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Father- daughter bonding

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→ get to know me: books I love

“I don’t know how to dance to your songs,” he said. “I don’t have the esteem of your friends. I don’t use seventeen pieces of silverware at dinner.” He let go of her hair, and it billowed out, catching in the wind once more. “I have no means of expanding your inheritance.”

He knew he was walking a fine line, reminding her of the reasons they made no sense. That this charade they were playing was a weak one. But if the goal was to be vulnerable, to entice her to be vulnerable, too, he needed to speak the truth.

“People like you are impossible,” she said. “I don’t care about those things.”

He almost rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Then why are we here? If I’m so shallow—all trappings and no substance—what are you doing with me? Why would someone like you want someone like me?”

Gideon opened his mouth to respond, only he didn’t know the answer. He studied her, hair ablaze in the setting sun. Gray eyes like molten steel.

>Heartless Hunter (The Crimson Moth, #1) by Kristen Ciccarelli

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River Of Blood

The first morning lights barely touched the village when Katniss Everdeen walked through the cobblestone streets, her red cloak billowing behind her like a river of blood. The air was cold, with a thin mist wrapping around the houses and the few villagers already venturing outside.

She felt the gazes—some furtive, others brazen—following her as she passed. It wasn’t uncommon for villagers to look at her that way; there was something in her presence that evoked both admiration and suspicion. For some, she was a living legend, the hunter who knew the forest better than anyone, who brought game when no one else could. For others, there was something sinister about the young woman who preferred the solitude of the trees over human company.

Katniss kept her eyes fixed ahead, ignoring the whispers spreading around her like the fog. She knew what they said about her— a woman living alone, wearing a cloak the color of the devil, who preferred Madge’s company, the girl in the blue cloak, rather than seeking a husband. Not that she was indifferent to the men's gazes; in fact, she had allowed herself to dream of Peeta, the lumberjack, who watched her with an admiration she pretended not to notice. But those dreams were just that: fleeting fantasies with no place in the life she led.

As she left the houses behind, she felt the village recede, swallowed by the towering forest ahead. She drew a deep breath, familiar with this environment. It was here, among the trees and bushes, that she truly felt at home. The shadows of the trees protected her, hiding her secrets and allowing her to live a life apart—a life no one else would understand.

She paused briefly at the edge of the forest, glancing back one last time. A group of women carrying laundry baskets to the river halted their chatter when they saw her, their eyes narrowing in judgment. Katniss simply lifted her chin, a slight smile touching her lips. She knew that, no matter how much they feared her, the same people judging her would come begging for her help when winter tightened and game grew scarce. So, she liked to tease them. Especially that woman—Tigris Snow. The daughter of Reverend Snow. The woman who knew her deepest, dirtiest secret.

Their hostility was old, dating back to childhood. A time when Katniss had a father, a sister, and a mother.

Her family always came to mind. It had been several years since a plague ravaged the village, taking many villagers. Her entire family had been lost in less than a few weeks, leaving Katniss an orphan, scarred by the wounds. For a long time, she wished she had gone with them, but she learned to live with the emptiness. Life in the village was extremely hard alone—hunting, chores, tending the cows, working the fields… Some men with bad intentions tried to use force to claim her land, a cow, her purity, or marriage, but Katniss Everdeen was not like other girls in the village.

Raised by her expert hunter father and a healer mother, she knew how to kill and how to heal. While the girls learned embroidery and how to care for their future husbands, Katniss was taught to defend herself with her hands and weapons, and to climb trees so tall they touched the sky. Of everything she was taught, her favorite was the bow and arrow. And she was an excellent archer.

With a final look at the village, she stepped into the forest. Each step took her deeper into the world she and Madge had created for themselves. Madge Undersee was orphaned, like her, though the difference was that Katniss had her parents and sister for fifteen years, while Madge had never known her mother’s whereabouts. She had been left in a basket of rotten potatoes, and the old drunk Haymitch Abernathy was the only one who stayed with her.

It was quite ironic, actually. Abernathy, who cursed God in every corner of the village, took her in as a baby. Meanwhile, the Christians who were always at church, doing everything in God's name, had abandoned her in the cold to die among rotten potatoes.

Neither she nor Madge were raised in the church. Because they weren’t baptized, they were called sinners, daughters of evil, Jezebel… Sometimes even witches and sorceresses. As children, those names hurt, but now, at twenty-five and twenty-two, they meant nothing.

