mandrakemistakes

[mandrakemistakes]

Calling herself a loved one like that’s casual

I finished my thg (first book) reread, and if this part (and the whole section about Peeta's operation and Katniss screaming and banging the door) doesn't tell you she was already down bad at that point, I don't know what does.

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I like to think Peeta made a whole series of paintings utilizing the plants the Everdeens are named after.

I think the first one he’d make for her is Burdock and Primrose—both as a reminder that they’re together and are watching over her. I just think that’s what she’d need most after the War.

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Gale walked into military brainwashing with his eyes open. He willingly volunteered himself as a tool for violence. Peeta didn't want the Capitol to make a monster of him. He was unwillingly forced into becoming a tool for violence and even then he eventually healed from and overcame that.

And THAT is where they differ. Gale believes the world is changed through force. Peeta believes the world is changed through radical love. They both want positive change. They are both capable of and guilty of violence. But one believes it acceptable as a means to an end and the other doesn't.

Gale is a necessary part of the story. As a girl, trust, I hate him too. But as a writer, I recognize he adds depth to the story and shows you that there is a wrong way to go about positive change.

There's also an interesting contrast to his one sided pissing contest over Katniss with Peeta. Gale feels a sense of ownership over her and, in doing so, fails to recognize her person hood. Peeta never robs Katniss of her person hood because he recognizes her innate power of autonomy and choice. Peeta makes his opinions and decisions known, to be sure, but he respects Katniss' decisions and ability to come to her own conclusions.

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*emerges from the other room covered in blood* you should see the word document

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Katniss, my beloved, what's unexpected about heat behind something that's warm? That's kinda a prerequisite. Only thing unexpected is the heat it made YOU feel.

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You know you're in too deep when you have a whole pin board of delicious foods everlark would make for each other

Anyway here are some highlights:

And specifically from Katniss to Peeta:

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I think Katniss plays down her own beauty.

She tells us she takes after her father and Prim takes after their mother (who was once quite beautiful).

You can’t convince me Katniss isn’t the pretty version of her dad. She has the seam look but she absolutely inherited her mother's beauty.

During his interview in THG Peeta says something along the lines of "a lot of guys at school like her" and that could have been a lie but it also might not be. Katniss wouldn't know but Peeta whose been in the boy's locker room would know.

She often attributes looking beautiful to Cinna and her prep team but they’re stylists not wizards.

Katniss bffr you don't got two boys chasing after you because you're plain looking.

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I know we all love talking about jealous Katniss but I want to talk about jealous Peeta because reading the books now as an adult makes me realize how obvious he was about being jealous, he’s just not possessive or a jerk. Because it’s hilarious to me that he just keeps bringing stuff up that he’s jealous about but trying to be subtle. “I thought he was your cousin””she’s just mad because of her boyfriend” “is that really the only time you’ve kissed Gale”. Good grief, he brings up Gale more than Katniss ever does. But it also matches his character that uses words for everything. He just keeps bringing up stuff while Katniss is like WTF. Post marriage he doesn’t really get jealous but once in a while I’m sure there may be a minor thing here or there that makes him jealous and he brings it up during dinner to Katniss who is just focused on the food

Jealous Peeta absolutely FED me, It was NOT SUBTLE.

and we know there were a LOT more moments of jealousy than he let on. he makes a point of telling Caesar that he knew other boys liked her - so i imagine there was a bit of locker room talk and a LOT of Peeta biting his tongue and taking his frustration out on the mat instead.

(Once, he got a record-breaking - and SLIGHTLY arm-fracturing - win when one of the guys on the team talked, in detail, about what he wanted to offer Katniss as a trade the next time she came by his parents' shop.)

I fully imagine that Peeta was aware of, and HAAAAATED the fact that the two went out to the woods together. He NEEDED to believe they were cousins. Like, for his sanity. because he can't IMAGINE that Gale would actually fumble the bag by being alone with Katniss every single morning for 4 years and NOT making a move.

And Peeta was trying to undermine Gale, too. "I hear the girls talk about him a lot - baby girl, that man is a whore, i wouldn't do you like that."

no and then the HIJACKED jealousy???? UNFUCKING REAL. Every single barrier that boy put up for himself was GONE. ERADICATED. He was SEETHING with a jealousy he couldn't even really understand and just sitting at that table like:

So of COURSE he has to turn it around and try to make HER jealous. Make her realize how unimportant she is. He could have anyone. He could even take Annie.

"Fuck Everthorne and their star-crossed bullshit." (because he TOTALLY viewed them as star-crossed. Nobody believes in the existence of Everthorne more than Peeta Mellark)

"And fuck Katniss too, and NOT sexually (unless?...) No, FUCK HER (biblically???) NO."

Honestly, I personally don't see him getting jealous at all after "so after". Once she gives him the security and peace of saying the words - he'll never doubt her. Not once. And Katniss loves in an all or nothing way. And with Peeta, it's ALL.

If anything? It's Katniss. Post-marriage Katniss has a bow with the words "for trifling hoes that wish they could" etched into it. It's specifically her "that's my WIFE" bow and she's just ITCHING to use it.

