#grammarly called this one a bit bland

[rocknrollsalad]

💍 steddie holiday drabbles - proposal (ft. buckingham)

👰 Eddie and Steve think they're fine not getting married, who needs that piece of paper to prove anything? Maybe them a little bit.

💍 content/trigger warnings: period typical homophobia

💒 word count: 1231

Glass cases greet them long before any person does. Wrapping from display window to display window and lined with soft, gray rows glittering in what little sun the clouds allowed to squeeze through. It’s unreasonably bright for this time of year and that has to be a good omen.

Not that there needed to be omens of any kind. This was a day Steve thought would never come. A day they all convinced themselves they didn’t care about. The conformity, the thousands of dollars, and from what their friends said, a miserable day. No part of it sounded necessary.

Steve liked the way they didn’t have to hide anymore. He didn’t have a roommate, he was dating Eddie. Half the population could handle hearing that and Steve tended to surround himself with that half.

They weren’t from a very progressive state so that was the best they were going to get and they were okay with it. Not just Steve and Eddie but Chrissy and Robin stood in solidarity with them. Or they supported each other when the rally cries weren’t enough. In those moments of “weakness” where they wanted to be like everyone else.

Canada was a choice, not that far away, but it added to the show of it all. Why travel that far to get a piece of paper? Steve had committed to Eddie and Eddie to Steve. A commitment they’d both held since before they could legally drink. Never once did they stray. Saying “I do” seemed unnecessary.

The four of them looked at each other through tear-stained eyes when it became a legal thing they could do in their own state, no traveling, no domestic partnership, and said it was silly. They were thrilled for the younger generations but they didn’t need the ceremony.

The next day Chrissy and Robin were at the courthouse with the masses of other people. They didn’t even bother to invite Eddie and Steve, a random couple plucked from the line got to be their witness and they returned the favor. Which stung a little but they were so happy it was impossible to stay mad.

Still, Eddie and Steve held strong. They didn’t need a wedding or any of those trappings. They had each other and that was enough. Plus, if they were going to get married, they’d do better than standing at city hall with strangers. Not that they were going to but if they did.

If they did, they’d take Steve’s last name because nothing good ever came from being a Munson. Something Steve wanted to argue with but he was just old fashioned enough to want to keep his name. However, they were happy being the Munson-Harrington household. It had a nice ring to it. Better sounding than Eddie Harrington.

But if they did want to get married, Eddie could pick their kids up from school without a call to Steve first. One was nearly graduated, the other on their way to a driver's license, so being checked out of school by a parent was only really needed for the youngest. It was a lot of money to spend just to easily get one kid out of school for a couple of years more.

As dumb as it all sounded, Steve was raised to think marriage was important. He’d find a nice wife, get a good job, and have a few kids. The keys to happiness. And, sure, he got all of those things and more. A nice house, a loyal dog, amazing friends, fun hobbies, and they even got to travel. So his wife was a husband, somehow that felt more right. Steve was incredibly lucky so he didn’t need to get married.

He did want it. A little bit. He wanted to stand in front of all those amazing friends and cry about how much he loved Eddie, gross their kids out, and walk away from a preacher as husband and husband. For so long he had to stuff that down and be okay without but now it could happen.

And when it came out late one night, exhausted from a day of kids' sports and a dance recital, Eddie admitted he wanted it to. Even as a kid, before he’d met Steve, Eddie was sure marriage would never happen for him but meeting Steve both gave him hope and dashed it. They’d gone through a lot of changes in what they were allowed to show and who they were allowed to be, why not this one?

After decades of explaining why they’d never get married, Steve and Eddie were looking at the very real possibility of making that commitment. Or making a show of a commitment they already made.

The one thing Steve knew was he was going to do it “right”. In all the cliche ways. None of this justice of the peace stuff, that worked great for Robin, Chrissy, and so many other couples (who went on to have lavish ceremonies later…Eddie and Steve were invited to plenty) but not them. Eddie was the master of giant spectacles so they were going to put on a show.

Which was why Steve was walking slowly around so many glass cases, the third store they’d gone to, because he was going to get down on one knee and ask Eddie Munson to be his husband. And endure jokes from everyone about needing help backup.

Eddie was going to gasp and giggle and say “yes, yes! A thousand times yes!” because he was an idiot. Steve was ready. Hell, he wanted it. To watch Eddie pretend to cry and fawn over the ring. To tell him and Chrissy to go get manicures and not let him know why. More importantly, make some grand plan only to have it all go wrong. They were going to get everything!

So Steve stood there and told yet another clerk Robin wasn’t the lucky lady, she was the best man, and brace for impact. This store seemed understanding. Not just of the husbands aspect but who Steve’s future husband was. Eddie wasn’t looking for a princess cut or the biggest rock, he needed something that fit his day-to-day aesthetic.

Something between what the twenty-somethings who wished they could get married would want and what the months away from fifty-year-old man Eddie was now. It was a weird line to skirt and Robin didn’t help matters by putting the choices on and ranting about how kids today don’t know real struggles in her best Eddie voice. Apparently, it was to give Steve an idea of how it’d look on Eddie but mostly it put him at ease. This had become something major and Steve couldn’t mess it up. They were only doing this once.

When the clerk brought out a black band, lines twisting around the whole thing cut out to reveal a deep red underneath, Steve knew he’d found it. He shared a gasp with Robin and she didn’t even try this one on. They knew. They knew who it was for.

In two weeks it’d be the right size and Steve would be one step closer. Now he had to figure out how to not rush home and tell Eddie. They weren’t great with secrets, many birthdays had been ruined by this, but Steve knew he could do it.

Plus, he had to figure out how to propose.

[samuelroukin]

my writing for 10+ years has been in school. grammarly even says my writing is bland. I don't know what a passive voice is and I don't like purple prose and I'm scared to ask (I have tried to look them up but it doesn't help)

i can't help you with purple prose bc all i know it's supposed to be bad due to being overly descriptive — something i enjoy, and won't be stopping, but i also think in fanfic there's a bit of leeway there. passive voice (to my understanding) is describing something as happening instead of the character performing the action, if that makes sense (eg 'his pants are pulled down' vs 'ghost pulls his pants down')

the other thing is, i don't think allowing an ai service to make calls like that is helpful. yes for grammar, spelling, and sometimes sentence structure, but that's as far it should go imo

in any case, i don't think i'm the one to go to for advice bc i'm a high school drop out, english isn't my native language, and i didn't pick writing back up until last december lmao i could do with some lessons myself! my point was more that if you enjoy doing it, any judgment on the quality of your work is secondary to what you feel about it (outside of school, work, etc. obviously)

if your writing for school is 'bland' that doesn't mean all your writing is. and one thing i learned is you have to be willing to do it badly in order to eventually make something you're happy with

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta mellark x male reader

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

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

Part one: Over there, buddy

Part two:You’re here right now. :)

Part three: Click here, pepperoni salami.