Their friendship was born from the oppression they suffered as children. They were thrown into manure, pigsties, even wells, and beaten. Katniss still bore some scars from those fights, but she always fought back. Sejanus Plinth still carried a large scar on his lip, even now as a grown man. At least he had a reminder of what would happen if anyone laid a finger on Everdeen again.

Her breath danced in the icy air that morning, her cheeks burning from the cold, despite the ground having thawed. Spring had finally arrived, and that meant the forest was abundant.

Madge should already be waiting, she thought. She imagined her with her deep blue cape shining among the shadows, like a piece of sky lost on earth. That thought almost made her smile.

Well, there was something that Everdeen and Undersee kept hidden in the forest—a secret hanging among the trees and animals. It was something that would surely get them burned at the stake. It started as curiosity between them; what was it like to be kissed? Their lips touched without tongues, but it was possible to taste wild blackberry and apple. They did that for a long time. Until one day, an intense heat seemed to rise through their chests whenever they got too close, whenever their lips met. Katniss began to notice how her breasts were fuller beneath her corset, and Madge developed a fixation on her friend's skilled fingers. They discovered many things together, including how to find pleasure with another woman.

Katniss quickened her pace but remained silent, wandering among the trees, always alert and with her senses sharp, bow and arrow in hand. The forest seemed darker that morning, and the silence was unusual. For a brief moment, she felt she was being watched, which made her stop and look around.

The forest had always been her ally, but today, the trees seemed to whisper warnings she couldn’t decipher.

Finally, she reached a hidden clearing where sunlight streamed through the leaves in golden beams. There, leaning against a tree with a mischievous smile on her lips, was Madge Undersee, her hunting partner and confidante.

Madge wore a deep blue cape that highlighted her bright eyes and her blonde hair in loose curls over her shoulders. Unlike Katniss’s seriousness, Madge exuded contagious joy, always with a witty comment at the tip of her tongue—ready to dance to a good tune and drink a mug of beer.

"Finally! I thought you got lost on the straight path from the village to here," Madge teased, arching an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

Katniss rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a slight smile.

“Some of us have responsibilities, Madge. I can’t just disappear before dawn like you.”

Madge laughed, a clear sound that echoed through the clearing.

“Oh, responsibilities. I suppose they’re as heavy as this quiver on your back.”

Before Katniss could retort, Madge stepped closer, reducing the distance between them. Her eyes traced Katniss’s face with a tenderness that contrasted with her playful tone. Without warning, Madge took hold of the edge of Katniss’s red cloak, sliding her fingers through the soft fabric.

“You know, red really suits you,” Madge whispered, her face now just inches from Katniss’s.

Katniss felt her heart race—a mixture of excitement and anticipation taking over her, the fire that seemed to lick her whole body. She knew what they shared was dangerous and forbidden, but the forest was her friend and would keep their secret.

Without hesitation, Katniss leaned in and pressed her lips to Madge’s in a fervent kiss. It was a familiar act, shared only among the trees and the wind. It wasn’t love, but an intense flame of desire and companionship that bound them in a way few could understand.

When they parted, Madge had a satisfied smile on her lips and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Now, we can start the day right.”

Katniss nodded, but a spark of fun shone in her gaze. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” Madge replied with a wink. “And that’s why you can’t stay away from me.”

They laughed together, the tension dissolving as they prepared for the first day of hunting after winter.

But before venturing further into the forest, Katniss cast a final glance over her shoulder. She felt the eyes on her.

Well, she was being watched.

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Moonrise

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The mockingbird, the jabberjay and the mockingjay 🕊️ inspired by this post by @fromevertonow

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Quiet cat gf vs loud dog bf

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- Peeta and I grow back together -

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that damn meadow (inspired by “wedded” by frederic leighton under the cut)

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The first time I felt her stirring inside me, I was overwhelmed by a fear as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could make me push through it.

Carrying little Willow in my belly, I decided to make her a bow. Well, I tried. My days swung between excitement for her arrival and terror at the thought of losing her to the cruelty waiting outside. And it was during one of those euphoric moments that I decided to craft a bow for my girl, just like my father once did for me.

Yes, I would teach her to hunt. The thought that she’d know how to survive in my absence brought me some comfort — just a little.

