#‹ feat. katniss. › ❛ real or not real? ❜

[asterias-record-shop]

𓆩[in our next life || I]𓆪

𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[next part]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.2K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and foul language || mentions of forced prostitution || Finnick loves you so much || mentions of self-blaming for being sold || smoking, smoking opium || mentions of death || slight angst in worrying about the games || smut warnings include: public sex, sex outside, spit, cum eating, oral (♂), face fucking, riding, size kink, stomach bulge, dirty talk, teasing, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds, scratching, talks of having children, probably some breeding kink thrown in there honestly (All of the warnings I can think of, lemme know if you think i should add anything else! warnings for full fic in masterlist)

When the Third Quarter Quell was announced, you were making dinner for yourself and Finnick. The dish full of expensive fish fell to the floor, breaking on impact as you stared at the hologram TV, holding back a sob as your chest began to swell.

How could this happen? You were supposed to be guaranteed a safe life, a happy life after winning, not that it was actually possible considering the monstrosities you had to do in your own games.

It was common knowledge that you could fight, especially with Finnick as your mentor since the Reaping and practically best friend since birth, but you refused to show any skill during and before your games. Like Johanna in the later games, you weren’t deemed a threat until you killed eight people by trapping them in a net and throwing them down a waterfall, surpassing Betee’s amazing feat of six kills at once. Even then, though, you couldn’t protect the person you wanted the most- a young boy, younger than your age of fifteen, Reaped from District 3. 

Your kills of the games didn’t settle in until you left, finally processing the fact that you ended the lives of others who were trying to do the same as you, survive. You had let a superiority complex settle in during your tour, tricking yourself into thinking that if they wanted to live, then they would’ve tried harder.

It didn’t last long, though, after you saw Finnick again- his fake persona immediately falling when he got you alone, kissing you immediately, whispering soft praises and ‘I thought I’d never see you again’s. The real torture began when your tour ended and Snow finally pulled you into a horrible underground of the rich and plentiful, selling you to the highest bidder until Finnick stepped in and forced Snow to put him with you.

As much as you felt that it was your fault Finnick was being dragged into this life again, he assured you that it wasn’t the case, even though it was- in your mind at least. While Finnick took secrets as payment, you took two things as payment- money in forms of lavish gifts or cash, and death in the form of poisoning them. It wasn’t like Snow could do much when you threatened his family just like he did yours.

You learned later on why Finnick accepted this second form of torture, and you hated yourself even more when you figured out it was because of you, because they threatened you. They threatened to kill you, and just like that, you learned another thing about Finnick- he truly loved you, no matter how much you thought differently at first.

After that, you both had finally gotten out of the cruel grip of the Capitol and Snow, finding a makeshift home in the Victors Village of District 4. You and Finnick made your relationship public, to the dismay of Snow, but it was quickly fixed whenever everyone found joy in your relationship. You both even had a television show for a while, almost making your life seem normal until you ended it, dreaming of a life with no cameras and the fake personas you both made.

You knew what some people thought about you and Finnick - the Crown Prince and Princess - the most popular couple that ever happened in the history of Panem, a lustful couple that could never keep their hands off of each other after a series of lovers that weren’t quite voluntary.

You were broken out of your thoughts when you heard Caesar’s voice, his horrible laugh you only wanted to forget. He spoke to the other host, smiling. “I wonder if we will be able to see our Prince and Princess again! Oh, I miss seeing them. I miss their reality show as well!”

Claudius laughs. “Well, if we do see them, hopefully it’s in the games! Finnick and Y/N have always been my favorites, they’re amazing.”

Caesar laughs too. “Oh, yes! They are some of my favorites, and who knows, love in the arena again?”

You don’t hear the door open, Finnick quickly running into the kitchen of your shared home. He looks down at the broken bowl full of food, but ignores it as he quickly cups your face. “Y/N? Darling, look at me.”

Quickly, you do as he says, smiling. “I’m sorry, Finnick. I’ll pick it up now. The floor is clean, I swear on it.”

He groaned. He hated it when your persona just flared up, especially in moments like these when you acted as though you both were on a TV show again. “Y/N, don’t do that!”

Your eyes widen, gasping as he slowly rubs your cheeks with your thumbs. “We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

You shook your head. “No we’re not. No we’re not, we’re going to go back in and we’re going to die.”

He shook his head in response, stroking your face. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

You inhale shakily as he slowly kneeled down, picking up the fish that didn’t land on the floor and setting it on another plate. “Why don’t you go set the table?”

You nod, slowly kneeling down to attempt to pick up the broken shards. “Yeah, yeah I will-”

He kneeled in front of you, pushing your hands away. “Go set the table. I’ll pick this up.”

You nod as he kisses your hands softly, helping you stand before you go to the dining room. Outside was havoc, and when someone knocked on the door, Finnick beat you to it.

Mags stood there, hands shaking before Finnick slowly grabbed her wrists, helping her inside. “Come eat with us, Mags. Y/N made her famous fish.”

She inhaled, but nodded as she slowly walked to the table. You kiss her head softly, placing a plate in front of her as Finnick sets the food down, an array of sides to go along with the fish such as potatoes, roasted vegetables, and rice. You sit down next to Mags, Finnick on the opposite side of you for the four person table, sighing heavily as everyone begins to serve themselves,

You don’t, though, Finnick saying how good your fish always was and how excited he was to have it for dinner. Mags smiles as she slowly eats, almost like a bird, but Finnick stuffed his face. He paused when you didn't serve yourself, but smiled when he reached forward to hold your hand. “Are you tired, my love?”

You nodded, smiling at Mags as you stood. You pressed a kiss to her head, inhaling shakily before moving to Finnick, kissing his lips.

“I’m going to take a shower. I love you.”

He smiled sadly, nodding. “I love you too.”

You slowly go up the stairs, Finnick picking up the plates before washing them and leading Mags outside. As you took a shower, Finnick rubbed his jaw as he held a pipe. Normally, he never smoked - especially opium - but he needed it more than ever now.

Mags waved her hand, holding it out to him before he slowly handed it to her, watching as she inhaled deeply. “I think they’re going to rig the Reaping,” he whispers, looking back to stare at the restroom light to make sure you were still in there. “For it to draw me and Y/N.”

Mags exhales the smoke before looking at him, smiling. She makes a gesture, pretending to search in a bowl before gesturing to herself.

It took him a minute, but he shook his head. “No. No, you can’t do that. I won’t let you-”

She pushed him away, putting her middle finger up towards him before handing back the pipe. She stands, pressing a kiss to his head before waving and going back towards her house. He sighed, taking another deep inhale from the pipe before he felt soft hands on his back.

He turns around, smiling when he sees you, your hands running down his spine before going back to his shoulders.

“Are you going to come inside?”

He sighs, shaking his head as he sets down the pipe. “Why don’t you stay out here a little longer with me?”

You accept, slowly laying between his legs before kissing his thighs. “Fin? Fin, I want-”

“You don’t have to, darling,” he whispers, stroking your head as you lay on your stomach, kneeling before pressing your chest against the soft fabric of the chair. “Darling, wait-”

You hush him as you slowly pull down his pants, bunching them up at his thighs to watch his cock immediately harden and slap against his stomach. “You want me to wait when you’re already so hard?”

He laughs. “Well, darling, it’s hard not to when your pretty ass is pressed against my- fuck, got dammit-”

He inhaled sharply as you took him into your mouth, not even half of his length fitting inside of your mouth as you let your jaw go slack. You hold his upper thigh, bobbing your head as he tilts his head back. You hold back gags as you attempt to relax your throat, pushing your head as deep as you could before pulling away, gasping for air as your spit dribbled down his shaft.

You giggle as you use your hand to pump his length, pulling him back into your mouth as his hand slowly cups the back of your head. He groaned out loud, a gasp falling from your lips as he started to shallowly thrust, grunting. “Fuck, darling, you’re always so good. So, so fucking good.”

You hummed around him, watching as his eyes rolled back, another hand going to cup and squeeze his balls. His hips buck, a gag falling from your lips as your own rut against the chair, desperate for friction.

His moans get louder as you press your face against his pelvis, tiny pubes pressing against your nose from his well groomed body, groaning out as he pulls back your hair. You could feel your saliva running down your chin, gagging with each thrust as he cursed. “Let them hear us, darling. Let all of them hear us fucking.”

It wasn’t the first time you both had sex outside, but this was the first you both weren’t holding back. You could hear the wet noises echoing in the trees, the slow trickling of the river near by you and Finnick swam in before, where you both had made love too. It was rare you and Finnick didn’t fuck somewhere, especially in Victors Village.

You gagged loudly, thankful for the fact that Mags’ house was far away from your own. If there was one thing that you never wanted in your lifetime, it was for Mags to hear her adopted children having sex.

Your thoughts were distracted as Finnick pulled you closer, hips thrusting faster, harder. His cock was pounding, thrusting into you quickly, grunts echoing as he groaned. “Fucking hell, darling, you’re doing so good. Fuck, fuck! You’re perfect, c’mon, focus on me. Focus on me.”

You nodded around his cock, gagging as you pulled away just for him to bring you straight back down. He laughs, staring down at your wide, hazy eyes as he stroked your cheek. You looked so innocent sucking him off, choking and gagging so prettily around his cock.

It had taken you both time to actually have sex and enjoy it, and actually finish because of pleasure instead of faking. Now, almost every touch from each other turned the other on, and you both wouldn’t have it any other way. He sucks in a breath as he forces you deep into his cock, your choking turning him on even more as you squeezed his ball sac. He groans out your name, hips bucking quickly before he cums, balls basically clenching as he cums down your throat.

Your eyes rolled back as you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking as hard as you could to take all of his cum as deep as you could. You swallow all of it, as much as you could before he pulls out, the rest of his cum filling your mouth. With a giggle, you open your mouth wide as he stares down at you, leaning towards your face to kiss your lips. His saliva mixed with his cum and your own, your cunt aching as he pulled you back into his lap, his cock already hard and prodding at your sex.

“Fuck, darling,” he whispers, watching as you swallow and lick at your lips and down your chin. “Holy shit.”

“You taste so good,” you whisper, gasping as he slowly pulls at your dress, bunching it up at your waist. He pulled your panties to the side, a gasp falling from your mouth as his head slowly prods against your cunt, slowly pushing inside of you. You throw your head back, groaning loudly. “Fuck, Finnick!”

He groans into your chest, his hands moving from his cock to your back, rubbing at your spine before pulling at the ties of your nightgown. The breast area of your nightgown quickly falls as he unties your dress, leaning down to press his lips against your nipples, popping and sucking against them. You pull him closer, groaning as he sucked on one, his hands cupping at your tits as your hips buck into his.

“Fin, Fin, Fin, Finnick!” You moaned out, gasping as his hips thrust upward, into you, deep and deeper, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside of you as you groaned.