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

I separated with Gale and Katniss for a while, telling them I needed air. I sighed, leaping from branch to branch in the thicket of trees. Bread, not just bread, baker's bread. If I'm lucky I could get just enough squirrels for the baker, he had a taste for it but his wife was much of a witch, so he only buys it when she's not around.

I remembered how she found me stealing some burnt bread from the trashcan. I looked at her with wide eyes, frozen, I thought I was going to die, stealing was punishable for death, after all. But she just let me go, screaming about her frustration of Seams picking through her trash.

I got bread that day either way.

I landed on a sturdy branch, spotting a squirrel on the tree adjacent to me; it was quite huge, I'm sure he'd love this. Let's just hope the witch isn't home by the time I give this to him.

I crouched down, still as a statue as I watched the squirrel run up and down the tree. I pulled out the thin, glistening dagger, unwrapping its course, leather bindings, which became a makeshift thin rope. I felt my eyes unconsciously widen,  watching the squirrel's movements.

My arm aimed, then with a simple flick, the dagger whistled through the air. The small creature was then pinned to the bark of the tree through its eyes. The dagger's blade was thin enough to not damage anything when aimed right.

I pulled on the rope, the blade coming back, dragging the animal carcass with it. A small smile tugged on my face, I can get bread.

Kunal was surely panicking, he was the type to worry about the smallest of things. He once stepped on a cat's tail, Buttercup, Primrose's cat and he bawled, nobody could calm him down. Until he was offered food, that is.

I chuckled at the memory, slowly pulling the blade off the head of the squirrel. I held it in my hands victoriously, a grin on my face. I whistled a small 3 tone song, the chirping mocking birds falling silent before they imitated the tone.

After meeting up, we went back home, passing by the Hob. It was sort of a black market, where coals are transported directly to trains. I disliked it here, the amount of coal dust always bothered me, so when I come here I tend to cover my nose.

We managed to trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for some salt. The lady who sells soup, the one that always glares at me because I've insulted her soup on multiple occasions, Greasy Sae: took half the greens we gathered, along with the dead dog meat that she calls "beef".

That's why I hate her soups, though it's not like I have much of an option, we can't afford luxury here. Unlike those obnoxious, entitled, privileged people in the Capitol. My jaw clenched at the mere thought of those scums.

We finish our business on the market, so we went to the mayor's house, who was particularly fond of strawberries. We knocked on the back door, his daughter, Madge opening it for us.

She's in Katniss and I's year sits beside us at almost every event because we don't really have groups of friends. For being the mayor's daughter you'd expect her to be an entitled brat or maybe a snob, but she was alright, she kept to herself.

I like that, I hate noisy people, They'll scare away the game, that and I've never really liked loud noises. I still remember the explosions in the mines, it was traumatizing, even though my father didn't meet death there. I really wished he had.

Madge didn't wear her usual attire, instead, she wore an expensive white dress, her blonde hair up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. I felt my face scrunch up, that day was supposed to be a form of celebration. It's more of a way for the capitol to show who's in control.

We were being punished for the crimes of the people who failed, disguised as some form of celebration. It's disgusting.

"Pretty dress," Gale complimented. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's genuine or if he was just being ironic. It was a pretty dress, but it was a waste.

She smiled, "Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I clenched my jaw, "But you won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly, my voice monotone. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Real gold. The testament to the fact that she probably won't be chosen. "You probably have five entries, compared to us, that's a blessing."

"That's not her fault," Katniss said. Madge looked slightly hurt, probably because I've never really spoken my thoughts to her, I try my best to be polite when she engages a conversation with me.

"I know," I responded plainly. Madge smiled towards me, though it was clear it wasn't exactly genuine. She then handed the money for the berries. She looked towards Katniss "Good luck, Katniss"

"You too," She responded.

We walked toward the Seam, I can't help but feel angry. Her? Going to the Capitol? What a joke. When you're twelve your name gets put in the pile once, thirteen twice then so on. Up until your eighteen, where your name is entered seven times.

But the thing is, the rich have an advantage. You can enter your name willingly in the pile when you're starving in exchange for some tesserae. I had been doing this since I was twelve, having entered my name 3 times, for my mother, brother and myself.  Every year following suite, it has always been like this.

Now at the age of 16, I've entered my name twenty times, same with Katniss. Gale was in even greater danger, with a number of forty-two.

And she'll be the tribute this year? It can happen but it's deadly slim. I knew Gale felt the same way, listening to him rant about tesserae in the woods with Katniss was enough confirmation, along with the fact that I join in on the rants. Always end it with a promise to destroy the Capitol, somehow.

But what good does that do us?

Gale, Katniss and I divide our spoils, though it wasn't really the evenest distribution.  Gale got more, understandably since he has more mouths to feed.

"See you guys in the square," Katniss said, Gale nodded, "Wear something pretty," he joked.

I decided to stop by the bakery, by then the witch should be home but I took my chances. There was Mr Mellark, sitting outside, watching the pigs. He saw me from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "Greyback!' he called.

"Mr Mellark, still up for some squirrel?" I ask, holding the fat one up. He nodded, "You're lucky my wife isn't here, yet. Hold on, I'll get the bread for Kunal," he said, rushing inside.

I walked to the backdoor of the bakery so that he wouldn't trouble himself that much. I waited awkwardly outside, looking at a small bird fluttering about. I whistled, holding my finger out.

The bird landed on my finger, making me smile. From the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, blonde, stocky. Could probably kill me, if I'm being honest. Even though I was fast, I wasn't strong.

Soon enough, the bird flew away with the arrival of the baker, with a loaf of sweet, savoury bread, hot from the oven. "Here you go, Greyback."