That being said, while he may not be jealous Peeta is VERY competitive whenever Gale is visiting the district. For, like, the stupidest shit. Gale comes to town carrying a buck so he'll just go and move bags of flour, one in each arm, like it's nothing. (He's actually sweating HARD but he refuses to admit it)

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“Real”

So this is how I kind of imagine that this happened. These two 🥺

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🏹;; Katniss & Peeta

I did it,, it took me a while but they're finally here orz

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“late night baking”

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Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen THE HUNGER GAMES SERIES (2012 - 2015) Costume Designers: Judianna Makovsky, Trish Summerville, Kurt Swanson and Bart Mueller

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Welcome back home, TS1-6!

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“‘No,’ Finnick repeats. 'Because whatever happened in the past is the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.' He eyes Peeta for a moment. 'Except maybe Peeta.'

Finnick knows then what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep-down better than the rest of us.”

Katniss be so for real right now

my favorite interpretation is peeta is a very likable and kind dude in the mind of almost everyone who gets to know him. but he’s not the epitome of hope or goodness or all things wonderful to anyone else besides katniss. and she’s completely oblivious to this fact.

like she spends half of catching fire wondering which of his good qualities was motivating the other tributes to sacrifice themselves for him. even knowing she was the face and inspiration for all the uprisings, the fact that everyone — rightfully — thought she would literally die if she lost her fiancé doesn’t cross her mind at all. the fact that they may be keeping peeta alive for her is like nowhere in her head. her whole thought process at one point in the arena is literally “everyone must see how good peeta truly is, the way he’s so charming and charismatic and powerful with crowds-”

like girl, shut up. you’re completely head over heels in love with him. to everyone else, he’s just some guy.

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Imagine the pure chaos of being a classmate of Katniss and Peeta’s and then watching them in the games. Delly mentions Katniss was admired and Peeta is said to be popular. So now these nice kids you’ve known for years took two days in each other’s close proximity to act weird.

The reserved girl who doesn’t even smile in town with either of her friends is laughing and kissing the boy. The charming guy is making fun of her scowl and saying he doesn’t mind if she sees him naked. He also airs out some of his family’s dirty laundry. They make a suicide pact. The girl has always tried for a stoic face but now she’s cried hysterically over the boy. They’re volunteering to die for each other. They’ve kissed for at least ten minutes on national television twice.

I’m sure the games have caused tributes to act different from their district impressions but I’m not sure if they ever revealed two people to be so weirdly intense about each other.

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Girl are there fics of katniss and peeta interacting before the games but canonically? If not can you write it pretty please

HI! I'm sure there are, and I have even written one myself a long time ago, but here's another for ya!

Cracked Wheat

The bell over the bakery door gives a tired jingle when I step inside, a low sound that barely cuts through the thick smell of rising bread that assaults my senses. The warmth of the place hits me next. Soft, humid, and rich with flour and sugar. It smells like hunger, like a memory. Like a hand-me-down mercy I never asked for.

I shift the burlap sack on my shoulder, the two squirrels inside already weighing me down. They’re not the best catch, but they’ll do. The baker’s usually fair, especially with me.

Only it’s not him behind the counter today. It’s the baker’s son, Peeta.

He’s dusted with flour, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a streak of something across his cheek. His blond hair’s a mess, like he’s been up since before dawn. For a second, we just stand there, staring at each other across the counter like neither of us knows what happens next.

I tighten my grip on the sack. “Your father’s not here?”

He shakes his head once. “He’s out back. I… I can do the trade.”

His voice is quiet. Careful. Like he doesn’t want to scare me off.

I hesitate. I could leave. Come back later. But that would look strange, and I don’t have time to be careful about things like that today.

So I walk up and set the sack on the counter.

“Two squirrels,” I say. “One’s a little thin, but the other’s decent.”

He nods and unwraps the cloth slowly, like he’s afraid of breaking something. His fingers brush over the fur, gentle. Too gentle. Like he still sees them as alive.

“I can give you a loaf of rye,” he says after a pause. “And a couple cracked wheat rolls. They’re from yesterday, but they’re still good.”

It’s more than fair. I nod, even though part of me bristles at the charity tucked in his tone.

He disappears into the back, and I take a breath. The kind that settles low in your stomach. The kind that reminds you today is Reaping Day.

He returns a moment later with a paper bundle, warm and faintly sweet-smelling. He doesn’t hand it to me. He just places it on the counter between us, like the bread needs to buffer whatever’s been hanging in the air since I walked in.

“You’re up early,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.

“So are you,” I retort.

Silence stretches between us. Not empty. Just... full of things neither of us are willing to say out loud.

Outside, I hear a child’s old wagon wheels creak by. A woman shouting for her child. The district waking up. People getting dressed, braiding hair, holding their breath.

I should leave.

He clears his throat. “I guess... good luck today.”

I freeze. Not because of what he says, but how he says it. Not pity. Not nervous chatter. Just purely honest.

