#because i am only now realizing how strange it is that peeta can only say two words because in both of the last two games when katniss was | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tennessoui · 3 years

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would you ever do a hunger games au? like anakin and obi-wan in the arena and doing a katniss and peeta thing where they both survive? anakin maybe killing the competitors so obi-wan wouldn't have to? (just thinking that child killing is in character for him) anyway no pressure or anything I just haven't stopped thinking about a hunger games au of obikin and. I thought maybe you could do something with it!

i need you to know i shamefully snorted at the child murder thing i'm sorry and i'm also sorry this took so long and it's a bit all over the place and doesn't actually get into the Games at all (+ it's been years since I read the books so all inaccuracies should be tastefully ignored pls) this may not be what you asked for tbh but here you go!!

(content warnings: hunger games typical discussion of child murder, but nothing graphic)

(1.7k)

Anakin’s first emotion after his name is called is a strange sense of relief.

Good, he thinks. I’ll get to go with Obi-Wan. He won’t be alone.

He dutifully steps forward out of the crowd towards the stage, where the announcer is waiting next to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan who is looking at him with an expression of naked devastation.

Anakin tries to convey that it’ll be alright, that it’s fine, that they knew this was a possibility. Sure, it’s Anakin’s last year eligible to be in the Games. Sure his nineteenth birthday is in two weeks, at which point he would become too old to qualify as a child to the Capitol, but what’s done is done.

Obi-Wan will be his mentor, because Obi-Wan has been the mentor for District Four ever since he won his own Games seven years ago when he was sixteen and Anakin was twelve.

That year’s known unofficially as the most boring Games in Panem history, but the Capitol loves how handsome Obi-Wan’s grown to be. So what if he didn’t kill his competitors messily or with a bloodthirsty joy? He’s so polite in his interviews all these years later, and look at those dimples!

It makes Anakin sick, every time Obi-Wan has to leave District Four and travel to the Capitol to be fawned over and stroked and used. His nightmares are always worse the weeks after he gets back, and he never lets Anakin hold him during them.

And it’s even worse during the actual Games, when Obi-Wan is put in charge of two children’s lives only to see them brutally murdered on screen a week later. The cameras always show his reaction when the competitors from District Four die. They must think he cries pretty or something.

Anakin hates the Capitol. He hates them for what they’ve done to Obi-Wan. What they’ve made him into

As he gets close enough to the stage, he notices that Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking slightly.

He doesn’t even listen to the name of the girl being called. She’s not important. She’ll be dead in a few days time. What’s important is Obi-Wan. What’s important is comforting him, is reassuring him. Is coming back to him.

This is the moment when Anakin resolves that these Games will become known as the quickest in history.

---

The girl is understandably sullen and upset on the train. “I should get a different mentor!” she demands. “It’s obvious you’re going to play favorites with him.”

Anakin doesn’t snap back because she’ll be dead in a few days. Though she really shouldn’t use that tone with Obi-Wan.

“I’m not playing favorites,” Obi-Wan insists. “I don’t have favorites.”

“You literally just wiped sauce off his mouth with your finger,” the girl points out. “And then he licked it!”

Anakin smirks at her. Of course Obi-Wan has favorites. Of course Anakin is Obi-Wan’s favorite. It took him years to wear down Obi-Wan until he allowed him this close, and years after that until he finally got to kiss him for the first time, just a few months ago.

If she thinks he’s going to give up any of his Obi-Wan time so she can get her hopes up about not dying in a few days, she’s got another thing coming.

But Obi-Wan shifts away from him and he looks guilty.

If Anakin could get away with killing the other person from his district, he would. But it’d probably make Obi-Wan sad.

“Is whining part of your strategy?” he asks waspishly instead. “I don’t think it’ll make you many allies.”

She has the nerve to look offended.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan chides. Underneath the table, he squeezes his knee.

“Everyone in the district knows about you two,” she glares at him. “You haven’t exactly kept it a secret.”

Anakin hasn’t exactly tried to keep it a secret. The first night Obi-Wan had kissed him, he went straight home and told his mother, his neighbor, his schoolmates, his cat, and his ex-girlfriend.

(No one had been surprised, except maybe the cat.)

“It’s not fair,” she cries. “Who can I talk to to get a different mentor for me?”

“The ethics board,” Anakin smiles, all teeth, settling back into his seat and slinging an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, this time more exasperatedly. “Robin, I promise I will be the best mentor you can ask for. It is my wish to see you survive as long as possible in the next few weeks.”

The girl jumps to her feet in outrage. “You can’t even say you want me to win!” she yells. There are tears at the corners of her eyes. If she were a little less annoying, Anakin would feel quite bad for her. Obviously Obi-Wan doesn’t want her to win. Anakin’s right here.

She storms out of the train compartment, her face in her hands. Anakin barely waits for the door to close before he’s slipping into Obi-Wan’s lap and throwing his arms around his neck with a groan. “God, I thought she’d never leave.”

He isn’t pushed away. Obi-Wan must realize they only have a handful of days left to be together before he goes into the arena.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says wearily, even as his arms encircle his waist.

Anakin presses a kiss to his nose and then another to his cheek. “It’s alright to have favorites, Obi-Wan,” he murmurs. “And she should know there’s no way she’s winning anything. Don’t waste your time.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure she survives as long as possible,” Obi-Wan repeats. “I don’t think I can survive anything else.”

Obi-Wan’s voice sounds shaky, so Anakin presses their lips together. Best not to talk for awhile.

------

“We should discuss strategy,” Obi-Wan says later that night through frantic kisses. “Sponsors, story, training--”

“I have a strategy,” Anakin murmurs back as he moves further down the bed, rucking up his partner’s shirt. “Win.”

----

“You look absolutely radiant,” Anakin tells the girl in an undertone while they’re in line for their interviews. She turns around to glare at him. The designer for their district has gone for the typical fish designs that people always associate with District Four, and they’ve dressed her up in a shimmering iridescent gown that flares at the ends like a fish’s tail.

Anakin’s own outfit is mostly a fishing net draped over one shoulder and a pair of tight pants. The designer, much to Obi-Wan’s embarrassment and Anakin’s satisfaction, had taken one look at his shirtless chest and decided to dress him in as little clothes as possible.

“Weird braid,” is all she says.

Obi-Wan had done it late last night when both of them had tired each other out and Anakin had curled up on his chest. After his Games, Obi-Wan’s hands like to do something. The repetitive motion of braiding and unbraiding Anakin’s hair soothes his demons.

It’s one of the reasons Anakin’s grown it out to his shoulders, much longer than is practical for his district.

Obi-Wan had gone to unbraid it, and Anakin had stopped him. He wanted to keep it. To wear it into the Games.

“Thank you,” he says generously. “I saw your score. 7’s not too bad.”

She sneers at him. “Did you celebrate your 11 with your boyfriend?”

“Oh sorry,” he winces. “Did you hear us? I’m just so bad at biting my tongue when he does this thing with his.”

She scoffs in disgust and turns back around. “I hope he has to watch you die.”

Anakin glares at her back. He knows he can’t kill her himself. But there has to be a way to hurt her and her chances and still have plausible deniability.

When it’s her turn for an interview, she’s vapid and pretty. She laughs and touches the interviewer’s arm.

“I’ve never spent much time in District Four,” the interviewer says jovially. “But tell me, really. Is everyone there as beautiful as the people you keep sending us? I mean. Obi-Wan Kenobi, ladies and gentlemen, am I right?” The audience laughs and hollers. Anakin hates them all. “And now you, Robin, and Anakin Skywalker. Damn!”

Robin--Anakin needs to stop forgetting her name--giggles high in her throat. “It was a very, very enjoyable train ride up,” she says with a stupid wiggle of her eyebrows. “Just this side of too long.”

The audience loses it.

Anakin loses it.

He can’t believe she’s sitting there publicly suggesting that Anakin shares Obi-Wan with anyone. With her. The nerve.

The camera pans to Obi-Wan in the crowd, who looks shocked, embarrassed, and deeply troubled.

Anakin won’t let this stand. He just hopes Obi-Wan forgives him.

The interviewer greets him excitedly when he walks out, and Anakin gives him a sheepish sort of smile.

“Lady killer Skywalker!” the interviewer says. Anakin laughs along with him. “All the girls back home must have been heartbroken to see you leave.”

“But I’ve heard they love watching me go,” he jokes with a charming smile. If that girl--Robin--can do it, he can do it much better. “There’s really only one person for me though,” he murmurs, letting his smile die.

“Oh?” The interviewer asks, leaning forward with interest.

“But sometimes I wonder if they’re only using me for my body,” he says, casting his eyes down. “I love them. Heart and soul, everything I am. But when I told them, they just laughed.”

This is technically true. The first time Anakin had told Obi-Wan that he was in love with him, the older boy had laughed his confession off, saying he was too young to know what he wanted.

“Oh, to be young and in love,” the interviewer sighs theatrically. “So your plan is to win the Games and then win her heart when you get back home?”

Anakin makes himself look sad. Tragically sad. Like he can’t bear to go on.

“They came with me,” he says.

If the audience’s reaction to Robin’s fake confession was huge, its reaction to Anakin’s words is even bigger. Of course they think he’s talking about the girl. That’s exactly what Anakin had wanted. Now he’s the broken-hearted boy and she’s the vapid, self-absorbed bitch. She'll have a hard time finding sponsors now.

It’s very, very hard to hide his smile, a task made exponentially more hard when he sees Obi-Wan bury his face in his hands.

“It’s alright,” Anakin tells the interviewer, without taking his eyes off of Obi-Wan. “I’ll survive.”

#asks #hunger games au #anakin's a bit dark here lets be real i love writing him like that #his games are the quickest games for sure #he does lose his right arm #but he wins #and then moves in with obi-wan #and obi-wan kisses every mechanical finger of his hand before bed each night #anakins just so heartbroken over the death of the girl #that he leans on obi-wan to help in the aftermath #(the story he'll tell the capitol people)#thank god his friend obi-wan is such a strong rock in these times #he has to write the girl's name on his hand so he doesnt forget it #the capitol thinks its so he can carry a piece of her with him into the games #shes furious but how is she gonna set the record straight without admitting to lying herself?#she started it anakin was just finishing it #bitchy dark obsessed anakin my love #obi-wan would be just as obsessed remember #he spends anakins games avidly watching and worrying and going around trying to get sponsors for him #but like within 50 hours the games are over anakin won #obi-wans gotta call everyone back and be like 'um never mind haha'#prompt fill #obikin

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glitteryglitter · 3 years

Text

I like me better

𝙰𝙽: I'm sorry if some wording is a little weird. I woke up at 2:30 am, had a cup of coffee and then accidentally had some Tylenol that had a sedative in it so I was bit loopy while writing this (oops)

I listened to this song way too many times while writing this so I thought I might include it (I also used it as a title just because)

Lastly, I made a few things a bit different for the story, also Mags and Finnick are not in the imagine (sorry) They're amazing, but it just made everything flow better.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Mentions of violence

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Johanna x District 4! reader

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1,268

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

"Are you okay?" Johanna's uncharacteristically soft voice cut through the silence.

"Yeah, I'm just really nervous about tomorrow."

Y/n and Johanna were draped across a chaise lounge in Y/n's district apartment.

It was, after all, the night before the Quarter Quell and they were both quite stressed.

They had good reason, but their odds were considerably better than others.

They were a rather well-known couple, and the capitol absolutely adored them.

Johanna completely despised the fact that they had become entertainment to the capitol residents, but Y/n had accepted that it would give them some help.

As the two stewed over their problem, Y/n decided to break the silence.

"Whatever happens-I just want to say I care about you I'll never caring about you, even if one of us-"

y/n sniffed as a tear rolled down their cheek.

"You know-"

Johanna wrapped her arms around Y/n stiffly, still not used to the sheer amount of hugs they required.

"Hey-hey, it's going to be okay. "

Y/n looked into her sparkling brown eyes

"You think so?"

Johanna pursed her lips.

"Look, I'm not good with these speeches where people confess their love and everything, and I can't promise anything, but I think that our odds are good and we at least have a chance. We do have allies."

Y/n smiled and dragged a rather sleepy Johanna to their bed

The two flopped down exhaustedly as Johanna pulled y/n close.

"I'm so lucky to have someone like you. You're honest, and brave, and really sweet, even if you don't always show it"

"I love you Y/n.

Y/n gasped quietly as a huge smile spread across their face.

Those three words meant so much and had come so unexpectedly, yet somehow, they felt perfect at that moment.

"I love you too, I always have, always will. No matter what"

With that Y/n pulled their girlfriend in for a kiss.

They hadn't realized just how exhausted they were until now.

Y/n tried to stifle a yawn.

"Goodnight."

Johanna shifted closer to her girlfriend.

"Night" she mumbled.

With that, the two closed their eyes and, with some difficulty, drifted off to sleep, each calmed by the other's presence.

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

Y/n was on their pedestal, it was the day, the moment, basically everything they'd been dreading for days.

They took a look around at the other tributes, all of which seemed to be masking their feelings of impending chaos in different ways.

There were some who appeared to be unbothered, some looked irritated, some looked positively petrified, and then there was Johanna.

She was one of the people that looked irritated, except Y/n noticed something different about her.

Unlike Gloss who had a hard, surly look on his face, Johanna's expression was different.

Yes, her signature scowl was there, but Y/n noticed something was beneath it.

They knew their girlfriend too well, they knew Johanna felt more than anger at this time.

Could it be fear? Worry? sadness? Y/n couldn't tell, but they knew it was something significant.

The countdown started and y/n sighed.

This was the second time they'd been through this and it wasn't any better than the previous.

Being a district 4 career, they did have certain talents. One of which was, of course, swimming.

They weren't so sure about Johanna though. Y/n shook their head, they needed to get out of their head and stop panicking so much.

It was silly, it made sense that they were panicked but it wouldn't help anything, would it?

they had allies. They were a career. Why were they so worried?

Y/n knew why.

They only hoped that they would find a way out of this together.

It was next to impossible, but one thing they'd learned from her last Hunger Games was the fact that you needed a little bit of hope.

๑*˚🍓˚*๑

Wiress, Beetee, Katniss, and Peeta had assembled in a small clearing.

Y/n took a deep breath of the humid air, no one in the alliance had died yet.

That was a good sign.

Y/n looked at their girlfriend adoringly as Johanna flashed them a small smile.

She and Y/n had both successfully made it through the start of the Quarter Quell and at this point, things felt like they were looking up, just a bit.

Johanna allowed the small twinge of hope she had to grow slightly.

"You two are so sweet together! I never really thought of you as the romantic type." Peeta exclaimed.

Johanna was thrown out of her small reverie as she realized Peeta had been talking about her.

He dashed a few feet away as Johanna reached for her axe

She glared at him.

However, Y/n saw a hint of a smile creeping across her face.

It truly was adorable.

"Shut up. I'm not." Johanna snapped.

"Suuuuure that's precisely what all the other couples say. Then, you find them making flower crowns for each other and nearly getting themselves killed in the name of true love" Beetee chimed in, his eyes nervously flicking to Johanna's axe which at this point was being tossed from hand to hand.

"Leave her alone," Y/n said, trying to hide their own smile.

Things almost felt normal.

Well, as normal as talking to people from other districts and being away from home could feel.

Katniss did have a slightly uneasy look on her face though.

She'd been staring at Y/n rather curiously for quite some time.

She seemed... almost wistful?

"Katniss I don't know what's bothering you, but please say it. You've been looking at me and it's really strange, probably for both of us. You trust me right?"

Katniss shook her head.

"It's not that, I do trust you-mostly at least-but still, this isn't about me. I just want to know...What is it like for you and Johanna? You're the only other couple in this mess and I just want to know how you feel."

"Of course. It's terrible being stuck here with her, there's not a moment where I'm not worried about if she'll be okay. I know she's perfectly capable and everything, but still- I can't stop thinking about what would happen if she got hurt or-you know.." Y/n trailed off quietly.

Katniss nodded. "I know the feeling. Thank you. For everything. For joining our alliance, for getting Johanna to join..."

Katniss gestured to Johanna who at the moment appeared to be sizing up Beetee and Peeta, her hand uncomfortably close to her axe.

"I'll be right back,'' Y/n whispered.

Today wouldn't be the day either of them would be decapitated if they could help it

Y/n dashed to her side. "Jo! Let's strategize! That way, we can make sure we all stay safe." Also, maybe it would be best if you didn't scare off Beetee. He might be of service."

Johanna slipped an arm around Y/n's shoulders.

"Okay, I won't," she sighed softly.

"Watch your back, Beetee! Accuse me of making a flower crown again and the arena will be the least of your worries! This is for you too, Peeta! I will break you like a stale breadstick!" She yelled.

Y/n tried to mask their giggles but failed miserably.

Their bright laughter rang through the forest.

"What are you laughing at?"

Johanna tried to keep her steely expression in place but in the end, it too dissolved and the two were both positively wheezing.

It was a terrible situation to be in, but this moment made it slightly more bearable.

The group's situation wasn't ideal, but neither was anyone else's in the arena.

Things could have been much worse, she decided.

Johanna only hoped it would stay that way.

๑*˚🍓 ˚*๑

#johanna mason x reader #johanna mason #The Hunger Games #THG #the hunger games imagine #Johanna Mason Imagine

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

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This started out as a request for a bookcomb of Finnick acting like Peeta and Katniss’ big brother and instead became a two part post of Finnick and Katniss being chaotic best friends 😂😂🤣🤣🤣. This is just their Catching Fire moments. I’ll post the Mockingjay version soon.

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.

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.

[…] 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.

Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes we’re having problems. But this is not a thing you can fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more.

I feel him lurch forward and realize Finnick has come back for us and is hauling Peeta along. I wedge my shoulder, which still seems under my control, under Peeta’s arm and do my best to keep up with Finnick’s rapid pace. We put about ten yards between us and the fog when Finnick stops.

“It’s no good. I’ll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?” he asks me.

I have moved out a bit farther into the shallows, floating alternately on my belly and back. If the seawater healed Peeta and me, it seems to be transforming Finnick altogether. He begins to move slowly, just testing his limbs, and gradually begins to swim. But it’s not like me swimming, the rhythmic strokes, the even pace. It’s like watching some strange sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy even to watch. And then, when he’s been underwater so long I feel certain he’s drowned, his head pops up right next to me and I start.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

“What? Come up or stay under?” he says.