I nodded, handing him the squirrel. "Oh!" he hummed, "Have you met my son, Peeta?" he asked, a smile on his face, "You're in the same year, yes?"

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I know him but I don't know that well him that well. My eyes travelled to the boy, who simply waved and briskly walked away. "I don't think so," I answered.

"I better be going, Mr Mellark. Nal needs his favourite bread after all," I said, flashing a small smile before I left. A small pit of dread boiled in my stomach, something bad is going to happen.

But then again, it's Reaping day, nothing good ever happens.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags:

@nin3s

:)))

[hieludoboi]

Or so You Believed

A/n- sorry I’ve been gone! I’m trying to get requests done but I’ve been going through quite the writers block! I’ll get those requests out as soon as I can, I promise! For now please enjoy some Kuroo Angst

A/n- Ahahahahahahaha I feel like garbage and I can’t write. I put this through grammarly and it said I had bland writing and that made me sad? Anyway, I’ll try and get to finishing requests but I’m going through a bit of an episode rn :( I really do hope you guys enjoy this though, and I’m sorry if this is bad :(

A/n- I went through and fixed a few spelling and grammar mistakes! This story should now be entirely gender neutral! If you fin any mistakes pleaseeeeee let me know! 

Pairing Kuroo/Gender Neutral! Reader

Summary- A summer fling had led to more than either one of them had bargained for. 

Warnings- Mentions and slight portrayal of nsfw things, yelling, breakdowns, Angst, breaking up, crying, just very sad in general :(

At that moment it had all felt right. His lips were gentle against their skin, fitting perfectly on theirs. His scent had stained their sheets, and the taste of his lips constantly lingered on their lips. It had felt right, being tangled in a disarray of sheets and pillows, hands and lips roaming yet never straying too far. At that moment they were gone, wrapped away in a blissful dance of warm comfort and empty words. Kuroo could feel their hands leaving a trail as they drew maps on his skin, he could taste the desperation on their lips, and for moments he wondered if they could taste his desperation as well. 

A little fling was all it was. Constant text messages and calls, flirtatious joking, it was perfect. So where had they gone wrong? One way or another they began to spiral, separate pieces of the same thread unraveling to reveal frayed edges and tips; they were never a whole thread, always separate strings. Some days it was his fault, other days it was their fault. Official, it was all they had wanted. They wanted him to hold them close, play with their hair, and stroke their arms. Intimacy is what they craved, sought out in any form he was able to offer. 

Long nights were spent in bed together, frayed threads tangled in desperate attempts to pass through the eye of the needle as one. They had hoped that his warm touch would fix it all, hoped that the words he mumbled in their ear as their bodies messily embroidered, were truth and not false nets of lies to catch onto as they fell. 

Tonight was different. Hands and lips wandered but never strayed, and not for Kuroo’s sake, but their sake. Kuroo knew, even though they never talked about it, even though their lips were sealed, Kuroo could still see the haze that fogged their eyes. Their last relationship had pulled a plug on their certain spark, left them empty, and Kuroo could see it. As they looked for ways to fill an empty shell, they had stumbled upon Kuroo. Kuroo and his cocky charm, Kuroo and his purring voice, Kuroo and his stable arms. Kuroo provided safety, security, touch, emotion, something that was previously unavailable in their last relationship. So maybe that’s why they thought they loved him. 

Tonight, it was different. There was an unusual intensity behind every kiss and nibble, an unexpected spark in every touch. Their eyes were fogged, clouded, and misty, Kuroo knew that something was different. So he stopped their hands, gently pushed them away, and stared at them with pitiful eyes. It was obvious what they wanted. They wanted Kuroo to have every inch of them, take them, and fill the void that was left behind.

“Why’d you stop?” Y/n stared up at Kuroo, a certain pain in their eyes. Were they not good enough for him?

“Y/n, you’re not in a good state of mind for this.” His voice was calm, gentle, and stable, but they didn’t like the look in his eyes, the look of pity and worry.

“Kuroo, I’m fine. I’m ready, okay? I want my first time to be with you. Kuroo I... I love you.” their voice was soft, shaking, and unstable. They were breaking, and Kuroo knew they were. Yet still, he flinched, stopping to hold one of their hands. 

“No. You don’t love me, okay? You-you think you do, but you don’t. You know what you feel, and you know it’s not for me, I know that you know this isn’t right.” Kuroo explained gently, squeezing their hand just a bit. Y/n aggressively pulled away from Kuroo, holding their hand to their chest and staring at him with frayed e/c eyes. 

“Who are you to tell me what I feel? I love you Kuroo, okay? I l-” Y/n flinched, practically jumping back as Kuroo abruptly stood up, towering over them.

“Stop saying that! You only think you love me because you don’t know what love is! All you��ve ever felt is toxicity, guys who use you and toss you to the side. Guys who want you to be emotionally available at all times but won’t even talk to you! Y/n, you don’t know what it is!” Kuroo’s voice was faltering. It was unstable and his eyes were beginning to fill with tears. 

“You know what I feel when I’m with you? I feel warm, okay? And-and I feel safe! I feel like I’m gonna be okay and that anytime I fall you’ll be there to catch me!” Y/n screamed at Kuroo, tears endlessly flowing down their face. Kuroo stared at them in disbelief. Maybe Kuroo did love them, but he knew that they still hadn't got over their past relationship. Kuroo could see the fog in their eyes anytime they spoke about it, he noticed the way they tensed up anytime they would see him in the halls, he could hear them mumble their name as they slept. 

He stayed quiet for some time, staring down at the sobbing figure before him. They didn’t know love yet. Kuroo looked the other way, his lip caught between his teeth. He did love them, but he wasn’t ready. Kuroo wasn’t ready to commit yet. He would only bring them more heartache, and he cared for them too much to hurt them. 

“I-” Kuroo could feel the air catch in his chest. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking. He hated it, but for them to know what love really is, they would have to experience true pain. 

“I don’t love you, okay?” Kuroo looked the other as he spoke, glaring at the bunny plushie thrown into the corner of their room. He could hear the air catch in their throat, could hear the pain as it rattled their rib-cage with each shaky breath they took. It made Kuroo ache, made him shake with a burn he had never felt before.

“You don’t mean that...” Their voice was shaking, body trembling with despair as they clumsily stood up, hands desperately reaching for Kuroo’s. As soon as he felt their hand brush against his he snatched it away.

