#Katniss changes her last name because I said so and I also think she would to start over in her life and be someone new | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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allaganexarch · 2 years

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@menzosarres apparently i desperately wanted to talk about this so akjsndkjasnd thg reread reactions under the cut

like—I started rewatching the movies bc I had a desire to revisit the franchise, but quickly realized what I actually wanted was the books I was just being lazy lol. I never had any great love for the movies, but the first two are okay--I’ve never seen the last movie because I couldn’t get past the *katniss hysterically screaming peeta’s name for 45 uninterrupted minutes* section. Generally there’s a lot of screaming and hysteria in the movies, where in the books there’s a huge emphasis for Katniss on not showing anyone how hurt/upset she is, and it makes the moments when she does break down much more impactful.

the writing style is very particular? which is interesting. idk how to really describe it except to compare it to a few bad knockoffs I read (i’ve read SO many knockoffs if you like formulaic ya dystopia hit me UP) that tried to copy it but infinitely worse, because there are some odd word/phrasing choices that work fine in thg but the knockoffs completely botched. You will def feel that you are reading a YA novel sometimes.

general story holds up really well so far, but I’m only halfway through the second one, and I remember a lot of mockingjay being unpleasant to read for multiple reasons. it still bothers me a lot how much the narrative puts peeta on a pedestal, often to the detriment of showing compassion to katniss; I think I’d like him better if anyone were allowed to dislike him or point out his flaws. the movies made him a lot nicer which I think might be part of why there are so many rabid shippers in the tags now? a few years back it felt like there was more of a mix of ppl who did and didn’t like peeta.

also on this point ig the author was like PEETA AND GALE ARE A METAPHOR and that setup is v clear to me already where I am now, where I think the obvious deterioration of their character arcs into pure metaphor didn’t hit me before until mockingjay. From my perspective at least currently it’s weird that she’s trying to set up a metaphorical contrast between them as there’s no clear delineation between how violent/peaceful/willing to rebel Gale and Peeta are. Oh and this is weird—in the movies Peeta says something like “if you die I won’t have anyone left that I love” and in the books he’s like “yo I have friends and family too that will be just as dead as yours if we fail [to convince ppl we’re in love]” which was an odd change to make I think lol.

A lot has been said about how that whole thing turns out and I’ll reserve judgement until I reread it but it’s just a shame that the author seems to abandon all this excellent showing of how these people process their grief and trauma in favour of the peeta metaphor, like idk how to tell you that katniss is never going to move on from what she’s experienced if she’s forced to raise children she didn’t want with the boy she didn’t choose in the bombed-out remains of her home where the only ppl she cared about are dead or gone, but yeah sure choosing peeta is choosing life and peace over war and violence. I’m more of a Gale fan in terms of the love triangle bc Katniss actually shows real interest in and camaraderie with him that isn’t motivated by ptsd, but I think a much better epilogue would have been letting Katniss rebuild her life and have some real peace and security before she even thinks about romance, as she repeatedly states she needs in the books.

SO much of the best stuff is left out especially of the second movie I feel, esp with the other victors, and I had completely forgotten the detail that Haymitch won the year of the last quarter quell when there were twice the number of tributes. I also think the part about them training like careers before the reaping is really important and idk why they left that out of the movie—it’s the reason their strategy is so different, eg. going for the cornucopia and basically becoming the dominant alliance when the game starts.

idk clearly I still have a lot of feelings about this series, and it’s a shame that when I went looking for some good meta posts all I found was pro-peeta/katniss drivel and sort of weird broad strokes designations about what this or that element of the book represented with no real nuance or evidence cited. maybe a solid feminist analysis of thg is too much to hope for in this hell world, but I feel there’s a lot to say there, and I used to love reading breakdowns esp of the love triangle metaphor—I’m a simple idiot and love a good stupid love triangle you see LOL.

but overall I’m very much enjoying rereading it and would recommend! it’s a pretty quick/easy read with cliffhanger chapter endings to keep you interested--if you do end up revisiting it would be VERY interested to hear your thoughts!

#personal

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bill-y · 3 years

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𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part two: Click here, bomburino tortilla pony horse.

Part three: You're here, my guy.

Part four: Click here, amigo

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

It didn't take long before I came home, my mother and brother was already dressed, and I was right, Kunal has been crying.

He immediately lightened up when he saw the bread, pushing the sleeves of my first reaping outfit (which was now his) back in order to munch on it.

"Don't worry, you only have your name once in the pile, you're safe," I reassured him, as I've done many times before.

I smiled, patting his head. My mother glanced at me, but I pretended to not notice. It's been long since we've talked, the last time was a disagreement, a petty one at that. About two years or so?

I honestly surpised myself, how can I go without talking to her for so long. . .?

Another trait my father passed on to me was a short temper, though I never lose my head and scream, but something about her words made me yell. Her face was full of shock when I did that, almost as if I've betrayed her.

"Don't be stupid like your father!" She told me.

My father isn't a stupid man, he was smart. Lady luck just wasn't on his side that day.

I took a bath, scrubbing the dirt and soot off myself. When I saw my clothing my heart stopped. It was my Father's.

It was simple, just as he liked. A white button up tunic, the hems made of elegant gold lace. The pants were loose, with garters securing on the hip and the hems, he never liked tight clothing, just like me.

My eyes went towards my mother, who simply nodded, "After you get dressed, sit down, won't you? Let me fix your hair," she said.

My mouth opened to protest, only to shut itself when she whispered a small, "please," My eyes softened, her voice sounded so guilty, she regretted her words, just as I did. She knew I could get chosen.

But I'm a coward, I don't like apologizing, something I inherited from her.

I nodded, and got dressed before I sat down, just as she told me. She began to braid tiny sections of my hair. I've never been good at it, really, It would always look messy when I did it. So I just looked messy everyday.

But her hands can do magic, it was like she was weaving silk, her hands full of grace and utmost care as she intertwined every strand of hair. I could feel her hand shake a little, as if scared with one wrong touch, I'd shatter like glass.

She used to sew clothing, make various artworks with whatever was in the house. Her hand was naturally delicate, soft to anything she makes contact with.

I bit my lip, none of us wanted to say it. We we're both thinking the same thing, though.

I never really liked cutting my hair, always kept it atleast neck length at best. I don't think short hair suits me at all, though it does get in the way while hunting from time to time.

Once she finished, without a word she pressed her chapped lips onto my forehead, she then walked away, leaving me with a pit of guilt in my stomach.

Such simple words, why can't I just say it?

I sighed, fixing my tunic and tucking it in, the garter snapping back, making me wince a little. It was stupid of me to let go.

I took a deep breath in, mustering all the courage I had to walk towards my brother, who has devoured the entire loaf. "Good?" I asked.

He nodded, a smile on his face, the crumbs falling down. I chuckled, wiping his mouth with my hand.

"You're like a bird, aren't you, little mocking jay?" I said, patting his head again.

He hummed, nodding aggressively, his hair bouncing up and down. I snickered, holding his head still with both my hands. I squished his cheeks together, making his lips form into a duck beak-shape. "Hey, Y/n,"

I rose my brows, humming. "I won't get chosen, won't I?" he asked. I sniffed, shaking my head as I linked our foreheads. "No, no you wont, Nal," I said. "If they call you, I won't let you go, alright?"

"You promise?"

"Of course,"

Soon it hit one in the afternoon, it was mandatory to attend this "festival", unless you're at death's door, that is. I found myself beside Gale, who patted my shoulder for reassurance.

Maybe it was obvious I'm stressed, tense. I'm not worried about myself, I'm more worried of them, especially Kunal. He's only twelve, yet he can still get chosen.

Some kind of festival this is.

I clenched my fists tighter, palms started to go white as I also clenched my jaw.

On the temporary stage stationed in front of the justice building was a podium, three chairs and two large bowls. The district is divided into two sections, jumbled across those two glass bowls, waiting to be picked up.

Twenty of them contained 'Y/n Greyback', one of them contained 'Kunal Greyback'.

There were also bright banners hung up, though I'm sure it was just there to taunt us, it sure worked for me. Everytime I look at it I start feel sick, hatred bubbling in my stomach.

The feeling of claustrophobia began to settle in as people piled into the square, the late comers having to just watch from a monitor instead.

"You alright?" Gale asked, nudging me. I gulped, sighing, "Course, I just —" I turned back, looking at my brother. "Worry of him,"

He gave me a sympathetic look, "He only has one entry, I'm sure he won't be picked," He said. Something I've been saying for such a long time, it didn't help settle my nerves.

"I know," I answered plainly.

We looked towards Katniss' place, beside her was Mardge, who gave me a curt smile and a wave. Out of politeness, I simply nodded back before turning back to the stage.

My hands grew colder each second, by two, when the mayor finally reached the stage, my hands were as cold as a corpse's.

Beside the mayor was Effie Trinket, District 12’s escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit. It looked quite ghastly.

Everyone murmured in worry, for whom was the empty third seat for?

The mayor stepped in front of the podium, beginning to tell the tale of Panem, how the twelve districts lost in the rebellion and now have to face punishment.

The Hunger games.

It was simple, each district would pick two "tributes" to this little game, and then they either kill like a hungry wolf or die like lost cattle.

I gulped, sweat forming on my forehead as I instinctively reached for the end of Gale's shirt. He held my hand, patting it a few times to let me know it would be alright.

He then began to read the victors in every hunger games. In the past seventy-four years, we have had exactly two.

Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair.

To say he's drunk would be an understatement.

The crowd responds with its token applause, but he’s confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.

The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever, she began to talk. I could feel my blood boiling upon hearing her obnoxious, Capitol accent. I tuned her out, gulping as my hands somehow grew even colder.

Please don't let it be my brother, anyone but him.

"Let's have the first pick, shall we?" She said, her voice at the end of the sentence practically sky rocketing up. She pulled a piece of paper from one of the Glass bowls.

My heart pounded, as if trying to escape my chest. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths in.

"Kunal Greyback,"

My heart stopped. Why couldn't it have been me? I had twenty, TWENTY entries.

I watched as my brother walked past me, his lip quivering, eyes glossy. Oh sweet, sweet Kunal, as delicate as a Lotus.

Kunal, the boy who gathers flowers every morning just for me.

Kunal, the boy who loves pulling on my braids.

Kunal, my dear innocent brother. Afraid of his own shadow.

I felt my own body move, launching myself forward. Gale called for my name, but I didn't care, no. I needed to get to my brother, I made a promise.

"NAL! NAL! NO!" I yelled, desperation evident in my voice as I pushed through the other people. "Y/n!" He screamed back.

Most of then gave me and my brother looks of sympathy, some gossiped. "Greyback," they'd whisper. "Another one bites the dust," they'd continue.

The peace keepers pushed me back, preventing me from reaching my brother.

No, not like this. He's still so young, he still wants to gather lilys by the front of our house, he still wants to create flower crowns for me to wear.

He still wants to breath, to live.

The mayor looked at me, recignizing me almost immediately. He didn't know me, no. Rather, he knew my father, the man he put under the execution block.

Oh mother, I'm sorry it had to be this way. It seems another one of your family members will die at the hands of the Capitol.

"I volunteer!" I gasped, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry.

"I volunteer as a tribute!"

Word count: 1.6k

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javistg · 3 years

Text

A Second Chance CH 3.

It’s been almost two years since I posted Chapter 2 but Chapter 3 is finally ready!

I want to dedicate this chapter to @mega-aulover, @567inpanem, @katnissdoesnotfollowback, @hutchhitched, @justajjfan, @thegirlfromoverthepond, @booksrockmyface, @albinokittens300, @animekpopxx, @alliswell21, @alwayseverlark, @nightlock-1989, @katnissmeowverdeen, @mandelion82, @norbertsmom, @rosegardeninwinter, @everybirdfellsilent, @thelettersfromnoone, @mrspeetamellark, @taylerwrites, @ameliaodair, @everlark-always, @emilia206 and everyone else who joined this year’s @everlarkficexchange.

Thank you all for bringing inspiration back into my inbox, for reminding me of how fun it is to create something and to share it with this wonderful fandom.

Also, @theeverlarkingmoose this chapter is for you. Your words of encouragement made me want to go back and re-read what I had written. Everything started falling in place after that ❤️

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

To read from the beginning, you can go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTER 3.

The tribute train speeds along, silently hovering over the tracks on its way to the Capitol.

Alone in her compartment, Katniss cries. The hope and joy from the previous day are gone. Sorrow and defeat fill her heart as she sits on the bed.

Clutching a bag full of frosted cookies against her chest, she tries to come to terms with the fact that the unthinkable has happened again.

Covering her eyes from the glaring summer sun, an effervescent Effie Trinket walked onto the stage and pulled Prim's name out of a giant glass bowl.

For the second time in her life, Katniss stepped forward and volunteered to take her sister's place.

The crowd parted to let her through. Prim cried. Gale carried her away.

A silent District 12 saluted their tribute. Haymitch interrupted the proceedings with his drunken antics, and a rattled Effie called out Peeta's name.

After finishing the Treaty of Treason, the mayor prompted the tributes to shake hands.

Sorrow, pain, and an unexpected dash of hope danced in Peeta's eyes as he looked straight at her and gently squeezed her hand. Comforted by the gesture she no longer confused with a nervous spasm, Katniss squeezed back.

The goodbyes at the Justice Building were just as bad as she remembered them.

Katniss had thought it would be easier. She had imagined that knowing she had a real shot at coming back would help her be more convincing, more generous.

She wanted to be kinder to her mother --who had already proven she was strong enough to keep on going while Katniss was away-- and to leave her sister with a sense of certainty, with a bit of hope to cling to.

But, as soon as Prim started crying, Katniss's fears took over, and her resolutions melted as quickly as a blanket of snow.

In the end, history repeated itself, and Katniss used up most of her time going over all the practical stuff Prim and her mother needed to know. Right before the Peacekeepers barged in, the three Everdeen women hugged and promised, once again, that they would try their best.

Once her family left, Mr. Mellark delivered his cookies. The baker was just as quiet this time around, but Katniss didn't mind. Instead of fretting over his intentions, she was grateful for his generosity and kindness.

The door opened again, and Madge came in like a whirlwind, holding out the mockingjay pin and talking about district tokens.

"I'll bring it back," Katniss promised as her friend leaned in to fix the bird to her dress.

Madge kissed her friend's cheek. "I'm counting on that."

Madge had barely left the room when Gale walked in.

His eyes were dark and stormy, but when he opened his arms, she walked straight into them.

Their breakfast that morning hadn't been as pleasant as the one she remembered. Instead of joking around and talking about escaping into the woods, Gale had been surly and quiet.

To Katniss's relief, he hadn't mentioned Peeta or her stroll around the Meadow the previous afternoon. It didn't matter. His contribution to the meal, a day-old tesserae grain roll that could have only come from the Hob, spoke louder than any words ever could.

Gale Hawthorne hadn't been in the mood to stop by the bakery that morning.

"Listen," he said, stepping away from their embrace to look at her face. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

Katniss smiled. There he was, her friend, her partner, the man who was willing to put his own feelings aside, like he'd done in Thirteen, to help and support her.

No matter what, Gale had her back. Even if he wasn't thrilled with her right now, he would keep her family safe.

"You know how to kill," Gale insisted as they discussed strategies.

"Not people," she muttered.

"How different can it be, really?" A grim remark uttered in a moment of despair. She had never liked it but, after surviving two arenas, it made her furious.

"It's incredibly different!" Katniss yelled. Anger and dread danced in her veins as she remembered where she was headed to. "I'd be killing a person, Gale! A person! I'd be erasing their thoughts, their dreams, their—,"

"Listen," Gale grabbed her by the shoulders, "Catnip, you can't think that way. Not in the arena. You need to remember, only one comes out, right?"

Only one. The words were oddly familiar. Numb, Katniss nodded.

"Say it,” he pressed.

"They have to have a victor," Katniss whispered. Looking up into Gale's silver eyes, she repeated, "Only one comes out."

"That's it, and you can be the one. You can be the one who comes home, back to Prim, back to your mother. Because that's all that matters, right? They are all that matters."

"Right."

Pulling her back into his arms, Gale lowered his head to her ear and whispered, "You can do this, Katniss. Just… promise me, you won't let anyone distract you."

Anyone. He meant Peeta, of course. But Peeta wasn’t a distraction, he was her mission.

Clinging to his embrace to soak up his warmth, she promised, “I won’t.”

A Peacekeeper walked in.

Always the nonconformist, Gale asked for more time. He was granted none.

"Don't let them starve!" Katniss cried out, panicked, as her friend was escorted out of the room.

"I won't!" Gale vowed. "You know I won't!"

XXXXX

By the time Effie comes to collect her for supper, Katniss's tears have dried up.

Resigned to her fate, Katniss follows her escort through the narrow, rocking corridor into the dining room where Peeta sits, waiting for them.

At the sight of him, Katniss's breath hitches. This is the Peeta she knows best. Capitol clothes, winning smile, and a touch of… heartbreak in his eyes.

That wasn't there earlier, Katniss thinks. What happened? As Peeta's eyes flit away, she suddenly remembers. His mother.

Yes, Mrs. Mellark just told her youngest son that he's not good enough to come back from the arena.

She wants to run to his side, to wrap her arms around him, press a kiss on his forehead, and soothe his pain away.

She wishes with all her heart that she could tell him that the Witch and her bitterness don't matter, but she can't. Instead, she bites her lip, takes the empty chair by his side, and waits for Effie to start giving instructions.

The supper comes in courses. The starter, a thick carrot soup, is followed by a green salad.

Katniss is reaching for the platter with the lamb chops and mashed potatoes when Peeta leans into her side and casually says, "So… when you said you'd be at the back…"

Surprised, Katniss glances back at him. The teasing glint in his eyes brings a smile to her lips. "I guess I meant the front," she says, stabbing a lamb chop with her fork and dropping it on her plate. With a coy shrug, she adds, "I confuse them sometimes."

Peeta's retort is interrupted by Effie's shrill voice. "Oh! Are you two friends?"

Katniss freezes, but Peeta quickly comes to her rescue. "Not really," he says, ladling a dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate, "we go to school together, that's all."

Effie takes this news with a polite nod. Just as they're about to finish the main course, she speaks again. "At least, you two have decent manners," she says. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

Katniss narrows her eyes. Over the last couple of years, she's come to appreciate Effie, but her comment still disgusts her. So, once again, she makes a point of eating the rest of her meal with her fingers and wiping her hands on the tablecloth when she's done.

Bewildered, Effie straightens up in her chair, pursing her pink lips in shocked disapproval.

Good, Katniss thinks with a satisfied smirk. Things are just as they should be.

XXXXX

Katniss's first day in the Capitol is almost an exact replica of her previous one.

Her prep team scrubs and strips every inch of her body, removing all her hair and leaving her like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.

Later, when Cinna walks into the room, Katniss rolls her hands into tight fists and, somehow, manages to stop herself from lunging into his arms.

XXXXX

The carriage ride around the City Circle is a huge success.

While Portia is busy extinguishing the last of the artificial flames, Katniss reluctantly lets go of Peeta's hand.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," says Peeta massaging his hand, "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," Katniss tells him. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," he replies, looking boldly into her eyes, "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."

Then, he does it again. He flashes her that smile, the one she knows he saves just for her, genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness.

Warmth rushes through her, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely. She used to feel so vulnerable whenever this happened --like Peeta was in control, and she couldn't trust herself around him-- but she knows better now. Peeta's not trying to manipulate her, he's just paying her a compliment, and he's damned good at it!

No warning bells go off. No thoughts of hidden agendas, or strategies, or games cross Katniss's mind. Only joy and affection propel her as she stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, right on his bruise.

XXXXX

When Katniss notices the red-headed Avox at the dinner table later that night, she doesn't even flinch.

With watchful eyes, she follows the girl's movements and tries not to think about Darius —or the way he looked at her the last time they saw each other in that same room.

Taking a bite of her cake, Katniss glances back at Peeta and wonders —just for an instant— if he ever saw what Effie called the "matching set" while Snow kept him captive.

The thought is too painful to even consider, so she stops poking at it and goes back to the conversation around the table.

Later, as she lies in bed looking at images of a slow trickling stream projected on her wall, she silently berates herself for her silence. Her original reaction hadn't really hurt anyone, but it had led to Peeta covering for her and showing her the rooftop garden.

She longs to go there now. It's the only place where she can breathe, and she's sure Peeta's there already, looking down unto the Capitol skyline. But how can she join him when no one in this timeline has shown her the way?

The answer is so simple it makes her laugh. The terrace isn't exactly hidden, and Peeta knows she's an illegal hunter who sneaks under an electrified fence every day. He won't question her if she says she just stumbled upon it while exploring the apartment.

Katniss steps into the cool, windy evening air. Twelve floors down, the Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. It's a familiar sight by now, but it still fills her with wonder.

Peeta's already there, standing by the railing at the edge of the roof. His eyes widen when he sees her approach.

"How did you find this place?" Katniss asks, trying her best to sound surprised.

"Cinna showed me," Peeta says. "You?"

"I did some exploring."

Katniss reaches his side, and they both turn to look out onto the skyline.

"You can practically see the whole city," Peeta says.

They stand there for a few minutes, enjoying the show of flickering lights, listening to the wind chimes behind them and the noises from the city below.

They're standing so close together that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. A little closer and I would smell his scent, she thinks, hoping she could wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shirt.

"A penny for your thoughts," Peeta asks.

Startled out of her reverie, Katniss laughs, "A penny? Is that the going rate in town?"

Peeta shrugs. "I guess. It's just something my grandmother used to say."

She's heard this before, back on their victory tour, but she still asks, "Which grandmother?"

"Grandma Mellark. She had tons of sayings, one for every occasion. She died when I was ten, but I still remember some of them." After a short pause, he asks, "How about you? Do you remember your grandparents?"

"No. I never met them."

Peeta turns towards her. The earnest curiosity dancing in his eyes tugs at her heart. "Never?"

Katniss shakes her head. "I know my mother's parents ran the apothecary up until a few years ago, but we never went there. I might have seen them on the street, but…"

"And on your father's side?"

"They both died before I was born. I don't know much about them, just that they knew a lot about plants and that my grandmother loved music. My dad used to say that she could remember any song after only hearing it once and that she had a beautiful voice."

Peeta's hushed words are almost lost in the din of the wind chimes, but they reach her all the same. "Just like yours."

She's about to contradict him but, when she looks up, her mind goes blank. Peeta's looking back at her with a tenderness and warmth that still haunts her dreams.

“I don’t sing,” she hears herself say.

"But you used to,” Peeta says, “back when we were little.”

It's almost like being back in the cave. Her skin tingles, her heart soars.

Flustered, Katniss asks, "You remember that?"

Peeta looks away. His cheeks turn beet red as he softly admits, "I do."

Her heart's hammering madly against her rib cage now.

For an instant, she thinks he's going to tell her the story again, the one about their first day of school and the teacher asking her to sing; but he does no such thing.

Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Peeta straightens up and pushes himself away from her and the railing.

Disappointed, Katniss turns away.

Deep down, she's also relieved. As much as she wants to regain the closeness she once shared with Peeta, she knows they're not ready yet.

Unlike her, Peeta doesn't know what their future holds. He likes her well enough, but they're training for the Games. He still needs to keep his distance from his district partner.

Satisfied that she's done plenty for one night, Katniss stretches her arms over her head and fakes a yawn. "We should get some rest," she says.

"Yeah. Tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day!"

Katniss laughs. Peeta's impersonation of their escort has always been pitch-perfect.

They climb the stairs together. When they reach the corridor that leads up to their rooms, Peeta whispers, "Good night, Katniss."

The words wrap around her heart, soothing her like no morphling ever did. She's still savoring them when she whispers back, "Good night, Peeta."

XXXXX

It's a little before ten when Katniss and Peeta step out of the elevator and into the Training Center. The other tributes are already there gathered in a circle around Atala, the head trainer.

As soon as the tall woman starts to talk, Katniss tunes her out. She's heard the little speech twice already. She doesn't need to listen to it again.

Beside her, Peeta lets out a small sigh.

He's frustrated, Katniss thinks. She considers reaching out to squeeze his hand but stops herself, knowing that Peeta probably won’t welcome the gesture right now.

She can’t blame him, not after the morning they've had.

The discussion over their individual skills at breakfast had been slightly less contentious this time around, but not by much.

After mentioning Katniss’s abilities, Peeta had still brought up his mother's hurtful parting words.

Katniss had been less cagey. She had managed to keep the bread incident out of the conversation, but Peeta's comment about the effect she had on people had —once again— raised her hackles. Not because she had felt insulted, lile the first time, but because she’d been reminded of everything she’d lost.

As she saw the old Peeta willing to give his life for her, she couldn’t help but think of the other version of him; the version she had left behind in District 13. That Peeta hated her. He had gone through hell and back to be with her and now he wanted her dead.

Who knows? She bitterly told herself after Haymitch dismissed them. Maybe this magical effect of mine doesn't last very long. Maybe, one day, the whole country will wake up and hate me too.

XXXXX

While Atala reads down the list of the skill stations, Katniss can't keep her eyes from flitting around the room.

Marvel. Clove. Cato. Fox-face. Thresh. Rue.

Her chest tightens. These are the faces that haunt her dreams. The voices that echo in her nightmares.

Katniss bites her lip to keep from screaming. Her palms are clammy, her heart is racing, but she doesn't move an inch.

This is the hardest thing she's had to do so far, and she needs to get it right. She can't let the others see her distress.

Slowly averting her eyes, she reminds herself, My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back.

Katniss breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

Her heart rate is almost back to normal when she finishes. I came back to make Snow pay.

She's still lost in her thoughts when Peeta nudges her arm and makes her jump.

His expression is sober. "Where would you like to start?"

Katniss looks around at the Career Tributes who are already showing off, clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons with a knife or an ax.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says.

"Right you are," says Peeta.

XXXXX

They spend their morning trying out different skills.

Now that she knows what type of arena awaits her, Katniss realizes that the stations are full of clues. The kinds of ropes they use at the knot-tying class. The mud, clay, and berry juices available in the camouflage section. They all seem so obvious now that she knows they'll be going to a forest.

When they reach the medicinal plants' section, Katniss stops short. The last time she was here, she practically skipped it, but she's on a different mission now, so she walks in and makes sure Peeta follows.

A big screen shows pictures of plants with a brief description underneath.

Katniss flips through the crisp images until she finds what she's looking for: the leaves Rue used to treat her.

"These are great!" she enthusiastically tells Peeta. "They fight off infection, bring down swelling, and numb the pain. They're handy when you've been stung by insects or bees. You have to chew them up into a pulp and spit them on top of your wound."

Peeta wrinkles his nose. "Spit them?"

"Yeah," Katniss confirms, "Otherwise, you won't release their properties. My mother would use other methods, but…" Lowering her voice, she adds, "Sometimes you don't have a lot of options when you're out in the woods."

Apparently satisfied with her answer, Peeta nods. After glancing around to make sure no one is listening, he whispers, "Have you been stung many times?"

"Only twice," Katniss admits, "I immediately pulled the stingers out and put the leaves on top. It wasn't so bad."

Peeta's eyes are locked on the screen as he says, "Maybe I should stuff my pockets with these if I ever find any in the arena. You know? Just in case."

"It won't hurt," Katniss agrees, holding on to the hope that he will do just that.

XXXXX

On the second night of her training, Katniss decides to go back to the rooftop.

Peeta is already there. He's sitting on a bench by the flower beds with a sketchpad propped up against his bent knee. The little bundle of pencils she gave him back in District Twelve rests by his side.

She can tell he's distracted, so she clears her throat to make her presence known.

"Hey!" Peeta calls out. He looks tired, but his smile is sweet and welcoming.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks.

Peeta pats the empty seat next to him, and Katniss walks over.

A small sigh escapes her as she sits down. Her daytime routine hasn't been as tiring this time around, but she's still beat.

"Nice pad," she says.

"It's Portia's," Peeta runs his fingers along the edge of the paper in a reverent caress. "She said I could borrow it."

Anticipating her next question, Peeta tilts the pad in her direction.

Katniss gasps. The angle of the image is one she cannot place, but there's no doubt in her mind, Peeta has painted her woods.