I made countless attempts. Started over hundreds of times. I’d rescued all my bows from the forest a few years after the rebellion, trying to copy them — and failing almost every time.

But I was persistent. And I kept at it.

When Willow was born, I kept working in the small workshop Haymitch helped me set up at the back of the yard.

By her first birthday, I finally got it just right. I could hear my father’s voice, telling me I’d done a good job. The thrill of giving her that bow filled me with a nervous excitement, but I knew I had to be patient — after all, she was only one year old.

I stored the bow on top of the wardrobe, inside the big cover that held Beetee’s bow from the war — a bow I’d never used again. I found a spot for it in the attic, as it brought back painful memories.

But I’d wait for her to grow up. And she did — curious, brave, determined. Smart too. The second baby came just a few months after her six-year-old sister’s birthday, which made me postpone plans to take her into the woods.

In early autumn of the next year, I woke Willow before sunrise. We had a hearty breakfast while she looked confused about the change in our routine.

“Why are we waking up so early?” she asked.

“Because I want to take you somewhere,” I replied, trying to stay calm and patient, though inside I was buzzing with excitement.

We dressed warmly, put on our boots, and remembered to tie two knots—just like her dad used to do. And finally, the moment arrived — the bow was handed to my girl.

She hugged it tight, speechless, but her blue eyes sparkled with so much happiness that a few tears slipped down her face.

“Now I can be just like you!” she exclaimed, glowing with joy.

And that love, already in my heart, seemed to double or even triple in size.

We ran into the forest as the first rays of sunlight appeared. Even though she’d never been in the woods before, Willow felt so safe and at ease that I knew I’d made the right choice.

Our first lesson was a long, mostly theoretical. I taught her about plants, herbs, some birds, and places to avoid, along with simple traps. She asked endless questions about when she’d be able to shoot, and I told her what I always said “When you’re ready for the forest.”

At first, she didn’t take it well, but I could tell she was eager to learn everything I could teach her.

And so, almost every morning, we raced the sun into the woods. There was still a fence, but it only kept out the bears in spring. Beyond it, we assumed our roles as hunters.

Over time, Willow started carrying a small notebook. She listened carefully to everything I explained, not missing a single detail. Months passed… One year… And then more months.

Our trips became daily, and Willow grew impatient — she still hadn’t learned to handle her bow properly.

“Just like her mom,” Peeta joked during dinner after I responded to one of her many pleas, and she stomped off in a huff.

The next morning, no trip to the woods — there was a school thing. But we went the day after.

I noticed she was unusually quiet during our run. I wondered if I’d been too strict. Still, there was so much she needed to learn. I was about to cave to her requests when a somber question broke the silence.

“Mom… were you really a tribute in the Hunger Games?”

It was bound to happen; I just didn’t expect it so soon.

“Yes,” we stopped in the middle of the trail leading up to the hill where wild strawberries waited to be picked.

“Was daddy a tribute too?” she frowned.

“Yes. He was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because... we were waiting for the right moment,” I said, feeling my heart crush in my chest as I tried to imagine what she already knew.

Silence fell.

I was trembling, but I was determined to answer any questions she had.

“They said you were the Mockingjay… during the revolution,” she looked at me, curious. I only nodded, watching her process the information.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked with a sad smile, and I nodded again.

And I told her. Not everything, just what was necessary — in a way that wouldn’t scare her. I talked about the Quarter Quell, about the District 13, and how her dad was captured, but I spared her the horrors he endured in the Capitol. I told her about the districts uniting and how many people lost their lives in the war — including Prim.

There were no lessons that morning.

The ride back home was even quieter. I could hear the gears turning in her mind.

As soon as she left for school, I told Peeta about the conversation in the forest, and the book was taken from the closet. It was time.

Explaining what had happened to Willow was easier than I expected. She asked so many questions, we lost track of time leaning over the book. Even though it was painful to talk about those we’d lost.

The next morning, Willow still seemed to be absorbing everything she’d learned, and I wondered if it was too much for her.

Maybe a day off..., I thought.

“Let’s go somewhere different today.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see. No school, no dad, no Haymitch, no Rye. Just us,” I said, and hearing that, she quickened her steps, grabbing my hand, a smile spreading across her face that barely fit her little cheeks.

