#like...did they really expect Katniss and Peeta to just try to kill each other after they did so much to try to keep the other alive?

[plenaurum]

The funniest thing about THG is that most of the happenings could've been prevented if the Gamemakers didn't try to renege on the rule change. If they just allowed Katniss and Peeta to win at the same time without trying to milk as much melodrama as possible out of their star-crossed-lover story, Katniss wouldn't have done that shit with the berries. And the uprisings would've arguably been kept at a minimum.

So really, it's their fault for trying to push their luck.

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 13-14)

"i cover my face with my arms because this isn't happening. it isn't possible. for someone to make peeta forget he loves me... no one could do that" - she was so sure, so certain of peeta's love for her that this concept is completely alien to her. something she never saw coming. in the last chapter she felt jealous that what annie/finnick had, no one would doubt over its certainty - but she herself had that with peeta and now it's... fragile

katniss is so heartbroken teenage girl, covering/uncovering her face with her arms depending on what's being said and how much it's hurting her

katniss's desire to kill sow is kicked into overdrive because of what he's done to peeta. like that was truly her last straw.

(an aside: delly is a delight)

"it was less painful being strangled" oh katniss

it's so sad to see katniss numb after her being so anxious/angry/distraught over peeta being in the capitol and also her brief elation at having him back.

katniss coming to terms with the hijacking is so sad. a huge part of her is definitely catastrophizing though (like i don't blame her for it at all). but of course she is, because is truly a horrible twisted thing to happen and it takes her previous heartbreak and twists it more. but she goes straight to worst possible scenario which is: i'll never get peeta back, peeta is gone, so i'm gonna shut down and kill snow and then die myself

"it's only now that he's been corrupted that i can fully appreciate the real peeta. even more than i would've if he'd died. the kindness, the steadiness, the warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it" - she's fully mourning him, instead of fighting for him, because it's like all the fight has been taken out of her because of the hijacking

"the unexpected heat" behind peeta's warmth. more of what intrigued her about him, what set him apart.

her clutching the pearl trying to remember peeta as he was just kills me. i can't do it.

she spent the first book trying to make out like their kisses were tv kisses but here she's fondly remembering and trying to hold onto "the kisses in the arena"

"to make myself put a name to the thing i've lost" -it's their love, their bond, their intimacy that's just too great and beyond this earth to even put words to

"despite what i feel for peeta, this is when i accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. or i'll never go back to him. i'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the capitol and kill snow, and then die for my trouble. and he'll die insane and hating me. so in the fading light i shut my eyes and kiss gale to make up for all the kisses i've withheld, and because it doesn't matter any more" - this is so heartbreaking, i don't even know where to begin. she's lost her hope entirely. and she's acting out of a desperate need to feel something, anything because she's so numb and hopeless.

i almost feel bad for gale because this kiss is so clearly katniss not in her right mind.

gale saying that he had a life outside of hunting with her. maybe it's him trying to save face but throughout this book and the last, it really feels like their friendship was just confined to the woods. the fact that they don't already know these things about each other? what did they talk about except for hunting and hating the capitol? does gale know katniss's favourite colour? does she know his? does she know anything about his habits apart from how he treads silently when he's hunting and how his hands set snares? what do they actually know about each other?

her completely emotionless at him telling her when he realised he liked her... it's very unromantic compared to peeta's own story of his crush on her. and we know katniss is a huge romantic. she's probably just like.. "oh so you saw some guy flirting with me and felt jealous and decided i should be yours? oh okay then. right"

something something about gale feeling an entitlement to katniss due to their history and shared trauma and what people expected vs peeta seeing her qualities and her singing and her boldness and her light. gale was always the easy choice, gale was the settling choice. change my mind

i know katniss had questioned whether gale was jealous of her and finnick being around eachother but he actually confirms it here. like gale is seeing finnick walking around dazed without pants on, tying and untying knots in the same piece of rope, having to be sedated when he thinks of annie in the capitol, and somehow genuinely thought that that man really had an eye on katniss, was flirting with katniss?! actually a bit crazy. sure gale is a complicated character, but this part of him is so revolting to me that it overshadows so much else. i don't despise him but i don't like him at all.

not to turn this post into a gale and katniss post but he's a key part of this chapter and we might as well compare and contrast - his death traps. katniss is quite clear on what she thinks about them. and he just goes from worse to worser in this book particularly. and in the next chapter, katniss even mentions that she wishes the old peeta was there to explain why the whole idea is so wrong.

[dancingonmoonbeams]

I love your thoughts on meta THG! Do you have any more about Finnick and his relationship with Katniss in particular? He's just so much more perceptive and loyal and selfless than anyone in the world of the Hunger Games and the fandom itself makes him out to me and I just love him so so much

oooh thank you for this ask, i love thinking about finnick and his relationships with other characters!! i also have happily found myself on the side of the fandom that is 100% team finnick which i love <3

something that really strikes me about finnick and katniss is that there is a very clear path from where katniss is after the games to where finnick is when we meet him. we know the capitol is obsessed with katniss, they find her attractive, and she has that naivete that finnick probably had after his games because he was so young. i think it's very clear that if the rebellion hadn't happened, katniss would have wound up following finnick's path to protect her family. and i think finnick can see that and sees himself in katniss and doesn't want her to go down the same path he did.

i also love seeing the finnick/katniss dynamic develop and i think finnick is so intentional about how he approaches katniss. at first in catching fire he plays up the vapid self-absorbed character because he knows that's what she'll expect, but then he finds ways to prove he's trustworthy. in the arena he never proclaims that she can trust him or that he's on her side, because he knows that wouldn't work on him and it won't work on her either. instead he shows her his value and his commitment to her - playing up her pregnancy ruse, saving peeta (repeatedly!), putting his trust in her. he knows katniss isn't going to trust a word out of his mouth, so he proves himself to her through his actions.

the jabberjay scene is like an accelerated version of this because i think that's where katniss starts to get the idea that they have more in common than she thought - he has someone he loves too, someone he's risking everything to get back home to. and where this might make someone else think oh no i'm in danger because he'll have to kill me (and peeta) to get back to annie, i think it actually puts katniss at ease about finnick because he becomes more real to her. she starts to see him as a person and not as who the capitol made him be.

but also, they're so goofy together! i love the scene in the arena in catching fire where they're putting the ointment on and she teases him about not being pretty and then they scare peeta together. they're so similar in their way of looking at the world and where they find humor - think of in mockingjay, when they're looking at the holo of the capitol and all the traps and both finnick and katniss compare it to the arena. they're similar in a lot of ways which makes a really interesting dynamic where finnick is trying to protect her from becoming more like him, but they also are able to understand each other and bond in a way that katniss doesn't really connect with other characters.

anyway this got long but i love finnick and his ways of connecting with other characters and he deserves the world!!

(also this got me thinking about after the bloodbath when finnick says none of the victors were victors by chance except maybe peeta so that might have to be its own post at some point)

[maedivae]

What does Katniss mean when she says: “A kind Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous to me than an unkind one”?

Chapter 4 of The Hunger Games novel.

Thank you 😊

@curiousnonny

Well she's admitted to knowing that kind people are quicker to work their way into her heart and break past her initial boundaries, her reservations about them. I also think it's an innocence kind of thing too, as she later doesn't even consider Peeta an actual victor on the same level as herself or Finnick or the rest of them who had made the hard decisions to kill, whereas she believes Peeta won the games out of luck and his natural inclinations were for diplomacy and peace. It's a very rose-tinted view of Peeta in the first games though to me, since he was at least able to manipulate the Careers into letting them join their group and did kill on their behalf. I think he's able to kill if he can morally justify it in his mind.

Anyways, her role is often that of a protector over kind, innocent things, compared to the harsher realities of the world they live in. She wouldn't be able to kill Peeta in good conscience if he was really as kind as he seems. This is a problem, as them being the last two alive in the games would endanger her chances of coming home to Prim. She'd always be mentally stuck in the arena if it came down to that, trying to figure out ways things could've gone differently like the rest of the victors do. Killing in the games is far easier for Katniss than dealing with the aftermath. Also I think she saw any attempts from Peeta to try to be friends with her as stupid since he's going to be dead anyways and she wants to save herself the trauma.

To a greater extent, the quote also shows her aversion to people trying to connect with her on a deeper level, especially in a romantic context. Katniss obviously fears turning into her mother as early as this, as she's not exactly a child anymore. It's said some people in District 12 expected her to marry Gale because they're around each other every weekend, they are from the same economic and social class, boy and girl being friends yadda yadda, and marrying young isn't uncommon in poverty.

But she doesn't want to let herself have hope of any sort of romantic or familial future like that because her mother completely shut down and neglected her children after her husband died. In District 12, and in Katniss's mind, spouses dying is just an inevitability with the coal mines, like imagine the amount of lung disease and mining accidents. Few people make it to old age, even fewer who are male (although there are women who work in the mines too). Then kids. The amount of diseases that they aren't vaccinated for, extreme hunger and cold, the games. It's an unsafe world for her to have someone she really cares about.

It's easier and more practical for Katniss to remain shut off from any of these possibilities, from her own emotions. So a kind person in these circumstances scares her deeply because she isn't able to control how she feels. She doesn't want to care about another person for what the world could do to them and thus, hurt her by association. Have her shut down completely like her mother, be weak. It's why Snow tortured Peeta. If he has someone she cares deeply for, he has the perfect weapon to hurt her. That's what's dangerous about kindness.

[lemonluvgirl]

I love Katniss but sometimes she gets on my nerves she had Peeta Mellark. (PEETA MELLARK!) Angel of a boy want to cuddle and play with her hair and would risk his life for her and the rooftop date and didn't ever really expect reciprocated feelings no matter how hard it was for him and she just was like 👀 "I don't see anything like it's all an act like I don't feel the same" HELLO WHAT I wish my love life was hers like Im crushing on my ex guy friend I don't rlly speak to anymore it's BAD

Well, Peeta Mellark is the ultimate fictional boyfriend so yeah, while I was reading THG I had a lot of moments where I shook my head at Katniss when she passed up opportunities to explore or embrace her feelings for Peeta.

I am of the mindset that she felt differently for him/had a slight crush on him early on but struggled with admitting it to herself. Now I don't blame it all on Katniss. There were a lot of contributing factors to many of the misunderstandings that happened to hinder them forming a romantic relationship.

Namely, Peeta never talked to her before the Games. So...when you say she thought it was all an act that's because she had a legitimate reason to believe it was for most of the first book. They didn't know each other. Sure, she knew he was a nice guy, but they were forced to became tributes in The Hunger Games. Katniss figured all bets were off at that point, and they could never even be friends. Because they would have to kill each other or watch the other die in the arena. So she tried really hard not to get attached. (And Katniss is good at not getting attached. Like, she could teach a master class on the subject)

She operated with a survivor's mentality and she thought for sure that Peeta would abandon his nice guy persona in order to survive. Because that's what the Games did to people. Stripped them of their humanity and turned them into something they were not. It was a rare thing that Peeta had such a strong sense of self and high moral character and didn't succumb to the barbaric kill or be killed attitude when it came to Kantniss.

Also, Peeta declaring his love for her on national tv WAS BOTH a strategy to win the Games (for Katniss, but it ended up helping him too) and also a confession of his true feelings. It also scared the shit out of Katniss, because she was trying to prepare herself to go into a gladatorial death match and kill other kids her age, not get caught up in a teenage romance. Her mind was focused on coming home to her sister and mother, and handsome nice guy Peeta was acting all SUS around her. First being friendly, then wanting to train alone, then declaring feelings for her out of the blue, then allying with the careers, then betraying the careers to help her. 