“Kuroo, please, please stop...” Every word they spoke was interlaced with breath hitches and stumbles. Their heart was racing and their world felt light. What were they feeling? Why were they feeling this?

“Kuroo, answer me! Please...” They screamed at first, the hysteria obvious in there voice, but as they spoke, their voice collapsed becoming nothing more than a soft whisper. He had to be lying, they thought to themselves, hands trembling as they clasped them atop their chest. 

“I mean it okay. I don’t love you. I never did.” Y/n stared at him with horror, mouth agape as they watched him walk out of their bedroom. As soon as he closed the door, they crumbled. The last pieces of thread that had kept them together were finally frayed, violently detaching themselves from one another for good.

Tears trailed down his face as he walked home, hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes focused on his shoes. Maybe he did love them. Maybe for a split-second, the threads had all twisted perfectly, maybe for a second, they had passed through the eye. Maybe, but it was better this way. Y/n deserved better, deserved someone who wouldn’t be afraid to truly love them, someone who would be willing to improve for them. That someone was not him. Or so he believed.

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

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

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

Part two: Click here, bomburino tortilla pony horse.

Part three: You're here, my guy.

Part four: Click here, amigo

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You promise?"

"Of course,"

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

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

Some kind of festival this is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," I answered plainly.

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

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

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

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

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

The Hunger games.

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

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

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

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

To say he's drunk would be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kunal Greyback,"

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

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

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

Kunal, the boy who loves pulling on my braids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He still wants to breath, to live.

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

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

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

"I volunteer as a tribute!"

Word count: 1.6k

Tags:

@nin3s

:v

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta mellark x male reader

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

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

Part one: You're here right now. :)

Part two: Over there, pepperoni. :)

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

—--—---—---—----—----—----—---

I sighed, smiling as I watched my brother gather flowers. It was the early morning, I had to go out hunting soon, but then again, it wouldn't hurt to keep him company for a while.

"Nal," I called, it was a nickname short for his name, Kunal. An odd name, to say the least. Mother told me it meant Lotus, her favourite flower. 

His strawberry blonde hair swayed towards me, a smile forming on his face. He held a couple of lily's in his hands, his blue eyes glittering. "Y/n!" he said back, waving towards me.

I slowly walked towards him, squatting down next to him. He gave me a lily from his makeshift bouquet, humming. "Look at what I got!" he exclaimed.

I chuckled, roughly putting my hand on his head, messing with his hair. He groaned and in retaliation, he pulled on one of my small braids. It was something my father used to do to my hair when we went off to the woods. I used to hate it, but now I wear it every day, quite funny, really.

"Ow—hey, I just fixed that you little—" I let out, pulling my hand off his head as he let out an unprovoked yell. "AHHH MOM, Y/N'S SWEARING AGAIN!" 

I sighed, managing to pry him off me, our heads turning towards our mother, she had the same hair and features as my brother, maybe that's why she preferred him over me. 

"Kunal, get inside, time for breakfast!" she called, waving him over. Nal said a small "bye-bye", waving at me before running to our mother who welcomed him with open arms. 

She looked at me, I could feel her icy glare. But beyond all of that, her eyes showed a little bit of concern, as if she's afraid. It made sense, district 12 wasn't the kindest of places, illegal hunting is dangerous and she was my mother, after all.

I watched as my brother gave him the lilies, a smile forming on her lips, her eyes wrinkling. My hands tensed a little, I passed it off to the chilly breeze, not wanting to think about this in the early morning. "Bye," I muttered, turning away as I went towards the woods.

My hands gripped the rough bark, scaling up a tree with little to no effort. I arrived at a certain spot, reaching into a hole where my hunting equipment was hidden. 

I pulled out a small set of thin, throwing daggers. I looked at it, gripping the leather strapping on the handle. This was the reason, the reason everything went downhill that day. 

Yet I still keep it, to honour my father. This set was one of the only things he left when he was executed in the most painful way possible. I let out a hitched breath at the thought of it, holstering it on my belt. 

I pulled out a hunting bow, something my friend gave me. I wasn't the best at it, I was better at throwing more than anything. It was worth learning though, it was best used when hunting smaller game like rabbits and squirrels.

To my right, was a nest of mocking birds. I whistled a basic 3 tunes to them, which they listened to and replicated. My lips formed into a small smile, waving at the birds before I leapt to another tree.

My father taught me how to traverse the forest through trees. I remember falling every time I leapt from tree to tree, my father laughing as he caught my hand. Sometimes I'd just fall to the ground, resisting the urge to cry as I insisted to try again.

He and I have a lot in common, I took more after my father more than I did my mother. Both physically and mentally. While my mother was more grounded, my father would never shut up about freedom and life without the capitol.

It wasn't something ideal for life like this. Any word or action against the capitol and you can get executed right on the spot, something I had to learn the hard way. 

I've always found the ground limiting, the coal dust in the air quite suffocating. Unlike in these heights, where the air was fresh, cool. You saw so much more, moved so much more. It was a taste of freedom, something I've always wanted.

I arrived at a location hidden away from unwanted eyes. Landing on a large rock ledge that was reachable from above if you leapt or swung far enough. Of course, there were times where I didn't stick the landing and ended up in the thicket of berry bushes, ending up with several, stinging, unwanted "friends".

"I'm early for once," I huffed, grinning as I laid down the rock. I put my leg on top of the other, using my hands to support my head. A small, yellow butterfly landed on my nose, making me smile.

"Hey, owl eyes," A voice boomed, making the butterfly fly away. My brows furrowed as I looked in the direction of the voice. "Finally stopped daydreaming of burning the Capitol down?" he teased, grinning.

I shot him a look, "Mhmm," I hummed, "Daydreaming of throwing them off a cliff instead," I said, making him snort. 

"And how do you plan to do that?" He asked, smirking. I threw a small rock at his forehead, scoffing. "Shut it, Gale" I retorted.

He rolled his eyes, a mischievous look on his face "I was going to give you some of this bread I shot, but since you're like that, I guess I'll just have to share this with Catnip," he said, holding up a loaf of bread, an arrow pierced through it.

I laughed looking up at the sky, "Oh come on, don't be like that, Gale," I spread my limbs across the surface of the cool rock. "Don't pick favourites, but— between me and Kat, who's the lucky favourite?"

