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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

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Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure.

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

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. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

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. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on)

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] 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. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss - I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it’s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

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. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

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. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” 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. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though 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.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #everlark #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #honestly there were so many scenes in these 3 chapter that I wanted to draw... but I barely had the time for these 2 #Catching Fire is just chock-full with interesting/important moments... my book is more post-it notes than pages at this point

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 3 years

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Cracked

(Hayffie ❤️. After rereading the first half of Mockingjay, I recognize book-Haymitch in 13 as the saddest, most tragic muffin in this or any universe, and he needs so much more of Effie there than the three District 13 fics I wrote in the summer. So here’s another one for my sweethearts.)

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end this hunger for justice!” Plutarch had been the one to compose the line on the card in Effie’s hands. Less than a year before, she’d held other cards, on which she’d inserted Capitol propaganda into the children’s Victory Tour speeches. That kind of writing was within her skill set. Creating propaganda for a rebellion — correction, a revolution — was not.

That said, Effie was confident in her ability to coach anyone entrusted with presenting content to a public audience. ...Well, almost anyone. Historically, Katniss had been hopelessly uncoachable. Even still, even out of her element, Effie was determined do her best to guide her girl into embodying Cinna’s vision of the Mockingjay.

Effie stood in the studio, rehearsing the line in her mind as she experimented with different body positions and different speeds of the circular fans which were brought in to simulate wind.

“Let’s have her start down on one knee then stand up and wave the flag, symbolically pledging to the people of Panem and rising with them into battle.” Plutarch announced from the sound booth. “By the way, Haymitch has been discharged from the detox unit. He’s scheduled to be here later when we shoot the propo.”

Effie shifted into uncharacteristic silence. She hadn’t seen Haymitch since before she was brusquely ushered onto a hovercraft and taken to 13. That was weeks ago. Against her will now, her heart beat into her throat. For an instant, she brushed her lips with her fingertips, remembering the night before the Quell.

“This is good news,” Plutarch said, “He’ll be able to anticipate how far Katniss can be pushed without breaking.”

“Good news...” Effie echoed the words but they didn’t register because she was still caught up in the ones he’d said just before.

She fiddled with the edge of the cloth covering her hair, with the frame of her sunglasses, with the neckline of her shirt, with the bracelet on her wrist. Her hands refused to stop moving.

Plutarch noticed her restlessness and let it go on without mention. “It’s probably best if one of us brings him up to speed beforehand.”

“I’ll do it.” As soon as she said it, Effie chastised herself for her eagerness. “The prep team is working to build Katniss up now from Beauty Base Zero. With that tragic scar on her arm and the lack of proper resources in this cavern, she will not be camera ready for some time.”

“Fine. He’s been issued Compartment 307, vacated by the Everdeens. According to his schedule, he’s there now ‘acclimating.’”

“Well, that is convenient.” Effie relentlessly folded and unfolded and refolded the cue card in her hand. She steadied her voice. “...I suppose I shall go do that now.”

“I think that would be best,” Plutarch agreed, “Before you’ve folded Katniss’s lines into an origami crane or perhaps... a valentine?”

Effie glared in the direction of the sound booth, irritated with Plutarch for perceiving more than a *decent* person should. His chuckle brought her to her senses. She slipped the cue card into her pocket and made her way to Compartment 307 with deliberate slowness.

She took the stairs partway, sliding her fingers along the cold metal rails as she walked. Their yellow paint was one of the few bright colors in this cement and steel dungeon. She’d developed an appreciation for the handrails for no other reason than because they were something besides dingy gray or lackluster white.

She paused outside his door. Awash with self-doubt, she checked her intentions. Her eagerness to see Haymitch had nothing to do with the propo, of course, and everything to do with curiosity and concern about his mile-deep drop into forced sobriety. She knocked with the feeling of wild bird in her chest.

“He isn’t home!” Haymitch hollered in a hoarse voice, “The purple crap on his arm says he’s ACCLIMATING.”

“Haymitch... it’s me.”

Effie. Her voice was without its usual trill, like a canary in a coal mine singing softly at the edge of stopping. The *air* must be okay enough, because here she was at his door.

He slid it open and took in the sight of her dressed all in gray with a turban on her head and a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes. Not a speck of sunlight would reach this place, except the glimmer that squeezed through the cracks in him just then and lit him up. For the first time in weeks, months, years maybe... he laughed. The laughter was so genuine that it moved through his body like a stranger.

She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in annoyance. “I think I liked you better before you were sober!” She huffed.

“It’s good to see you too, sweetheart. Do you want to come in? This sure as hell ain’t the penthouse.”

She slid the dark glasses down the bridge of her nose and tucked them into her pocket with the cue card. That was when she really saw him. The fine details of his face tugged the flapping bird from her heart into her gut. She sucked in a breath and held it.

Weeks before, his body had been strong, prepared for battle. The muscles he’d built up during the months in between the Victory Tour and the Quell had wasted away during his stint in detox. She stepped into the room and caressed his yellowed cheek. Then she breathed again. “What have they done to you?”

He closed the door behind her. “If I said torture would you believe me?”

She heard teasing in his voice and a sharp edge of truth. “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. She brushed her fingers over his jaw and down his neck. It was the path tears might take if she ever saw him cry. She smoothed the collar of the shirt that 13 had issued him.

He refused to call it HIS shirt even while it was on his body. For a moment Effie made him forget that the collar choked him and that the walls were closing in. Her touch felt so good that he joked a bit in order to hold onto reality. “I got the standard District 13 makeover for a drunk. I had my own prep team and everything. That explains the unparalleled beauty you see before you.”

Then her arms were around him, and the sensations of her were filling him up. She smelled different. No coffee or cinnamon gum. No vanilla perfume or orange shampoo. ...Just Effie, so slight with no 5-inch heels, no layers of chiffon, almost no makeup, no corset...

He held her loosely with his hands on the small of her back. He said nothing else and asked her no questions. He slowly lifted the tail of her shirt, learning again the feeling of her skin as he slid his palms up to the strap of the bra she wore. It was probably no more hers than their government-issued everything else.

He wanted it off. He wanted to get rid of everything unrecognizable.

As if reading his mind, she pulled off the knitted hat he was wearing, and she ran her fingers up the nape of his neck into his hair. Her nails were short, and he felt the tips of her fingers naked along his scalp, sending warm shivers to each appendage of his body.

“What are you doing to me?” His voice was ragged as if cut by a serrated knife.

“Plutarch suggested I bring you up to speed.”

“Plutarch authorized this, did he?”

“I had to see for myself.”

“See what?”

Effie had closed her eyes as she held him, but she opened them again and pulled back far enough to see the dark circles below his. So much gray. “I needed to see what your *prep team* did to you.” She masked her sympathy, knowing he would detest it. She plucked a kiss at the corner of his chapped lips.

It was the kind of kiss he’d seen her give a thousand times in the Capitol. The kind that meant nothing. Only it didn’t feel like nothing. Her mouth was naked too, warm and wet like a bottle of something that could slip inside him and burn on the way down.

She brushed her fingertips across his forehead, sweeping the hair away from his eyes. Her breath lingered at the corner of his mouth. “I just... I need—“

“Oh, hell—“ He caught her lips and drank her in. The feeling of her spead through him like wildfire. When they’d kissed weeks ago in comfort, it hadn’t been like this. Yet here this was.

“Ohh...” Surprised by the suddenness of arousal, she was drinking him in too. “Oh, my God.”

He perceived *need* as a dangerous thing. If he didn’t need anyone, then he hurt less when he lost them — and he always lost them. He felt it then with Effie, that dangerous thing creeping up on him. He heard it too in the sound that came from the back of her throat. A whimper, almost pleading.

He yanked his hands out from under her shirt and stepped backward, catching his breath. “I shouldn’t be bringing you into this.”

“Why ever not? And what do you mean by THIS?” She knew what this was for her, and she wanted his answer.

“I don’t know. ...I just know you need to leave.”

“But the propo...”

“I’ll wing it.”

She held her ground, searching his face, trying to understand.

He focused on the concrete between their feet. He didn’t dare look at her eyes. In his mind, he saw them filling with tears. He was barely holding himself together, and if he saw her like that, then he’d be gone... and so would their clothes.

“Get out of here, Effie.” He refrained from screaming, refusing to make this degenerate into something resembling a nightmare. “...Just go.”

In all the years of moments that came before this one, he’d never looked so afraid. He was right in front of her, but he’d retreated to a place within himself that she wasn’t sure how to reach.

She pulled the repeatedly folded cue card from her pocket, slapped it against his chest, and let go. He caught it before it fell to the floor. “Consider yourself *brought up to speed!*”

She slid the door open. “And by the way, you did not BRING me into this. Push me away all you want, but I’m IN this. I’ve been in this longer than you probably realize. And that will NOT be changing!”

He looked up, and her eyes were dry, like sapphires set in bone.

“If you want me out of this, honey, you’re going to have to kill me yourself, so consider carefully what you want.” Before sliding the door shut, she added, “I’ll see you in the studio when you’re done... ‘acclimating.’”