Homeboy had Katniss going back and forth so many times he must have given her whiplash. Now, its easy to see how much he loved her from the perspective of the observer. Readers can look back and say how obvious it was that Peeta was being genuine. Hindsight is 20/20 after all. But Katniss couldn’t read Peeta’s mind. And for all this talk about how Peeta had a way with words he left out some important information and failed to have a lot of honest and blunt conversations. (And Katniss is someone who needs things spelled out very bluntly for her.) She is not good at figuring out people’s motives, she assumes everyone is like her and is operating on a need to survive 24/7. In the first book she can’t even fathom someone being motivated by romantic love or a noble cause. (Until Peeta gives her his I don’t want to become somehting I’m not speech) That’s why she missed all of Peeta’s signals. Because he was speaking a language she doesn’t understand. 

And that’s why their love story is so hard fought and hard won. Because Katniss has to learn, and basically teach herself to be emotionally vulnerable again after being subjected to so much tragedy and horror. I mean the girl fell in love in a span of two years in between two hunger games and a literal war. I think if their lives had been a little more stable, and if there hadn’t been so much pressure on them to perform and keep up the act, then Katniss would have worked out how she felt about Peeta a lot quicker. 

The good news is she eventually got it right. She loved Peeta back in a way that was healthy for both of them. And Peeta fell back in love with her too. I know sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge that the struggle had to happen the way it did for the end result to be worth it, but I think for the most part Peeta’s investment in Katniss paid off. 

Now, when I look at Katniss’ love life I don’t envy her at all. She had a lot of tough choices to make and she was put in a lot of difficult situations while she had to make them. I mean, you can’t have the kind of bond Katniss and Peeta have without the Hunger Games. Yes, they could have still fallen in love in an alternate universe but it would have been different. They would have been different people, and had a very different relationship. So, no. I really don’t think anybody should envy Katniss’ love life because it was a messed up dumpster fire. She went through so much turmoil and heartache, and not all of it was her fault, as I pointed out. 

Life is not always like books. And sometimes that’s a good thing. I think Peeta is awesome but I’m glad he’s a fictional character in a story because that also means the Hunger Games are fictional. The rest of us real people have opportunities to go out and find love on our own terms without the threat of being thrown into an arena and facing imminent death. Also a good thing. 

Everyday is a gift, and an opportunity. So, if you are considering a relationship with someone, do it on your own terms, and for the right reasons. Real love is messy even without the Hunger Games. But I hope you find that special someone who makes you as happy as Peeta makes Katniss. 

Good luck anon, and may the odds be ever in your favor. <3

[stevevans]

i know who you pretend I am -f.o

summary - when you think you have nothing left, the capitol proves they can take more.

warnings - torture, violence, angst, general thg violence

w.c - 1.7k

part 2?

District 13 was completely underground, the reception was terrible so there were only a few tvs, none allowed to Finnick and Katniss personally.

They had each other, each day they grew closer, from the Hospital beds to their own rooms to even eating meals together. Sometimes Annie and Mags would come out and join them.

“I wish they were dead. I wish Y/N was dead.”

His eyes were red and swollen from crying, deadpanning as he looked up at Katniss. She truly never got the opportunity to digest how terrible the Capitol truly is.

Finnick had years, she won’t know until it hits her directly.

“She was supposed to get out first. Before me.”

He felt guilt, pilling up in his chest as he tried to suppress tears, letting out a roar of anger instead. Katniss waited until he was done to sit down beside him, promising to get you and Peeta back.

As they eat the same lunch, the tv turns on. Commotion begins as they all turn, Finnick putting down his spoon, eyes wandering to the screen. He figures it will be another work announcement, yet what he did not expect is to see you.

The sofa you two sat on was blood red, propping you both up like dolls. Dressed in a white gown, tulle pooling at your calves and silk draped over your body, loose sleeves that puff out like the paper muffin liners you both used at home, your eyes glassy as you shifted besides Peeta.

He looked good, yet you looked fragile.

Caesar Flickerman’s voice and face came up as the camera panned,

“Hello, we have a special message for the Radicals creating tyranny, from two of our favorite Victors, Peeta Mellark and Y/N L/N.”

Katniss and Finnick were out of their chairs by now, walking closer to the tv as he slipped his hand into her’s, trying to comfort her and ground himself.

Peeta spoke first, his mind seemed to not truly be all there. You kept messing with your dress, looking down and up and around, makeup caked on your face.

“People are hurting, put down your weapons.” The last thing Finick expected was for you to speak,

“Please, Radicals, listen to us. You do not want a fight, we have lived in peace for so long, we all need to do our part in keeping the peace.”

As the people of 13 started to get angry, slamming their trays, whispering harsh words until it turned into screams and Finnick could barely hear the tv, his ears were ringing as the room spun.

He could see your face scrunch in confusion as Caesar explained what happened in the arena, shaking your head, your hand coming to tap on your face.

“No, no, no Finnick would have told me. They did nothing wrong. They would never do that. We do not know what is going on, Finnick loves me, they have to be keeping him hostage, he’d never abandon me.” Your voice wavers as the tv goes dark when Peeta begins spouting gibberish.

He fell to his knees in the cafeteria as the voices called you a traitor. The rest he blocked from his head as guilt ran through his bones.

As the seasons changed, unnoticed by Finnick he grew sicker. Katniss had made a deal that you and Peeta would be rescued at the earliest convenience, but he couldn’t help the feeling that overcame him frequently.

Peeta had only been on the tv one more time since he saw your face, and he looked worse. Finnick could only imagine how you looked, what you were going through, what they were doing to you, and it broke him. So he took to staring at the picture you wanted him to burn.

You promised he would never need another picture of you, since you were going to spend the rest of your life by his side.

How the times change he would think bitterly.

He was listening to a propo with Katniss when Coin came in, demanding Beetee change the channel, that they needed to see.

It wasn’t you. That was a ghost.

Your eyes were sunken, deep purple bags, your cheekbones poking through your skin like sharp knives, you were shaking, trembling, hair falling in your face, yet pinned perfectly.

He could see your nails, chipped and stained red, from blood, he would know the sickly color anywhere, it frequently found him in his night terrors.

You looked terrible, your collarbones peeking out from under your dress. This time it was a pretty blue, like the water, a deep neckline where he could make out marks and bruises that the makeup couldn’t hide.

It shimmered, sparkling like when the sun hit the water just right at sunset. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying, tears already threatening to leak. Peeta looked just as bad. Matching eye bags and bruises, he wondered, selfishly, if they were hurting him more because of Katniss. He wished they were.

When Peeta started speaking you seemed dejected, detached, almost like you weren’t there, your mind far from the Capitol.

“Now Y/N, care to extend on Peeta’s point?”

“Can I go home? I’ve been good, can I please go home? My Mother must be going crazy wondering where I am. I just want the fighting to stop, I want to see my Boyfriend F-'' Your voice died off, as if you failed to remember his name, and his hope dwindled. The TV quickly cut off after that, Peeta��s anger ending the Capitol message abruptly.

All of the Capitol prisoners were rescued a few days later, Finnick and Katniss could hardly contain their excitement. Haymitch had warned them that it would most likely take a long time to find out what all the Capitol put you both through, but Finnick could care less, he just wanted you back.

They had told him that when they came they could hear the broadcast Finnick was giving, and you were screaming so loud they went to your room first, knocking you out with gas.

He was just ecstatic to see you in person again.

The Doctors refused to leave you alone, test after test, blood pressure, pulse, how are you? All over again and again. You were just so tired, You wanted to sleep, but the bed felt too cold.

Everything felt off, it was strange, you felt as if you didn’t belong here, yet you were forced to stay. They told you only what could keep your head above water, always pressuring you to speak more, but your voice was gone.

You shook with an unknown fear every time you thought you saw him. He was the villain of your story, the night terrors that kept you from sleeping, that had you begging Peeta to meet you at the wall to talk, but Peeta stopped coming.

Memories were hazy, the Capitol was weird, you can’t quite put your finger on what they did, the memories all blurred together, but judging by the new weight on your body and the way everyone treated you as the most delicate, fragile creature, you knew it was bad.

The doctors said you had a special visitor, yet they still refused you a mirror, or even a bit of makeup. You had missed human interaction that was not Doctors, Haymitch, or some Government official in 13.

You hoped it was Peeta or Johanna.

You felt like it wasn’t you in your body, shaking, as you climbed off of the white hospital bed, the sheets were wrinkle-less, and when you woke up they were still perfect, pristine, it reminded you too much of the Capitol.

Facing the wall as you waited for your guest you started to pick at the bed of your nails. It hurt, but you were real. They had at least let you put on a shirt and pants after you had begun gaining weight back.

You let your hair down from the ponytail it was in, running a shaky hand through it. Picking at the ends you watched the ground as the door opened. The voice was soft, but it got you to perk up, fear running down your spine and filling you up from the bottom up.

“Baby, is it really you?” his voice was soft, he sounded sad, you could see his feet coming closer, slowly, but it still came closer.

No matter how soft he spoke, you filled with fear. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him yet, hands bunching into fists as your nails dug into your palm.

“Please go away.” Your voice wavered, wanting to cry.

“They told me they are still wondering what happened, but it's okay. You’re okay, I will never let them touch you again. I will kill every last one of them if they even try to touch you.”

You had won the Hunger Games, you could do this, you could evade him long enough to press the big red help button.

He must have taken your silence as complicitness as he shuffled closer to you, causing you to let out another scream at the top of your lungs.

“Please! Back away!”

He seemed sad by your actions, slowing him down long enough for you to nimbly run past him and press the red button,

They kept your door closed so you were ‘safe’ they said, but it was to keep you inside.

“Help me! Please! Help me! He’s trying to kill me! Please!” You screeched, screaming until Haymitch burst in, along with Plutarch and a plethora of Nurses and Doctors.

The man, you couldn’t even say his name, started screaming,

“What the fuck did you do to her? What the fuck did you let them do? Don’t fucking touch me!” Haymitch had to take him out with the help of security,

“They did it with Peeta too, they made her think you are the bad guy. It is not our fault, or yours, the Capitol did this, remember that. The Capitol.”

You tried to stop screaming and crying, but your body would not allow for it. As soon as he was out you crumpled onto the floor, sobs wracking your body as you begged.

The next thing you knew was darkness.

[imkylotrash]

Whatever It Takes

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

Request: They’re getting ready to go into the Quarter Quell, and essentially have a super sweet conversation where they confess their love, and are like “damn the revolution I’ll protect you”. Anonymous

A/N It’s been a long time since I read the books so if I accidentally used the wrong word for something please let me know and I’ll correct it 💛

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​

You called it before they even announce it. You knew all the victors would get involved in the Quarter Quell because how else would he get Katniss to be in the arena without letting the public know that it’s purely to kill her? When you hear Finnick’s name get called out, there’s no choice. But was there ever one to begin with?  

“I volunteer as tribute,” you say raising your hand to let them know that you’ll be going into the Quarter Quell and not that poor girl they’ve got on stage. You don’t look at Finnick because you know his face will just mirror back the pain you feel. No matter what the revolution has planned, you highly doubt that both of you gets out alive. The focus will be on Katniss because she’s the one that’s been fuelling the fire while the rest of you can die a martyr and inspire the people then Katniss’ death would squash the tiny flame. It’s not fair but she made everything possible when she took out those berries. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Finnick tells you once you’re on the train travelling to the Capitol. 