Reaching for the corner of the pad so as not to smudge his drawing, she asks, "Where is this?"

"It's the view from my house."

Katniss narrows her eyes, the bakery is in the center of town, but Peeta hasn't included any buildings in his picture. "Your house?"

"There's an attic that we use for storage. I like to go up there sometimes. It's higher than most buildings in the district, so you get to see all the way out into the woods."

Katniss stares at the drawing and tells herself not to cry, but it's not easy. Not when Prim and District Twelve are so far away, not when Peeta is opening up to her in ways he never did before.

"Do you like it?" Peeta asks.

The nervous tremor in his voice tugs at her heart; she reaches for his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I do! Peeta, it's extraordinary! Prim's right. You're very talented."

Peeta shakes his head and accepts the compliment with a quiet, "Thank you."

Letting go of him, Katniss settles in her seat, resting her back against the wall and stretching her legs. Nodding to his pad, she says, "Go on. Don't let me interrupt."

Peeta starts drawing again.

Katniss watches, mesmerized, as his hand dances over the paper, making the blank page bloom with delicate strokes of color.

They stay like that for a while, side by side on the bench, wrapped in peaceful silence, enjoying each other's presence and silently wishing for more time.

XXXXX

As soon as the anthem is over, Katniss makes a beeline out of the Training Center lobby and onto the elevator bank. Moving swiftly, she veers into a car that does not contain Peeta.

The crowd slows the entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones. Soon, Katniss finds herself alone with only other tributes for company. No one speaks.

The elevator stops to deposit four tributes before she's alone. One quick breath is all she has time for before the doors open on the twelfth floor.

Peeta has only just stepped from his car when she slams her palms into his chest and pushes him towards the wall.

Peeta loses his balance, but the wall breaks his fall. A few inches away from him, an ugly urn filled with fake flowers stands on its pedestal, untouched.

With Peeta safely out of harm's way, Katniss grabs the urn and smashes it on the floor, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Good, she thinks as she takes a step back, I've always hated the damned thing.

"What was that for?" Peeta says, aghast.

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss yells at him.

Before Peeta can say anything, the elevators open, and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia.

"What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice as she notices the broken urn and Peeta slumped form against the wall. "Did you trip?”

"No," says Peeta pushing himself off the wall to straighten up, "Katniss broke it after she shoved me."

Haymitch turns on Katniss. "Shoved him?"

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Katniss answers, "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"

"It was my idea," Peeta cuts in. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

The hurt in his eyes guts her, but she can't back down now. This is how she reacted the first time around, and as hard as it is, she knows she has to stick with it.

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she yells.

"You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!" Katniss says.

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she says.

Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived…"

As Haymitch prattles on about sponsors, Katniss tunes out. She doesn't need to be convinced of anything. She already knows their strategy is the right one.

As soon as Cinna steps into the conversation, Katniss softens. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she grumbles.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, eyes locked on the shattered urn.

Katniss fixes him with a deadly glare. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?"

As the words sink in, an old familiar darkness envelops her. This, right here, is what has caused so much pain between them.

Even after all this time and everything they've been through, she has never been able to tell Peeta how she feels about him. Just as she's never told Gale that he's nothing more than a dear friend.

This silence, this reticence, has hurt Peeta over and over again. It's the reason why he pushed her away after their first Game and why President Snow was able to twist his mind and convince him that she was a mutt programmed to kill him.

I need to do better, she thinks. This time around, I need to do more.

Feeling all eyes on her, Katniss turns to Cinna and asks, "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?"

"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

The others chime in, agreeing.

"You're golden, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."

Worried that she's going to burst out in tears, she forces herself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you."

"Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "The urn got it worse."

Portia and Cinna's goodnatured laughter diffuses the remaining tension.

"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch directing everyone towards the delicious smells wafting in from the dining room.

XXXXX

The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as her bare feet reach its tiled surface, she sees his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol.

There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns. Katniss knows she could slip away now without Peeta noticing her; he wouldn't hear her over the din, but that's not what she wants.

Her feet move soundlessly across the tiles. She's only a yard behind him when she says, "You should be getting some sleep."

Peeta starts but doesn't turn, just gives his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

She comes up beside him and leans over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. Squinting to get a better look at them, she asks, "Are they in costumes?"

"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." Turning to her, he asks, "Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says.

"Thinking about your family?"

"Not exactly," she admits a bit guiltily. After going through two arenas, she's not as worried about Prim and her mother as she once was. She knows they can cope without her. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."

Facing him, she says, "I really am sorry about before."

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta says.

"I was just upset that you would share something private like that…"

Peeta nods. "I know."

"And, also… I just don't get it. I mean, why would you give me an advantage like that? You're going to need sponsors too, you know?"

Peeta shakes his head. "It won't make a difference. I've never been a contender in these Games. Not really."

Katniss reaches for his hand. "Peeta, that's no way to be thinking."

"Why not? It's true." With the gentlest of touches, Peeta runs his fingers over the back of Katniss's hand. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and . . ." he hesitates.

With a small squeeze, she silently encourages him to continue.

"I don't know how to say it exactly," Peeta finally says. "Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?"

Katniss swallows thickly.

Once upon a time, she stood there and told him that she didn't understand and —most importantly— that she didn't care. But she's a different person now. She knows exactly what he means and why it matters.

Although she knows what he's getting at, she still needs him to complete his thought. Shyly, she asks, "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta.

Her chest tightens at his words. Being back in that moment with him reminds her of everything that’s gone wrong in her life.

Before her mind can wander back into the dark recesses of her pain, she says, "The thing is, Peeta, you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"OK, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?"

Katniss nods. She sees, she knows, she understands. What's more, she still can't believe she was ever so blind.

She inches closer to him so he can hear her over the ruckus of the city and the wind chimes.

In her mind, she repeats the little speech she's prepared for this moment. Every year they throw us in an arena and tell us to kill each other, and we do it. But there's a part, deep inside of us, that they don't own, a part that refuses to be pushed around and that will stand up and say, "enough, this is a line I won't cross."

But, once she opens her mouth, the words that slip from her lips are quite different, "I don't have a boyfriend."

Peeta blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"

Katniss bursts out laughing. "I'm sorry, I just…" Bewildered, she covers her face to hide her embarrassment and silently reprimand herself for losing her focus.

With a shake of her head, she straightens up. Her earnest eyes meet Peeta's. "I get what you're saying. They are forcing us to fight for our lives, but they don't get to decide how we go about it, right? We do. At the end of the day, it's up to us. We choose who to attack and who to help, when to face danger and when to hide. "

Peeta nods. "Right." Looking out into the sprawling city, he adds, "I just hope I can make the right choices, you know?"

Katniss sighs. “Yeah, me too.”

Leaning against the railing, Peeta tilts his head to look at her. The playful glint in his eyes is something she hasn't seen in a very long time. "So, you don't have a boyfriend."

Katniss shakes her head, chuckling at the absurdity of the topic.

"What about the guy who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"That's Gale."

"Uh-huh," Peeta's head bobs up and down as he nods. "And Gale is…"

Katniss looks up at him. He's so open, so pure, right now that all her thoughts about plans and strategies melt away. "He's just a friend," she says.

Peeta's smile forms slowly, warm and genuine, a little flirty even. It makes her whole body tingle. "Just a friend, huh? Does he know that?"

Katniss's jaw goes slack. Back in the day, she would have answered with a resounding "yes, of course, he does" but, that answer doesn't really fit the situation. She knows that now. So, instead of throwing her righteous indignation at him, she asks, "What do you mean?"

Peeta shrugs. "I don't know. It's just… I thought you had something with him."

Genuinely intrigued, she asks, "Why?"

"Um," Peeta fills his lungs with crisp Capitol air. As he pushes it out, he says, "You seem to spend a lot of time together. Whenever I see you around town, you're either with him or with Prim. I used to think he was your cousin or something. You favor each other. But then... there was the look."

Katniss frowns. "The look?"

"Yeah." Peeta's shy smile makes another appearance. "He kept glaring at me the other day when we met up by the Meadow." The shocked expression on her face makes him chuckle. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"Well," Katniss reaches for the end of her messy braid and begins twisting it around her finger. "I wasn't focusing on him."

Peeta's lips part, but no words come out.

Blushing, Katniss turns to face the city again. "Gale and I hunt together. Our families are close. That's it."

Peeta's gentle touch on her elbow gets her attention. Kind, soft eyes gaze straight into hers when he says, "You know, Katniss, what I said earlier—,"

Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses him, stopping his words.

It takes Peeta half a second to react. In one fluid move, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him.

His lips meld with hers in a slow, sweet dance.

After months of pain and sorrow, Katniss finally feels joy. Closing her eyes, she forgets the world and kisses him with abandon.

Peeta's free hand makes its way to the back of her head, where he buries his fingers in her hair to keep her there, rooted in his arms, anchored to him.

Elated, Katniss hums her approval.

This kiss is like the cave and the beach all rolled into one. It's like every happy moment they've ever shared together, every smile, every touch. It's like coming home after a long day, like finding her soul.

That familiar stirring inside her chest, warm and curious, comes back to life. It fills her entire being with want and need, pushing her to explore more. Blindly, she follows.

Holding on to his broad shoulders, Katniss pulls him even closer, pressing herself against his chest until she can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, beating against her own.

Smiling, Peeta begins raining kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

Her skin tingles. Her pulse races. Her heart soars.

I'll keep you safe, she promises, holding on to him like she did back at the beach, back when they were surrounded by mutts and enemies and lies.

With one long sigh, Peeta finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers while they both catch their breaths.

In that brief moment of glorious harmony only one thought goes through her mind. Peeta. Every heartbeat is like a reminder. He's back, he's here, he's mine.

Glancing up, she finds his eyes, dark and dazed, and she knows. Whatever this is, Peeta feels it too. He always has.

"Katniss—,"

"No," she interrupts again, placing her fingers on his lips to quiet him. She hates what she's about to do, but she doesn't have a choice.

She takes a step away from him and immediately feels lost. "You have a plan for tomorrow, right?"

Peeta's face falls at the sudden reminder of why they're there. He nods.

Reaching forward, Katniss brushes the hair back from his forehead in one last tender caress. "That's what you need to focus on, OK? Just think about—,"

"Staying alive?" Peeta finishes, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Katniss cups his cheek. "Exactly." Her heart skips a beat when he leans into her touch, but she still insists, "This doesn't change anything that happens tomorrow, Peeta. It can't."

"I know," he says, covering her hand with his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "It just changes everything that's happened until today."

Katniss bites her lip and nods. Peeta's right. Even for her, things are dramatically different now. There's so much more at stake. She knows where they stand, and she's no longer running away from him and the things he makes her feel.

Rising to the tips of her toes, she kisses him one last time. "See you tomorrow," she says.

Then, she walks away.

#things i write #A second Chance #Everlark fan fiction #time travel AU

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jlalafics · 3 years

Text

“Operator”-an Everlark Ficlet

For @mrspeetamellark, who wanted “Peeta’s dirty filthy sex talk”. Enjoy!

Katniss couldn’t believe she was doing this.

Delly had convinced her that this would broaden her horizons.

Apparently, that’s what she needed after a dumping such as hers.

Her year-long relationship with Cato had ended with a bitter fight and him telling her that she was bore in the bedroom. Then, he promptly informed her that he was moving out of their apartment to shack up with Clove, a little beast of a woman who had clawed her way up into Cato’s penis.

That was fine. The relationship had been going downhill months ago.

However, this was kind of a new low for her.

She went to the mirror in the corner of her bedroom, looking at her reflection and wondering if the black nightie was necessary.

Then, pouring a glass of wine from the bottle on her bedside table, Katniss pulled out a card with the scantily clad man on it and dialed the number.

It rang a twice.

She told herself she would hang up on the third, when someone suddenly picked up the line.

“Hello?” came a smooth, deep voice.

“Hi,” she croaked out nervously. “This is stupid.”

The man on the phone chuckled. “I hope not. It’s how I make a living.”

“Oh hell—I’m sorry!” Katniss slap her palm to her forehead. “I’ve never done this before, but my friend suggested it as a way to help me discover ‘my sexual goddess’—whatever the fuck that means.”

“Sounds like you’ve been going through something,” the man replied. “Want to tell me about it?”

“I’ve been living with my ex for a year and he just dumped me for a girl who will let him put it anywhere he wants.”

“Ouch. Sounds like a real charmer.”

“You bet,” she responded wryly. “I’m not too sad about it. I’m more insulted that he thought I was boring in bed. I mean, I would’ve let him put it anywhere, but some foreplay would’ve been nice. Also, being completely silent while I’m pulling out the big guns didn’t help.”

“Some guys expect women to just automatically go for anything,” the man said. “But I find that, in healthy sexual relationships, there has to be an equal amount of give and take.”

“Exactly!” Katniss took a sip from her glass and sat back against the pillows of her bed. “You seem like a decent person. Why are you working on a phone sex line?”

“Because I enjoy it,” he told her simply. “Also, this is just an evening job.”

“So, it’s like a stripper at night and paralegal by day kind of thing,” she replied.

The man chuckled. “Kind of. I have a pretty standard office job.”

“Me, too.” Katniss took another sip, her nerves beginning to relax. “So, how do we do this?”

“Let’s start with your name,” he told her.

“Katniss.”

“Katniss,” he repeated.

His voice tightened at the last bit of her name and she straightened at the change of tone.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, it’s just a very different name,” the man said. “But very pretty. I think I’m going to like saying it into your ear as you come.”

Her nipples immediately tightened at his words. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” He laughed roughly. “What pretty little thing are you wearing for me?”

“I knew you were going to ask that, at some point.” Katniss fingered the strap of her nightie. “I’m wearing a black nightie with lace along the top.”

“Sounds lovely,” the man replied. “Tell me; do you feel uncomfortable taking instructions?”

“Depends.” She smiled into receiver. “What are you going to tell me to do?”

“Give me a name,” he told her. “A name that means something to you. A name that turns you on. But I don’t want you to say it until you come.”

“Alright,” she agreed.

There was only one name that Katniss wanted to say.

He, however, was unattainable.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was low, and the timbre instantly electrified her…down there. “I can tell that you’re analyzing every single part of this call…what I must be thinking about you…what I look like—am I right?”

Katniss giggled. “Exactly.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I closed them.”

“I think that you’re a brave woman who’s taking control of her sexual life.” The man breathed against the receiver and Katniss shivered imagining his warm breath against her ear. “I’m blond, average height, with blue eyes. Imagine me in your mind.”

Katniss took a deep breath, the image of a man forming in her head. She saw him, undoing her favorite red tie, removing his black loafers, before lying next to her.

“I’m playing with the strap of your gown, Katniss…what were you doing before I came home?”

“Drinking wine…imagining what we would be doing once you got home,” she stuttered out. “I’m not good at this.”

“You were doing beautifully,” he assured her. “The tone of your voice…low…grounded…I bet you growl when you’re turned on…and I'd love to make you growl…”

Katniss felt the gush as her core pulsed at his words. She had foregone underwear and could see her arousal gleaming on her inner thighs.

“While you were waiting for me, did you touch yourself?”

Her fingers traced along the opening of her gown. “Yes…”

“Oh fuck—” He groaned into the receiver and the sound traveled straight to her cunt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Just thinking about coming home to you made me hard—” There was a grunt on her speaker, and she gasped at the image of him, cock straining through the zipper of his pants. “I had to close the door to my office and stroke myself to the thought of you…”

Katniss mewled into the phone, her hand traveling down between her legs as the other massaged her breast.

“God…”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he rumbled on the line. “I’m kneeling in front of you, open your cunt for me—”

“What?”

“Take those pretty little fingers of yours and use them to spread your labia, Katniss. I want to see that lovely hole…the one that I’m going to stick my fingers…then my tongue…and finally my cock—”

Behind her eyes, Katniss imagined this mystery man kneeling before her and using her index and middle finger, spread her outer lips apart to his hungry eyes.

“Mmmm…more…” She groaned into the phone. “I want more…please…”

“I got you—” Katniss could hear shifting and wondered if she was actually turning this stranger on. “You’re so wet for me, Katniss. I bet you taste delicious...go on…taste yourself.”

Losing herself in his voice, she lifted her hand to her mouth and stuck her fingers in her mouth.

“I can hear you sucking on your fingers.” He sounded desperate. “What do you taste like?”

She moved her fingers from her lips. “Light…but musky…”

The man moaned into the receiver. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” she growled. “I need you inside me.”

Her fingers went back to drenched core, moving along her inner lips, and dancing along her entrance.

“Undo my belt,” he commanded. “I can’t wait anymore, Katniss. I want you to pull out my cock. I want you to rub your cunt against my pants so every time I wear them, I can remember my dick ramming into that soaked hole of yours—fuck!”

Katniss took her fingers, plunging them straight into her core. “UH!” She lost herself in the motion, her hips jerking as she fucked herself—or in her mind, he fucked her—into oblivion. “I’m going to come…”

“Me too, baby,” he moaned. “Touch your clit, make yourself come for me, Katniss…”

Her hand went to her pearl, circling the peaked nerve, and she felt the crest of her climax in sight.

“Don’t forget…” he demanded. “Say my name…say my name when you come—”

Her whole body arched, tensing, before she crashed, and her hips bucked as the white-hot pleasure blinded her.

“FUCK—PEETA!”

She could hear his ragged breaths as her hips landed back on her mattress.

“Oh God…that was amazing.”

“You are amazing,” he breathed, almost tenderly.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the phone. “I thought that maybe my ex was right—that I was a horrible lay. But it wasn’t me. He just never inspired me…or made me want…you did.”

“Katniss?”

Her eyes opened slowly. “Yes?”

“It’s me—” He took a deep breath. “Peeta.”

She snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“Today is your 25th birthday.” Katniss shot up at his words. “Your office gave you a cake—chocolate with strawberries on top and almonds sprinkled on the sides, along with a bottle of wine.” Her eyes went to the open bottle of pinot. “My office is right across from yours—and I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you.”

“Peeta…” Her eyes filled. “Two years?”

“Two years,” he confirmed. “Delly told me that you and Cato broke up. I had to take a chance even if it was this.”

“Do you actually work as a phone sex operator?”

“No,” he replied. “Delly made that flier.”

“Damn her and her graphic skills,” she muttered.

“Do you hate me? For lying to you?” Peeta asked carefully. “If you ended up not calling, I was going to ask you out on Monday, but I understand if you never want to speak to me—”

“Peeta.” He stopped. “Would you really do all the things you said over the phone?”

“Fuck yes.”

Katniss laid back against her pillows. She didn’t want to wait till Monday to see him.

So, she told him her address.

FIN.

#Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #Rated E #request #unedited

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Hope Lies In Tomorrow

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Katniss is caught crossing the fence by peacekeepers. Serves time. Conditions of parole: employment nearby (busy bakery?) and reporting weekly to the parole officer (Haymitch?) Will she find anything to be thankful for this thanksgiving [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: M (Because, well, it will get to that status. There will be violence and mentions of abuse, and some characters are off canon.)

Author’s Notes: This story took me for a loop. I couldn’t resist it. I tried to make it light and fun, but it just wanted to be a freight train to the gut. The words “serves time.” I kept on getting back to that, and my imagination just took flight so much that the first two chapters are about 9.5K words. I promise chapter 3 will be a painful doozy. Special thanks to @norbertsmom.

Chapter One

The spotlight made Katniss wince as she distinctly heard Darius say, “Pluck a duck,” into the cold dark night.

“We caught a Poacher!” The young Peacekeeper said out loud. He jumped and clapped his hands like a preschool girl with pigtails who just won a prized sticker. He was one of the new cadets brought in for training.

Daruis was the new Head Peacekeeper. He earned the promotion when Cray retired. Darius also inherited the group of new Peacekeepers. They were eager rule-following Cadets.

“Everdeen!” Darius groused.

Katniss sighed. She kept her hands in the air. It was the perfect ending to the worst day. It started with the evil spawn of Buttercup peeing inside her drawer. Things got worse when Gale announced he wasn’t going to be able to join her tonight, and he wouldn’t tell her why either. Then this afternoon she discovered her baby sister, well technically, Prim was seventeen and taller than Katniss, but that’s neither here nor there, she was rolling in the hay with Vick Hawthorne.

Prim wasn’t supposed to be…. well…sex crazed. Katniss saw red, took a bucket of ice-cold water, and dumped it on top of the two idiots. Vick was fifteen and, like Gale, looked older than Prim’s baby-faced self. Needless to say, Prim was livid. Vick went home with blue balls. And the arguing match that ensued gave Katniss a massive headache.

However, finding her sister doing the equivalent of two goats breeding in Lady’s pen was nothing compared to their mothers’ reactions to Prim’s escapade. Euadora Everdeen backed Prim and said, “Prim was doing what came natural.” It was what came next that flabbergasted Katniss. “At least I have one normal daughter.”

It was the last straw, until this moment.

This day was supposed to go so differently. She’d woken up with so much hope then things fell apart. But she’d kept thinking, tomorrow, tomorrow would be a brighter day. Just get through today and tomorrow would be a better day.

“Katniss,” Darius growled.

Katniss shrugged. There was nothing Darius could do. If he had been alone, he would have looked the other way.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take you in.”

She held out her hands; she knew the drill. This wasn’t going to be her first time in the District Twelve lock up. In fact, as Darius pulled her toward the transport, and she quietly climbed into the back, this was all familiar. The last time was at that darned Harvest Fair five years ago.

“This would have been easier had you gone to the Fair,” Darius said.

Her scowl was instantaneous.

“What,” Darius said, jumping inside of the wagon while the young Peacekeeper closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Darius.

“I know, Katniss,” Darius was sympathetic. His communicator crackled with a voice that communicated a code. “Roger that.”

In the semi-darkness Katniss could see Darius teeth as he grinned.

“Old man Haymitch is going to throw the book at you.” Haymitch and she had a long-standing history. She stayed out of trouble and he wouldn’t bring trouble to her.

Haymitch Abernathy was the former Victor of the 50th Hunger Games and town drunk. The transition from a government run by one man, President Snow, to one run by a council with a true elected leader were the scariest months in Panem. No one knew what would happen. Fears of retaliation from the former government ran high. The word came down from the Capitol for each district to send a District Liaison.

Haymitch volunteered.

Turns out the drunken Victor was smart, wilier than anyone could perceive. Haymitch helped form the transition team to create the new charter between the Capitol and the Districts. When he came back, Haymitch could have been elected to become the mayor. He could have taken over the position of Head Peacekeeper, since Cray was from the old regime. Instead, Haymitch made up a position, the town Magistrate. Every district would have a way to fairly dispense justice, with the Peacekeepers relegated to do just what their name described keeping the peace. From town drunk to judge, this was the world of the new Panem.

Though Katniss would rather face Haymitch than her mother.

“Has your mother calmed down?”

Katniss grimaced. It all started with the initiative. Ever since the President went crazy and abolished the Games, calling it the Lucy Grey Baird initiative, and then promptly dying before anyone could change the law, her mother’s focus changed from reliving the past to finding Katniss a husband.

Her mother began railing against her plan to stay single. Mind you Katniss was only sixteen at the time and she could only focus on the fact that her baby sister would never again experience a Reaping.

Nope, not her mother, Eudora Everdeen, somewhere between her melancholy that ensued after pa’s death and the cancellation of the 74th Hunger Games, decided to become a holy nightmare, worse than any horror Katniss’s imagination could conjure up. Her mother tried to fix her up with various men throughout the district. Her mother’s sting about her single status was the last straw tonight.

“She’s stopped,” Katniss flinched; it wasn’t the entire truth.

Eudora hadn’t really stopped, there were introductions all of the time. There was Waylon, Adam, Zachary, Jackson, Hank, Lee, Hunter, Davis, Ashley, Samuel, Vernon, Beau, Elijah, not to mention Humperdinck, who was also known as the Goat Man. It was always the same pattern. A subtle introduction, followed by an invitation to tea or supper or both, a run in in the Seam or the Hob, before the guy in question lost interest and her mother went back to the drawing board. Eudora didn’t push, but she didn’t relent either. However, recently, her mother had been quiet. Katniss hoped after 5 years, her mother finally gave up.

“But?” Darius asked.

The transport shook as it began to move.

“Nothing.”

“You know, you’re a bad liar.”

“She doesn’t like me being alone.”

“That’s preposterous. I know plenty of women Peacekeepers.”

“You know we are talking about Eudora Everdeen?”

Darius grinned. “You mother did tell one of my new recruits she should leave her hair down because it would make her look pretty. She even asked me when my time was up and if I was interested in courting you.”

“Yup,” Katniss breathed, “that’s my mother.”

“So is it true she tried to pair you with Gale and even Gale got scared.”

“How do you know?” Katniss’ mother first picked Gale, who conversely, after seeing her mother try to manipulate them as a couple, was shocked. One good thing came off Eudora’s meddling. Gale laid off the entire, we-make-sense offer to toast angle, and suddenly became a perfect angel around her and the rogue doubled his efforts around other women to prove that he wasn’t interested in Katniss.

“You forget how small District Twelve is,“ Darius said looking tired as he rubbed his face.

He’s right. Twelve is the smallest of all the Districts. And nothing stayed buried, just like a piece of coal, it would be eventually unearthed.

"Gale said my mother was loonier than the Goat man when he got drunk on Ripper’s special liquor.” Ripper called her special liquor, the ‘shine.’ There were rumors the shine caused people to do strange things. Katniss wasn’t interested in drinking anything that wasn’t life sustaining. Her only thought was to keep food on the table and maintain the roof over her family’s heads. Just last summer she had to fix the roof all by herself. Drinking or marriage were out of the picture.

When Gale politely said he wasn’t interested in Katniss, her mother was upset, but said she understood that Gale only saw Katniss as a sister. Five years ago, Katniss hoped with her mother’s attempts thwarted, Eudora would give up getting her hitched. Little did she know it wasn’t over by a long shot.

Darius snorted. “Your name comes up every year."

"Ugh. I avoid that damned dance every year.” There were three main social events in District Twelve, where parents shoved their young for possible partnerships and couples did coupley things, The Spring Formal, The Harvest Fair, and the Winter Festival. The last of these major social events had been the Harvest Fair.

“Waylon still asks about you every time.”

Katniss groaned hearing that name again. He was Leevy’s brother, who was in Gale’s class. Waylon was the next on her mother’s list. Waylon’s obsession began slowly. He failed his last year of school and became a quasi-associate. He would show up at her locker and want to walk with her to class. At first it was nice. He was Gale’s friend and as long as he didn’t talk, she didn’t mind. When they graduated, he went to work in the mines. Katniss set up a booth in the Hob selling her jerky.

And for a time, everything was calm. Then he started coming to supper. He tried to become friends with Prim. Her sister thought him weird. Then one day, Waylon tried to kiss her. When she pushed him away, he chased her straight into the forest. Thankfully, he didn’t dare go into the woods.

The woods became her refuge. As soon as she knew Waylon was let loose of his shift at the mines, he would head straight to the Hob. Katniss would pack up her booth and run off into the woods. She began hunting at night to get away from him. Also, she sort of used Gale as an unofficial bodyguard to keep Waylon at a distance. Waylon was a sore spot in her relatively short life span.

“He does?” The words slipped out before they could be stopped.

“He’s got a thing for you Katniss,” Darius’ voice sounded full of mirth, “He’s one of many in the district.”

“If I weren’t in handcuffs, I’d deck you.”

Darius grinned. “He still shoots Peeta the evil eye.”

At the mention of Peeta’s name, her brain misfires.

Peeta.

Sigh, strong, capable, dependable, sweet, kind, lovely, delicious…always lurking in her dreams, Peeta.

That night at the Harvest Fair, every time she saw Waylon come her way she hid. Thankfully Peeta came to her rescue. He asked her to dance and afterwards he escorted her the entire time.

Oh, Peeta tried to keep her out of trouble. He was so nice, and she had no way to pay him for his kindness in rescuing her that night. Even four years later she could still recall every detail. He did admirably despite her lack of social graces, and inability to dance.

Katniss groaned in the transport, her head leaning up against the metal wall. Dancing with Peeta was heavenly, being with Peeta was indescribable, but Katniss shoved that feeling deep, deep, way deep inside of her, locked it up and only took out that memory in the dead of night. When she was alone in her bed, her fingers drifted to her lady parts and she sought relief from the thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him over and over.