“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave,” I say.

I glance over at Peeta, at Finnick, and see they’re both scratching at their damaged faces. Yes, even Finnick’s beauty has been marred by this night.

“Don’t scratch,” I say, wanting badly to scratch myself. But I know it’s the advice my mother would give. “You’ll only bring infection.”

My stomach begins to growl at the smell of food and I reach for one. The sight of my fingernails, caked with blood, stops me. I’ve been scratching my skin raw in my sleep.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection,” says Finnick.

I plunk down on the sand next to Finnick and screw the lid off the tube. […] A sound of pleasure slips out of my mouth as the stuff eradicates my itching. It also stains my scabby skin a ghastly gray-green. As I start on the second leg I toss the tube to Finnick, who eyes me doubtfully.

“It’s like you’re decomposing,” says Finnick. But I guess the itching wins out, because after a minute Finnick begins to treat his own skin, too. Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can’t help enjoying his distress.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” I say.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” he asks.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it,” I say.

“Not if I keep looking at you,” he says.

We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other’s backs where the undershirts don’t protect our skin. “I’m going to wake Peeta,” I say.

“No, wait,” says Finnick. “Let’s do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.”

Well, there’s so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. “Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” I say in a soft, singsong voice.

His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we’ve stabbed him. “Aa!”

Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta’s attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I’m thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I’d thought.

Finnick catches my arm before I can run. “No. It’s not him.” He starts pulling me downhill, toward the beach. “We’re getting out of here!” But Gale’s voice is so full of pain I can’t help struggling to reach it. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at me. “Come on!” He moves me along, half dragging, half carrying me, until I can process what he said.

It’s the first crack of the lightning storm — the bolt hitting the tree at midnight — that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn’t real.

“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.”

I turn and wave to Finnick. “Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!”

The three of us scour all the scabs from our bodies, helping with the others’ backs, and come out the same pink as the sky. We apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for the sunlight, but it doesn’t look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle.

Peeta’s just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. “Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick.

“No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively.

I duck behind a curtain of vines, concealing myself just in time. Finnick flies by me, his skin shadowy with medicine, leaping through the undergrowth like a deer. He soon reaches the site of my attack, must see the blood. “Johanna! Katniss!” he calls.

Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do, especially if the target is unprepared. I lunge across the table and rake mine down Haymitch’s face, causing blood to flow and damage to one eye. Then we are both screaming terrible, terrible things at each other, and Finnick is trying to drag me out, and I know it’s all Haymitch can do not to rip me apart.

“Katniss. Katniss, I’m sorry.” Finnick’s voice comes from the bed next to me and slips into my consciousness. Perhaps because we’re in the same kind of pain. “I wanted to go back for him and Johanna, but I couldn’t move.”

#thg #hunger games #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #catching fire #finnick odair #bookcomb ♥️🔎#sorry long post y’all

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

Here is my attempt at portraying Peeta’s camouflage skills convincingly 😅😅

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 19-21 are below the cut.

heart

While I love all the banter between Katniss and Peeta, I think my favorite of these three chapters is: “Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this,” I say. “Although for all I know, I am killing you.” “Can you speed it up a little?” he asks. “No. Shut up and eat your pears,” I say. A classic 😄

mind

I always imagined that Cato went after Thresh before coming for Katniss and Peeta because a) Thresh took the backpack for District 2 (which contained the body armor that would make dealing with Katniss’s arrow so much easier) and b) Thresh killed Clove and Cato wanted to avenge her... Although I have no idea how Cato ended up killing Thresh... he was doing pretty well for himself in his grass-y area... Maybe the Gamemakers wanted to punish Thresh for not killing Katniss and generated that thunderstorm and rain to force Thresh out of his refuge, which would give Cato a fair chance to kill him, I guess...

soul

Lol, honestly, since Peeta just generally seems to be motivated by kindness and love/caring, I don’t think it took much for him to keep the star-crossed lovers angle alive (I could easily imagine him actually noticing Katniss in the willow tree early in the Games and offering to take care of the District 8 girl, so the Careers would get the hell out of there, away from Katniss)

Chapter 19:

Peeta, who’s been wounded, is now my ally. [...] I’d loathe any tribute who didn’t immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. - Honestly, this just highlights what a kind person Katniss is, despite her aloof front; her innermost instinct is always to stick together and to protect. Because it doesn’t really make sense for her to team up with Peeta - she knows he’s wounded and won’t be of much help to her, her chances of survival are way better if she stayed on her own, but it’s not something she’d ever consider now that they are allowed to form a team (and only then does she even factor in the whole ‘star-crossed lovers of district 12′ -angle)

Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me. The thought makes me smile. - Aww 😊 (but also, how heart-breaking that the Capitol will do everything in their power to change that, to make Peeta become a danger to Katniss 😢)

He’s very hard to predict, which might be interesting under different circumstances - Okay, but this just makes me think of that exchange in Gilmore Girls when Paris and Rory talk about how you know a guy is right for you: “Someone who’s compatible but not compatible.” “Yeah, kind of. I mean, you respect each other’s opinions and you can laugh at the same jokes, but I don’t know – there’s just something about not quite knowing what the other person’s gonna do at all times that’s just really exciting.” - fits these two to a T 😏

In fact, I’ve just about decided I’m on the wrong track entirely, that a wounded boy would be unable to navigate getting to and from this water source, when I see the bloody streak - Okay, but how flipping tough is Peeta?! He’s severely injured, with multiple tracker jacker stings and he drags himself to this terrain that is almost impossible to navigate for someone in his condition - a sturdy dandelion, indeed!

“You’re here to finish me off, sweetheart?” - What an entrance after having gone AWOL for quite a couple of chapters 👌🏼👏🏼

“Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” I jerk my head back but end up laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” [...] “Katniss?” Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words “How about that kiss?” I burst out laughing - He’s lying in a river bed, slowly dying, and he can still make her laugh 😊

“You know, you’re kind of squeamish for such a lethal person” - It’s such a small comment, but I can’t help but think that Peeta is just kind of intrigued to discover all these little idiosyncrasies that make up the ever-elusive Katniss Everdeen ;)

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. - Aww, she doesn’t even want to consider him dying, so she spontaneously decides to cut him off with a kiss👀👀 Honestly, at this point Peeta has elicited 2 (!) spontaneous kisses (the kiss after the chariot ride and this one) from Katniss, who generally isn’t that big on touching people

“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?” - Stubborn, protective Katniss... But also reminds me of their rooftop “date” in CF and the “Then you’ll allow it?” “I’ll allow it” - exchange

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. - KaTNisSs, gurl... 🙄🤦🏼‍♀️

Chapter 20:

But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I’m just going to have to trust whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one. - The very best of instincts, Katniss, don’t you worry😉

Peeta’s struggling to get up when I reach the cave. “I woke up and you were gone,” he says, “I was worried about you.” - Gah, why are the both of them so good?! They just care for and worry about each other 24/7

“How do you feel?” “Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud,” he says. “Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag... and you.” Oh right, the whole romance thing. - Oh Katniss...😐 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. - Where did Peeta pick this up? From a time his family was less dysfunctional? Observing couples in the town square? Or is he a fricking disney prince and these things come natural to him? Questions, questions...

“You didn’t sleep,” Peeta says. “I’m all right,” I say. But the truth is, I’m exhausted. “Sleep now. I’ll keep watch.” [...] I test his cheek. Hot as a coal stove. He claims he’s been drinking, but the containers still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. - These two are just too stubborn to take proper care of themselves - good thing that each of them is adamant to force the other to sleep/drink/eat when necessary

“Besides I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” - When presented with the choice of being flirty vs being a cheeky little shit, Peeta will choose being a flirty cheeky little shit every time 😂

“I’m going to make soup,” I say. “Don’t light a fire,” he says. “It’s not worth it.” - Okay, but what he’s actually saying is “I’m not worth it” 😭😭

Katniss telling that story about buying Prim’s goat😊... A young buck, probably a yearling by his size. His antlers were just growing in, still small and coated in velvet. [...] Beautiful. - We are all very much aware of Peeta’s appreciation for beauty, but the same does apply to Katniss, too (she’s just overall more pragmatic)

“Was it [the goat] still wearing the pink ribbon?″ he asks. “I think so,” I say. “Why?” “I’m just trying to get a picture,” he says thoughtfully. - Peeta is so detail-oriented! I have this theory that this is actually something that enables him to overcome his hijacking; we catch glimpses in MJ of how he inches himself out of his condition by asking/focusing on small details or things most people would dismiss as trivial (Katniss’s favorite color, the color of her dress visiting District 7, her Dad singing the Hanging Tree when Peeta was 6 or 7 years old...) and I feel like it makes a lot of sense - his tormentors in the Capitol either wouldn’t have access to distort these moments or not even consider them to have any significance (since they are all about big, flashy gestures in the Capitol), so these memories would remain untouched. Luckily, Peeta seems to live by Robert Brault’s words: “Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. “

“Really? What did you cost me again?” I ask. “A lot of trouble. Don’t worry. You’ll get it all back,” he says. - Well, he’s going to cost her a lot more trouble in the future - but we know he’s going to make up for it and bring her much happiness, too 😊

“You’re not risking your life for me.” “Who said I was?” I say. [...] “Of course I’m not going.” [...] “You’re such a bad liar, Karniss.” [...] Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!” “I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says. - Soo.. their love language is offering to sacrifice their life like it’s nothing, huh?! 😳😅

Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, - lol, sounds like a husband trying to get back on his wife’s good side after they had a row 😂

I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it’s too late, he’s already losing consciousness. - Ah, the most important indicator of true love: having person A force-feed person B a sedative so they can run off to get them life-saving medicine ;)

Chapter 21:

I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It’s strange to be so physically close to someone who’s so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, - Reminds me how in MJ she’s going to be so close to Peeta (mentally/emotionally) while he will be physically so distant (in the Capitol!)

a tiny orange one [backpack] [...] that must be marked with a 12 - Interesting how that backpack is orange, huh? Why is that? Are smaller backpacks generally orange (like the one Katniss already has) to be more visible or is this simply to connect the backpack to Peeta (though we don’t know his favorite color at this point)? Do the Gamemakers care whether Katniss gets a matching backpack? It just seems like an unnecessary detail to throw in🤔

The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia, snags the green backpack, and speeds off. Foxface! - Honestly, this was a truly brilliant move; kudos! 👏🏼

[Clove] carefully selects an almost dainty-looking number [knife] with a cruel, curved blade. “I promised Cato if he let me have you, I’d give the audience a good show.” [...] “I think...” she almost purrs. “I think we’ll start with your mouth.” [...] she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade. - Okay, but the idea of Clove cutting off Katniss’s lips is just all kinds of terrifying and disturbing 😨

“No! No, I-” Clove sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Thresh’s hand [...] Thresh brings the rock down hard against Clove’s temple. [...] and I know she’s a goner. - Interesting how Katniss describes that rock that basically saves her life (or at least kills her assailant) as bread-sized, huh? “Your district... they sent me bread. [...] Conflicting emotions cross Thresh’s face. He lowers the rock and points at me, almost accusingly. “Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl.” - Katniss mentions the bread from District 11 as a proof of her alliance with Rue (and the recognition of D11) and Thresh spares her; bread keeps saving her life (while it keeps representing acts of kindness)

Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. - I appreciate this small, humanizing moment with Cato

The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful green and silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist. - I don’t know much about North American insects (not that I know that much about European insects either - just recently came across a relatively rare moth on my walks that I had never seen or heard of before) - is Katniss describing a special/noteworthy species of moth? Or is this a more literary symbolism kind of moth? (Just looked up some symbolism meaning of moths: change/transformation, seeking light; power of regeneration in some Native American mythology, hmm...)

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

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

The Archer and The Wrestler.

Written by: @thegirlfromoverthepond

Prompt 90: The Olympic committee is selling sponsorships and heavily advertising the upcoming games. The most photogenic of each sport is asked to pose for pics and attend functions, film commercial together, do some interviews. What sports represented by Katniss, Peeta, others? Required to look cozy? Animosity behind those smiles? Competitiveness? Banter? Any secrets? Do they have a “breakfast club” ending? by @567inpanem

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Summary: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark meet in the office of Trinket Advertising, where they have to shoot pictures for sponsors.

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Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt ! I had fun writing it :) PLus I could place it in my country which is always a plus. I hope you won’t be disappointed …

My deepest thanks to @sunsetsrmydreams for pre reading and betaing.

To @xerxia31 and @javistg thank you for hosting such a nice event … and So sorry for the delay !

__________________

I should be practicing, she thought, instead of pacing the long, white, corridor of Trinket Advertising.

Katniss still had a ton to do for the Games. Be sure to be fit, to be healthy, to be accurate. To shoot straight.

She really didn’t want to spend her afternoon waiting for some photographer to ask her to act natural in front of a camera. But she was just glad she didn’t have to shoot with someone from the team, as she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to focus with the constant bickering between Johana and Gale or how Haymitch, their trainer, would “Sweetheart” this or that.

Still no clue as to why she had been picked to be the representative of her sport for the sponsors and advertising. She wasn’t really sure she knew what it entailed, how much time she would spend parading around the media instead of practicing. She knew archery wasn’t such a popular sport in the States, preventing her from spending huge amounts of time in talk shows, or interviews.

Plus, seeing the recognition made Prim, her sister, so proud and happy, Katniss hadn’t been able to turn down the offer when it came.

“Kathy Everdeen? You’re up next.” The assistant’s piercing voice echoed in the long corridor. Katniss closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to not correct the woman.

“Welcome to the Strange Name That Can’t Be Taken Seriously Club.” Another voice, male this time, made her open her eyes.

In front of her was a man of around her age, wearing the male version of the US Olympics shirt she had on..

Only his was stretched across his broad frame, where she was glad hers was loose around her lean body.

He extended his hand.

“Peeta Mellark. Wrestling. Founding member of the club.” She stared at his hand, before moving a step forward to shake it. “You’re the archer ? Katniss right?”

She stopped mid-movement. How could he know her name ?

“I saw your name on the list, so I figured you’d be next ?” He said, almost shyly, as if he had offended her, or invaded her privacy.

She saw the movement of his hand, that she had left unshaken, going to his hair, his fingers raking through his mane of curls.

He had done nothing wrong, she realized, just tried to clear the air. She took a breath, before extending her own hand in front of her.

“Yeah, I’m Katniss. Archery. How much is the subscription to the club?”

He laughed, before shaking her hand.

“How about tea after you’re done ?”

“Too bad I only drink coffee … but I guess if you can wait a bit, that’s doable.” Katniss almost smiled when Peeta started to laugh.

“Oh my goodness, I have a genius idea !” A voice froze their handshaking. “We are going to do pair shootings! Mix the sports together, along with the portraits. It’s going to be legendary !”

A woman with very pink hair matching her very pink outfit stood in the entrance leading towards the studio. As soon as she stopped talking, a flock of what Katniss could only think were assistants came in view, all clapping their hands or praising the Pink Lady.

“Effie, this is another grand idea! We should start right now with these two!” The woman that had misspelled Katniss’ name said, “as they are both here.”

“What are you waiting for, Octavia, take her to make-up right now! I need to call Plutarch, I am having a ton of ideas ! Hush hush, now come on, quickly!”

Katniss saw the assistants moving as one, starting to circle her and Peeta, moving them forward inside the studio, where a couple were checking their cameras and the large umbrellas reflecting the lights.

“Cinna, Portia, I had an epiphany!” The Pink Lady walked towards the couple as quickly as her pencil dress and very high heels allowed her, while Katniss was ushered to the make-up table. She noticed that Peeta was following right behind her, with the other half of the assistants. She met his gaze, saw him shrug before he was taken to another table, shielded from her view by the different makeup and hair artists around them.

“We’ll start with you, Kathy!” Octavia said a few minutes later. Katniss took another deep breath, calming her temper. In just a few minutes, she’ll be gone. Archery wasn’t high on the list of sponsors, nobody cared about them, but for the bow and arrows brands.

Katniss didn’t have time to muse as the sound of Octavia’s heels on the tiling started again. She rose from the chair, following the young woman towards a dressing cabin.

“You’ll find your uniform inside. You’re a S, right?”

“How do you know?” Katniss asked, surprised that the woman guessed correctly.

“I have an eye for that. Plus, it’s written on your card.”

She repressed another eyeroll, trying to keep in mind that Octavia was only doing her job, before she entered the dressing cabin.

White pants, blue polo lined with red, and a white undershirt to protect her arms. The standard equipment.

Yet, it was something to see it, to realize she would represent her country in the most important tournament there could be, that she had achieved one of her goals. To be an Olympian.

She took the polo, turning it slowly, almost afraid to read what was on the back.

Everdeen.

Her father’s name, embroidered in the cotton of the shirt.

Pride rushed through her veins as her fingers traced the letters.

“I did it, Papa. I’m going to the Olympics.”

______________________

It was now official. She hated photoshoots. First, because it was taking an awful lot of time, then because you had to smile. All.the.time. That Katniss hasn’t screamed yet or ran off the door was entirely due to her willpower gained from years of training.

The photographer, Cinna, wasn’t a talker. He was taking his time to snap picture after picture, never acknowledging Octavia or Effie’s advice for her to smile this way, or that way. Because there was apparently a way to smile properly.

She could feel her anger rise with each passing minute, the incessant chatter of the women, the silence of the photographer, the heat from the spotlights, the wind from the huge fans, the itching from the label of the polo on her neck…

“I think it’s time to pair them up.” The photographer’s voice calmly said, silencing the two women.

From being Effie and Octavia, Peeta made his way towards the scene where Katniss was standing.

Before anyone could say a thing, Cinna turned to Effie and his assistant.

“Ladies, can you please check if we have athletes that can be paired tomorrow too? I’m sorry to ask in such short notice, but I think Effie’s idea is something we have to work on.. of course it will mean you change all the schedules..”

“Oh, my, Cinna, but yes, of course! If you think so ? But will you be able to manage with these two?” Effie Trinket asked. Katniss could feel the sharpness of her gaze as the older woman looked at her.