“There was no way I was going to let you go alone.” Not to mention that innocent girl who got drafted. You’d have been a proper piece of shit had you not volunteered. 

“But you could’ve survived. Don’t you understand that’s all I care about?” 

“Careful, Finnick. Someone might hear your declaration of love and think it means something else.” It’s a warning that the walls have ears and not necessarily just the Capitol’s ears. Although you both want to think only the best of the lovely Coin, you can’t help but feel like it’s too good to be true. And you have no doubt that she’s got as many spies all around as President Snow. 

“I just want you to live,” he says hearing your warning loud and clear. Katniss and to some extent Peeta are untouchable, you are not. He takes your hand without another word. The rest of the train ride you remain quiet, too worried about saying the wrong thing and jeopardising this whole thing. Haymitch is counting on to keep Katniss alive until the rescue mission and your lives can’t matter more than the entire of Panem. Even if you want to say screw that sometimes.

“God, you’ve gotten old,” you smile spotting Haymitch next to the star-crossed lovers. He scoffs but can’t help but laugh. You’ve known each other for quite some time now and learned a long time ago that humour is how you all get through this with at least some level of sanity.

“I see your kindness have only grown over the years,” he mocks before giving you a massive hug. Being a victor and having to mentor the kids every year creates a certain bond between you all but Haymitch has always been one of your favourites. It’s the reason you know you can trust him to do you a favour. 

“We should talk once all the celebrations die down. Catch up on old times,” you smile giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. He agrees suggesting the rooftop for a gorgeous view. When Finnick sneaks his arm around you, there’s a slight pang of guilt but you force it to the back of your mind. He’s going to survive the Quarter Quell if you can do anything about it. 

“What did you talk about?” he asks quietly and you keep a smile on your face not even looking at him. 

“Just good old days,” you utter hoping Finnick will understand not to ask more questions right now. There are too many people around you to speak freely and, in a minute, you’ll have to get on that carriage and pretend you’re proud to be fighting once again. 

“Katniss, Peeta!” you call out catching their attention just as they’re about to get on their carriage, “nice costumes.” You’re trying to be nice and establish some sort of positive relation between you but all it does is make Katniss stare at you like you’re personally responsible for putting her in the Quarter Quell. 

“I already tried. Tough nut,” Finnick tells you. It makes sense why the revolution needs a face but why they would ever choose someone like Katniss is beyond you. She’s not kind or caring expect when it comes to the people she loves. The future of Panem seems oddly low on her list of priorities but then again when has war ever made sense? And you certainly can’t say you’re morally better than her. 

“Is holding hands a cliché?” You look over to Finnick who’s doing his very best to put on a brave face.

“I think it’s perfect.” You intertwine your fingers with his not letting go until the carriage has driven through those gates at the end where the public can’t see you anymore. And even then, it’s just to get some blood flow back. 

“I just want some sleep,” Finnick says itching to get the costume off and you’re thinking the same thing. You ride up in the elevator with Katniss, Peeta and Joanna which makes for an interesting end to the day. 

“Never a dull moment,” you say before exiting the elevator with Finnick. Joanna laughs loudly while both Katniss and Peeta looks slightly mortified. If she’s trying to win over Katniss, Joanna is doing a poor job. 

“Let’s take a shower,” Finnick suggests now that you’re finally alone and you’re all too happy to comply. In the shower you can finally speak freely with the sound of water drowning out the sound of your voices. 

“I know it’s horrible to say but the revolution doesn’t matter to me if I don’t have you next to me when it’s done.” He slowly lets his hands slide down your arms until they reach your hands. 

“I know,” you whisper feeling the exact same way. The guilt returns tenfold this time but you keep quiet knowing that when he’s sleeping tonight, you’ll be bargaining for his life. 

“I say damn the revolution. I swore to protect to you a long time ago and I’m not breaking that promise now.” He kisses you with a fire that tells you just how badly he wants to keep you safe. Desperation takes over your body as you kiss him back. You wish you could leave now and hide somewhere far away from everything. If it were up to you, you would’ve fled the moment you heard about the Quarter Quell. But it’s difficult leaving behind so many decent people who needs your help and the few moments of hesitation had been enough for the peacekeepers to show up and make sure you didn’t take off. Snow always knew you were a runner. 

“And I say you’re sounding crazy. We can’t change the plan now. There’s nowhere to run.” As much as you’d love to run away and hide with him, you know it’s too late for that now. You wouldn’t make it out of the building. 

“I don’t care if I sound crazy. We can protect each other in the arena, make sure we never part. And when they come get us, we make sure they grab both of us.” It’s cruel really to give hope to him because you know it won’t work but you wish it could be so easy. 

“And then when we’re out, we hide. No more war, no more revolution. Just you and me and a small cottage near the water.” Hope may be cruel but it’s a strong motivator to survive and if anything you need Finnick to survive. You hide your face in the crook of his neck allowing yourself to feel a pang of sadness at the prospect of the future you’ve lost. Your lives ended the day you got drawn for the Hunger Games. 

“And you can finally have enough quiet to paint,” he adds and you don’t have to see his face to see the affection in his eyes. 

“It would be perfect,” you say closing your eyes to picture the cottage and the life you could’ve had with Finnick. The water hides the tears that fall from your eyes and it’s a good thing because you’re not sure you would be able to hold your secret from spilling out if Finnick noticed. 

“I promise I will make it happen. I promise we’ll be alive to spend the rest of our lives together. Whatever it takes,” he says. Instead of answering him, you kiss him again. When the water turns cold, you get out and dry off. You both know that your safety is gone now and they can hear whatever you say so you keep quiet letting your eyes do the talking. You cuddle up in bed where you wait for him to drift off before you head to the roof where Haymitch is waiting. The wind is loud tonight working as a noise diffuser. 

“I want you to save him.” It doesn’t surprise Haymitch but you both know he can’t make any promises. 

“I know Katniss is the main goal and that’s she’s probably made some demand for Peeta. But if there comes a choice between saving Finnick or the rest, you save him. Do you understand?” It’s the least he can do for you after everything you’ve sacrificed for President Coin and the revolution. You could’ve had a life if things had gone differently. 

“And that includes me, Haymitch. Once you’ve gotten Katniss and Peeta out, Finnick is your priority,” you add knowing that if Haymitch could choose, he’d pick you. 

“Finnick will make more sense for the revolution. I won’t be an asset the way he can be.” He knows you’re right. Of course he does but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

“I know,” he grumbles. You both know there’s a good chance you won’t make it out of that arena but then again none of you have been safe ever since you became victors. Snow made sure of that. 

“Promise me. I need to hear you say it.” You’re not satisfied until you hear him say those words that will give Finnick a chance to make it. As much as you’d love to believe his plan of getting out of the arena together, you can’t afford to entertain the idea. Even if Finnick isn’t ready to admit it, you both know it’s a fairy tale ending you won’t get. 

“I always thought he was just your way of getting through it, you know. That he offered some sort of relieve.” Maybe at first Finnick was your escape from reality but not now. He’s your world and everything else. 

“He has my heart, Haymitch.” You hug him tightly hoping he knows how much his friendship has meant to you over the years of being a mentor.

“Take care,” he says before you spin around hurrying back. Finnick doesn’t wake up until you crawl back to bed but a quick excuse about the bathroom satisfies his curiosity. 

“I love you,” you whisper looking over at the man who’s given you so much more than you’ll ever be able to explain. 

“I love you more.” 

[theartofdreaming1]

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay 

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious  [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch! 

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete 

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit  has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’ 

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

[everlarkficexchange]

The Soul Within the Star

Written by: @nightlock-1989

Prompt 133: The victory tour is live-streamed and mandatory viewing for each district. What no one expected however, was for Snow to know Peeta was the words behind Katniss - the one he couldn’t control. When peeta starts talking about rue and thresh in D11, snow issues the command, and everyone is shocked when a bang rings out and a red spot starts rapidly spreading on Peeta’s chest. Reactions and the aftermath! [submitted by anonymous]

I wish I knew who submitted this but whoever it was, I hope you enjoy. I kept glossing over this prompt and then one day I read it again and the story came to me. 

Rated T and no beta

The Soul Within the Star

“He can be dealt with,” Plutarch Heavensbee says to President Snow. “As soon as the opportunity arises, we will take it. Knowing him, I think he’ll make a mistake publicly.”

President Snow slowly smiles, twirling a perfect white rose between his fingers. “I’ll issue the order to have them armed and ready. As soon as he speaks a word out of line, he will be eliminated.”

*****

Katniss is having difficulty speaking, so Peeta begins for her. He begins talking about how Thresh showed Katniss mercy and how Rue reminded Katniss of her sister.

Katniss is invested in what he is saying before being startled by a loud bang. She’s looking around to see what the possible source is when she hears a thud next to her. Peeta is laying on the ground. A small red spot on his chest begins to rapidly spread. She is on her knees by his side in an instant, one hand applying pressure, the other caressing his cheek.

“Peeta, look at me. You’re going to be okay,” Katniss assures him, although not quite believing her own words.

“Katniss?” he gasps. One hand covers the one on his chest while the other hand, coated in blood, caresses her cheek.

“Where the hell is the medic?” their mentor yells.

Peeta’s eyes begin closing and Katniss shakes him hard. “Stay awake, Peeta.”

“I’m so tired, Katniss.”

“No, don’t even think about it. You stay with me,” she cries.

He pulls the hand that’s on his chest away and brings it to his lips.

“Always,” he whispers before he succumbs to the darkness.

“NOOOOO!” she screams while thrashing at the Peacekeepers who are pulling her away. She feels a poke in her shoulder and then darkness follows her, too.

*****

When she comes to, she is on a soft bed on the train. She looks to her right and sees Haymitch, sitting in a chair with a bottle to his lips. He senses she’s awake and moves towards the bed, sitting in the empty space.

Haymitch barely moves when he shakes his head.

“Where is he?” she whispers.

“A hovercraft took his body.”

They tell her it was a rebel who shot and killed one half of the star-crossed lovers.

*****

It does nothing to soothe the districts and when the Quarter Quell announcement is made that the tributes will be reaped among the existing pool of victors, Katniss can do nothing but burst into laughter. She has gone mental and is unpredictable since Peeta was taken from her. Hopefully, the President won’t fault her family if someone else kills her, instead of her doing it herself.

Her plan is hindered, however, when Plutarch informs her that if she doesn’t actually try, the President has ordered her mother and sister to be killed. This is entertainment to the Capital citizens after all.

*****

In the arena, Katniss is lured by a beautiful voice, Peeta’s voice, away from the other victors. She leaves them behind, seeking only what she desires most. Finnick races past her when there is a terrifying scream. Peeta’s tortured scream soon follows and the two of them are trapped for one agonizing hour.

“Who was that voice?” she asks Finnick.

Finnick, leans into her ear and whispers, “My Annie.”

While she has no fight left for herself, she is willing to fight so that he can go home and be with his beloved.

*****

She focuses on a star as she’s being lifted by the claw. Her father told her that long ago, before the Dark Days, people spoke of souls going to a place called Heaven, that was up in the sky and where you reunited with loved ones after death and that there was a soul within each star. Maybe she is looking at Peeta’s.

*****

She comes to in the hovercraft but before she can grab the empty syringe, she is poked and feels as if she is being consumed by fire. As her eyes drift shut, she smiles, eagerly welcoming death.