She had a secret bond with Peeta, a bond she couldn’t shake. “Peeta,” her heart whispered with longing. Katnis hoped Darius couldn’t see how deeply she was affected by her baker. Peeta was the one soul in the district who knew her better than anyone else.

“So, it’s Peeta you have a thing for. Waylon’s not wrong in giving him the evil eye.”

Katniss scowled at Darius, causing him to laugh.

“I’d have to be drunk on the shine,” Katniss grumbled. She hoped to redirect Darius, he was so near the truth.

“Katniss,” Darius rubs his face. “Please don’t tell me you’ve drunk the shine.”

“No. Gale swears he has. He said it’s so strong it has the power to peel paint off the walls. Is it true…about you and the shine?” Katniss asked.

Darius became serious.

"So, it isn’t true. I knew Gale was lying."

Darius cleared his throat. "It made me hallucinate. There are things, Everdeen, you shouldn’t ever try.”

"Duly noted.”

The transport rolled, and another command came through the radio. Darius “What?”

“Star 451,” the voice answered back.

“Pluck a duck,” Darius whispered angrily. “Are you sure?”

His angry voice sounded out of control as if he wanted to hit something or someone. The atmosphere changed suddenly. It crackled with foreboding darkness. Katniss tried to ignore it, she knew she was in trouble.

For the rest of the journey Katniss wondered what was going on, what did that Star 451 mean? Katniss noted Darius became quiet, and sullen; all the traces of humor left his face. Darius stopped looking at her as if he couldn’t face her. Finally, the transport came to a halt.

“We’re here.”

Katniss winced, thinking of Haymitch Abernathy, and the uncertainty that faced her outside of the transport.

“Wait for me to get down before you get up,” Darius bit out as the door opened and the cold wind caused Katniss to shiver.

Katniss wrinkled her nose. Haymitch was going to be a pain in the neck. The last time she’d been before him things were not pleasant. When she got down, her eyes widened. They weren’t at the Justice building. They were at the Victors Village.

It was one thing to stand in the Justice building, a cold sterile edifice made of white stone. It was another to stand inside of a home. “Darius?”

The transport moved on and there was another waiting, one that did not have any insignia on the side. It was black and it reminded Katniss of the one they used to transport the corpses of the deceased.

“Come on,” Darius said gently, once more avoiding looking at her.

Katniss nodded. She wasn’t someone who let things affect her. She didn’t scare easily, this however, put pure fear in her heart.

Darius escorted her inside of the massive house and guided her into a room by the side. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace. The warmth stung her cold skin. There was a dark wooden desk, two comfortable chairs, and another pair facing the fireplace. “Sit.”

Katniss sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Give me your hands, Katniss,” Darius said.

Katniss lifted her trembling hands.

“What did I tell you ‘bout keeping your nose out of trouble, Sweetheart?” Haymitch grumbled from the door.

Katniss masked her fear.

Four years ago Gale was sick and couldn’t attend that darned Harvest Fair. Katniss needed a way out, thankfully Peeta rescued her.

Everything was splendid and at one point while staring into his gorgeous blue eyes Katniss was breathless. It was toward the end of the night when his mother, the witch, pulled him away and that’s where all hell broke loose. Accidentally, in her haste to get away from Waylon, a small fire started when one of the glass lamps fell, and broke. Several bales of hay caught fire. It somehow escalated and concluded with a goat stampede down the center of town.

Her mother blamed Katniss for embarrassing Waylon and his family, and basically setting the fair on fire. Haymitch told her mother that her unfettered meddling would one day cause the destruction of all she held dear. Eudora Everdeen was not amused, nor was she happy with the outcome. Haymitch let Katniss go with a slap on the wrist because her only criminal act was trying to flee the unwanted attention of a man. Plus, thanks to Peeta’s quick thinking, it was only the stage that burned. He and his brothers managed to get the fire out and they built another stage, how they did it in one day, Katniss didn’t know.

She kept away for the rest of the Harvest Fair, thinking it was better not to remind the community of her stupidity. She’d been lulled under Peeta’s spell. She’d done more than dance and start a fire at that fair. Heat rose from the pit of her belly and flowed to her core and spilled on to her cheeks.

The sound of a chair being scraped on the wood floor caused her bubble to break. Katniss shook her head. Her eyes came back into focus to the present.

“Darius, you can wait outside. Katniss isn’t going to do anything stupid,” Haymitch turned his grey eyes toward her, “are you?”

Katniss shook her head no.

Darius nodded and walked outside, closing the door.

Katniss didn’t even bother rubbing her wrists. She balled her hands and rested them at her side.

“You’re probably wondering why you got caught?”

She hadn’t really. Katniss thought it was just a routine inspection. There were bears in the woods and just one week ago the electric fence had been damaged.

“Your mother.”

“What?” Katniss growled. Her lips thinned her anger skyrocketing. Then she thought for a second it couldn’t be. “She wouldn’t…”

“She did, and there wasn’t anything Darius or I could do. We had to arrest you?”

A combination of bitterness and sadness swept into her soul like the bitter winds that brought the frigid winter air. It was one thing to try to get her to marry; it showed that her mother cared. However, handing her over to the authority showed Katniss that her mother had fallen out of love for her. Can a mother un-love a child? It could happen, she supposed, thinking of Peeta’s mother, the witch. That woman only cared for one person, herself.

“Sorry Sweetheart, Darius tried to dissuade her. She said it was time for you to learn what the real world was all about. But instead of leaving it with me and Darius, she went to the Justice building and filed a complaint with Panem’s Bureau of Justice. She got Seneca Crane’s underwear in a twist. He’s demanding you pay for your crimes.”

Katniss gasped. Seneca Crane was from the old regime. He was the Head Gamemaker of the 74th Hunger Games. His arena was never used. The man was so twisted and evil that he was merciless with those who came under his thumb, and she was one of them. Katniss wondered how someone like him still had power in this new Panem.

There was no doubt in her mind she was going to serve time. Those who served time were often sent away to another District. She could be sentenced to District Eleven to work in the fields, District Two to work in the mines, or work in District Four in the fish processing plants doing the lowest of menial jobs. “How much time will I be sentenced?

“A year Sweetheart, you can get out early for good behavior, come back here and work the rest of your sentence as a parole.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d never been away from home, never was tempted to escape into the wilds of the forest. Now she was going to be carted out in the middle of the night. She was a blemish to society, unwanted, a problem for her mother. A solitary tear rolled down her face.

Katniss didn’t need handcuffs any more; she was about to be branded as undesirable.

Darius quietly walked in with the machine. They slid her hand in the machine and she cried as the skin of her wrist was seared with an imprint. Cradling her hand she read *451. Now she understood.

“I’m sorry Katniss,” Darius whispered.

Two heavy set men dressed in black came in and pushed her inside of the waiting black transport.

Chapter Two

Peeta whistled.

“You’re in a good mood,” Norma Jean, his brother Graham’s wife said.

Norma Jean was his favorite sister in law. Graham had fallen head-over-heels for her. It was funny because before Norma Jean, Graham’s type were tall statuesque thin blondes. Norma Jean was short, and as she put it, rounder than an apple. She was also sweeter than the candy she and Graham sold at the confectioners’ shop.

“I am.” He couldn’t help himself.

Today was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, one because the bakery closed early, and two because Katniss always came by on Saturday to trade with him. No one else. Peeta knew for certain Katniss didn’t trade with anyone else but him.

“Well it’s my favorite day.”

Norma Jean grinned. “Is it because of a certain huntress?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her belly, she was heavily pregnant. She was sniffing the air. When pregnant, Norma Jean had the ability to identify different herbs by smell. Her nose was that good.

Peeta kept quiet and wondered how long it would be before she sniffed the cheese buns he had hidden in the back.

“Have you heard from Rye?”

Peeta grinned. “He’s back in District Two.”

Rye was the reason Peeta had inherited the family bakery. With Graham married to Norma Jean, their mother thought Rye would take over the bakery, leaving Peeta out of the inheritance. Then, one-and-a-half years ago Rye announced he wanted to be a Peacekeeper. Nothing their mother said or threatened dissuaded Rye from becoming a Peacekeeper.

“He’s great actually, talked to him last night.”

“Graham’s still upset with him. He didn’t want Rye to sign up to a twenty year commitment to be celibate to serve home and country.”

Peeta recalled. “You know how Rye gets when he wants something.”

“Yeah.” Norma Jean nodded.

“His training is over, and he’s waiting for his assignment. When we were talking at least ten guys came by to say hello.” Peeta had gotten to know the guys in Rye’s squad. They were from all over Panem.

“Good, I am glad.”

“Won’t Graham miss you?”

“Nope, my sister Virginia is helping him set up; the boys were fast asleep.”

“You do realize today is Saturday and they’re up early on Saturday.” Peeta said.

“Exactly, no one bothers the sweet shop at six in the morning, nine maybe, but six…only those who are craving stuff like me…now, hot buns, give me one of those treat’s you’re saving for your huntress,” Norma Jean demanded.

Peeta shook his head. “I would never deny you anything.”

He walked into the back whistling and grabbed two of the cheese buns he’d saved for himself to share with Katniss.

“For you,” Peeta said, bowing slightly.

“I haven’t seen you like this since that Harvest Fair?” Norma Jean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Peeta said.

“You can’t lie to me, Peeta,” Norma Jean said, narrowing her eyes, one fist curled around the cheese bun.

“You’re right,” Peeta said.

“So, it is Katniss,” Norma Jean said.

Peeta could feel the heat raising up to his cheeks. He looked at his reflection in the smooth surface of the metal case; he looked ruddy.

After they graduated, Katniss set up her shop in the Hob. Her jerky was a favorite amongst the residents. Katniss had enough coins to buy everything she needed. She could buy bread, but she didn’t. Their friendship began slowly. At first it was a slight nod, with her cheeks so rosy she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

The Harvest Fair changed everything. They’d been a little tipsy as a result of the hard apple cider Greasy Sae offered them. She’d pulled him into Mr. Plover’s blacksmith and horse barn and kissed him. The kiss got out of hand and one thing led to another. Soon they were in one of the empty horse stalls and tearing their clothing off. Katniss had given him her virginity and he had given her his. When they walked out hand in hand Peeta couldn’t help the goofy grin on his face. He would never forget how soft her eyes looked.

Then his mother came looking for him, and everything became a nightmare. Peeta advocated for Katniss, got his brothers and his friends to clean up and rebuild the stage. Katniss was arrested, and the community shunned her. They took Waylon’s side, no thanks to Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss had never attended another social event after that.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Norma said excitedly.

“Well.” His eyes went to the store front. Mrs. Bernelle came into the store. With Thanksgiving tomorrow Peeta expected a brisk business today.

“Hello Mrs. Bernelle,” Peeta greeted.

“Hello Peeta, Norma Jean.”

“Hello,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her stomach.

“You’re due any day now?” Mrs. Burnelle said warmly to Norma Jean.

“ Just about.” Norma Jean smiled warmly.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Burnelle,” Peeta said, wanting Mrs. Burnelle out of the store so that he could speak to Norma Jean.

“May I have a dozen of your dinner rolls, but only the freshest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peeta said, grabbing a brown paper bag. He quickly dispensed the rolls.”

Mrs. Burnelle smelled the bread, “These smell delicious,” she leaned over and with a mischievous lilt in her voice. “Don’t tell you father, but you are the better baker.”

“I won’t,” Peeta laughed. “Is that all for today?”

“Yes.” She had the exact amount. She put it on the counter. “Thank you Peeta and Happy Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving became a national Holiday after the treaty between the Capitol and the Districts was ratified as law. A day for both sides to come together and celebrate everlasting peace and tranquility and celebrated with a big meal. Normally the Capitol sent all of the Districts a parcel with some sort of treat. Each year a District was selected to make a parcel to send to the Capitol. District Twelve had yet to be selected.

“Thank you, you too,” Peeta said. He waited until the door was closed before he turned his attention back to Norma Jean.

“Whatever you have to tell me has got to be really good for you to be acting like you did four years ago?”

Peeta sighed happily.

“Did something happen between you two?”

Norma Jean knew all. Peeta confided in her. When Katniss didn’t show up that Saturday after the Fair, she encouraged him to seek out Katniss. Peeta gathered his courage and found her at the Hob. She looked like hell and she wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes. Peeta found out from Greasy Sae, no one was buying her jerky.

Peeta brazenly bought her jerky and told her he’d run out of squirrels. Then he sent Norma Jean, and Norma sent Rye, and Rye sent Delly to buy her jerky. Delly sent someone else and so forth. There was no way he was going to allow the people of District Twelve to turn their backs on Katniss.

The following Saturday he found a package at his doorstep. Norma Jean packed up some bread and told him to pay her for her game meat. He’d gone down to the Hob and put the bread on her table and told her she’d forgotten her payment before he walked away.

This went on for weeks until she came by and shyly waited to make the exchange. Every Saturday he’d do his best to tamp down his own yearnings because Katniss needed a friend. He made it his mission to befriend her. Like a flower blossoming she opened up to him.

Peeta remained tight lipped.

Mrs. Evangeline walked into the shop.

“Good Morning Mrs. Evangeline,” Peeta greeted, but he could see Norma Jean wanted to shove the nosy woman out of the bakery.

“Hello Peeta,” Mrs. Evangeline said with her list in hand. She nodded at Norma Jean. This morning Mrs. Evangeline was in battle mode. “I am in a rush this morning. I have to get to the butchers before the best cut of meat is taken,” she muttered.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My daughter is coming home with her new husband and I need her favorite bread, a baguette.”

“Oh yes, I remember Rosalee loves the sourdough with Mrs. Caries strawberry preserves.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Evangeline said. “May I also have a loaf of the sourdough?”

“Absolutely,” Peeta said.

“Thank you Peeta, you always remember everything,” Mrs. Evangeline gushed.

“It’s no problem,” Peeta smiled but he saw Norma Jean’s impatience.

“So, when you are due?” Mrs. Evangeline asked Norma Jean.

“Any day now,” Norma Jean answered.

Peeta bagged the baguettes and the loaf of Sourdough. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Evangeline. “How much?”

“Ten credits,” Peeta said.

Mrs. Evangeline took out her credits and paid Peeta. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.”

“Thank you, you too.” Peeta waved as Mrs. Evangeline left.

“Finally,” Norma Jean exclaimed.

Peeta shrugged not wanting to give anything away.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Norma Jean huffed.

He feigned innocence.

“Okay hot stuff, what happened? And don’t spare any details. I know Katniss has been coming here every Saturday for the past three years.”

Norma Jean wasn’t wrong. Katniss had been coming to the bakery every Saturday. She’d knock on his door precisely at nine in the morning. They would talk and sometimes she’d linger to drink tea. Recently he began showing her some new recipe he’d been working on.

Peeta grabbed a cleanser and a squeegee and wiped down the counter.

“Uh-uh…none of those diversionary tactics!”

Peeta put his hands in the air.

“Go on, what happened?” Norma Jean fixed with him the mommy glare.

“We kissed,” Peeta whispered.

“What,” she screeched. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Okay, more!”

“Katniss came to the door, we traded, we drank tea. I introduced her to my newest creation. These cheese buns. And I saw that same sparkle in her eyes, as the night of the Fair. I do not exactly know how it happened. But we kissed.” How precisely their lips met Peeta was still fuzzy on that, but he did recall the desire and longing that shot through him like the fireworks that lit the sky at Thanksgiving. Her lips were soft and warm, and he marveled once more at the taste of wild berries, sweet and tart, crisp and delicious.

“Good for you,” Norma Jean said. “Are you guys going to talk today, going to, you know, talk about getting together?”

“I hope so. I’ve waited so long for her to see me, and not just as a friend.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Norma Jean said. Her eyes looked past him above him at the clock, and she groaned, picking up her packages. “I’m late, I have to drop this off at your mother’s house.”

“Good luck,” Peeta grinned.

“Nothing to it,” she rubbed her expanded belly. “Your mother is always rainbows and hearts when I’m pregnant. She keeps on expecting a girl. Sadly, I keep on producing strong Mellark men, much to your father’s delight. He loves his grandchildren. But not as much as your brother loves to keep me fat and round.”

“Norma Jean, you’re not fat,” Peeta replied.

“And that’s why my wife prefers you over me.” Graham came into the shop with his twin boys, one in each arm. Their other child was wrapped around his ankle.

Norma Jean patted Peeta’s hand. “Graham is the grouchy one and Rye is the wild one and you, Peeta are the good Mellark. You’re the hot goods every girl in District Twelve wants to get her grubby hands on, but only one can have.”

“Please don’t call my baby brother hot in front of me,” Graham whined.

Norma Jean grinned wickedly. “Sorry Graham we both know that even Rye with all of his wild ways isn’t as hot as Peeta.”

“Evil woman,” Graham said, handing one of his boys to Peeta.

“Hey buddy!” Peeta grabbed Malcom and tossed him in the air.

“Uncle Peeta,” his twin brother Marvin shouted. “Me, I’m next.”

Martin who was wrapped around Graham’s ankle popped up, “Me too, me too.”

Peeta loved his nephews.

“Boys,” Norma Jean said with that firm mommy voice they listened to.

“Yes mama?” All boys said with rapt attention.

“Your uncle is working. He will wrestle with you tomorrow,” Norma Jean said.

All three boys nodded their pale blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Here’s a cookie for each of you,” Peeta said, taking three plain cookies out. Norma and Graham were careful about the sugar the kids ate. “Why don’t you guys sit at the table and eat the cookies?”

All three of them scampered to the table and sat, eating.

“So if uncle Peeta comes over then maybe mommy and me can…”

“Nope,” Norma Jean said. “Peeta and mommy have serious girl stuff going on.”

“Seriously,” Graham settled his eyes on Peeta. “What the heck? What kind of pull do you have over the ladies?”

“I told you Peeta’s the hot one,” Norma Jean winked. But then placed a playful kiss on Graham’s lips.

Graham stared lovingly into Norma Jean’s eyes then turned to Peeta and playfully growled, “She’s mine, all mine.”

“I know,” Peeta shrugged. “Besides, she’s not my type.”

“I’m not,” Norma Jean said. Then she stood on tiptoe to place a small kiss on Graham’s chin. “If we leave the kids today at grampa’s, maybe we can have a private chat about my candy shop, after we close at noon?”

“Oh,” Graham said, his voice brightening.

Peeta was grossed out by the innuendo.

“Okay, Mellark Clan, march out,” Graham said. “We’re going to grandpa’s.”

The store emptied of his brother’s family, but then the customers came in filling the store for two solid hours. As the time neared 9 o’clock, Peeta started whistling.

Nothing could get him down.

He had the tea prepared, he had cream, and plenty of sugar. Peeta grimaced. How Katniss could drink her tea that way, he didn’t know, but Katniss loved her tea with loads of cream and sugar. He whistled as he wiped down the display cases.

He looked at the clock, 9 o’clock. His gut twisted, anticipating her soft knock. But it didn’t come. He put his cloth away and walked to the back door.

He opened the door looking to see if he could spot her trademark bag or braided hair. He worried something was wrong. Katniss wouldn’t have stayed away. He knew kissing her could have been a mistake and maybe she was regretting the kiss. Peeta shook his head. This was different. Something felt off and he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t put his finger on it either.

Peeta looked at the clock, she was fifteen minutes late. Katniss was never late; she was alway punctual. He was truly worried, maybe she’d gotten into another argument with her mother over her single status. Mrs. Everdeen was dogged in her search for a husband for Katniss. All of the men Mrs. Everdeen picked for Katniss were strong minded individuals. Men who liked to be in charge. Peeta chuckled, Katniss didn’t need a domineering guy. Anyone with her same fire would cause them both to combust.

These four years Peeta had gotten to know Katniss, and from what he gleaned she needed someone who treated her as equal or someone to balance her fire. Someone who understood the value of partnership. Peeta hoped he was that man for her.

He once more looked at the clock and another five minutes went by. Foreboding crept inside of his being, causing the hairs of his neck to stand on end. The last time he felt that was right before the fire. Something was wrong.

“Where are you, Kat?” Peeta asked. He had half a mind to close the shop and walk to her home in the Seam.

The bell to the front door rang. He sighed then went to the front. Though his mind was made up, he was going to close up shop and head to the Seam as soon as he finished with the patron waiting for him.

“Dad?”

“Son,” his father glanced at him and there was concern in his eyes.

His father hardly came to the bakery now that he had retired. His parents moved to a house just outside the central market. His father enjoyed gardening and canning. He enjoyed his little group of other gardeners. His mother didn’t like the sedate life but she didn’t really have much of a say.

“What’s going on dad?”

“I came to check on you,” his father searched his eyes.

“Dad, you’re acting weird,” Peeta said, frowning.

His father was uneasy, his feet shifted, his hands were buried deep in his pocket, and there was something about the way that his dad looked at him reminded Peeta of the day that his dad sat him down and talked about what it meant to be the third son of a baker. It was one of the hardest conversations they’d ever had. Peeta loved the bakery, loved the smell of yeast, and yes even though he didn’t like the heat, he loved the smell of the hot ovens. There was something immensely enjoyable about seeing the awe and wonder in a customer’s face when he delivered a cake for a special occasion.

He hoped one day to see that same awe and wonder in Katniss’ face, if he could only find her talk to her.

His father cleared his throat.

“What is it dad?” Peeta said, walking to the shop door and flipping the sign from open to close. He closed the door. Peeta squared his shoulders waiting for whatever news his father had for him.

“Son,” his father drifted off. He closed his eyes then said, “…it’s about Katniss…”

“What about Katniss,” Peeta couldn’t believe how calm his voice was. He should have been freaking out. His father knew how important Katniss was to him, though he didn’t know the extent of their friendship.

“She’s been arrested.”

That feeling in his gut that told him Katniss wasn’t okay, caused Peeta’s senses to sharpen. He needed to help her get out of trouble. He stalked to the cash register as if it was his mortal enemy, opening the drawer he took out all of the credits and emptied it into a bag. “I’m going to Darius; what’s her bail?”

“She was caught last night in the middle of the night, with squirrels, poaching.”

Peeta’s heart stopped beating. She’d been hunting for him. At least now he knew Katniss wasn’t running from him. His mind quickly formulated a plan. He walked to the back and put his coat on. As he walked, he talked, “Fine I can talk to Haymitch, tell him why.”

“Son,” his father’s grave voice let Peeta know there was more. His father put his hands on his shoulder. Peeta was still. He didn’t want to know more but he knew he needed to listen. “Her mother.”

“What has she done now?” Peeta didn’t wait; he shook his head. “No, I need to see Haymitch.” Peeta ran out of the back door and speedily ran to the Justice Building. He tore up the stairs taking them two at a time. She’d spent the night in jail.

He didn’t even bother talking to Haymitch’s assistant Anna.

“Mr. Mellark, you can’t go in there,” Anna stood.

Peeta had never been uncourteous to anyone. He was always kind, always aware of other’s feelings. It’s why his mother thought him soft, but he wasn’t really. Not when it came to Katniss. He loved her, and for Katniss he would give up his life.

“Anna,” Peeta growled, and her eyes opened wide as if she’d encountered a feral beast in the meadow.

She stepped to the side.

Peeta barged right through into Haymitch’s office. The last time he’d been here he was eighteen. Desperate to help Katniss. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man, a man who was willing to move heaven and earth for the woman he loved.

Haymitch had a drink on his desk, and an opened bottle. Another was tossed into the waste paper basket. His office smelled of malt whisky and white liquor. Peeta hadn’t seen Haymitch drunk in years. Not since he was fifteen. His eyes swept the room and he noted Haymitch was not alone.

Mrs. Everdeen and her sister Primrose stood in a corner. Mrs. Everdeen looked surprised to see him. Her pale blue eyes were like stones in a river, hard and cold. Her sister Primrose stood away from her mother. Her arms clamped around her middle. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was bright red. The rest of her, her face, hands, and legs looked pale, ashen really.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” Haymitch rasped gruffly.

“Where’s Katniss?” he demanded.

“Boy, sit, have a drink,” Haymitch said, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

“No, where’s Katniss and how much to bail her out?”

Haymitch rubbed his face. “When I took this job on I did it because I knew that the people didn’t trust Cray or any Head Peacekeepers to make the laws just. I set up this position for each district so that they could have one of their own to make decisions on their cases. I specifically set it up with loopholes so that no party could have the ultimate power over the other.”

Haymitch gave Mrs. Everdeen a scathing look.

Mrs. Everdeen lifted her nose. “I only did what was right. She was poaching.” Her voice was filled with indignation, as if she couldn’t understand why she was being reprimanded.

“Eudora, what you did was send an innocent girl into hell because of your stupid pride. You’re no better than the folks that tossed you out into the street when you chose to marry Jack,” Haymitch barked.

Peeta noted how Eudora blinked and her eyes flickered with momentary pain before they went back to that cool indifference. Katniss had a similar look, but unlike Mrs. Everdeen’s which held no personality depth, Katniss’ look always showed a small bit of vulnerability, compassion, fiery resistance and some trace of emotion. Peeta could spend a lifetime examining Katniss’ smallest gestures.

“What happened, Haymitch, where’s Katniss?”

“I don’t see why he should be here,” Eudora said coolly.

“He has every right to be here,” Haymitch said, standing up. “That boy is the one fella your daughter loves.”

Eudora’s eyes widened with shock and she looked at Peeta, really looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She shook her head, “No, not him, she doesn’t love him. She doesn’t even know him.”

“She does, mama,” Primrose said.

“Katniss was caught poaching for me,” Peeta said quietly. “Every Saturday she comes to my shop and we trade, and talk…” Peeta looked at Haymitch, “Where is she? I need to see her?”

Her mother suddenly looked pale.

“Eudora tipped Darius about Katniss poaching on Fridays late in the evening. I guess she thought Darius wasn’t going to do anything and filed a complaint to Panem’s Bureau of Justice. It got to Crane; that bastard ordered me to hand her over for justice.”

“No,” Peeta roared. He stood up, his eyes landing on Mrs. Everdeen. Prim stood at his side.

“No,” Prim said quietly.

His hands were stretched out resting on Mrs. Everdeen’s neck.

“Boy,” Haymitch ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes were wider than saucers. Her body trembled underneath his fingers. There were horror stories about landing in the clutches of Seneca Crane. “Do you realize Katniss can be killed because she was bringing me squirrels.” His voice cracked. Tears stung his eyes. He let go of Mrs. Everdeen and sat in the chair.

“Momma, you’d done wrong.”

“Primrose, I wasn’t going to let her stop you from marrying. I wasn’t going to let her…”

“MOMMA!” Primrose squeaked.

Mrs. Everdeen became quiet.

“If you bothered to get to know Katniss, you would know that she would never stop me from getting married if that’s what I wanted. You would know that all Katniss wants is for me to be happy. Yes, I got mad at her for walking in on me and Vick.” Prim stopped, wiping the tears from her face. “But I know she did it because she loves me and she did not want me to foolishly get pregnant.” Prim squared her shoulders.

Peeta raised an eyebrow; he’d never seen this side to Katniss’ sister. Prim was a sweet girl, innocent, loving and caring. The girl before him had grit and integrity, something she learned from Katniss. Prim leveled a look at her mother before turning to look at Peeta.

“Yesterday she said she knew what it was like to get carried away in the arms of a man that loved you so much it hurt. She knew what it was like to give into pleasure so deep without thought of the future. She told me she didn’t want me to go through the worry of a pregnancy scare.”

Peeta’s hands gripped the arm of the chair he sat in. Katniss thought she was pregnant. He could just imagine her terror. He thought she’d been avoiding him because of the fire; he didn’t know it was because she didn’t know if they’d made a baby together. Katniss was right to be scared. They weren’t ready back then. He had no future and she still had her sister to rear. He looked up to Prim and nodded acknowledging her words.

“You and Katniss,” her mother sounded brittle.

“No Momma, don’t redirect; look at me,” Prim ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen looked at her youngest daughter.

“If you would have taken the time to get to know your eldest daughter, you’d know she sacrificed herself for me. I made her promise me that after I graduated that she would follow her dreams. Katniss promised me,” Prim looked at Peeta. “She’d promised me she’d talk to you, Peeta.”