He stared in shock at the door slammed in his face. Then laughter erupted again from those cracks in him where she’d slipped inside and lit him up. Maybe the *psych ward* had misjudged his readiness to handle this place without liquor. But there was no way he was going back down now, not with Effie up here making him feel alive again.

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Seven (f.o)

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

Word Count; 5k

Warnings; swearing

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

–

The dread that you’re feeling is almost suffocating. Like someone dropped a pillow on your face and then sat on it to make sure you’d choke to death and die. You can hardly move yourself from the bed to get up and get yourself ready today. All you can do is stare at the ceiling and hope that this feeling goes away.

You have a few hours to burn before you really need to get up and get ready, anyway. If your soulmate wants to sit and wallow in their self-pity, you might as well humor them. Let them feel like all of their insides are dying and rotting and they’ll never be able to live a good life again.

What would be a total dick move would be if you tried to suppress it with your own emotion. You couldn’t be giddier. You’re absolutely stoked that the day is finally here. No more messing around, no more parade, training scores, interviews. In a couple of hours you’ll be picked up by the hovercraft and brought to the arena.

You might as well have a whole celebration because of it. You could hardly sleep last night! It took time before you finally felt like you could close your eyes and keep a straight face. You felt like a kid on christmas eve, waiting for the next day impatiently. You can only imagine how your soulmate felt last night.

Maybe they fell asleep early on, and because your emotions were so sweet, it allowed them to have nice dreams. No nightmares, if they ever have any. Just a whole night of much needed sleep without any interruptions. You know you could have gone for a night like that before your first games.

The first time around, you were definitely nervous. You had only seen everything on tv when it was allowed. You were such a polite teen, afraid to overstep boundaries. But at the same time, you still had the same fire that you do now. You didn’t take anything that you didn’t have to.

Now, you’re not so polite. Maybe when you meet someone for the first time, that’s the only time you really allow yourself not to be a total bitch. Otherwise, you’re always on the high horse unapologetically. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be because you’ve grown bitter over the years.

And that’s for many reasons, the first of them all being because of people calling you soft and innocent. As if you didn’t come out of the games with eight confirmed kills, one of them being your fucking district mate. You showed no mercy, you had blood on your face for half the games because water was scarce and you didn’t want to waste the water you got from sponsors.

You came out a winner and people still had the audacity to go ‘oh she’s such a sweet little girl. She’s so cute with how she holds herself’. God, the amount of fucking times people would refer to you as cute--it’s the whole reason why you hate the word. You’re not cute anymore, you’re not a little teenager. It’s been nine years.

You’re ugly. You wish people would just admit that instead. That your personality, your looks, everyone about you is no longer cute. It’s not attractive, it doesn’t bring boys around anymore because they can’t stand the way you treat them. It’s either you’re an ugly bitch or it’s nothing.

And you guess it’s another reason why you decided to volunteer, because you felt like you hadn’t shed that label just yet. You needed to make sure that it was gone for good. Sure, you volunteered the first time around, but that was because you were forced to do it.

This time, it was all willingly. And you fought tooth and nail to get your spot too. You did it because you wanted to be left alone. You want people to know that you’re not who you used to be. You’re willing to play into the hands of the Capitol. If they want a show this year, then they’re going to get a fucking show.

Who are you to deny that from them?

The feeling of dread starts to lift, which is good enough for you. You’re not sure if it’s because of your newfound annoyance or not, but it doesn’t matter. You get out of bed now and head into the bathroom.

You take a shower, washing your hair. You watch as the glitter from last night runs down the drain and sticks to the floor. When you leave the shower, you fix your hair into a towel as you wander over to the dresser. You pull out the training outfit, since that was what you were directed to wear.

As you pull everything on, there’s a few knocks at the door. You’re a little surprised that it hadn’t just opened automatically like it normally does, “Come in.”

The doors open after that and you make an impressed face at it. Neysa comes into the room quickly so that the doors can shut faste. She thinks that you’ll feel shame if others see you naked, huh? You lost that privilege after you were sold after your games for creepy old men and women. There is no shame in your world.

“Welcome.” you say, giving her a face, “What’s up?”

“Just came to do your hair.” she says, “And talk.”

You snicker, “You’re very nonchalant. Is this about Finnick?”

“You never told me what he wanted.”

You pull on the tanktop before moving into the bathroom, letting your hair out of the towel. Neysa takes this as an invitation, dragging in a chair and making you sit while she detangles and brushes.

“He just wanted to know why I was asking, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that Haymitch saw you two together.” she yanks the brush at the thought of that, and then through clenched teeth; “Alone.”

You grab her wrist because of the yank, your scalp now feels like she ripped out a handful of hair. Using the same force she used with the hairbrush, you pull her so hard that she slams into the counter.

“First of all, watch it.” you take the brush from her hand, and then hit her against the head with it, using as much force as the frustration demands, “Second of all, he’s the one that chose the spot, I just followed him. We didn’t do anything heinous, so I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape. He said that it was up to me if I wanted to fall through with it.”

Of course, you had to leave out all of the extra details that went along with it. Knowing Neysa, she’s the loyalist as well as Edmond. They’ll put their big mouths to use and tattle on Finnick and the rest of them. You’re not going to ruin whatever dumbass plan that they have, because you’re genuinely curious on how it all might go down.

And you also told her the last part, because in case you do decide to pick his side, you need to have her ready for it. It all depends on how you’re feeling and what happens in the cornucopia. You’ll make your decision then when you either go to kill Finnick or spare him.

Actually--wait. Go back to the whole glory thing for a moment, because this has you thinking. Finnick had a point with being the first person from District Two to support them and their decisions. You’d get the name of not being a total cold-hearted person after all.

Or, you could be even more loved, by the Capitol primarily. And how would you do that?

You’d end a rebellion before it would even begin. You’d kill Katniss and Peeta and everyone else who thinks they could get away with it. Not only would you be taking out some record holders, but you’re also holding a much more valuable title in your hand. A savior.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You brush your hair while you and Neysa stare at each other. You grab a few hair ties, and you continue to use the brush to smooth out your hair while you get it into a ponytail position.

“Nothing happened between me and Finnick.” You tell her, turning towards the mirror as you bring the hair through, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“People think you’re going to be in an alliance with him, the secrecy is gone.”

“Let them think that.” you say, giving her a final look as you dump the brush into the sink bowl, “You hungry? ‘Cause I am.”

You leave her there standing in the bathroom as you go to eat breakfast. Edmond and Brutus are already at the table, and from the absence of sound, Neysa isn’t following you just yet.

“What happened to Neysa?” Edmond asks, as if he can read your mind.

“Standing in my bathroom like a freak.” you take a seat at the table, loading up on the healthy stuff. You take a look at the avox, “Keep the water coming.”

You’re going to stay hydrated. By the time you have to go into the arena, you better be peeing straight water, because you don’t know when you’ll be able to find it. It’s always included after what happened with the desert games and the lack of entertainment. But they always make it hard to find, and sometimes the only source.

It makes the tributes keep going back to get water, which will consequently make the tributes run into each other and create conflict. When the gamemakers are feeling generous though, they’ll pick an arena with different ponds and lakes, sometimes even a river running right down the middle.

You’d rather not take any chances and just stay hydrated and full. You’ll deal with everything else when you get inside of the arena, but if you’re pumping yourself full of water, you won’t have to worry about being dehydrated for a little bit. At least, that’s what you like to think.

Neysa comes out of the hallway and towards the table. She’s rubbing the place on her head where you smacked her with the brush. You would apologize if it weren’t for the fact that she deserved it.

You spend the next thirty minutes at the table eating and drinking until you think that you’re finally going to burst. Only then do you retreat back to your room so you’re closer to the toilet when you have to keep getting up every ten or so minutes. You order water from the food ordering station inside of the room each time you finish a glass.

After that, it’s basically silence and staring out of the window while you wait for Amias to come and get you for the hovercraft.

“Here’s the necklace.” Amias says, turning your body so she can put it on for you, “The suit that you’re wearing seems like it’s made for the tropics. Is it breezy?”

“Yeah,” you move your arm in a circle to double-check, “It makes the AC extra cold.”

“Then it’s going to be hot inside of the arena. I’d offer you more water if I had water to offer.” she says, fixing the necklace straight and then taking a step back, “Nice knowing you.”

You sputter out a laugh, “You’re gonna mark your words when I come back and you’re having to make me a gorgeous homecoming dress.”

Amias smiles.

“Sixty seconds until launch.” the voice says, you look up towards where it had come from.

The whole launch place this year looks like it’s straight out of a sewer. With the metal flooring and the cement walls with pipes running in and out. It’s gross, especially with the musty smell on top of that. You’re excited to get out of here.

“If I do die, make sure this necklace is given back to Tanith, if it isn’t in pieces.” you say, “Actually, make sure you tell Neysa that all of my shit goes to Tanith.”

Amias raises her eyebrows, “Why?”

“Thirty seconds until launch.”