*****

She hears mumbled voices, something about someone needing to rest. The voice offers to stay with her. Fingertips caress her cheek, and she feels lips on the crown of her head. Katniss finally feels whole again, and the feeling is directly linked to whoever this person is. She inhales deeply before reaching for the hand on her cheek.

Katniss hears a sharp intake of breath. “Katniss,” the voice whispers.

She smiles. This is the voice she was hoping would welcome her.

“Katniss,” the voice says louder.

She opens her eyes, her grey one’s looking straight into the most hypnotic blue. Growing up, she thought Prim’s eyes were the nicest shade of blue; however, they could not hold a candle to Peeta’s.

Katniss leans her cheek in closer to his hand. He even smells like cinnamon and maybe dill? She really is finally with him. Peeta takes a moment to wipe the tears from his own eyes.

“You’re really here?” she whispers.

He nods running his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her hair.

“Yeah,” he lets out shakily.

“And we get to stay together forever now?” she asks with a smile knowing that she is finally where she is meant to be.

He leans his forehead against hers. “I will never, EVER, leave you. I promise.”

“Always?” she raises her head slightly, her nose touching his.

“Always,” he assures her.

“I’ve waited so long,” she begins.

“I know sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s hand cup her jaw.

“I can finally tell you,” Katniss says dreamily.

“Tell me what?” he asks, gently rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

“I love you, Peeta,” she proclaims, closing the short distance from her lips to his in a light kiss. She pulls back to look at him, noting nothing but adoration. He only offers seconds of respite before he leans down, claiming her mouth with his. Katniss gives in, elated to finally be with her boy with the bread once more.

The kiss turns frantic, each exhibiting possessiveness that can only be quenched by the other. Katniss raises her hand to curl her fingers into his hair while Peeta cradles her jaw. At a slight tug of his hair, Peeta lets out a moan before using his tongue to beg for entrance. Katniss grants entry, their tongues now engaged in a sensual dance.

There’s a beeping in the background that causes Peeta to pull away. He moves to stand but Katniss grips the front of his…jumpsuit?

“No,” she says, terror in her voice. “I’m not letting you leave me.”

“I just have to- “

“No, I love you….so much, Peeta.” The beeping is getting faster. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t say it when you were alive.”

“Alive?” A dawning of realization crosses Peeta’s face but before he can assure her, a team of medical staff rush in barking out orders and pushing Peeta back.

Katniss screams and resists every effort before she is restrained, her heart rate climbing to 180 beats per minute. Peeta is forcibly removed, fighting with everything he has to get back to the woman he loves…. who has finally told him that she feels the same way.

Outside, Peeta collapses to the ground and begins to sob while the brief light in Katniss’s heart goes out.

*****

Eventually Katniss awakes, and there to greet her is someone Katniss is assuming is a doctor.

“How are you feeling, Katniss?”

“Please kill me,” she begs.

“Katniss, I assure you, it is better to be alive.”

She shakes her head, “No…. Peeta is not here.”

“Peeta IS here, Katniss. He’s been here—”

“NO, HE IS NOT. HE BLED TO DEATH IN FRONT OF ME.”

The doctor injects something in her IV. Katniss is sure sleep will come…. but this time it doesn’t. She is just calmer.

“Peeta is alive Katniss. We’re in District 13.”

Katniss opens her mouth to argue, when her sister walks in, smothering her in a hug.

“Prim,” she gasps. Her mother walks in soon after followed by her mentor.

“But I died in the Games,” Katniss says.

“You blew out the forcefield,” Haymitch explains.

“It was all a part of the plan to get the victors out,” Plutarch explains as he casually strolls in.

“I’m alive?” Katniss asks.

Haymitch pinches her hard causing her to yelp and Prim to kick him in the shin.

Katniss breaks down in tears, realizing that while she is indeed alive and safe with her family, the exchange with Peeta had to have been some kind of dream.

“He really is gone,” she gasps.

“Katniss, the boy’s alive,” her mentor says.

She begins shaking her head when someone comes running into the room. She looks up and there is Peeta who crosses the room with purpose before cupping her jaw, a little roughly, and smashes his lips to hers. Katniss grips his wrists tightly, willing him to hold her there forever. The kiss is so intense and full of love and passion that Katniss doesn’t register any of their surroundings. When they pull apart, Peeta once again has tears in his eyes. Some have fallen from his face to mix with Katniss’s own. The only people remaining in the room with them are Plutarch, Haymitch, and the doctor.

“None of this was real?” she questions.

“Peeta getting shot in the chest was real,” Plutarch confirms.

“I can attest to that with how bad it hurt,” Peeta says, unzipping his jumpsuit and pulling up his undershirt. Katniss can see where he was shot, touching the raised and discolored skin with a whisper of her fingertips. Peeta pulls her hand away allowing his shirt to drop before he kisses her fingertips.

“We made sure when we shot him to just miss his heart,” Plutarch adds.

Katniss reels back and is scrambling to attack Plutarch while Peeta holds her firmly back.

“We had the hovercraft standing by to treat him. Snow was going to do something one way or the other and it was better to get him out when we did. He knew that Peeta was a more dangerous threat with his words than you could ever be.”

Katniss relaxes and breathes in Peeta’s scent to calm down. The calmness only lasts briefly before she turns to Haymitch. “Did you know?”

“Sweetheart—”

“DID YOU KNOW?”

Haymitch hangs his head in shame before nodding slightly. Katniss possesses a strength no one knew possible and breaks free from Peeta’s grasp, raking her fingers along Haymitch’s cheek, blood coating her fingertips.

A medical team swarms in but Peeta shields her.

“NO. No drugs. Everyone out.” The room gapes at him. “I SAID OUT, DAMN IT!”

Katniss sobs in Peeta’s arms, collapsing to the floor and dragging Peeta down with her. He lets her cry into his chest while he cradles her body and rocks her back and forth all while keeping an eye on the monitor which is measuring her heartbeat.

Katniss falls asleep, the rocking motion soothing her. Peeta places her back in bed where she sleeps for hours.

When she comes to again, her face is buried in Peeta’s neck, his arm draped across her stomach. She grazes his jaw with her fingers causing him to stir awake.

“You’re alive and here with me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” Peeta says with a kiss to her forehead. “You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” she answers before her lips touch his again.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Alrightttt, I’m on a roll so we’re going onto chappy five 🥳🥳🥳😎😎

I know the movies made the Capitol — re: basically only Effie and maybe Caesar — have those ridiculous made up accents but .... I actually feel like the description of the Capitol accent in the book is supposed to be like the Kardashians or Paris Hilton’s voice. 🤷🏼‍♀️

“Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.” Like this is a pretty good description of how Kim Kardashian and her sisters talk. And Suzzy C did say she was inspired by the juxtaposition between war news footage and ridiculous reality television shows so... I think my theory of the Capitol all talking like they’re on the Real Housewives of LA is pretty valid.

Just imagine Paris Hilton as Effie and Nicole Richie as one of her preps

Lolololol this whole section of waxing is reminding me to go get my legs waxed 😭😭😭 straight up calling me out here, Suzanne

I like how Katniss says her stylist “apparently has no interest in seeing her until the prep team has addressed obvious problems.” Like you can tell from her narration she was expecting to feel the same was about Cinna that she does about Effie and her prep team.

The “gritty loam that takes off dirt and three layers of skin” is probably just a strong exfoliator 😭😭😭 my girl knows nothing about quality skincare 🤧🤧 someone build a Panem Sephora

She mentioned them waxing her underarms.... girl, did you have hairy armpits before this? Idk why this revelation is new to me

“Grease her down!” Just sounds wrong 😅😅😅😅 I need to stop being annoying omg I’m like a twelve year old

Hmm it’s funny to me that Katniss refers to Octavia as plump. You’d think in a place like the Capitol body image and weight would be very important. Unless it’s like back in the old, old days when being overweight was a sign of wealth. Which would make more sense so this was an unnecessary thought process curtesy of Samantha

Katniss faking a smile and thanking her prep team shows she does know how to play the game and fake it better than she says.

So ... okay, hear me out, I’m not trying to get over the top or make this into something it’s not but ... the whole stylists / Cinna coming into the room and staring at her naked is a little weird. Especially considering Cinna isn’t Lenny Kravitz who’s like a bit older than her but actually like a twenty-something year old dude.

But okay, here’s the thing I was getting at ... Cinna’s one of the best people in this series and you can’t deny that. Even if you find him boring, he’s still one of Katniss’ closest people. Also he’s probably gay. But like ... what about the other stylists? I don’t wanna be that person who makes everything more than it is, but like, this scene just sounds like a perfect opportunity for some Capitol creep to assault a teenager idk I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill just ignore Samantha okay.

That’s nice that he complimented her mama though 🥰🥰🥰

So Katniss calls District Twelve the least desirable district but ... doesn’t District Eleven suck too? Like she also later says District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest but doesn’t she also say Rue is worse off than her and Prim? Make up your mind, Suz.

Cinna claims he asked for District Twelve but did he really get an option? 😅 If it’s his first year and Katniss claims the newbies get them anyway 🤷🏼‍♀️ Samantha is once again, reading too much into this.

Awww, Katniss is thinking about how long it would take for her to assemble this fancy meal at home 🤧🤧🤧 it would take her days and the Capitol just has the necessary resources at their disposal and they just takes it for granted. And yes, I’m aware this is supposed to be calling all us readers out who take so much for granted I know. We’re the Capitol.

“How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by?” It’s honestly so sad but so vital to her character that Katniss has zero hobbies or real free time. Her life is about surviving. She doesn’t get to live or enjoy very much of her time. She dedicates everything to keeping Prim — and her mother — alive, sacrificing everything a teenage girl should be doing. Sacrificing even the things the other girls in her world get to do. She mentions the merchant girls and the Seam girls who are more experienced romantically and sexually and socially than her. Because she doesn’t get to be a kid or innocent or even happy, in order to focus on her and her family’s survival. And the things she does enjoy, like spending time with Gale or dancing with Prim (mentioned in Mockingjay) she downplays in case they’re taken away, because nothing good is secure in her eyes. 🥺🥺🥺

Okay but what did Katniss’ facial expression give away that Cinna knew exactly what she was thinking? Or is she just less emotionless than she and Haymitch both claim? Ironically I think they’re the only people who call her emotionless which can easily be chalked up to their self-hate and terrible self-esteems.

Katniss is so afraid they’re gonna make her be naked for the parade 😭. Honestly though they’re children that’s so creepy that they’re even allowed to make 15/16/17 year olds be naked in a parade. I mean I know they kill kids every year but isn’t there like child pornography laws in Panem? 😭

“You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” Is so foreshadowing 😭😂😅😎 Caesar Flickerman’s voice “Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”

Honestly though Cinna is smart to make Katniss recognizable in the arena by leaving her with simple makeup. I know and the sky is blue we all know this already beating the dead horses until the farmer comes home.

“It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.” It’s true though 😅😅😅😭😭 he was always a rebel. I actually think he may have asked for District Twelve after Katniss volunteered, because he saw the potential in her. Poor Peeta. Baby, I’m rooting you for even if no one else is.

Also I always found it a bit .... curious? That Peeta had a female stylist and Katniss had a male one? Not just because of the required nudity, you’d just think men would do better as a boy’s stylist and a woman would make a better girl’s stylist. So yes, my whole Cinna was interested in District Twelve because Katniss seemed like a good symbol for a rebellion idea seems very plausible.