“Fuck darling, just like that. Come on, get off on my cock. Wanna watch your face as you cum over and over, again and again.” He laughs as he drags his teeth over your nipple, watching your face scrunch up in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Come on, cum. Your pretty little cunt clenches when you're close.”

His tongue flicked at your nipple, his other hand pushing down under your dress, his nimble fingers rubbing at your clit. “Come on. Cum. Cum, now. You want to feel good, right? Cum. Want to watch you fall apart.”

You scream out, whining as he leans up, licking and sucking at your neck before snapping his hips up. His tip felt as though it was pushing into your stomach, his fat cock stretching you out so good as his tip makes a noticeable bulge on your tummy. You could see it from under your dress, his other hand moving from your breast to your stomach, pushing and rubbing at the bulge as the other does the same to your clit.

You screamed out, eyes watering with pleasure filled tears and you whined loudly. “Fuck, fuck! Yes, yes Finnick!”

He laughs, kissing your neck. “You still haven’t cum yet, darling. I can’t cum until you do, I fucking love you too much. Come on, come on! Do I need to do more, darling? Give you more pleasure?”

You shake your head, mouth lulling open. “No, no, it’s too much! Too much, Fin, fuck!”

“It’s too much and you still haven’t cum?” He laughs, his fingers squeezing your swollen, sensitive clit as you screamed out. Your walls clamp down on him, his hips thrusting up into you until his balls pressed against your ass. You choked, eyes rolling back as you came, a mind blurring orgasm immediately processing itself through your body- nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back before his cum spurts into you.

It was quick, cum filling your deepest parts, almost inflating you as he rubs against the bulge. You were being filled, cum pushing into your deepest parts as he pulled you lower.

“Yes, darling,” he praises, kissing at your neck as he pants. Your weak form collapses onto him as he strokes your back. “You did so good.”

“Again, Finnick,” you whisper, rubbing your face against his shoulder. “I want to be filled by you again.”

He nods, how could he resist you? How could he refuse something you wanted?

“Yes, darling,” he repeats. “Whatever you want.”

He took you inside, fucking you over and over again anywhere you wanted. You both weren’t even fucking anymore, not whenever you both got to your bed, now making love as he panted above you. You were so full, so full of him, of Finnick, the man you wanted to marry and to grow old with.

You weren’t able to, though, not after this Quarter Quell. You sobbed against his chest as he cradled your body, pulling you as close as possible as he kissed your head. His tanned skin was rough, covered in scars, his hands rubbing at your back to calm you down as his soft voice whispers into your ear. He whispers praises, assurances that he would never let anything happen to you. His golden hair made a halo over his face as you looked up, sea green eyes staring down at yours glazed over in unshed tears.

“Finnick, I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Again, he shook his head. “Don’t be scared. You don’t need to be scared, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I want to be with you, Finnick. I want to be with you until the end of time, until I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that, Y/N.”

You shook your head, cupping his cheeks. “Why? It’s the truth. I want you, I’m going to be with you until my heart stops. Promise me you’ll do the same, please.”

His eyes water, tears finally running down his cheeks as he nods. “I promise, darling. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You smiled, stroking his cheeks to rid them of tears. “I wish I could’ve had your babies, Finnick,” you choked back a sob, eyes watering as he gasps. “I wish we could’ve had children.”

“Stop, please stop, Y/N,” he sobs this time, leaning forward to kiss your tear covered lips. “Stop saying those things.”

“In our next life, Finnick,” you smiled, stroking his cheeks before kissing his lips. “In our next life, I swear to you, we will be happy. We will be safe. We will,” you inhaled shakily. “We will live a long, happy life together. We’ll have children, we’ll have a family. Nothing horrible will happen to us, no traumas, nothing. I swear to you.”

He sobs, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do that for you in this life.”

And you kissed him. You kissed him so hard, throwing your weight over him, pulling his mouth as much as you could into yours. Your tongues dance, rubbing and swirling around each other’s before your hips rut against his. “You’ve done so much for me now. In this life. You’ve made me the happiest woman in this life, I swear.”

He smiles at you. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

You giggle sadly, nodding. “I love you too, Finnick. I love you, now and forever.”

The next day would be the Reaping, and soon, the Third Quarter Quell. You were going to make sure Finnick got out alive, even if it was at the cost of your own life.

You didn’t know he was thinking the same thing.

next part will be uploaded this Wednesday (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.10.23)

© asterias-record-shop

[bibbibib]

Well, that's kind of dark

So one of the things I've noticed about Peeta that I haven't seen talked about a lot is there's a kind of almost morbid resourcefulness about him. Like, we talk about him finding beauty in adversity and having an artistic outlook and while that's true, there are so many moments that kind of made me pause when I first read the books that reveal a different side to him. He doesn't just strategize (the interviews, D11) , or even just improvise on the spot (the bread, the Peacekeepers at Katniss' house CF scene), but he adds a whole lot of compartmentalizing onto it.

Examples?

How about Peeta in the first arena, freshly bit by a mutt and currently bleeding to death, carrying everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks, having to fight Cato on the Cornucopia? When Cato (who's also much bigger than him) gets him in a chokehold, not only does Peeta manage to find a way out of a seemingly impossible situation without proper oxygenation (well, no small feat) but he also uses his own blood to mark an X on Cato's hand so Katniss can shoot at it. It's brilliant and desperate, and it ends up working, but damn if that's not disturbing as well.

And he does something similar again: using the force field to cook tree rat after having basically died from it just hours ago. He basically went, "well, if it worked on me, it'll work for the rat" .

After getting out of the Games, you'd expect him to want nothing to do with everything that happened in there, much like Katniss did, try to leave it all behind and get over the pain, but no! Peeta spends nights and nights painting it all out in vivid detail, not just the better or neutral moments but the tough, gory stuff too. I'm not sure how to interpret this response he has, other that it shows him as someone who doesn't like to shy away from the truth even if it hurts (real or not real?) and uses what's there for the best, or at least passably functional outcome, which is genuinely really useful. I feel like there is more to it.

[The sewer chace in MJ could maybe also be a similar example? After the Mitchell disaster, Peeta seems to be keeping it together better than even some of the other, un-hijacked members of the squad. It seems like he's getting better the worse things get. A trauma response? Good for him? Bad? Maybe a mix? I'd love to hear your two cents!]

[spaghett-onaplate]

I'm so sick of booktok books. Tropes sticky-taped together to make a semi-comprehensible and mildly enjoyable at best story. 2D characters that have no real defining personalities beyond banter and witty one-liners, that have no clear motivations or goals, that are inconsistent in their actions and thoughts. A lack of description that has you rereading passages over and over in a lackluster attempt to understand wtf is going on.

I'm reviewing this book for a bookstore magazine, and that fucking thing is the inspiration behind this. I mean, it has "TikTok" on the front cover, so I was a little sceptical at first, but now I'm just pissed off. Apart from what I've already mentioned, there are severe plot holes - the entire plot of the book is centred around a journey to recover a magical item of legends. Both of the main characters are sceptical of its existence, but they decide to try and find it anyway. Personally, I think it could have been executed much better if one of the characters believed in it fully and wholeheartedly, and was dead set on his goal to get it. Then, that would have allowed leeway for some scepticism in other characters while still moving the plot ahead, and added more depth to the otherwise bland characters. It also would have tied in very well with the backstory and just made so much more sense plot-wise.

I don't know, it's just really pissing me off. I probably wouldn't be able to finish this book if it weren't for the fact I'm writing a review, but it pains me to think of the fact I'll have to write a mostly positive review - so I'll do what I'm best at, and compliment the (few) enjoyable aspects while backhandedly complimenting the rest. I'll keep it honest, but if I didn't have a word limit/positive theme I would write a scathing review of 5k words, at bare minimum. There are so many points where I have to flip a few pages back and ask myself if I missed something - not that there's much to miss.

The two main characters are both cardboard cutouts with inconsistent goals and thoughts. One of the central conflicts between them makes next to no sense. The other two side characters are yawn-inducing and essentially useless, and I often forget they're even there. The lore of the world is bleak and two-dimensional. The writing style reminds me of The Hunger Games with its short and direct sentences, but is executed so poorly that I hesitate to compare it to, you know, The Hunger Games. It works in that series with Katniss' thought process and character, but here it just makes me cringe. It gives off the effect of trying to put emphasis on sentences that really don't deserve it. I think some books can pull that writing style off really well, when paired with other sentence structures, but in this book it just comes across as lazy and, well, badly written.

Writing a book is still an impressive feat, and the author could have done much worse. So I'll still write a kind review, but I'll keep it honest and I won't be happy about it.

Anyway, just needed to get that out of my system so that I can write a mostly positive review. But I'm just sick of what is essentially the Marvel-ification of a lot of recent YA books. I've seen other posts discussing this so I'm glad I'm not alone. And either way, bad books have always existed - it's not a recent phenomenon. Good books exist, bad books exist, and unfortunately it's a lot easier to find the latter.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Turkey Shoot

Author: @alliswell21​

Prompt: Thanksgiving prompt: Peeta has secretly been getting hunting lessons from Gale, so he can surprise Katniss with a non-store-bought turkey for Thanksgiving. [submitted by @daydreamsandcaffeine​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Established couple/Everlark; Hawthorne boys banter; hunting; dead turkeys; under 3K words; Alternate universe; Not canon compliant. All mistakes are mine.

Happy Thanksgiving!!! 🦃🍁 ______________

Dawn sneaks up on the hunting party, huddled behind a line of bushes, still as can be, breathing in the freezing air which dampens their face coverings with every exhale.

Peeta is in great spirits, regardless of the hardness of the ground beneath him, or the bitter cold temperature outside, or the lack of protection from the cold breeze in the bare woods; he’s happy as a clam, even enduring muscle cramping from holding a position for too long; in fact, he’s never felt as giddy and accomplished as he feels right now.

In all honesty, Peeta has never been hunting for real, so the experience is both daunting and exhilarating. Sure, he’s accompanied Katniss—his beloved wife — into the woods before and seen her shooting squirrels and rabbits like a real life goddess Artemis, but they never intentionally go into the woods to hunt. And while the prospect of having to field dress his kill is just a tad revolting to Peeta, the expectation of seeing a certain pair of grey eyes brimming with pride over a roasted bird he’s procured on a feat of Neanderthal masculinity, just fuels his drive to see this trip through.

Crack!

“Hush!” a harsh voice snaps quietly.

“Sorry…”

“Shut it!”

“Fine!”

“Enough!”

“What are you so pissy about? It was just a twig. Deer and critters break twigs all the time, and the rest of the animals don’t even look twice! Plus, we’ve been out here for almost two hours and we haven’t seen anything walk by!” stage whispers the youngest member of the hunting party—Vick, Peeta recalls the teenager’s name being.