“I,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“Katniss helped me, after I graduate, I was going to go to District 3. Dr. Jensen helped me get into an accelerated course in medicine. Everything is set up.” Prim’s voice sounded watery, she had tears running down her face. “Now I can’t go knowing my sister is in the hands of that butcher.”

Mrs. Everdeen flinched.

Peeta stood and gently held Prim in his arms as she cried. “I don’t understand how you could do this to Katniss. I don’t understand how you could betray her when all she’s ever done is to put food on your table and keep a roof over your head. She is the most selfless person. The most loyal. All Katniss has ever done is tried to protect her family, yet you betrayed her.”

“I did it for her own good. I didn’t betray her.” Mrs. Everdeen stood straighter. “This new regime, it may not last forever. There are men like Seneca Crane out there who are vying for power. What if one of them becomes president and then we end up worse? Katniss is a foolish child. I had to do what I thought was best for Katniss, and taking away her ability to hunt was the only way I could think of to get her to think…to see how dangerous this world was.”

“What you did was feed her to the wolves,” Peeta spat. “They called my mother the witch, but you lady, you are a cold hearted bitch.”

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes became colder. “Primrose we are leaving.”

“No momma,” Prim said, shaking her head. “I’m not going back to that house. I’m gonna to do everything in my power for my sister.”

“How long?” Peeta asked Haymich.

“A year,” Haymitch sighed. He looked tired and drained as he spoke, “Maybe less for good behavior.”

“Where?” Peeta asked.

“District Two.”

Hope bloomed in Peeta’s chest. “My brother is in District 2, maybe he can watch out for Katniss, keep an eye on her, and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“You think Rye would do that?”

“Yeah, he would,” Peeta said. Then he turned to Haymitch and asked, “What happens when… if she gets out for good behavior?”

“If Crane’s people let her go for good behavior, and I doubt it’ll happen, Katniss will be paroled and required to work the rest of her sentence.”

“I want her assigned to me. She can work off the rest of her parole in my bakery. She can live under my roof and I can take care of her.”

“Okay I can do that.” Haymitch sat down at his desk. He pushed the bottle and the glass into the waste paper basket. He took out a form.

“Wait, what’s going on,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“There’s no way I’m going to give up on Katniss. When she gets out of there she’s going to need a home, a place where she can be safe, and know that she’s wanted and loved.”

“What will your mother say?”

“My mother has no decision in the bakery or how it’s run. The bakery became mine last year when my father and Rye signed it over to me. Believe me, I’m going to make a Katniss campaign and when she comes back everyone in town will welcome her with open arms.”

“Haymitch,” Prim said, stepping out of Peeta’s arms. She sat in the chair facing his desk. “You said Seneca might not let her be released for good behavior. Does that mean he will make sure that she serves out her full sentence?’

“Yes, that rat bastard makes all of his victims pay.” Haymitch set the paperwork aside. His eyes though, were churning as if he was working on a puzzle.

“Then how can we make sure, or what can we do to make certain Crane has to shorten my sister’s sentence?” Prim asked on the edge of her chair.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asked, sitting down in the empty chair.

Haymitch opened his drawer and pulled out a slim electronic device. Because District 12 was the outlying district, and it was the poorest one, it dealt mostly with papers. However, there were things that needed to be done with the fancy electronics that the Capitol favored.

Peeta had a computer at the bakery, it was one of the first things he splurged on. It helped him maintain his accounting and supplies. It also was a way for him to get incontact with his brother in District Two.

“This is a computer, and it contains all of the bylaws of Panem. When we set up the justice system, I wanted to make sure there was a catch. Our newly appointed President Paylor helped come up with this. I had forgotten about it until this moment, Prim.”

“What is it?” Prim asked, voicing what Peeta was asking himself.

“Ha!” Haymitch said triumphantly. “There is a clause in the law that stipulates that family members can step in and volunteer for family in case they unjustly fall into the hands of Panem’s Bureau of Justice. Your sister was caught with two squirrels at the time she was caught poaching. Now poaching is a serious offense. But squirrel hunting is completely legal. In fact it just happens to be hunting season for the little critters.”

“So in reality all Katniss did was get caught crossing the fence,” Peeta said.

“And that is a lesser offence than poaching.” Haymitch turned to Primrose. “Which means that her conviction is unjust and a family member can volunteer to work some of her time off here in the district. If someone volunteers, Katniss’ hard labor sentence will be cut in half, but she’ll still have to be paroled.”

“Six months of labor?” Prim whispered, before looking to Haymitch and asking. “Will I be able to finish school?”

“I don’t see why not, we just need someone to take you in for six months for you to work for them for free.”

“No,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“I’m seventeen Momma, well past the age of consent in Panem,” Prim said.

“I forbade you,” Mrs. Everdeen said, stomping her foot.

“Haymitch, I volunteer for my sister. I volunteer to work off of her debt.”

“YOU CAN’T!”

Prim turned to her mother. “This is all your doing Momma, if you’d let Katniss alone, she’d be with Peeta now talking about the future. Talking to the man she loved about a toasting, children, everything she denied herself for a long time. But you wanted to punish her. You wanted to punish her for looking like Papa, for being his daughter. For always doing the right thing even if it meant going against your archaic wishes. Now you will take the punishment the way I am sure Katniss took hers, with dignity.” Turning to Haymitch Prim said, “Where do I sign?”

Mrs. Everdeen cried, and ran out of the room.

Peeta turned to Prim. “Will she be alright?”

“No,” Prim said. “But Katniss was right; our mother is selfish. I didn’t see it until now. She thinks what she did is justified, that she did the right thing. But she didn’t and now it’s up to us to save Katniss.”

“You’re a lot like her,” Peeta said.

“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Prim said.

“I think we need to get my sister-in-law,” Peeta said to Haymitch.

“Norma Jean,” Haymitch said.

My sister-in-law is pregnant with her fourth child. She said she is ready to give birth any time. Anyways, her sister Virginia’s getting married in a month to Jason Swanson, the railroad engineer’s son. Once she gets married, she’s going to work full time there, which means my brother will be alone in the store. They’re going to need help, and I know Norma Jean would never treat you poorly. She’s the only one I trust to help out. My brother Graham will pretty much do anything Norma Jean says.”

“Anne,” Haymitch barked.

Anne walked in, “Yes, Mr. Abernathy?”

“Go have one of Darius’ do-gooders get Peeta’s brother and sister-in-law here,” Haymitch grabbed another piece of paper. “We’re going to save Sweetheart’s butt.”

Peeta sat back, but he knew the battle was far from over. That night he called his brother. His brother was like him, but his features weren’t as soft. His face was angular, and his blonde hair was darker and it was curlier, though you couldn’t tell since he was sporting a buzz cut.

“Hey Peeta,”

“Rye I need…”

“Don’t I know. I heard about Katniss. It’s all everyone is talking about. The girl whose mother betrayed her for you. I’m kind of a celebrity now.”

“You saw her?”

“No, she’s been put deep in the tunnels. The star squad is so deep they don’t surface for months at a time. Communication down there is only done when necessary.”

“Will you keep me apprised if you do see her, take care of her for me?” Peeta asked.

Rye nodded then he said, “Did Graham really say yes to Primrose staying with him?”

“Yeah,” Peeta smiled ruefully. He was tired and he wished he could have done more.

“Huh, was it Norma Jean?”

“No, he volunteered when he heard what happened to Katniss, before I could even ask.”

“Really, I guess he’s not like mom.”

“Nope, if he were like mom he would have married Esme Smith.”

Rye laughed. “I forgot about Esme; man you know she popped my cherry.”

“Rye, really, I don’t need to know your escapades,” Peeta joked but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rye was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working.

“Look Peeta, I know Katniss is your girl, and I promise, in fact all of the guys in my squad, in all of the squads know how special she is, they told me if they’ll take care of her.”

“Except for the guys working under Crane,” Peeta muttered. He closed his eyes. He wanted to punch the wall, wanted to scream.

“Just hang in there, Katniss is strong, she’s tough. For any girl of twelve to brave the forest and hunt animals with the threat of predatory beasts to put food on the table, that takes bigger balls than I have.”

“Thanks Rye,” Peeta whispered.

“I’ve got to go, but maybe the next time tell Graham that what he did for Prim was great.”

“I will.”

The communication went off. Peeta sighed and leaned back. He looked up at the darkened sky just beyond his bedroom window. “Hang in there Katniss. Please hang in there,” he whispered brokenly.

A lot of things could happen in six months. Katniss could be beaten mercilessly. She could be raped by one of the prisoners or even by a sadistic guard. She could catch a disease and die. The fear he’d been fighting threaded through him and for the first time in all of his life he was unsure of the future. Sleep was not an option for him tonight and he couldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow. Not with the love of his life in some hellhole beneath the earth.

Getting up, he began to clean and sometime around midnight he decided to make bread for the children tomorrow; that would keep his mind occupied. The next six months were going to be the hardest of his life.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

Hi! So thank you for sending a prompt! I hope this is good enough? I’m so bad at writing fluff that isn’t kind of angsty, so I tried. In my defense, the angst isn’t at all between Everlark. But anyways, I enjoyed writing this so thanks for sending!!!

Oh, also it’s important to know ahead of time before reading that a). this is set post-mockingjay and b). in my version of post-canon, Panem took on some semblance of our modern day winter holidays. So they have a celebration that’s kind of a variation of Christmas.

My feet trudge down the stairs, still somewhat unwillingly, although no one is forcing me. I could stay upstairs in my room all day if I so wished, I could hide under the blankets and just pretend. I could just pretend today was an ordinary, boring day and that most of the people I know won’t be convening in my house for the vast majority of the afternoon and evening.

But I don’t. Because that wouldn’t be fair to do to Peeta.

Peeta, who loves the celebrating and the family gatherings and the newfound holidays this country has adapted since the end of the war, since the end of Snow and Coin and the hunger games.

And it’s not that I don’t want to see my family. It’s not that I necessarily want to be a hermit in my own home, like Haymitch.

I just really don’t like this new holiday. For whatever reason, it has made my skin crawl every year, for the last six years that it’s been slowly making it’s way across the districts. Every year, people in every district alike put out decorations, purchase candy and trees, cook meat and pastries and, though every district calls the holiday a differing variety of names, everyone all celebrates alike. With their family, traveling to see loved ones, thankful for the safety not one of us can take for granted now since the war.

Maybe it’s that seeing the whole country uniformly celebrating anything still makes my skin crawl, as I still see loud, boisterous crowds in my dreams at night, and though the people celebrating this holiday are probably nothing like the faces I see in my sleep, I still can’t shake the connection.

Or maybe it’s that not all my family survived the war. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t want to celebrate anything if I can’t celebrate with everyone I love.

Either way I still make my way down the stairs and through the living room, just the same. I walk past Haymitch, drunk and passed out on the floor and the embers burning in the hearth next to him. I walk into the kitchen and meet the eyes of my husband, currently stirring batter of some kind in the bowl I did my best to handcraft for his birthday two years ago.

“Hi,” Peeta greets, his eyes visibly surprised to see me. “What’re you doing up?”

I give him a look as I slide into a tall chair by the counter. “It’s nine-thirty,” I deadpan. “I’m usually up at six.”

“I just figured,” he starts before hesitating, measuring me carefully before second-guessing his words. “I know you don’t like the new holiday traditions,” he finally amends.

I shrug my shoulders, non-committal. “It’s not like I can hide away while everyone’s here,” I state, as if I wasn’t contemplating doing that exact thing on the way down the stairs.

Peeta though touches my hand and gives it a squeeze, sympathetically. “I could tell them you’re sick?” He offers softly.

A part of me wishes to take him up on that offer but I shake my head plainly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I can tell everyone to head over to Delly’s and Kanon’s. Delly doesn’t mind changing her plans and hosting. We can just spend the day you and me.”

“And Haymitch makes three?” I tease, but give a half smile as I turn down this idea too. “I’m fine, Peeta. Really. I can even help you finish up...” I look at the bowl of mixed ingredients, attempting to decipher what he’s concocting. I’ve been married to him long enough to put together the smell of vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate, but still manage to come up empty to what his final product will be.

He just laughs at my confusion. “No, actually, I was planning on taking a break anyway,” he says, putting the bowl and spoon down, but I easily know he’s lying. He never stops halfway through making anything for a break, no matter how sore his arm can get from stirring.

“Really?” I raise one thick eyebrow at him, knowingly, as he walks around the counter and pulls at my hand to follow him.

As I stand, Peeta evidently takes in my attire for the first time since I came downstairs.

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” He asks, his own blonde brows furrowing now.

“Because it smells like you,” I say defensively, hugging it to me like I’m afraid he’s going to steal it away.

But his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and he gives me a look that is so loving and so sweet, it would disgust me if it were from anyone else.

“Come here,” he directs evenly, tugging me by hand. I let him guide me to the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table while he finds residence across from me, on the couch. We both, probably unwisely, ignore the drunk sleeping off his stupor by the flames.

Peeta takes my hands in his and leans down to press his mouth to my knuckles. “Talk to me, Katniss.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I insist, but my voice is too quiet and he’s been married to me for over six years and he knows me too well at this point. He knew me too well at sixteen, let alone now, after all these years.

Proving just that, he shakes his head. “Something’s bothering you. And I don’t like it when you’re not happy.”

I shrug then, because I have no defense to really give. “I just... dislike Yuleday,” I admit simply, using the most common term for the holiday.

I feel his large hand cover my cheek tenderly. “Is this because your mom is bringing Rod this year?”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my mother’s new husband. I open my mouth to deny it but then I look into Peeta’s kind, understanding blue eyes, that have never judged me, that have sought so hard for so long to never let his demons cast shadows over them again, and I just can’t. His baby blue eyes stop me in my tracks, stop me from telling him a blatant lie. “It’s a part of it,” I admit begrudgingly.

I feel his hand move to rub one of my shoulders. “I know. I know it’s hard,” he validates. I lean over and kiss his fingers as they try to massage the tension away. “But it has been almost fourteen years since your dad died, Katniss. Your mom... it’s okay for her to move on. I think it’s a good thing, that she was able to open her heart again to someone new.”

I nod mechanically, knowing all this is true, logically. “Yeah,” I try to agree, but it comes out unevenly and I can’t quite make myself look at him now.

“It’s easier to accept from an outside position,” he notes kindly.

But I shake my head. “It’s not just that, Peeta. It’s... it’s not just that she remarried or that she didn’t tell me about him until they were engaged. It’s... it’s everything that came with her getting remarried.”

Already knowing what I meant without asking me to verbalize, he adds, “It’s the step-children that make it more difficult to swallow.” His words are a clear statement, not a question.

I shrug at that, knowing it’s true. “It just feels odd that she has this whole other family now,” I explain, feeling immature and ridiculous and petty.

Practically reading my mind again, Peeta tries to comfort me. “That’s natural, Katniss. For you to feel that way, I mean. I would.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him now. “I would feel the exact same way. Especially...” he cuts himself off now, once again second-guessing what he wants to say.

“Especially what?” I prompt.

“Especially if I lost my sister like you did. I would be sensitive about my mother gaining step-kids too. Younger step-kids, at that.” He gives me a long measuring look in which makes me feel naked. And not in a good way, like usual. “That’s what really bothering you, after all.”

My eyes widen, startled by his call out. “What?”

“That’s why you’re really upset. About the holiday, about everyone coming over, about your mom’s new family. Because it just reminds you that Prim is missing.”

I stare straight ahead blankly, unable to respond. Nothing hurts more than that simple truth, that glaring fact, that cuts me right down to the bone. That the real reason I hate this new celebration is because my sister would absolutely love it and she’s not here to experience it. She’s not here to see it and I don’t know how to enjoy it properly, even for Peeta’s sake, without her here too.

“Come here,” Peeta says now, and he tugs me by hand from the coffee table and into his lap. His fingers sift through my hair tenderly and his lips find resistance against my forehead. After a long beat, he whispers against my temple, “She would want you to make new memories. Prim would love Yuleday. And she would want you to love it.”

“I know she would love it,” I say and we both pretend not to hear the way my voice cracks. “But she isn’t here to love it and... I feel wrong celebrating without her. I know it’s been eight years-“

“Katniss, there’s no time limit on grief. Trust me, I know.” Of course he did. He lost his entire family in one fell swoop and I’m over here whining about my loss. I feel his hand slip up my sweater—well, technically his sweater—and rub my back. “Do you remember what I said at our toasting?”

I crane my neck back from it’s place against his throat, giving him a puzzled look. “Off topic but yes. I remember everything from that day.” And I do. I remember how perfect his outfit was, how it wasn’t too casual or too formal, just the right simplicity. I remember what he said and how the warmth of the fire reflected the warmth inside my heart. I remember the bread he made and how it was the exact the bread he tossed to me in the rain all those years ago, the exact bread that had saved my life. I remember the look in his eyes as he stared at me, the tears he shed of utter happiness, because we were finally able to love each other safely and wholly and without pressure or reservations.

“Do you remember what I said about Prim?” He inquiries softly.

And then I understand why he brought up our toasting. “Yes,” I affirm, my voice quiet again.

“She’s always here, for all the big events and the small ones. She lives inside you, Katniss. Your sister is a part of you, no matter what.”

I blink back the moisture in my eyes, trying my hardest not to let any of it fall. “I know.”

“Prim would want you to be happy,” he says again, kissing my hair, his fingers dancing over my braids. I put my hair in two today, knowing he liked it when I did. “Happy with and for your mother.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I do hope she’s happy,” I murmur finally, my grey eyes boring into his. “I hope Rod makes her as happy as you make me.”

I feel his lips before I realize he’s leaning in, our mouths connecting instantaneously. His lips are softer than ever, but still firm, still able to create an electric spark inside of me. I thought the kiss on the beach was good when I was seventeen, but in reality, it was nothing compared to how he makes me feel eight years later. It was nothing compared to the fireworks he erupts now, without even so much as trying.

But he can’t go without teasing me for long and as soon as we pull apart, as I trail my lips downwards to begin hungrily kissing his throat, he doesn’t even miss a beat, saying, “I hope Rod makes your mom as happy as my sweaters make you.”

I immediately pull my mouth away, my eyes narrowing. “I’m leaving.”

“No,” he pleads, grabbing me by the waist as I try to stand and tugging me back into his arms again. His lips find where my neck meets my shoulder and he sucks, putting a vast amount of pressure there, knowing it’s my utter weakness. “Don’t leave me. I love you,” he mumbles gently against my skin.

I can’t help my smile then as I reach my hand up and touch his cheek, making sure not to interfere with him continuing his task. “I love you too, Peeta.”

But another voice joins us, effectively ending the moment. “Can you two get a room?” Haymitch barks, his eyes bleary as he leans his head up off the floor now, still waking up.

“Actually, we got a whole house, Haymitch,” Peeta assures smoothly. “But thanks for making yourself at home in it.”

Haymitch only offers a thumbs up in response before flopping back on the hardwood, groaning in response to the dying fire’s last sizzling flames.

“If only we could use our house to our... liking. In peace.” I don’t even bother keeping my voice down or hiding my meaning from Haymitch.

“Girl, if you want to talk like that, save it for after company leaves.”

“You’re not company, Haymitch,” I shoot back.

“I’m talking about everyone else coming today, sweetheart.”

Oh. It had momentarily slipped my mind that we were expecting people any moment now. “We’re really grateful you could grace us with your presence early,” Peeta says to the hungover man, who’s now reaching his hand closer to the fire, attempting to absorb any heat he can.

“Shut it, boy. It’s Yuleday. Have some kindness for an old man who saved your life.”

“By kindness he means alcohol,” I murmur, eliciting Peeta’s chuckle.

“She’s not wrong,” Haymitch adds under his breath.

“Let me up,” Peeta pats my butt, signaling for me to get off his lap. “I have to go finish the chocolate cinnamon rolls before our family gets here.”

But as he starts to make his way back towards the kitchen, I follow behind him, grabbing his hand to catch up. “What’re you doing?” He asks, his voice confused.

“I’m going to help you finish baking.”

His brow push together. “What suddenly got you in the spirit?”

I shrug, making my way ahead of him and grabbing the bowl he was using before to stir the batter around. “Like Haymitch said. It’s Yuleday.”

Peeta’s eyes relax and then soften as he looks at me, no doubt taking in the image of me in his sweater, mixing batter around in the bowl I handmade him. Just as I finish stirring all the ingredients together, he wraps his arms around my waist and starts planting kisses on my neck greedily.

And I decide in that moment, as I twist around to capture my husband’s lips again with my own, to do everything I can to be happy for my mom.

To be as happy for her as I know somewhere Prim is for me.

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #my writing #everlark fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic #prompt #Drabble #whatever ya wanna call it #katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #play with me 🥰#also I hope everyone enjoys my humor that I named her moms new husband from district 4 Rod like fishing rod #ok just me with my weird humor look away

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lifeofroos · 3 years

Text

This Might Be Crazy: Final Chapter: Tea

Why hello there! It is me, Roos (Pronounced like you do ‘Rose’), the author of This Might Be Crazy. Make yourself at home, take a cup of tea, find a chair and relax.

Because it really is kind of crazy. In September 2020, the final instalment of the trials of Apollo-series came out. In this volume there was a little quip about Nico getting councelling from Dionysus. Fast forward to October and no-one had written a fic about Nico getting therapy yet. So, I decided to damn well do it myself. I had planned up to chapter three, but then I got so many comments with ideas for more that I had to continue. And I didn’t stop. I got 71 chapters and 6 bonus stories far, written over the course of nine and a half months.

As you read in the last paragraph, this monster literally wouldn’t have existed without the comments. Because of that, I feel like some thank-yous are way overdue:

Blueraven123 on AO3, for commenting on literally every single chapter. You’re a legend and thanks for sitting through the Solangelo stuff :).

Nikol_Nikiforova For commenting almost as often with an entire thesis!

Weaving_Stories for being there often in the beginning.

Aquaeclipse for being the first comment ever!

MacarenaH for writing the first comment that really touched me. I remember reading your comment during breakfast and having a slightly better day because of it. Yet, read: the first comment that really touched me. There were many more that did.

WeezlBot for being a legend who also thinks there should be more Ariadne fanfiction. You’re so, so right.

ChildOfApollo*-*: No, I didn’t stop. I still thought about your comment sometimes, when I forgot the chapter title again :).

Catharina2003 for being Dutch which is the Only Nationality Ever

Nico for making me do a double take every time I see your name in the comments.

And Something_Someday, warmestbloggerever, Fangirlx4, cutiewithahat, Spacey_cats, Himekitsune, Mickeyd, Wierdkid20, TheStarsAndSky, Sireniral, RisaKitten, DrimysAusterus, Miyanoai, Atos, Something_1987, badbonch420, Luna Tris Katniss Di Angelo, Gayboiohio, gummy bears, CreatorOrInsanity, jschoenh, Mochamochi7, reynaramen, 1az0rcat, Fanvergent_P, Mad_Shady_People, Julia, Bisexualmistake123 and Regal_Bloom476 for leaving their thoughts on AO3 a few times. Thank you very much :). (And I hope I haven’t missed anyone... If I did, feel free to scold me).

Despry2nd, for being the FanFiction.net OG

Rickandrowling28, for leaving long, longg comments that I loved to see.

Evan Emrys because she said I was her favorite :)

MKDemiGodzilla-Warrior for sticking through from the beginning until the end.

NaoSa, AyaTheDoggo, addalittlesmoke and McShizzleSupreme778 for commenting on FanFiction.net ever so often.

@bfire92 for reading and helping with the whole thing one time :). Keep up the good work yourself!

And especially, everyone who came to Tumblr to read my work. I’ve got a few hunches as to who read it often ( @daenerys1234 , @punk-drummer-chic @wndrngwldflwrs @neritess ?) but I am sure there were readers who I didn’t see. Once again, feel free to scold me :).

And then there is everyone else who read the work on FanFiction.net or AO3 or in the Tumblr tags. Who liked and reblogged my stuff. Who send me ideas and random anon messages. Who left kudos. Who read it without making themselves known. Thank you so much.

I know there are things that could have been done better. Sometimes I feel like Nico healed to quickly, or that I was too slopy with my words, or that my English wasn’t good enough. Don’t get me started on Dionysus’ characterisation, and oh, I keep thinking I should have written an ending where Nico has another husband and Will is only a good friend... But as Dionysus said a few times: There is no use in worrying about what happened. It is what it is, and it is pretty okay.

My biggest failure is that I never thought of a good title. This Might Be Crazy was a stand-in that never changed. I got used to it at some point.

I am going to miss the characters. Dionysus, Nico, Will, Hades, Mary, everyone I have written about in this story. When you write something for a long time, it becomes a part of you, and it might hurt to let go.

Why did I stop, then? Because I felt like I couldn’t write with as much passion as I wanted to. It would be a shame to write a work without the love it deserves. When I began, I promised myself I would end it neatly. I hope you think I delivered on my promise.

If you need something to fill the void in your life, you should read This is Home by BlackPebbleToad (AO3 and FanFiction.net). It’s about Nico getting therapy, but it is about Leo, too. They live at the Waystation, where they learn to heal. I love it and I’d say that, in a way, it’s similair to my own work.

And of course, I am not quiting writing as a whole! There will be lots of other shorts, for a multitude of fandoms. Feel free to hop by and look at one of those sometimes.

Have you finished your tea? Then I won’t keep you here for any longer. Go on, find fanfics to enjoy, go outside, find a job and the love of your life. I just hope a little bit of This Might Be Crazy stays with you through all that. Please think of it sometimes, Okay?

- Roos (LifeOfRose)

#this might be crazy #because it really is

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday, socmono!

Happy belated Birthday, @socmono! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 14th, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To bring the birthday feels back around, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

I’m sorry this is so late! This story spiraled out of control inside my head, resulting in a “drabble” that is almost 7000 words long (eep)- I also have plans to add a little more on the end before I post it on Ao3, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

My inspiration for this story came from one of my favorite oldies- the 1968 Dusty Springfield song Son Of A Preacher Man. If you haven’t heard that one, I suggest giving it a listen before reading this.

This story isn’t religious, but it does have some mild religious themes (including religious guilt) because it features Peeta as a preacher’s son in the late 1960s. Also I have mentioned two separate church denominations simply because, to my knowledge, neither condone alcohol use. There is no other reason for the mentions :).

This story is also rated E for underage sexual contact.

(Have I covered everything? I think so.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Katniss picked at the loose thread that’d made its way out of the darts in her dress. Frowning in concentration, she valiantly tried to work the string free since it insisted on mocking her the way it was. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get away with messing with it for long, not with Momma next to her on the sofa.

Momma always had something to say about Katniss’s fidgeting- said a seventeen-year-old girl had no need for such restless energy; that was why she was so unladylike. No one complained about her vigor much when she was getting up before the crack of dawn to go out to the woods and track down meat for their dinner, and that was the truth.

“Katniss!”

At the sound of her harshly whispered name, Katniss caught her mother’s eye and let her hand drop back to her side with a barely-concealed huff. For her own good, she bit back a scowl. In no way was she in the mood for another lecture from Momma about giving herself early frown lines.

It was a hardship being a wild girl tethered to a parent who forever wanted to make you like them.

From the other side of the room, Katniss caught a muffled laugh from Peeta, and it took everything in her power not to glare at him- he knew better than to laugh at her, especially over her frustration with this stupid dress. It was a ridiculous thing, anyway. It certainly hadn’t been Katniss’s choice to wear it in the first place; it was so outdated with its knee-length skirt and tailored top lined with pearl-glazed buttons that were a bit tight across her bust since she’d had a bit of a growth spurt figure-wise this summer.

Even the dress’s color was out of style: a soft, faded blue that wasn’t like anything currently being worn, although Katniss didn’t mind that part of it so much. She didn’t go for the garish yellows, reds, and browns presently in fashion- not that it mattered; her papa wouldn’t dream of letting her go anywhere in the type of miniskirts her friend Madge wore, anyway.

“Katniss,” Papa said softly, setting his coffee cup on the table next to his chair, his kind grey eyes focusing on her, sensing her discomfort.

At the sound of her father's voice, she let out the breath she'd been holding. He was her saving grace- Papa understood her better than Momma ever would.

“Why don’t you take Peeta and go for a walk or something? It’s too nice of a day for a couple of young folks to be stuck indoors while their folks talk politics.”