I know I know I know I read wayyy too much into this stuff sometimes a cigarette 🚬 is just a cigarette 🚬

Katniss being relieved when Peeta shows up 😭😭😭 because even if she won’t admit it and even if she won’t let herself trust him, she still sees him unconsciously and completely against her will as a comfort because they’re in this thing together in a way, even if they’re supposed to try and kill each other

And honestly, it’s such a like... relatable feeling? To feel alone and nervous and uptight and then someone who you recognize — even if you maybe aren’t even friends with but you at least know — shows up and you just instantly feel less alone. I’m totally looking at this through shipper goggles and I’m not even ashamed you all knew who’s blogging you were reading ight? 😂🤣🤷🏼‍♀️

“He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all.” And he’s gonna learn a lot more about it when he falls in love — for real, falls in love, not a childhood infatuation — with the girl on fire. 🥰🥰🥰

But also, I love this particular line on a reread because it totally is an indicator towards their future. Like Peeta knows about fire, he’s experienced with how to handle it, and later on, he becomes the only person who truly comes to understand Katniss, who represents fire, in a way that no one else could ever imagine.

Hmmm, Katniss’ point of view here, talking about how Portia and Peeta’s team seem all giddy and air-headed and it’s only Cinna who seems reserved makes me rethink my previous imaginings of Peeta’s stylist. Maybe she’s just a Capitolite idiot and nothing like Cinna. And my baby got a raw deal here then too. Good thing Haymitch loves him more. Just kidding 😅😅😅

But also I wanna know why Cinna is hesitant to accept congratulations for his and Portia’s idea? Wasn’t he at least lowkey excited about it when he pitched it a page ago?

Their horses are coal black 🐴 😅. I like that they went the whole nine yards with the theme. Nothing but the best for the kids on Death Row.

Aww Katniss asking Peeta what he thinks about being set on fire is so sweet and pure for some reason. I just find their commodore here cute ok

“I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine” this is literally their first friend type of interaction and it’s so pure y’all leave me be I’m emotional for them

🙃 Also lowkey reminds me of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Everyone look away ok I’m sorry

Peeta’s shady/annoyed Haymitch comment and Katniss’ joke at his expense 🤣🤣😂🤣😂😂🥲🥲☺️🥲🥲 they’re bonding it’s so presh

“And suddenly we're both laughing.” I hope they laugh a lot together post-canon 🥲🥲🥲. If they can make the other laugh during their terrible circumstances, then they can make the other laugh anywhere. 🤧 Except in Thirteen because he’s hijacked and she’s certifiable and they’re both so used and abused and 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I have to say, Suzanne Collins really builds up a lot for certain events and then just like grazes over the actual action of said event? Like she builds towards the tribute parade but then kind of rushes through off the actual event itself? It’s a common theme in her writing. And I don’t like it at all ngl.

Oh wait she doesn’t actually rush the parade events the paragraph before just looked like she was about to I jumped the gun 🤣😂🤭 but what I said is still completely true for many events in these books sorry not sorry

I’m definitely reading too much into it but the fact that District One — the favorite of the Capitol — gets snow white horses and District Twelve gets coal black horsies kind of ... seems to imply something .... 🤭

Cinna just lets out a sigh of relief “it worked” like ... way to fill your tributes with hope, dude. “Yeah, you’re totally safe, don’t be scared-OH THANK GOD THAT WORKED I wasn’t actually sure you wouldn’t blow up.” But actually this answers my previous inquiry about why he seemed hesitant I guess he wasn’t even sure this wouldn’t burn them up that’s nice 🤭🙃

It’s a literal trial by fire *cue drum hit* 🥁 aww, I just cracked myself up 😭

“Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" This is caught halfway between being very Capitol-y and very father-brotherly and idk which way to take it but it’s kind of cute 🤭

“For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling.” This is such a significant line because Katniss isn’t saying Peeta is technically good looking (like when Haymitch said they were decently attractive) or someone else thinks he’s good looking (i.e Gale, her mother and lowkey Finnick) but she’s saying she herself thinks he’s attractive. Girl, your crush is showing.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta.” I’m sure Cinna actually did say that but this just seems like a very good opportunity for Peeta to hold the hand of the girl he has a massive crush on. 😭😭😭

Okay Cinna gave a thumbs up so he actually was saying that but can you imagine Peeta’s excitement right now?

I mean, yeahhhh, there’s the certain death looming over him too but like live in the moment, babe. 🥰😘🤗👌🏻

I like that Katniss says the crowd is at first like 😳😳😳 before they start cheering like they’re thinking “what are these backwoods, hillbilly kids doing this year?”

“At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces” okay they both have to be pretty naturally attractive people objectively, because you illuminate my face without much makeup and no one is gonna be cheering.

“Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand.” I wonder what the true difference is for Katniss between Cinna and Effie saying this to her? Maybe it’s that Effie is just outright mean to her sometimes whereas Cinna shows her nothing but kindness from the start and expresses sympathy and understanding? It’s probably that he’s already earning her trust versus Effie who’s just cruel I’m not over her comments on the train ok

“I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock.” Right from the start, Katniss refers to Peeta as solid and steady. Idk, I feel like this is something that the movies really misses along the way. Katniss wasn’t always strong or confident at all and Peeta, at least publicly, exuded those qualities pretty well. Samantha’s complaining again ™️ 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

Also this is just outright foreshadowing how Peeta will eventually become her rock. Or that he will be soon painted a rock ... pick and choose which way you wanna go with this. 🤷🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️😅🤣

“As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd.” Okay, see I feel like Peeta really gives Katniss confidence in herself. If he’d been there in District Thirteen and they’d done propos together, she probably would have been a thousand times better.

But also this makes me think Katniss actually has it in her to be a charismatic, confident, alluring celebrity. She just chooses not to. 🤗🤗🤗

But this also reminds me of “She has no idea the effect she can have” okay imma move on and stop focusing on every little detail

I say that every chapter 🤧😅

“The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement.” Say whatever you want, Katniss is still such a girl underneath it all. She gets excited over people liking her and cheering her on. And I know it’s because it increases her chances of getting sponsors but still

Honestly Peeta trying to showcase Katniss and let her take the spotlight is so selfless and indicative of his ultimate plan to help her win but also ... I can see how Katniss would believe it’s too good to be true and he’s messing with her. That he’s just playing the game to earn her trust, get her guard down and manipulate her later.

See, Peeta is actually framed at the start like the typical, standard YA love interest turned villain. In majority of YA books, at this point the boy is kind and sweet and helpful to the girl until she trusts him completely and then he turns on her and uses everything she gave him to destroy her. But the difference is, Katniss refuses to truly trust him and she is guessing his game incorrectly at every step. And then it’s revealed that it was never a game and he truly isn’t messing with her and everything he’s done that’s seem too good to be true and not even remotely plausible has actually been genuine and heartfelt and that, my friends, is why Peeta is above all other YA love interests. Because Everlark is actually the foil to many of the cliches. That was a long speech over some incoherent thoughts I’m so sorry if you suffered through that.

“It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it.” Awww he is her rock 😭🤧🥺

"No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." Okay this part is so cute and so blatantly setting Peeta up as her main love interest omg 😅 this isn’t the least bit subtle or disguised. But first off, the fact that Katniss is also Peeta’s stability here too 😭😭😭 and second of all, she takes time to notice his blue eyes against the firelight? She was attracted to him from the very start, y’all. That’s indisputable. 👌🏻😎🤧

“It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other.” I agree with you, baby, it’s not fair at all. But you two take care of that situation nicely. Or not. Y’all do start a dang war. 🤭🤭🙃🙃

It’s rather ... ironic that it’s District Twelve’s chariot of them all that is pulled up and stopped directly in front of President Snow’s mansion. I know it’s a book, certain details like this are definitively contrived, I know get over it. 🤦🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

So uh. Snow is a small thin man? Why do I suddenly imagine Danny Devito as Snow 😅😅😅😅🤣🤣🤣🤣 y’all know he’d kill the role

“The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering.” Okay, this is such a great line and it’s so significant to the rest of the series? The fact that Katniss — and Peeta, let’s not forget our boy — became symbols of the revolution. Like this line is deep if you think about it. The worse things in Panem got, the more the civilians looked towards Katniss and Peeta for hope 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰

Omg now after Songbirds and Snakes, we know the national anthem. I’m sorry, babies, that you have to endure that I’ll get you out of there 🙉🙉🙉

I feel like in part, the Capitol camera crew — Cressida, Pollux .... Pollux’s brother... is that you here???? — put so much attention on District Twelve because it would create some resentment and competition between them and the careers 🤭🤗

“I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all.” Insert Gretchen Wieners “I can’t help that I’m popular!” 😅😅😅😅😅

“I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.” — they were hanging on so tight 😭😭😭😭

“Thanks for keeping hold of me.” He’s so sweet ☺️☺️☺️ I love him even if he’s kind of an idiot sometimes but so is Katniss so let’s not point fingers

“I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. [...] And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness” Omg I know Katniss views this as him trying to manipulate her but the fact that he’s actually just admitting the way he’s felt for years is so 😭😭😭😭 if only you’d spit it out sooner, Bready

“he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.” She literally has a crush on her fellow tribute and her first line of defense is to decide he out to get her for making her feel this way 🤣😭🙃

“The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.” The more my crush grows, the more deadly he becomes. I know I’m reading this with shipper goggles but guess what? I’m unashamed. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ who feels guilty for reading this book with an Everlark bias not this girl right here 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.” Okay first off, she says cheek here but according to a chapter ago, she claimed the mark was on his jaw... so in other words, she’s incredibly short. If a medium height guy has a bruise on his jaw and she has to stand on her tip toe to reach it... well... hashtag LittleKatniss

And second off.... can you even imagine how Peeta must feel. He genuinely complimented her here, the girl he has had a crush on forever, and she responds by kissing his cheek. He was probably really happy at this moment. And also this probably played further into his buying into her false display in the arena. That here we have her clutching his hand, smiling and laughing with him and kissing his cheek. Idk what I was trying to say necessarily but I made myself sad wow way to go me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🤧🤧🤧

Anyways! Those are my very over the top and too detailed thoughts! Hope you enjoyed if you read this! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳😎😎😎😎😎😎😎🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[captainseaweedbrains]

Happy Birthday, Peeta

I rewrote a fluff prompt I got ages ago and thought I’d post it again. Enjoy!

Post-Mockingjay, during the time where they grew back together.

Can also be found on Ao3

His birthday was coming up and Katniss wanted to do something special for Peeta, something homemade.

"He does so much for me," she told Haymitch while they nibbled on the rye bread Peeta had left them for lunch. "I want to return the favor. He deserves it." And Peeta did deserve it. After these rough few months of trying to repair themselves and figure out what they were, she wanted something normal, something happy. Or as happy as they could possibly reach.

"I'm just not very good at gift giving," she confessed, picking at the bread. 

Haymitch ripped another piece off the loaf and shoved it into his mouth. "I don't know what it is with you two and owing each other, but he's not expecting a parade, sweetheart." Katniss squirmed in her seat at the thought of being paraded in front of a crowd again. "Just do something any normal girlfriend would do."

"We're not dating," she quickly insisted. "We're just...us." 

"Fine. Whatever. Make the boy dinner and, I don't know, get him paper or something to draw on. He should be happy with that." 