“That’s because you keep moving, disturbing the brush,” whispers a calmer, more mature voice. Thom Miner, a hunting buddy of Gale Hawthorne, who put this outing together to help Peeta with his secret mission.

“We should just go back and try again in the afternoon. It’s too early for turkeys anyway,” whispers somebody else.

Peeta panics. He’s about to say something when Gale’s stern voice interrupts.

“The afternoon is not an option for Peeta, and we all agreed to help him get a turkey for Catnip, remember?” His voice is quiet but carries authority in the stillness of the early morning.

“Katniss really won’t mind getting a frozen turkey from the store, ya know?” says Vick.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point! Peeta wants to surprise her with a fresh bird!” replies another young voice.

“Just sayin’,” shrugs Vick, “don’t get your panties in a wad, Rory.”

Rory, who’s just a couple of years older than Vick, turns to his brother, about to shove him for that comment, but Gale just grunts a “Stop it, you two!” rendering his younger siblings quiet.

“Well, the sun is coming out anyway, which is good. Turkeys will be more willing to come out to feed once it starts to warm up a bit,” says Thom in his slow cadence.

The rest of the party agrees to wait another hour or so, in the hopes that the cresting sun will entice the birds to waddle out of their hiding spots.

Peeta’s grateful to these people, really. He doesn’t have the best relationship with Gale Hawthorne, his former romantic rival… Peeta isn’t petty or resentful…jealous? Yes, but resentful? No. Peeta got the girl in the end, so what does he have to be petty about? Because for reasons Peeta can’t quite fathom, Gale remains his wife’s best friend, despite their semi-fall-out after her choosing Peeta over Gale. Peeta’s man enough to recognize he needs help with his current endeavor, and Gale has been honorable enough to lend a helping hand—or two—to teach Peeta how to hunt, and for that he’s truly grateful.

Katniss has never been an ordinary, dainty, southern belle, but a gritty, tough-as-nails, southern woman.

And what a woman!

Peeta distinctly remembers the first time he saw her shoot.

Pure poetry, grace, and fluid beauty. It was a school archery competition, they were 16 then, and while Peeta had been a goner for Katniss for close to 11 years already, watching the petite, scowling girl handle the bow with ease and make her bullseye with such grace, made something stir in his heart…and below the belt, not that he’ll confess that to anyone, except, perhaps Katniss.

Ever since that day, he’s known she was in a much higher league than him, and yet, she chose him to cherish and love for the rest of their lives, and Peeta is committed to uphold every single one of his wedding vows to Katniss and to make her feel loved and cared for. So, when his wife of six months made an offhanded comment about the merits of having a non-store bought turkey as the centerpiece of their first Thanksgiving table as husband and wife, Peeta wholeheartedly invested himself in making it happen for his bride. And in Peeta’s book, there is no better hunter than his wife’s former hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne.

Convincing Gale to teach Peeta how to shoot wasn’t super hard. Gale was willing to put aside his differences with Peeta, as long as he could repair his friendship with Katniss—if not to its former glory—to something better than a passing ‘hello’ here and there.

The tricky part came when it was time to cover up the plethora of nicks, bruises and cuts on Peeta’s arms from his secret hunting lessons with Gale. For what it’s worth, Peeta has experienced hiding all kinds of injuries from growing up under his mother’s—literal—iron fist care. It’s also great he runs a bakery for a living, where he can blame the evidence of his new extracurricular activities under the pretext of being extra “clumsy” at work. The blisters and string burns dotting his fingers were easy enough to pass as baking marks, but the one time he got a string slap to the chest…well, that particular bruise was hard to explain away. Peeta kept his shirts on or simply turned off the lights before removing them for bed; the real test was keeping from whining out in pain when Katniss’s clever, calloused fingers caressed his sternum one night, right where the bruise was tender and his ailing skin felt raw. It was the worst! But as far as today, Peeta’s been successful in keeping his hunting lessons secret from his wife.

A faint gobble-gobble rises in the distance. The hunters visibly perk up in their perches, peeking their eyes through the gaps in the branches concealing them.

“Shush…” Gale brings a finger to his lips to quiet everyone down, “here they come.” 

The sun is already over the treetops, its light piercing the dwindling canopy of leaves, allowing a clear view of a family of about 10 turkeys tentatively pat-patting their way between a row of skinny trees a few yards yonder.

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” he says, loading his bow as surreptitiously as possible. He’s watched Katniss nock arrows so many times with a simple flick of her hand, it came as a surprise to him when he tried for the first time to load his bow by himself, and couldn’t do it right away.

“Steady and calm,” Gale murmurs. “Remember, release the arrow before your arm follows through. You’ve got this…” The most surprising thing he’s experienced throughout this whole ordeal has been Gale’s patience.

Gale showed Peeta his techniques until his form was right. The man never made a snide remark, nor did he gloat or mock Peeta for missing targets or having horrendous form. Gale just gave easy to follow instructions, and while neither man was keen to touch, Gale had held Peeta’s arms in the correct position, while gently kicking his legs to fix his stance…even now, Peeta feels ghosts fingers holding his elbow firmly, as he takes aim, the feathers of his arrow tickling the corner of his mouth as he feels the tension of his string dig into the tip of his finger.

“Peeta, shoot straight,” murmurs Gale.

Peeta nods, stops breathing altogether, and clenches one blue eye closed to align his shot; he lets go of his arrow, exhaling almost too loudly.

On instinct, his other eye shuts too, and he’s suddenly plunged into darkness. His nerves are shut as well, for a long minute, before he hears two, three, four more swishing arrows zoom by and the following dull thuds as they hit their marks.

Peeta opens his eyes to see what damage has been done when a frenzy of gurgles, clucks, and yelps disrupts the silence of the woods.

Before he can react, Rory Hawthorne gives a loud yip and jumps out of his perch to check the bird he felled. Vick follows right on his heels, hollering nonstop: “Did you see me, Gale? Did you see that? I got it right in the gizzard!”

Gale just smiles lopsidedly and nods proudly at his siblings.

Peeta is less enthusiastic about seeing his kill, but still, he comes out from behind the bush and lumbers to where the band of turkeys has scattered away in fright.

“Keep an eye on them birds!” calls Thom. “One of them is bound to turn around and chase us off, to avenge his friends.”

Peeta does a double-take; he knows some game birds can be aggressive, but he’s not sure if wild turkeys are part of that category, so he approaches the one turkey with his arrow sticking out of its neck cautiously, nervously looking around for retaliating birds.

“Good job, Peet!” says Vick, sitting on a rock, already pulling feathers out of his catch.

Gale puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder to stop him. “Don’t pluck it yet. We’ve got three birds, and yours is kinda fat. We need to see what Ma’s gonna wanna do with them first.”

Peeta pokes his turkey with the toe of his boot, but the bird just lies there, lifeless, so he picks it up gingerly by the legs. “Should I pluck mine?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Thom smirks and says, “Leave it for Katniss to deal with. Then she’ll know for sure you didn’t buy this one at the store.” He motions to Peeta’s turkey with the arrow he’s just yanked from his own game.

Gale doesn’t even crack a smile, but his brothers laugh heartily. And Peeta goes back to being happy with his excursion into the woods, and the prospect of seeing Katniss eyes fill with joy and pride for him.

——————

Katniss is standing at her kitchen sink, rinsing the mug she just drank her morning tea from, when she hears a familiar truck pull into her driveway.

She makes her way to the windows facing the front porch, puzzled, wondering what in tarnation brings Gale Hawthorne to her house at 7:55 in the morning…when her husband is at work? But as she peeks through the blinds, her confusion grows when she sees an unusual picture right before her eyes.

“What…?” She wraps herself into a hand-knitted shawl her mom made for her, stepping sockless into her comfortable, worn boots, and goes out her front door to see what’s going on for herself.

The first sound that meets her ears is Rory’s contagious chuckles, followed by a snort from Vick. Peeta’s deep laugh comes next, which, more than having seen his unmistakable towheaded waves while peeking from within the cabin, confirms the fact that her husband is just jumping out of Gale’s pick-up truck, dressed in camouflage hunting gear, muddy boots, and his trademark ‘Peeta smile’ that makes her heart skip a beat.

“See you next week, Peet!” Vick calls, hanging out the truck’s open door.

“Depends on how cold it is out!” Peeta replies, leaning his upper body over the bed of the truck.

“Bring Katniss too, will ya?!” Vick beams.

“Sure…if she’s up to it,” Peeta responds, fishing out a long, black bow similar to Katniss’s custom-made bow, but a bit heavier looking.

Katniss blinks twice, a scowl set on her brows, still trying to understand what’s going on here.

Gale’s eyes zero in on her, and he waves, a sheepish grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “Catnip,” he greets, making the rest of the party finally notice her standing there, with her arms crossed over her chest and squinting.

“Gale. Boys… Peeta?” She nods suspiciously in greeting. “Care to tell me what you guys have been up to?” Her voice is level, but curious.

Peeta’s smile widens like he’s been given an early Christmas present, and then he shoulders the unfamiliar bow and quiver. Katniss arches a dark eyebrow when she sees her husband pulling up a plump jake turkey before strutting up the porch steps to reach her.

Peeta says a breathy, “Morning, Sweetheart…I brought you a gift from the woods.” He presents the bird to his wife, and she can read the nervous expectation in his sweet, baby blues.

She looks down at the turkey hanging upside down from Peeta’s firm grip and then looks back into his eyes before glancing at Gale and the boys, who seem to be holding their breath in the truck.

“You…you got this in the woods, for me?” she asks, just a little uncertain.

Peeta nods, and a small flash of insecurity passes over his eyes. Katniss hates that look, so she bites the inside of her lips.

“Did…you…shoot it? Yourself?” she asks, touching the bow hanging from his back lightly.

Peeta’s grin grows brighter. “Gale taught me how to hunt,” he admits.

“Only the basics,” Gale calls good-naturedly from his car, nodding in their direction. “He picked up a great deal of stuff just from watching you, when you took him into the woods with you. He’s a good pupil. Follows directions well, unlike certain people…” Gale glares pointedly at Rory and Vick, who look rightfully shamed. “You picked a good one there, Catnip,” Gale concedes gruffly.

Katniss looks surprised for a beat before turning to take in her husband’s face. She smiles then, nodding. “I know I did; my man is a pleasant box of surprises,” she says the last part quietly, giving her husband heart eyes and a sweet smile.

“Um…Gale…I think we should…get going?” says Rory.

“Yeah, she’s giving him googly eyes. Yuck!” Vick agrees.

Before Gale can answer, the newlyweds snap out of their bubble and face the Hawthorne boys.

“Thank you, Gale!” Peeta shouts.

“Yes. Thanks,” Katniss offers, before stepping forward, and cautiously saying, “Hey, if that offer to go out there next week still stands…”

Gale nods. “Sounds good.”