“Or religion,” Reverend Mellark, Peeta’s father, added, smiling in that slightly blank way he had that made Katniss wonder if the man had ever had an earth-bound thought cross his mind. Of course, with Peeta’s mother, she couldn’t say she blamed him for preferring to immerse himself in his theology books.

Katniss nodded, setting her iced-tea glass on the end table willing herself to act naturally. She stood, glancing briefly at Peeta before looking away again. The glee in his light blue eyes prevented her from paying him any mind in front of the adults. They might catch on to something. “Well, come on then,” she said, her voice low.

“Don’t go too far, Katniss. I’m going to need your help getting supper around when the Reverend leaves,” Momma reminded her as she stood to leave the room so the men could talk alone, which is what they’d planned on doing all along.

“Yes, Momma.”

xoxoxo

“You don’t seem all that happy to see me today,” Peeta told her as they stepped out the kitchen, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Katniss grimaced at the brilliant afternoon sunshine meeting them. It was hot and muggy- the kind of July day that wasn’t good for much other than swimming in the creek or lying in the shade with a book.

“That’s not it,” she told him, catching his eye and shrugging. “Come on, let’s go out a little further.”

Peeta grinned at her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khaki’s as they walked. They headed in the direction of the back end of the Everdeen's expansive property. Chickens scattered around their feet as they made their way down the packed-earth drive; the birds ran towards the garden to look for bugs to eat.

“I get tired of these dang birds,” Katniss admitted to him, frowning as she stepped over a pile of droppings. No one wanted chicken shit on their church shoes. “You’re lucky you don’t have to keep livestock in town. Watch your step- right there,” she admonished Peeta- he’d come dangerously close to stepping in a pile of excrement. Being a town boy, he wasn't as adept at looking out for himself here.

“They ain’t so bad,” he said, stepping around the mess, “at least you don’t get stuck making house calls to Ms. Trinkett’s with my father every Monday night,” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “I’d take regular chickens over those ladies any day.”

Katniss glanced over her shoulder quickly, hoping Momma hadn’t seen them from her vantage spot at the kitchen window. Momma and Papa insisted she wasn't old enough to have a boyfriend yet, even if it was the preacher's son. Despite her concern at getting caught being so familiar with him, Katniss snorted, picturing Ms. Effie and her sister.

The Trinket sisters, one long-widowed and one a lifetime spinster, were a bit over the top for a rural community like Panem. ”I can’t disagree, ” she told him, ”Momma says they're something else.”

She and Peeta were nearly at the back of the lean-to then, just out of sight of the house, so Katniss grabbed his arm, tugging him behind the building with her where no one could see. Once there, she threw her arms around his neck. “I am happy to see you,” Katniss said, smiling coyly.

He grinned at her forwardness. In a move that was quick enough to leave her laughing in surprise, Peeta spun the pair of them around until her back was the one against the outbuilding. He caged her in with his body there, letting his hands come to rest on either side of her shoulders as she giggled. “Well, that makes two of us,” Peeta told her. He ran the tip of his nose across her cheek, nuzzling against her before his lips met hers. He kissed her gently at first and then deeper, with ease they’d perfected over the last month of these “walks.”

Katniss still wasn’t sure what their fathers found so interesting to discuss that it brought the Mellarks out with such frequency.

There was a question for Peeta laying heavy on her mind, though, nagging at her. Katniss wasn’t sure if she’d like the answer, but she had to know before things went any further between them, so she just said it.

“You’re not kissing girls at every house you visit with your papa, are you Peeta?”

He frowned, studying her face, before giving her a small, unreadable smile. In a flash, he’d tilted his head and begun trailing his lips down the side of her neck in a way that made her pulse flutter like a bird’s wings while bathing in a puddle.

“Peeta-“ she warned, but he just chuckled.

“I might’ve kissed a few girls before, but you’re the only one I’m kissing now,” he reassured her softly, words vibrating against her skin. ”Are you puckering up to any other fellas? For instance, what about that friend of yours- the one who helps your father at harvest?”

“Do you mean Gale?”

“Yeah, I mean Gale,” he admitted, his voice tight.

Was he jealous? The thought kind of thrilled her. Katniss chewed on her lip before exhaling against his shoulder because he still wasn’t looking at her. “He, ah, he did kiss me once,” she admitted, thinking it was better to be honest since it was just him and her right now. “Might have done a little more than kissing-”

Peeta tensed against her.

“But that was last summer,” Katniss told him.

There wasn’t much to tell- Gale had tried putting his tongue in her mouth, and he’d touched her breasts over her shirt a little. It wasn’t like there was much of anything there for him to grab at the time. Either way, she hadn’t liked it, so she asked him to stop pretty quickly. Katniss hadn’t given what happened with Gale much thought before now- she’d just assumed she didn’t like making out like other girls did. She felt different about it with Peeta, though.

“Well, I haven’t done much more than kissing myself,” he admitted.

Katniss was sort of relieved. She hadn’t thought Peeta was a fast boy- not that it would’ve changed her opinion of him if he had been. If he’d gotten around a little more than her, then he just had. Either way, she still would’ve liked him the same; it only made her more comfortable knowing he didn’t have much experience either.

Frankly, the only girl Katniss wanted Peeta to be fast with was her.

What she wanted to do with him was probably considered a sin in the Lord’s eyes, but that wasn’t going to stop her a bit. All she knew for sure was that while she hadn’t been kissing Peeta Mellark for very long, he always made her want more. It was hard to be good all the time, no matter how hard she tried. Wrong or right, being with him made her feel like she was flying.

She sighed when his hand curled around her waist and pulled her closer. He still maintained a polite distance between their bodies, but she stepped closer to him, pressing her breasts against his chest for the first time. She had the strongest urge to feel his touch there- just that light press was overwhelming.

Peeta must’ve enjoyed that because he pulled her tighter, lining his hard chest against her softer curves. Breathless with anticipation, she was just about to take his hand and move it up to her breast when he dropped his hands away from her and stepped back.

“What’s wrong?” Katniss asked, studying him for signs that she’d done something wrong. Didn’t he like that?

His eyes looked kind of wild, she thought.

“Don’t you wanna-“

Peeta’s gaze raked over her face. “Can you sneak away tonight?” he asked, eagerly. “Would you meet me like we did last time?”

Just last week, Katniss snuck out and met up with him once her family had gone to bed. They’d sat by the creek, ditching their shoes and rolling up the cuffs of their pant legs to dip their toes in the water. There’d been some fooling around, but mostly, they’d just talked until she started having trouble keeping her eyes open.

She figured tonight, though, Peeta wanted to do more kissing than talking. That was alright with her.

Without considering it much, she bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, I can.”

Momma and Papa went to bed as soon as the sun went down, so the house was always quiet by ten or so. She wasn’t sure how Peeta managed to get his father’s car to drive out and meet her, but then again, she’d never asked him about it.

“Great!” he said, his grin as wide as a Cheshire cat.

His enthusiastic reaction made her giggle, a sound she was pretty sure only Peeta had ever solicited from her. Katniss was disappointed when he stepped away from her, signaling an end to their impromptu makeout session, but he still kissed her gently, his lips melting her frown away before she had a chance to argue with him. That soothed her.

“Don’t scowl at me that way,” he said, “you know I wanna kiss you. I just don’t know if we ought to risk showing up again, looking like that’s what we’ve been doing. Your momma and papa will figure out what we’re up to; she looked funny enough at us last week.”

Katniss knew he was right, so with a resigned sigh, she stepped away from the side of the lean-to; they’d have to wait until tonight for more, she guessed. Pushing her disappointment aside, she grabbed his hand and tugged, indicating he should follow her. “You’re right, Peeta Mellark, just like always. Come on then- if you’re not going to hold me, then you can at least come and see the new litter of kittens in the barn.”

xoxoxoxoxoxo

That evening, when the frogs were singing in the trees, and the crickets were making a real ruckus from down in the grass, Katniss found Peeta sitting on a log by the creek behind her house, just like he said he’d be. It was way past sundown, but she could still see well enough, besides= she’d know the broadness of his shoulders and the tousled back of his head anywhere.

Her bare feet sunk in the damp, sandy soil lining the bank where she stood off to the side, studying Peeta’s profile- he was so handsome it made her chest hurt sometimes. He hadn’t heard her approach, though, so Katniss let him know she was there too after a moment. “Been waitin’ long?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Peeta greeted her, smiling warmly, catching her eye as he looked over his shoulder. As she approached, he scooted down the log, making room for her to sit next to him. “No, it hasn’t been long- ten minutes or so at the most.”

Katniss sat down next to him and pulled her hair over one shoulder, using it as a shade she could use to peer around at him. She’d worn it loose around her shoulders the way she knew he liked, and, thankfully, that dress from earlier was long gone, replaced by jeans and an old button-down shirt. She felt much more like herself this way.

“It’s a pretty night,” she said, feeling a little shy now that they were alone in the dark.

The remainder of the afternoon, once Peeta and his father left, she’d been distracted by thoughts of him and what they might get into tonight. The hours had dragged by until Momma and Papa were finally in bed, and she could sneak out to meet him.

”It is, ” Peeta agreed, “but not nearly as pretty as you.”

“Flatterer.”

He just grinned in answer.

The moon was full, reflecting off the shallow creek water. It was bright enough that she could make out the look on her face and the way he sat, totally focused on her. ”I’m glad you made it.” Katniss told him, her voice soft.

”I wouldn’t have missed the chance to see you.”

She scooted closer to him. “You know, Peeta; I gotta ask you something.”

“What is it?” he said the words as if he’d gladly tell her every thought that had ever entered his head. He took her hand in his.

Katniss curled her fingers through his and squeezed. It was wonderful to touch him again freely. “How is it that you manage to get the Reverend’s car out without anyone noticing?” she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “I know he’s got his head in the clouds all the time, but my momma would sure notice me starting up our car after everyone’s gone to bed for the night.” She laughed. “If I weren’t on foot coming to meet you, I’d be out of luck.”

“But I’d find a way to pick you up,” Peeta said, looking down at their hands. “I gotta see my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah. My girl- neither heaven nor hell would stop me.” He paused after his declaration and snorted. “My father probably wouldn’t approve of the sentiment behind those words; I don’t think.”

“I don’t know about heaven or hell getting in the way, but what about your momma- doesn’t she try stopping you?” Katniss prodded. He still hadn’t answered her question.

Peeta glanced away, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. She had the distinct impression there was something he wasn’t telling her. Things grew quiet, and the longer he was silent, and the longer she sat curling her toes in and out of the sand, the more sure she was that he was keeping something from her. Peeta took forever to answer; he seemed to be weighing what to say, frowning into the dark in concentration. It was painful to watch.

“What is it?” Katniss asked, breaking the silence. She wasn’t going to make him do something if he didn’t want to. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t- ah, hell. Why not. The thing is, you can’t say anything to anyone.” Peeta finally said, glancing her way again. He looked nervous. “You gotta promise me that.”

Katniss nodded, scooting closer to him on the log. “Of course.” Even if Peeta hadn’t been her boyfriend, she still wasn’t one for running her mouth about everyone else’s business.

He sighed resignedly, looking pained. “So I don’t know if you know this, I think some people suspect and some know, but Momma likes to drink. Drinks quite a lot.”

Katniss’s eyebrows shot up. While their church wasn’t a bunch of complete teetotalers like the Baptists or the Apostolic church up the road were, their congregation certainly frowned upon overindulgence in alcohol. “Oh,” was all she could manage, her mind whirring with what he’d told her.

Peeta huffed. “Maybe “likes” isn’t the right word- I’d say she has to drink. She does it most all day- says it keeps her in her right mind. But then nighttime rolls around, and at that point, it’s a lot more. By the time she goes to bed, she isn’t in any state to wake up again. An elephant stomping through the kitchen wouldn’t rouse her once she’s passed out.”

“Peeta,” she said, hating that she’d made him feel bad to find out the truth.

He kept talking as if she hadn’t said anything. “That’s why me and the Reverend go visit the Trinkett ladies every week. Momma likes their home-brew the best. She’s real nasty if she doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered- and she was. Her momma and pappa were over-protective and kept her under tight reign, but at least they paid attention to her. She never doubted they were thinking of what was best for her or her baby sister Prim. She couldn’t say that about Peeta’s theologian father, who liked to distract himself with his religious books, and certainly not about his over-indulging mother.

“I don’t like it- leaves the Reverend and me to play clean up after her all the time- have to tell folks she’s sick or has a headache when usually it’s just the drink.” Peeta finally looked at her, and this time he had a wistful smile on his face that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “But then again, it ain’t all bad, having no one pay you no mind. It makes it a whole lot easier to sneak away and see your girl.”

“I wish we didn’t have to sneak off this way, though. Don’t you?” Katniss said abruptly.

There really ought to be some sort of happy medium between not being allowed to have a boyfriend like her momma and papa and Peeta’s folks who barely recognized his existence. She wanted to have a relationship in front of others; she wanted the whole world to know Peeta was her boyfriend. She was proud of him- he was a catch.

“We won’t always,” he insisted. “I swear- your momma will change her mind about you having a boyfriend eventually, and then we won’t have to do this anymore. And it’s not like you’re dating some hooligan-”

She laughed.

“How much more respectable can you get than the preacher’s son?”

“You aren’t that respectable, Peeta Mellark,” Katniss said, leaning into his shoulder with a sigh and letting her hip rest against his. They couldn’t be sitting much closer now if they tried, but she wanted to be close to him, to show him how much his trust in her meant. “No matter who your papa is.”

“Do you want me to be respectable all the time?” He asked, wrapping his free arm around her waist. His hand came to rest at her side, and he curled it against her, rubbing her hip. His fingers slipped just under the tails of her shirt, the calloused tips of his fingers brushing against her skin.

She shook her head. “Not really, no. You don’t kiss like a respectable boy.”

“I feel the least respectable of all when you’re sitting with me like this. The things I’m thinking about you are positively sinful,” Peeta admitted, quirking his lips in a funny little smile that was much more genuine than its predecessor.

“Me too,” Katniss said softly, her voice so low it must’ve been difficult to hear over the crickets chirping behind them or the gurgle of the creek.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if it is a sin, then the Lord will just have to forgive me; I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t touch you more,” he admitted, startling her with his bluntness.

Katniss licked her lips, excited and nervous. “Go ahead then,” she told him boldly.

“Maybe I will,” Peeta said, his eyes lighting up.

“Well, maybe I want you to.”

“Really?”

Instead of answering, Katniss leaned into him. She let her free hand rest against the line of his jaw, and Peeta tilted his face into her touch and let his eyes droop closed. “I like you an awful lot- do you know that?” she said.

His eyes fluttered open again, and Katniss watched him turn his hand and kiss the palm of her hand; it was a sweet gesture, but one that made her heart race. His lips were like petals, and his breath was warm when it fluttered against her skin. “I do, but a fella doesn’t get tired of hearing it,” he told her softly.

Katniss laughed under her breath, relishing in the way Peeta always made her smile until her cheeks hurt. It was funny to be kissing him sometimes when he felt so much like a friend- she liked talking to him just as much as she liked kissing him.

“I was kind of hoping you were going to throw yourself at me again like you did earlier this afternoon,” he confessed.

“What are you going to do- just sit there while I ravish your body?”

“Maybe for a bit, but I kinda looked forward to doing some ravishing myself,” Peeta admitted.

Katniss snorted, but not for long because he moved into her, smiling against her lips before nudging them lightly with his own, playing with her, prodding at her mouth until she opened to him. Their teeth bumped from their open-mouth laughter; there was a little more hesitancy, but then he pulled her closer and sunk his hand in her hair, and she found herself lost in the taste and feel of him.

After kissing her until they were both breathless, Peeta pulled away. Tilting her head to the side, he trailed the tip of his tongue around the shell of her ear before sucking the lobe into his wet, warm mouth.

“Sweet lord-“ she whispered, shivering.

Peeta held her tight against his side, one arm around her waist while the other hand settled on her belly, just above the waistband of her jeans. His lips moved down her neck until he reached the bit of skin open to him at the top of her shirt.

Giving in to that same urge from earlier, brought on now by his closeness to such an intimate part of her body, Katniss took his hand, lifting it to the first button of her shirt.

Peeta stopped what he was doing, mouth freezing against her skin. He tensed with indecision, so she squeezed his hand in reassurance- Katniss wanted him to see her and touch her more than she’d wanted anything. Her nipples felt tight, her breasts aching for his hands. “Please,” she asked, curling his fingers into the shirt so there was no way he wouldn’t understand her meaning. “I want you to, so bad.”

Her words must’ve given him the confidence he needed because he sat up and kissed her passionately. His hand at the placket of her shirt was shaking under her hand, but when she let hers drop to her side, he began undoing the buttons regardless.

Katniss closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing as more and more of her skin was exposed to the night air. She hadn’t worn a brassiere out here to meet him, wanting one less barrier impeding them. That thought made her lick her lips, nervous to see what he would think of her and wondering when Peeta would notice.

“Oh, you’re not,” he faltered as he pushed her shirt open slightly. “You’re naked under here,” he said dumbly.

Katniss peeked her eyes open. Peeta’s focus was on the space between her breasts; just the inside curve was visible, the fabric caught on her nipples, keeping everything from being revealed to him just yet. He looked stunned- his eyes were wide, and even in the dark, she could see the color in his fair face was high. He backed away from her, and she couldn’t help notice the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

“You can touch me,” she said breathlessly, encouraging him.

Peeta met her eyes, looking like a deer in the headlights, paralyzed with doubt. Katniss realized that for all his big talk about it being a sin not to touch her, he was still nervous, so she took his hand and slid it beneath her shirt, her eyes steady on his the whole time. The skin on his palm was soft, and his fingers were warm and slightly calloused against her sensitive skin as it curled around her. She gasped, leaning into his touch as he dragged his thumb across her nipple, triggering pleasant warmth that began at her breasts but spread down to her belly.

Peeta dropped down onto his knees in front of her, pushing the shirt off her shoulders. She shrugged the material the rest of the way off her body. Once it was gone, he gawked openly at her, his hands frozen at his sides again.

She kind of wished he would do something instead of just staring at her breasts- it was starting to make her second guess taking her shirt off. Maybe they weren’t ready for this yet. In a fit of sudden shyness, Katniss crossed her arms over her chest and covered herself. Her bravado was evaporating by the second.

The movement stirred him out of the daze he’d fallen into, and he looked up at her then. Being able to see his eyes again steadied her nerves a little.

“Do you want me to take off mine too?” he asked, reaching for the bottom of his shirt.

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted, laughing a little. “You’re makin’ me nervous the way you’re staring, is all.”

Peeta let his head drop.“You’re just- you’re so beautiful, Katniss. I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“You’ve never seen breasts?” she asked, frowning at him.

He looked up at her again and shrugged. “I’ve seen some in magazines, but I’ve never had a girl show me hers before.”

And then Peeta tugged his t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it down beside them.

She couldn’t think of anything smart to reply- it was her turn to gape at him. She’d seen shirtless boys before, but not one of them had looked so beautiful as Peeta did, kneeling in front of her the way he was. He was slim in the waist but broad through the shoulders and chest. He had muscular arms, and in the moonlight, his skin seemed to glow.

Katniss bit her lip. Did he feel the same way looking at her that she did him?

Peeta moved in closer to her, dislodged the piece of flesh from beneath her teeth with his thumb. Then, with his hand still at the corner of her mouth, he kissed her open-mouthed, with more passion than she’d ever felt from him. As his tongue brushed hers, he slid his arms around her waist. Katniss spread her knees apart, wanting him closer. Peeta moved between them and pulled her flush, pressing their bare chests together.

The feel of being skin-to-skin with him was overwhelming. There were so many places Katniss wanted to touch him, so her hands began to roam: his hair, his back, his arms- she found that when she drug her fingers down his sides, he squirmed a little. He must be ticklish there.

And all the while, while they kissed and touched each other, feeling wild and free and alive, her body became something she’d never been so aware of until that moment. Katniss snaked her legs around Peeta’s hips and tugged him forward until she had his hardness lined up to her center. “You feel-,” he groaned in her ear, thrusting against her. With the first movement, she went from feeling warm and tingly to downright aching.

If he was still talking, he must be doing better than she was- Katniss knew she couldn’t form words if her life depended on it. All she wanted was to feel more of him and more of what they were doing to each other.

Katniss dropped her hand down between their bodies, taken by an urge to touch what she was feeling- she cupped his erection over his pants, and he thrust into her grip.

When she looked at Peeta’s face, she was stunned by his glassy-eyed, slack-jawed expression. It startled her a little, so she took her hand away, ashamed of herself for doing something so daring without asking him first, but he grabbed her wrist, lightning-fast.

“Don’t stop, please,” he begged. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“You liked that?” Katniss asked, leaning her forehead against his neck. With all the feelings running wild through her, she couldn’t look him in the eye.

Peeta took her hand, placing it over his hardness again. He curled her fingers around him so that she was gripping him.

When she rubbed him through the thick material of his jeans, kissing his neck and collarbone because she couldn’t look him in the eye, it seemed like he stopped breathing. Katniss touched him that way but eventually grew frustrated with the way his jeans left so much to the imagination, plus it felt a little awkward. “Can I-” she trailed off, running her fingertip up his zipper.

Peeta’s hand curled around her waist, turning his head to speak in her ear. “You can do anything you want.” His voice was breathless, his chest heaving against hers like he’d run a mile.

She moved her hand up to the button on his pants, and when her fingers brushed against his taut skin above the waistline, he sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?” Katniss asked one last time, her fingers curling inside the waist of his jeans.

Peeta dropped his lips to hers, kissing her fervently. She guessed that was her answer. Katniss moved to the button of his pants and undid it before carefully pulling down his zipper in almost painfully heavy silence. When his fly was open, she only hesitated for a moment before slipping her hand in his underwear and wrapping it around him.

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” Peeta muttered against her mouth, lips slack.

He didn’t seem capable of kissing her as she touched him; that was alright- she wanted to be uninhibited in her exploration of his body. His dick was larger than she thought it would be, and his skin was petal-soft but rigid beneath the surface, and he seemed to be growing stiffer as she rubbed her hand up and down the length of him. It seemed strange, but she could feel his pulse in her hand. When she made her way to the top, Katniss moved her thumb across the head, rubbing the small amount of dampness into him on instinct.

“Fuck,” Peeta gasped, gripping her forearm.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” Katniss told him breathlessly, never hearing him swear before. This night was full of surprises and what she was doing to him excited her more by the minute.

When Peeta let go of her arm and moved his hand to the inside of her upper thigh, she forgot how to breathe herself. “Can I, too?” He managed, trailing his fingers up the inseam of her pants.

“Yeah,” she choked out, stilling her hand on him. Her pulse thumped like mad as he reached for her, unbuttoning her pants. Katniss might not have planned for all of this to happen tonight, but she didn’t want to stop, either.

She leaned towards Peeta as his hand slid inside her underwear. Knowing she was ridiculously wet, she hoped he wouldn’t think it was weird; the idea made her pretty nervous. Katniss knew it was natural to get that way when aroused. The times she’d touched herself, despite knowing it was probably a sin, had taught her that.

But sliding her hand inside her underwear and exploring herself had mostly been out of curiosity.

With Peeta, it was an entirely different thing- a hot, burning need that grew in intensity the further they went.

His fingers brushed against the short curls between her thighs, and when he moved further down, dipping just inside her wet lips and dragging them forward, Katniss’s hips jerked against his hand. His touch was unbelievable, much better than any time she’d done this herself. He hadn’t found the spot yet that make her sing, but it still felt amazing.

“You like this,” Peeta whispered disbelievingly, “Katniss, you’re so-”

“Yes,” Katniss gasped as his fingers rubbed against the top of her, “it feels so good.” She wanted him to delve deeper and touch that place that always felt so good when she did it herself. Their position with her on the log and him kneeling in front of her was awkward.

And then, realizing she’d stopped moving her hand over him, Katniss tightened her grip on Peeta’s dick again. He might not be able to reach her very well this way, but she could still touch him. They’d gone this far, and now she wanted to see what happened next.

“Unf,” Peeta grunted, his hand going still inside her underwear, his body slumping forward.

Katniss watched his expression as she touched him. Peeta seemed lost entirely to what she was doing, his breathing becoming shallower, fighting to keep his eyes open. Was that because he didn’t want to look away from her?

“I’m- oh,” Peeta wrapped his free hand around the back of her head, jerking her against his chest as his length started throbbing in her hand. The faster she moved her hand, the louder he became, until his whole body stiffened up and his dick pulsed harder as hot, white liquid spurted from him, splashing against her bare arm and chest, bathing her hand in it as she continued pumping her fist up and down him. “Holy hell, goddammit,” he gasped.

Katniss turned her head, grinning against his shoulder when he seemed done after she’d taken her hand off of him. She felt suddenly shy, despite Peeta’s slack hand still lodged down the front of her underwear and his ejaculate all over her.

“I’d better,” Peeta began, pausing to kiss her firmly before as he took his hand out of her underwear and reached to the side to grab his discarded t-shirt, “take care of this. Sorry about the mess,” he added, using the material to wipe her hands and chest clean. He lingered at her breasts, rubbing the shirt across them long after she’d been wiped clean.

Katniss laughed deliriously, still a little in shock over what had just happened. She swatted his hand away, teasingly. “That’s okay- it was fun. I liked it,” She admitted.

“It was certainly fun for me. Probably could’ve lasted a little longer,” Peeta said a little sheepishly. Even if he was embarrassed, he couldn’t keep the happy smile off his face.

Katniss didn’t think he had anything to be embarrassed about- from what she’d heard about boys, what he’d done was typical for the first time someone touched him. She figured touching each other was like anything else; there had to be a pretty big learning curve. A bigger part of her liked that she’d gotten him that worked up.

Peeta leaned forward and kissed her insistently until she was breathless, reminding her again how excited she was. “Now I wanna make you feel good too,” he said when she was half-crazy from his lips. “You might need to show me how.” He got up then, pulling his underwear back up to cover himself but leaving his pants unzipped.

When He offered Katniss his hand, she took it. “What are you taking me?” she asked.

“Nowhere. Just changing things around a bit,” Peeta answered, stepping behind her and sitting on the ground with his back resting against the log. He spread his legs apart and patted the space in front of him. “I thought it might be easier this way, especially if you want to take your pants off.”

Katniss didn’t overthink pushing her jeans over her hips and down her legs at that point. After all, she was already shirtless in front of him, and for some reason letting Peeta see her breasts left her feeling more exposed than anything. She knew he wouldn’t try to take things any further than she wanted to

She lowered herself to the ground, kneeling in front of him, but Peeta, with a quick kiss, told her to turn around. Katniss did, settling upright against his chest. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said as she shifted against him. He wasted no time mouthing against the back of her neck while his hands settled at her waist.

“You haven’t seen much then,” Katniss whispered with what was supposed to be humor but came out sounding breathy instead. Her body tingled in the night air, the slight breeze across her nipples causing her breasts to ache even more.

Like he was reading her mind, Peeta’s warm hands moved up from her waist and cupped her breasts. “I think I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“They’re just,” she bit her lip to keep from moaning too loud as he played with her, his thumbs rubbing and pinching her nipples, sending sparks between her thighs, “breasts. Half the world’s population has got them.”

“But I just want to see yours,” Peeta said, gently squeezing her with his warm hands. The pressure made her squirm, and she rubbed her thighs together. “How does it feel when I do this?”

“Good,” Katniss whispered, arching into his hands. He groaned under his breath. She could tell his dick was getting hard again, pressing against her backside, and that surprised her- she always thought boys were a one and out deal.

Not Peeta, apparently.

“How about this?” he asked while one hand glided down her stomach. His fingers were at the waistband of her underwear, edging beneath the elastic.

“Yes,” she said. The sensation was different than before. Peeta wasn’t restricted by her stiff pants this time or the awkward position she’d sat in when he’d touched her earlier.

“Help me?” he asked.

Katniss covered her hand with his and pushed them down together, leading him to the place. “Rub me there,” she said, spreading her legs wide to make it easier to get to the nerve bundle. She gripped his fingers, demonstrating what she meant. Katniss rubbed their fingers over her together in slow circles- not too soft or too rigid. Their hands together in her intimate places felt wickedly good.