You smile, “I don’t have any family to leave it behind to, and I’m not very fond of the idea of people picking apart my things in an auction like a bunch of vultures. All of it goes to Tanith, and if Zavian is good, he can have a chunk of whatever money I have saved.”

“Should I write down specifics or--?” Amias is teasing.

“Nah, Tanith will handle it.” You back up into the tube, “It’s not like I’m actually planning on dying, but just in case I’m taken by surprise; it all belongs to Tanith. Everything that might have been in my name goes to her.” you smile again, “Because she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a sister after my own died.”

The glass starts to close, and you give a final wave to Amias before looking up at where you’ll be going. The tube spins you around to where you need to face. As you get up higher, the sun starts to hit the sides of the tubes, and eventually falls into your eyes.

You spread your feet for balance, and then bend your knees so that when it stops moving, it’s not a sudden jolt. You take in a deep breath of air as you’re completely blinded for a moment. And then, you can see.

Water surrounds you on all sides.

You nearly stumble back out of shock, but you manage to catch yourself last second before you step off of the podium. You hold your arms out to steady yourself, and when you look around to see if anyone caught that, the male morphling stares at you.

Most districts don’t have water, which makes it difficult to learn how to swim. No pools, no lakes or ponds, it’s just… land. The only district that does have water as a main source is District Four, which means that Finnick will be the first to get to the middle after all.

You’re not bad at it, it’s just that you’re not the best. You’re not going to be as quick as you would want to be, but you’ll be able to get to the black rock that’s off to your right. It’s not that far, if you jump as hard as you can, you’ll be able to cover a good distance of the water, and have barely any left to swim with.

One glance up at the cornucopia, you can see you have less than ten seconds left. So, as quick as you can, you get a glance around. Male morphling on your left, the girl from ten is on the other side of the black rock strips that lead to the cornucopia, and to a beach. Past the beach is a pure jungle that looks like it’ll be hell to navigate in.

Cornucopia looks like it can hold everything you’d dream of and more. You’re going to want to get a good footing on it as soon as you’re there. Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus won’t be that far behind, they’ll help you secure it. However, they’re nowhere in sight from what you can see. After a certain distance, everyone just looks like blurs.

The gong sounds and you throw yourself off to the right. Your hands are the first inside of the water, and following is your head until you’re completely submerged. The water isn’t that cold, but it isn’t warm either. It’s enough to knock the wind from your lungs, so you quickly swim up towards the rock.

You take a big gasp of air as soon as you’re above water. You throw one arm onto the rock, pulling yourself up and onto your elbows to get another good look. Girl from ten is on her way over, otherwise you’re in the clear.

You bring yourself up the rest of the way, noticing how your bodyweight seems so much heavier because of the water. You’re lucky you’ve worked out your upper body strength, because if you hadn’t, getting up would have taken much longer. You bring yourself from your knees to your feet, and then you take off running over the uneven rock.

The ones that stick out furthest are like stepping stones. From one to another, you hop while you run. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot.

You don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve gotten here first.

Without any hesitation, you jump over the pile of boxes as you rush to the back of the cornucopia to the wall of weapons. However, when you get back to it, you stop in shock. Your favorite weapon isn’t here, it’s just--it’s everything else a person can think of.

For the time being, you pick up a bow and arrow, plucking at the string until you hear a noise behind you. You turn, the arrow already aimed at the person before you can even see who it is. And surprise, surprise, it’s Finnick Odair, staring at you confused.

“You can’t actually--”

You fire the arrow over his shoulder, nearly clipping it, “I should kill you right here.”

Finnick’s mouth opens a little bit, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

The two of you are in a staring competition after that, the weapon falls in your hands, and Finnick spins when he hears a noise. It’s Katniss, and you watch as he points an arrow at Finnick’s chest, but his wrist is already up, with something gold glinting in the sunlight.

“Good thing we’re allies, right?” Finnick seems to have recovered fast, considering everything that had just happened in less than thirty seconds.

You drop the bow, which causes Katniss’ eyes to flicker over to you, and then back to Finnick, “Where did you get that?”

You move to grab a glaive--it’s almost like a spear-sword, with a long handle and a wide blade at the tip. You spin it in your fingers.

“Where do you think?” Finnick asks her back, “Duck.”

Katniss drops to a crouch, Finnick throws his trident just in time to hit the guy from District Five. The cannon fires instantly, which is weird to you, since it’s the bloodbath and the gamemakers normally wait until the entire thing is over to give off cannons. But you have much more important things to worry about.

Finnick looks at you while he moves over to take the trident out of the guys chest, “What’s your decision?”

Katniss takes a look at you, and you shake your head a little bit, wanting to say no. But then, you take a deep breath as you move forward, “Go find Peeta and Mags.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Go.” you tell him, and then give a look to Katniss, who doesn’t look like she’s too fond of your presence. She should join the list of the hundreds of other people that don’t like you.

Finnick disappears with the trident, and you can spot Brutus coming. Katniss doesn’t seem to notice at first, which irritates you, since she’s the one with the long-distance weapon. You steal the bow from her fingers for a moment, grabbing an arrow. You let it go, clearly in the position to kill, but Brutus jumps back into the water.

“Katniss, Mags found Peeta--he’s over here.” He tells her, you shove her weapons back into her hands.

You don’t follow behind her though, as you stand and stare, unsure of how you want to approach this. Go with Finnick, or stay here and explain yourself. Cashmere and Gloss won’t be quick to forgive, but you think Brutus might. It’s going to be hard, especially when you’re associating with the alliance that you swore to kill.

Then again, your allies will try to kill you in your sleep now, if they didn’t want to before. With that thought, you grab a pocket knife, slipping it into your boot. Just when you go to take off, the girl from ten appears in front of you.

It should almost be criminal with the way that the smile spreads over your face. Following in Finnick’s footsteps, you throw your glaive at her chest. The cannon goes off instantly, you place your foot on her chest while you pull the weapon out. One glance over your shoulder, you can see that there’s going to be company if you don’t get out of here quick.

“My apologies, Neysa.” you say, before heading in the same direction that Katniss and Finnick had disappeared off to.

You spot them all standing on the same strip of land. You jog over, noticing how Katniss jerks in your direction when she sees movement, but relaxes slightly. Mags doesn’t look too pleased with the fact that you’re here either.

Peeta and Finnick are pulling themselves out of the water when you get there. You cross your arms angrily, tapping your foot impatiently as you watch them get out of the water.

“They’re watching us.” Katniss says, you don’t know who it’s directed to, so you turn around to see.

Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus are at the beginning of the strip to the cornucopia, staring, but they’re motioning. They’re very clearly mapping out some kind of plan, as if they’re expecting something--you.

“They’re watching me.” you correct her, shaking your head, “They’re pissed that I’ve left them.”

“Come on, Mags.” Finnick says, he crouches down, but his eyes are on you while Mags gets on his back, “Are you coming with?”

“Do I really have a choice?” you snap, Peeta and Katniss eye you warily, “Let’s just go already, before they get ballsy.”

You snap your fingers for emphasis. Peeta goes first down the path, and Finnick goes second. Katniss looks like she wants to take up the back, but common sense must be running through her mind, because she doesn’t fight you. She shouldn’t want to be back here, your former alliance will rip her apart like a pack of wolves, and you might just help them.

You hold up your hand for a wave, and Brutus does the same back. It’s a goodbye, you don’t know when you’ll see them again, dead or alive. Brutus is forgiving, and it doesn’t look like he cares all that much. As for Cashmere and Gloss, their feelings are going to be hurt that you traded them for these guys.

You all tread carefully while going over the rocks. When you get past the beach, Finnick insists for Katniss to go in front of him, and she does. The five of you run through the jungle, making an almost clear path on where you’re going. If the others did want to follow you, it wouldn’t be very hard to track.

While you jog, you run your fingers over the greenery, but you’re careful to skip over the flowers, because those are much more likely to be poisonous. You guys weave in and out of trees, getting further and further into the jungle. The longer you run, the hotter you seem to become.

The arena is hot, which makes the wetsuit and it’s breeziness make sense. You’re lucky that the stylists who work on the suits are careful to design them to your needs. If you guys were wearing anything else, you’d say that you’d be sweating like pigs on the verge of heatstroke. The only reason why you’re sweating now has to be because of the fact that you’re running.

District Two is in a desert of sorts. It’s hot where you come from--and it’s the uncomfortable kind. Makes you want to stay inside and fan yourself until you’re cold again. It makes working in a factory not worth it. You’d rather just lay on the pavement and let the vultures take you.

It has to be ten to fifteen minutes later, when Finnick finally calls it, “Okay, hold up--hold up.”

There’s barely any sunlight streaming through the trees, but you guys take the only patch there is to offer. The entire jungle seems to be one big shadow of shade. It’s uncomfortable and weird, considering that the place is humid and the shade offers no coolness.

“Here you go.” Finnick breathes, letting Mags off of his back.

Katniss is looking around at the trees, and this is when you’re finally able to hear all the noises of the animals that are out here. You wouldn’t like to be caught here in the dark--but it's the only place that actually offers shelter. To stay on the beach or even in the cornucopia would be stupid.