The idea did sound good, and Peeta always made dinner. A birthday dinner would give him a night off, let him relax. Yes, a surprise dinner would definitely be a good gift for him. She'd make his favorite meal, maybe steal a bottle of Haymitch's finest to lighten the mood. It was perfect. 

The only problem was she didn't know his favorite meal. At least something she could make. Katniss tried to think back to every meal they'd ever had together, but her own mind had been so transfixed on her plate she'd never noticed what Peeta ate. 

She would just have to find out before his birthday. 

Peeta was pouring vegetable soup into her bowl for dinner when she decided to ask. "You make soup a lot," Katniss observed, waiting for him to sit before lightly blowing on her meal.

"Can't go wrong with it," he smiled.

As expected, the soup tasted wonderful, with hints of spices Peeta kept to himself, saying it was a family secret. She tapped the spoon on the side of her bowl and sighed, wondering how to go about asking him without making it too obvious what she planned to do.

"Is something the matter?" His eyebrows were scrunched together in concern, his hand gripping hard on his spoon. Katniss patted his hand and told him she was fine. 

"I'm just thinking about the soup," is all she said, taking another timid sip.

"Oh."

The dining room grew quiet, the only sounds were the scrapes of their spoons against bowls and Buttercup begging for scraps at Peeta's feet. It was typically how dinner went for them, but Katniss didn't want to chicken out about this. She wanted to make sure what she was making Peeta would be something he'd like.

"You know, when I..." A lump formed in her throat at the thought of her family. She cleared her throat and started again. "When I was little, my father used to make this dandelion salad and my mother had this special dressing she'd pour on top. It was really simple, nothing like...like the Capitol food, but I'd always get excited whenever I'd see him walking back with a bag full of dandelions. It was my favorite meal."

It was too much, too obvious, and she shoved a spoonful of soup in her mouth to avoid blurting out anything that would trigger any emotional episode. Peeta wasn't stupid, and he always figured out whatever she was planning because he was perceptive and good at reading people, and Katniss was lucky if she could spit out a sentence every once in awhile. 

He didn't seem to notice, empathetically smiling at her, like he always did whenever something from their past was mentioned. He understood how much it hurt to talk about the dead and the hopeless, and she was so thankful for that. Another reminder why Peeta deserved a special birthday dinner. 

"I could call your mom for the dressing recipe. We could make it together." 

"Yes," Katniss said slowly, "we could make it together. So now you know what mine was. Um, so what was your favorite meal?" 

His eyes gleamed over in thought as he leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. It wasn't often they talked about trivial things like favorite childhood foods, but it wasn't on the list of triggers Dr. Aurelius had given and that was all Katniss was concerned with as she watched his face carefully. Just because it wasn't on the list didn't mean Peeta would react lightly to topics of his family. His episodes were sparse, but it was always best to be safe.

"It sounds silly," Peeta chuckled, pulling her out of her worry, "but I loved when my dad would make fresh bread for dinner." It wasn't the answer she expected from the baker's son and her face must have shown her surprise. "I've told you we always got stuck with the stale bread—the bread no one wanted," he explained, "but on special occasions, Dad would make a fresh loaf of bread for us. Sometimes add in raisins, if we were really lucky. It was really rare, but I remember jumping up and down whenever I'd smell bread baking in our apartment's kitchen." He sheepishly smiled and looked down at his bowl of soup. "It's stupid, I know, Katniss, but it is what it is." 

"I don't think it's stupid," she comforted, taking his hand in hers. "I...I think it's sweet, Peeta. I'm glad those memories aren’t—aren't gone." His hand squeezed hers back in response and they resumed eating in silence.

Baking bread was a lot harder than Peeta made it out to be. 

It was ridiculous, really. She'd made bread plenty of times with the tesserae grains her family received. But everything seemed simple back then—her mother and sister, their tiny, dilapidated house in the Seam. Even the bread was simple, but nothing made sense any more. Not even the stupid, complicated bread recipe.

She followed every step closely. Double-checking just to be safe.

She put in every ingredient with care, like she’s seen Peeta do a thousand times and more.

But when it came time to pound out the dough, the whole project went awry. Images of Snow and Coin and Plutarch consumed her thoughts as she pounded the soft, malleable dough. Their faces smirking, toying with her, wanting. Her hands grew rougher with the dough, feeling used and spit out. They used her. Used them. Discarding them like unwanted waste when their purpose was done. And Prim. Prim. Prim. Prim. Sweet, little Prim. 

Her vision went black. Her chest heavy, lungs filling with smoke from the bombs. The bombs that killed little Prim.

Prim Prim Prim Prim

A sharp pain in her hand snapped her back to the kitchen. She was home, safe. Not the Capitol or the arena. Home. The pale dough was smeared red with her blood, her knuckles bruised and battered.

My name is Katniss Everdeen, she began her list, taking deep breaths in, eyes closed. I am at my house. I am safe. I am making bread. Today is Peeta’s birthday. I am making Peeta's favorite bread. I want to make him happy. Today is a Peeta’s birthday.

Her heartbeat slows. She cleans her hands, wrapping them in gauze, before pulling out the ingredients to start once more.

She double-checked the steps closely, pouring the ingredients into the bowl with care, just like Peeta.

Bread should not be this complicated.

The bread was almost finished baking when the grandfather clock tolled the hour, telling her Peeta would be home any minute. Katniss sat on the floor, face pressed against the oven window, still covered in flour, and watched the loaf continue to bake. Her face was tear stained and puffy, her knuckles still ached after all these hours, but part of her felt proud for sticking it out and finishing the bread for Peeta, instead of running to her bed or closet. It was definitely an improvement from months ago. 

The front door opened, startling her from her bread watch, and Katniss scrambled to her feet and patted some of the flour off her pants.  

"Happy birthday!" she cheered when Peeta stepped into the kitchen. 

His face broke out into a smile and laughed, looking around the flour covered kitchen. "I see you've been busy." He ran a finger across the countertop and rubbed the flour between his finger and thumb. “Flour? Do I smell bread?” 

"I made dinner. Your favorite meal." 

She couldn't help but laugh along when he asked in surprise, "You did?" 

"For your birthday,” she explained, taking his coat and tossing it aside. She pulled out a chair for him and told him to sit as she went and got him a drink. “You always do the cooking, but not on your birthday. We’re making birthdays special now. And I wanted to make your favorite meal because I thought it’d—you know, make you happy.”

His hand found hers, his thumb lightly tracing her bandage. Her breath stilled, unsure if he’d ask about it and ruin the happiness she felt stirring in her chest, seeing him happy, like her Peeta. But his smile grew, his blue blue eyes warming, causing her smile to grow until they both looked like deranged fools. The aroma of baked bread filled the small kitchen, making their stomachs growl.

“It’s perfect, Katniss. Really.” She shrugged like it meant nothing, but her stomach fluttered more when his hand didn’t let go of hers, and she told him the bread should be ready any minute.

The bread wasn’t burnt, like a certain loaf all those years ago, and it wasn’t perfect, like the loaves he made, but Peeta proclaimed it was the best bread he’d ever had.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” Katniss shyly told him again, blushing at his compliment. “After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you for making this a memorable birthday, Katniss.” The earnestness in his voice proved he meant every word and it was then that she felt that familiar stirring, deep inside her. It felt warm and full and without even thinking about if this would set them back, she kissed him. Soft on the lips.

“Happy birthday, Peeta,” she whispered and laughed when he quickly pulled her closer for another.

[cyanidesouffle]

Me nitpicking Imagine me

CW: Dub-con. If you read the book you know what I’m going to point out.

I didn't go into this book with high expectations. What I did want was more Anderson and Warner angst. Because I am a sucker for that stuff. And you do get that, so I can say I'm way happier with Imagine me than Ignite me.

That is not to say that Imagine me doesn't have it's issues. This is mainly going to be a long list of me nitpicking stuff.

Fundamental things I want to get out of the way:

So before I even begin talking about Imagine me I just want to say: I think it would have been way better if the last novella had been from James's POV. James being kidnapped, Adam giving himself up to protect him, being told he is Warner's brother. I think that would have made a great few chapters compared to Kenji sulking and pining after Nazeera. Reveal me just confirmed my headcanon that Adam and James were still in Sector 45. But it feels like nothing in Reveal me sticks. Kenji having bad side effects after being drugged? It doesn't last for longer than two chapters. Anderson being back in sector 45? Yeah, he goes back to Oceania after crashing the Sanctuary. Reveal me is (imo) better than Shadow me, but I think we all can agree than neither of them are as good as Destroy me. Adding James to the male POVs would have been a cool change. Get to know him better. Give Adam one last chance at being appreciated by the fandom.

Now to Imagine me. I think it's WAY too similar to Defy me, plotwise. Think about it: Juliette is stuck in Oceania, except she's now hanging out with Anderson instead of Evie. Kenji and Nazeera, and now Warner, have to go get her back. They do and kill some Supreme Commanders on the way. The end. It feels very… lazy for the final book in a series.

"Big" plot points I keep questioning:

I'm going to say it again: Anderson going to Sector 45 to Sanctuary and back to Oceania again. I guess he wanted to go pick up Adam and James, but it seemed like such a big deal at the end of Reveal me; it sounded like the final showdown was taking place in sector 45. But nope. He goes back to Oceania again. It just felt pointless to tease us like that.

Can't we be real? In every scene between Anderson and Juliette I was expecting him to tell her to take her clothes off. And then rape her. Robo Juliette probably wouldn't have seen it as rape; but it would be rape. Especially when she woke up IN HIS BEDROOM! (Am I a pervert for anticipating it? Probably. (And now there’s at least one fic about it so yeah, not just me))

On that note: Anderson's drawer containing either his whip, or a BDSM kit. Or both I guess. You can't change my mind :9

And I also thought it was funny when he wasn't into Juliette finding him attractive.

The supreme kids not being utilized, again. I thought it was weird how they were shoehorned into Restore me. Then I thought it was strange that only Nazeera showed up in Defy me. Stephan, Haider and Nazeera team up with the gang in Imagine me, which is an improvement. But the south American twins and Lena? They were just there. In tanks (which is never explained!). Let them distract the parents or something. Anything!

The supposed climax of the book. Robo Juliette is defeated/turned back to normal immediately. Warner talks to her. Then they hug. Done. Predictable. Boring.

How are we supposed to take Robo Juliette seriously when everything is undone like *snaps* that?

Hunger games spoiler I guess:

I can't help but compare it to Mockingjay, Peeta tried to kill Katniss, what was it?, three times? And he's not perfectly turned back to normal at the end. They continue to have issues. But they fight through it, because they love each other. You, as the reader, understand how much they love each other. The reader understands how much work they are putting in, and you appreciate it.

End of Hunger games spoiler

My suggestion is that there would have been a confrontation earlier, and they fail to bring her back. Maybe Juliette could have killed someone, I suggest Castle, and everyone would be way more freaked out. Here they would talk about maybe having to kill Juliette. Then we would have a larger confrontation at the end, where Warner actually managed to snap her out of it. I would have been able to appreciate the effort they put in more that way.

Medium things:

Mafi making Kenji influenced by stuff but not really. Kenji is said to be super drugged at the beginning of Imagine me. Then it goes away. Why did she make him unconscious because of drug side effects? To make him unable to talk to Juliette? Then he's tipsy. Half an hour later Anderson attacks. Kenji is supposedly STILL TIPSY when he's running around the battlefield. Can you tell he's tipsy during the battle? Not until it's already over. Why did Madi make Kenji drunk? So he would have an easier time to talk to Nazeera? But then he doesn't really? Why put these status effects on Kenji when they don't do anything?!