Gale hummed as if thinking deeply. "Definitely Catnip," he answered making my head turn sharply towards him. I shot him a glare, a look of betrayal. He let out a bark of laughter, just in time for Katniss to arrive.

He held up the bread once more, "Hey catnip, look at what I shot," he said. "He said that two times already," I groaned, raising a finger.

Katniss laughed, the bread handed to her. "Mhh, still warm," she commented, sniffing the crust of the bread after she had pulled out the arrow.  

If I hadn't known any better, I would say that they were siblings. Straight black hair, olive skin and same grey eyes. Most of the families who work in the mines resemble each other this way. That's why my family has always stuck out like a sore thumb, like Katniss' mother and sister. 

My mother and brother with strawberry blonde hair, my brother, in particular, having my father's blue eyes. Father and I had bright copper-red hair, I shared my mother's green eyes.

From what I've heard my father used to be a merchant, selling various herbs, fruits, plants and meat until he's settled down here for my mother, began working in the mines, along with illegal hunting.

The peacekeepers and the mayor let it slide though, They crave fresh meat just like anyone else in the district. Our district was looked down upon, the capitol didn't really pay attention to it. This is why we can get away with these.

My train of thought was interrupted by a berry landing on my face, making me scrunch my face as Katniss finished a joke with a Capitol accent. The two always told me I was easily distracted, a disadvantage when it came to hunting. 

Though I'd say it's an advantage when I'm not busy daydreaming I tend to spot small animals, like that one bird flying west of me, or that small worm crawling next to me.

Gale tapped my hand, which was dangling from the rock. He handed me a piece of bread, some cheese spread on it. I sat up, one of my knees bent, resting my elbows on it as I thanked him. 

"We could do it, you know?" He said quietly, effectively drawing my attention, as well as Katniss'. "What?" she asked. I only remained silent, biting into the bread as my other foot dangled from the rock, swinging around.

"Runaway from the district, live in the woods, you and I, maybe Y/n too if he wants to, we could make it," He said, I nodded, swallowing a healthy portion of the bread. "You know I want to," I interjected. 

Gale sighed, "If only we didn't have so many kids," Of course, they weren't our actual children, though they might as well be. He has two little brothers and a sister, Katniss has a sister and I have Kunal. There's also our parents, another mouth to feed.

My mom doesn't really have a source of income, so I'm left working the majority of the month, only taking a break at least for a day. Though the three of us split our games, It's never really enough. We still have times where we would curl up on our cots on an empty stomach. It happened far more often than any of us would like.

With my father gone, I was left to provide for my own family. These forests are practically my home, the only thing missing was Kunal and my mom's icy stares.

"I don't want any children," Katniss responded plainly. "I might if I didn't live here," said Gale. 

"But you do," She responded irritably, I glanced between them, chewing on my bread slowly. "Forget it," Gale snapped, sighing,

It would be a lie if I haven't thought of this. They call me a daydreamer because of this, I'd much rather dream of being one with the mocking jays, flying freely without worrying about the Capitol's prying eyes than face the fact that that would never happen.

A trait passed down to me by my father, as I said. We hate the fact that we are treated like caged birds, though used to it, we'll never be comfortable. Unlike my mother.

Sometimes I wonder what drew them to each other.

"What do you want to do?" Katniss asked, making me perk up. "How about we fish at the lake?" I suggested. They both nodded as a grim thought settled in my head.

Kunal turned 12 this year, his name is on the ballot for today, Reaping day. Though only once, there's a slim chance that he might get chosen. He could barely stand against an angry, small mutt, running to my legs whenever he gets scared.

If he gets chosen, I wouldn't know what to do. Surely my mother would resent me even more, why was I her only child left then? No, it wouldn't get to that, surely not.

I clenched my fists as we travelled to the lake, feeling the anger bubble inside me. I remembered one of the many reasons I despised these ridiculous, power-hungry people. 

"I'll destroy them one day, don't worry, pa" I whispered, though I'm sure Gale and Katniss heard me. They just knew.

—--—--—

Words: 1.8k

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

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

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

Part three: Click this, Rumtumtugger.

Part four: you're here, jennyanydots

Part five: Clicky dicky here, buddy

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Those words left my mouth without much thought. I wasn't thinking of the damned consequences at the moment.

Behind me was Kunal, an iron grip on my leg, bawling his eyes out. "Y/N! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T GO!" he pleaded, his cries getting louder by the second. 

My hand ruffled his strawberry blonde hair, messing it up. "Let go, Nal," I said in the calmest tone I could muster. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, I cleared my dry throat, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry as if I just ate a handful of salt, which was honestly a luxury.

My face remained stoic, the moment I show a sign of distress I know the people in the Capitol would eat it up like good bread. It entertains them, our suffering entertains them. 

His hands slipped from my leg, gripping on my pants before he was finally taken away from me. "Up you go, Owl eyes," said Gale, his voice trying hard to remain steady. Beside him was Katniss, who was holding Kunal by the shoulders. She nodded, "Good luck, Y/n,"

I nodded, before looking back at the temporary stage. "Oh well, Bravo!" Effie exclaimed. "That's the spirit of the games!"

She was thrilled, finally seeing some action from this district. It made a pit in my stomach, I clenched my jaw. If only the roles were reversed, Capitol people fighting for their lives instead of us.

Oh, how funny that would be.

I strode to the stage, trying my best to look collected. The foreboding feeling in my stomach only grew with each step I took, my hands sweating as if they've just been dipped into water once I finally took my place.

"Do tell us your name," Effie said, her grin widening as she nodded, encouraging me to talk. It took all the will power I had to not strangle her.

"Y/n Greyback," I replied dryly, hoping it would set her off.

“I bet my buttons that was your brother. Don’t want him to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” she trilled, making me clench my fists.

Her words were met with silence. No one clapped, not a noise can be heard. Even the ones who would usually bet on who would wound up as a tribute didn't do anything.

I held back a smile, a surge of hope flowing through me. This was the most rebellious thing they could do without getting punishment of any sort. Silence.

Silence doesn't mean fear or that we're cowards. It meant that we do not accept this, we do not condone.

Just as my father always said, one does not need to shout to make a change.