“If there is the slightest problem, I’ll make sure Portia comes to get you.”

“Yes, please. Because if we can manage to pair Brutus and Enobaria, we might be on something, right?”

“Right.” Cinna nodded, before moving towards his material, his back to Katniss as he rummaged through his material.

She looked at her partner in the photoshoot, who seemed as lost as she was. He kept running his hand in his mane of blond hair, before shoving them in his pockets. Seconds after, he was doing the same movements again. She realized she was doing the same, undoing the end of her braid before redoing it, over and over again.

She really couldn’t wait to be out of the studio.

“Will you two stand back to back, please?” Cinna’s voice startled her, even though it was barely over a whisper. “Portia, can you please close the door?”

That’s when she realized how silent the place was without Effie and Octavia. Without their neverending chatter, their disapproving tongue clicks, or their exaggerated sighs.

It almost felt … good.

Almost.

She started to move then, turning her back to Peeta, before crossing her eyes, hoping he would take the hint to do the same. The sooner they were done, the better. She had her bow waiting for her, after all.

She felt the fabric of Peeta’s polo on her arm, yet, never his weight on her back.

She looked at Cinna, who nodded approvingly, before starting to take pictures.

“Should we smile?” She heard Peeta’s deep voice right behind her, asking the question she didn’t dare ask.

“Do what you want, don’t mind me.” the photographer answered behind his material.

“What we want?” Katniss echoed, unsure she had heard correctly. The previous hour had been filled with recommendations on what to do, on poses to take, on how to smile …

Cinna lowered his camera.

“I’m not Effie. Beauty is everywhere, it doesn’t have to be faked by poses or false smiles. Just do what you two want.” He shrugged before checking something on his camera. “I’ll need a few minutes to fix this, try to relax.”

Katniss turned to her partner in shooting, to realize he had already moved and was facing her.

“You told me you were a coffee girl, right?”

“Yup. Black, no sugar.”

“I don’t take sugar in my tea, either. See we have something in common.” Peeta put his hands high. “Oh, no high five ? We’re not close enough yet.”

“Definitely not, singlet boy.”

“Ouch, that hurts. Know, Miss Everdeen, that a lot of women find that uniform .. appealing.” He raised his eyebrows, wiggling them explicitly.

“I bet they do. The main question is, do you have to shave your torso, so your opponent won’t have the opportunity to pull at your chest hair ?”

Katniss didn’t know what came to her to ask such a question. It was like Peeta made it easy for her to talk, when she usually wasn’t famous for speaking or making her voice heard without shouting.

It was like he had a calm, soothing temper, like a lazy river, ready to cover the fire that was in her.

Maybe they made a good pair.

“Yeah, the worst is the wax under the armpit.” He deadpanned, not even letting a smile on his face.

She could totally imagine him taken down to “Beauty Base Zero” as the woman at the beauty parlor had told her the only time she went there. It included all sorts of treatments, each worse than the others. She even told her sister to not gift her with that kind of torture anymore.

“Ouch.. I hope your girlfriend covers you in aloe after that …”

Katniss knew she wasn’t the most girly woman around, yet she sometimes put on mascara or had her legs waxed from time to time, mostly for competitions when she had decided to wear the short-skirts or the long bermudas.

“Well, meet Hanna, my girlfriend.” Peeta said casually, showing his right hand, wiggling his eyebrows - again.

It took Katniss a few seconds to catch up on the double-entendre.

“Oh, my, you’re disgusting!” Her words couldn’t completely hide her smile. There was something to this man that somehow made her want to talk, to speak, to even trust him.

“I bunked with Finnick Odair at the Youth Olympic Games. That was disgusting! He shaves himself ! the room was full of his hair!”

“Well, you could have collected them before putting them on Ebay. You’d be rich by now.”

“I should have, yes. Dam, why didn’t I know you back then to give me good advice!”

“I wasn’t at the YOG.”

“I know, I would have noticed you.”

She looked at him, with questions in her mind. His eyes were blue, so clear nothing was shadowing them, she was left without words.

Click.

—-

Katniss couldn’t believe she was at the Olympics. In Paris, France. That her childhood dream of bringing a golden medal home was nothing but a few arrows away. A lot of stress, too. She raised her bow, lining the target with her eye, throwing a quick glance to the small flags lining the area to check the wind, took a deep breath, before letting go of the arrow.

She knew right away that it would miss the center of the target. A breath of hair on the right, still not enough to get full marks. She had underestimated the wind on this large, open area that the Esplanade des Invalides was.

“Not too bad.” She jumped at the voice behind her. Maybe some kind of volunteer that had been allowed inside the arenas for training. She needed to focus on the target, on the little golden area that would make her mark a ten in the competition.

She took another arrow from the quiver on her left hip, slid it in the bow, looked at the wind, took a deep breath, lifted her weapon, aimed at the target. With the next exhalation of air, she let go of the arrow, knowing right away it would hit the center.

She had never been able to explain how she knew, each and every time how her arrow would behave. It was a feeling, a sensation, deep inside of her.

Thunk !

She looked at the target, saw that indeed the arrow was in the yellow area. She almost let a smile show on her mouth, when the same voice distrubed her again.

“You might win if you shoot like that.”

Katniss closed her eyes, letting a sigh escape before turning to face whoever decided to disturb her training.

“Peeta!” She felt a smile forming on her face. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I was practising, then decided to go for a walk. It’s Paris after all!”

“Here?” Katniss was pretty sure she hadn’t seen any other sport on the green grass in front of the Invalides.

“Oh, not here here, over there!” Peeta turned, his right hand moving over his shoulder, showing the Eiffel Tower. “Wrestling is on the Champ de Mars, at the feet of the tower”

“Really? You’ll have to tell me when you’re in the tournament. So I can come and see you.”

Peeta’s hand went to his head, his fingers raking through his mane of golden curls.

“You’re sure ? If the press sees you there….”

“I’ll tell them I came to support a friend.”

“But you know how the paparazzi are …”

“We’re in France, not the US, nobody cares about archery or wrestling - no offense intended.”

“None taken.”

Peeta looked around, before coming closer to the barriers surrounding the archery arena, then leaning slightly on them, giving Katniss the opportunity to see the muscles in his forearms. She wondered briefly if he already had his waxing treatment.

“Something on your mind, Everdeen?”

Who was he again? A mind-reader ? She quickly turned her eyes from his arms, not lingering on the broad expense of his chest, or how bright his eyes were.

“Yup. I have to finish training if I don’t want to look too ridiculous when the competition starts.”

“What do you say we try one of these cafés when you’re done?” he casually asked. Katniss could see something in his eyes - was it hope ?

Damn, was he playing unfair by throwing coffee into the mix. As if she was known to refuse a cup.

“I still have a few minutes of practice, maybe a raincheck?”

He shrugged, before looking around. “I’m in no rush. I can wait. Patience is a virtue, young grasshopper.”

She nodded, before taking another arrow out of her quirrel.

“Yes, Sensei.”

The arrow hit the center of the target.

———————–

Katniss knew she shouldn’t be there. Not that she didn’t want to, but after pictures of her and Peeta laughing in a small café had hit the stands, her phone hadn’t stopped beeping, demanding a confirmation if there was something going on between the two of them. That, perhaps, all the rumors that had been born after the photoshoot with Cinna, were not rumors at all.

Effie Trinket was, of course, delighted. Jo wouldn’t stop asking about LoverBoy, Gale was threatening to beat the shit out of Peeta (Katniss was almost ready to let him try to do that), and Haymitch kept on asking her if her little romance would damage her results in the field.

Everything was peachy.

Yet, she couldn’t find it in her to regret the time she had spent with Peeta. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much, that she had been able to confide to someone as she had done with him, how he had been open to her too. Like two old friends rekindling a friendship after spending years apart.

Friends they could have been, they had realized when discussing their native places. They had grown up about a hundred miles apart, in the same district of West Virginia. They could have crossed paths about a dozen times, sharing memories of the Meadow Park, where they both had spent time, Katniss had even worked there when they were younger.

Sometime during their afternoon chat, a photographer had spotted them, recognized them, and snapped pictures.

That was a trending subject on Twitter minutes later, before someone even created a ship name for them. The hashtag #Everlark trended for more than a day.

Katniss had pushed her phone away, blocked all the numbers she didn’t know, called Peeta to apologize, before focusing solely on her training.

Her perfect plan had crumbled in hours, when Peeta had caught her in the Victor’s Village Cafeteria, explaining how he was sorry for everything, as the idea of coffees had been his.

They had ended up sharing a meal with Gale and Jo, as well as some of Peeta’s teammates, who kept joking about the Everlark hashtag. In a matter of two hours Katniss was laughing with them, the pain of Effie’s scheme forgotten.

That was why she was currently in the corridors of the Arena where Judo and Wrestling competitions were being held. Her own tournament was starting in two days and Katniss would rather watch sports she didn’t understand, then stay in her room, anxiously waiting for her turn to compete.

Maybe it was time for her to play team mate too. She had put on her US Team attire, gotten her accreditations cards, before jumping into one of the buses that led her to the Champ de Mars.

She hadn’t seen Peeta since breakfast the morning before, when she had forgotten to ask him if he was still okay for her to come.

The building was elegantly sitting on the green grass. In the back, she could see the Eiffel Tower, all dressed up in her beauty and dignity.

In a few minutes she had found the hall with the wrestlers, and a seat in the ranks reserved for athletes. She recognized Thom and Thresh, two of Peeta’s teammates, who waved at her. She talked to them for a few minutes, learning their categories were competing in the coming days.

“Peeta should be in two matches.” Thresh informed her as she sat on the plastic seat. “He should make it to the quarters easily. After…”

“After?” She asked, unsure what THresh meant.

“After, in the quarters he should face Katø, the Russian. A beast. “

“A beast?”

“Yeah, 164 pounds of malice and nastiness.”

“Charming… Maybe someone will eat this Katø first ?”

Thresh shook his head.

“Na, not with this draw. His first worthy opponent will be Peeta.”

She looked at Thresh, thinking back to the afternoon she had spent with Peeta, remembering what he had told her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much, her cheeks still hurt. They had walked away from the Olympic Archery range, following the banks of the Seine, looking at the amazing monuments, walking by the Musee d’Orsay that Peeta had told her he wanted to visit.

They had crossed the river on a wooden bridge only for pedestrians, walked along the Louvre, until they had found a small café near the Palais Royal where they were still sitting.

“You all have bread names? Why? “

Peeta shrugged, before leaning down a little on the metallic table, as if he was about to confide his deepest secret.

“We own a bakery, back in Panem. Maybe one day, I’ll tell you my real name …”

She laughed, leaning over the table too. She felt bold enough to run her hand on his definitely toned forearm, letting her finger wander up to his shoulder.

She saw the color of his eyes change from crystal blue to a darker shade, heard him take a breath in.

But Katniss was on a mission.

She leaned closer to him, her hand coming closer to his neck, her nimble fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

She could feel him tense under her touch, and lifted her eyes, to find his locked on her, as if he wanted to get lost in her. It took Katniss a few seconds to return to her task. With a movement of her wrist, she grabbed his accreditation cards, pulling them over his head before leaning back into her seat.

“That’s disappointing, actually. Your name is Mark ? Mark Mellark ?”

“Because your name is really Katniss?”

She put down his accreditations, took hers from around her neck, holding them out to him. He took them with a smirk before looking at the name written on them.

“Your name is really Katniss?”

“Yep. My mom’s Lily, my dad is Alon, and my sister is Primrose. You’re a bread family, we are a plant family.” She snatched the cards from his hands. “ You’re lucky you didn’t bet a thing, Mark Mellark.”

“Don’t call me Mark.” He grumbled, leaning back onto his chair.

“Well, then if you don’t want the world to call you Mark, you know what’s left to do, Mellark!”.

She casually put down his cards on the table, taking her time to lean back too.

“Oh? And that would be, Sensei ?”

“Easy, Grasshopper. Make sure you don’t get a medal.”

“That, Robin Hood, is not an option.”

The steadiness, the certainty of his voice made her shiver. Or maybe it was the wind, coming from large trees nearby. Surely the trees, she thought.

“I mean,” he started “ we all came here for a reason, and it’s not to give someone else our place on the podium. Plus with all the visibility we have this year, we have to give it our best, right?”

She nodded. That was what they had to do, what they had trained for, what they were in France for.

“Katniss?” Thom’s voice took her out of her memories.

“Sorry, I was lost in thoughts.”

“Look down, on the mat. The guy in blue? It’s Katø.”

“That’s a man? He looks like a mountain of muscles …”

“Well, he is a mountain of muscles … “ The referee interrupted Thom’s sentence with the start of the first period. “That won’t take long, he isn’t known for dancing around.”

Katniss watched as the blond man, so different from Peeta rushed into his opponent, pinning him on the mat in a few seconds.

“Told you. That lasted 25 seconds, he won’t be tired for the next round.” Thom said. “Peeta’s next.”

Katniss nodded searching the ground until she spotted him, wearing a red singlet.

“Why is he wearing red ? Blue is a better color for him.” She asked, her eyes trained on the now familiar figure walking towards the mat. Damn, these singlets left little to the imagination. To say they were fit-forming was the understatement of the year. She could see all the lines of Peeta’s muscles moving as he approached the fighting zone.

“Because he’ll be the first one called. It’s the rules.” She turned towards Thresh, who had the biggest smile on his face she’d ever seen him don.

“Why are you smiling?” She was wondering what had been so funny in her words.

“‘Blue is a better color for him’ - you sound like -”

“Be careful, Thresh. She shoots arrows…” Thom interrupted. “Now if you want to see Peeta wrestle, maybe you can look at the mat ?”

With a last threatening glance towards Thresh that was met with another huge smile and air kisses, Katniss turned towards the arena, noticing how different Peeta’s posture was from Katø’s.

“He’s going to tire the Georgian who isn’t as flexible as he is. And as soon as there will be an opening, he’ll go for it.” Thom explained, as she watched the complicated dance of joint locks, takedowns, and other things she had no idea what they were.

“This must be exhausting…” she whispered, as she saw Peeta finally going for the pin, immobilizing his opponent on the mat.

“Well, it’s not crochet that’s for sure!” Thresh chimed into her thoughts as the crowd applauded the winner of the match.

This was going to be a long day.

__________________

She needed to focus, now. Forget she was in the final of the Olympic Archery Tournament. Forget her dream was an arrow away. Forget she needed a nine to win the gold.

She had to remember the wind, how it came lightly from the right to the left, how she needed to bend the trajectory just a little. She had to calm her beating heart.

To forget Peeta was in the stands, watching. Katniss had cheered him on as he won his own gold medal two days ago, but now it was her moment.

She needed to forget.

The way he had chased her when she tried to make a quiet exit.

To forget how they had kissed.

Their own celebration.

She had to clear her mind of all this.

Forget. Focus.

A deep breath.

Visualizing the arrow hitting the center of the target.

The chronometer was ticking. Tick. Tock.

It was her last arrow. Her concurrents had already shot their own.

She needed a nine.

Only twelve seconds remain.

She rose her bow.

Eleven seconds.

Remembered her father’s proud look when she had won her first trophy.

She let the arrow fly.

She knew it would be a ten.

She had won the gold.

She fell to her knees, feeling the tears pooling in her eyes.

“I did it, Papa, I won … I hope you’re proud..”

The applause around her made her lift her head, then stand up, before she ran towards the stands, her bow still in hand, her eyes fixed on a figure that was coming down the stairs, towards her.

She felt his arms around her as he hugged her over the bleachers, felt his hands going to her face as he looked into her eyes.

“You remember to shoot straight, Grasshopper…” he whispered, for the two of them only.

“Yes, Sensei”, she replied before kissing him.

Click.

FIN

#thegirlfromoverthepond #567inpanem #prompt 90 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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xerxia31 · 3 years

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The First Christmas

Author/creator: xerxia31 Square filled and prompt: I3, evergreen (I mean, tangentially anyway) Title: The First Christmas Rating: K Summary: The Everdeens have never celebrated Christmas before... Author’s/Creator’s notes: Yeah, I went a little over the word count, because I’m a shameless rule breaker. This is canon-divergent in-Panem fluff.

“I’m worried about Peeta,” Prim says out of the blue. She and Katniss are perhaps ten paces behind Peeta on their early morning trudge to school, watching as Peeta sneaks what he probably thinks are furtive glances towards the square.

It’s been four months since the night Peeta’s mother threw him out of the apartment above the bakery, and he’s adapted to living with the Everdeen women better than any of them imagined. Life in the Seam is far different from a merchant life in town, but Peeta never complains, never seems to miss his previous life at all.

But over the past few days, Katniss too has noticed that on the long walks to school, and back to the Seam, he keeps glancing towards town, where he never used to do so before.

“Maybe he misses his family,” Katniss muses in a hushed tone. His two brothers come by the small shack in the Seam from time to time to see Peeta, but there hasn’t been a single word from his parents. None of them ever thought Peeta’s presence in their home would be a permanent thing; when they offered him a safe haven from his abusive mother they expected his father would smooth things over in a few days. But it hasn’t happened.

“Hmmm,” Prim hums, matching her quiet tone. “I mean, I’m sure he does. But I don’t think that’s it.”

“What then?” The snow and cold are making everyone a little grumpier lately, at school and in the Hob there are a lot of frowns, a lot of complaints. The ever-present coal dust stains the snow a sludgy grey, and it’s hard to be happy surrounded by the mess, especially someone like Peeta who has the soul of an artist. But she and Peeta sneak under the fence together on Saturdays when the weather cooperates and the fence is off, and in her woods, winter is actually quite pretty, even if the hunting is terrible.

Ahead of them, Peeta’s shoulders slump as he reaches the fork where the path turns towards the school. Where his short view of town will disappear again.

“I think,” Prim says carefully, “that maybe he’s sad about Christmas.”

Christmas. Katniss has heard the word before. It was an ancient celebration, held near the solstice. Illegal in Panem now, as all of the old celebrations are, but there are some merchants who talk about it in hushed tones.

“Why do you think that?” Katniss isn’t even sure when Christmas is, and she’s certain she’s never heard Peeta say the word before. Though they’ve only been dating since the spring, she’s known him forever, they’ve been schoolmates since they were five.