“I think I’ve got it now,” Peeta whispered in her ear. His breathing was noticeably heavier, their noises mingling together in the night air, the sounds of the creek, and the insects in the woods background noise to their pants and moans.

Katniss dropped her hand away and closed her eyes. The pleasure was coiling, burning low in her stomach. Her feet scrabbled against the sandy creekside, looking for something to hold onto; when Peeta realized what she was doing, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her tight against his body as she tensed all over.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, so everything,” Peeta murmured in her ear. “I love seeing you this way; I love doing this to you.”

His words and his fingers rubbing her perfectly now between her thighs, the feel of his hand pressing into her waist, his mouth sucking on the side of her neck, and his dick pressing firmly against her backside all converged as one to overwhelm her. The deep, tight pressure broke, and pleasure flooded her body. The feeling was much more intense than anything she’d ever experienced on her own.

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

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kdramachitchat · 3 years

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The Devil Judge - The Finale

A dystopian law drama w/a good concept that ended up underwhelming due to terrible writing. The star studded cast made up that fault with the likes of Ji Sung and Park Jinyoung.

Min and Jung has a previous conversation about the live show court trial. They team up so that they could stop this madness with the Supreme Court and with the SRF Foundation. Jung request that Min should keep an eye on someone and that someone is Ga-On. He requested Ga-On during their early meetings to be the Judas for Yo-Han. Min hated Yo-Han for ruining the country so he wanted to attack him by revealing his family affairs. He wants to drag Yo-Han down. He affirmed it when he was at the hospital and Jung visited. But Min didnt know how crazy Jung was and killed Soohyun. He said that Soohyun is like a daughter to him. Min said didnt he want to stop Yohan at all cost, that includes Soohyun too. Jung said that there's no going back now and they're close to ending the chaos, and questions if he wants to be remembered.

Min needed to become a monster to stop Yohan. Gaon then calls him a dirty hypocript and Min calls the security. Gaon is in pain that he just let Soohyun die just like that. Gaon was taken away by the security. Gaon tells Jinjoo that the foundation has set this all up and she wants to help.

The SRF team congratulates Jung for having Min to their side and Heo is in silence waiting for her instructions. He's literally her dog. They then talk about Yohan's mental mind now that he's in prison, he's out of his game. If he disappears quietly, they assume that everyone would be happy. Jung thinks otherwise, if he continues to say things she threatens him to step down. The SRF team continues to praise Jung. Jung discussses with her righthand woman on how Heo changed his personality completely and finds it fishy. She probably underestimated him and there's something else. She then request to check the status of the moving of the residence to the Dream Village.

Chief Ward meets Yohan to have discussiona t the office. Yohan disrespects the Chief but the Chief warns him that this is not a live court show and that he's in prison.

Lawyer Ko talks to Gaon and how much of an idiot he is. He doesnt know if he can continue to trust Gaon with what he's done. Gaon is asking for help. Gaon wants to go expose the Dream Village and plans to go alone. Lawyer Ko warns him that there's tone of security but he can go to the Medical Center, but no way he can exit out. Gaon says just let him in. Also warns him that the media is on their eggshells and it's not anymore a free media. Gaon though has come up for something and request to get him 1 thing.

Gaon explains to Elijah in a letter that she didnt do anything wrong and promises that Yohan will return and that it wouldnt take long. He tells her to eat well to not get sick so that Yohan wouldnt worry. She then cries and eats her food to recover.

At the prison, Yohan and Juk breaks out a fight at the courtyard.

Gaon then enters through the Dream village by using the food truck inside a box. He then observes the restricted area and records using a small video device. He sees alot of people lying down sick surrounded by nurses and guards. He goes through the wards and surprisingly sees Ms. Han, the woman who sided with Yohan during the live courtshow. All of a sudden the President arrives at the facility. Theyre testing a new vaccine and the number of people that survived is 182. President requests about the behind payments of all the countries. Clinical trials are in high demand. President tells them when a person dies through the trials they collect all the well organs and export them as byproducts. Nothing goes to waste. Gaon silently watches them laugh maniaclly in disgust. The SRF and Heo talks about Jung behind her back, they plan to outs her. Gaon plans to escape with Han but was got caught with a nurse but saves himself that he's checking her vitals. The nurse recognizes him and actually helps him. She has been waiting for some help and said that their phones have been taken away. Also said that there's some sane people in the center too. She promises to help.

Breaking news that Yohan has been arrested for instigating murder is dead. He was stabbed by a assailant. Both co-judges are left in shock. Same goes to Jung. She's in shock but calms herself that it was done because of her. Jung will be President and Min would now be Chief Justice. He did a press conference instead of a inauguration. Oh was able to catch up with Min and tells him that Jung wants to meet him at her office, this is a set up. Gaon tells her to leave the building and requests her to go. SRF team celebrates at the live court set with Jung at the top of the judges seats. Gaon then captures Min and ties him up at the office with a bomb around his body. Since when did Gaon become so violent. Its a plant and the media will receive news about exposing the Dream Village with his name on it. Yohan suddenly appears and saves Gaon on time. The death news was fake and that Yohan had to dig out to save him. He reminded me of Batman at some point here. Yohan was able to get out by threatening the Chief with his corruption and crimes for the last 30 years. Mentions the Chief that the money is not with him anymore. Yohan tells him to save himself is by doing his specialty for swapping prisoners. Just give him 24 hours. Lawyer Ko enters and tells him that he couldnt tell Gaon everything. Yohan tells him that he was able to return the Chief a favor but not in the form of cash but through charity.

While the SRF is celebrating the lights and the screen suddenly went on with Yohan on the screen. Jung realizes that he is alive and so does the rest of the team. Its revealed as a solemn trial. Yohan starts a live trial and its the final trial with the entire SRF team being exposed with the Dream Home Medical Center. Looks like Jung doesnt know anything about it and asks the team about it. Even the conversation Heo had with the team regarding the citizens. They also show that Jung has killed innocent people in the way to fulfill her ambitions and to attack him. Min is attacked too as a betrayer. Min is let go by Gaon but tells him that his name is tarnished forever and he will live awfully for the rest of his life. That's a better punishment and more realistically given too.

There was a proper punishment given and Yohan announced that there's a bomb then leaves to go to the trial set. Yohan reveals that Gaon was the one who helped exposed and will testify to tell the whole truth. The bomb is planned and Yohan will sacrifice himself along with the foundation. Yohan asks them if the moment reminds them of the fire incident. All of them trying to escape. Only the fastest person survives. Jung calmly comes up from her seat with a gun on her hand. Heo complains that he is the President and Jung shots him due to annoyance. She also tries and aims the gun at Yohan. Yohan tells her that its the both of them till the end. Tells her to come with him till death. That's the only way she'll be with him, which is quite tragic. Jung says her final goodbye to Yohan and shockingly shots herself to death, like how Ms. Cha did. Gaon then appears at the end, tells Yohan to stop and think of Elijah. Gaon in the end will be the hero and Yohan pushes him out. Will Yohan survive the bomb explosion? He needs to be alive or Gaon will end up with nothing. Well he still has Judge Oh and Elijah at least. Gaon wents back to the mansion and ses the blueprint of the bomb explosion, there has to be a escape route for Yohan. Yohan tells him that Gaon must do something for him. Housekeeper tells Gaon that Yohan stopped by and tells her she's fired and asks for Elijah. Yohan tells Elijah that they're going to move out to somewhere safe and its a rehabilitation center in Switzerland. Gaon then finds out that Yohan is actually alive.

Gaon was set in a trial with the comittee. Gaon inwardly thinks that nothing has changed at all and is confused on what to do now that the country doesn't need Yohan. Yohan secretly bids goodbye to Gaon and he then quickly realizes it. Captures him on time from afar. The 2 men bid each other goodbye which then ends the drama.

Thoughts: If you like stories like Batman or The Hunger Games this would be the drama for you. The writer seem to took inspiration from both works. I think Yohan is like Batman/Katniss while Gaon is like Peeta. Oddly reminds me of the finale alot with the similarities of the characters. Or sometimes Gaon acts like Katniss/Peeta both. Just remove the whole romance aspect of The Hunger Games. There's quite a few angst moments of Yohan and Gaon. Gaon all of a sudden cares for Yohan. The writer tries to include those similiarities with the 2 characters. Yohan wants nothing more than revenge. Then the rest of the SRF are like the trial players or could be the government too. They try to copy the brutality of the hunger games the games itself with the fire incident and the finale of the drama. All trying to save themselves from death.

Messed up the ending. What I wanted most from this drama was for people to rise up to protect their country, because its the job of people to protect their country not the job of one or two people like Yohan and Ga On. Also they didn't even show the aftermath of the last trial. What happened to that dream house project and what was the people's reaction about the live trial? Assuming the whole time it was filmed. What did they think of Yohan after that? Alot of afterthought was left out.

Rating: Story: 3 (Great until episode 12 onwards) Production: 2 (Locations and the offices were ok but not meant for the dystopian feel they were trying to sell. Could've been more modern looking set) OST: 1 (BGM is spot on and fills the scenes well, dont like the rock portion of the OST) Acting: 4 (Mainly because of Ji Sung) Character Development: .5 (Main cast are 1 sided and no room or little improvement) Overall Enjoyment: 1 (The drama's tone is consistent throughout despite the bad writing) Total Rating: 2.5/6

#2021 #The Devil Judge

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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The Principal

Prompt 37: Forbidden romance AU: Katniss is the school principal. Peeta is a new teacher fresh out of college. Age!gap Everlark. Smut happens. [submitted by @mrspeetamellark]

Author: JHsgf82

Rating: M (may go up for the next part)

Word Count: 5,336

Author Note: Edit by @mrspeetamellark. Thank you! Quote is by L.M. Montgomery from Anne of Green Gables. Okay, so I preface this with, I’m not a smut writer. I’m branching out into this territory, but I’m still quite inexperienced, so go easy on me. Due to lack of time, the smut scene is pretty short, but I plan to write a much more extended one, several, actually, in the next part (s). I hope you enjoy it!

Trigger Warning: Age gap/age difference, Older!Katniss. Both adults.

Katniss strode down the familiar halls of D12 to her office, her father’s old, brown, leather satchel slung across her shoulder and a single muffin in hand, which she’d bought from this nearby bakery she’d decided to try out. She wore a black boatneck tank beneath a long, ribbed green cardigan (left unbuttoned), black dress pants, and belt.

At 30, Katniss was the youngest principal in the history of D12 and one of only two female principals. Her female predecessor, two principals ago, Ms. Lucy Gray Baird had been an inspiration to all, and though Katniss never met her, she felt her influence everyday. For one, her eye always caught Principal Gray Baird’s picture on the wall‒her dark, curly hair pulled up in a bun, makeup on her face, and smiling. And two, she’d heard Lucy Gray Baird could sing like a bird and likewise led students to frequently place in All-District (or higher) choral competitions as Katniss had done when she was a teacher.

But Katniss didn’t participate in those things anymore. And as for Ms. Gray Baird, well, some said she was alive, but no one knew exactly where she’d flown off to after she retired. Whether she was off somewhere living peacefully, or dead, strangely, Katniss felt as though her spirit roamed these hallways‒and Katniss was not a supernatural or superstitious kind of person.

Two years ago, Katniss was offered the principal position. It was a great honor, and although she hated leaving her teaching position, she couldn’t decline it. Since she’d become principal, Katniss had implemented some good changes, so she thought, and she truly hoped her father would be proud of her.

Katniss prided herself on being authoritative, firm but fair, and decisive. She trusted her gut instincts when making decisions in work and in her personal life, and normally, she made good ones. Last night, however, was not the best decision of her life, and she’d already caught some heat for it this morning. But, to quote one of her favorite authors: ‘[Today] is a new day with no mistakes in it…yet.’

Once settled into her office, Katniss brought up her email and her schedule. She was to meet with the new teacher in only ten minutes. It didn’t leave her much time; she could either quickly send out a few emails that needed to be sent and scarf down her muffin or save the muffin for after the meeting and deal with the hunger gnawing at her insides.

Fortunately, Katniss was something of an expert on hunger‒not life-threatening hunger, but she knew what it was like to do without and forego her urges. Again, not last night. Last night seemed to be the exception to all rules pertaining to Katniss Everdeen. What she had experienced last night was similar to what she was feeling now, albeit entirely different‒last night’s hunger had nothing to do with food.

With a sigh, Katniss dug into her temples. This was neither the time nor place to be thinking about last night’s escapade, but she couldn’t seem to help it. As her hang‒headache wore off, more details kept coming back to her, and she felt herself reclining back in her chair a moment. There was nothing wrong with a little daydreaming, a quick fantasy, although work was not the best place for it; but perhaps, it would sustain her throughout the day. Resist. She squeezed her eyes shut, commanding her hippocampus to shut down its function, gripped the arms of her chair, and leaned forward resolutely.

As she attempted once more to focus on her work, that other type of hunger, actual hunger, pricked at her, urging her to take a big bite of the muffin.

Great. In a matter of seconds, she’d thought about the very two things she’d vowed not to‒the muffin and last night.

Satisfy it.

At least the former.

Hoping to satiate her stomach, Katniss reached out with pinched forefinger and thumb, thinking she’d just tear a little off the top, but then…no. She didn’t trust her urges lately, even if last night had been incredible. She needed to learn, or re-learn, how to control them, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. So, she ignored the muffin. This would be an exercise in self-control.

She returned to the e-mails.

Not long after, her assistant chimed in over the phone’s intercom, “Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark is here.”

Pressing the button, she talked into the speaker, “Thank you. Send him in.”

When the broad, blond man stepped through the doorway of her office, Katniss felt all the blood drain from her body. Her eyes widened, and her mouth, all of a sudden drier than cotton, dropped open. Realization dawned on his face, too, his pale eyebrows shooting up and his body going stiff. Much like hers. Katniss felt as though she had a ramrod stuck up the back of her shirt for as straight as she was sitting up.

Oh no, not him.

But it was him, the man from last night, the man she took home with her after a chance encounter at a bar. In a flash, those memories her brain had been sorting out, which she’d so deliberately been trying to subdue, came rushing back at her, assaulting her. And the night’s events unfurled before her eyes in a montage of flirty conversation, sexy looks, sensual touches, lingering kisses, and...sex, incredible sex.

Katniss felt pinpricks stabbing her all throughout her chest; she could barely breathe. Inhaling and exhaling, slow and steady, she placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, urging it to calm down, as if that would do a thing; then, she fumbled for the water bottle in her bag. She located it and took a quick swig, kind of wishing it was alcohol‒although, look at the mess that got her in…

“Are you alright?” he gently asked. She glanced back up at him.

On second look, yeah, it was definitely him, the very same blond man she’d had in her bed less than 3 hours ago. What was his name…? It started with a P…something to do with bread… Shit. She couldn’t even remember his name!

But it was even worse than that. Not only did she sleep with a man who was now her employee, but he was six years younger than her!

Oh God, was this going to be her legacy now? Screwing the younger teachers? She could just imagine the whispers and the looks she’d get, what the parents and her colleagues would say if they found out…

As for him, he didn’t seem wholly un-phased, although he looked calmer than her. He was just standing there watching her, his cheeks slightly ruddy and his hands tucked sheepishly into his pockets.

“F-fine,” she choked out. But she wasn’t. This situation was anything but fine. And what kept reverberating in her head was: ‘How could I have been so stupid?’ It was stupid enough to get intimately involved with a guy she just met, one much too young for her, while intoxicated, but for him to be a teacher at her school…! Okay, so she didn’t know that then.

Pushing aside her ignorance over who he was…but yes, there was that. She really should have known. Upon recollection, he’d said he was a teacher; he’d even told her that tomorrow was his first day and he had an early morning meeting with the principal of his new school‒there were only a few schools in this area… She should have pieced it together, or at least, been more cognizant of the warning signs.

Why had she done it? Well, all she could really say was that she’d wanted to lose herself last night. And it had been nice, more than nice. Last night, she’d realized how starved she’d been for human affection. For touch. Closeness. Had it really been so long? Or, maybe it was his specific touch she’d been craving? No, that was foolish. What kind of useless drivel was her mind formulating now? This is what she was reduced to when she was hungry.

But how could she have even entertained the notion in the first place? How did it even begin? Oh yeah, she remembered now…she’d been in a shitty mood, had a bit too much to drink, and he was hot.

Thinking back, Katniss recalled their eyes locking across the bar, and she’d done a double-take, then a triple-take, then a slow observation up and down his body, what wasn’t blocked by the bar, anyway. She’d planned on leaving it at that, as a look-but-no-touch kind of scenario, because this guy was clearly younger than her, and frankly, she just wasn’t in the mood. Or, so she thought. But he had other plans…

Katniss watched him stand from his seat, take his drink and napkin, and approach her. She swallowed down the lump in her throat at the enticing sight of his lower half which had been previously hidden from sight.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked. Polite or cliché line, whichever the case, she didn’t have any fight left in her today, so she merely shrugged. He was good-looking, and he smelled nice, like a masculine aftershave (a rain-soaked wood perhaps) and strangely, also like cinnamon and dill.

‘Okay, this is fine, so long as he isn’t a talker…'

He was a talker.

But Katniss rather enjoyed the velvety sound of his voice, and he seemed nice enough. He was clearly working subtle flirtations in, and though she appreciated the ego boost, it was best to cut it off before he put in too much effort.

She was direct, so she went with a blunt tack.

Katniss sighed, exaggerating her annoyance with him. “Go away, little boy. Go home to your mother. I’m sure it’s way past your bedtime.“ This young guy was hot and obviously interested, which was flattering, but she was in such a shitty mood that she didn’t even care if he thought her a bitch.

"Ouch.” He grimaced yet seemed undeterred. Boldly resting his hand on her arm and leaning in to where his lips barely brushed the shell of her ear, he whispered, "I promise there’s nothing little about me."

Katniss couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. "Really? Is that the line you’re choosing to go with?”

Still, he didn’t seem discouraged. “I admit it’s not my wittiest remark, but I get better with time." He shot her a little wink.

Cheeky kid.

"How old are you?” she asked.

“24."

"I was right, just a child.”

“Last time I checked, the age of legal adulthood was 18."

Katniss scoffed. "What are you, a lawyer?" Not her wittiest remark, either.

"No, a teacher.”

Huh. Small world.

If only she knew then how very small, indeed…

“So, how old are you?” He rested his chin on his knuckle, making him look even more boyish. She couldn’t deny he was cute.

“You’re not supposed to ask a lady that,” scoffed she.

"Alright, then how about I guess?" She rolled her eyes as he went off in his head. "Mmm…27?”

“You’re sweet, junior.”

“Thanks, but I prefer ’Peeta.’" He stuck out his hand, and reluctantly, she offered hers.

"Katniss.”

“Katniss,” he repeated, tasting her name on his lips like it was a fine wine or something.

This guy was good. He’d kept her talking and gotten her to introduce herself. He hung onto her hand, placing his other atop their clasped ones, trapping hers there.

“Well, Katniss, so you’re older than me." He shrugged. "You look young, and it doesn’t really matter to me, anyway."

"Why not?”

“Because you’re beautiful. I’d know; I have an eye for beauty." He flashed her a perfect smile. "Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? It seems like you’ve had a rough day, and I could use one, too. No harm in having one together, right?”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Look, I’m not planning on getting sloshed; I’m just a little nervous about my first day of work tomorrow, so I could use a little something. Keep me company? I promise you’ll barely have to put up with me at all.”

Smiling faintly, Katniss nodded.

Yes, he was very good. Persuasive. Incredibly persuasive. He’d persuade her of a whole lot more that night…

Even knowing where it was inevitably leading, they’d taken their time at the bar, chatting about a little bit of everything but nothing really. Peeta (that was his name) kept touching her in a manner that was just enough to get her engines revving but not enough to make her uncomfortable.

And Katniss had thought, why not? Why not give herself a little treat? She made it sound like she’d gone for an ice cream at Dairy Queen rather than dragged a young, hot guy she just met home, but at the time, it hadn’t mattered. She’d impulsively decided to live a little, for once.

And he was good, so very good.

They’d barely made it in the door before they were tearing at each other’s clothing, lips roaming, bodies pressed up against each other. They’d slammed into a couple of surfaces before he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He’d carried her off to her bedroom, which took her a moment to remember where it was. He’d covered her body with his, propping himself up slightly, and she’d ground her hips up and into him while he teased her center and tasted her tongue, then her breasts, then moved lower.

He’d eaten her out, and after, he’d pressed her up against her headboard; she’d had to grip it tight and hold on for the ride as he swiftly entered her from behind. Then, when he was ready, he’d flipped her over onto the bed and slipped inside her again, lacing his hands with hers and thrusting strong and steady until she reached completion a third time.

By the end of the night, they were sweaty and spent, and she was a little hoarse.

But she recalled how it wasn’t all fast and rough. He’d also been tender with her, brushing the hair out of her face, peppering her face with little kisses, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear while he spooned her.

But all that fun was over. Now, it had come back to bite her in the ass.

First off, Katniss had woken feeling disoriented, and a bit sore. When she remembered (the gist of) what had happened, she’d been mortified, but at least the mystery guy with the odd name had had enough sense to be gone when she got up.

Good, she’d thought. Saved her the embarrassing conversation of having to kick him out.

At the time, it had seemed like a better idea to go to her place than his. He would know where she lived, yes, but if he tried to murder or harass her, that’s where her neighbor came in.

Her cranky old neighbor, Haymitch, was a cop, when he wasn’t drunk, that is. Katniss imagined him to be like one of those rogue cops in the movies and TV series, who wasn’t afraid to pop a cap into someone who deserved it when the criminal justice system failed. And for some strange reason, he’d taken a shining to her. Most of the time they mutually despised one another, but occasionally, it was as if he flipped a switch and decided to be pleasant, and he could even be protective of her. He’d hollered and acted crazy once to get rid of a guy for her, even pulled his badge on another crazy boyfriend. And if all that didn’t work, at least she had a weapon under her bed.

Speaking of crotchety, old Haymitch Abernathy, she’d passed him in the hall while he was stumbling out of his door for this morning’s paper, and he’d accosted her…

“Ya really shouldn’t be dragging strange men home from bars, sweetheart. S’not safe.”

“Didn’t know you cared, Haymitch,” she said dryly, folding her arms. Although, she did. He was a textbook type, putting on a tough façade, acting as if he didn’t care about anything or anyone when actually he cared a lot.

“Sure,” he shrugged, “you’re like the daughter I never had‒and never wanted.” He added the last part with a slight curl of the lips.

“Gee, thanks, Haymitch.”

“No problem.” He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. “So, I take it this one was okay?”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he was okay.” More than okay… “He even left without me having to tell him to.” She tapped her fingers against her arm.

“Ah, a smart one. However, I do have a complaint. Y’all made quite the racket last night!”

“Haymitch, god!” Katniss groaned. She pressed her fingers into her temple. They did; they really did‒she was surprised they hadn’t broken her bed‒and she was trying hard not to smile about it. Not in front of Haymitch. “Please, please do not talk like an overprotective parent one minute then comment on my sex life the next.”

“Then keep it down, why don’t ya?!”

God. Well, now he knew about her one-night stand. Oh well. Not like he’d say anything to anyone, and he was the least of her worries.

Back to the matter, and the man, at hand.

Peeta Mellark, the new teacher, stood in the middle of her office as if he didn’t dare come closer without permission. He was dressed in an orange and white striped button-down dress shirt tucked into navy pants, and he wore a navy tie. His ashy blond hair was gelled and slightly coiffed.

He looked good.

He’d looked good last night, too, more casual, dressed in a slightly form-fitting baby blue Henley and jeans, and his hair had fallen in waves across his forehead. Last night, he’d been cute and hot and fun; today, he was handsome and distinguished, and he’d suddenly aged five years. Katniss couldn’t decide which look she liked better on him. Both were attractive in their own right…but no, she absolutely should not be focusing on his looks right now, or ever.

Composing herself, she finally beckoned for him. “Mr. Mellark. Have a seat.”

He sat down, threaded his fingers together, and gave her a tentative smile.

Well, he certainly was much less confident today. Not that she could blame him; she was rather a jumble herself. She supposed she’d better address the elephant in the room.

She sucked in a breath and swallowed the lump in her throat before proceeding.

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t realize it was you. I couldn’t remember your name at first.”

Good one, Katniss.

“Ouch.” He gave a little chuckle. “Well, I remember everything about you, Katniss. Like, you have one sister; your favorite color is green; you love to get out into nature and go hunting, and you’re obsessed with hot chocolate and love to dip your bread in it.”

Well, they had covered some informational ground last night, hadn’t they?

His sexy grin returned, and just like that, the ice was broken, and he was the same cheeky, charming, albeit slightly smart-mouthed man she remembered from last night.

“Are you trying to be romantic or piss me off?” she blurted out.

“Neither. Just saying…”

“By the way, you should address me as Ms. Everdeen or Principal Everdeen. And we’re in a meeting.”

“Excuse my informality, Ms. Everdeen,” he stressed her name. How was it he could sound both contrite and like a smart ass at the same time? “I suppose it is much more appropriate if I call you that here.”

What was he inferring? That he might address her differently elsewhere? That they might actually associate with one another outside of school ever again? Their night together had been fun, amazing, really, but that was over. Even if she wanted to see him again, it was now forbidden…

Damn it all if thinking of it as ‘forbidden’ wasn’t getting her all hot and bothered. She squeezed her legs beneath her desk, digging her nails into the arms of her chair to ground herself.

She inhaled and slowly exhaled. “Yes, it is. Thank you, Peet-Mr. Mellark.”

Katniss still couldn’t understand what in hell was the matter with her. And how had she not put two and two together last night? She supposed it was because she hadn’t been on the hiring committee when he was hired; she’d only seen him as Mr. Mellark on paper. And they’d only exchanged first names last night.

Plus, she’d been stupid and horny.

“By the way, how’d you sleep, Ms. Everdeen?” Peeta gave her that sassy little smirk of his.

She scowled at him. “Never you mind how I slept.”

Peeta chuckled.

He was on dangerous ground. If he kept laughing at her, he was gonna get his cute, tight little ass fired. But then again, she couldn’t really do that. She had no legitimate reason to fire him. Sexual harassment, maybe, but she certainly couldn’t not claim that without coming clean about what happened between them.

“You know, I wanted to greet you properly this morning, but I had to get going. So sorry to just leave a note.”

Yes, she recalled his note. It was…a little sappy for her taste, but sweet.

Katniss sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. All of a sudden, her shoulders felt tenser than ever and that small twinge from before had become a gigantic pain.

“Did you injure yourself?” He wasn’t laughing or smiling this time; he seemed genuinely concerned.

“No,” she snipped. She had, but she wasn’t going to admit it to him. She certainly wasn’t going to tell this young, twenty-something that she’d pulled a muscle having sex with him. How humiliating that would be. Granted, it was probably made worse from sleeping on it the way she did, but the initial pull came from the sex. It made her feel much older than she was, and he seemed just fine. Bodies truly didn’t seem to function the same in the thirties as in the twenties; it was like an invisible line was crossed. “It’s nothing,” she told him. “Just a crick.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He paused. “You know, there’s a remedy for that.”

“Oh yeah?” She eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the inevitable pick-up line‒an offer to massage it for her or something. And dammit, she was getting turned on again!

“Heat,” said Peeta.

Oh. She internally berated herself for her lusty thoughts. What was worse was that now she couldn’t get the image of him massaging her out of her head.

“There is also massage, of course.” He flashed her that brilliant smile of his.

Damn mind reader!

With a sigh, Katniss drummed her fingers several times on her desk. Okay, this would be fine. It was over and done with, and they could begin a new, professional relationship‒so long as he got it through his head that this wasn’t fun and games.

“Okay, let’s get something straight, Mr. Mellark. This can’t happen.”

“What can’t?”

“This.” She motioned between them. “You…and me, whatever. Not again.”

“Oh, so we are going to talk about it,” said Peeta, crossing one leg over the other.

“I think we need to. Because this…I don’t know…this flirtatious talk and those smiles of yours can’t continue.”

“I can’t smile at you?” Peeta’s brow furrowed, and he placed a hand on his chest.