The next thing that happened was even more of a surprise. Maybe it was because I was a son of a "rebel", maybe they pitied my family or maybe it was because I talked to the mayor's daughter.

Just one, then two, then a group almost all of the crowd put the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

My tense hands relaxed a sense of calm washing over me. We were united in a strange way, something I thought would only happen in my dreams.

"Look at him! Look at this one!" Hollered Haymitch, throwing an arm around my shoulder. His arm was quite heavy, understandable, he's a wreck. "I like him!"

The scent of alcohol from his breath was strong, or maybe he just smelled of alcohol. "Lots of. . ." He paused, trying to think of a word.

I cringed as he slightly swayed around, trying my best to not touch him. "Spunk!" he declared triumphantly. "More than you!"

He released me, staggering to the front of the stage. "More than you!" He declared once more, pointing towards the camera.

Was he talking to the audience? Or maybe he was addressing the Capitol. I wish it's the latter, that would be funny.

Just as he opened his mouth to continue, he fell down the stage, knocking himself unconscious in the process. I snickered slightly, my face scrunching up right after.

Thankfully, the cameras were all pointed towards him, watching as they whisked him away into a stretcher. I took this moment to glare back into the distance, watching the scenery.

There was the hill that me, Katniss and Gale were just at. It looked so peaceful, contrary to my day.

"What an exciting day!" Effie warbled, trying to fix her tilted wig. It looked ridiculous. Why would Capitol people, no, why would anyone wear that?

It looks ugly, like a beaten up squirrel. Though I'd be lying if I said it wasn't eye-catching, though, beaten up squirrels are also eye-catching. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our next tribute!” she continued, putting one hand to the second bowl.

Her fingertips grab the first slip it encounters. I hoped it wasn't Gale or Katniss. I didn't want to kill them, not that I'd ever stand a chance.

Katniss was extremely skilled with the bow, she could probably shoot my head from miles away. Gale, on the other hand, was strong, compared to him, I had the strength of a broken twig.

"Peeta Mellark," She read. Oh no. Why him? Of all the people in this district. His father just "introduced" me to him this morning, not just that, I knew him.

I watched him make his way up the stage, I had a clear look at him this time. He had a stocky build, medium height,  ashy blonde hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the situation registered on his face, though you could tell that he was alarmed by the way his blue eyes looked.

Like a prey knowing it'd be hunted.

Despite this, he still manages to climb up the small flight of stairs calmly.

Effie Trinket then asked for volunteers, but no one spoke up. He has two older brothers, I've seen them. But one is probably too old to volunteer, and the other just wouldn't. This was standard family devotion, what I'd done was a radical thing.

The mayor began to say the same old words he always says every reaping day. I couldn't help but think, why him?

I remember it all too well, that day, it was raining up a storm, the wind was howling. My mother and my brother were left at home, I was tasked to find food for us since my mother couldn't bear to show her face to the district.

How could she? Her husband has been executed for rebellion against the Capitol. One of the peacekeepers found weapons under his possession and he was killed. He managed to convince them to spare us, though sometimes I wished it hadn't worked.

Within a week of his death, we began to lose money, and therefore, food. Nobody wanted to help us, nobody wanted to associate with the family of a tyrant.

Shame, the family name bared shame. My mother didn't have the gall to go out and sell any of my father's things, my brother was too young to even understand what was going on.

I was angry. How could they have just taken everything away from us that easy? Who gave them the right to do that?

But at that moment, I couldn't afford to sit still and wallow in my resentment. That was a luxury I couldn't afford. not many could afford it either.

Starvation was a fairly common thing in district 12, though the amount of covering up the peacekeepers do no one a favour and fools no one.

There I was, a boy who wasn't even old enough to be registered into the pile walking around in the harsh weather, stripped away from my dignity and whatever money we had.

I found myself in the Mellark's bakery, being told off by the baker's wife, who was tired of having brats from the Seam paw through her trash. I would've screamed back then, but I didn't want the Peacekeepers called on me.

So I left without another word, sitting at a tree for some sort of cover from the harsh rain.  I remember the snorts of the pigs beside me, and that was when I realized I'm no better than cattle; the people of Panim were no better than cattle.

My knees buckles as I collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering from the cold and the harsh reality. Maybe I had gone insane then, but I vaguely remember talking to the pigs, ranting to them.

They didn't listen, they were too busy rolling in the mud. Looking back, I find this extremely funny, but maybe that's because I don't want to pity myself.

I didn't even notice a boy until the pigs actually rose to eat the pieces of bread thrown at them. I stared at him for a long while, mainly because of the burnt bread, the crust was scorched black.

But a red mark on his cheekbone caught my attention. Had they hit him for burning the bread? My parents have never hit me, I couldn't even imagine what that would feel like.

He took one look at the bakery as if checking if the coast was clear before he turned back to the pigs. Though instead of feeding the pigs he tossed the loaves of bread to me.

I watched him walk towards the bakery and closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. All I could do was stay silent, before shoving them up to my shirt, muttering a broken thank you as I ran home.

The loaves had cooled by the time I got home, but that didn't matter. We had something to eat. Mother looked at me, relieved I didn't die. She hugged me, apologizing.

I didn't care though, we had food, that's what's important.

And for the first time in weeks, we had a proper meal.

I was thankful, the fact that he'd probably burnt the bread on purpose never occurred to me until I crawled onto the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. An act of kindness, someone still cared.

It was as if spring came overnight, fluffy clouds, blue sky, the warm sweet air. At school, we would always catch each other's gazes. I felt a tad bit bad, his cheek was swollen and his eye had blackened.

I couldn't come up to say thank you, instead, I watched him from a distance, contemplating whether I should. When I went to fetch Nal, out eyes met once more, I was about to mouth a thank you until Nal tugged my shirt.

He handed me a dandelion. He's always loved flowers. His love for it made me realize how I would get the food we needed. All that time I and my father spent in the forest won't be for nothing.

To this day, I still feel as if I owe my family's life to him. I had honestly given up, but he gave me something. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread and the dandelion, both gave me hope.

Maybe if I had said thank you all those years ago I wouldn't be feeling so guilty now. I could always say it but something about thanking him whilst I'm practically holding a knife against his throat seems dishonest.

The mayor finished his speech, telling us to shake hands. His were as warm and firm as those loaves of bread. He squeezed me as if reassuring me. Or maybe those were just nervous spasms.