“I think it’s soon. I heard the miller’s son talking about it yesterday during history class.”

“Maybe,” Katniss hedges. “But what can we do about it anyway?”

“We could bring a little bit of Christmas to him,” Prim says, excitement lighting her bright blue eyes.

“How?” Katniss grumbles. “We know nothing about Christmas.”

“We’ll find out.” Prim quiets as Peeta realizes how far behind him they are and stops. “Christmas,” Prim murmurs again, then skips ahead, looping her arm through Peeta’s.

Both blondes hold out their free hands towards Katniss, and it makes her laugh, knocking the idea out of her head. She picks up her pace to join them. Peeta wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a warm kiss to her cold temple, just below the fuzzy edge of her frayed grey hat, and the three finish their walk to school linked together.

But she’s thinking about it again later that evening. Peeta is quiet over dinner, not brooding but not his usual cheerful self. Prim enlists his help to accompany her on a delivery of salve to an injured miner on the far side of the Seam, and Katniss washes up the supper dishes with her mother.

“What do you know about Christmas?” Katniss asks, and though she’s not looking at her mother directly, she can see Mrs. Everdeen tense, the way she always does when Katniss mentions things that are forbidden in the district.

“Not a lot,” she says softly. “My mother’s parents celebrated it, but my father disapproved, so we never did.” Katniss is surprised by the hint of melancholy in her mother’s voice. She doesn’t understand how that sadness can be about her grandparents, the people who disowned their only child, who never even met their granddaughters.

“Prim thinks maybe it’s why Peeta is so sad.” There’s no point beating around the bush, Katniss isn’t interested in discussing her mother’s long lost Merchant life.

Mrs Everdeen nods. “I know Graham celebrated Christmas when we were young. I don’t know about Marissa though,” she says referencing Peeta’s parents. “But I’ve seen Christmas cookies fairly recently that must have come from their bakery.” She pulls her hands from the dishwater that’s gone cold. “Has he mentioned something?”

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you know Peeta. He would never complain.”

“That’s true,” she replies with a gentle smile. Mrs. Everdeen is very fond of Peeta, that much has been clear ever since he started coming to call on Katniss. “You and Prim are thinking about celebrating Christmas, to cheer him up?”

Katniss shrugs, putting the last dry dish away. “Not exactly,” she hedges. “We don’t know anything about it, I think that would be strange. But maybe we could do something small that would remind him of Christmas?”

“Well,” her mother starts, guiding her over to the small, threadbare couch by the potbellied stove. “Christmas was celebrated just after the solstice, on December 25.” Katniss nods, that gives her a little over a week to figure something out. “I don’t know the origins, exactly. But before the dark days, children would hang their stockings by the stove and wait for Father Christmas to fill them.”

“Fill them with what?” Katniss interjects.

“Little presents, if they were good. Coal, if they were bad.”

“The bad kids got coal in their stockings? I think I’d want to be bad.” Coal isn’t cheap, after all, and it’s useful.

Mrs. Everdeen laughs. “The good kids got treats from the sweet shop, or maybe new crayons or a little doll. A lot more exciting for a child than a bag of coal.” Katniss resists the urge to point out that she would have been excited about a bag of coal when she was a kid, in those years when she was keeping their little family together while Mrs. Everdeen wallowed in her misery. But it’s been six years since her father’s death, and she’s trying to let go of that anger.

“So Christmas is just for children?” Katniss doesn’t think Peeta would be so sad about missing out on a new tin whistle or spinning top.

“It was a little different for adults, I think. I don’t remember a lot,” she admits. “There would be a special dinner, a feast really, and decorations. And presents too, I think, if there was enough money.” There is definitely not enough money in the Everdeen household for whatever a Merchant Christmas would look like.

But maybe…

“Will you help me?” Katniss asks, with some reluctance. She loves her mother, but even after all of these years, she finds it difficult to trust her, and almost never asks for her help in anything.

Mrs. Everdeen brightens up. “Yes,” she says. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can put together a few things.”

“Where do we start?”

o-o-o

“Chop down a tree?” Prim’s eyes widen incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what she said,” Katniss sighs. “Apparently it’s a big deal. You chop down an evergreen tree and haul it inside the house, then decorate it with berries and popcorn.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Prim sighs, reminding Katniss that her little sister is still so young and so full of wonder. To Katniss, it just sounds like a lot of work and a waste of food.

“Sure,” Katniss says. She doesn’t have the heart to discourage Prim’s whimsy. “But how am I going to get a tree into the house without Peeta seeing?” It’s hard enough even to find occasions to chat with Prim without Peeta around, but on Mondays and Wednesdays at lunchtime he has wrestling practice. She’s not complaining about his presence, she loves having him around, and so does Prim. Madge had warned her that having Peeta living with her would probably be the end of their relationship, since Katniss was a loner by nature. But the opposite has been true. Having Peeta around all of the time, seeing his constant kindness and compassion, no matter the situation, she’s fallen even more deeply in love with him, and found a well of patience she never knew she possessed.

“I think he’s helping Leevy’s dad tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours,” Prim says. “If the tree is little enough, we could hide it in our bedroom, then drag it out after Peeta goes to bed.” The timing is just right, he’d wake up on Christmas morning to a decorated tree, and Katniss has plans for the fat turkey she shot yesterday to become the special feast.

o-o-o

“It looks ridiculous,” Katniss grouses. The tree, though barely a sapling, takes up almost all of the space in their tiny bedroom not already occupied by the two beds. All three Everdeen women share the room, while Peeta sleeps on a pallet in what used to be their summer kitchen. It’s drafty in there, and cold in the winter, but he never complains.

“I think it’s magical,” Prim sighs around a mouthful of popcorn. The little tree is encircled with strings of the fluffy white stuff, which feels like a colossal waste of food, as well as cranberries, which bothers Katniss less since she’s not fond of the sour red berries anyway. Prim has cut paper dolls and nestled them into the branches too, and their mother has contributed some leftover strands of colourful wool from who knows where, pine cones dangling from the ends.

Prim is so giddy during dinner that Katniss thinks surely Peeta will suspect something, but he’s quiet and distracted, tired from helping Leevy’s dad patch his roof and wrapped in the melancholy that’s dogged him for a couple of weeks now. Katniss hopes their Christmas surprise will cheer him up. She misses her always positive boyfriend. Her dandelion.

It takes all three Everdeens to drag the little tree out, tiptoeing past the door to the summer kitchen, where Peeta retired early. They set it in the corner of the living area, wedged between the wall and the mantel, and though the tree isn’t even as tall as Katniss herself, it dominates the small room.

Mrs Everdeen weaves together the small branches Katniss trimmed from the tree, fashioning a patchy garland she winds along the mantel over the stove.

Katniss smiles. As silly as this whole exercise is, she can see how it’s going to charm Peeta with his love of whimsy. And Prim’s glowing happiness is a nice side effect. Maybe this Christmas stuff isn’t so bad after all.

She’s still smiling when she and Prim crawl into bed, even though the blankets are full of scratchy bits of popcorn.

o-o-o

She’s awake before dawn, which is typical, she wakes up early even on mornings when she’s not planning to hunt in the forest. But today, Prim is awake too, which is strange, it’s not even a school day. The excitement of Christmas morning, Katniss guesses. The girls whisper beneath their blankets, talking excitedly about Peeta’s surprise, but also about the things they don’t always have private time to chat about. The boys Prim is just starting to notice, the new dress Madge wore to school the day before, the chickens that the blacksmith is raising who always escape their coop. Sister stuff. Being forced to grow up too fast by their father’s death impacted their relationship, forcing Katniss to parent her little sister instead of being a friend. But lately things have been improving. Since Peeta moved in, really. He’s been a ray of sunshine, good tempered and helpful and hopeful, making everything easier in the little Seam shack. And their mom has been more present; Katniss is sure that too is Peeta's influence.

When finally they hear the door between the summer kitchen and the house creak open on its old hinges, they throw back the blankets and sneak to the bedroom door.

Peeta is standing very still in the main room, facing the tree. Prim hangs back a bit, but Katniss walks to him, the floor cold even through her socks, and lays a tentative hand on his forearm.

He turns to face her, eyes shimmering wet. “Katniss,” he gasps. Then he’s pulling her into his arms, enveloping her in the warmth and strength of his embrace.

“Happy Christmas,” she whispers, and he laughs softly, a broken little sound of pain and pleasure. He presses his lips to her temple, she can feel him smiling. They’re seldom physically affectionate in the house, it just seems disrespectful, but he holds her so tightly on this Christmas morning, his first without his family, and she clings to him.

“You did all of this for me?” he murmurs against her hair.

Katniss nods, snuggling more deeply into him, his heart beating under her ear.

“What are those?” Prim squeaks from beside them. Katniss pulls back just slightly, unwilling to fully relinquish Peeta. It’s been so long since they’ve held each other like this, winter gives them few opportunities to cuddle without an audience. She looks around his broad shoulder, to where Prim is perched on the tips of her toes, like a bird about to take flight. Hanging from the mantel are three socks. “Why are our socks hanging over the stove?”

“Stockings.” Katniss remembers her mother calling them. “But how?”

“Father Christmas, of course.” All three young people turn at Mrs Everdeen’s voice. “You must all have been very good this year.”

Katniss and Prim both look confused, but Peeta smiles broadly. “Father Christmas brings treats for all of the good little girls and boys,” Peeta tells Prim, his smile bright. “He fills their stockings at Christmastime.”

Prim looks as pleased as Katniss has ever seen her, happier even than Peeta. Katniss glances at their mother, who is also smiling widely. Mrs. Everdeen must have snuck out after everyone was asleep and set this up. So that they could all have a special Christmas celebration.

Mrs. Everdeen insists on making tea before they look in their stockings, Katniss and Peeta sit side by side on the faded couch, his arm wrapped around her, the huge smile still resident on his face. Prim flits around, first helping her mother, then darting back to look at the stockings again, back and forth. She’s thirteen now, when Katniss was thirteen she was hunting and taking care of her family, she had no time for frivolity and no appetite for it either. But it’s so nice to see Prim acting like the young girl she is. It warms Katniss’s heart.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Peeta says softly in Katniss’s ear as they watch Prim dance.

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you do.”

Peeta nods. “We weren’t allowed to talk about it. But Father Christmas always came on Christmas, even when it was a school day.” Pain flits across his features, cracking Katniss’s heart. “I miss them,” he admits. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“They’re your parents,” Katniss says simply, and Peeta nods. They’re terrible parents, by all measures. But Katniss knows that he can’t stop loving them, even if she doesn’t fully understand why.

“I can’t help wondering if there are still three stockings on their mantel,” he whispers. “If they miss me at all.”

Katniss doesn’t have an answer for that, but she shifts to hug him tightly.

With hot cups of tea and slightly hard biscuits from the day before consumed, Mrs. Everdeen hands each child a stocking. Prim laughs in delight, pulling each surprise from the sock and dancing around the small room to show everyone else. Katniss and Peeta poke through their stockings much more slowly, savouring the experience. Katniss keeps glancing at her mother, who looks happier than Katniss can remember. She hasn’t seen a smile like that since before her father died.

Katniss’s sock contains a stick of peppermint candy, a bottle of liniment for sore muscles, and a new knit hat in bright red wool. Peeta has lemon drops, a little pot of salve for winter-chapped hands and a green knit cap. Prim makes sure everyone gets an up close look at her new blue hat and hair ribbons, the cinnamon candy already consumed. Katniss knows how hard her mother would have had to have worked, to trade for the brightly coloured wool from which she made their new hats, and for the sweets and ribbons. And she’s torn between being horrified at the waste when all of that work could have been traded for things they really need, sugar or paraffin or cooking oil, and being genuinely delighted and touched.

It’s been so long since she felt like a child, instead of a life-hardened person. So long since she’s seen her mother as a mother, instead of yet another mouth to feed.

They prepare the holiday meal together, and while it’s not the first time they’re shared cooking duties in the little Seam shack, it might be the most joyful. Peeta tries to teach them a Christmas song, but he can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and the three Everdeen women simply dissolve in peals of laughter when poor Peeta warbles the nonsense phrase fa-la-la-la-la.

It does nothing to diminish his joy.

The turkey is resting on the sideboard, waiting to be carved, when there’s a tap at the door. Katniss opens it with a big smile which falls when she sees two blond heads filling the frame.

She glances over her shoulder. Peeta has frozen in his table setting, he looks confused, but not unhappy to see his brothers. Katniss ushers the men into the shack which immediately feels crowded with the extra people, and closes the door against the winter wind.

“Came to wish you Merry Christmas, brother,” Brann, the eldest says. “But it looks like you’re already having a celebration.” He glances over at the little tree, the bright garland, and smiles broadly.

“Will you stay for the meal?” Mrs. Everdeen asks softly. “We were just about to begin.”

Katniss wants to protest, what is a feast for 4 will be much less adequate for six. But the way Peeta’s eyes light up so hopefully, she bites her tongue.

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Rye says, but there’s a questioning lilt to his voice.

Prim, clearly also having read Peeta’s expression, jumps in. “Please stay,” she says brightly. “The more the merrier!” She’s tugging at their jackets before they’ve even agreed, leaving them little choice. Katniss bites back a smile. Prim’s jolly mood is infectious.

Brann extracts a small lump wrapped in a bit of bakery paper from his pocket before Prim takes his coat. He places it in Peeta’s hand. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly, before tugging his little brother into a hug. Rye joins, and Katniss glances away, giving the young men some bare semblance of privacy.

She has, in the past, resented Peeta’s brothers for not doing more to help him, for living their cushy merchant life while Peeta sleeps on a wood pallet far from the stove. But she knows that’s unfair, that Brann and Rye love their brother endlessly but are powerless to change things.

Peeta’s eyes are wet when the three Mellarks break apart, but his smile is as bright and wide as Katniss has ever seen.

It’s a tight fit to squeeze six people around the tiny kitchen table and there aren’t enough chairs, but Peeta perches on the stepladder and Rye balances on a wooden crate. There is more than enough for everyone, and the tiny shack fills with laughter and stories, Peeta and his brothers trading tales of holidays past, of delights left by father Christmas, of hiding Christmas cookies when the peacekeepers came by. It’s one of the nicest evenings Katniss can remember, and she finds herself thinking maybe there is something to this Christmas stuff, this celebration that has nothing to do with Panem and everything to do with family and community.

Peeta’s brothers can’t linger after the meal, their mother will doubtless be angry they’ve been gone as long as they have. The bakery is closed in the evenings, but there are always floors to mop and hearths to sweep and grievances to listen to.

Even cleaning up is lighthearted and fun, the festive feeling stretching into the mundane chores of packing up leftovers and washing the dishes.

When they’re done, Peeta gathers them back around the table and produces the little paper-wrapped lump his brother had given him earlier. Inside is a ball, nearly black and a little lumpy. Katniss wrinkles her nose and avoids mentioning that it smells like old man Abernathy.

“What is it?” Prim asks, her voice reverent, understanding that the unfamiliar blob is somehow important to Peeta.

“It’s called plum pudding,” he says softly, smiling. “Our traditional Christmas dessert. Will you all share it with me?”

The lump is small, and Katniss is worried just the fumes will make them drunk. But she pulls out four plates anyway while Mrs. Everdeen freshens their tea. To her surprise, when Peeta cuts into it, it’s full of fruit and nuts. Instantly, she’s transported to a cold April morning, years ago. To a kind little boy who saved her life. The start of a friendship that became so much more.

Katniss glances at Peeta, and finds him smiling warmly at her. She can think of that day now without anger, without anguish, because of Peeta. Because of the years of goodness she’s witnessed, the hundreds of acts of kindness he’s done not just for her, but for anyone he encounters. He makes her see the world differently. He makes everything good again, even in the midst of District Twelve, and even when his own situation is so cruelly unfair.

“There are no plums!” Prim says, interrupting her musing. Katniss inspects the cake-like lump. Raisins, nuts and currants, and what looks like orange peel.

Peeta laughs. “There never are,” he says.

“I could get you plums, next year I mean.” There’s an ancient plum tree, not far from her father’s lake. It never produces more than a handful of purple fruit, so Katniss seldom bothers with it. But if it’s important to Peeta, she’ll pay more attention next summer.

Peeta beams at her. “No, I mean it isn’t made with plums. Just raisins, currants and candied peel.”

“Then why do they call it plum pudding?” Prim says, nose wrinkled. “It’s not pudding, and there are no plums.”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Peeta admits. “It’s a very old recipe.”

Katniss takes a small bite. It’s… not great. The cake makes her think of illnesses, sweet like sleep syrup and burning like the white liquor their mother gives them for coughs.

“Not a fan, love?” Peeta says softly. He never calls her that pet name in front of anyone else, but something about the festive magic has made him a little less cautious. Or maybe it’s just his happiness overflowing.

She shrugs. She’s not keen on offending him, but she doesn’t think she can choke down a whole piece of the cake, however small it might be. Peeta seems to be enjoying it though, so she slides her plate in front of him with a grin.

“Katniss doesn’t like sweets,” Prim interjects, and she’s not wrong. Given the choice, Katniss would always choose the more savoury treats, though she did like the taste of chocolate Peeta snuck out of the bakery for her once, years ago.

“That’s because she’s sweet enough already,” Peeta teases, and all four of them laugh. Only Peeta would ever describe Katniss as sweet. ‘Prickly’ is a far more common adjective.

Mrs. Everdeen leaves the children to finish their cake and bundles up in her heaviest coat. “I have to check on Molly Birch’s new baby,” she explains. “I won’t be long.” It’s only a two minute walk to where the Birch family lives in a little Seam shack identical to the Everdeen home, so she waves off Peeta’s offer of accompaniment.

Prim, in an act of kindness so very fitting her sweet temperament, announces that she’s got homework and takes a candle into the bedroom. Katniss knows Prim doesn’t have any pressing work, expects she’ll probably lie under the blankets and read from the plant book. She’s just giving Katniss and Peeta a few precious minutes of privacy.

Normally it would embarrass Katniss, the implication that she and Peeta might need alone time, but today she’s just grateful. He opens his arms and she walks right into them.