“Not like that, no.”

“I was just being friendly, Miss Everdeen.”

“No, you weren’t. You know what you were doing; you…nevermind.” She placed both hands on her temples and rubbed. Once she’d dug in really good, she covered her face with one hand, dropping the other to her desk. Suddenly, she felt his large, warm hand cover hers.

When she looked up, Peeta was leaning forward. Her gaze flickered between his bright blue eyes and his hand covering hers.

“I’m sorry to cause you stress. I promise I won’t make things difficult for you.”

“Thank you.” Katniss’s words came out with a gust of breath. “I appreciate that, Mr. Mellark. Thank you for being mature about this.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem.” Peeta removed his hand and used it to scratch the stubble on his chin. She couldn’t help drifting back to the way that stubble had felt against her inner thighs…

“I mean, what happened was a complete coincidence,” he continued. “No reason it should affect our positions here.” He dropped his hands to his lap and folded them.

“Right. So, then…” She perused his file. Thank God she was a speed-reader because she hadn’t had the opportunity to learn about him in a professional capacity, as she should have been doing, last night. “I see you have your Master’s in Elementary Education. And hm, seems you come highly recommended.”

Peeta’s hand had raised to partially cover his mouth, and she thought she caught the slight upturn of his lip. Was he laughing at her struggle to keep her composure, or…She swore if it was because she’d said ‘come’ she was going to reach across her desk and slap him, consequences be damned! He said he would be professional!

But really, what did she expect? He was young and most likely, immature, and she had just banged him last night. He probably wasn’t taking her seriously right now, at all.

“What?” she snipped.

“Nothing.”

Peeta was eyeing her muffin now. Did he really have such a short attention span? How did he ever make it through school, let alone become a teacher?

“I hope you enjoy the muffin,” he commented.

“Thanks.” What a strange segue.

“You know, I was going to make you breakfast this morning, but since it was your place, I didn’t want to overstep my bounds by rummaging around in your kitchen.”

How thoughtful. But overstep his bounds? Well, they were both so far out of bounds last night that the boundaries weren’t even visible.

“Plus, I had to leave early for this meeting with you, which I didn’t know was with you, since you never gave me your last name last night, and I was only told I would be meeting with Principal Everdeen.” He gave a sardonic little laugh. “What are the odds?”

“Glad you find this so damn funny, Mr. Mellark.”

“Not funny ha-ha, just kind of ironic. Not great literature-ironic or anything, but interesting.”

Katniss huffed. “Mr. Mellark,” she chided.

“I know I’m supposed to address you by your title, but you can call me Peeta if you want.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, then I suppose suggesting a rain check on breakfast would be a bad idea?”

“Yes, it definitely would.”

Peeta nodded. “Well, at least you have the muffin. Do me a favor and tell me how you like it.”

“Alright…" She sighed. How odd. Then again, Peeta didn’t seem like the typical guy. He’d made a lot of…quirky remarks last night. “But let me remind you, this is a professional meeting.”

“Of course.”

Before she could go on, Peeta interrupted.

“But you have to admit, it is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

Katniss folded her arms on her desk and dropped her head to rest on them a moment. “Peeta…,” she began in a warning tone when she raised her head.

“You’re not at all glad to see me?”

“No, Peeta. Sorry, but I’m not.” At least, not here she wasn’t. “This is horrible. It’s not ironic, and it’s not fate, unless you count it as a cruel joke of the universe, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

At the look on his face, she huffed in exasperation. “How can you not be as mortified as I am? It’s worse for me, but how do you feel knowing you fucked your boss the night before your first day of work?”

“Well, I’m not ashamed like you are, and I can brush it off.” Apparently, he couldn’t. “Two people met in a bar; they liked each other; they hooked up; it’s no big deal.”

“Maybe not for you. But can’t you see how this changes our whole dynamic?”

“Only if we let it.”

Katniss sighed. He made a good point. Perhaps he was wiser and more mature than she gave him credit for, even if he wasn’t acting it right now. Maybe if she started treating him more like a colleague and a man rather than a kid. She certainly saw him as all man last night.

“Alright.” Peeta casually folded his hands in his lap. “What is it you’re concerned with?”

“I don’t want anyone to know we know each other, let alone that we had a…physical involvement.”

“Fair enough.” Peeta nodded.

“And you’re to always address me by my title, not my first name, and definitely not by any of those little pet names you were spouting last night.”

Peeta laughed. “You didn’t like them, huh? I guess it was a little much; I just get…chatty when I’m turned on.”

Katniss rolled her eyes.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

“I also want you to know that what happened last night…that’s not me, or something that I normally do. Ever.”

Peeta nodded. “I didn’t figure you for the type. And neither am I, if I’m being honest.”

Katniss pressed her lips together.

“So, may I ask–and I’m not fishing for a compliment here, but‒what was different about last night?” he asked.

“Well,” Katniss heaved a sigh. “I was in a crappy mood last night, a really, really crappy mood. I don’t want to get into it; it’s personal, so let’s just leave it at that.” She thinned her lips “I was upset; then there was the alcohol, and you were…” There. It was more than that, of course, but she wasn’t going to stoke his ego further, nor add to the inappropriateness of the situation by saying how attracted she was (still is) to him. Not like it would come as a surprise, given her enthusiasm last night. “Nice to me.”

Again, Peeta nodded. “I see. Well…” He raised his broad shoulders and paused as if he didn’t know what to say next. “I hope I made your night better.”

Katniss couldn’t help it; she snorted. “Um,” she picked at her nail, grinning slightly. “You did. You…definitely did.” She looked up then, the smile falling away. “But I meant it when I said we should be professional, so I think this should be the very last this topic is ever brought up.”

"Anything else?"

"No, I don’t think so."

“Okay, then, let me see if I have this straight. You are Ms. Everdeen or Principal Everdeen to me, and I am Mr. Mellark to you. We’ve never met before today, but we have a mutual respect for one another and a purely professional working relationship.”

“Right. Very good.”

“Well, I do have a very high IQ. It’s in my file, you know.”

Again, she rolled her eyes.

“I think we have an understanding.” Peeta reached out to shake her hand, and when she touched it, she felt that same bolt of electricity she felt last night. “And I promise to be completely respectful and professional from here on out.”

#JHsgf82 #mrspeetamellark #prompt 37 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Sixteen (f.o)

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

Word Count; 8.8k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder

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

–

“You’re still sure you want to do this?” Finnick asks, you give him a look.

“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Feel free to join Katniss’ star squad.” you snort at the name of it, “Boggs already made us the offer and said we can change our minds at any time up until we leave.”

“I remember.” Finnick says, he grips his shiny, new trident in his hand tightly, before deciding that he might as well strap it to his body so he’s not carrying it around everywhere, “I just thought you might want to back out is all.”

You roll your eyes, “The day I back out of anything, is the day I’m a coward.”

“I’m Commander Paylor of District Eight.” Paylor begins, Finnick’s head immediately snaps up to see her, you practically already have Paylor’s speech memorized, “I’m a soldier like all of you so, here’s what I know. For the first time in our lifetimes, we’re standing together with thirteen districts. From what I see here, we’ve already made history.”

The clapping starts first, the cheering is a second behind. There’s a shitload of people here. No only in the streets, but on the rooftops too. Volunteers from every district have been flown in, leading up to this moment. What you did yesterday, really opened up a ton of opportunities.

“But history doesn’t stop to celebrate, and we’re facing an enemy that will not change and will never surrender. President Snow has pulled back peacekeepers to fortify the center of the city. He’s evacuating residents from outer blocks, these civilians will be confused and desperate. You are under orders not to target them.”

Paylor motions to the crowd, “We’re deploying medical brigades to help anyone in need. We’ll show the Capitol people who we are.” she motions to the live screen behind her of a map, “To slow our advance, President Snow is building a minefield of traps and lethal devices called ‘pods’. The sadistic inventions of gamemakers meant to make sport of our deaths.

“If our armies make it past peacekeepers and other defenses, we’ll converge in the center of the city at Snow’s mansion, where we won’t just unlock his gates, but unshackle all of Panem.” The crowd cheers again, “If we die, let it be for a cause and not a spectacle. If we succeed, let it be for all of panem, and let it be forever.

“Yes, you’ve already made history. But the future--our future--starts tomorrow at dawn, when we march together into the Capitol.”

The cheering resumes, and you give a quick glance to Katniss and Gale, curious to see how they’re taking all of this. Gale came into District Two a little after you had left--he was on a hovercraft full of volunteers--and Katniss came over this morning as a stowaway on another volunteer hovercraft.

She’s been insisting to help this entire time, not wanting to sit back. However, she’s going to be in for a nasty surprise when she realizes that she’s the top priority. Her squad is going to do anything to keep her safe--which is exactly why you’ve decided not to join the star squad.

You’ve already had the misfortune of being in on protecting her once, and that was enough for you. You might not have known every single detail, but the intentions were pretty clear. You’re just surprised that it took so long for Katniss to realize that she was the priority.

Also, the problem with the star squad is that they’re not front lines. Katniss can’t be killed, otherwise the revolution dies or whatever. So, Boggs told you that they’re going to give the volunteers a head start, and then they’ll follow behind. No matter what happens, the squad will still have to be careful of pods and whatnot, but most of them will be taken out by the volunteers by the time the squad leaves the base.

In other words--they’re not going to get any action. Katniss is still going to be filmed, but it’s practically useless in your mind. Her setting off pods or standing patriotically in front of things isn’t going to do much. She’s not leading anyone, she’s following behind people.

Which is a whole other reason why you’re up front: you’re not a follower, you’re a leader.

As Paylor gets back to her speech, giving more information, you grab a hold of Finnick’s arm, and start to pull him out of the crowd. Trying to navigate through is hard at first, until the volunteers see the look on your face, or recognize who you are. After that, a path just wide enough for you and Finnick to fit through, forms.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here, we were already briefed.” you say, and the second you’re out of the crowd, you let Finnick go.

Bouncing on your toes, you twirl around a bit, “Tomorrow, huh? Too bad it can’t be today.”

“We’ll probably be introduced to our squad at least.” Finnick says, “You know where to go?”

“What kind of moronic question is that?” you ask, heading to the building that Lyme said would be the meet up spot for you guys, “Of course I know.”

Lyme and Boggs had approached both you and Finnick. Either you could join Katniss’ star squad, protect her, befriend her, trust her--whatever. You guys would have a chance of being on television, and maybe even share some glory of ‘being brave and marching to the Capitol’. In your opinion, it looks like Coin just wants to put two of her best faces together to make you look like a team.

Especially after what you said to the people inside of the tunnel, you basically discredited Katniss in the worst way possible. By saying that she can’t relate to them, because she doesn’t get it. You said what you said, you weren’t lying to their faces. If Coin wants to think that, then she can because she’s psychotic anyway.

Anyway, Lyme said that you could go to the front lines. Like you said, Coin doesn’t control you, because you aren’t the one leading the masses--Katniss is. If you want to go ahead and clear out streets for the medical brigades, then you can go nuts with it. You’ll get your own personalized squad that Lyme thinks will get along with you, and then you’re free to go tomorrow.

You’ll have your own pod-tracker, a map to follow, food and water, weapons, etc. But this just means that you’re going to be in danger with every step you take. The pod-tracker, which is actually called the Holo, will be as updated as can be, tomorrow. However, if any new pods appear, you won’t really know until it’s too late.

You received all of this news pretty well. You’re used to being in places you’re not welcome at. You’re pretty agile, you can fight well, you’re not too bad when it comes to leading a group. And if you get killed on the way, what a noble way to go out.

As for Finnick, you could just tell that this isn’t what he thought it was going to be. You don’t know what he expected exactly, but it wasn’t a whole ton of danger all wrapped up in one big city. Seeing the Capitol as dangerous is a comedy. To you two, it’s been sparkle and shimmer for as long as you can remember.

Combining the pretty idea of it, and the idea that the gamemakers have not held back with what will go on with traps--isn’t a fun thought. Especially not for you, since you’re the one who’s seen it as glamour the entire time. Finnick… you’re not too sure. He definitely doesn’t have good memories either, but he also got his shitload of secrets from there, so you’re not entirely sure.

You know that he’s pro-rebellion though. That’s obvious by now.

Back to what you were saying, Boggs and Lyme both offered sides to it. Follow Katniss around and not be in direct danger all the time, or have your own squad and be face-to-face with danger. She liked to describe it as ‘death breathing down your neck’.

You already promised a lot of people that you wouldn’t be taking the cowards way out. And like you’ve said already; you don’t want to be in the star squad.

While the entire interaction was happening, it was obvious that Finnick was hoping you would change your mind. Like everything that you’ve done up until now has been one entire joke.

He’ll realize just how real it’ll all be as soon as tomorrow comes. When the deal with Boggs no longer stands and you have to go with Lyme no matter what.

Actually, you wouldn’t have to go with her. You would be able to just stay in District Two, while all the volunteers do your dirty work.

“Remember any of the names that she told us?” You ask Finnick, looking at him.

He’s got his thumbs looped into the straps of the bulletproof vest he’s wearing. He thinks for a moment, and then makes a face, “Not really.”

You shrug, “Not a problem, I’ve got a way around seeming rude.”

Finnick laughs, “You care about that?”

“They’re going to be the ones saving our necks, so yeah.” You say, cracking your knuckles, “They’re not a bunch of victors that I can mouth off to. They’re regular people, they won’t understand and will end up taking it personally.”

“Critical thinking.” Finnick mocks.

If you didn’t have all this armor on, you’d spin around and kick his ass. Even then, he might be able to win. When you two were putting the outfits on, he looked like none of the weight fazed him. As for you, your knees nearly buckled.

On top of the armor are the backpacks, and then your fancy weapons, and a hundred other things inside of the backpacks. It makes it all so heavy, and your shoulders had begun to ache after a while.

The only reason why you’re still wearing it—because in no way was it required to be worn—is because you want to get used to the feeling of it all. It’s why you continue to move around quickly, bounce on your toes, spin in circles and all of that. You’re trying to fix your balance.

If Finnick had tried to push you over when you first put all this weight on, you would have stumbled and fell. Now, you’ve begun to get a hang of it all, it’s not nearly as bad as you thought it was.

You two make it to the abandoned building. The upper floor is caved in, the windows are gone and if the ground shakes, concrete debris will come through the cracks. Definitely not a safe place to be at, but the entire district is fucked up like this. It’s not really a huge surprise.

The inside of the building is relatively empty, except for some furniture. Finnick waits by the door while you head inside, stealing two chairs--one in each arm--as you leave the house. If the place collapses, you’d rather be on the outside, not the entire.

Finnick takes his chair from you, and the two of you set up camp outside. You have to shed the backpack before you sit. Then, you unbuckle the bulletproof vest and drop it onto the dirt next to you, leaning back in the chair.

“Have you ever actually gone to war before?” Finnick asks.

“There’s always a first time for everything.” you give him a pretty smile, “Don’t be so negative about it, you’re going to imagine bad things and then get us killed.”

Finnick pauses for a moment, letting what you said sit, and then he moves on, “Are you doing okay?”

You watch his face, looking for mockery. It takes a moment of you squinting and watching the corner of his lips for you to decide. He’s being sincere about it, he actually cares.

You relax, “I’m still mourning, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Finnick is just as relieved as you are, “Are you throwing yourself into this because of her?”

“I’m doing this because I promised those people that I would.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t owe them anything--” Finnick tries.

You squint at him again, but this time it’s a very clear glare. Finnick shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and you resist to kick out the weakest leg that’s barely holding his weight.

“They are my people.” you lean forward, “I might not know their names, but they’re District Two. They are the people that I grew up with. They look up to us, they depend on us victors. Of course I owe them, and you do too.”

Finnick doesn’t bother with saying anything else, and it’s probably for the best. It’s only a few minutes later when you see people approaching. After that, you sit up in your chair, uncrossing your legs as you lean on your knees with your elbows.

“You must be (Y/n) and Finnick.” a girl with blonde, curled hair says, “I’m Hydri.”

You get to your feet, holding out your hand, “Nice to meet you.

“This is Taurus,” she motions to a tall man with black hair. There’s tattoos snaking up his neck, and they’re peeking out from beneath his sleeves, “And Alioth.”

Alioth is around average height. He gives a small smile and raises his hand as a greeting. His hair is blonde too, and it’s a style that was most definitely taken out of the Capitol’s stylists books. The sides are shaved but they have intricate designs in them.

“Let me guess, you two are from District Two?” you ask, shaking Taurus’ hand, and then Alioths.

“Not me.” Hydri smiles kindly, “Taurus is from District One, though. He was nearly in the games once.”

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t, you would have wiped the floor with my body.” Taurus says, his voice is pretty deep.

“No shit.” you laugh, “I always heard about the runner-up from District One, but I never got to see who you were.”

Taurus cracks a smile.

Finnick moves around you to greet them just the same as you did. Then, the conversation shifts to what you’re all really here for--what happens tomorrow.

The entire thing is very friendly, you all go over what you’ll be having inside the backpacks, and the difference between them. Just so that if one of you get hurt or killed, the others will know if the backpack is worth taking or not. While you’re talking, you learn that Alioth will be carrying mostly medical stuff. He’s got food and ammo for himself, but when he opens his backpack and shows it to you guys, you can see exactly what he means.

To have him get killed would be bad. You all have basic medical training, from the games or otherwise. But Alioth’s been studying it for years now since he got out of high school. He originally wanted to sign up for the medical brigade that will be sent out of District Two, but Paylor thought it would be better for him to come with you guys.

Taurus has got the basic prep-games training that you guys get in the academies, so he’ll be a pretty good fighter. Another person you guys wouldn’t want to lose, and yet he tells you all that he doesn’t care if you lean on him. It’s what he’s here for.

As for Hydri, she’s purely for organization. She’s been studying the maps for the last few days, so she’ll be able to keep you from getting lost and from getting off-track. You’ll be able to meet up around Snow’s mansion in the center city. They’ve already marked a building that’s not really used, so it’s the perfect place to go.

After a while, the conversation starts to get a bit dull, and it’s also around the same time that the sun has set. So, you tell them all that you and Finnick are going to grab dinner and head to where you’re staying for the night. Tomorrow, you five will be meeting up in a separate designated spot to receive the Holo, and then hop on a truck to be brought to the city.

Then, you’ll be fighting for your life. Again.

You turn the Holo over in your hand, looking at it carefully.

“Don’t break it, we could barely even spare you this one.” the lady tells you.

You look at her, raising your head to be level with her face. Finnick--sensing a showdown--steps in, “Thank you.”

He tries to drag you away, but you keep your stance for a moment, “Lyme personally requested it for me, so you aren’t sparing jack shit. Go fuck yourself.” without missing a beat, you take the Holo from her fingers, mock a smile and say, “I mean, have a nice day.”

You and Finnick leave the table after that, heading over to your group. They’re pulling on the last of their outfits, readjusting straps and buckling up. Taurus is messing around with Alioth slightly while Hydri watches.

They act like they’ve known each other forever, despite the fact that you’re all from varying districts. Taurus is from one, while you and Alioth are from two. Finnick is from four, and Hydri is from District Six. So far, you seem to like them. But they’re obviously a little apprehensive when it comes to you.

You don’t take it personally anymore.

“Got the Holo?” Hydri asks.

You lift it up for her to see, “We’re all good to go.”

“It’s already set up?” Taurus asks.

“Bitch at the booth taught me.”

Taurus snorts, “Let’s go then.”

Hydri leads the way, with Alioth right by her. Taurus hands back with you and Finnick during the walk. For them, it’s not quiet, but for you, it is.

At first, you’re looking at the groups of people getting ready to go to the trucks. And then your eyes wander a little further to where the tents are on the base. From where you are right now, you have a perfect line of sight to where Boggs is standing, talking to some woman, around them stands a few other people.

“How many people do you think have going with Katniss?” you ask.

“Remember when I ran off this morning?” Finnick asks, you nod but don’t look at him, “Went to talk to Boggs. Katniss has got her camera crew from District Thirteen with her, Gale, and the other five.”

“Huh.” you shift your gaze to the trucks, watching some of them take off. Then, it clicks in your head. Five, Katniss, Gale, and the four from the camera crew, “eleven people?”

“Yup. That’ll be a nightmare.” Finnick mutters, “Katniss is probably planning her escape at this exact moment.”

“And it would have been thirteen if we went with them.” you whistle, “There’s no safety in numbers. They’re all going to end up dead.”

Taurus turns his head a little in your direction, you can see the scowl on his face. Yet, he doesn’t ask any questions and just lets what you said slide. He doesn’t look like the confrontational type, but when he does, it’s when he’s pushed the edge. He just has that air about him.

“You really think that?” Finnick asks.

You look at him, “Thirteen people, all with different ambitions and minds of their own. All it would take is for one person to mess up, and the rest are dead. Especially since we’re walking into a minefield.”

Shaking your head, you turn the Holo in your hand, “Katniss will be lucky if she makes it past the first round of pods.”

“You hate her that much, huh?” Taurus finally pitches in, but he doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t hate her, and I don’t loathe her either. She should’ve stayed in District Thirteen, but it’s too late for that now.” you glance behind you to where Boggs is, one final time before they’re finally out of sight.

Boggs seems to be staring at you too, and when he realizes you’re looking back, he raises his hand. You stutter to do the same--mostly because you’re surprised at the action--but you do it, nonetheless. After, a building blocks the view, and you’re forced to go back to focusing on the trucks.

Hydri leads you right to an armoured truck. She knocks on the door once or twice, and then steps back as she waits for them to swing open. It takes a moment, but they do. On the inside, there’s already a couple of people sitting inside on the right. The guy who answered, takes a seat to the right again.

Hydri moves aside, a bright smile on her face as she motions for you guys to go inside. Alioth doesn’t hesitate, with one hand grabbing the bar to the left, and him taking one big step to get himself up. Then, he moves right on back. When Taurus gets up there, he doesn’t struggle with the step as much as Alioth had.

Finnick goes in before you, but he doesn’t sit down right away, instead offering his hand. You grab the bar with your left hand, and his hand with your right. Working together, he pulls you into the truck with no problem. Then, he offers the same courtesy to Hydri, but makes sure she doesn’t get the seat right next to you.

“Thanks.” you mutter, closing your eyes as you lean your head back.

“Anytime.”

Alioth must’ve leaned forward to talk to the driver through the window or something, because the truck gets moving after that. The ride is relatively bumpy at the start, since the trucks had been parked in gravel, but it smoothes out once you’re on the cement.

“Are we getting dropped off in the same spot?” Hydri asks.

“No, we’re earlier than you guys are. Trying to spread out and all.”

“That’s what I thought. At least Paylor knows what she’s doing.” Hydri sighs.

“Did you hear about Lyme?” Taurus asks.

“She’s fine.” Hydri says, “(Y/n) saw her this morning, it was just a scratch. Lyme will be back on her feet, and she might even join us in the center circle.”

“If we make it that far.”

Taurus sighs too, and the conversation between the two groups ends right there.

A while later, there’s some rustling around, making you open your eyes to see what’s going on exactly. The group across from you is getting their backpacks and weapons ready.

They’re talking amongst themselves, mostly about where the nearest pod is going to be the moment they stop off. It’s too bad that they won’t be able to locate where exactly, all they know is that it exists somewhere.

The truck comes to a slow stop, Hydri helps the other girl open the door, and she holds it open so it’s easier for the second group to leave. The other girl says a thank you, and then the doors are shut again.

Taurus and Hydri move to the other bench to make it more comfortable between you five. And Hydri just opens her mouth to say something, when there’s an explosion. For a moment, you think it’s okay, until the truck teeters, and then tips. Unfortunately, it’s in yours, Finnick’s and Alioth’s direction.

There’s not much you can do.

Butterflies swarm in your stomach. A scream rises to your throat. You reach out to grab something--anything.

Your fingers just barely latch onto the edge of the bench, but you hang onto it.

Your back slams against the truck painfully, but your head is cushioned. While you’re staring at what used to be the wall, which is now the ceiling, something slams into the metal next to you.

You look over to your right, trying to see who it is. Finnick is in your way though, and he’s already getting to his elbows, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” you tell him, sitting up and scooting back. Finnick had cushioned your head with his arm--you’re not sure if that was on purpose or if he was flailing just like you were.

Hydri is on her hands and knees next to Finnick, it just means she went flying towards you guys. At least she’s breathing and awake. Taurus is in the dip of the floor, sitting because he can’t stand. And with a look to Alioth, he gives a thumbs up to you.

“Get the doors open.” you tell Taurus, unbuckling the backpack from your body, and then you lean down and grab the Holo.

You turn it on, squinting at it through blurry vision. You blink a couple of times, watching as the device comes to life, and the orange dots take over the blue landscape. The nearest pod is about a hundred feet away--so they couldn’t have set off that one.

The doors slam open, and Taurus reaches for your backpack. He carefully drops it on the outside, eyes glued to the flames that are engulfing a building.

“New pod.” You say, “They ran into one of the new ones.”

You get up with the help of Taurus, not waiting for anyone else. After you slide out, you land on your feet harshly. Another look to the Holo shows an orange dot where the fire is.

“Figures.” you say, picking up the backpack and slinging it over your shoulder.

“(Y/n)--stop!” Finnick’s voice is hard, “What if there’s another?”

You turn around for a moment, “Did you not see what just happened? What if--”

There’s a blast of heat, and then the sound follows. You make a face, but don’t cover your ears as you look to where you were heading.

A second pod has been set off, and one of the people that were inside of the truck, now struggles to put the fire out. They flail, dancing around like they don’t know what they’re doing. Then, they shed the backpack, and the jacket--which are both charcoal black now--until they eventually sink to their knees, since the flamethrower is still targeting them, following their every move.

You open your mouth as if words will form, but all you feel is your hot breath on your lips as you breathe out.

“Are there any survivors?” Alioth asks, rocks crunching beneath his feet.

“They’re all dead.” Taurus says, “We should check on the drivers--”

“Alive!” Hydri calls, which makes you all turn, “But the driver’s got a head wound from the airbag.

Alioth doesn’t care, he goes ahead and checks them out anyway. You go from staring at the fire to looking at the path you took to get here. It would be a long walk back, and even then there’s no guarantee that Boggs will take you back. Or if you’ll make it in time.

“What are you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You reach up with your right hand, grabbing the left backpack strap as you tilt your head for a moment, “That we better be careful where we step from now on.”

Those two explosions that the second group had set off, might have been the first to happen, but they weren’t the last. It was just the beginning of the chain, that probably won’t end until the last volunteer travels through the Capitol.

The gamemakers were smart with their placement--you just have to admit it. They chose the very outskirts of the city, knowing full well that there would be a ton of volunteers that wouldn’t suspect a goddamn thing. You all were expecting the pods to be further into the city, not lining the outering of it.

It’s clear why they did it though, when those first pods went off, it was an indicator that you guys were now coming into the city. It was a way for all those peacekeepers to gear up and find a place to hide until a group of volunteers came through the streets. It would also let Snow know that he should probably be pulling back his citizens a little more forcefully, now.

And not only all of that, but the fact that they’d also know that you were all going in from different directions. Different starting points to offer different advantages. Of course, it also has its disadvantages. You’re having to set off the first pods, rather than walking through a street that’s completely clear already.

The gamemakers don’t care enough to set up the pods again, they’ve got worse things to worry about. Like predicting when you’ll all make it there, and trying to spot the places you hide during the night. For them, it’s going to be a fun game of paranoia that won’t stop until you’re right in their face.

They won’t have a clue either. Not after what Paylor said earlier, with different ways to hide yourself in a crowd. You might not be allowed to antagonize the Capitol citizens, but you’re definitely allowed to raid their wardrobes. Especially the ones that have houses that are already trashed.

If you dress like the citizens, do some crazy fucking makeup to alter your face, and figure out the accent and walk, you’re practically golden. There’s no way that they’ll really be able to tell it's you. If they end up asking for ID, all you have to do is make up some lame excuse about leaving the house in a hurry.

More or less, problem solved.

Until then, you’re all traveling through the streets, just trying not to get caught in the middle of a trap.

“Pod?” Taurus asks, looking back at you.

You hold the Holo up, staring down at the blue for a moment. The next orange dot seems to be miles away, “Not from what I can tell. Just go carefully.”