We turn back to the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

There are twenty-four of us fighting in that arena, as grim as it is, let's just hope someone kills him before I'm forced to. I don't wanna kill the reason I've survived all those years.

Word count: 2026

Tags:

@nin3s

Sorry for the late update my exams are next week and im rushing to finish my requirements at school. :"

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

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

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

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant.  Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him. 

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them. 

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead. 

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much. 

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through. 

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel. 

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent. 

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream. 

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!" 

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted," 

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window. 

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant. 

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed  "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

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@nin3s

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x Reader

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

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

Part four: Click here, rooroorara shooty shooty vang vang

Part five: You're right here, silly!

Part six: Click here, war criminal of 1878!

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

The moment the anthem finished, we were taken into custody. It's not as if we were cuffed or anything; a group of Peacekeepers simply marched us through the front door of the Justice Building.

Each year, at least one of the tributes tries to escape; I've never seen one successfully do so.

Once inside, they put me in a room. It's the most prosperous place I've been to. With a thick carpet in the ground and a weird couch made of fabric, I've never seen before.

It was a strange texture, almost like the weird fuzzy stuff in deer's antlers. My father called them velvet; was this the same thing? If so, that's a bit gross.

Despite this, I still caressed the couch; it was oddly comforting. Almost like you're patting a nearly hairless kitten. It switched from smooth to rough each time I ran my hands through it.

Then I remembered that we only had an hour to say goodbye to our loved ones before leaving for the Capitol. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in. I didn't want to cry at all; the cameras were trained on me. I'm sure the Capitol would eat my tears up.

The first people who came in were my mother and my brother. Kunal let out a sob as he ran towards me, practically throwing himself onto me. I hugged him, staying silent as he buried his face into my neck, afraid that if he let go, I would disappear.

But I needed to break it one way or another. "Mother," I called, my voice detached. Her green eyes met mine, her lips quivering. I gulped down my spit, taking another deep breath in. "Do you. . . Have any idea on how you'll support yourselves. . ?" I asked.

Her eyes landed on the thick, red carpet. "Not as of now," she answered grimly, "But Katniss' mother offered me some work at the apothecary,"

My arms around my brother tightened. Maybe Gale and Katniss could bring them some of the game as well, though I wouldn't count on it. Why would they help us when they have other things to worry about? It's not as if I could teach Nal how to hunt either. The boy's frightened by his own shadow.

All he's good for right now for picking flowers as much as I love him. A sigh escaped my lips, my chest falling slowly as the reality sunk in.

"Well, you must think of something," I told her, my brows furrowing. "I'm not going to come back; I won't be able to support you and—"

"No!" she barked, "No! You will come back, Y/n." she proclaimed, her eyes shaking. She clenched her, fists, "Swear that you will."

Bitterness rose within me. "Tell that to the Capitol, mother," I said coolly. "If I die, then I—." My words were cut short by the sobbing of my brother.

He sniffled, pulling away from my now wet neck. "You'll win, won't you?" he croaked, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his reaping clothes.

I felt my heart stop; what was I supposed to say to him? "No, Nal. I will surely die, don't count on it,"  a lump formed in my throat.

My eyes landed on my mother, who gave a stern look.  It told me to lie, if not for her sake, then for my brother's. With shaky hands, I held my brother's shoulders. "I'll make it out; then we can— gather some flowers in Victor's village, yes?" 

Nal nodded, hugging me once more. I took a deep breath before I started explaining what they should do. With mother possibly getting a job at the apothecary, perhaps they have a  chance to survive, after all. Though I'm not sure, that's such a pleasant thought with the fact that I will die. 

Soon enough, a Peacekeeper was at the door, telling them their time was up. I gave Nal a hard squeeze before pushing him off. My mother nodded at me; her strawberry blonde hair bounced as she did so. "I love you both," 

The words were stuck in my throat; I couldn't say them. Maybe it was because of my strained relationship with my mother or because I hated the fact that I had just given my brother a false sense of hope. I simply watched as they walked away, hand in hand. 

Nal's watery blue eyes looked back at me one last time, a look of sadness. He knew I was lying. I sounded unconvinced when I told him. My posture slumped; I felt horrible. Our maker is siis merely, I suppose.

The next visitor was unexpected; Peeta's father, the baker. My gut churned; I was off to kill his son soon. Why has he come to visit me? Perhaps he has come to beg me not to kill his son? Not that I could either way, Peeta was stronger than me: it was clear as day.

He handed me a small piece of parchment. It was filled with warm cookies. A delicacy. He must've visited his son; after all, why would he just me cookies? I was about to die anyway; why feed a dead man?

I let out a huge breath, "How was the squirrel?" my voice pierced through the thick silence. He shrugged, "Alright," he answered. Then another wave of silence hit us. I sniffed awkwardly, the scent of fresh bread entering my lungs. 

I couldn't think of anything to say. What was I supposed to do? ApoloApologisebe, but I never really liked apoloapologisingee no need to. If I'm sorry, then I'll show it. We sat in awkward silence before the Peacekeepers told him his time was up. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I'll keep an eye on the little boy, make sure he's eating," He stated before leaving. I felt the pressure lift from my chest. They may not like me much, but Nal was practically an angel to them. An angel born in a family of rebels, I'm guessing, is their thoughts.

The next guest then entered. Madge. Her expression wasn't weepy nor evasive, nor did she wear that bright smile she always had when she was around me. It looked urgent. She walked straight to me, the urgency in her tone quite surprising, "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home, will you wear this?" she holds out a circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier.

My brows furrowed, "Your pin?' I said. Does she really to die wearing rich-people-things? That hasn't even crossed my mind. . . 

"I'll put it on your tunic, alright?" She said, not waiting for my answer as she leaned in and fixed the bird on my chest. "Promise me you'll wear it to the arena, Y/n. Promise me," She took my hand, her thumbs rubbing the back of my own.

Compared to Peeta's, hers was cold yet soft, almost as if she was nervous, worried. But why would she? I barely talk to her; she's the one who always strikes a conversation. All I do is nod and disagree at certain times. 

She leaned closer to my face; I gave her an uncertain smile, pulling away. "Thank you, Madge," I muttered. She nodded, letting go of my hands. "Please, stay safe," her voice trembled as she rushed out of the room. I was left standing there, confused. What was that? Why did she visit me despite my rudeness earlier?