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips brushing against her neck. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“So far,” Katniss whispers. She’s not one for fantasizing about the future, especially when there is still one more reaping to get through. But that it will include Peeta is a given. She used to be afraid of love, afraid of losing herself, like her mother did. But not anymore. Not with Peeta by her side.

Peeta sighs, a soft, satisfied little noise, then pulls back just slightly. Katniss scowls, but he merely grins. “There is one tradition you forgot,” he says, but his mischievous expression takes away any sting to his words. There is always fun in an expression like that.

“Oh?” Katniss says, returning his smile.

He pulls from his pocket a small ball of greenery with tiny white berries. Katniss knows what it is, some of the bolder merchant boys hang them around the school, hoping to catch merchant girls unaware. Mistletoe.

She laughs, but softly, so as not to disturb Prim. The walls in the shack are paper thin. Peeta nods, eyes twinkling, then lifts the little weed above her head, and bends to kiss her soundly.

#everlark #Christmas #tales of panem #everlarkbingo2020 #xerxia writes

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captainseaweedbrains · 3 years

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The Hunger Games: Ch. 5

I am finally getting around to writing up thoughts. Life am I right? So I’m not only behind, but starting a bit later on my chapter thoughts.

Here are my rambling thoughts and emotions on chapter 5:

"Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk.// Girl, I feel you. We’ve all been there. #Noshaveforever

This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin// It’s called exfoliating, Katniss, and I promise, it is good for your skin. If they can do one thing for you, it is this.

Okay. Like Katniss, I have a soft spot for her prep team. I can’t help it. They feel like they mean well and I’m a sucker for it. Even if they are prepping her for death. 💀

He gives his orange corkscrew locks a shake and applies a fresh coat of purple lipstick to his mouth.// I wonder if SC thought of the most gaudiest looks and just rolled with it. Probably. But some of these outfit choices just seem so out there that I have such a hard time picturing it. Am I alone on this? My fashion sense is that of a bygone era. So maybe that’s why. What is high fashion? Not me. That’s what.

Octavia, a plump woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pea green // Why would you want to look like a Sim? Why is that in style here?

"Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all laugh.

I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve."

This wins them over completely. // Katniss!! I love you. Never change. I do love how other worldly each party sees the other. Maybe it’s a comment on colonialism in that sense shut up Terri Your English degree is showing BUT how Katniss views them as strange birds rightly so because one legit probably looks like a Sim and them viewing her as NOT HUMAN even though she definitely looks the more normal in the room and I stand by that Where was I going with this? It just feels a bit Two Worlds colliding. Okay. Moving on.

Just how filthy was Katniss? Like she definitely bathed before coming. Twice in one day. So what is their standard here? I don’t want it because it’s probably too much effort. #lazy

It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots.// My thoughts exactly.

I cannot stress how much I love how blunt SC makes Katniss’ thoughts. It feels so human to me and I don’t always see that in writing. It’s nice.

Am I alone on wondering if Cinna has that eyeliner tattooed on? I don’t know why that’s always my first thought with the second being “ouch.”

I do love how Katniss is always thrown when her pre-perceptions of the Capitol are challenged by *the few* people like Cinna.

I saw someone point out how Katniss remembers a lot of details like the stylists and past years winners and their strategies and I’m wondering if it’s more like how I know stuff on like the Kardashians that I don’t really want to know or care about knowing. Just facts living in her head rent free. But she remembers a lot of details on the Games.

He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch.// The future 1950s ads promised and Disney Channel’s Smart House made those in my generation fear. That or a super fancy automat.

Unpopular opinion, but I absolutely hate when Katniss goes on about the food and how to make dishes. I think it’s so boring to read. Even one sentence about what everyone is eating dulls me.

What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button?//Okay, I know we kind of already have this luxury to an extent, but I too want to press a button and my food is magically there, in my home, already made. #queenlazy

My heart saddens when Katniss wonders what people do in their free time. She is a CHILD. *cries*

Okay. So I know Katniss has boasted about concealing her thoughts, but is she REALLY good at it? She gets called out a lot by practical strangers. I will cling to my headcanon that she is truly an open book and just believes she’s sneaky like that and Peeta pretends she’s succeeding at later in life. Is this canon? Maybe? Don’t @ me

SC’s commentary of sexualizing young teens and kiddos is amazing and yes, please keep coming at us like this, Suzanne.

Also those poor, naked children. Not only were they going to their deaths, but they literally were paraded around on national television buck naked.

I'll be naked for sure, I think...Naked and covered in black dust, I think.//An example of why I just love her narration. I crack up every time at the clear doom in her “voice”

He sees my expression and grins.//A true madman because I can only assume her face is that of horror.

I am still mad at the scaly-looking outfits the movie gave us and how they made her hair look

It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.//He is a madman. We accept it and move on from here

*Peeta enters* *Cue my glee*

*He is my favorite and that favoritism will show*

*Listen I am here for the messages on war and our consumer culture SC is providing*

*But I will not hide why I’m really here rereading these books*

*WEEPS* SHE IS RELIEVED TO SEE PEETA

"What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth.//Don’t touch me. The teamwork they already share.

Haha I just imagine Peeta has that big smile on his face all “Haha I want to die right now”

THEY’RE LAUGHING. Precious beans.

I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly.// That or you both are talking to your crushes and are feeling giddy about it. Don’t deny it Katniss. We see you

Lmao Katniss’ enthusiasm for D1 cracks me up

Cinna over here just lighting people on fire and relieved it worked properly. This man, I swear

She calls him dazzling. Be still my heart.

Also I still don’t understand the true purpose of Cinna presenting them as united. Maybe I’ll get a refresher later on. Is it just to make them stand out more because they’re united? I don’t understand this angle at all. So #SameKatnissSame

Lmao or maybe Peeta’s the one who is all “Idk, but *sings* I wanna hold your hand...”

Or not. But you bet Peeta is pumped. He’s not naked on national television and he’s holding his crush’s hand. Peak day for Peeta Bram Mellark, with all things given.

I do hope they are waving correctly.

I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock.//I’m FINE. Totally FINE that this will be how she views him for the rest of the series. FINE.

Narrator: She was not fine.

How absolutely sad that she mentions how the Capitolites took the effort to look in the program for their names. How they waste CHILDREN’S LIVES.

But I shall focus on her gaining confidence and Katniss Everdeen legit getting caught up in the moment where she is blowing kisses at them. The power of a great outfit, amirite?

Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver. A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real and tangible thing.//Oh my god. So Extra

Everyone wants my kisses.//Peeta wants those kisses

"No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please.// I am crying as I think about their interaction in the same square in Mockingjay, when she tries to take the nightlock pill and he stops her. “I’ll never let go, Jack”

SC can describe Snow however she wants, I will forever see Donald Sutherland and only that. Even when Snow is a teenager I picture Donald. The power of Donald Sutherland.

I love that she doesn’t realize she’s still holding his hand. If Portia had enough time to spray them down, she’s been holding on for awhile. Katniss, explanation? 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you." And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. // AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHE FEELS WARMTH RUSH THROUGH HER

THE SHY FLIRTING

PEETA, YOU SHY SLY BEAN OF A FOX

The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.//Yeah, for catching a dangerous thing called FEELINGS.

Katniss, how does *kissing* him help matters here? You clearly caught wind he was flirting and your first thought was *le kiss* ???????

These two, I swear

And Katniss is just so smol having to stand on her *tiptoes* to kiss his cheek. #teamsmol

Onward to the next chapter!

#The Hunger Games #thgagain #My thoughts #Terri reads The Hunger Games #Books

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Twelve (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 3k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The second that you stepped foot off of the hovercraft, all you heard was the distant sound of gunfire. The peacekeeper gave you a bitter reminder of your due date, and then kicked you off the ramp almost instantly after. You waited a moment to make sure that the hovercraft was long gone, and then you went straight for the noise.

You know that they would want you to head straight to your house, which is the exact reason why you chose not to. They probably have something there waiting for you. A note, a bunch of roses, your house being trashed, bloodstains--maybe it’s been set on fire! It doesn’t matter to you all that much.

You’d much rather know what’s going on in the heart of the district, than take a shower and get a change of clothes. Plus, you only have two weeks until your evaluation by Snow, which means you have to act fast. And this is all under the assumption that there won’t be people checking up on you every couple of days.

You came up with a plan on the way here, as any sane person would. The basis of the plan being; you’re not going to follow Snow’s directions in the slightest. You’re not going to calm the people down, you’re going to add fuel to the fire.

Snow threatening to kill Tanith is the last fucking straw. Him threatening to strap you to a chair and torture you like Peeta and Johanna is one thing, but bringing Tanith into this, when she has nothing to do with it, is a whole ‘nother ring of hell. If he thought for one fucking second that he’d get away with a statement like that, he’s wrong.

You’re not going to fuck up your life twice, especially not because of what Snow says or does.

You weigh the necklace in your hand for a second, staring down at it. Then, you unclasp it, and bring it around your neck. Once it’s not tangled in your hair, you let it rest against your chest.

The entire district seems to be barren--at least that’s what you’ve seen on the way. All houses have their doors shut, but windows are broken and porches are in splinters. The shops are basically the same way, though it’s much worse. Some are burnt down, others are void of all things that were once inside.

It looks like a tornado blew through here, and had no mercy. Everything that could have been ruined, is. It’ll cost thousands of dollars to fix the damage done on these places. Buying a whole new house or store would be much easier than to restore what it looked like before.

“Approaching civilian!” Someone yells above you.

Covering your eyes, you look up to see where they are, since this is the first person you’ve come across the entire walk. The second that your eyes adjust, you’re met with a gun pointed at your face.

“Point that away from me!” you snap.

“Who are you, and how did you get back here?” a different voice asks closer to you.

Lowering your hand and whipping your head to where it came from, the situation isn’t much better. There’s a man with an automatic rifle pointed at your chest, finger near the trigger as if he doesn’t know if he should pull it or not. Not to mention all the people behind him hovering, and having the same intentions as him.

You should pick your words carefully.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, victor of the sixty sixth hunger games, tribute of the Quarter Quell.” What a hell of an introduction, “And I walked.”

He lowers the gun a bit, “You’re alive?”

Your first reaction is to scoff, “It’ll take a lot more than the Capitol to kill me, am I supposed to be dead?”

“That’s what we were told.”

“Hell of a shock, then.” you resume walking, “Who’s in charge of District Two’s rebellion? Like, who’s organizing the attacks against the loyalists?”

“Lyme.” A girl answers, “She’s also a victor.”

Lyme… well, you definitely recognize the name, and you can hardly remember what she looks like. Tall, likes to exercise, short blonde hair. She’s always been more modest and rebellious, it doesn’t surprise you that much. She’s older than you, almost twice your age.

“Take me to her.” you tell them.

“You’ve got it.” the boy says.

It’s a long walk, as you’re told. The only good news he had to offer was that you wouldn’t have to fight your way through gunfire to get to the Capitol building--where she’s at. They’ve pushed back most of the loyalists into the train tunnels that run through the mountains. Everyday they gain new ground, but they don’t really dare to go inside of the tunnels. It’s the loyalists’ territory.

“So, where have you been?”

“The Capitol.” you say, following the boy around the corner, “Unconscious and recovering from venom. I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Snow organized a personal hovercraft to drop me in the abandoned part of District Two, near Victor’s Village. You should probably get some people watching over there in case it happens again, so the peacekeepers won’t be able to sneak up on you as easily.”

They don’t say anything else after that, even though you mentioned Snow pretty boldly. Of all things they could have asked you about, they ignored the one that would give them the most answers on why you’re here and wanting to see Lyme first.

“I’m going to check to make sure that it’s clear.” the girl says, the rest of you wait for minutes on end, and none of them seem antsy about it.

When she does show up, she tells you that you’re clear to head up, but they’ve got to go back to parolling. She says that you should mention the abandoned thing to Lyme, since she’s more likely to listen to you, and then they walk away.

You take the easiest path you could possibly take to approach the Justice Building. It’s also the one that will put you in the open, allowing the people standing out front to get a good look at you. If you snuck up through the shadows, they’d likely be more distrusting.

You hold your hands up even before you’re out from around the corner. They turn their guns on you quickly, but you don’t stop walking, “I’m here to speak to Lyme.”

“Stop--!”

“I don’t have any weapons on me, put your guns down before you shoot me by accident.” you head up the stairs, “My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, and I’m here to talk to Lyme. I don’t have much time, so let’s leave the formalities for another time.”

“We should go get her--”

The second you turn to look at him, he stiffens, “Open the fucking door and bring me to her, or you’re going to be added to the graveyard.”

His eyes slowly drag to your arm, which is very clearly presented thanks to the short-sleeved shirt.

No words come from him as he opens the door and heads inside. You follow behind him, and from how new your shoes are, they sound like heels against the tile floor. You’re surprised that they aren’t squeaking as if you’ve just come in with water on the bottom of them. You guess that you should be grateful instead.

The guy brings you up the staircase, “You don’t have any weapons on you?”

You have a hundred snarky things that you’re willing to say to him, but you settle for the simple, “No.”

He brings you around a corner, and knocks on a door a couple times. He makes you wait out of sight while he opens the door, “You’ve got a guest.”

“We’re busy--”

“She insists.” he says, and then he allows you to come over.

You don’t wait in the doorway, you head straight inside, “Scram, runt.”

He tries to stand his ground, but the second you force the door to shut, he removes his fingers. After that, you go up to the table to see who’s standing there.

Lyme, as you expected. But there’s a strangely familiar face standing near her, finger still pointing out a place on the map. When she realizes that you see the place she’s pointing at, she retracts her finger into a fist.

“Who are you?” she asks.

You laugh, crossing your arms as you get closer to the map. There’s a bunch of lines drawn in pink marker, and considering the amount of space left behind the line, you’re guessing that’s the rebel’s side. As for the loyalists, they’re marked in red, like they’re the bad guys.

You place your hand on the free space, “Just letting you know, since this entire place is abandoned, the Capitol can sneak right in.” you look up, they’re puzzled, “The Capitol had enough room to drop me off and leave without anyone noticing--I walked for miles until I finally came upon one of your scouting groups. If you’re not careful, they can drop peacekeepers off behind you guys, and you might as well be extinct after that.”

“You’re from the Capitol?” Lyme asks, one of the guys by the window reaches for something in their belt, you can take a solid guess on what it is, even without the sight of it.

“I’m a little disappointed that you don’t recognize me, but I can point you two out even if your guys’ hunger games were ten to twenty years before mine.” you remove your hand from the map now, “As I’ve introduced myself a hundred times now, (Y/n) Rosecelli, District Two’s tribute for the Quell.”

Lyme’s face lights up, “I thought I knew you. You were in the Capitol?”

“Snow took Peeta, Johanna and I out of the arena. While he was ordering people to torture Johanna and Peeta, he put me in a ‘medically induced coma’.” you use the quotation marks, “Because of the spider venom in the arena. Today is my first day back to life, and I’ve experienced more than my fair share of shit today.”

“Welcome back.” Paylor says.

Paylor is a victor from District Eight, like six years or so before your games. She’s young, and really fucking pretty. You’re just a little dumbfounded on why she’s here in District Two, rather than ordering around her own district.

“Thanks.”

Lyme shifts on her feet, “You don’t look too bad.”

“I’ve got scars all over my body, they’re just not visible above the waist.” you shake your head, “And the only reason why I’m even in good condition, is because Snow wants me to calm down the rebels.”

“But you’re not going to.” There’s an edge to Paylor’s voice.

“No, I’m not. Instead, I want a ride to District Thirteen. That’s where Katniss and Finnick are, right?”

Lyme nods, but her face is scrunched up, “I can’t send a hovercraft there because I don’t have any. You’ll have to wait until Coin sends one here with supplies.”

“Coin?”

“President Alma Coin.” Paylor answers, “She’s the leader of District Thirteen.”

Great, another dictatorship.

“Alright, when’s the next supply drop?” you shift on your feet.

Paylor and Lyme share a look, clearly thinking.

“We got one a week ago?” Lyme asks.

“Not even that, a few days ago,” Paylor shakes her head when she looks back at you, “You’ll have to wait at least a week, maybe more.”

You laugh, but nothing about this is funny, “You do know the state of Peeta and Johanna?”

“We know about Peeta, he’s been televised a few times.” A guy says.

“Alright, well take the last time that he was on air, and worsen that by ten. They’re fucking torturing them, you realize that? Johanna had her head shaved and she was drenched in water, like they were waterboarding her.” you lean forward, “We need to get them out.”

“We don’t have an opening for that, much less know where they’re keeping them--”

“The training center.” you say, “And I know how to get to them, I was a door away from them, Peeta and Johanna saw me.”

“That’s the heart of the Capitol.” Paylor says, “Even if we did get the volunteers to do it, we wouldn’t be able to go.”

You raise your eyebrows, “You’re telling me that Beetee hasn’t tried to hack into the security already? Didn’t he work on it for them? He would know some secret window at least.”

They share another look, and Lyme tilts her head, “She has a point.”

“And then what? You think anyone would actually want to go in?” Paylor asks, “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Listen to me,” you lean forward on the table now, they look at you, “I have two weeks--maybe not even that. If Snow finds out that I was lying or keeping information from him, he’s going to come for me and I’ll end up like Peeta, Johanna and Tanith. And if I don’t help the loyalists, he’s going to kill Tanith.

“I am working on a strict time frame, and you guys bickering about this, isn’t helping. Contact Alma Coin or whatever, at least present the idea, and if she likes it and asks for volunteers, you put me at the top of that fucking list. I will lead as many volunteers as she wants to the others. The only thing I ask in return is a free ride to District Thirteen.

“If Tanith is out of his hands, and I’m in thirteen, Snow can’t do anything to me.” you raise your eyebrows, “He won’t be able to use anyone as leverage anymore, and you’ve gained another foot in the rebellion. But all that can’t happen without you at least suggesting the idea to your supreme leader first.”

Lyme rubs her forehead for a moment, before saying; “Get Coin on a call.”

“Want to sit?” someone asks, pulling out a stool.

“Thanks.” you sit, crossing your legs.

You watch as they set up the entire call and as it pends. You spend most of the time fiddling with the hemming on the bottom of the shirt, ripping the stitching out, and then pulling on the string.