My friend suggested that: I think the tea was supposed to be played as a joke. My response to that is: Does Mafi think making your friends intoxicated with laced tea without their consent is funny? That's not funny. Ever.

Kenji not making a Tangle reference when Warner's asks Anderson to let him take Juliette's place. #WarnerIsBestRapunzel.

On that note: Can Anderson make up his mind about whether he wants to kill Aaron or not? In Defy me he was ready to let Warner know about operation synthesis, but Ibrahim stopped him. But he seems to have given that up completely by Imagine me.

My friend pointed out it might be to underline how erratic he is. But I'm like: Why spend the time making Anderson more human with his tattoo, childhood trauma and protecting Juliette, and NOT have him try to get Warner back one last time? "Juliette, hit him I'm the back of the head. Kill the other one."

((Maybe it's that I've written too many fics with Anderson acting like an actual father…))

Or he wanted Aaron to be killed by Juliette, the one he's in love with, because it would fulfill the whole "Feelings will kill you", lesson Anderson has going on. Yeah, that would make sense now that I think about it...

The scorpion girl didn't contribute to anything. It was pointless drama and killing. Kenji is the one to kill her, but again it doesn't last. Kenji doesn't walk around thinking about how awful he is for killing someone. He just brushed it off and continues with going to rescue Juliette.

I like how people don't know whether to call her Juliette or Ella.

I like how Nouria gets a lot of screen time.

Now to Things probably only I care about:

We never find out the name of Adam's mom.

Seeing no interactions between James and Anderson. Again, I would have loved a novella from James' POV.

Seeing no interactions between Anderson and Adam. I'm more upset about this one. I wasn't that surprised to be honest that Adam made a deal with Anderson. I was pleasantly surprised because I actually had a fic idea about it a while back. After the flashback with Adam in the aviary I had a tiny whimey hope that Adam would turn out to be a bad guy (because if Anderson can come back from the dead then anything is possible). I thought Adam was the reason they have all the blue thingie magingies, cuz Adam's blue and Adam turn off people's powers. He wasn't evil though. Instead he just laid on a table. I was right about his powers being used to kill Anderson though, so I guess that's nice.

And it's also nice that Mafi remembered to explain Adam's tattoo.

I wanted to know what Anderson's tattoo was. Wild guess is that it's just a shape reminiscent of a whip.

I like Warner's ring being back. I thought it would have been really sweet if he had used it as an engagement ring, but at least it's here.

No one cares about Delalieu. Kenji mentions him by name once. Once. Warner doesn't even mention him in the epilogue. DELALIEU WOULD HAVE LOVED TO BE ON THAT WEDDING! *cries*

[hockeysweetheart]

So This post will be about the realitonship Between  Peeta And Katniss this will be a long one  PART 1... Catching Fire and Mockingjay will be in another post

Peeta Mellark! Oh, no, I think. Not him. Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to its owner. Peeta Mellark.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn't matter. Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. We don't speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He's probably forgotten it. But I haven't and I know I never will. It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for school, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one. On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope. I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck. All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain. There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life. By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions. We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere if I'm trying to slit his throat.  

Can I just say How much Peeta must be like Oh my god yes I am with the  girl I love. But how will I tell that when we are trying to kill each other 

I have misjudged him. I think of his actions since the reaping began. The friendly squeeze of my hand. His father showing up with the cookies and promising to feed Prim. did Peeta put him up to that? His tears at the station. Volunteering to wash Haymitch but then challenging him this morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed. And now the waving at the window, already trying to win the crowd. 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.

"What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city.  

IS CINNA A Matchmaker  and The others because shit I be dammed. 

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.  

Just you wait soon you’ll see  What Peeta’s Plan will be. 

Then Peeta totally covers for her... and They go talk on the rooftop about it and Peeta does... 

Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." He's asking for an explanation, and I'm tempted to give him one. We both know he covered for me. So here I am in his debt again. If I tell him the truth about the girl, somehow that might even things up. How can it hurt really? Even if he repeated the story, it couldn't do me much harm. It was just something I witnessed. And he lied as much as I did about Delly Cartwright. I realize I do want to talk to someone about the girl. Someone who might be able to help me figure out her story.

  Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right? "They were from here?" he asks, and he secures a button at my neck.  ( UMM SURE “ friends”  do that Katniss... 

"It's getting chilly. We better go in," he says. Inside the dome, it's warm and bright. His tone is conversational. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" "Yes. Do you know him?" I ask. "Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other," he says. "No, we're not related," I say. Peeta nods, unreadable. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?" "Yes," I say, observing him carefully. "So did your father. He brought me cookies." Peeta raises his eyebrows as if this is news. But after watching him lie so smoothly, I don't give this much weight. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta's house gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out of the room. "He knew your mother when they were kids," says Peeta. Another surprise. But probably true. "Oh, yes. She grew up in town," I say. It seems impolite to say she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread. We're at my door. I give back his jacket. "See you in the morning then."   

Okay Peeta I see what your doing...  Seeing if anything Is going on between Katniss and Gale... I totally almost missed this. 

When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the table. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" I ask. "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. I exchange a look with Peeta. "I don't have any secret skills," he says. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I never thought about Peeta eating the squirrels I shot. Somehow I always pictured the baker quietly going off and frying them up for himself. Not out of greed. But because town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse. "You can coach us together," I tell Haymitch. Peeta nods. "All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch. "I can't do anything," says Peeta. "Unless you count baking bread." "Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch. "Not really. But I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow." "And you're good?" asks Haymitch. I have to think about it. I've been putting food on the table for four years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father was, but he'd had more practice. I've better aim than Gale, but I've had more practice. He's a genius with traps and snares. "I'm all right," I say. "She's excellent," says Peeta. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." This assessment of my skills from Peeta takes me totally by surprise. First, that he ever noticed. Second, that he's talking me up. "What are you doing?" I ask him suspiciously. "What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," says Peeta. I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "Tell him that. That's not nothing." "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," he shoots back. "He can wrestle," I tell Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." "What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" says Peeta in disgust. "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I can hear my voice rising in anger. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" bursts out Peeta. "Oh, she meant you," I say with a wave of dismissal. "She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is," says Peeta. That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta's eyes and know he isn't lying. Suddenly I'm behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I sound eleven years old when I speak. "But only because someone helped me." Peeta's eyes flicker down to the roll in my hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." "No more than you," I say. Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." He runs his fingernail along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me. What on earth does he mean? People help me? When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with, things changed. I'm a tough trader. Or am I? What effect do I have? That I'm weak and needy? Is he suggesting that I got good deals because people pitied me? I try to think if this is true. Perhaps some of the merchants were a little generous in their trades, but I always attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides, my game is first-class. No one pitied me!

I glower at the roll sure he meant to insult me. After about a minute of this, Haymitch says, "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?" "I know a few basic snares," I mutter. "That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch. Peeta and I nod. "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training." I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam. I sit on the bed, hating Haymitch, hating Peeta, hating myself for mentioning that day long ago in the rain. It's such a joke! Peeta and I going along pretending to be friends! Talking up each other's strengths, insisting the other take credit for their abilities. Because, in fact, at some point, we're going to have to knock it off and accept we're bitter adversaries. Which I'd be prepared to do right now if it wasn't for Haymitch's stupid instruction that we stick together in training. It's my own fault, I guess, for telling him he didn't have to coach us separately. But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? but a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

 OH MY GOD someone stop me before the whole freaking book is on this 

Okay I am skipping the training the Katniss shot an arrow at the gamemakers scored 11 bla bla read that in the book  and to Peeta asking to train alone. 

The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one's talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" "That's right," says Haymitch. "You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and cat at the same time," I say. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. "What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember. Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there would have had to been trust first. Between Peeta and me. And trust has not been part of the agreement. We're tributes. But the boy who risked a beating to give me bread, the one who steadied me in the chariot, who covered for me with the redheaded Avox girl, who insisted Haymitch know my hunting skills. was there some part of me that couldn't help trusting him? On the other hand, I'm relieved that we can stop the pretense of being friends. Obviously, whatever thin connection we'd foolishly formed has been severed. And high time, too. The Games begin in two days, and trust will only be a weakness. Whatever triggered Peeta's decision  -  and I suspect it had to do with my outperforming him in training  -  I should be nothing but grateful for it. Maybe he's finally accepted the fact that the sooner we openly acknowledge that we are enemies, the better.  

Ha no sweety he has a bigger plan he doesn’t want you to know yet. 

I'm still in a daze for the first part of Peeta's interview. He has the audience from the get-go, though; I can hear them laughing, shouting out. He plays up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. Then has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers. "Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" he asks Caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house. I'm coming back into focus when Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home. Peeta hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar. Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they can relate to. "She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. "I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar encouragingly. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning. won't help in my case," says Peeta. "Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because. because. she came here with me."

For a moment, the cameras hold on Peeta's downcast eyes as what he says sinks in. Then I can see my face, mouth half open in a mix of surprise and protest, magnified on every screen as I realize, Me! He means me! I press my lips together and stare at the floor, hoping this will conceal the emotions starting to boil up inside of me. "Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and there's a real edge of pain in his voice. The crowd is murmuring in agreement, a few have even given agonized cries. "It's not good," agrees Peeta. "Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," says Caesar. "She didn't know?" Peeta shakes his head. "Not until now." I allow my eyes to flicker up to the screen long enough to see that the blush on my cheeks is unmistakable. "Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience. The crowd screams assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours." The roar of the crowd is deafening. Peeta has absolutely wiped the rest of us off the map with his declaration of love for me. When the audience finally settles down, he chokes out a quiet "Thank you" and returns to his seat. We stand for the anthem. I have to raise my head out of the required respect and cannot avoid seeing that every screen is now dominated by a shot of Peeta and me, separated by a few feet that in the viewers' heads can never be breached. Poor tragic us.  

Okay How Katniss shows her love is this 

After the anthem, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I make sure to veer into a car that does not contain Peeta. The crowd slows our entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, so we have only each other for company. No one speaks. My elevator stops to deposit four tributes before I am alone and then find the doors opening on the twelfth floor. Peeta has only just stepped from his car when I slam my palms into his chest. He loses his balance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. The urn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Peeta lands in the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands. "What was that for?" he says, aghast. "You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" I shout at him. Now the elevators open and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia. "What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice. "Did you fall?" "After she shoved me," says Peeta as Effie and Cinna help him up. Haymitch turns on me. "Shoved him?" "This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" I answer. "It was my idea," says Peeta, wincing as he pulls spikes of pottery from his palms. "Haymitch just helped me with it." "Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" I say. "You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own." "He made me look weak!" I say. "He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch. "But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I say. Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" The smell of wine on his breath makes me sick. I shove his hands off my shoulders and step away, trying to clear my head. Cinna comes over and puts his arm around me. "He's right, Katniss." I don't know what to think. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid." "No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia. "She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, tossing away a bloody piece of the urn. My cheeks burn again at the thought of Gale. "I don't have a boyfriend." "Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?" The words are sinking in. My anger fading. I'm torn now between thinking I've been used and thinking I've been given an edge. Haymitch is right. I survived my interview, but what was I really? A silly girl spinning in a sparkling, dress. Giggling. The only moment of any substance I hail was when I talked about Prim. Compare that with Thresh, his silent, deadly power, and I'm forgettable. Silly and sparkly and forgettable. No, not entirely forgettable, I have my eleven in training. But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers. And if the audience really thinks we're in love. I remember how strongly they responded to his confession. Star-crossed lovers. Haymitch is right, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol. Suddenly I'm worried that I didn't react properly. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" I ask. "I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush." They others chime in, agreeing. "You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," says Haymitch. I'm embarrassed about my reaction. I force myself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you." "Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "Although it's technically illegal." "Are your hands okay?" I ask. "They'll be all right," he says.  