Taurus goes first, making you guys wait a couple of seconds before following him. In case there is a trap, there will be a few feet between you guys and him, allowing time for escape. It was his idea, it’s not like any of you forced it on him.

“Take a right.” Hydri says, “These alleys are confusing, but it’s our better shot. The main streets are a minefield, aren’t they (Y/n)?”

You shake your head, holding up the Holo for her to see, “Not really, the nearest one might be on the street but--”

“Stop!” Finnick yells to Taurus.

Finnick pushes his way up to you and Hydri, basically pressed against your back as he leans forward to point out the pods, “Right there, see? It’s so faint that we can’t see it.”

“The faint ones are supposed to be the ones that have already been triggered.” you tell Finnick, “It’s what that lady told me.”

“But we’re the first ones through here.” Alioth says, “That can’t be possible.”

While you all stand and stare, thinking up a million possibilities as to why this is happening, your eyes are searching the alleyway for a trigger. If Finnick is right about it being a pod, it’s here, in this little maze of backstreets. You all could be beneath it, on top of it, around the corner from it…

The brick wall of the alley is relatively clean, no one has been through here in awhile. The trash cans that are tucked away have genuinely begun to collect dust. If you were to swipe your finger on top of one of the lids, then you’ll get a thick layer of it on your finger.

This part of the city has long since been deserted. Not only because it was the first to be evacuated, but even worse than that. The gamemakers must have made them leave weeks before the day they thought you’d all be coming through here.

So, there’s definitely something in here.

“How close is the nearest one?” Taurus asks, he hasn’t moved from where he stopped, and that’s probably a good thing.

You move Finnick out of the way with one hand as you look behind you guys, eyes squinted as you search the walls for anything out of place. It has to be subtle, because that’s the way the gamemakers have it in the Holo. They must have figured out a way to hack into them or something.

“What is it?” Finnick asks.

You shush him, eyes sweeping the wall behind him. Brick after brick until--

“Cameras.” You say, pointing at it, “That means peacekeepers, guys.” you turn back to Hydri, “Give me the nearest building that should be safe to hide in.”

“Uh--” Hydri shakes her head for a moment, flipping open the map. She’s obviously trying not to freak out as she runs a finger over the alleyway and into the street, “--yeah, okay. I’ll lead.”

She zips past you, Finnick and Alioth and heads straight for Taurus, showing him the way. The two of them don’t hesitate with walking, which means that you guys shouldn’t either. However, you can’t help but reach into a spare pocket, holding out a throwing knife that Beetee had made for you.

“Fuckers.” you throw.

It lands straight into the glass lens. It won’t be able to watch you now, but that means nothing. The peacekeepers know you guys are here, and that’s all that matters.

Finnick turns to check where you are, but you’ve already caught up to him and Alioth.

“Quick thinking.” Finnick says.

“I could say the same about you.”

Hydri brings you guys around a series of corners. It reminds you of the streets of District Two for a moment by how confusing it is the first time you go through. But then you realize there’s a whole pattern to it. That doesn’t mean you had expected where Hydri would bring you guys.

A metal door. Taurus automatically thinks it’s locked, so he goes to kick it in, but Hydri shakes her head and presses a finger to her lips, “Listen.” she whispers.

The five of you all take a moment to try and listen, watching as Hydri pulls out a lockpick, sticking it straight into the lock and beginning to work her magic. It takes a moment of listening to hear it, but then the sound gets considerably louder.

It’s a truck. It’s a truck full of peacekeepers, and they’re not actually coming on foot. There’s going to be a lot more of them than you originally anticipated.

The others must be thinking the same as you because Taurus’ face drops, Finnick pales a little and Alioth opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out. It takes another second before Hydri has popped the door open, and she heads in first, crouched down.

Taurus waits at the door, Finnick shoves you in next, and you go in crouched. Alioth follows, then Finnick, then Taurus--who shuts the door quietly and then locks it again. Hydri is still crouched by the door, waiting for you and Taurus to go up first to evaluate.

None of you actually know what the hell this building is, and by the sound of marching, you’re not going to have much time to figure it out. You and Taurus stop by the same place beneath the counter, and you place your knee against the ground as you squeeze your eyes shut.

This is bad. This is so bad.

You’ve encountered plenty of pods, but those have been relatively easy to bypass. They’re not as dangerous as a squad of peacekeepers are. You set off a pod, the pod is completely done. But peacekeepers? You have to kill each one individually or squeeze your way out.

Escaping them is going to be damn near impossible with five people, especially with a truck full of peacekeepers and god knows if there’s cameras inside of here too.

“Hey,” Finnick says, coming over, “Breathe, it’s going to be fine.”

Right after, there’s a slam on the door behind you guys, and the voices of peacekeepers just outside the building. You look over at Finnick, “Does this look fine to you?”

“I don’t know the layout of the houses, only the streets.” Hydri whispers.

You take a deep breath and another moment of complete silence, before you begin to waddle your way around Taurus. When he goes to stop you, you forcefully push him back, and look at the others.

“Wait.”

You go all the way around the counters, peeking your head around the corner to see the peacekeepers and the actual layout of the building you’re inside. It takes a moment for you to see, and then realize that you’re inside a whole apartment building. There’s a staircase nearby, you guys can go up that as far as it goes…

“Hydri, are there fire escapes?” you ask, looking back.

She nods quickly, and so you motion for them to follow. The pounding on the back door has not only gotten louder, but they’ve begun to cave the metal in from the force they’re using. As for out front--you have no clue what’s going on there.

You lead them all to the staircase, Taurus insists on taking up the back since he can’t have the front. You go up one floor, and then a second, then a third, and then a fourth. The entire way, you’re jiggling door knobs, trying to find one that’s unlocked. If you can run up the fire escape, that would be much easier.

On the fifth floor, you find one single door unlocked, and without a care as to why, you rush everyone inside. It’s only when you go to see for yourself, you freeze where you stand.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” Finnick starts first.

The Capitol citizens are sitting on their couch, enjoying their tea. The woman just barely has the cup in her hold, and her hand is shaking.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, do you recognize the name?”

“Yes.” The man says, standing from where he sits, “What are you doing in my house--”

You ignore him, “You shouldn’t be here. You should have gone with everyone else when you evacuated, because the entire city is full of traps.”

As you make your way around the windows, you find the one with a fire escape. It’s above the alleyway, but it’ll have to work. The door you came in downstairs just blew. You pop it open, letting Hydri and Alioth go out first.

“We mean no harm.” you tell them, “We’re just trying to get away. When the peacekeepers come up here, urge them to get you out of here.”

“Why should we?” he demands.

You’re reaching forward, grabbing Finnick’s sleeve as you make him go before you.

“Because if you even step foot into the streets, you’ll die.” you hand the Holo off to Finnick.

“Go.” Taurus tells you, “I’ll go out last.”

The others are already going up the metal staircase, you can hear their rapid feet. The only person that hasn’t started moving yet is Finnick.

“Please.” you look at the woman, “I’m telling you it’s not safe here, not even for us.”

You go through the window, and just as Taurus comes over, you can hear the voices and the dozen pairs of footsteps too. Taurus gives one look to the door, then back to the window. You reach your hand out like you’re going to pull him through, but he slams the window shut instead.

As he’s reaching for the curtains, the automatic is in his hands. He tilts his head at you, like he’s telling you to run while you can. Then, the fabric covers the window, and you can hear the first slam into the door.

“Go.” you tell Finnick, pushing him, “I said go!”

Finnick gets moving after that, flying up the staircase faster than you can. He takes them two at a time, and at every landing, he looks back to make sure you’re following. Finnick just barely gets to the ladder when you hear the first bullet leave the gun, and following are the screams.

He’s just barely up far enough when you begin going. At the top waiting is Alioth and Hydri, reaching out to yank Finnick up the last couple of rungs. When you get up there, Finnick takes you all by himself.

At the top of the roof, you take a moment to catch your breath.

“Where’s Taurus?” Hydri asks, looking between you and Finnick.

“Dead.” you tell her, moving along the top of the roof to find a way out. The gap between roof to roof is narrow, you could take this jump in your sleep, “He couldn’t get through the window in time, so he stayed back to help us, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

You pull yourself on top of the safety wall on the roof, getting to your feet. You shed the backpack, curse the bulletproof vest for getting in the way, and then you throw. The backpack clears the wall without a problem, and you look back at the others.

“We have to keep moving.” you insist.

You back up as much as you can afford, preparing for the jump.

“(Y/n)--!” Finnick yells.

You throw yourself forward in a run, taking the leap. The second roof is a little lower, which is perfect, you land onto the safety wall below, and tumble for a moment. When you catch yourself, you look right back at the others, who are hanging over to make sure you’re okay.

“It’s not a bad jump. Toss me the Holo.” you hold out your hands.

Finnick tosses it to you, and then he throws his backpack next to yours. He mirrors the way you had gotten onto the wall, before hopping over too. Then Hydri, and then Alioth. Just as you all get your shit back together, there’s more peacekeepers coming.

The four of you keep moving, onto the next roof. Then, you force them all to hide against the wall as you take a look at the Holo. The peacekeepers are nearby, they’re an entire rooftop over, and they have no clue what direction you guys actually moved in.

The Holo offers little help, from what you can see, there’s no faint orange dots. But the nearest solid orange one is literally in the street below. There’s no way you’d want to go down there, and from what Hydri said, the alleyway ended with that metal door. If you get down right now, then you’d have to trigger the trap when you step on it.

Unless you’d rather take a chance.

You shed the backpack, digging through the pockets until you pull out a metal ball. Taurus was using these to set off the traps that required weight and sight of something moving. All you have to do is throw this in the street below to set it off. The peacekeepers that are standing on the street will have to hide.

But it’ll take them a moment to realize what’s going on.

“What are you thinking?” Alioth asks.

“Just watch.” you move past all of them, taking one glance at the neighboring rooftops to see that there’s no one there.

You check the Holo again just to be sure, and then you get up, hurling the ball right where the pod should be. For a second, nothing happens.

Then the ground opens up, and starts to crumble.

“Oh shit.” you say, “Nearest rooftop--now!”

The rumbling of the ground gets louder, and you can hear the yells of the peacekeepers. Finnick and Alioth are the first to the rooftop away from the street--the far back one. Alioth sheds all his gear, Finnick gets down to grab his foot, and then he boots Alioth up.

Alioth squirms for a moment, but he gets up, leaning over for his shit. Finnick tosses them up, and Alioth takes it, and throws it behind him, completely disregarding it. And considering you all are on a time limit, it matters a ton.

Next is Hydri, but she insists her stuff goes up first, since everything inside is important. Anyone can read a map, but you all navigating the city without it will be hell.

You and Finnick stare at each other for a moment, and since you already know what he’s going to say, you hand the Holo off, then the backpack, and Alioth pulls you up with Hydri barely helping. The second that you’re on the higher roof, you’ve thrown yourself over the side.

The building Finnick’s on is tilting towards the gaping hole in the street, getting further and further away from you guys.

Pain strikes your heart, and you panic a bit when Finnick tries to take off the backpack.

“Jump!” you yell to him, “I’ve got you!”

Finnick listens to you, leaving the backpack and all on as he backs up a bit, gets a running start and bolts for the wall. You lean down as far as you can without losing your balance.

Finnick jumps, and with the amount of distance between the two buildings--you’re sure he won’t make it.

Then, his hand hits yours, and you’re reaching down with a second hand to grab his wrist.

Together, you and Alioth pull Finnick up the wall and into the roof with you guys. Once he’s inside, Finnick stumbles and falls onto his back, breathing heavy. You crouch down next to him, placing your hand on his chest.

“You’re okay?”

Finnick takes a breath in, “You were afraid.”

You crack a smile, “Of course I was.”

Offering your hand to him, he takes it. You pull him onto his feet with barely any struggle, patting his back as you move past him to gather your things again. You buckle the backpack, back in place, and take the Holo from Hydri.

“We should be good for a while.” you look up to Hydri.

“Ladder.” Alioth tells you guys, kicking off a hatch, “We should keep moving.”

“Ready to go, Finnick?” you ask.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Finnick says, giving you a smile.

You stare at the bedroom, “This feels weird to do.”

“You’re the one that said you wanted to have an apartment in the Capitol.”

You make a face at Finnick, tilting your head, “There’s a difference between getting a brand new apartment and sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

“Then go sleep in the living room.” Finnick heads into the bedroom, tossing his backpack onto a chair.

“How about you go sleep in a different room.” you jut your thumb towards the door, “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Finnick gives you a cheeky grin as he sits on the edge of the bed, taking off his bulletproof vest, “Also there are no other rooms besides the living room.”

You sigh, grabbing the door knob, “Goodnight, Finnick.”

“You’re seriously going out there?” Finnick asks, throwing the vest onto the armchair with his backpack, “You’d rather sleep on a couch than a bed?”

“I’d rather sleep alone.” you clarify, “But I’m not getting that either way.”

Finnick pats the bed next to him, “We can make a pillow wall.”

“I’d rather deal with the neck pain.”

“Don’t be a wuss.” Finnick says.

He knew that would make you hesitate.

And you can tell by the smile creeping onto his face more and more as he pats the bed again, “Come on.” he sings.

You squint, “Why are you so eager?”

“Don’t wanna sleep alone.” Finnick is now removing his shoes, “Haven’t really slept alone in years.”

You take in a deep breath, “That’s not what I expected to hear, and it was the wrong thing to say on your part, too. Going to the living room.”

“You can at least sleep on the floor.”

“The likeness of you staring at me all night is too high.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” Finnick scoffs, hurling a shoe at you.

You catch it without a problem, “That’s all I am, sweetheart.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, “Sweetheart?”

“God--fuck you.” you turn around, his shoe in hand as you move to the living room.

Finnick is laughing, and he stumbles to catch his footing as he attempts to catch up with you, “You take the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

“Or you could sleep in the living room.”

“Which would still be on the floor.” Finnick says.

You pause in the hallway, watching Alioth and Hydri from it. The two of them are getting along well, Hydri is pretty upset over losing Taurus though. Unfortunately, you didn’t know him very well, therefore can’t mourn for him the same way they can. It was a noble thing he did.

Yet he also took all his weapon supplies down with him when he did it, which is a huge loss. He had--basically--an infinite number of those heavy, metal balls. As for you guys, it’s a limited number, and each one lost brings five pounds out of the backpack. You all discovered that after using so many after Taurus was gone.

Finnick’s not wrong about the living room either, there’s only two couches. And the only thing that looks remotely comfortable after that is the fur rug that’s also kinda matted because the people that lived here apparently didn’t know how to take care of it.

“I’ll take the floor.” You tell Finnick, heading back into the room. You drop everything off by the door.

“No, I’ll take the floor.”

You ignore him, unbuckling the vest as fast as possible before tossing it onto the backpack, and then you turn on Finnick, holding your fists up.

Finnick laughs, but mirrors your stance, “Bring it on, sister.”

“Oh, right.” you laugh with him, before aiming straight for his gut.

Finnick goes to grab you, but you’re too quick for him, bouncing in your boots as you take a jab at his face. It’s not anything too rough, more of a warning for him to knock off his own shenanigans.

Finnick somehow manages to get a hold of you at some point, twisting your arm and giving you a look, “The floor is mine.”

“Just a minute ago you were arguing for the bed.” you grab onto his wrist to keep him from twisting any further.

“Then I’ll take the bed,” he says.

“I’m fine with that!” you say, swinging your leg up for his crotch.

Finnick doesn’t flinch, staring you right in the eyes. And especially since you didn’t actually fall through with it, it’s extra awkward.

“Get me a pillow and a blanket.” you tell him.

“But you’re sleeping on the bed.” Finnick says.

“Then I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket, geez.” you push him away, since his grasp has considerably weakened.

You start pulling off your shoes, tossing them to your backpack. Once they’re off, you remove the socks too so that your feet can finally breathe, after hours of being walked on and the amount of sweat that they’ve had to endure. When you go over to the bed, you take a seat on it, and then throw yourself back.

The mattress is obviously expensive, you can tell by the way you sink into it. You sigh, closing your eyes.

“Better than your mattress at home?” Finnick jokes.

“Unfortunately.” you say.

“I’m gonna sleep on the bed.” he tells you.

“Whatever, I don’t care anymore.” you say, “I’m actually heading to bed, though. So you can tell Hydri and Alioth that we’re done for the night and we’ll recollect in the morning.”

Finnick smiles, “Sure thing.”

Finnick leaves the room, and you take the time to go ahead and get back onto the bed. You carefully place the necklace onto the nightstand, being sure that it won’t fall off and onto the floor. Then, you get comfortable on the bed.

You all really should be keeping your shoes on and all of that, but it’s not realistic. You’re not going to be able to fall asleep with it on, plus it’ll be like a hundred degrees with that fucking bulletproof vest on.

Finnick comes into the room right as you’re getting comfortable. He tosses a water bottle at you, and you drink half of it before deciding to lay down officially.

“I feel kinda shitty that we’re leaving them out there.” Finnick says, getting into the bed, “I mean, the two victors taking the bed?”

“They told me that I could have it.”

“Whatever.” Finnick laughs, “Hydri said that there was a bedroom back here, and that was it.”

Finnick goes to pull the blanket up, but you kick him with your foot, “Go sleep in the bathtub.”

He rolls his eyes, “Goodnight, (Y/n).”

“Touch me even once, and I swear to god you’re going to wake up with a knife to your throat.”

“That’s not very safe.”

“Neither is touching me.”

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

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant. Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him.

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them.

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead.

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much.

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through.

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel.

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent.

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream.

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!"

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted,"

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window.

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant.

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

tags;

@nin3s

#hunger games x reader #hunger games #hunger games x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #x male reader #peetamellark #gale #male x male reader #male reader series #gay #mlm #mlm fanfic

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septembercfawkes · 4 years

Text

The Hero's Journey Explained: The End

For the last couple of weeks, I've been talking about the Hero's Journey (the beginning and the middle), and today I'm back to talk about the ending of the story structure.

Reward: Seizing the Sword

During The Ordeal, the protagonist faced a trial that pushed them to the brink; they died, perhaps literally or, more often, figuratively (the old them died). Almost always this comes from having to confront some inner demon, a weak characteristic and/or a greatest fear (which plays into the theme). Now that they have faced such a crisis, they will be rewarded for it as they are reborn into something greater.

If they did die, literally, they will somehow come back to life--maybe through CPR, a prayer, or a magical item. If it was figurative, they'll be revived through a sudden realization, new information, a heightened level of determination, or perhaps something else.

The Reward may be something concrete--maybe the protagonist literally seizes a magical sword that will make her a more powerful fighter. But it can also be more abstract, like the personal revelation that brought him "back to life." Typically the Reward is what the protagonist truly came to the Special World for (whether or not she was fully aware of it at the time). In Star Wars, Luke rescues Princess Leia and gets the plans of the Death Star. In The Hobbit, the heroes regain the mountain and get treasure. In The Lion King, Simba finally realizes on a personal level who he is--the son of a king and true heir to the throne--as he gets to speak with his father one last time.

In a lot of stories, the Reward may be multiple things, something concrete and something abstract.

There is usually a moment of euphoria and celebration. Sometimes a bunch of people celebrate, like all the heroes going out to a tavern for food and entertainment. Or it might be more personal, like Simba racing to get back to Pride Rock as the music score crescendos happily.

After Mulan discovers the Huns are still alive, she rushes to tell the others, to tell the emperor even. No one listens to her because she is a woman (and a dishonorable one). But this leads to an idea, and a rebirth: a Mulan who now recruits men to dress and act as women to save all of China, including the emperor. A situation where being feminine can save everyone when being masculine can't. As the men act and fight disguised as women, we get that beat of euphoria, laughs, and celebration.

In Spider-verse

After The Ordeal, Miles has deep personal insight as the thematic statements coalesce. Miles doesn't need to fear that he won't meet others' expectations; it's his choice what to do and become; and that choice is put into action by a leap of faith.

Empowered with these epiphanies, he's ready to be Spider-man. After receiving these abstract rewards, he "seizes the sword" by grabbing concrete ones: venom-striking his way out of his hold, turning invisible, getting his own spider suit.

He has been reborn as something greater: Spider-man.

The Road Back

But the story isn't finished yet, because this new hero with her new abilities needs to prove herself by being put to the test. She came to the Special World and got what she needed, now she must use it against greater antagonistic forces, before she can truly return home to the Ordinary World.

After the celebration, it's time to get refocused. The hero may fully rededicate himself to the Adventure, and The Road Back may function as yet another threshold to cross--to something deeper, bigger, more dangerous, or different. Just as the hero has been reborn, the other antagonistic forces may have gained more power as well, sometimes even as a consequence of The Ordeal and the Reward. This may be a moment of retaliation. An antagonistic force that seemed to have been defeated may raise its ugly head again. The hero may have to draw upon and gather more strength.

The Road Back is a turning point that propels us toward the final climax of the story.

It is also another term that I think some people get confused about (and I personally think that is because of its name). This is not the denouement. This is the path leading to the climax. The reason it is "The Road Back" isn't because the story is over, but because the hero has learned whatever and grown however they needed to in order to do what is necessary to finish the story, and now they need to get back on track, on that road, to do that.

With that said though, a quick search online will show that with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, some people say that the Hogwarts Express is "The Road Back" or that The Road Back takes place when Harry is unconscious after facing off Voldemort, but that doesn't make sense, since Vogler, who wrote the updated Hero's Journey states himself in his book that this takes place before the real climax. So I would argue, that he would argue, that The Road Back is the trio having to go through the trapdoor (and I would argue The Ordeal was when Harry faced Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest--which is a key part people seem to like to forget about when mapping it out online).

However, with that said, there are probably other variations of the Hero's Journey out there, which is why I mentioned at the beginning of this series that I was using Vogler's model, which is one of two of the most popular resources on the Hero's Journey.

But as always, the important thing is that you understand the shapes and structures--that's more important than arguing over terminology.

In The Hobbit, The Road Back is when there is conflict between the dwarves and the Lake Men and Thorin, which will lead to the Battle of the Five Armies (the climax).

In Spider-verse

Now that Miles has become Spider-man, he's ready to get back on track. He heads to the collider to face the antagonistic forces--which are stronger and more deadly than before, and his appearance is welcomed as his friends all take on the villains and try to stop the collider.

The Resurrection

Now this is the climax. Remember how the hero was reborn? Well, this is the moment to prove it.

Often at a critical point in the Resurrection, there will be an echo of The Ordeal--that crisis that betrayed our hero's weakness earlier. Here, they will be tested again (spoiler: and probably succeed this time). Can a woman honorably defeat the Huns and save China? Can the rightful Lion King take his place in the Circle of Life? Can Harry defeat Voldemort, when he had to be rescued by a centaur last time they met?

If there was a literal death and revival from The Ordeal, you may see it appear again here, but it won't be an exact copy. At my time of writing this, Star Wars: Rise of the Skywalker just came out. You know what I watched for? The death and rebirth moment during The Ordeal (which takes place at the remnants of the Death Star). You know what I watched for during the climax? The echo of it. It's there. (Also worth noting is that both were foreshadowed at the climax of act I.)

In some stories, the Resurrection may be the hero simply facing physical death one more time--one more, most dangerous time.

The climax is the final test of the Special World; often it's when the hero has to take what she has learned while there, to succeed. This means Mulan must succeed using the skills she learned as a soldier, while looking like a woman. In Legally Blonde, Elle must win the case by using what she learned in law school as Elle.

In The Hunger Games, the final test of the Special World is when Katniss is told she must kill or be killed by Peeta. She uses what she knows about the Special World to defeat the true antagonistic forces, at their own game.

As Vogler puts it, the Resurrection "should reflect the best parts of the old selves and the lessons learned along the way."

Yes, lots of other things can happen during the climax, but this final test is the crowning moment that proves Resurrection. In order for the hero to make it back to the Ordinary World, they must show they are someone new.

During the climax, the protagonist should almost always be the most active hero. Sure, there are a few exceptions to this, but they are rare. And when I say "active," I mean the hero is the one that defeats the main antagonistic force. In a lot of stories, you will have a "showdown," where the hero and villain go at it one on one. If the hero does not defeat the antagonistic force, they usually will have learned something very valuable from the experience, or if more tragic, they die (literally or figuratively) because they haven't learned something valuable.

In some stories, the major climactic moment may be the hero making a significant choice that illustrates how he or she has changed.

And there may be multiple climactic tests--often one for the inner journey and one for the outer, but sometimes these things overlap in the same moment.

And usually during the climax, the hero has to make or at least be willing to make, a big sacrifice (such as being willing to give up his or her life).

In Spider-verse

One by one the heroes take on the villains--who are stronger and more dangerous than ever before--and begin to return to their proper dimensions, until eventually, there is a showdown between Miles and Kingpin. This is the ultimate test--both of the inner journey and the outer journey. Kingpin knocks Miles down. Will he persevere? Will he get back up? Yes! Because he has learned not to quit. Using his new Spider-man skills, he defeats Kingpin and saves all of Brooklyn. He is fully resurrected.

Return with the Elixir

This is the denouement. In a traditional Hero's Journey, the hero now leaves the Special World to return to the Ordinary World, having gained something valuable to bring back, the "Elixir." Unsurprisingly, this can be literal, figurative, or both. A literal elixir might be a healing potion that will help loved ones back home. But a figurative elixir is the wisdom the hero has gained. He gained knowledge from The Ordeal, but when he exercised that knowledge in the real world, he gained wisdom. He is now ready to return home a changed person.

Vogler adds, "Writers will sometimes put their heroes through an experience at the Return that was difficult or impossible for them at the beginning, so the audience can see how they have changed."

In some stories, the hero may choose to stay in the Special World, but in either case, she has usually grown and changed and gained some kind of Elixir, as she returns to a sense of safety (relatively speaking).

The denouement validates changes that took place. Sometimes this is done through rewards and punishments. The hero is honored while the villain experiences poetic justice. And like in all falling actions, any significant loose ends will be tied up.

Harry, who started the story unloved and powerless, returns to the Dursleys having learned that he is loved so powerfully, it can even defeat the evilest wizard of the Special World.

Bilbo returns to the Shire with wisdom and treasure.

Katniss goes back to District 12, having gained insight on who the true enemy is, having saved Prim, and having gained allies--and not to mention the rewards she brings to her whole district for having won. (And Seneca is punished by death.)

Mulan returns home bearing gifts from the emperor, as the most honorable woman--and person--in all of China.

In Spider-verse

After defeating Kingpin, all of the changes are validated and loose ends are tied up. We see Kingpin caught in a web and handed over to police. Miles makes up (somewhat) with his dad. But most importantly, we see Miles implementing the Elixir--by not quitting. He applies himself in school and turns in his essay--two things he wanted to quit when in the Ordinary World. He says, "I'm doing all sorts of things I never thought I'd be able to"--because he's persevering.

The Hero's Journey is one of the most popular story structure guides, but I hope through this process, you have also seen one of my points: That really, most of the guides are saying nearly the same thing, just from a different perspective, with different terms and emphases. They simply have their own methods of slicing and dicing.

But knowing multiple approaches can be helpful in planning and troubleshooting your own work. The Hero's Journey emphasizes the protagonist's adventure and growth, more so than some other guides. It also brings more mindfulness to certain features the others may not. For example, it might be that something feels off in your story because you don't have a Meeting the Mentor moment, and as you look at your own story through this structure, you might realize that. You might realize that you need to develop your protagonist's arc more, too.

However, as I said in the beginning, I also feel like this structure has weaknesses. As I've touched on, the terms themselves sound very specific, but what they are describing is rather broad, which can be confusing. Also, the terminology seems to emphasize the climax of the middle, rather than the climax of the end--but maybe that makes sense if this structure is more protagonist-focused, if what the story is "really about" is the protagonist "dying" and being "reborn." But the ambiguity can create confusion (The Road Back is pre-climax, for one, not post-climax).

While the Hero's Journey mentions antagonistic forces, it doesn't put hardly any focus on what they are doing, unlike the 7 Point Story Structure, which includes two pinch points, which are specifically antagonistic-focused.

I would say that the main thing is to find the story structure that best suits your understanding, and then refine it and test it through the other story structures. Remember, what matters is your understanding of it, rather than the exact definitions and terminology.

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