Paylor goes back to what she was saying with the map and all before you came inside. She writes down that she needs to add people to scout behind her lines, and then plans the ways that they can get into the tunnel. You want to chime in some way, but you keep out of it.

You can help as soon as Tanith is safe. You need to get Tanith out of the Capitol first, because if you’re even taped being around Lyme and Paylor with no argument going on or anything, you’re going to be fucked. Snow doesn’t have any morals, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s heartless.

“The call’s gone through.” the one by the computer says, “Plutarch’s answered.”

He projects it onto the large blank wall in front of you, but Paylor has to turn around to see him.

“Plutarch… Heavensbee? The gamemaker?” you ask, “Why?”

“He’s the one that helped organize getting them out.” Lyme tells you.

Plutarch has a smile on his face, “(Y/n), it’s nice to see you healthy.”

“You got Katniss, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena?” you ask.

Plutarch nods, “With the help of Haymitch, yes.”

“Fuck you.” you spit, “You fucking left me there! I was right there--you could have gotten me and you let me be taken by the Capitol! You’re the reason why the Capitol has had me for the past couple of weeks, you asshole--”

“Calm.” Lyme comes over, placing her hand on your shoulder, “You can yell at him later, keep on track.”

“Whatever.” you shrug her hand off, crossing your arms.

Paylor picks up where you didn’t start, “She’s been in the training center with the other tributes. She knows how to get to them, and we’d like to try and revisit the idea of a rescue mission with the tributes.”

His face says no, but his words say otherwise; “I wish it was my decision, but Coin has already decided that now isn’t the time. Especially not after we were just attacked by the Capitol.”

“When?” Lyme asks.

“A couple hours ago, we haven’t gone to the surface just yet to make sure that it’s over.”

Your mouth drops open a little bit, “I was on that hovercraft.”

Paylor nearly breaks her neck from how fast her head whips in your direction, “You were?”

“Yeah--I thought it was odd that the space was filled with… bombs. I was expecting them to attack two almost immediately after I hit the city, but they just flew off, away from the direction of the Capitol.” You shake your head, “Before you ask; no, I didn’t hear anything while I was in there.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Paylor sighs, “Where’s Coin?”

“Making sure the systems are still running, I sent someone to get her, so she should be here soon.”

“Good.” you slide off of the stool, “Because when she gets there, you’re going to do everything you can to convince her to consider the idea.”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows.

“She means--” Lyme tries.

“I mean what I said.” you lean against the table, staring at Plutarch’s face, “If you were just attacked, they’re going to be expecting some sort of retaliation. So, you attack their defense systems using Beetee’s knowledge. You get them down long enough, and that’s when the hovercraft slips through. Beetee stops, and then when the hovercraft is heading back, he starts again, or whatever.”

“That’s not exactly how things work…” someone in the corner mumbles.

“Well, they need to make it work.” you stand again, “Because I will be getting them all out of the training center. Even if I’m the only volunteer, I’ll do it.”

Plutarch laughs, “Not hellbent on killing them anymore?”

“They’re strapped to chairs being tortured like animals. Even I know when enough is enough.” you back off after that, “If I come back in here in an hour, and her answer is no, you better start fucking praying, because I am much worse than the Capitol.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter twelve

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mygalfriday · 4 years

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and the piano’s this melancholy soundtrack to her smile (haymitch/effie)

It’s been five years since the end of the Games and being in the Capitol still makes Haymitch itch for a drink. He stays clear of the bar, just in case. Aside from the occasional glass, he’s remained mostly sober since the very painful drying out process in Thirteen. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint the kids. Right now, it’s hard to remember why. He curls his trembling hands into fists and tries not to breathe whenever someone walks by with a glass of liquor.

The booze is the only thing this damned anniversary celebration has going for it and he can’t even enjoy it. Capitol parties have never been his thing and if Plutarch hadn’t guilted him into attending to keep the spotlight off Katniss and Peeta, he wouldn’t be here. It brings back far too many memories — drinking in some corner with Chaff, hiding from his Escort. His friend is dead and Haymitch hasn’t seen Effie Trinket in five years.

He still thinks about that kiss more than he should.

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. He’d always wondered what it would be like and he’d figured what the hell, right? Probably never see her again. And she’d been beautiful, standing there in the snow and blinking her feathered lashes at him. Now he knows what a mistake it had been. Her lipstick had tasted like raspberries. He still can’t eat them all these years later.

Haymitch has been wandering the party for a couple of hours, making sure he’s seen by anyone who might matter so Plutarch won’t have anything to bitch about later. He’s in the middle of holding his breath as he walks past a group of elderly men nursing glasses of scotch and contemplating the best way to slip out and catch a damn train when he senses it. It’s been years but he has never forgotten what the room feels like when she walks into it — the ripple in the air, like a pebble dropped into a pond. The room shifts focus, however briefly, to stare at her.

He swallows, turning slowly on his heel. His eyes are drawn to her instantly, just like everyone else. Fashion in the Capitol isn’t what it used to be but Effie still knows how to turn heads. The short, simple black cocktail dress is sequined and sparkling, catching the light every time she moves and showing off endless legs. She isn’t wearing a wig and it’s the first time he’s ever seen her real hair. It’s blonde and shiny, curling around her face in soft waves and resting against her pale shoulders. Her wide smile is nervous but he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knows her well enough to see it.

Without really thinking about it, Haymitch steps forward. He wants to see her, wants to talk to her, wants to hear that ridiculous Capitol accent grow thicker when he irritates the holy hell out of her. He makes it two steps before he finally notices she isn't alone. She’s hanging off the arm of some tall brunette peacock in a three piece suit. Haymitch freezes, letting people maneuver around him as something cold and unpleasant floods his stomach.

She keeps smiling, leaning into her date and greeting people who come up to chat with her. She still knows how to command attention and it isn't long before she’s surrounded, her expression more at ease as she charms her audience. A possessive hand rests at the small of her back and the man looking down at her wears a fond smile, like he can’t quite believe his luck.

Haymitch swallows back bile.

Across the room, Effie laughs that soft, tinkling laugh he remembers. The sound takes him back to another time, when it was his arm she held and her laugh in his ear as she tried to charm sponsors into giving them money. He’d been too soaked in liquor to appreciate it back then but now — Haymitch forces himself to stop staring at her and move. He turns and walks away blindly, searching for an exit.

The first door he comes across leads out onto the balcony and it isn’t quite the permanent exit he’d been hoping for but some fresh air will have to do. He gulps in the city air greedily, lungs burning. He wants a drink. He really wants a damn drink. He curls shaking hands tightly around the iron railing until his knuckles turn white, bowing his head and shutting his eyes.

She’s with someone. Of fucking course she’s with someone.

“Fuck.”

“Your vocabulary hasn’t improved, I see.”

He starts, eyes snapping open. Though he doesn’t dare turn around, he straightens from his defeated slouch against the railing and stares out at the skyline, twinkling lights and skyscrapers as far as the eye can see. His hands ache but he can’t bring himself to let go of the railing. “Hello sweetheart.”

“Hello Haymitch.” He listens to the click of her heels as she moves closer. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to come to me so I thought I’d come to you instead.”

He snorts bitterly. “Saw me, did you?”

She hums and out of the corner of his eye, he sees her lean against the railing beside him. Her dress glitters resplendently under the neon city lights. “You’re hard to miss.”

“You’re one to talk, Princess.” He hesitates, still refusing to look at her. “You look…good.”

“Thank you.”

He can hear the smile in her voice and keeps watching out of the corner of his eye, drinking in her every move like a starving man before a feast. She lifts a hand to brush her hair behind her ear and the sparkle of the ring on her finger almost blinds him. It feels strangely similar to being punched in the stomach. He must make some strangled noise in response because Effie seems to realize her mistake a moment too late. She drops her hand hastily, looking away.

After a moment of tense silence, she sighs. “How are you, Haymitch?”

If she’s looking for a change of subject, he isn’t in the mood to be indulgent. “Not as well as you, apparently.”

“Haymitch-”

“You love him?”

She hesitates. “I…admire him.”

“Not what I asked.”

Another sigh, this one full of resignation. “And yet it’s my answer.”

“He good to you?”

“Yes,” she admits. “Far better than I deserve.”

He scoffs, his breath clouding in the night air. “Bullshit.”

“I was an Escort,” she says, as though he needs reminding. “And then a rebel. I am an enemy to both sides of the war. I don’t truly belong anywhere and it was quite lucky anyone at all would be seen with me-”

“Is that why you’re with him?” He asks, incredulous enough to finally turn and look at her. Arguing with Effie feels familiar, feels more like home than even Twelve does. It puts him at ease for the first time since he set foot inside the Capitol. “Because he tolerates you? Kind of a low bar isn’t it, sweetheart?”

Effie frowns. “It’s hardly a fairytale but one does what one must.”

He stares at her. This close, he can see the cute little lines around her eyes and the way her mouth trembles like she doesn’t even believe her own lies. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he declares, looming over her. “And I’ve heard you say some dumb shit, Princess.”

She huffs, turning away to glower at the street down below. “I don’t expect you to understand, of course. You have the children and an entire district that adores you. You belong somewhere.”

“And you don’t?” He scowls, leaning further into her space. It always made her pay attention to him before but now she won’t even look at him. “You have me, Eff. Katniss. Peeta. I told you-”

Effie whirls suddenly, blonde hair bouncing against her shoulders and blue eyes fierce. “You kissed me goodbye and said don’t be a stranger. Don’t be a stranger, Haymitch. That is what you say to a casual acquaintance upon parting when you don’t care if you ever see them again. It is not an open invitation to show up and insert myself into your lives when you’re all trying to move on-”

“I wanted you there,” he snarls. “Fuck, Effie. I waited for you to show up with your fucking pink suitcases and -”

He stops abruptly, alarmed by the tears filling her eyes. Effie crying has always been more than enough to make him stop in his tracks, no matter how drunk he might have been at the time. He’d always grimace and panic and slur apologies, pet her wig until she swatted him away and dabbed at her eyes. He can’t handle Effie crying. He just fucking can’t.

“Eff,” he begins, voice significantly softer. “Don’t-”

“I didn’t know,” she whispers, blinking rapidly. “I wanted to come but… I thought you were just being polite.”

“Effie,” he says again, searching her face intently. “When the fuck have I ever cared about being polite?”

She chokes out a laugh, delicate fingers covering her mouth. Her damp eyelashes flutter and the lines around her eyes crinkle and that tinkling laugh fills the air between them. Warmth fills him like sunlight at the sound and before he knows it, Haymitch is laughing too. He doesn’t know who reaches for who but suddenly she’s in his arms again, wrapped up tight in his embrace. She’s so tiny but she fits perfectly against him, her head tucked just beneath his chin.

Haymitch buries his face in her hair and breathes her in. Beneath his hands, Effie trembles with suppressed laughter and something else, something soft and tender that makes him ache between his ribs. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

He tightens his grip, suddenly terrified she might slip through his fingers. Gruffly, he says, “Then come home.”

Effie hesitates. Her fingers grip his coat in her little fists and her damp lashes flutter against his throat. Her engagement ring digs into his chest even through his coat and he indulges in fantasies of slipping it off her finger and throwing it from the balcony until she finally breathes out, “All right.”

He smiles into her hair and doesn’t let go.

#hayffie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #the hunger games #thg #my fic #i watched mockingjay yesterday and had feelings #idk if anyone even reads stuff for this pairing anymore #but i thought i'd post just in case

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

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When I was in need of Help you were there

When You left I cried Tears

When You said you couldn’t hold on you did

When You speak in front of a crowd everyone listens

When You almost died I knew I couldn’t let go

When You gave your blessing to move on I couldn’t without you.

When I needed someone to hold on to you where there

When I wake up in the night from horriable dreams your arms to comfort are close by.

When You see me fall you pick me back up

When you saw me for who I am you still loved me

When you were taken away I was broken

When we kiss it feels like nothing us is in this world but us.

When you smile I smile.

When you cry I am the shoulder you can lean on

When I fail your always supporting me

When I lost everything you were still there

When you said you loved me I loved you to.

When you bake or paint its you create something speical

When you talk about me you make me feel like your the one

When I told you I am expecting you were overjoyed I know I said I’d never Bring Kids into this broken world but you showed me those wounds can be fixed when we have each other. I feel like if I was to bring kids into the world it would be with you no one else.

Below are moments where Katniss Notices Peeta

. I watch him as he makes his way toward the stage. Medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the moment is registering on his face, you can see his struggle to remain emotionless, but his blue eyes show the alarm I've seen so often in prey. Yet he climbs steadily onto the stage and takes his place.

The mayor finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions for Peeta and me to shake hands. His are as solid and warm as those loaves of bread. Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.

But this seems an odd strategy for Peeta Mellark because he's a baker's son. All those years of having enough to eat and hauling bread trays around have made him broad-shouldered and strong. It will take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.

I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."

"He can wrestle," I tell Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

What on earth does he mean? People help me? When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with, things changed. I'm a tough trader. Or am I? What effect do I have? That I'm weak and needy? Is he suggesting that I got good deals because people pitied me? I try to think if this is true. Perhaps some of the merchants were a little generous in their trades, but I always attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides, my game is first-class. No one pitied me!

It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Peeta. "It didn't show," I tell him.

Finally, I fill a plate with rolls and sit at the table, breaking oil bits and dipping them into hot chocolate, the way Peeta did on the train.

Peeta looks striking in a black suit with flame accents. While we look well together, it's a relief not to be dressed identically.

Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right?

"I do the cakes," he admits to me. "The cakes?" I ask. I've been preoccupied with watching the boy from District 2 send a spear through a dummy's heart from fifteen yards. "What cakes?" "At home. The iced ones, for the bakery," he says. He means the ones they display in the windows. Fancy cakes with flowers and pretty things painted in frosting. They're for birthdays and New Year's Day. When we're in the square, Prim always drags me over to admire them, although we'd never be able to afford one. There's little enough beauty in District 12, though, so I can hardly deny her this.

"Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds.

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.

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.

I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it's likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won't agree unless I'm in the bag, too, and I'm shivering so hard that it's pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I'm struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else's arms have made me feel this safe.

I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me.

Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals.

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

Catching Fire...

Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. How people embrace everything he says. He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I'm sure the idea has never crossed his mind.

"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. At the door, I remember. "I've got to apologize to Effie first."

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color.

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.

I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don't want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I'm not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. But he seems to sense this and holds me almost at arm's length as we turn on the floor.

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. "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.

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

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."

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.

Peeta's in an elegant tuxedo and white gloves. The sort of thing grooms wear to get married in, here in the Capitol.

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.

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 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. It's the first crack of the lightning storm - the bolt hitting the tree at midnight - that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn't real. "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.

push people aside until I am right in front of him, my hand resting on the screen. I search his eyes for any sign of hurt, any reflection of the agony of torture. There is nothing. Peeta looks healthy to the point of robustness. His skin is glowing, flawless, in that full-body-polish way. His manner's composed, serious. I can't reconcile this image with the battered, bleeding boy who haunts my dreams.

I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He'll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven't dared let myself consider until this moment. Peeta's awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet, and moves toward me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for me, too, to caress my face, I think.

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.

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?"

"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.

"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.

"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.

Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta's hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now.

I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. "Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. "I can't," he says. As they pull me away from him, I feel the pocket ripped from my sleeve, see the deep violet pill fall to the ground, watch Cinna's last gift get crunched under a guard's boot.

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."

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.

#thg #hunger games #catching fire #CatchingFire #mockingjay #The Hunger Games #katniss everdeen #Katniss #Peeta #Peeta Mellark #everlark #cf #katniss and peeta

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, jbsaucy!

Apologies for the delay on your gift, @jbsaucy! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 16th, and celebrated in style! To bring the good vibes back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

For: Jbsaucy

Rated T just in case

AN: Special thanks to my beta and friend @norbertsmom. I am sorry for it being late I hope this brings a smile to your face and that you had a wonderful birthday.

Prompt: I’ve had a tough year and need some romance. Can I request a soul mark story?

A/N: In Panem au. There are no games because there was never a rebellion. There are still districts, in fact, there are fourteen. The Capitol is just a city located in District Fourteen. Seventy-six years ago the position of the presidency was abolished in favor of a senate run country. It was all done peacefully. Soon after, strange marks began showing up on young people’s bodies and the pull to be with the person with that same mark began.

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Katniss watched from her perch in the tree as Gale brought one of his harem of floozies to the forest edge. He used the forest to seduce unsuspecting girls. Katniss was tired of his philandering. She was trying to hunt as winter was fast approaching and she needed to make enough jerky to supplement her family.

The high feminine giggle that spilled forth from the woman’s lips no doubt scared the game away. “Flipping Gale,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

“You’ve never been to the forest before?” Gale’s tall lanky body broke through the brush.

“No this is the first time. I thought it was dangerous.” Ginny Pastures came next; she held his hand. Her large brown eyes widened as she looked up into the canopy of trees. “No wonder you love it here, it’s magical,” She whispered.

“It’s my second favorite place to be.” Gale grinned.

Katniss rolled her eyes to hear Gale speak. He was winding up that poor girl. Ginny was a sweet girl and extremely gullible. Gale was a rake. He liked to lure pretty girls who just turned 18 into the forest and seduce them. Katniss rolled her eyes.

“What’s your favorite?” Ginny asked innocently.

“By your side.” His voice was smooth, his eyes hooded.

“Oh Gale,” Ginny said, slapping her hand against his chest.

"I have a Soulmates mark in a rather interesting place."

“Oh, Gale, don't do it,” Katniss whispered when she heard him say Soulmates mark.

The soul mark was something that appeared as soon as you turned eighteen. It was light pink in color until you ran into your soulmate then it turned a bright purple. Katniss had a mark. She turned eighteen five months ago. Her soul mark looked like splotch and it was located on her wrist.

"You do?"

"I was wondering...really hoping," he said giving Ginny his puppy dog face.

Katniss wanted to barf. It was true Gale was devilishly handsome, he was taller than anyone in the district, and he had good teeth. However, when it came to women he was cavalier.