Vick breaks into a grin. “See you next week, you two!”

“Will do,” Peeta says, wrapping his free arm around his wife’s shoulders.

They wave the Hawthornes away, and then Katniss snuggles into her husband’s side.

“I knew something was up.” She smirks, rubbing a hand over his chest, where he can still feel the ghost of his bruise from that string slap. “You need to wear tighter shirts, hun, and maybe a chest shield.”

Peeta chuckles. “Ah…you noticed that?” He shakes his head ruefully.

“I did, and at first I thought the worst, but I decided to give you room, and wait until you felt comfortable enough to talk about it.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Katniss shrugs. “I knew it couldn’t be something bad, otherwise you would’ve told me, and believe me, I was ready to defend you!”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second!” He leans down and kisses her lips tenderly.

Katniss pushes her fingers through his soft hair, curling at the nape of his neck to deepen the kiss.

After a moment, they break apart, and Katniss smiles down at the bird Peeta still holds. “Let’s get this big guy ready for Thanksgiving, then. My mom and Prim will be ecstatic about Thanksgiving supper when they hear of your hunting skills. And I want to hear all about that bow! Where did you get it? Did Gale help? Are you making your famous cornbread dressing, or should we go with my mom’s recipe? We need to call your dad and invite him, too, even if your mom doesn’t come… Yay! Now we get to go hunting together for real! I can’t wait—-“

They walk into their home, wrapped in each other, with their turkey in hand and lots of plans for the future.

The End.

[southsidestory]

I’m in a Hunger Games mood, so I’m gonna give y’all my unasked for reviews of each book (while unapologetically wearing my Everlark glasses). Here we go!

In terms of plain quality as a novel, The Hunger Games wins for me. It’s so tightly plotted, the world building is immersive, the conflicts are compelling, and I love how focused the story is on Katniss and Peeta.

In the later books the world opens up, we meet so many more characters, and Katniss’s other relationships—with Gale, with Haymitch, with her mother, with Prim, with the other victors—are explored in greater depth. Which is awesome! But I love the (forced) intimacy that the 74th Games creates for Everlark. It’s complicated and messy and absolutely fascinating. What’s more, it expertly sets up the central challenges that Katniss and Peeta will deal with in the rest of the trilogy.

Catching Fire is the book I enjoyed reading most. First, because Finnick Odair is one of my all-time favorite characters, and definitely my fave in THG series. I love how Katniss has all these negative assumptions about Finnick and many of the other victors, but getting to know them forces her to accept that they’re just flawed, complicated people surviving their trauma, exactly like her.

The clock arena was a brilliant and brutal idea, and the ending was such a WTF moment that I immediately dove into Mockingjay afterward.

Best of all, we get maximum doses of Everlark all through this book. The bedsharing on the train. Peeta illustrating the plant book for Katniss. Their sunset scene on the rooftop of the Training Center. So much Everlark goodness that it’s practically a banquet.

The only major flaw I can lay at Catching Fire’s door is that the concept of sending Katniss and Peeta back into the arena feels a little contrived. BUT the execution is excellent so I’ll happily forgive that.

And then there’s Mockingjay. Which I’m going to spend too much time talking about sorrynotsorry.

I have what I suspect may be some unpopular opinions regarding the third book. First, I actually really liked Mockingjay, and I think a lot of Everlark fans don’t?

I understand why! Katniss spends a large portion of the book separated from Peeta, and when she finally gets him back... well, we all know how that turns out. However, while those things are difficult to read, I think they’re good narrative choices. During Peeta’s captivity, we finally get to see the depth of Katniss’s feelings for him. She doesn’t realize it, but her love is astoundingly obvious. Her longing for him is palpable—which is what makes their reunion all the more heartbreaking.

Peeta getting highjacked is so tragic, but imo the book needed it. Up until this point, Peeta is a beacon of goodness. Certainly he has flaws, but Katniss doesn’t really see them, and to some extent she takes his love for granted. The highjacking destroys all of that. While it’s painful to read, it’s also really fucking interesting. And it takes Katniss’s grudge against Snow to a new level. What he did to Peeta is beyond unforgivable, and after it happens, she is out for blood. Peeta’s excruciatingly slow recovery keeps the reader on tenterhooks, wondering, Will he get better? Will he regain his love for Katniss? Will he ever be the Peeta I know and love again? It’s A+ conflict with high af stakes.

But perhaps what I loved most about Mockingjay is the characterization and story lines for the other victors. Haymitch’s involuntary sobriety, and the possibly even less enjoyable role as the resident Katniss Whisperer lol. Finnick airing all of Snow’s dirty laundry, even though it means revealing that he’s a rape survivor to a public that has been slut shaming him for years. Johanna’s morphling addiction and severe PTSD, and how she and Katniss finally find common ground.

Now for the things I *didn’t* like about Mockingjay.

#1 is unsurprisingly Finnick’s death. It happens in such a horrible way, and I think Collins chose to do it because she knew that Finnick dying would hurt the worst, not because it serves the story best. Prim’s death is gutting, but it’s narratively necessary. Finnick’s death is for shock value.

The pods scattered throughout the Capitol is a horrible idea. That makes no goddamn sense. It’s clearly only there for the “Welcome to the 76th Annual Hunger Games” line and all that it entails, which is not a good enough reason. Katniss and Peeta have already been through the arena twice, they don’t need to trod through a knock-off arena in the last book. It’s repetitive, and unlike the Quarter Quell, it’s not executed well enough to overcome how contrived it is.

I’ve got other gripes, namely all the Galeniss moments. But I will freely admit that it’s because they’re a NOTP, not because those scenes are unnecessary or poorly done. On the contrary, they’re very necessary and very well done. I just don’t like them lol

But then there’s the ending to Mockingjay. It’s perfect. It concludes on exactly the right note. The ending recognizes the longevity of Peeta and Katniss’s trauma, as well as the cost of war, but it still wraps everything up on a hopeful note. After three books full of death and destruction, Katniss and Peeta are allowed to find peace and recovery. It’s as happy of an ending as books like these can possibly have, and it’s 1000% earned. No small feat.

From an Everlark perspective, I could not be more pleased with the end. I’m sure all I have to say is the word “Real” for everyone to understand why. Collins stuck the landing like Simone Biles on floor, and I have great respect for that.

Tagging @awhiskeyriver @rosegardeninwinter @muttpeeta and @badnovels because you’re all wonderful writers and I’m really curious about your opinions. I’m not expecting or looking for perfect agreement—and in fact, I’d love to hear other perspectives! Even if you think I’m dead wrong 😂

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[katnissmellarkkk]

Okayyyyy, I got massive stomach cramps and don’t feel great right now so I decided it’s a good time read and blog chapter four for THGagain 😅🤧🥳

I feel nauseous as it is, Katniss narrating Haymitch laying in barf is 🤢

Peeta and her just exchanged a glance about Haymitch, they’re already silently communicating 🥰🥰🥰

Yes, I will be blogging every minuscule detail of Everlark’s interactions and what about it?

Katniss and Peeta already have a silent agreement, they’re bonding here already 🥰🥰🥰 yes my shipper comments are coming in hot and strong like a freight train this morning they’re surprising even me ok

Okay, Katniss shut up about Haymitch smearing his vomit across his face I really chose the wrong time to read this chapter, y’all pray for my stomach

If Haymitch is sort of fat the way Katniss kind of makes him sound (calling him paunchy and implying a beer belly) then her and Peeta really must both be considerably strong because hauling a drunk, 240ish pound (I’m just guessing his weight) man can’t be an easy feat.

Why did Katniss just give me the image of Haymitch’s hairy chest? 😂😂😂😂😂 she’s so over the top descriptive in some ways and in others, she just glazes over important details like 😅😅😅

Of course she sees everything Peeta does as trying to get one up her in strategy and not because he’s a genuine or caring guy 😅😅😅 I don’t blame her she’s going to a death match after all but I still laugh, knowing what’s coming and who Peeta is.

Speaking of this scene reminds me though, I don’t remember who said it recently but I saw a different post about this idea and I really liked it : what if Peeta is so comfortable / casual about bathing or caring for a drunk Haymitch because he’s experienced this same kind of interaction with his father? The man who apparently doesn’t stop his wife from beating at least one of his kids? What if he drinks and that’s why this part with Haymitch isn’t seeming to throw Peeta at all? Maybe it’s a far-fetched idea but I thought it was worth mentioning 🤷🏼‍♀️

Oooo though, Peeta right from the start couldn’t stand the people of the Capitol any more than Katniss could. They have more in common than I even thought.

Also though, Katniss thinking to herself that she would make a Capitol worker deal with drunk, dirty Haymitch as a form of vengeance because of their privilege and idiocy versus Peeta who doesn’t want revenge is really a good, very subtle show of character and who they are when they start out in the series. And how Katniss was really stuck in a middle ground between Gale’s ideology and Peeta’s, and how she evolves and fully comes to Peeta’s side at the end. Let’s be real though, by the end I don’t think even Gale was on his own side anymore when it came to justice and vengeance and war.

Awww Katniss is just suddenly realizing Peeta’s kind at his very core 🤧😫🥺🥰🥲. I need to stop writing about every little detail and just get on with this chapter sorry to anyone who’s reading this wreck.

“Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there. And I can't let Peeta do this. [...] I decide, from this moment on, to have as little as possible to do with the baker's son” yeah, this resolve really worked out for you, girlfriend 👍🏻

Also I kind of love how at the start she would constantly refer to Peeta as “the baker’s son” like Mr. Mellark is just chilling with no name, he’s just the baker and Peeta is just known as his son. Can you imagine if we got Peeta’s or someone else’s point of view and Katniss was referred to the coal miner’s daughter? Like that Barbara Streisand movie that I’ve never seen but my gramma has on VHS.

Okay she just threw the cookies from Mr. Mellark out of the window and like 😤😓 like what if my idea that Peeta made those cookies specially for her is true and the brat just tossed them out the window like talk about ungrateful kids nowadays

“the packet of cookies hits the ground and bursts open in a patch of dandelions by the track.” I don’t know what this is exactly meant to symbolize but I’m gonna pretend it confirms my Peeta baked the cookies idea 😎😎😎

Katniss’ flashback to Prim and her collecting dandelions and going through the plant book to find more edible plants is nice if for nothing else, it shows Prim actually taking an active part in helping them survive. I need to be nicer to Prim, I gotta keep trying to turn this bus around.

Katniss’ descriptions of going places alone for the first time without her father is so sad 🥺🥺🥺

Also though she said it was the first time past the fence “without my father’s weapons to protect me”. So did Mr. Everdeen have more than a bow and arrow? Because Katniss says one line later that she retrieved the small bow and arrow her dad made her for a little protection, which is a). Super cute because I never realized her dad made her mini hunting gear 🥺🥺🥺 and b). Wording to me just sounded like Mr. Everdeen was in possession of more weapons than just a bow but maybe it’s just me 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

It’s so melancholy though that Katniss never had truly hunted before her father died. He hunted and she just came along. He never saw her shoot her first deer. 🥺

I feel like the segment here is very important, “Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and you're dead. I checked and double-checked the plants I harvested with my father's pictures. I kept us alive.”