Next was Gale and Katniss. I didn't hesitate to hug both of them before pulling away with a sigh. "Hey, you'll be fine," Gale reassured, patting my shoulder. I stayed silent, only nodding. Katniss gave me a pity smile, "I'm sure it would be fairly easy to get knives, Y/n."

A sigh left my mouth, "I know— I just— Don't want to—" I stammered, making a stabbing motion with my hand. Gale gave me a pitied look, "It's just like hunting, Y/n. You're the best hunter we know," he said.

"They're not animals. They think; they're armed."  I reasoned, my voice trembling. Why did I have to feel these emotions now? Maybe reality has finally settled in, the truth that I'll never see any of these faces again. On the off chance that I do, I'm sure they'll view me differently, a cold-blooded murderer.

"What's the difference, reale said grimly. Those words echoed in my head as they went away with the Peacekeepers. What is the difference? We're all just feral dogs forced to fight or cocks pit against each other.

I took a deep breath as I got called to ride a wagon to the train station. It was a relatively short ride. We never really had the luxury of these; we always had to travel by foot.  

I silently thanked myself for not crying; there were insect-like cameras trained onto my face. Thankfully, I knew how to act, to bite my tongue. If I hadn't, I'd probably be screaming profanities. My eyes glanced onto the television screen; I look bored. Which, I surprisingly was.

It was as if my spirit left me already.

Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, had obviously been crying. However, he didn't even try to hide it, which was quite odd. Was this his strategy? To appear weak and vulnerable to assure the other tributes that he was no threat? This worked for a girl from district 7. Johanna Mason.

She seemed frightened, a cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until only a handful left. She then killed them all, with no problem whatsoever. I remember watching this game, quite shocked. She sold her act to me, but then again, maybe I'm just oblivious.

This worked for her because she looked frail, weak. Peeta applying this strategy was quite odd. Not only did he not look soft, but he was also jacked. He just looked like a big doofus. All those years having bread to eat and hauling trays made him physically capable.

Annoyance rose through me when we had to stand by the train's entrance while cameras gobbled out images up. I was sure I no longer looked bored but rather pissed. It wasn't like I was about to put on a pretty smile for them. These jester-dressed-worms should know how I feel.

Finally, we boarded, and the train began to move at once. The speed took my breath away. It was going faster than I could ever think of. The scenery around us just blurred—a mix of the neutral colour palette that made up District 12. 

We were taught about coal in school. Some basic maths and reading before it circled back to coal again. Our district was used for coal mining, even hundreds of years ago.

Then there are the weekly lectures about the history of Panem, which never fails to annoy me. It's all blather about how we owe the Capitol because of the rebellion and whatnot.

I knew they're hiding something; we couldn't have lost that easily. I always think about this whenever I'm up in the trees, daydreaming, which is why I'm always the last one to arrive at the hill.

The tribute train was much fancier than the room at the Justice building. We were given our own rooms, a dressing area and private bathroom with cold and hot running water. We've never really had hot water readily available at home; we had to boil it.

Though I can't say, I like it, with all that effort I just end up not liking the bath. I much prefer the cold, flowing current of a river.

There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket told me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my father’s tunic and take a cold shower. I’ve never had a shower before. It’s like being in the rain, inky much tamer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants, trying my hair to the usual, small pa

At the last minute, I remember Madge’s little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It’s as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wingtips. I suddenly recognise it—a Mockingjay.

Funny little birds, my favourite creature in the forests, that's for sure. These were a slap to the Capitol's face. They genetically altered animals as weapons. Muttations as we call them, or Mutts for short. One particular kind was a bird they labelled Jabberjay, able to memorise and repeat whole human conversations.

Homing birds, exclusively male that were released into regions where the Capitol’s enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they’d fly back to centres to be recorded. It took people a while to realise what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centres were shut down, and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

But they didn't die; instead, they mated with the female mocking birds and produced this weird species that can replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They've lost the ability to enunciated words but could still mimic a range of human vocal cords.

My father used to sing them a lot. I guess he passed that habit down to me. Whenever I'm not doing anything, I find myself singing to the hummingbirds, who surprisingly listen and replicate my Father's song. It was a simple melody, made of 10 notes at least.

It warmed by heart, especially at times where I miss him. I smiled, fastening the pin to my shirt, the dark green as its background.

Effie came to collect me. I followed her through a narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. There waiting for us was Peeta Mellark, the chair beside him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" Asked Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him he said he was going to take a nap," said Peeta. "Well, it’s been an exhausting day," said Effie Trinket. I think she’s relieved by Haymitch’s absence, and who can blame her?

Food came in courses. Though I barely touched the carrot soup, the chocolate cake, lamb chops nor the mashed potatoes. I wasn't going to eat this, not from the Capitol.

My jaw clenched as Effie told me to eat up, smiling brightly at me. I gave her a pained smile, slowly taking a bite of the lamb on my plate before swallowing it roughly.

A swirl of guilt formed in my stomach, was I eating really this luxurious food whilst Nal and mother struggle? I sighed, digging my nails into my palms.

Peeta looked at me oddly as he stuffed his face, he nudged my side and nodded towards the food. I simply shook my head, pushing the plate away.

Effie put her lips together at my stubbornness. She was muttering something about having no manners.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that since none of them has to attend reapings themselves.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be in our competition. A few stand out in my mind.

A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she’s very like Nal in size and demeanour. Only when she mounts the stage and task for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There’s no one willing to take her place.

Last of all, District twelve. It showed Nal getting called and me volunteering. The commentators weren't sure about what to say regarding the silence. I only smirked at this, crossing my legs in amusement. Just in time, Haymitch fell from the stage, earning a comical groan from the commentators.

Peeta silently took his place on the stage; we shook hands and then just cut to the anthem.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour."

Unexpectedly, Peeta laughed. "He was drunk." He said. "He's drunk every year."

"Everyday," I added, finally breaking my silence streak with a smirk. Effie makes it sound kike Haymitch just had rough manners that could easily be dealt with.

"Yes," She hissed "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he slurred. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in a mess.

"So laugh away!" said Effie Trinket. And so I did, I barked out mocking laughter as she hopped in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and fled the room.

Word count: 2974

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