He wasn’t always that way. When he was younger Gale wanted to get married. He was hopeful that when he turned eighteen he would quickly find his match, the person with his exact same soul mark. It was all he spoke about when they were in the woods. Katniss often rolled her eyes because Gale only wanted a girl from the Seam. He didn’t want a Merchant. He couldn’t stand the idea of being matched with a merchant.

The year he turned eighteen, none of the eighteen years old’s in his year had the strange little hammer mark. Gale then became hopeful Katniss would be his match and he waited two years for her to turn eighteen. However, when Katniss’ soul mark came in and didn’t look like his little hammer Gale went rouge. He angrily called it a Capitol plot. He thought the entire system was rigged.

Katniss didn’t really care about the soul mark thing. She knew it was real. She also knew what happened when the soulmate died. It was like a light was extinguished in the soul of the survivor. Her father died unexpectedly of a rare illness her mother couldn’t cure. Her mother stopped existing the day they buried her father. Katniss swore she never wanted to get married. Like Gale, Katniss hid her mark. She wore long-sleeved shirts or a cuff when the weather was warm. Gale's mark was on his neck right below his ear. He hid his mark with long hair.

It was her hope to never meet her other half. Katniss leaned back in the tree as Gale’s persuasive voice wafted up into the brightly fall covered leaves. In a few week’s time, all of the leaves would fall onto the forest floor and Katniss knew it was only time before the snow came.

"I was hoping you'd be mine.”

Ginny's eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink. "You think it's me?"

"I would like it to be you." He put his hand over his heart, his lips pouted. “So where is your soul mark?

"Gale, my soulmate mark is on my hip."

"So is mine."

Katniss had enough. She jumped down from the tree in front of Gale roaring, gnashing her teeth. She witnessed Gale’s grey eyes grow round on his face. She noted the way his face grew pale and his jaw hung slack. She’d never seen Gale scared and this caused her shoulders to shake with mirth.

Ginny screamed and ran. Katniss fell down laughing. Her game bag slipped from her shoulder.

“EVERDEEN!!” Gale growled.

Katniss picked herself up, grabbed her game bag and began running.

“UGH YOU’RE SUCH A…” Gale screamed out the top of his lungs.

Katniss was quick on her feet and she easily outran him. Gale wasn’t in great shape for a guy who was a miner. She made it underneath the fence. Then collapsed in the meadow into a bout of laughter when she recalled Gale’s face of sheer terror before he realized it was her.

“Katniss.”

A shadow fell across her form. Peeta Mellark stood overhead, his blond hair looked like a halo. Katniss couldn’t stop laughing and it caused her to begin coughing.

“You okay?”

Sitting up, Katniss nodded but she was still tickled by Gale’s stupid face.

“I just saw Ginny Pastures running. She was scared, said there was a monster in the forest.” Peeta watched her momentarily then raised his eyebrow. “I take it there wasn’t a monster in the forest?”

Katniss bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“What were you up to?”

Katniss had never spoken to Peeta until graduation when his parents were forced to give him the bakery. Both of Peeta’s older brothers found their mates within hours of their birthdays. His oldest brother to Petunia, the Florist’s only child. His other brother to the daughter of the Mine supervisor. Both readily left the bakery. The bakery passed down to Peeta as soon as he graduated, even though he hadn’t turned eighteen yet.

For Katniss speaking to the boy who’d saved and changed her life was terrifying at first. She tried to keep it professional. She did, but Peeta had a way of making her talk. Katniss found herself spewing all sorts of nonsensical information about herself. Like she’d shared with him how she liked green, not all shades of green, but that blue-green that was found in certain evergreens. She told him how much she enjoyed savory flavors over sweet, that is until he managed to get his hands on some contraband chocolate. Katniss still craved its velvety bittersweet taste.

His stunt caused her to open up to him. Somehow the bakery became her favorite stop in her trades. Her day was not complete until she spoke to Peeta. One of her secret favorite things was to see the way his blue eyes lit up when he saw her. Katniss couldn’t help the way her heart thumped a little harder in her chest when she was near him. Just like now.

“Okay Everdeen, fess up what did you do?”

“Me,” she sounded offended. “I did nothing. I am innocent.”

“Sure,” Peeta sat by here.

“Okay…okay…but if you breathe a word of this to anyone I will deny it.”

“You do know you’re a horrible liar right?”

Katniss took a swipe at his shoulder but she missed. He leaped up quickly. Katniss got him in his shin.

“Ow!" He rubbed his shin sitting back down next to her. "You know it’s true, you couldn’t even tell me that streusel was horrid.”

Katniss did not want to admit she was a bad liar. In all honesty the streusel wasn't that great, but it was edible. You just didn't throw food away in the Seam. “Do you want to want to know what happened,” she scowled at him.

He nodded.

“You know how I told you Gale has been taking girls in the forest?”

“Yeah, which, by the way, I think it's lecherous.”

“I was in the forest, up in a tree trying to aim when Gale showed up. I lost good game because of him. He brought Ginny with him to the forest today.”

“But she’s so…”

“I know, immature.”

“So, what did you do?”

“At first I thought they would move on but they just stood there talking. Then I thought I could ignore them and wait it out.” Her shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t take listening to Gale. He was so cheesy." She made a gagging face before continuing. "Seriously, I couldn’t let him do something stupid to such a sweet girl. So, I jumped down in between them; scared Gale good, but I also scared Ginny.”

“You mean…”

“You should have seen his face, Peeta. He turned as pale as snow and I thought he was going to faint.” Just recalling the way Gale looked caused her shoulders to shake.

“I’m sure Gale must have been angry.” Peeta chuckled.

“Like a bear,” Katniss couldn’t help but laugh.

He began to laugh too and together they sat in the meadow shoulder to shoulder. She was so near to him she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She could also smell cinnamon on him, a sign that winter was approaching as everything in the winter tasted of cinnamon.

Peeta cleared his throat. “So are you going to go to the Fall Festival tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to, but Primrose has been harping that she wants to go and mother will not let her go alone.”

“You should go. I’ll be there with my booth.” He rubbed his shoulder against hers. “There may be free treats if you do go.”

Katniss tried to stop herself from grinning but couldn’t. “Alright.”

“Just do me one favor, reserve a dance for me on your dance card.”

Katniss glanced at him, shocked. No one ever asked her to dance. She rubbed the back of her neck, “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Will you dance with me if I show you? It’s kind of a special day.” Peeta picked up a piece of dry grass in his hands. “It’s my birthday. I was born at 9:06 at night.”

“You’re turning eighteen,” Katniss whispering. It was a sobering thought. Peeta turning eighteen meant his soul mark was going to appear at precisely the second of his birth. Katniss was filled with incredible sadness at the idea that there was a girl out there that would have his exact same mark. Abruptly she became angry and shot up.

“Katniss,” Peeta said jumping up beside her.

Mutely she picked up her discarded game bag.

Peeta touched her shoulder and asked, “What's wrong?”

She lowered her head. There were no words that could explain what she felt. She was rendered paralyzed.

Peeta gently enfolded her tiny frame into a comforting hug. “It’s going to be alright,” he said as if sensing her inner turmoil.

His embrace felt good, impossibly off the charts good. Katniss inhaled his scent and she winded her arms around him. Her worry about what if there was someone out there for him was silenced by the feel of his solid body wrapped around her and the way his heart seemed to tap her name. Kat-niss, Kat-niss, Kat-niss.

He stepped back slightly took her smaller hand in his larger ones and began to sway to silent music. Katniss, without realizing it, laid her head on his shoulder. It was better than being wrapped up in the sweet freshly washed warm blankets.

Katniss closed her eyes, feeling secure and safe, something she hadn't felt since she was a kid and her father was still alive.

They swayed slowly in the meadow. The cool wind and the sounds of birds singing were their only music.

When Peeta stopped swaying, she sighed.

"You see that wasn't that bad." He hugged her briefly and then said, "I have to get back to the bakery, but promise me you'll be there tomorrow?"

"I’ll be there," she said breathlessly. She watched Peeta walk away and admired his broad shoulders.

"You have a thing for the baker’s youngest?" Gale angrily questioned her from behind.

Startled, Katniss turned to face him, her mood dropped.

"Of all of the guys in the district, you chose a Merchant to...to…"

"To what?" Katniss narrowed her eyes. She didn't like what Gale was inferring.

"He was TOUCHING you!!"

Katniss couldn't deny Gales accusation. Peeta was holding her. They were dancing. Still, it was none of Gale’s business. “So what?”

“So what?” Gale ran his hand through his hair and looked like he was pulling it. “Mellark’s a damn Merchant! They don’t play nice with gullible pure Seam girls.”

“Unlike you who prays on us pure gullible Seam girls like Ginny?” Katniss wasn’t going to let him get away with his double standards. He was just as guilty as any man on this planet.

He opened his mouth then shut it.

“That’s why I jumped down from my tree. Ginny is a sweet girl. You know how protective her paw is over her. Yet you want to go messing with her head putting ideas in there. That will break her heart.”

“That Merchant will be worse…”

“No, he won’t be Gale because I don’t want to get hitched. And unlike Ginny, I know the probabilities are like 1 out of 2000 or more that I will be paired with anyone I can remotely tolerate.”

“I feel sorry for the person who will be matched with you.”

“Well, DITTO!” Katniss marched away. The girl who got Gale had to have either the patience of a saint or be absolutely bat-shit crazy.

"You know the odds are not in your favor," Gale shouted.

She wasn’t one to curse and she wanted to turn around and tell him to ‘F’ off. But didn’t, instead she went home and slammed the door.

Her mother was in the kitchen she raised an eyebrow. “Gale?”

Katniss gave her mother a murderous look to confirm.

“Is there anything I should speak to Hazelle about?”

“No,” Katniss calmed down, but just barely.

“Will you tell me what happened? Or will you ignore me?”

“He was trying to seduce Pasture’s little girl and I kinda stopped it, then he tried to push my buttons.”

“Ginny?”

“Yup.”

“Ugh…” Her mother uttered. “What did he use to push your buttons?”

Katniss felt her cheeks turn pink.

“Hmm…” her mother stated.

“He caught me trying to learn to dance with someone…” Her anger turned to nervousness. No one but Gale new about Peeta.

“So you were dancing with a boy,” her mother frowned. “Huh...didn’t see that happening.”

“What do you mean by saying that?”

“It’s just I thought you’d be one of those girls that don’t like boys or anyone one for that matter.”

Katniss felt her cheeks heat up even more. She was a little confused by her mother’s statement. It wasn’t that she didn’t like boys, it was just none of them were Peeta.

“Guess I was wrong.” Her mother took her coat with her, “I’m going out, gonna visit Hazelle after all. She should know about her son’s dealings. Mr. Pasture will surely strangle Gale if he heard about him making a pass at his precious Ginny."

Katniss sighed and wondered if Gale understood how stupid his actions were. Probably not, because he was like Buttercup when he got a splinter lashing out to everyone. He was lashing out in the most destructive way. Taking her catches from her game bag, Katniss began to prepare them to be salted and turned into jerky.

Her mind, however, was on the dance and later that night she stood arms wide trying to imitate what Peeta taught her in the meadow. With her eyes closed she pictured how he held her hand and the way, their bodies moved together.

“What are you doing?” Prim asked.

Katniss stumbled and fell on the floor.

“Katniss, are you okay?”

Looking up, Katniss pushed her hair away from her face, mortified that her sister caught her trying to dance. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Were you trying to dance?’

Her face crumpled not sure how she was going to explain why she was practicing. Katniss sat up, her ears burned no doubt she was completely red-faced. Prim was 14 and smart as a whip, no doubt she connected the dots easily.

“So dancing huh?’ Prim sat next to her.

Katniss nodded.

"So you're going to the fall festivities and you're going to be dancing tomorrow night…." Prim gave her an expectant smile.

"Yeah." For some reason admitting this was as painful as getting her tooth pulled.

Prim stood. "You're going to need to know how to dance, so come on get up," she said extending her hand. "I'm going to lead, so you follow, okay."

Although her sister was younger, Prim was taller than Katniss, it was awkward looking up to her baby sister for instruction. Cautiously she put her hand in her sister’s hand.

“Now stand straight don’t hunch your back and don't look at your feet.”

Dancing was something that everybody knew how to do except for Katniss. She lost her childish awe and wonder when her father died. Music, laughter, dancing, and celebrations were traded in for food, housing, and survival. These celebratory youthful activities, such as going to dances were nothing but a waste of time for Katniss. She did encourage her baby sister to participate though.

“The last time we danced was that last Christmas with dad,” Prim said. Katniss tripped and Prim frowned and said, “Remember Katniss, when I step forward you step back. Remember you have to follow my lead.”

“Oh right,” Katniss was stunned by her sister’s remark. After a little bit, Katniss said, “We stood on his feet. He wanted to dance with us at the Winter Celebration.”

“That was seven years ago. I remember you danced with Peeta Mellark. I remember he tapped daddy’s shoulder. I remember you and Peeta dancing.”

Katniss tripped again this time she took down her sister. They landed on the bed. Katniss fell hard on her sister and she was afraid she inadvertently jabbed her sister in the head. “Oh my goodness, Prim are you okay did I hurt you?”

“Please! Katniss I’m twice your size,” Prim chuckled sitting up.

Katniss sat back worrying her bottom lip. A myriad of scenarios ran through her brain.

“Stop, you’ll be fine tomorrow. I know what your thinking and no you won't maim anyone.”

“Thank’s Prim,” Katniss whispered.

Prim stood up from the bed. “You were always there for me Katniss and if whoever this person is doesn’t see how amazing you are I’ll punch him in the face.”

“Prim!”

Prim gave her an unreadable look. “Now come on, you’re not going to get better if you don’t practice.”

Thankfully Prim didn't say anything more and there were no other questions. Her sister just helped her perfect her dance and the next day Katniss continue to practice in the safety of her woods.

As she practiced in the woods she reveled in the memory of the feel of Peeta’s arms around her. She thought back to their conversations. She could see the way a blush spread from his neck and up into his cheeks whenever he spoke about baking or painting. Katniss was fascinated with the way his long translucent lashes never collided. Katniss loved watching the way his large hands worked kneading bread or painting the smallest of her flowers on cakes.

Peeta was incredible. He was stunning to look at, generous with the little kids regardless if they were Seam or Merchant, and unbelievably talented. He was sweet and shockingly funny. He was a stunning human being. Just thinking about him caused her cheeks to warm up, her heart to race, and butterflies to flourish in her stomach. He even smelled wonderful. He smelled of vanilla, warm cinnamon, and spicy man. Her brain focused on his solid firm lips and she had an urge to kiss him.

At that thought she abruptly opened her eyes. She searched her mind to see if the prompt was a fluke, but it was there, a deep primal urge to plant her lips on top of his. KISS HIM her brain thought. Katniss questioned where this idea of kissing Peeta came from. It occurred to her what she felt went beyond friendship. Burrowing deeper into these latent feelings unearthed a whole new box of complex emotions that flooded her entire being. Katniss recognized them as love and it scared her witless. Her instinct was to flee, to get away. But as she stood there with the sounds of nature as her only companions Katniss realized there was nowhere to hide. In the woods there was no one to lie to but herself.

Katniss had fallen in love with Peeta.

She slumped to the floor of the forest and tears poured out from her eyes. Tears of joy and tears of sorrow. She was elated at her discovery and she knew Peeta was wonderful, yet the elation was stopped by the splotch on her wrist. Gale’s words mocked her, the odds were not in her favor. There was a good chance Peeta wasn’t her match.

It took her some time to quietly process her sentiments. To become okay with the idea that, when he turned eighteen tonight his mark could very well be different than her own. She was determined not to spoil tonight as she left the forest to get ready.

By the time she and her sister reached the dance Katniss’s stomach was in knots. It didn’t matter to her if Peeta wasn’t her soulmate. She intended to have the time of her life and make sure Peeta’s birthday was a memorable one.

With Prim’s help Katniss elected to wear Peeta’s favorite color. She’d found a soft orange dress her mother wore when younger. She left her hair down and she wore her most daring accessory, a smile.

People kept on staring at her as she walked by. Katniss whispered to Prim, “Why are they staring?”

“Because, you look amazing human tonight. Normally you smell like rotting carcassas and you growl.”

“Prim,” Katniss laughed.

“You’re smiling Katniss, people never see you smile,” Prim winked and walked away.

Alone, Katniss searched for Peeta. She looked for his booth. It was getting closer to his birthday. She saw Gale around the corner and turned around to leave.

“Katniss?” Gale uttered.

Katniss rolled her eyes and plastered a smile on her face. “Gale.”

“I should be angry with you but you did save my life. Ginny’s father split open a log with his bare hands.”

“He’d kill you,” Katniss affirmed.

“So you look like a girl tonight.”

Katniss punched him hard on the shoulder. "And you got a haircut."

“OW!” Gale whined.

Katniss focused in on his neck. “Gale your soul mark on your neck is purple.”

Gale slapped his hand over his mark. “Really…”

In the crowd there was a squeal. Both of them turned to face a group of blond girls. Amongst them a plump girl was jumping, “It's a little hammer and it’s purple.”

“Delly your soulmate must be here somewhere!” One of the girls said.

Katniss grinned. She hit Gale on the shoulder, “Looks like we found your soulmate.”

Gale nodded mutely.

Katniss pushed him.

“But.” Gale sounded nervous.

“Gale please tell me this isn’t because she’s a Merchant.”

“What,” Gale looked at her.

“Because if she’s your soulmate you need to give her a chance. So go out there, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, show her your mark.” Katniss put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him forward.

She watched Gale shyly walk over to Delly and show her his mark. Delly flew into his arms. Katniss smiled then sighed, it was time to find Peeta.

She was near the dance floor when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. Katniss whipped around, ready to tell the person to bug off when she saw it was Peeta. She went limp, all thoughts went out of her mind and she stood there mouth agog looking and feeling dumb.

“Wow,” Peeta said rubbing the back of his neck. “You look, just wow!” His face was beet red, he swallowed several times, and his eyes were wider than a full moon.

Seeing Peeta lost for words caused a silly grin to fill up her face. Katniss shyly glanced down.

“Do you wanna dance?”

“Yes,” Katniss whispered.