Oh, how much you would give to see the looks on Cashmere and Gloss’ faces when they realized that they’d be hunting tributes in this mess of a jungle. It’ll be impossible to navigate.

They all crouch down together, but you lean yourself up against a tree, arms crossed. Occasionally, you’ll reach up to wipe the sweat off your forehead before it runs into your eyes.

“God, it’s hot.” Peeta says, “We gotta find fresh water.”

It’s a brief silence while you and Finnick stare at each other intensely. Then three cannons go off, guess that was the actual bloodbath. It’s weird that it’s only three, though. You’d expect more, but you suppose that everyone--well, not everyone--is smart enough not to go to the cornucopia after a certain point in time.

“Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” Finnick laughs.

Yeah, last night after Peeta had fucking announced that Katniss was pregnant, you all held hands to show some sort of unity. Leave it to these two to steal the spotlight after a long night of watching people screw up their interviews. You almost wanted to barf when Finnick was addressing Annie in a poem for his. Looking back on it, it’s funny now.

“You think that’s funny?” Katniss asks Finnick.

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears.” he motions with his hands, “I don’t care about any of them.”

“Amen.” you mutter, Peeta glances at you briefly, and then double-takes as if he didn’t expect you to be standing here.

“Good to hear.” Katniss says.

“Do you want to face the career pack alone?” Finnick asks her, “What would Haymitch say?”

“Haymitch isn’t here.” Katniss says, holding the machete in her hands tightly.

“How about we talk about why (Y/n) is here.” Peeta jabs his thumb in your direction.

You watch as they all sort of take a look like they’ve forgotten you exist. Great, you won’t have anything to worry about then, especially since they like to put you in the back of their minds. You could move to kill any one of them and no one would notice until the move was done.

“No.” you tell him, “Mind your business.”

“It is our business.” Katniss says.

“Not really.” you make a new place in the dirt for the glaive.

“There was a uh--” Finnick smiles, “--an unexpected twist.”

You resist the urge to itch at your stupid soulmate tattoo. You wish it was possible to deface, because you’d be heating up the blade to your knife to scar the fucking words right now. Just to get rid of it. You could try cutting the skin out, but that would be too painful and a hundred thousand things could go wrong.

“Shut up.” you snap at him, “Let’s keep moving.”

“We should talk first.” Finnick stands, giving a look to Mags, “I’ll be right back.”

Finnick leaves his trident with her, which obviously means that he’s trusting you right now. To make a point, you leave the glaive against the tree that you were leaning on, giving one last look over the pair of nosy teenagers that are watching every move the both of you make.

You two don’t leave the sight of your new audience, but they’re out of earshot. You make Finnick stand with his back to them, since you’re not comfortable with it.

“I guess this spoils your plans of killing me, huh?”

“What a great way to start a conversation.” you mock a smile, “And just because it’s spoiled for you, doesn’t mean that it isn’t for them.”

“You’re not going to lay a finger on them,” Finnick tells you, like it’s a rule.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I really can.” Finnick says.

It’s enough to set you off. You swing your fist, slamming it into his cheekbone. The pain blossoms over your knuckles the second after he’s stumbling because of the force from the punch. You hold your hand, glaring down at Finnick when he hits the dirt, staring up at you in shock.

“Hey!” Peeta shouts, coming over quickly.

“You’ve ruined everything!” You yell at him, “I can’t win now! I can’t fucking do anything because you’re in the way! I can’t kill you--I can’t kill them! I can’t make it back to my own fucking home because you just had to be friendly with me!

“I’ve lost everything! I’ve lost my alliance, and my sponsors and my fucking dignity following you in here!” you yell, Peeta goes to grab you, but you shove him away, “And just because we’re soulmates you think you can tell me what to do? Fuck you. I don’t have to take this.”

You push past Peeta a second time, grabbing a hold on the glaive as you go to leave.

“Where are you going?” Finnick asks.

“Away, on my own. I don’t need you guys to survive, I don’t need anybody.”

“(Y/n)--”

“I hope you die in here, Finnick.” you go down the hill, “And I hope it’s painful.”

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

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday, greetingsfromthenorthernsea!

Today, we wish a belated Happy Birthday to @greetingsfromthenorthernsea! We apologise for the delay on your gift, and hope your birthday back on December 9 was a lovely one full of cake and presents! To bring the party back, the lovely @wildlyglittering has written a story for you!

Title: Christmas Countdown

Gift For: greetingsfromthenorthsea

Rating: T

Note: Some innuendo and mild swearing

Katniss pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes and took a deep breath in. Little lights fuzzed behind her eyelids and she took a moment to observe the patterns they made.

Doing this was still preferable to watching Frozen for the third time that day. She had a thirty second respite before she heard her name being called from down the hall. Well, not her actual name but the one that she went by most commonly these days.

“Mama!”

Katniss let out a wavering sigh. “Mama’s in the bathroom,” she called out.

A thump hit the back of the closed door. “Mama,” the voice called again. “Mama...” and Katniss could hear an edge of desperation sink into their tone and could just picture the look of utmost injury on their face at the bathroom door being shut.

With another sigh, Katniss opened the door. It was Ellis, just as she thought. Her son looked up at her and smiled. Katniss couldn’t help but beam back. How could she not? Not when her youngest son looked up at her like she hung the moon.

She bent down and planted a kiss on top of his little golden head. “You get that look from your father,” she told him but he just kept grinning, no clue what she was talking about.

“Mama needs the bathroom,” she said standing up and turning around to the toilet but she knew trying to explain privacy to an eighteen-month-old, and the world’s most needy eighteen-month-old at that, was a completely redundant exercise. Instead she just abandoned all sense of dignity and sat down to pee in front of him. Again.

Ellis wandered over to her as she sat and pressed a chubby hand against her naked knee. His grin was a million dollars, like watching his mother peeing in the downstairs toilet was his most favourite thing to do. Katniss was beginning to wonder if it was. “You know,” she said, reaching out to touch one of his waves, enjoying the soft feeling between her fingertips, “it’s going to be really weird if you’re still into this when you’re eighteen.”

The sounds of ‘Let It Go’ travelled down the hallway and through the open door. The powerful vocals of Idina Menzel were joined by the equally powerful vocals of Daisy Mellark who obviously felt that her love of Elsa could not be known by the entire household unless she was projecting it at her highest volume.

“Mama...” Ellis whinged around his dummy.

“I know baby, but she’ll grow out of it in around ten years or so.”

Ellis tried to clamber up onto her lap but she had to hold him back, “No, no. Not while Mama’s peeing.”

“Mama....” the whinge got louder.

There was a shuffling down the hallway and a new body appeared in the doorframe. “Alright sweetheart.”

Katniss refrained from rolling her eyes. She was going to kill Haymitch. For reasons unknown to mankind, her other eighteen-month-old son had emulated their next-door neighbour out of some misplaced adoration and that involved parroting back ninety percent of what he said. Hearing Ellis say ‘Mama’ a thousand times a day was nothing compared to the quantity of that phrase coming out of the eldest twin’s mouth.

At least Jesse wasn’t helping himself to their liquor cabinet. Katniss looked over at where her eldest son was standing and raised an eyebrow. Why was that boy always naked?

Jesse sauntered in, clearly wanting to join in on the commotion. “Baby,” Katniss began, “where are your clothes?” Ellis took her moment of distraction as an opportunity to climb on her lap and did so with heft, grabbing at her top. Katniss manoeuvred him so that he was on one leg.

Jesse just shrugged, “Dunno,” and Katniss felt the urge to murder Haymitch rise up in her again. Her eldest boy looked at her with his wide grey eyes, eyes that he shared with his twin and his mother and Katniss could see the question whirring in them.

“Come on,” she sighed but before she had even spoken Jesse was already climbing up onto the other leg. She sat there, tying to pee, with the bathroom door wide open and with a toddler on each leg. One naked and mildly fidgety and the other one clothed but extremely fidgety.

“What’s happening?” All three heads turned to the door where a three-year-old Elsa wannabe was standing with her hands on her hips, clearly disgruntled as though she was being left out of a magnificent party.

Katniss hadn’t heard the singing stop or any footsteps walk down the hall. The eldest Mellark child had inherited Katniss’ light tread which had already resulted in some very embarrassing situations, especially when she would just randomly turn up in Katniss and Peeta’s bedroom.

“Mama’s trying to pee, Dais,” Katniss told her but was met with a petulant frown. Daisy stomped into the room, red wellies under her princess dress.

“I want to go outside.”

“Not right now,” Katniss said, “let Mama finish using the bathroom.”

The Elsa crown that slumped down over a head of black hair made for a pitiful sight but the bright blue eyes that stared up at Katniss’ face started filling with tears which only made it more pitiful.

Oh shit, Katniss thought. They were about to be the lucky guests to a proper royal tantrum.

“Off,” yelled Daisy and she grabbed at Ellis’ foot and tried to yank him from Katniss’ leg. This resulted in Ellis grabbing onto his mothers’ t-shirt with extra force, stretching the fabric. He began to wail.