I always forget that in Katniss’ eyes Peeta was rich. She even just referred to his father as one of her wealthier clients.

Okay but girlfriend really said she dug up katniss roots with her toes and then had her mother and sister eat them 😒😒😒 gurl, thats nasty

Also her father’s “as long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve” was such a dad joke, omg 😅😅😅🥲😂😂😂😂, he sounds so nerdy

Ummm so Mrs. Everdeen started singing and that was a key moment to let Katniss know she was better but like ... does everyone in Twelve sing now? Did both her parents have good voices? Does this lady ever sing again? She barely has any speaking lines I don’t know where she would sing

Aww, that part where Katniss says she could never get past her mother’s abandonment and could never really forgive it resonates with me. Idk why because I never went through anything like that. But I’m unforgiving so. Also it seems a lot more accurate and true to a real girl’s reaction than a lot of other directions that could have gone.

Awww, Katniss’ regret 🥺. I feel that too. You wanna be able to express your anger because you have so much hurt but there’s a part of you deep down that wants to work things out still 🤧🤧🤧. Esp if you’re probably about to die.

Okay, sidebar but fish stew and strawberries sounds nasty 🤮 that might just be my bad stomach right now

Bahahaha I’m sorry bad place to launch but “I’m so glad I didn’t drown that cat, so he can comfort my sister in my absence” got me

Now I think of it though. Parallel beginning to end. Buttercup comforts Prim when she thinks Katniss surely can’t come home again and then he comforts Katniss in the end when she knows for a fact that Prim can’t come home again 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Ugh I feel her loneliness though. I hate when I’m away from people I love and I’m strange places with people I don’t know but will one day become close as family to and I think about what everyone else is doing without me. That’s just like ... the loneliest feeling ever. 😭😢😓😥

“Probably the drawers hold any number of nightgowns, but I just strip off my shirt and pants and climb into bed in my underwear.” This works very well with my headcanons for post canon and all my AUs. Basically how her and Peeta sleep in my mind 😎😎😎🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Katniss can’t cry even after the day she’s had because she’s too used to pushing back on all her emotions and forcing herself to be strong, to the point that it’s ingrained in her even when she’s facing an almost definite promise of death 😥😥😥

There’s probably a parallel between her comfort being the train rocking her to sleep and Peeta rocking her to calm her down in Catching Fire. 🤷🏼‍♀️. Idek where the parallel really is but I thought it so I said it that’s how this works.

Does Effie feel like repetition somehow makes her words more impactful? 🤨

Katniss’ practically coming through with the whole “I put my clothes from yesterday back on since they’re not dirty yet.” Kind of just reminds the reader that she probably has to typically wear all her clothes until they’re so filthy she has no choice but to wash them in the sink or lake.

How does her braid still look acceptable? If I ever sleep in any hairstyle it looks like the 80s crimped pony when I wake up 🥲.

Why is Effie swearing and Haymitch is laughing while Peeta looks embarrassed? Do we ever get an answer for this?

Awww, Katniss has only had an orange one time in her life, when her father bought one for her, for New Years 😭😭😭😭. Like the fact that she doesn’t even recognize orange juice because she’s never had it 😔😔😔 and the fact that an orange, one of the nastiest fruits in the world with its vile taste and texture is a treat to her 😫😫😫

I agree with you though, boo, about coffee. It does taste bitter and thin 😖😖😖

Also I know her mother was a merchant growing up but part of me thinks her mom experienced all these luxuries (the velvet dress, the coffee, etc) because she was close to the Donners.

Peeta and her have never had hot choccy 😩😩😩 well I decide they have it every day after the war

Omg her savage comments to her mother 😅😅😅

Is Haymitch drinking a Bloody Mary? 🤣🤣

Ugh I forget how irritating Haymitch is at the start? Like I’m trying to remember does he really not ever even try with the tributes or is that a show he puts on to make it seem like he doesn’t care? He must care if he can recall every single one of them for the memory book in the end of Mockingjay.

Katniss and Peeta are still having silent conversations like y’all kids are already married basically 🤷🏼‍♀️ I don’t make these rules I just push them

They’ve never had a real conversation but this is their third silent one 🤣😅🤧

Honestly Peeta is written though as such a love interest from the start. I was thinking about that last night, that when I first read these books with zero expectations of anything, there was always something that hit different in her narration of Peeta versus Gale and every other male she encounters. I get why it’s seen that she secretly harbored a crush on him from the start. I was in like 9th grade when I originally read these books leave my stupid newfound revelations alone

“I'm surprised to see the hardness in his eyes. [Peeta] generally seems so mild.” This is why I love him. Peeta’s so much more than a generic kind person. He has so many layers.

Even Katniss is shocked by the different aspects of his personality and he’s not just some walk on nice dude 😅🤦🏼‍♀️ it’s a journey for her in the first book to get to know him and all his different layers.

And I kind of feel like the people who say he’s super weak or child coded ... just never truly understood Katniss’ changing perspective on him. Like somehow a few people ended up getting trapped in how Katniss saw him at the start or something. That made no sense ignore it it’s a working theory.

Omg Peeta’s got some violence in him. Honestly I always liked how he just unexpectedly knocked the glass from Haymitch’s hand and shattered it on the floor. Like he smacked it hard.

Somehow I feel like Peeta’s ability to lash out stems from his abuse ngl 🤷🏼‍♀️

Also I love that Peeta talks about both him and Katniss. “That’s very funny. Just not to us.” Because they’re already a team. They’ve already got an unspoken understanding. It’s so beautiful 🥺

Idk why it makes me laugh that Haymitch “consider this for a moment” before just punching Peeta. Like I know in hindsight he punched Peeta here as a test to see if bread boy was a true fighter (he is, y’all 😭) but it reads on the first time as Haymitch is drunk and is slow on the uptake 😅.

Katniss’ diving a knife into the table seems less impressive honestly than Peeta managing to knock a glass from Haymitch’s hand, all the way across the room 😑🤭

Also she braces herself to get hit as well but can you even imagine if Haymitch hit a little girl? Like she’s not Prim but she’s a five foot like one sixteen year old who probably weighs less than 100 pounds. Just saying, imagine how much different we’d all feel about their mentor if he punched her too 🤐

“Did I actually get a pair of fighters?” 🥺🥺🥺 you have no idea, old geez 😭😭😭😭😭

Peeta is so sad though when you realize he just took a hit and nonchalantly puts some ice on like it’s nothing.

Also Haymitch saying don’t ice it, let the mark show, must be a foreign thing to Peeta, considering the implied abuse from his mother. He’s probably spent his whole life icing bruises and marks to make them less visible to people at school 😭😭😭😭

Bahahaha “that’s against the rules”. Peeta is such a rule follower at the start. Probably because as a merchant he was better off than the Seam so he was likely raised that if you disobey or get in trouble, you’ll lose the food or money or business that’s keeps you surviving, versus Katniss who just straight up had to break the law in order to live. I’m just making notes here this isn’t a serious thought yet.

I wasn’t aware Katniss was experienced at throwing knives 😦. Girl, you always had a good shot at these games, why you sell yourself short? Why does Peeta as well? Lord, what district 12 kids need is a motivational speaker and perhaps some self-help books.

“Not entirely hopeless” sounds like a compliment coming from Haymitch 😭😅

“Attractive enough” is an indication they’re both v v v sexy 😎😏 I’m kidding no one vague blog about me

“the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors.” Side eying you, Finnick 😛

So do a lot of kids resistant their stylists most years? Based on Haymitch’s advise to them it seems like he’s dealt with some temper tantrums 😅

Oh wow. She’s giving geographically explanations for the Capitol and its location and I got a D+ in geography so let’s move on because I don’t understand what place she could be referring to 🤧🤐

I do love how at the start she constantly refers to Peeta as either the baker’s son or his full name. 😅😂🥳

Awww Katniss is claustrophobic because of her father’s death 😭🥺🤧

“Both Peeta and I run to the window to see what we've only seen on television, the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem” they’re so young and little and sheltered 🤧🤧🤧🤧 like two kids their first time you take them to Disneyland. If Disneyland was trying to kill people, that is. Which it might be because those rides and their seatbelts never feel secure ya know what I’m saying I digress but still.

There’s a sweet shop in district 12??? I was over here thinking I invented it after the war in my fics??? I gotta rewrite now 😒

Okay how did Peeta’s waving get construed recently as being childlike? He literally just outright said he only waved at the people because one of them could be rich. It was blatantly to showcase the difference in Katniss and Peeta. Katniss walked away the second she grew disgusted by the Capitol people because she won’t perform for anyone. Peeta, who’s probably been performing to hide his mother’s abuse his whole life, knows how to manipulate a crowd and sees the importance in making powerful people like you. Even if you find them vile.

Katniss now going on about how she’s misjudged Peeta and he is a master manipulator. I mean, she ain’t wrong but she still ain’t right here either.

“His father showing up with the cookies and promising to feed Prim. Did Peeta put him up to that?” I seriously think Peeta did ask him to go give her the cookies, just not for the reason she thinks 😅.

I always thought his crying at the Justice Building/Train Station was genuine and legitimate but honestly, Katniss makes a good point here. We later do see how cunning and artful Peeta is with manipulating a crowd. He’s always 10 steps ahead of Katniss on that count. Maybe his crying was an act?

“Volunteering to wash Haymitch but then challenging him this morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed.” I don’t think that’s true 🤣😅. I think Peeta just got fed up.

“And now the waving at the window, already trying to win the crowd.” You could have waved too, Katty Deen 😂. It’s funny how she had a better opportunity to do all these things Peeta did to win people over. She’s a girl, she’s much smaller than him in the book, she’s pretty according to Haymitch, Prim, Gale and Peeta. If she’d cried at the station or waved to the crowd and then showcased her bow and arrow skills, she’d easily have been considered a potential Career.

“All of the pieces are still fitting together, but I sense he has a plan forming. He hasn't accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me the bread, is fighting hard to kill me.” No, dum dum. He’s fighting hard to be likable and keep you alive. I don’t think he had the Star Crossed Lovers planned from the get-go but he clearly knew he could be a key player making her the victor. And he is. But he also becomes one too and that’s just beautiful 🥺🤧😭😭🤧😭🥺😭😭🥺🤧🤧😭🥺🤧🤧😭🥺😭🥺

Okay, that’s all for my thoughts on chapter four! 🥳🥳🥳🥳 I know I carried on far too long but if you made it to the end, feel proud of yourself. Because I never shut up.