The walk to the lake was filled with music — all the songs my father had ever taught me. The mockingjays sang along, and Willow was thrilled. She knew the story of the mockingjays, but seeing me sing and the birds echoing it back made her truly enchanted. Yes, I was the Mockingjay — the leader of them all, she said. It was a magical moment for both of us.

Willow wondered if she’d ever be like me, while I remembered my father with pride, knowing I was passing on your legacy.

At the lake, we played and swam almost the entire morning. Willow learned more about the birds there; the Sun made everything more enjoyable. We talked for hours and ate bread and cookies we’d brought along. We picked some Katniss from the lake and Willow loved sticking her fingers in the lake mud.

We headed back to District 12 late in the afternoon, greeted on the porch by Haymitch and Rye.

Willow ran to the bathroom at my command, too excited to complain about anything.

“Peeta told me,” Haymitch said as soon as I sat on the last step of the porch. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I smiled, picking up my sleepy boy. “I think we’ll be fine,” I said, and Haymitch kissed my forehead, proud of the woman I’d become.

The seasons changed, slowly taking my little hunter’s childhood away. She was so dedicated and studious — she and her father had made a book about all the bird and animal species she learned from me. Insects too, though she was still cataloging them in her notebook.

At twelve, she finally learned to use a bow—but she already had the steps and the instincts of a true hunter.

By fifteen, she brought home her first deer and climbed trees so tall it worried me.

After all these years, I finally had someone I could trust to watch my back in the forest—someone who would stay alert for hours or cover me when things got out of control.

She’d done a good job, just like her father taught her.

Willow grew up. She learned more about me, about her dad and about our traumas in the woods than she ever learned at home. In the woods, I confided everything — completely transparent with my oldest child.

Her parents’ past haunted her a little; knowing what they had endured at the Capitol filled her with a fierce determination, a kind of rebellion, and she kept repeating that it could never happen again.

Willow Mellark had a bit of a rebellious spirit and a strong political sense—she was so good with words, and everyone loved her for it. Haymitch always said she was a perfect copy of her parents.

But now, I had other lessons for her.

Never stop believing in the goodness of people. That it’s worth living for those who’ve passed — because they’re the ones who freed Panem. We played a repetitive game together… A game that helped me get out of bed on my darkest days.

Willow agreed that the game could get pretty boring over the years, but she also agreed there were worse games to play.

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I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family.

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

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I hear Peeta’s voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? But a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It’s weird, how much he’s noticed me. Like the attention he’s paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

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I catch a glimpse of myself on the television screen on the wall that’s airing my arrival live and feel gratified that I appear almost bored. Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, has obviously been crying and interestingly enough does not seem to be trying to cover it up. I immediately wonder if this will be his strategy in the Games. To appear weak and frightened, to reassure the other tributes that he is no competition at all, and then come out fighting. - "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn’t mean me, she meant you!” bursts out Peeta. “Oh, she meant you,” I say with a wave of dismissal. “She said, ‘She’s a survivor, that one.’ She is,” says Peeta.

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All the birds I've encountered are vicious. — President Snow, Sunrise on the Reaping chapter 9

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Just a reminder that we don’t know all the good things Katniss does/did for her community, because Katniss wouldn’t tell us unless it was relevant to what was going on.

In Catching fire, she doesn’t tell us that she’s being going around and bringing food to poor children in the seam until she needs to explain why she had a bag of food and why her mother wouldn’t find that odd.

In the first book, when she’s telling Peeta about the story of how she got Prims goat, she refuses to admit that this wasn’t a selfish move so she could get money out of that goat. (You could also argue that this is her refusing to be vulnerable in front of Peeta and all of Pamen though. I think it’s both, because she doesn’t even admit that she did this purely for her sister in her internal dialogue.)

And in Mockingjay, she never tells us that she’s the one that got Haymitch the goose eggs to help him heal after the games. All she says in the epilogue is that Haymitch raises geese when the liquor runs out. And we would never know otherwise if Haymitch didn’t mention that SHE was the one who got him the geese in sotr.

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Burdock and Asterid Everdeen ━ The Hunger Games Series

"I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother’s face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.”

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"So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent. [...] And right when your song ended, I knew—just like your mother—I was a goner.” [Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins]

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THE HUNGER GAMES: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING (2025)