“Daisy!” Katniss admonished her. “Don’t do that to your brother!”

Daisy’s eyes filled even harder and then she opened her mouth, a matching wail echoing around the bathroom.

“Horsey!” Jesse was filled with sudden, exuberant delight and began to bounce on Katniss’ leg as though he had just realised he should be making maximum use of this opportunity.

Katniss groaned and threw her head back.

Four days to go.

****

“I’ll be back home earlier tomorrow,” she heard Peeta say, “I’ve managed to get cover at the bakery for the afternoon.”

A large hand palmed the back of her head and smoothed down her hair. As his hand travelled past her neck she could feel his fingers gently massage some of the knots he found there. She sighed into the pillow where she had been laying, face down, since putting the children to bed.

Katniss turned her head and looked up at her husband and they made eye contact, offering each other tired smiles. “Are you sure?” she asked him. “Won’t they need you there?”

Peeta shrugged, his fingers threading through her un-braided hair, the soft tugging motions relaxing her scalp. She could feel her eyes grow heavy.

“I think you need me here,” he said with a grin but Katniss could see the dark circles under his eyes. The weeks leading up to Christmas at the bakeries were the worst. They owned three now, which was wonderful, but exhausting. Peeta managed one of the bakeries on a daily basis whilst the other two stores had managers. Unfortunately, one of those had unexpectedly quit a week ago so Peeta was dividing up his time between the Seam and Merchant branches whilst trying to check in on the third in the Hob.

“Come here,” she said and reached out her hand to touch his face. The rough stubble on his jaw scratched against her hand and she had a sudden desire to feel it scratching somewhere else. Peeta turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm and she tugged him down so he lay beside her.

They faced each other on the bed, his blue eyes, so like their daughters, looking into her grey ones. She smiled to herself, she was right about what she thought earlier, Peeta looked at her like she hung the moon.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “That one of our sons has slightly voyeuristic bathroom tendencies, that the other is a miniature Haymitch in the making with a dash of nudism thrown in and that our daughter won’t be happy until she has full run of the house.”

Peeta grinned, “Is Jesse still ‘alright sweet-hearting’ you?”

“Twenty times today. I counted. Which was probably thirty times less than Ellis yelling ‘Mama.’”

Peeta yawned and rolled over onto his back, tugging Katniss with him so that she was pulled against his chest. “Its because you’re Ellis’ most favourite person.” He smoothed a hand down Katniss spine. “I don’t blame him, because you’re my most favourite person.”

“You don’t follow me into the bathroom every opportunity you get.”

“Oh, but if I only could!”

“Pervert,” she tapped his chest with her hand but giggled.

“In fact, I feel like engaging in some slightly voyeuristic bathroom tendencies myself. Fancy taking a shower?” His eyebrows rose suggestively.

“So that you can watch or join?”

“Hmmm,” he trailed off, eyes looking thoughtful. “We’ll start with the first so I can judge you on your lathering technique and then we’ll move on to the latter so I can show you how it’s properly done.”

Katniss sat up on her elbow to look at him, her black hair falling down like a curtain. They were both tired; she felt it and he looked it. They should probably both just get some much-needed sleep.

She grinned at him, “Fine. But I’m not very good at lathering. I’m going to need lots of training.”

Peeta grinned back and pulled her mouth down to his.

****

“Oh god.” Katniss was face down on the bed again but this time she was trying to pull the pillow up over her ears. She had been woken up by Peeta’s four am alarm and the sound of wailing, both occurring simultaneously. Neither were welcome.

“I’ll get him,” Peeta’s voice, thick and muffled with sleep, spoke out beside her.

“No,” she grunted. “You’ve got to get ready for work. It’ll be me he wants anyway.”

Peeta managed a comforting pat on her head, the best he could do at the ungodly hour, and Katniss felt the bed shift and the floorboard creak as he shuffled off to the bathroom.

“Ugh,” she groaned, the volume muffled by the pillow before she flipped onto her back and swung her legs over the side. Zombie Mama was all she could manage.

Out of all her children it was Ellis that was the clingiest and it was Ellis that would only be soothed by his mother. Both Katniss and Peeta knew it was a short phase he would grow out of but that didn’t mean that Katniss wasn’t counting down the days until he did.

He was standing in his crib, fat tears dripping down his round face when she entered. “Hey, baby,” she murmured softly to him, mindful of the other sleeping person in the room. Ellis’ loud sobs begun to quiet immediately but the tears still fell as he blinked.

“Oh, look at that lip,” she whispered. His bottom lip trembled as she tiptoed across the carpet and picked him up from his crib. He was soft and warm, his sleep shirt riding up to reveal a chubby little tummy and a popped-out bellybutton. Ellis buried his face in her neck and she planted a kiss on his head.

Despite his grizzling, he was so fricking adorable. “Ssshh,” she soothed and stroked down his hair, its waves sticking up in random directions. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Katniss glanced at where Jesse was sleeping in the other crib. He could sleep through any journey, his sisters’ singing and his brothers’ screaming and for that she would be eternally grateful. Somehow, he had managed to wiggle his way out of his sleeping clothes and night time Huggies and was completely nude and sleeping like a starfish, legs and arms spread as wide as possible. Katniss shook her head and grinned.

As she walked past she reached through the bars and gently touched his foot, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the arch. Jesse didn’t move at all, just smacked his lips a few times and grunted.

She grinned again, making her way into the hallway. Katniss poked her head into Daisy’s room to find her in the same state as Jesse, fast asleep with dark hair splayed over her lemon pillow and drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

In the kitchen she put Ellis in his highchair and turned on the Christmas tree they had at the side. The lights danced across the countertops and ceiling and as he watched, transfixed, Katniss took the moment to brew her and Peeta a coffee.

Heavy steps thudded down the stairs and Katniss thanked the stars that it was another thing two out of three of her children could sleep through.

“Morning,” Peeta said, his voice sounding less thick and much chirpier. He planted a kiss on the top of Ellis’ head, his blonde hair falling over his son’s identical locks, and Ellis grinned up at him, momentarily broken from the Christmas lights spell. “And morning to Mama,” he said, standing next to her at the counter and gave her a deep kiss.

“Mmm,” she replied, “I have morning breath.”

“Ah, I don’t care.” Peeta left hand reached for the coffee as his right traced down her back and curved over her ass, giving it a rub.

“You are far too awake,” she told him but smiled anyway.

“And you are far too irresistible,” he winked and gave her ass cheek a squeeze.

She looked back at the highchair but Ellis had already gone back to being mildly hypnotised. Now, if only he would continue that through the day.

****

Three days to go.

Katniss wondered if daytime drinking was always a bad thing. Haymitch managed it on a daily basis so she figured it couldn’t be that bad but then again, Haymitch wasn’t trying to manage three under-threes.

“No, no, no!” She reached forward and managed to grab Ellis with one arm and hold the tree upright with the other. He’d gone running towards it with a gleeful squeal and yanked at one of the lower branches. It teetered towards him and Katniss managed to dash in before he got a face full of tree. Not that he cared. Ellis let out a wail and dropped through her arm like a stone, his arms outstretched in outrage.

“Oh, Ellis,” Katniss uttered as he rolled on the floor. “Mama couldn’t let you pull the tree down.” He continued to lay face down on the floor and sobbed into the rug. Katniss wondered how it would look if she joined him.

There was an irritated sigh from behind her and she turned around to see Daisy sat on the couch like a queen holding court. Jesse sat next to her, his finger up his nose as he swung his legs off the side. “Mama move,” she said. “I’m trying to watch Elsa.”

“Dais,” Katniss’ voice was stern, “you don’t tell people to move. It’s rude.”

“But Mama...”

“No buts Daisy, we’ve spoken about being rude before.” Her and Peeta had been told by Daisy’s preschool teacher that their daughter was a confident, outspoken child who enjoyed singing, talking, drawing and domineering. Both her and Peeta had winced, especially as they were told that the last talent often resulted in a level of curtness that wasn’t always endearing.

“I don’t want you to tell Santa,” Daisy said and a lip begun to quiver.

Katniss sighed and knelt in front of her daughter, putting her hand on her knee. “Mama needed to stop Ellis pulling down the tree.”

The lip still quivered. “You just needed to wait until Mama was done.”

The lip still quivered. Katniss sighed. Normally there would be more conversation about rudeness and manners but she had been up since four and it was hours from nap time and that was even if she could even get them to nap. “We’ll watch some more Frozen and then have some lunch, ok?”

“Ok,” Daisy’s lip instantly stopped trembling pathetically and Katniss couldn’t help but think she just got played.

“Ok,” she repeated with a sigh and stood up, careful not to tread on her still wailing son. She bent down and picked him up, balancing him on her lip before wiping away his tears. The doorbell rang and Katniss took a quick look around. One child in her arms and two on the couch. Fine.

The delivery man just needed a signature for the parcel but all it took was a minute out of sight. A crash resounded from the lounge and Katniss muttered, ‘shit,’ before she could think. Running back in she saw the tree upturned on its side, baubles and ornaments strewn all over the floor.