[aj28gaming]

I have found out the biggest problem in the Danganronpa fandom

EDIT AND DISCLAIMER AGAIN: PLEASE IGNORE MY STUPIDITY AT THE LATER HALF OF THIS POST

I DIDN'T FULLY UNDERSTAND WHAT COUNTS AS AN ANTI-VILLAIN OR ANTI-HERO

"A hero (heroine in its feminine form) is a real person or a main fictional character who, in the face of danger, combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage or strength. Merriam Webster dictionary defines a hero as "a person who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities"."

"Villain - a cruelly malicious person who is involved in or devoted to wickedness or crime; scoundrel. A character in a play, novel, or the like, who constitutes an important evil agency in the plot. A person or thing considered to be the cause of something bad"

"An Anti-Villain is the opposite of an Anti-Hero — a character with heroic goals, personality traits, and/or virtues who is ultimately the villain. Their desired ends are mostly good, but their means of getting there range from evil to undesirable."

"An antihero (sometimes spelled as an anti-hero) or antiheroine is a main character in a story who lacks conventional heroic qualities and attributes such as idealism, courage, and morality."

So for me, I would actually call the characters in Danganronpa, especially the main protagonists, anti-heroes rather than anti-villains due to them lacking the characteristics of a traditional hero such as idealism, courage, and morality.

(Hajime further proves this with how he acts and reacts at the end of SDR2, proving him to be a lot more human and selfish rather than heroic and noble)

What I mean by anti-hero are characters like Batman and Katniss Everdeen who are deemed as anti-heroes and are very similar to the characters of Danganronpa, especially with how Katniss Everdeen is the main protagonist of The Hunger Games which, like Danganronpa, revolves around a killing game in similar ways. Especially with how both stories revolve around survival and have the "kill or be killed" aspect

I APOLOGIZE FOR MY STUPIDITY BEFORE MY EDIT, YOU CAN STILL READ MY PRIOR ARGUMENTS BUT JUST KNOW THAT EVEN I KNOW HOW WRONG IT IS

I STILL DON'T FULLY UNDERSTAND THE PROSPECTS OF AN ANTI-HERO AND AN ANTI-VILLAIN SO PLEASE STATE YOUR THOUGHTS SO I BECOME LESS STUPID LMAO

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DISCLAIMER: Excuse how rude I am, this is mostly a rant. And again, I AM NOT DEFENDING OR CONVICTING ANY OF THE CHARACTERS' ACTIONS, JUST TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY POINT OF VIEW OF HOW THE DANGANRONPA FANDOM VIEWS GREY MORALITY, ANTI-HEROES, AND ANTI-VILLAINS

No one knows what the hell an anti-villain and anti-hero is

People keep arguing about who is a "good person" and who is a "bad person" or who is the "more morally right person/morally wrong person"

Bruh, ALMOST EVERYONE IN DANGANRONPA IS MORALLY GREY

An Anti-hero is a protagonist who lacks some of the conventional attributes of a traditional hero — like courage or morality. While their actions are ultimately noble, they don’t always act for the right reasons.

An Anti-Villain is the opposite of an Anti-Hero — a character with heroic goals, personality traits, and/or virtues who is ultimately the villain. Their desired ends are mostly good, but their means of getting there range from evil to undesirable.

Basically

Anti-hero=good actions, bad intentions

Anti-villain=bad actions, good intentions

Dude, almost majority of the Danganronpa characters are anti-villains, the protags even sacrifice the blackeneds to save the majority, that is the most anti-villain thing anyone could do

Anti-villain doesn't mean evil, anti-hero doesn't mean hero. Both are morally gray.

People kept saying protagonists can't be anti-villains because they are protagonists. HAS NO ONE HEARD OF CODE GEASS???

LELOUCH IS FREAKING FAMOUS FOR BEING A GREAT HERO AND ANTI-VILLAIN, THE HELL YOU TALKING ABOUT "protags can't be anti-villains"

HE IS LITERALLY THE MAIN CHARACTER OF THE FREAKING ANIME

AND WHAT ABOUT DAZAI FROM BUNGOU STRAY DOGS? DEADPOOL IS BOTH AN ANTI-VILLAIN AND ANTI-HERO ARGUABLY FREAKING MEGAMIND FROM THE MOVIE MEGAMIND, FREAKING BATMAN COULD BE COUNTED AS WELL BECAUSE OF HOW HE IS JUST AS CLOSE TO THE INSANITY OF JOKER AND MIGHT SNAP AND EVEN KILLED SOME PEOPLE HIMSELF EVERYONE FROM BUNGOU STRAY DOGS COULD TECHNICALLY BE COUNTED AS EITHER ANTI-HEROES OR ANTI-VILLAINS FREAKING L IS AN ANTI-VILLAIN AND LIGHT IS AN ANTI-HERO/ANTI-VILLAIN, AND LIGHT IS THE MAIN PROTAG OF THE FREAKING ANIME THERE ARE SO MANY

Bruh, I legit had to explain to so many discord servers what anti-villains are and how grey morality works

YALL ARE FANS OF DANGANRONPA, WHICH IS FILLED WITH KILLING GAMES, WHERE YOU LITERALLY MURDER/CONVICT PEOPLE TO THEN HAVE THEM KILLED NO MATTER WHAT TO SURVIVE, THAT SHIT IS MORALLY GREY AS HELL

Anti-villain doesn't mean a bad person

Not everyone in Danganronpa is fully good or heroic, majority are morally grey like Hajime and Nagito

Deal with it. It's Danganronpa, they are in a killing game. The hell did you expect?

God, I never thought I would have to explain morally grey characters to fans of a morally grey gaming franchise

WTF

[hawthornewhisperer]

frowns and smiles

based on prompts from @ambpersand and @kay-emm-gee. 

Also on Ao3. When Gale Hawthorne frowned, the earth shook.

Well, not literally, but close enough. He had a massive case of what Katniss referred to as Resting Bitch Face, and when he was in a bad mood— like today— his frown went from scary to epically terrifying.

His mood was shitty not because of any one thing, but a hundred little things that added up to make the day feel unbearable.  Ma called last night to tell him Vick— Vick— was failing physics, and now Gale had to figure out how to tell his brother for the umpteenth time that you have to do your homework even if you already know the answers; his alarm didn’t go off this morning and he nearly missed the train to work; and now the only coffee creamer that was left was fucking french vanilla.

Okay, so it was a far cry from real problems, of which Gale had experienced plenty, but still. He was in a crappy mood and determined to let everyone know it.  He had snapped at his assistant and no less than two subordinate employees— who had fucked up their latest project, to be sure, but not in any major or unfixable way, and Delly was unconscionably cheerful every morning and that ought to be a crime— and now he glowered at the stash of creamer like it was personally responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.

“You going to use any of that creamer, or just try and make it cower in shame?” a cheerful voice behind him asked.

Gale barely spared Madge a glance. “Who the fuck even wants french vanilla?” he grumped.

She elbowed past him to grab the offending carton. “Me,” she said in that same bright voice, pouring a disgusting amount into her coffee cup. 

Madge was the one person in the office who never quailed in front of his displeasure, which honestly, was no small feat. Even Haymitch went out of his way to avoid Gale when he was in a bad mood, and okay, maybe that was a sign Gale needed to get a leash on his temper if even his boss was scared of him.  

But Madge never even flinched, not even when she was barely a month into her job and Gale was having another one of his catastrophically grumpy days and she had the misfortune to cross his path while wearing an absurdly delicate dress for someone who worked in construction.

Okay, fine, it was an architectural firm, but still. They had job sites to visit, and you definitely couldn’t go to them in strappy heels and a sundress. Not if you wanted to keep all your toes, that is. It was merely professional concern for her toes— and her legs, which were really quite nice, and also probably part of why he was in a bad mood because the last thing he needed was a crush— that had him glowering at her that time.  Pretty dress, he’d grumbled, and she’d just narrowed her eyes at him, snapping that she wasn’t aware she had to run her clothing choices past her coworker.

That was fair, he had to give her that. He was out of line, and his mother would probably have smacked him upside the head if she were there to witness him criticizing a female coworker’s outfit.  Katniss probably would have straight up punched him if he’d done it to her, and he would have deserved it.  He had tried to make it up to Madge after that and it seemed to have sort of worked— she didn’t seem to hate him, at least— but he was still more than a little annoyed that Madge Undersee refused to be scared of him.

Correction: pretty, blonde, curvy, smart, funny Madge Undersee refused to be scared of him, and it would make his life a whole lot easier if she avoided him, because having a crush on your coworker was a dumb idea and Gale Hawthorne didn’t do dumb ideas.

Madge took a loud slurp of her coffee and his frown deepened even further. “That’s gross, Undersee,” he grumbled, and she grinned at him.

“Cheer up, Hawthorne. I promise it won’t kill you,” she said, lifting her mug in a salute as she left the break room.

But an hour later, Gale had to stop by her desk to drop off new blueprints.  And there, on the corner— as far as it could get from her— was a full coffee mug with the unmistakable congealed film of cold creamer floating on top.  “I thought you said you loved french vanilla creamer,” he said, his errand entirely forgotten.

Madge wrinkled her nose and dammit, she was cute.  “Ew, no, of course not. I was just making a point to someone who was acting like a complete baby about it,” she said, blue eyes dancing.

And then Gale did the unthinkable. 

He laughed.  “Fair enough,” he said, flashing her a smile and for the first time since they’d met last year, Madge seemed taken aback. “You ever been to Greasy Sae’s?” he asked.

“The diner down the block? No,” she said, just a touch suspiciously.

“Best coffee in town and not a drop of French Vanilla creamer in sight,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  He tipped his head towards the elevators and waited.  She looked intrigued but hesitant.  “I’m buying,” he added.

“Then I’m in,” Madge said with a smile that was honestly probably more dangerous than any frown he could muster.

[ashyblondwaves]

I’ve always disliked Peeta’s hijacking. I thought it was a plot point that got in the way of how I wanted to see Katniss and Peeta interact with both of them finally on the same page. By this I mean both recognizing their feelings for each other and being a power couple against Snow and Coin.

Do you think the hijacking was necessary? Did the Capitol change Peeta for good?

A Hunger Games question! My goodness it’s been awhile. So let’s see how I do here. Apologies if I’m rusty.

Do I think the hijacking was necessary? Probably not. But at the same time while it certainly threw a wrench in what could have been an amazing reunion and start of a real relationship between Katniss and Peeta, it does aid in proving what a strong person (mentally and physically) Peeta was. To overcome a torture that usually ends in the torturee killing themselves enough and to find his way back to Katniss and creating a life and family with her is no small feat. I have to wonder if that’s part of why it was written. Peeta’s resolve to not be changed and to stay himself. That resolve was strong enough to get him through the Hijacking.