I don’t believe in luck. I believe in snared rabbits and working lungs and not getting caught. But I believe he means it.

“You too,” I manage.

That’s when I finally meet his eyes. Blue. Wide. And searching for something I don’t have a name for.

There’s a softness in them that rattles me. Like he already knows something’s coming. Like he already mourns it.

I can’t hold that look. Not today. Maybe not ever.

I look down at his hands instead. One of them is still resting on the counter, near the edge of the paper bundle. His fingers are dusted in flour, the skin around his nails rough from kneading dough. They’re worker’s hands. Steady, strong.

Hands that once gave me life.

My throat tightens before I can stop it.

I hate that I remember that moment so clearly, how the bread burned, how he tossed it to the pigs, how I thought I was going to collapse in the rain. I hate how often I dreamt about it afterward, how I clung to the idea that someone, even once, might have seen me and chosen kindness.

I don’t want to owe anyone anything. Least of all him.

“Thanks,” I say, forcing the word out. It burns a little. I don’t know if I’m thanking him for the trade, or the bread from all those years ago. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

He blinks, like he didn’t expect me to speak again. Then nods. Just once.

The silence stretches again, this time thinner. Fragile. Like if either of us says one more word, it might shatter.

I reach for the bundle. My fingers brush his by accident.

It’s barely a touch, not even skin, just the edge of his knuckle against mine through a fine layer of flour. But I still feel it, sharp and real, like a match strike.

He pulls his hand back fast. So do I.

I hate how my pulse jumps. I hate that I even notice it.

Outside, someone laughs. It’s loud, shrill, drunk already, maybe trying to forget what day it is. A door slams. A baby starts to cry.

The world keeps moving.

“I should go,” I mutter.

Peeta just nods again, his lips parting, as though maybe he wants to say something. But nothing comes out. Maybe he thinks better of it. Or maybe he knows, like I do, that there are no right words for this kind of day.

I turn and head for the door. This time I don’t hesitate. My hand’s on the handle, the bell already tilting, when I hear him say, too soft to be sure I was meant to hear it…

“Katniss.”

I stop. Just for a second, but I don’t turn around. I don’t trust myself to.

So I walk out instead, the bell giving its sad little jingle behind me, and the door swings shut between us like a closing promise.

Outside, the sun is just starting to claw its way up the sky, but the world already feels gray.

I clutch the bread to my chest, like it might steady me. It doesn’t.

I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know why I feel like I left something behind. Maybe I should have said something else. Or turned. Or stayed.

But I didn’t.

Because I’m not the girl who says things. I’m the girl who survives.

And I know better than to reach for something that can be taken from me.

The early morning air hits harder than I expect for July, even with the warmth of the bread against my chest. It bites through my jacket and settles into my skin, sharp and unforgiving. Maybe it’s always like this on Reaping Day. Or maybe I’m just noticing it more today.

I keep my head down as I walk. Eyes on the gravel. Don’t give anyone a reason to talk to you. Don’t stop. Don’t think.

But I’m already thinking.

About the flour on his hands. The way he said my name. The space between us that felt heavier than it should have.

It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be thinking about Peeta Mellark. Not today. Not ever, really. We don’t know each other. Not really. Just a few exchanges, half-glances, and silences that weren’t supposed to mean anything. That can’t mean anything.

Still.

He remembered my name. And I remembered the way his eyes looked when he said it.

I pass the old fence near the square, the one with the hole I use to slip into the woods. Someone’s hung a strip of cloth over it, black and fraying. A mourning ribbon. There are always a few on Reaping Day.

I tighten my grip on the bundle. It’s cooling now, but I hold it like it matters. Like it’s more than just bread and rolls. 

I don’t know what Peeta meant by saying my name. Maybe it was a goodbye. Or a wish. Or nothing at all. Just a sound caught in his throat.

But it sticks with me. Lodges under my ribs and refuses to be shaken loose.

I hate that.

The closer I get to home, the more the world pulls at me. Prim’s face, waiting. My mother’s silence. Buttercup mewling like the sky’s falling. I focus on those things. Real things. Not blue eyes and soft voices and warmth I didn’t ask for.

By the time I step through our front door, the bread is almost cool. I set it on the table, but I don’t mention exactly who it came from.

And I don’t think about how my fingers still remember the shape of his.

[mandrakemistakes]

Imagine the pure chaos of being a classmate of Katniss and Peeta’s and then watching them in the games. Delly mentions Katniss was admired and Peeta is said to be popular. So now these nice kids you’ve known for years took two days in each other’s close proximity to act weird.

The reserved girl who doesn’t even smile in town with either of her friends is laughing and kissing the boy. The charming guy is making fun of her scowl and saying he doesn’t mind if she sees him naked. He also airs out some of his family’s dirty laundry. They make a suicide pact. The girl has always tried for a stoic face but now she’s cried hysterically over the boy. They’re volunteering to die for each other. They’ve kissed for at least ten minutes on national television twice.

I’m sure the games have caused tributes to act different from their district impressions but I’m not sure if they ever revealed two people to be so weirdly intense about each other.