Jesse stood beside the tree, a strand of glittery tinsel in his hand. He looked up at her with a guilty expression, “Uh-oh Mama. Uh-oh.”

****

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever come home to.”

“Shut up,” Katniss murmured but there was no bite in her tone. She opened an eyelid to see Peeta standing at the end of their bed, grinning. “You have no idea what I’ve done in order to achieve this.”

“Nyquil?” Peeta offered up with a smile and Katniss rolled her eyes.

“I wish it had even been that easy.”

Earlier Katniss had stood in the doorway staring at the downed tree, with a sobbing toddler on one hip, a shamefaced toddler who looked like he was about to start crying plus another toddler who huffed, again, at her movie being interrupted and felt her eye begin to twitch.

“Ok,” she had said. “We’re all going to have lunch. And then we’re going to put the tree back up and then we’re going to play a game.” And then, she had thought, I’m going to make sure you take a nap because dear god, Mama needs one.

Somehow, by a Christmas miracle, they had eaten with minimal fuss, messily slapped the decorations back on the branches and ran around outside for an hour until their faces were pink with the cold. A warm, milky drink later and they were all piled on Katniss and Peeta’s bed with Katniss squished in between Daisy and Jesse as Ellis lay on her torso.

Peeta yawned and ran a flour covered hand through his hair. “Do you think?” he asked. “That there’s room for Daddy?”

Katniss smiled at him, “There’s always room.”

Peeta sighed and slid onto the bed, carefully making sure not to jostle the small, sleeping bodies. He leaned forward and gave Katniss a soft kiss before resting back. A large hand stretched out and stroked the nearest child’s hair.

“A parcel arrived for you today,” she told him. “Looked like your mother’s handwriting.”

Peeta grunted and closed his eyes. “Awesome.”

“I wonder if she’s included one of her ‘infamous’ letters.”

“Probably.”

“Maybe she’ll suggest a vasectomy again.”

Peeta groaned, “The last thing I have ever wanted in life is my mother putting that much thought into what happens to my penis.”

Katniss shifted slightly, the weight of Ellis beginning to press down on her. He stirred and she smoothed a hand over his warm back. “She does seem unnaturally concerned.”

“She needs to mind her own business.”

“Well she thinks we are her business. She thinks we can barely cope with three children.”

Peeta cracked an eye open and frowned. “Just because she couldn’t, doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“They all happened in rather quick succession...” Katniss whispered, trailing off.

“Hey,” Peeta said, his voice low and warm. “We’re doing great. This is just Christmas madness. And besides,” he stretched and his jumper rode up revealing a slither of skin and a dark blonde happy trail, “it’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

“That’s not true,” she said with a blush and tore her eyes away.

“Sure,” he said with a low chuckle and leant forward again to place another soft kiss on her lips.

There was a little giggle and they both looked down to see Daisy’s wide-open eyes looking at them from where she was curled into Katniss’ side. “Ew,” she giggled again, “kissing.”

Peeta raised an eyebrow. “You think this is gross, do you? Well then...” and with a practiced move he sat up and lifted his daughter from the bed, swung her over to his chest, dangled her backwards and began planting kisses onto her face. Daisy shrieked with delight, her legs kicking in the air. “Noooo,” she laughed, her small hands fisting clumps of Peeta’s hair.

That did it. The two boys were awake, their grey eyes wide and looking momentarily confused before they realised the source of the noise was coming from their sister.

“Yeahhhh!” yelled out Jesse and Katniss watched as he stood and launched himself at Peeta. Ellis sat up on Katniss’ belly and just stared at the rumble. Peeta fell back onto the bed with Daisy on his chest as Jesse continued the attack on his neck.

“What do you say?” Katniss said to her youngest, over the sound of the shrieks and yells. “If we can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” And with that Katniss lifted Ellis into her arms and threw herself into the mix.

****

There had been more snowfall overnight and it had settled onto the ground, blanketing everything with a soft, white powder. Katniss loved how it looked; the way it glittered and sparkled in the winter sun.

She’d managed to sleep in a bit later than usual although she still woke to say goodbye to Peeta. He wasn’t able to be home early today but that was ok, she was planning on taking the kids to him. All three had managed to sleep a bit later as well before she was eventually woken by a completely nude Jesse who somehow had managed to get naked and get out of his crib.

He had stood in front of her, with his blonde, unruly waves of hair sticking out in all directions and his chubby little tummy with his little popped out belly button on show, demanding breakfast.

Katniss had grabbed him and covered his face with kisses, just as Peeta had done with Daisy the day before. I want to keep you all with me for always, she had thought and then proceeded to try and convince them to eat their eggs before they could play outdoors.

“Alright sweetheart,” the gravelly voice called out over the fence. “How’s mama hen doing with all her chicks?”

Katniss turned from where she stood watching Ellis scoop snow into his mouth and from where Daisy was frowning with snowman building concentration to look at their neighbour. There was an exuberant cry from her right. “Haymitch!” Jesse called and begun to stomp on over.

“We’re clucking along,” she told him. “I’ll be taking them to see Peeta later.”

“The boy still working?” Haymitch asked and Katniss nodded.

“Yeah, it’s a busy time.”

“Well if you need some ‘quality time’ together, I’ll reluctantly take the rugrats from you.”

Katniss looked over at Haymitch but he was grinning down at Jesse who in turn, was grinning back. Reluctantly? Not a chance. When they first moved in with a new-born Daisy they introduced themselves to Haymitch who made some comment about children and noise but Katniss had seen the way his face softened when he looked at the baby.

Peeta had a way of making people open up, a charm that Katniss didn’t possess and he had told her that he’d discovered Haymitch had once been married. Something had gone wrong when she was giving birth to their first baby and Haymitch had lost both. That’s why he drinks a lot, Peeta had said. That, and I think he’s lonely.

“Last time you took the ‘rugrat’s,’” Katniss replied, “Jesse came back with a whole new phrase and Daisy believed it was fine to draw on walls.”

Haymitch shrugged, “Not my fault if I encourage creative expression.”

“Hmm,” she muttered. “You still coming over Christmas Day?”

There was a groan from Haymitch and she watched as he lifted a glass filled with deep amber liquid to his mouth and took a long sip. “If I must sweetheart. Though I can think of better ways to spend my day than playing dress up.”

“You looked adorable last time you were Anna.”

Haymitch shot her a look and she winked at him. He would come over on Christmas Day this year like he had last year, and the year before and the year before that. He would moan about it but would be there before nine in the morning with arms filled with presents, just like last year, and the year before and the year before that.

And besides, he looked rather fetching wearing a dress around his neck.

****

Just two more days. That was what she repeated in her head as she bundled the children into the car. Get through today and tomorrow and then it’s Christmas Day. It will all be normal then.

Getting them back inside had been a monumental task. Jesse had uncharacteristically started to cry when Haymitch had gone back indoors. “But baby,” she had told him, “it’s getting cold and we’re going indoors too.”

That had been met with an open-mouthed wail as tears splashed down his face. “HAYMIIIIIIITCH!”

Ellis had been so shocked that he paused his snow eating to stare. Then, rather characteristically, joined in.

Daisy just carried on patting snow onto her snowman, used to both brothers by now. Katniss took a deep breath. Soothing wasn’t working. Bribery wasn’t working. Nothing was working until she mentioned that they were going to go see Daddy.

It worked for Jesse who immediately stopped the waterworks at the thought of going to the bakery. He just gets bored, Katniss thought. He sees me and Ellis and Daisy all day, he just wants new faces. The bakery was one of the best places to take him, not just because he got to see Daddy or eat the treats but because the bakery girls gushed over the children and cooed over their blonde waves and said how pretty they all were. Jesse would grin and blow bubbles at them in his way of flirting.

After the twenty-minute drive Katniss finally pulled into a space outside the bakery. Peeta was at the Merchant site today and though it wasn’t her favourite site (the Hob premises held that place in her heart) she had to admit it was the prettiest.

Merchant Square was the ‘posh’ side of town, the place where the original Mellark bakery resided back in the 1800’s and it still held the charm of red bricked buildings, candy striped awnings and large shop windows with colourful displays.

None were more colourful than the current Mellark bakery display with piles of macarons, both in pastel and vibrant shades, the Christmas cakes with reindeer and Santa’s and cake-pops designed to look like baubles and Christmas puddings.

Katniss piled the twins into their double buggy and steered it with one hand whilst holding Daisy’s hand with the other. All three of them were wide eyed at what they could see and Katniss felt a little of her Christmas madness desperation melt away.

When they stepped into the bakery it was Rue that greeted them with a cheery smile and a wave and Katniss looked into the buggy to see Ellis stare and Jesse wave back with his trademark cheeky grin. Any minute now the bubbles would start. Daisy gave a bashful wave and crept closer to Katniss, pressing her face into Katniss’ leg.

“Hi guys!” Rue exclaimed. “Peeta’s out back, let me go get him.”

Katniss said her thanks and then started to get the kids settled into the seating booth at the front of the store. It didn’t take long before she heard the heavy tread of footsteps and a joyful, “Well if it isn’t my favourite people!”

