you, his thrusts rough and deep. Hitting all the right places within you.

"Yes, just like that!" you cried in pleasure, relishing in the vigorous friction that his cock created against your velvety walls with every thrust.

Your walls sucked at his girth with an eagerness that made his breath hitch. "Shit, princess. You're so tight. Fuck."

The sounds of wet flesh slapping and smacking on each other filled the room, accompanied by your moans and his groans.

He could feel his restraint slipping away with the way you clenched around him and with a deep growl, he released your wrists, falling atop you.

"I won't be able to last long," he groaned into your neck, burying his face into your hair. "Tell me you're close, princess."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. "I am. I am," you sighed.

It took a total of four more thrusts for him to finish, and he shot his load inside you, moaning your name over and over again.

The moment his sticky, hot seed spilled within you, you felt yourself let go as well, your walls spasming around him, milking him for every last drop he could give.

For a long while, you both laid there, intertwined in each other's arms, thinking about what you had just done. Panting. Gasping.

Eventually, he pulled away from you, lying down beside you.

His eyes never left your face.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. "I've wanted this for so long."

He grinned widely upon hearing your admission. "Me too."

Leaning in, you pressed your lips against his for a chaste kiss, before pulling away. "I'm tired."

He smiled fondly, stroking your sweat-dampened hair away from your face.

"Go to sleep, princess," he whispered. "When you wake up tomorrow, I'm not going to let you leave this bed. I'm going to take my time with you."

You placed a kiss on his cheek as an affirmation. There was no other place you wanted to be.