Did the Capitol change Peeta for good? Nah. He was still Peeta at his core. Just with some scars in and out. He remained true to himself and was still Peeta at the end of everything.

Thanks for trusting me with this question! It was fun to think about this universe again! :)

[magicalgirlagency]

WBMR for Katniss from the Hunger Games and Tris from the Divergent series

Never could bring myself to like these series, honestly... they sound so boring and cliché. Oh, well, anything to save young women from dystopian worlds and overrated narratives.

Katniss Everdeen is now Fiery Hunter Katniss, A-Rank Magi, Assigned Gemstone is Eagle Eye Stone, Essence is Fire/Earth (Life);

She dedicates herself to healing and mentoring. She finds peace in witnessing the Magis' feats of bravery, giving her hope for the future;

Is the owner of a boarding house called "The Mockingjay's Nest";

Wondaria's hopeful environment helps her develop a little bit more of empathy and optimism;

Although she still can be a tad bit jaded and sarcastic at times;

She has developed a strong bond with birds (and bird-like creatures), and they often surround the boarding house;

She associates them with freedom, grace and willpower, virtues that she strongly lives by.

And now, to work on Tris (for real though, I almost thought that The Hunger Games and Divergent were in the SAME universe! Just so you know how "cookie-cutter" they are!):

Beatrice "Tris" Prior is now Wild Hunter Tris, Assigned Gemstone is Red Jade, Essence is Light (Aether);

The "Wild" in her Magi Title is supposed to mean "Wildcard", representing the variate set of skills that she has;

She is Katniss' pupil/protegé, and a very promising one, as well;

Tris' divergent nature allowed her to quickly adapt to Wondaria. She feels more comfortable, free and safe to take whatever path she wants to;

Due to her curious nature, she is always seen exploring the outdoors, wanting to know more about everything and how the world works;

Has volumes of notebooks about everything. She's still unsure about which path she should take, and that's fine with her. As long as she gets to successfully help someone along the way.

[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // PETRA VIKANDER

district four → mentor →  tasya teles fc

positive traits: charismatic, resourceful, dynamic negative traits: weak-willed, domineering, interfering

tw: drugs, drug abuse

describe their arena:

The tributes were raised from the catacombs to find themselves at the bottom of an abandoned stone quarry. The cornucopia itself sat beneath them slightly so those brave enough to venture had to jump down five feet from their podiums to get their hands on anything. Most of the weapons found at the cornucopia were traditional mining tools. Headlamps and a variety of blunt pick axes were spilled all over the designated area. Only those brave enough to venture deep in to the bloodbath would retrieve the typical weapons. Swords, Bows and arrows, etc. For the less daring that wished to flee from the carnage, the only way out was to muster real strength and climb the fifty feet steep stone walls to the top were what awaited was unknown. The layout of the quarry meant you couldn’t see what was at the surface when you looked up, all that could be seen was a blaring sun.

The surface level of the arena looked as though it had been abandoned centuries ago and nature had taken over. There were remnants of stone and wooden structures that were covered in branches. The floor consisted of gravel and yellow, overgrown grass. There were a few trees scattered here and there but the majority of them were leafless, which provided little shelter for those planning on sleeping in the trees. The arena was designed to have no shade from the sunlight which averaged around thirty-five degrees Celsius per day. The heat was there to make the tributes feel like old time miners, working day in-day out in the scorching heat. Even the clothes on their back were inspired by the profession. White tank tops and plastic, colour coded pants, decorated with a heavy-duty tool belt suspender. The only water source was a further quarry about two miles north-east from the cornucopia. This one was filled with a mucky green water that tributes would have to purify. Though retrieving the water was no mean feat. Tributes would have to navigate carefully down the quarry or dive in the water from the top, an incredibly dangerous thing to do given the freezing temperatures of the water and the deepness of it as you got towards the centre.

bio:

Netta and Arno Vikander were sickly sweet and breathtakingly beautiful. They were the local childhood sweethearts. Reminding everyone that there was love and beauty in the world. When they walked down a street they smiled at every passer-by and every passer-by smiled back.  Netta Vikander, who had bleach blonde hair and rosy cheeks, worked at a local market simply to occupy her boredom whilst her husband Arno worked on a fishing boat; Wearing the rugged handsome look like a charm with dark, sandy coloured hair and a grin that would convince you to sell your first born. Both valued beauty in different ways. Netta would spend an hour each morning making sure each hair was in perfect array because how she looked on the outside was important to her. Whilst Arno valued internal beauty more. He was often hailed as the friendliest fisherman you’d ever meet. Though that was mostly because there were few young, handsome fisherman like Arno out there. Most spent three days grunting and smelt like dead marine life. The pair were the epitome of ying and yang: When mixed together created this perfect harmony: Their daughter Petra.

Netta didn’t want much for herself other than motherhood so when her precious little angel came along she ditched the market in a heartbeat and dedicated herself to full time mothering. They called her Petra, the most beautiful girl alive. She was destined live a life surrounding by people adoring her, people worshipping her. That is simply how beautiful she was.  Her skin was pale, her hair a perfect mixture of her parent’s own. She was born with plump lips that made it always look as if she were smiling. Her first year was filled with people gushing about how cute she was. As she got older and her personality developed she became a ‘lovely young lady’. The girl never cried or appeared sad. She was simply so blissfully ignorant to negative feelings that there was no reason to feel them.  Both of her parents fell deeply in love with her. Particularly Arno, from the age she could say the word ‘fish’ he’d taken Petra out on the boats with him.  Arno taught his daughter the meaning of hard work, taking her out on the fishing boat so she would understand what it was like to provide for people. To be a giver, not a taker.

When you considered the idea that Arno and Netta had spent most of their teenage years together during career training, it wasn’t hard to fathom that their daughter would take part in it. It was Arno’s idea. Not because he wanted her to become a heartless killing machine; but he wanted her to understand the discipline. She was always advised to play down her strengths from a young age so she wouldn’t be picked when she reached eighteen. Though the years of fishing with her father had given Petra quite the skillset. Of course, playing things down when you’d always been told that you were perfect wasn’t easy for her. Not being appreciated was hard for Petra, considering she was so loved outside of the academy. When she was inside those walls though she was barely a blip on her trainers’ radar. Though her young face didn’t help that. For the longest time puberty failed her and she looked two years younger than she actually was. Then came the year she turned twelve — She got tall, incredibly tall. Her feature accentuated. Rather than being twelve and looking ten, she looked like a fourteen-year-old. And the rather creepy training at the academy strangely started paying attention to her, as did various boys. That feeling of admiration that she was so used to felt special coming from the academy. So, she forgot to play things down. At the age of thirteen, she pinned a sixteen-year-old to the floor using pure brute strength. The year after she picked up a bow and arrow and hit six bullseyes out of ten shots. Which she accredited to throwing fishing nets around for the first few years of her life.  When the head of the academy stated that he was looking for someone to break District 4 out of the lame tribute spell, he picked out the then sixteen-year-old Petra.  ‘she’s eighteen, right?’ Her features and her height put the thought in to his mind. Her accuracy was something that would only later be rivalled by Katniss Everdeen. And when he told her that he thought she’d be a ‘perfect’ victor; how could she say no? …

Arno on the other hand, found saying no very easy. Petra knew how to play to her mother’s weakness though.  ‘Think of the love, the admiration we’ll get when I win.’

The sixteen-year-old volunteered later that month when the reaping came along. The capitol ate her up just as had been intended. She was gorgeous, physically strong. It had been so long since district four had produced someone like that. And she was a career! The cheers for her during the tribute parade made her beam from ear to ear. She was branded a 10 after firing some arrows and stabbing a few dummies in her training session and became top of the odds to win. When her interview game around she felt like she’d already won the games, dressed head to toe in silver sparkles. Someone in the crowd screamed ‘marry me’ and the night before the games she slept soundly. Imagining the cheers.

The 53rd games took a dark turn from the bloodbath when half of the tributes were killed simply trying to escape the stone walls of the quarry they’d been raised in to. Petra was not one of them. Her and the other careers took charge immediately. As per usual they ran the show. In the flurry of killing Petra took three lives. The harsh conditions took another three by the third day. Then on day five, a gamemaker induced flood killed two careers and left Petra’s district partner Herald in bad shape. They were separated from everyone else with no supplies. Petra had three arrows left and a dagger. Herald had nothing but dead weight to carry. In her mind, a plan formed. She could convince him his leg was infected, she would try to amputate it but he would die of blood loss. She would be adored by her district for trying to save him.

His cannon fired later than night.

Six remained after that. Petra took out the boy from three with an arrow to the back of the neck. The girl from six died from severe dehydration. Which left the two from two, Petra and a twelve-year-old girl from district seven. Petra hadn’t seen her throughout the entire games, she’d scurried up the walls of the cornucopia at the bloodbath. After the two from two were taken out by each other. Petra made her way to the water source where she assumed the little girl would be. She had one arrow left, having wasted one on a rabbit. The trek in search of her lasted a day. When she found the girls camp there were several discarded sponsor parachutes. Petra didn’t get any of them. Had she stolen her thunder? When she eventually found her, she was waiting for her with a slingshot. Petra got rid of that immediately leaving the kid defenceless and pleading with her ‘make it quick’ Petra slashed her throat and threw her off the side of a cliff.

It took half an hour for the canon to sound as she bled out. All Petra could hear were cries of pain and coughing. The trumpet sound felt like a million people were cheering her. She was taken back to the capitol and cleaned up for her adoring fans, the crowd, the chants. Petra, Petra, Petra!

She heard none of that. She was booed, people cried out for her death. A voice that had wanted to marry her now wanted her head on a spike. Petra had to sit there as Caesar Flickerman replayed her actions to her. The three bloodbath killed were all children. She’d shot them from behind as they were trying to escape. Had she not even realised? They cut to a clip of her joking about burning a child alive. When had that happened? Her mind raced. Then came the Herald moment, her plan exposed by Herald’s stats flashing up on the screen and proving her to be a liar. She’d stolen the girl from six’s water, causing her to dehydrate. Crap! The final blow was the footage of the final battle. A defenceless child, bleeding out, broken.  The boos followed her on the train back to district four where a meagre crowd awaiting to celebrate her victory were actually there to shout insults at her. Her victory tour almost had to be cut short when a woman from District 7 had thrown raw meat at her. Someone branded her the most hated victor in Hunger Games History.

Things were very different back in District 4. People didn’t smile at her on the street or call her beautiful. Her mother and father separated because he ‘told her that she shouldn’t go in those fucking games’. Arno could barely even look at his now ugly daughter, at least, ugly on the inside. She moved in to her victor’s village house alone because no one wanted to live with her. She was noticeably absent from many games as a mentor. Without the admiration that had been promised to her throughout her life, she had nothing. Even her mother didn’t want to be seen visiting her.