There were at least two squeals and Katniss glanced up from settling Ellis to see Daisy run over to Peeta with Jesse hot on her heels. They both grabbed at him and buried their faces in his legs. With a pretend groan Peeta managed to swing them both up into his arms, one on each side, and he walked over. “Hey bud,” he said affectionately to Ellis and bent down to kiss his head. Then he turned to her and his voice dropped a slight notch, “Hey Mama.”

He placed a kiss on her lips and she heard Daisy giggle again. Both Peeta and the bakery smelt deliciously like cinnamon and ginger and a hint a spice. If they weren’t in public and surrounded by their offspring she probably would have stuck her nose in his neck and taken a deep breath.

Instead she offered him a demure, ‘hey’ but felt a rush of heat flood to her face as he winked at her. Maybe he was right, maybe she just couldn’t keep her hands off him. That would explain their family situation. Katniss snapped out of her small reverie to hear Peeta speaking. “...and if you sit down then you can have one.”

Rue brought over some drinks to the table and what looked like some cake-pops. Before she left to go back to the counter she squeezed Jesse’s hand and gushed about how cute he was. She received a shit eating grin from the toddler in question.

“What is it that they can have?” Katniss asked as Peeta placed Jesse and Daisy into the seats opposite. They both reached over and grabbed at what Rue had put on the table while Ellis just scrunched a napkin in his fists.

“Only my finest bake for my finest customers,” and he winked at her again but this time Katniss was more worried about the excessive levels of sugar their children were about to consume.

“I don’t think they need more sweets...” she began but a gasp from Daisy cut her off.

“Look Mama,” she said, “It’s like Elsa!” A sparkly ice blue cake ball with tiny snowflakes sprinkled over the surface was being waved around on a stick. “It’s so pretty,” and her large blue eyes shone with awe.

Jesse’s was already in his mouth and half chewed, dribble coating his chin as he tried to make eyes at Rue behind the counter. Ellis now held one in his hand mushing it into paste but didn’t seemed inclined to eat it. At least one of her children wasn’t a crazed sugar monster.

“This one is for Mama,” Peeta said and handed one that was wrapped and sticking out of his pocket. It was a pair of Santa legs sticking out of a chimney. Peeta leant in and whispered in her ear, “If you want, I’ll slip down your chimney later.”

Katniss laughed and rolled her eyes good naturedly. That morning before he left for work he told her he was looking forward to stuffing her stocking. Sometimes her husband acted more like a horny teenager than a thirty something father of three. It was the sugar. He always got like this in the days before Christmas.

Peeta’s cheeky smile stretched across his face and highlighted his dimples. It was plain to see where their eldest son got it from. Katniss glanced down at the table and the three preoccupied children before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Play your cards right and I’ll be licking your candy cane.”

****

“No,” she muttered to herself as she scrubbed the mix that had splattered onto the kitchen floor, “I do not want to build a sodding snowman.”

Frozen was on again. Which was fine because it gave Katniss a brief respite from an over tired, over excited three-year-old who – in a moment of hyperactivity – tore around the kitchen and knocked over the bowl of cake mix. Katniss had watched in horror as it spun into the air and crashed down onto the floor, milk, flour and eggs slopping onto the tiles.

“Uh-oh,” Jesse had said and helpfully came over to stand in the goop in order to point it out whilst Ellis, startled by the crash, began to cry.

At that point Katniss just released a long groan and closed her eyes. Santa was coming tonight and they were all too excited to sleep which made them increasingly more irritable. Their lack of sleep was making her increasingly more irritable as well and so, after the bowl hit the ground, she shunted them into the den just to get them away from her.

It was just one more day, she thought, and then it was Christmas and soon all would be right with the world once again.

The cloth she was dragging against the tiles was now completely saturated so she reached for another one. Her tiredness wasn’t just due to the children though, she knew that, but had been compounded by other factors. One of those factors was answering the phone early this morning to Peeta’s mother who demanded that she speak to her son at once. Whilst Katniss waited for Peeta to come downstairs in what was the longest thirty seconds of her life, she was admonished by her mother in law for ‘keeping her baby boy away from her.’

After three children, five years of marriage and three years of dating the matriarch of the Mellark family had never warmed to Katniss. In truth, Katniss had never warmed to her either but it still stung that after eight years and three grandchildren that she couldn’t view Katniss as anything other than a gold digging opportunist.

Mother Mellark was at least all sweetness and light for those grandchildren though - even though she thought that Katniss and Peeta shouldn’t have actually had any – and for that Katniss was grateful. Katniss and her own mother’s relationship struggled after Katniss’ dad died and then when Prim died a deep gulf appeared between the two that they could never bridge. What made it sadder was that neither wanted to.

That meant that Katniss and Peeta’s children grew up with limited grandparents and the ones that they did have either hated Katniss or were indifferent to her. That included Peeta’s father who was kind but too hen pecked to do anything about anything. At least they have Haymitch, she thought and wondered how needy it meant she was that she had actively encouraged their older, alcoholic neighbour to bond with her children.

At least, she thought again, he loves them. And then as it often happened this time of year another thought crept in. Prim would have loved them too. It was that thought that was the most sobering. It was that thought that had Katniss kneeling on the tiles and staring at the mess on the floor. Her chin started to wobble and she wondered if this was where Ellis had gotten it from.

She was so focused on her thoughts that Katniss didn’t hear the footsteps until two little bare feet appeared in her eyeline. Not that she would have heard them anyway, that child was a ninja.

“Mama?”

Katniss shook away her memories and looked at Daisy’s worried face directly in front of her. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders where the Elsa dress, which had managed to get hit by the mix, was sliding off. Daisy buried her fingers into the blue material and twisted whilst looking at Katniss with large, concerned blue eyes.

“Mama?” she asked again.

“Hey Dais,” Katniss said with a gentle smile. “Mama’s just cleaning up.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy replied. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t, it’s ok.” And then because her daughter was obsessed with making sure that she was still on the ‘nice list’ Katniss added, “Santa’s still going to come tonight, don’t worry.”

For some reason that made Daisy frown. “I know Mama,” she said, with confidence that only a small child could have. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“Oh Daisy,” Katniss felt something inside her chest twist, “you didn’t make me sad. I was just thinking about Aunty Prim that’s all.”

Daisy nodded. She’d heard about Aunty Prim often, Katniss had explained how she was Mama’s little sister that she loved very much that Mama missed her terribly and got sad thinking about her sometimes.

“You love Aunty Prim,” Daisy said, in a matter of fact manner.

“I do.”

“Do you love me?”

Katniss put the cloth down and stretched out her arms to her daughter, who eagerly walked into them. Daisy rested her head on Katniss’ shoulder and Katniss wrapped her arms around her, leaning her head onto her daughters, their black hair mingling. “I love you very much,” she told her. “Very very much.”

“Do you love Jesse?”

“Very much.”

“And Ellis?”

“Very much.”

There was a pause and Daisy continued, “Even though he cries all the time?”

A little giggle escaped from Katniss’ mouth. “Yes,” she said, “even though he cries all the time.”

“And do you love Daddy?”

“Very much.”

“Ok,” Daisy said and Katniss could feel her nodding. It was as though she had a check list of questions that she needed to make sure she had asked.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“I love you very very much too.”

****

“This is it,” Peeta excitedly said to her. “Children in bed, the milk and cookies are prepared and presents ready for distributing!”

“Don’t forget to take a bite from the cookies,” Katniss told him. “Or from the carrot, you know how they like to think the reindeer have eaten too.”

Peeta saluted her, “Gotcha!”

Katniss sat on their bed, her back resting against the headboard as she watched Peeta put the final touches on his outfit. The Santa hat had just gone on and he was just about to place the beard.

“Hey,” she asked him, “could you come here a sec?”

“Sure,” and he shuffled over in oversized red pants.

“I love you,” she told him and grabbed the red tunic yanking him towards her so that their mouths met.

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes all soft.

“I love our family,” she continued, “all of them. I love watching how they grow and develop their personalities and seeing what they like and don’t like. I love it. I even think I love how Haymitch loves us. I think I love Haymitch. He’s family too.”

Peeta looked perplexed, “Have you been on the eggnog? I mean confessing your love for our family sure, but I think this is the first time you have ever said Haymitch is family.”

“Well he is,” she shrugged. “Sometimes I think it can all be too much but then I think it will never be enough. If that makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Peeta reached out and tangled a lock of her hair in between his fingers, the dark strand wrapping around his pale skin. “I get you.”

They had a moment of quiet, Katniss sat on the bed in her nightclothes looking up at her husband while he glanced down at her in his Santa outfit. Her heart felt full in her chest.

“You know,” she said coyly, “maybe later I could sit in Santa’s lap?”

A sly grin spread over Peeta’s face, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. “That could be arranged but I think Santa will want to know if you’ve been naughty.”

“Oh definitely,” she said, “definitely naughty.”

“I’ll put a word in at the North Pole.”