There were no other words needed. Peeta offered her his arm and he escorted her to the dance floor. As soon as his arm slid to the small of her back and she was once more surrounded by his calming scent and aurora she calmed down. Dancing wasn’t a hard thing to do with Peeta. She didn’t stumble. She gracefully swayed to the music, her eyes glued to his expressive beautiful blue eyes. Katniss could see reflected in his eyes exactly what she felt for him.

They danced two songs together, by the third Katniss looked up at the clock by the Justice Building. “It’s almost your birthday.”

Peeta’s arms tightened, drawing her closer. “Only three more minutes.”

Katniss put her head on his shoulder. The moment of truth was on them and she didn’t want to think about the ramifications. Not when they were on the cusp of something beautiful.

“Katniss,” Peeta whispered.

She reluctantly raised her head and looked into his eyes.

His hand cupped her cheek then slid his hand to cup the back of her head. “You are so beautiful.”

Katniss heart leapt into her throat. She wanted to tell him everything hidden within its depth.

He looked down to her lips before looking back up to her eyes. “Katniss,” Peeta whispered.

She stepped closer to him, lifting her chin. Although she’d never been kissed, her lips anticipated the feeling of his lips on hers.

His face grew nearer. “I’m in love with you, Katniss Everdeen and I don’t care if my mark doesn’t match yours. I want to spend all of my time with you for the rest of my life.”

A tear slid down her face. “Yes Peeta.”

His lips swooped down and pressed against hers a soft kiss that caused her to sigh and her entire being was filled with light, the music blurred, the sounds and smells of the fair were gone. Everything in her world stopped and it was only filled with Peeta.

When they parted Katniss knew they were bonded in a way no mark could ever bond them. They drifted to the side to her family.

Her mother stood with a smile on her face. Prim beamed when she caught sight of them.

“So is this the young man you’ve been mooning over?”

“Mooning?” Peeta questioned.

Prim suddenly squealed. “LOOOK!” She grabbed their wrists, “YOU’RE A MATCH!”

There on Peeta’s wrist was an identical purple splotch. Katniss was speechless Peeta was her match, her one and only. Her heart burst into a thousand points of lights.

Katniss turned to Peeta, shyly she glanced at him. “Together?”

“Together,” he whispered right before he kissed her again.

Katniss toes curled, in fact her toes still curled seven years after that kiss. Peeta still had the ability to make her eyes twinkle. He was in her heart, and imprinted on her wrist. Her splotch turned out to look like paint splatter. Peeta loved to paint. Marriage was wonderful and with him she learned to take chances.

“Mommy, mommy, daddy showed me how to dance,” Melody said skipping outside, her blue eyes shining like her father's.

Katniss grinned at her daughter Melody. “Did he?” She put a hat on. It was the coldest Fall Festival yet.

Peeta stepped outside and closed the door to the bakery.

“He showed mommy how to dance as well. He taught mommy so well she got in trouble,” Katniss patted her rounded belly.

“Trouble?”

“Pumpkin,” Peeta quickly redirected their child. “ You going to tear up the dance floor tonight?” Peeta picked up their five-year-old girl up in his arms.

“Oh daddy I am not going to break the floor, that’s silly.”

Katniss smiled as they walked to the dance. Gale’s twin boys came running. “MEL,” they cried in unison.

Peeta frowned.

“Settle down their Mellark, they’re only a year older.” Katniss grabbed Peeta’s arm. He was overprotective of their daughter, especially when it came to Gale’s boys.

“Yeah but, she’s my little girl,” Peeta grumbled.

“I know Peeta, but she’s going to grow up.” She squeezed his arm and gently said, “however, we still have plenty of time for that.” They watched her play with Gale’s twins. The trio ran into Prim who searched for Katniss. Prim smiled then indicates she would keep an eye out for Mell and the boys. Katniss turned to Peeta and put her head on his shoulder. “May I have this dance?”

Peeta smiled as he lead her to the dancefloor. “I love you and I love our life together and I am glad you wanted me even without the mark.”

“Peeta, it was always going to be you. I love you.”

Peeta grinned as she swayed to the music. She loved to dance with Peeta Mellark.

And they lived happily ever after.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by mega-aulover

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

Hey, i read your one shot « two kids » from the Writer’s Block and I really like it ! And it would be so great to read more of this verse (if you want and if you have time, of course)Happy New Year to you and your cute family !

Hello anon! Happy 2020! Hope it’s been great so far!

Ask and you shall receive...

Happy reading!

________

Summary: A follow-up to “Two Kids”. Katniss didn’t realize that it would happen so fast. Now, she just has to tell Peeta. Post-Mockingjay. Everlark with a smattering of Hayhanna.

“Two hearts, new start, every card is wild

There in your arms, with the radio up and the windows down

Loose hands, slow dance under crooked stars

We were clumsy at love

It was a shaky two-step in a parking lot…”

-Laura Gibson

Two Hearts, New Start

Six Weeks Later…

“This can’t be…”

I look over what is known to everyone—except for Jack, of course—as the ‘baby calendar’. My ovulation dates are carefully highlighted with my peak day circled as well as my expected date of menstruation. The idea was my mother’s after I approached her with the thought of having another child.

One morning, in-between feeding Jack, and making sure that the water was boiling for tea, Haymitch walked into our kitchen, tossed the calendar on our counter and walked out. Not that he would ever admit it, but the arrival of another Everdeen-Mellark offspring would be a welcomed event since he adores Jack.

My shock comes from the dates from the previous week; Peeta and my ‘attempts’ at conceiving. We try to keep it relaxed when it comes to all of this, but we’ve been so busy that our times together are usually quick and dirty—Johanna’s words, not mine.

In the woods…at the lake…on our back porch…Peeta’s back is probably killing him.

I understand that we’ve had sex frequently, but this is definitely off.

Am I pregnant already?

“No, it’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what?”

I jumped out of my skin, turning to find Johanna in the doorway. Jack, seeing her, flings the toast in his hand where it smacks into the cupboard right next to me.

“You scared me,” I tell her. “Look at this.”

Johanna goes to the calendar and examines it before turning back. “So, you have your rag?”

“I’m going to assume that means my period.” I shake my head. “Not today.”

“So Peeta has gone and put another baby in you.” Johanna grins. “Isn’t that what this whole thing was about?”

“But it doesn’t add up.” I go to the toaster and retrieve another piece for Jack. “I thought my period already happened—that’s why the sex happened last week.” I butter the toast and hand it to my son. “It wasn’t much and didn’t last for very long, but it was the same way last month—”

“You really are brainless.” Johanna peels the toast splattered on my cupboard and examines it before taking a bite. “Call your mother.”

++++++

“It’s called implantation bleeding,” my mother explains over the phone. “Or, at least that’s what it sounds like. Do you have any other symptoms?”

“The first time this happened is implantation bleeding?” I sink down in my seat as I try to add it all up. “And, was the second time—”

I feel my eyes watering at the thought.

“Have you felt any cramping?”

“No, just the bit of bleeding.”

“Then I don’t think that it’s serious. Women often spot while they’re pregnant,” my mother replies and I breathe out a sigh of relief. “But there is something else we should talk about.”

“What?”

“Katniss, if what you’re telling me is all correct, you are a little over eight weeks pregnant,” she tells me.

“No, we just started trying,” I argue.

“Wow, you’re slow.”

I jump and turn to find Haymitch at the doorway with Jack in his arms. I left him with his godfather and Johanna so I could discuss what was happening without someone throwing toast at me. He smirks as he sits Jack down in his highchair before pulling out a chair to sit.

“Mom, I’ll call you later,” I tell her.

“I’m sending you something,” she tells me quickly. “It might help assure you.”

“Assure me?”

“Bye Katniss.”

I hang up the phone and look to Haymitch. “What are you on about?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you were pregnant before you even started trying?” he barks at me.

Damn.

I feel dizzy and sit down. “We weren’t even trying…”

Haymitch quickly goes to the cupboard, grabs a cup, and reaches for the pitcher on the table to pour a glass of water. He hands it to me then sits in the adjacent chair.

“You had that same glazed look when you were pregnant with Jack,” he informs me. “And, you didn’t try with him either.”

I would glare at him except the nausea hits me.

So instead, I vomit on his shoes.

++++++

“My God, it reeks in here!”

I glare from my spot in front of the toilet. “Go away…” My stomach turns again, and I retch.

It was never like this with Jack; this child is going to be a terror.

Instead of listening to me, Johanna joins me on the floor. “You really did a number on Haymitch’s shoes.” She gives me an easy grin. “He’s out in our yard setting them on fire.”

“So, it’s our yard, now?” I question.

Now it’s her turn to squirm. “What are you implying?”

“You’re having sex with Haymitch.” Her jaw drops just slightly at my directness. “I’m throwing up my innards; I have no time for subtleties.” Sitting back, I press my face to the cool tiling of the room. “My only question is whether it’s fucking or more than fucking.”

“Whoa, that’s one dirty statement,” she retorts. “You kiss Peeta with that mouth?”

“Yes and more.” I look to her. “Is it serious?”

Johanna fidgets. “Haymitch hasn’t exactly kicked me out.” She closes the door, leaning back against it. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You should probably figure it out.” I flush the toilet before closing the lid. “He may seem very rough, but Haymitch can get hurt just like the rest of us.”

“Well, so could I,” Johanna counters softly. “How are you going to tell Peeta?”

“Oh yeah…” I close my eyes tiredly. “I forgot about telling him.”

Johanna chuckles. “How about not throwing up on him?”

“Probably the best course of action.”

She moves towards me.

“Why don’t you tell him tonight? Wear a nice dress…have an intimate dinner…strip him down—and then tell him mid-ride?”

“There’s the Johanna I know and love,” I respond. “That sounds good, even the mid-ride part.”

Johanna helps me up and I wash my hands and face as she re-braids my hair. I’m beginning to feel normal again and then turn to her.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.

And, for some reason, I give her a hug—this baby is making me all sorts of crazy.

“Gross. Your breath smells.”

And, we’re back to square one.

++++++

“It smells great in here!”

Peeta comes into the kitchen just as I pull out the roast from the oven. I never really go this fancy so I’m hoping that he gets that this is a special occasion.

I am wrong.

“It’s been crazy at the bakery,” he says as I place the roast on the table and then sit next to him. “I’m trying to figure out how to negotiate with the new suppliers because they’ve raised the price. Not sure how my Dad did it or whether it was my mom that negotiated…it seems like a job that she would be better at.”

Peeta gaves me a sad smile.

“Just add it to the many things to deal with when your parents are gone…my mother would have never bothered to teach me anyway. I think she may have even been surprised that I managed to open the place back up.”

Even though Mr. and Mrs. Mellark are gone, they still haunt Peeta in these small sometimes biting ways.

This is definitely not the right time; not when he is brooding over his parents and possibly worried about not living up to their expectations.

I place my hand over his.

“We can figure it out together,” I assure him.

Peeta nods, giving me that sweet smile that Jack sports whenever he gets the right piece of toast.

“Thanks—” He looks at the spread of food besides the roast; roasted potatoes and carrots that I spent hours peeling. Then, he looks at me in my knee-length green dress that displays my more positive attributes—according to Johanna. “—this is all nice. Did I forget an anniversary or something?”

I shake my head. “No. Johanna and Haymitch wanted to take Jack off our hands and we have some alone time…”

He nods slowly before standing and holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I take his hand. “Where?”

“Upstairs.” His hand lingers along the zipper on the back of my dress. “I need to appreciate this dress more—and aren’t we trying for another baby?”

It’s at the tip of my tongue to tell him that there is no need to try anymore.

Then, Peeta looks at me in that way that makes his bright blues darken into the blue of a midnight sea; that same blue when he kissed me in Quarter Quell and that familiar hunger draws up from my belly.

So, I let him take my upstairs.

++++++

“So, you didn’t tell him?”

Johanna sits on our porch steps as I sit on the adjoining bench, Jack in my lap.

“I was going to,” I start. “Then, he started talking about the bakery and how his parents would’ve known what to do…when either of us gets in a mood, it’s better to not throw big life changes into the mix.”

“So, you just didn’t go through with the plan,” Johanna states bluntly. She pokes Jack in the stomach, and he laughs. “Looks like your Momma is being a big ol’ chicken.”

My son tilts his head, his large eyes gazing on his playmate. “Chik’n?”

“Yup…you know…bok…bok…bok!” She bobs her head at him as if she has a beak and Jack bursts into giggles. “Come on Jack! Pretend to be Mommy Chicken!” Jack, so excited to play, immediately slips off my lap to follow her head movements. Then they stand up and circle the porch with their arms flapping like pretend wings.

It’s so strange to watch Johanna so carefree, as if neither of us had to fight for our lives in an arena.

However, we did.

Part of me is still a little afraid that I’ll wake up back in an arena…or in District 13…or on Reaping Day.

Part of me is still afraid that all of this isn’t real.

In times like these, I remember small things, like the way that Jack gives me kisses—sloppy but full of love. Or his strong kicks when he was inside me, or even that first turn of my stomach realizing that this new baby was inside me.

“Special delivery.” I look up from my seat to find Haymitch standing in front of me, a worried expression on his lined face. He holds out a medium-sized box wrapped in brown paper. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah, just doing a lot of thinking.”

The box is from my mother and I remember her saying that she would be sending something over. Ripping the paper, a note from my mother is taped to my present:

Katniss—

Normal fetal heartrate is 120 to 160 beats per minute.

Call me with questions.

Mom

I look at the box displaying a handheld device with a probe connected to it.

“It’s a fetal monitor,” Johanna tells us. We look to her in surprise and she has the good grace to blush. “When Annie thought she was pregnant with Dylan, I went with her to see a doctor in the medical facility in 13. They used one of these things on her.”

“Care to explain how this works?” Haymitch asks her, his gaze soft.

It’s still strange to see Haymitch affectionate in these small but meaningful ways. Peeta and I were so used to our taciturn—and often inebriated—mentor that watching him with Jack still surprises me at times.

I’m not even sure that he notices that he looks at Johanna that way.

“Katniss, lay down on the porch,” Johanna tells me.

I raise a brow at her. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to show you how to use the thing,” she replies. “Now, be a good girl and lay down.”

With a huff, I do as she says, laying on my back. Jack follows, laying next to me and I take his hand.

“Are you excited to be a big brother?” I ask him.

Jack scrunches his nose. “Brudder?”

“Yes, Jack,” Haymitch says. He sits on the porch bench. “Your Momma has a baby in her belly.”

“Here.” Johanna hands me the small monitor. “Just tell me if you can—”

I sit up. “Stop.”

Johanna puts her hand on my shoulder, quickly looking me over. “Is something wrong?”

I shake my head. “It’s just…someone else needs to hear this first.”

++++++

“You wanted to see me?”

Peeta sits next to me on the blanket. The wide field behind the fence stands before us, the orange of the sunset soaking us in its last bits of warmth.

“I have to tell you something,” I say. “But first—close your eyes.”

“You’ve been acting strange,” Peeta remarks. I glare and he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay! Closing my eyes…”

I hope I get this right; I spent half an hour on the phone with Mom to make sure.

Reaching for my knapsack, I take the fetal monitor out and spread the gel that it came with.

Laying back, I place the probe on my abdomen and begin to look…

“What’s that sound?” Peeta asks, eyes still closed.

“Just wait…”

Where are you, little du—

Then right at the very bottom of my abdomen, I find it—that sound of galloping that my mother described.

I find her.

“Open your eyes,” I tell Peeta.

He does and I watch him process the sight before him; me on my back with a probe on my belly and the strong beat echoing through the monitor.

“You’re…you’re—” Peeta can hardly speak, his voice thickening and his eyes filling. “Oh God, Katniss!” He presses his mouth to mine and as he pulls away, his hand reaches to my cheek. “You’re incredible.”

“I didn’t make her myself, you know,” I reply with a grin.

He smiles at me; that lovely lopsided smile that makes my stomach flip and I swear the baby flips too.

She already loves him.

I don’t blame her.

We stay listening to her gallop until the stars come out.

++++++

“I think that they’re celebrating.”

Haymitch sits on our front porch steps, Jack in his arms.

“Hope they don’t celebrate too hard,” I retort. “There’s a baby inside her.”

He laughs, that deep laugh that hits my core and I feel dizzy.

Actually, I’ve been dizzy lately, so maybe it’s not him.

“Are you okay?” he asks suddenly.

I join him, perching myself on the step below his. “I was just thinking…you’ve never asked me to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?”

The question is fraught with uncertainty.

I almost laugh; how could he be so uncertain while I’ve never been so certain in my life?

“No,” I say. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Good.” Haymitch presses a kiss to my temple. “Don’t ever leave.”

And, suddenly I’m dizzy again.

FIN.

#Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #Follow Up #Two Kids #The Writer's Block One-Shots #Hayhanna #Post MJ #toastbabies

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saltpepperbeard · 5 years

Text

Open Up ~An Everlark One-Shot~

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

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

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

So without further adoooooo...

Open Up

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

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

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

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

“Love?”

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

“Hmm?”

“Doing alright in there?”

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

“I guess.”

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

“You guess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Katniss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Katniss? Who’s at the...”

Much be pretty extraordinary if Peeta finds himself speechless too.

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

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

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

Gale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...So when’s the baby coming?”

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

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

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

“You excited?”

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

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

“And Katniss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Yeah. She will,” Gale agrees.

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

I’m pleased when nothing of the sort arises.

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

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

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

“Kind of,” Peeta admits.

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

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

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

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

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

“...Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes another deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Peeta agrees, “I can’t.”

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

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

And I don’t want to forgive him.

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

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

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

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

But where does that leave me.

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

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

Peeta replies with a long breath, before audibly answering.

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

I love you, Peeta.

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

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

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

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

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

“You too. Safe travels.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Katniss, I’m so sorry about...”

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

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

“I’m sorry...”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is. He is.”

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

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

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

“Why...do you...”

“Care?” he finishes for me.

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

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

“...I’ve missed you, Katniss.”

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

“Know that’s probably not mutual.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good seeing you, Catnip...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In here, love,” he tenderly replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He tried to apologize before...”

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

“After...after Prim...”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” Peeta murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“How’re you feeling about it?”

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

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

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

“Or apologize.”

“Oh, you heard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re...incredible, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

“Peeta?”

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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