The year she turned twenty-one was the year she discovered morphling. Coincidentally it was also the first year she’d returned to the capitol. She wasn’t an addict, she swore to herself. But she started to mentor the games the following years purely so she could replenish her stash. She watched children kill children, having given them terrible, morphine induced advice. When she returned to District Four she’d close the curtains and get high.  Her beautiful face turned yellow and sunken in. And had her father not paid her a random visit on her twenty-fifth birthday, no one would’ve found her in a pool of her own vomit, convulsing. Of course, when the capitol found out she was lying at deaths door, it was the top story. She wasn’t the first victor to get addicted to morphine, that was for damn sure. She was just the first that people liked seeing being addicted to morphine.

The next few years were a bumpy road for Petra who became the capitol’s little project. Her ups and downs were broadcast to the nation. She stopped mentoring. People would constantly tempt her with more morphine to try and get something juicy out of the woman. She’d relapsed countless times. Before she turned thirty. When that glorious age hit she celebrated in a capitol back street, a needle in her arm about to pump more shit in to her veins. When someone asked what day it was she said, as if she’d just remembered, ‘It’s my thirtieth birthday’

A switch flicked. When the 67th games came around Petra was clean, waiting for the tributes from four on the train. Her skin was its natural pale colour, her cheeks were only slightly sunken in and when she removed her sunglasses her eyes were normal. She swore one of the tributes almost had a heart attack there and then. Though obviously, had the capitol not dyed her skin from yellow to white and physically pumped life back in to her cheeks, she wouldn’t be standing there. It came at a price, she was to mentor the games for the rest of her life. Which she was positive is what they meant by ‘until we say otherwise’. Which was the last thing she wanted. Surrounded by other victors who had zero sympathy for her or admiration. A hunger games villain, what she’d forever be known as. The only difference between sixteen-year old Petra and thirty-nine year old Petra was that now, she wasn’t trying to get anybody to like her. That ship had sailed. The only thing that had kept her off the morphine for the past nine years was owning it. She’ll never give the best advice or be the most noble. She does know how to win the hunger games though, and no one can take that away from her.

[lilmajorshawty]

🌺Venus aspects: Harsh Moon-An Already Broken Heart🌺

Venus square/opposite moon/conjunct/inconjunct: this is a “katniss Everdeen” aspect. There is a constant longing for something non existent with this placement. One could seek relationships that satisfy their physical cravings yet something that leaves their more sensitive-emotive side out in the cold. One half of them craves the discord of there one brained sexual longings while the other half of them feels disconnected from the pursuit and desire all together. The affections and the more deeper needs on a nurturing level are at cross odds with one another and often rear this perplexing air at inappropriate times. There is a paradoxical nature to these natives as they tend to be extremely charming and tender souls! They are both loving and all encompassing-being that their emotions and passions run so powerfully without the usual restraint of a more positive aspect would bring. The fatalistic quality of this aspect is its insatiable nature. Love and pleasure is an absolute aphrodisiac and often times these natives just don’t know when to slow down-they can easily fly into relationships out of a need to fill there hunger for love but due to the half sided detachment they often want to leave the moment its made official. Sex is to be taken with caution with these natives-there is a tendency to confuse love and sex drastically and to be easily manipulated or possessed by the need for it. Because there love nature is so strong they often attract males and females who are similarly confused about what they desire. The relationships had can be easily prolific and immense. They often start dating early on but usually it’s unconsummated relationships. The mother often was loving and obsessive but lacked they proper ability to understand the child’s needs-love was given in a way that didn’t always satisfy the feelings or the heart of the child. They can be extremely charitable and compassionate but can grow bitter over time of there actions aren’t reciprocated and a further note is that they’re not as “giving” when they’re in this mindset! As for some reason with these natives they do things expecting nothing in return and out of genuine hope of making others happy but the other half of them wants some sort of acknowledgement for their actions! The child in them hoping for that adoration that they felt was absent but is completely unconsciously motivated to them.

A lot of pain can be derived from this placement due to the maelstrom of feelings being scattered about. These natives have a harder time then most defining what it is that they want and a lot of the time it’s a matter of meeting themselves in the middle rather than picking one side solely.

Having this aspect in a tight orb places a higher strain and a more self ware confrontation with this pendulum of emotion and these natives usually are immediately put in situations that force them to realize that something just isn’t sitting correctly. While those with it in a wide orb despite having the planets in normally compatible signs may notice that overtime their is a pattern to their actions and may be blindsided by a sudden realization that what they want and what they need are two different things.

The outlook: now after some time this individuals are some of the most influential and progressive lovers out there but it’s a matter of learning that not all is perfect and that their is a disconnect between desire and that’s not a bad thing! Be it that there is a issue with ones sexuality, with ones childhood that hasn’t been addressed, and or coping and defense mechanisms that might be subtly self sabotaging behind the scenes-the first step is acceptance. Once these natives acknowledged this dual nature they open themselves up to their highest octave! Adaptability! These natives can be extremely Versatile and deeply spiritually receptive to all types of love! They are far more capable of love them they even realize and as they grow older they define a more clear version of what they crave from both of their desires and create something beautifully complex from the ashes! They become emotionally aware and discriminatory and aren’t as easy to persuade or manipulate! Many become so emotionally strong that they often become loners or even for that matter emotionally disengaged! Not in a bad way mind you but in a way that maintains diplomacy and protects their sensitive hearts from those who have bad intentions!

“You’re my downfall

You’re my muse

My worst distraction

My rhythm and blues “

-John legend.

“The theme for me is love and the lack of it. We all want that and we don't know how to get it, and everything we do is some kind of attempt to capture it for ourselves.”

-Ryan gosling.

“When I'm into a woman, I literally can't stop staring. I'm like a little kid. I become completely entranced. “

-Bradley cooper.

“It’s been too long and I’m lost with you

What am I gonna?

Said I been needin’ you

Wantin you”

-Aaliyah

“Because I'm so much in the spotlight, people lose sight of why I'm in the industry. In fact, I'm doing all this because I love to act. I love to perform, to sing.”

“I just feel as though it's become a situation where people have manifested this caricature of who I am, and they act as if there's no real person inside of it.”

-Lindsey Lohan.

•many with this aspect are perceived in a way that’s nothing in reality to who they are deep down. They are children both men and women here are infants and act like teenagers when in love because of how real and enticing the emotion is for them. It’s always going to feel like the first time to them and many value partnership, and art and things that allow them solace such as dancing and fashion due to the glam and perceived security it brings them. Many are often fluctuating with their feelings of beauty and have a more natural/sultry look about them! Many have a ruffled and earthy boy/girl next door look about them! Low maintenance looks.

They tend to attract (square): Scorpio/cancer/Virgo/Taurus/Pisces.

(Opposite): leo/Sagittarius/Capricorn.

(Inconjunct): Aquarius/Aries/libra/Gemini.

From what I’ve noticed!

Conjunction goes either way but ones noticed more so cancer and Aquarius.

As for positive moon and venus aspects that’s for another post :) but from what I’ve seen usually libra or Taurus and occasionally cancer!

Playlist:

🦋Tove lo the way that I am.

🌼Zayn Blue

🌹Jessie Ruthford IDK

🌸years and years Real

🍁Halsey colors

🌾troye Sivan DKLA

🍂Jessie ware say you love me

🌖disclosure feat The Weeknd nocturnal

🌷Adele love in the dark

[cowpasturechronicles]

Another guest-post by K. Alan Leitch. Please visit my blog for tips that have helped me to write, and for samples of my fiction.

All this present tense in recent fiction really is making me tense. Perhaps it’s just because I’ve been reading since before it was popular—I’ve been accused of that during discussions—but I genuinely feel that more and more authors are writing using present tense for the wrong reasons. Present tense can seem more erudite, more literate and more immediate, but it carries with it a number of pitfalls that erode favorite novels like The Hunger Games without us even noticing. They pull off the improbable feat of a heroine narrating in detail while being chased by poisonous wasps and fireballs, and they give their narrators the super-power of predicting the future.

Mistake Number One: Narrating in first-person & present tense

Is there a Mockingjay helping Katniss make notes?

Tortured Katniss Everdeen, sought-after by receding hunks for her very belligerence, pulls off double-duty by dodging assassins in a hostile forest, all while taking the time to carefully describe every sight, smell, and anguished emotion that occurs to her. When you think about it, this is quite a feat: for an archer whose only targets were rats, prior to her fight-to-the-death in a dystopian arena, her aim remains surprisingly true while she is nattering away every detail of the life and death around her. Of course, as a reader, I could choose to suspend my disbelief and just assume I am reading her thoughts, but the muscle in my brain that suspends disbelief is already too busy believing that twelve districts will be pitted against one another for the entertainment of Utopian overlords. In other words, I want to focus on the highly imaginative elements of this fictional world, not cringe over every faux pas that its narrator commits. And Katniss commits many, such as…

  It’s hard work memorizing details while fireballs descend.

Mistake Number Two: Predicting the future

Most good novels make use of techniques that help readers link the plot together. Sometimes, we are helped along through foreshadowing, while at others the narrator directly lets slip some tidbits from the characters’ future. Harper Lee’s masterpiece, To Kill A Mockingbird, brings to mind a mature, adult Jean-Louise Finch sitting at her desk, penning (perhaps using an inkwell) her adventures as innocent little Scout. Every so often, though, she tells us what she knows now, not just what she knew then. Of course, Mockingbird was written in the days when past tense was virtually an author’s only choice; The Hunger Games, to follow a trend, chooses to use present tense, but still lets these tidbits slip. It is as if Katniss has the additional power of predicting her own future; she knows in advance what behaviors the Gamemakers will reward, and how her initial ill-will toward her fellow sook, Peeta, will morph into the bond between them. Collins is not even particularly subtle about this,writing narrative with the word ‘will,’ willy-nilly, throughout the entire trilogy. Katniss knows, a little too often, what ‘will’ happen to her.

Of course, present tense is an effective tool, when used very carefully. One of the first novelists to make regular use of it was the great John Updike; his Rabbit series, by purposefully eliminating all sense of foreshadowing, truly gives readers a sense that they are living a starkly real life alongside the protagonist. Furthermore, occasional use of present tense can stand out, from a novel largely written in past tense, as being either highly emotive to the narrator, or part of a tapestry of a life ‘then’ being narrated ‘now.’

The problem, though, is when authors use it just to make their novels ‘sound better.’ I was pleased to see that I am not along in this opinion, with Philip Pullman expressing the view that, “If every sound you emit is a scream, a scream has no expressive value.”

Perhaps that is why so many present-tense novels make me want to scream; I just need to be heard over them.

– More Words from K. Alan

Filed under: Guest Post, Opinion/Musings, Reviews, Tips and Resources, Writing Tagged: #hungergames, #narrative, Narrative structure, tense http://ift.tt/2jhIgBv