Katniss giggled and grabbed his tunic again to bring him down for one more kiss before he went on Santa duty. There was something she wanted to do and even though it wasn’t Christmas morning it seemed right to do it now.

“I have a slightly early Christmas present for you,” she said to him and stood up to meet him face to face, hooking her arms around his neck. He looked at her with open, happy eyes that were just as blue as Daisy’s.

“I’m pregnant.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by wildlyglittering

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dumbledearme · 6 years

Text

chapter nine: bellamy

~~ read The Most Dangerous Games here ~~

Eric was determined to whip them into shape, full of endless directions about what they should do and not do in training. Clarke, as Bellamy saw her now, was much more patient than him, and Bellamy was becoming fed up and surly.

During the next three days, unless they were asked to fight, Bellamy, Clarke and Rue would go from station to station, trying to learn everything they possibly could.

He had to fight the guy from 20 and won but not before his nose had been brutally smashed. The time he spent in the infirmary saved him from watching Rue getting beaten by a bigger girl. At least Clarke was spared in the next days, something Bellamy found himself incredibly grateful for.

It was only in that third day that Bellamy realized they were spending too much time together. It was easy to forget the situation they were in when she would smile at him, when those green eyes shone, when he could catch that look and couldn't know what she was thinking. He began to feel the danger of paying Clarke Griffin too much attention.

In that third day, she'd said something funny that hit him the wrong way. He caught himself mid-laugh realizing how much he liked her, how much he already cared. It was messing with his mind too much, being friends with her and then remembering he shouldn't be doing that. At least when they got into the Arena, he'd know where they stood.

Saying that to her hurt more than having his nose smashed by that Malcolm guy's fist. God, the look in her face, like he'd just crushed her dreams! He almost tried to take everything back, but Clarke stepped away from him and said tiredly, "All right."

After that, they didn't talk anymore. Bellamy wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration or affinity should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her in his eyes. The Games would begin in two days and trusting another person would be nothing but weakness.

The Gamemakers started calling them out of lunch for their private sessions. District by district. The tributes lingered in the dining room, unsure of what to do. No one came back once they'd left.

When it was Clarke's turn, she stopped at the door to glance at Bellamy and said, "You. Do good." And then she was gone.

Bellamy didn't know why she'd said anything at all. Although if he was going to lose, he'd rather Clarke won than the others... No. He couldn't think like that. It wasn't fair to Octavia. He had to win this thing. No matter what.

As the room emptied, the pressure intensified, and eventually, Bellamy was all alone.

After about fifteen minutes, they called his name. He smoothed his hair, set his shoulders back, and walked into the gymnasium. Instantly, he knew he was in trouble. They'd been here too long, the Gamemakers. Sat through twenty-three other demonstrations. Had too much wine, most of them. Wanted more than anything to go home.

There was nothing Bellamy could do but continue with the plan. He walked to the archery station. He chose a bow, strung it, and slung the matching quiver of arrows over his shoulder. There was a shooting range, but it was much too limited. Standard bull's-eyes and human silhouettes. Bellamy walked to the center of the gymnasium and picked his first target.

The dummy used for knife practice. Even as he pulled back on the bow he knew something was wrong. The string was tighter than the one he used at home. The arrow was more rigid. Bellamy missed the dummy by a couple of inches and lost what little attention he had been commanding.

For a moment, he was humiliated. Then he breathed out and headed back to the bull's-eye. He shot again and again until he got the feel of these new weapons.

Back in the center of the gymnasium, he took his initial position and skewered the dummy right through the heart. Then he severed the rope that held the sandbag for boxing, and the bag split open as it slammed to the ground. Without pausing, he shoulder-rolled forward, came up on one knee, and sent an arrow into one of the hanging lights high above the gymnasium floor. A shower of sparks burst from the fixture.

It was excellent shooting.

Bellamy turned to the Gamemakers. A few were nodding approval, but the majority of them were fixated on a roast pig that had just arrived at their banquet table.

And Bellamy was furious. With his life on the line, they didn't even have the decency to pay attention to him. He was being upstaged by a dead pig. His heart started to pound, he could feel his face burning. Without thinking, Bellamy pulled an arrow from the quiver and sent it straight at the Gamemakers' table. He heard shouts of alarm as people stumbled back. The arrow skewered the apple in the pig's mouth and pinned it to the wall behind it. Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

Well, he had their attention now.

Bellamy raised his hand and showed them his middle finger. Then he walked straight toward the exit without being dismissed.

The scores would be televised tonight.

Everyone was waiting by the hall downstairs, all the tributes, their mentors and even their stylists. Bellamy avoided looking at anyone as he went to stand beside Haymitch.

"Okay, just how bad were you today?" Haymitch whispered.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

Haymitch glared at him. "You what?"

"I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just... I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth," Bellamy said defiantly.

"And what did they say?"

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that."

"Without being dismissed?"

"I dismissed myself," said Bellamy. He remembered how he’d promised Octavia that he really would try to win and he felt like a ton of coal had dropped on him. What if this act of rebellion had cost him his only chance to get sponsors? Bellamy didn't want to, but as time dragged away he started to regret his short temper.

"Well, that's that," said Haymitch, not really helping.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" Bellamy asked very low so no one but Haymitch would hear him.

"Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage."

"What about my family?" The horrible thought came to him. "Will they punish them?"

"Nah. Wouldn't make much sense. See they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort. More likely they'll make your life hell in the Arena."

"Well, they've already promised to do that to us any way."

"Very true," chuckled Haymitch. "What were their faces like?"

Bellamy felt the edges of his mouth tilting up. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch. And I might have flipped them off before I left."

Haymitch laughed out loud and some people glanced at him.

Then everyone was asked to be quiet and the lights were dimmed. First they showed a photo of the tribute, then flashed their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally got in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players got an averaged five. Surprisingly, little Rue came up with a seven, and Clarke was given the lowest score: a shameful two. Bellamy tried not to feel bad for her; it wasn't his place. But it was hard hearing the Careers laugh at her.

Bellamy's face came up and he braced himself. Then they flashed the number eleven on the screen.

Eleven!

"There must be a mistake. How... how could that happen?" he asked Haymitch.

"Guess they liked your temper," he shrugged. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."

Next morning, Haymitch knocked early at Bellamy's door, reminding him there was another big day ahead. Tomorrow night would be the televised interviews. Bellamy guessed the whole team would have their hands full readying them for that.

Haymitch seemed in a pretty good mood but, after lunch, he took Bellamy into the sitting room, directed him to the couch, and then just frowned at him for a while.

"What?" Bellamy finally asked.

"I'm trying to figure out what to do with you," he said. "How we're going to present you. Are you going to be charming? Aloof? Fierce? So far, you've done well. You volunteered to save your sister. You've got the top training score. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide exactly what I can get you in terms of sponsors."

Having watched the tribute interviews all his life, Bellamy knew there was truth to what he was saying. If he could appeal to the crowd, either by being humorous or brutal or eccentric, he'd gain favor.

"What's the best approach?"

"Likable, I'd say. But that requires a natural sort of self-deprecating humor. Whereas when you open your mouth, you come across more as sullen and hostile."

"I do not!"

"Please. When was the last time you smiled, boy?"

Bellamy did his best not to think of Clarke. "Because you've given me so many reasons to smile," he countered.

"But you don't have to please me. I'm not going to sponsor you. So pretend I'm the audience," said Haymitch. "Delight me."

"Fine!" Bellamy snarled. Haymitch took the role of the interviewer and Bellamy tried to answer his questions in a winning fashion. But he couldn't. All Bellamy could think was how unjust the whole thing was, the Hunger Games. Why was he hopping around like some trained dog trying to please people he hated? The longer the interview went on, the more his fury seemed to rise to the surface, until Bellamy was literally spitting out answers at Haymitch.

"All right, enough," he said. "We've got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don't know anything about you. I've asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you."

"But I don't want them to! They're already taking my future. They can't have the things that mattered to me in the past."

"Then lie! Make something up!"

"I'm not good at lying."

"Well, you better learn fast. You've got about as much charm as a dead slug." Bellamy gave him his most deadly eyes. Haymitch must'd gotten the message because his voice softened. "Here's an idea. Try acting humble."

"Humble," Bellamy echoed.

"That you can't believe a boy from District 24 has done this well. The whole thing's been more than you ever could have hoped of. Talk about the comforts of the Capitol. How nice the people are. How the city amazes you. If you won't talk about yourself, at least compliment the audience. Just keep turning it back around, all right. Gush."

The next hours were agonizing. At once, it was clear Bellamy could not gush. They tried him playing cocky, but Bellamy just didn't have the arrogance and his ferocity wasn't elegant or inspiring. He wasn't witty. Or funny. Or sexy. Or mysterious.

By the end of the session, he was nothing at all. Haymitch started drinking somewhere around witty, and a nasty edge had crept into his voice.

"I give up, boy. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you despise them."

Bellamy guessed that was as good plan as any.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #the most dangerous games #fanfic #crossover #the 100 #the hunger games #divergent #maze runner #district 12 #dfcrosas

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