Okay I have to admit that was kinda sweet  but Honey Pushing him  yeah hes gonna love that.  

There  Nerves of the Hunger Games talk is kinda cute I will admit  but Then its like wtf 

My feet move soundlessly across the tiles. I'm only yard behind him when I say, "You should be getting some sleep." He starts but doesn't turn. I can see him give his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." I come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail. "Are they in costumes?" "Who could tell?" Peeta answers. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?" "Couldn't turn my mind off," I say. "Thinking about your family?" he asks. "No," I admit a bit guiltily. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." In the light from below, I can see his face now, the awkward way he holds his bandaged hands. "I really am sorry about your hands." "It doesn't matter, Katniss," he says. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." "That's no way to be thinking," I say. "Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and. " He hesitates. "And what?" I say. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only. I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not." I bite my lip feeling inferior. While I've been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" I ask. "No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to. to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta. "But you're not," I say. "None of us are. That's how the Games work." "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?" "A little. Only. no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" I say. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" he asks angrily. He's locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer. I take a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." It's like a slap in the face. His use of Haymitch's patronizing endearment. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve." "Wouldn't surprise me if you do," says Peeta. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," I say. Then I turn and leave the roof. I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of a doze, imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Peeta Mellark in the morning. Peeta Mellark. We will see how high and mighty he is when he's faced with life and death. He'll probably turn into one of those raging beast tributes, the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them. 

Okay The 74th Games ( shit this is long) 

   When suddenly I notice Peeta, he's about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance, still I can tell he's looking at me and I think he might be shaking his head. But the sun's in my eyes, and while I'm puzzling over it the gong rings out. And I've missed it! I've missed my chance! Because those extra couple of seconds I've lost by not being ready are enough to change my mind about going in. My feet shuffle for a moment, confused at the direction my brain wants to take and then I lunge forward, scoop up the sheet of plastic and a loaf of bread. The pickings are so small and I'm so angry with Peeta for distracting me that I sprint in twenty yards to retrieve a bright orange backpack that could hold anything because I can't stand leaving with virtually nothing. 

  An argument breaks out until one tribute silences the others. "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" I almost fall out of the tree. The voice belongs to Peeta 

Thank goodness, I had the foresight to belt myself in. I've rolled sideways off the fork and I'm facing the ground, held in place by the belt, one hand, and my feet straddling the pack inside my sleeping bag, braced against the trunk. There must have been some rustling when I tipped sideways, but the Careers have been too caught up in their own argument to catch it. "Go on, then, Lover Boy," says the boy from District 2. "See for yourself." I just get a glimpse of Peeta, lit by a torch, heading back to the girl by the fire. His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait he's limping somewhat. I remember him shaking him his head, telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all along, all along he'd planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had mid him to do. Okay, I can stomach that. Seeing all those supplies was tempting. But this. this other thing. This teaming up with the Career wolf pack to hunt down the rest of us. No one from District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they're the Capitol's lapdogs. Universally, solidly hated by all but those from their own districts. I can imagine the things they're saying about him back home now. And Peeta had the gall to talk to me about disgrace? Obviously, the noble boy on the rooftop was playing just one more game with me. But this will be his last. I will eagerly watch the night skies for signs of his death, if I don't kill him first myself. The Career tributes are silent until he gets out of ear shot, then use hushed voices. "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." Is he? That's news. What a lot of interesting things I'm learning about my friend Peeta today. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." It takes me a moment to register that the "her" they're referring to is me. "Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" "She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke." "Wish we knew how she got that eleven." "Bet you Lover Boy knows." The sound of Peeta returning silences them. "Was she dead?" asks the boy from District 2. "No. But she is now," says Peeta. Just then, the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?" The Career pack sets off at a run just as dawn begins to break, and birdsong fills the air. I remain in my awkward position, muscles trembling with exertion for a while longer, then hoist myself back onto my branch. I need to get down, to get going, but for a moment I lie there, digesting what I've heard. Not only is Peeta with the Careers, he's helping them find me. The simpleminded girl who has to be taken seriously because of her eleven. Because she can use a bow and arrow. Which Peeta knows better than anyone. But he hasn't told them yet. Is he saving that information because he knows it's all that keeps him alive? Is he still pretending to love me for the audience? What is going on in his head? 

  But it's too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I'm helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta's face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side. "What are you still doing here?" he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he's been dipped in dew. "Are you mad?" He's prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. "Get up! Get up!" I rise, but he's still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. "Run!" he screams. "Run!" Behind him, Cato slashes his way through the brush. He's sparkling wet, too, and badly stung under one eye. I catch the gleam of sunlight on his sword and do as Peeta says. Holding tightly to my bow and arrows, banging into trees that appear out of nowhere, tripping and falling as I try to keep my balance. Back past my pool and into unfamiliar woods. The world begins to bend in alarming ways. A butterfly balloons to the size of a house then shatters into a million stars. Trees transform to blood and splash down over my boots. Ants begin to crawl out of the blisters on my hands and I can't shake them free. They're climbing up my arms, my neck. Someone's screaming, a long high pitched scream that never breaks for breath. I have a vague idea it might be me. I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death. Sick and disoriented, I'm able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life. 

  The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name. 

I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there's almost no one left. Peeta, who's been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I've had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other's life now we'd be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute who didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case  -  being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12  -  it's an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors. 

Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued to it, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Peeta! Peeta!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down. My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks. "Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds. "Close your eyes again," I order. He does, and his mouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off." Peeta smiles. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying." "You're not going to die," I tell him firmly. "Says who?" His voice is so ragged. "Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," I tell him. His eyes open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "Did Cato cut you?" I ask. "Left leg. Up high," he answers. "Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say. "Excellent," he says. I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say. "One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway. "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out? "No more rolling?" he asks. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. It's hard to know where to start. He so caked with mud and matted leaves, I can't even see his clothes. If he's wearing clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right? I've got two water bottles and Rue's water skin. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour the third over Peeta's body. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail. "Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. "You must be hungry." "Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That's when I know how sick he is. "Peeta, we need to get some food in you," I insist.

"It'll just come right back up," he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" he asks.

"Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Cato's sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst of all, the smell of festering flesh.

I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the skill nor the courage to face. But there's no one here but me. I try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when handling particularly bad cases.

"Pretty awful, huh?" says Peeta. He's watching me closely.

"So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well."

I've left on Peeta's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg. what on earth can I do for that?

"Why don't we give it some air and then. " I trail off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" says Peeta. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.

"That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Peeta.

"We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance.

"Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?"

I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it.

"Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently.

"I. I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!"

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" he asks.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say.

After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?" he asks.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.

"You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory. "What's he sent you so far?"

"Not a thing," says Peeta. Then there's a pause as it hits him. "Why, did you get something?"

"Burn medicine," I say almost sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite," says Peeta.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," I say.

"Because you're just alike," mutters Peeta. I ignore it though because this really isn't the time for me to be insulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse.

I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this."

But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream. When Peeta's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration.

"Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say.

"I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue.

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him.

"But I  - " he insists.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," he whispers.

I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth.

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!"

And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance.

Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.

"Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night. I automatically look around for a good tree to nest in before I realize that's over. At least for a while. I can't very well leave Peeta unguarded on the ground. I left the scene of his last hiding place on the bank of the stream untouched  -  how could I conceal it?  -  and we're a scant fifty yards downstream. I put on my glasses, place my weapons in readiness, and settle down to keep watch. The temperature drops rapidly and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. It's toasty warm and I snuggle down gratefully until I realize it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic. I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on the fact that by teaming up with him, I've made myself far more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered to the ground, on guard, with a very sick person to take care of. But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I'm just going to have to trust that whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one. When the sky turns rosy, I notice the sheen of sweat on Peeta's lip and discover the fever has broken. He's not back to normal, but it's come down a few degrees. Last night, when I was gathering vines, I came upon a bush of Rue's berries. I strip off the fruit and mash it up in the broth pot with cold water. Peeta's struggling to get up when I reach the cave. "I woke up and you were gone," he says. "I was worried about you." I have to laugh as I ease him back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?" "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night," he says, still serious. "Clove? Which one is that?" I ask. "The girl from District Two. She's still alive, right?" he says. "Yes, there's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface," I say. "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five. How do you feel?" "Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," he says. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag. and you." Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten," I say. We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though. "You didn't sleep," Peeta says. "I'm all right," I say. But the truth is, I'm exhausted. "Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens," he says. I hesitate. "Katniss, you can't stay up forever." He's got a point there. I'll have to sleep eventually. And probably better to do it now when he seems relatively alert and we have daylight on our side. "All right," I say. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me." It's too warm for the sleeping bag now. I smooth it out on the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notice. Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. "Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep. Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Peeta's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive but better rested than I've been in days. "Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," I say. "For what? Nothing's going on here," he says. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot." This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. That's when I notice how dry his lips are. I test his cheek. Hot as a coal stove. He claims he's been drinking, but the containers still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap the leg. My heart drops into my stomach. It's worse, much worse. There's no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see the red streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked, it will kill him for sure. My chewed-up leaves and ointment won't make a dent in it. We'll need strong anti-infection drugs from the Capitol. I can't imagine the cost of such potent medicine. If Haymitch pooled every donation from every sponsor, would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go up in price the longer the Games continue. What buys a full meal on day one buys a cracker on day twelve. And the kind of medicine Peeta needs would have been at a premium from the beginning. "Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," I say in an unsteady voice. "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win," I say. "Yes, that's a good plan," he says. But I feel this is mostly for my benefit. "You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," I say. "Don't light a fire," he says. "It's not worth it."

The sound of the trumpets startles me. I'm on my feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash, not wanting to miss a syllable. It's my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected, he's inviting us to a feast. Well, we're not that hungry and I actually wave his offer away in indifference when he says, "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately." I do need something desperately. Something to heal Peeta's leg. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," says Claudius. There's nothing else, just his words hanging in the air. I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. "No," he says. "You're not risking your life for me." "Who said I was?" I say. "So, you're not going?" he asks. "Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," I say, helping him back to bed. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there." "You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going. He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says. Anger flushes my face. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!" "I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," he says. "You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," I say. "Then I'll drag myself," says Peeta. "You go and I'm going, too." He's just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods. Even if a tribute doesn't find him, something else might. He can't defend himself. I'd probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion will do to him? "What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" I say. He must know that's not an option. That the audience would hate me. And frankly, I would hate myself, too, if I didn't even try. "I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go," he says. We're at something of a stalemate. I know I can't argue him out of this one, so I don't try. I pretend, reluctantly, to go along. "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!" I snap at him. "Agreed. Is it ready?" he asks. "Wait here," I say. The air's gone cold even though the sun's still up. I'm right about the Gamemakers messing with the temperature. I wonder if the thing someone needs desperately is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. And actually doesn't taste too bad. Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don't know what fever does to people. He's like listening to Haymitch before the alcohol has soaked him into incoherence. I give him another dose of fever medicine before he goes off his head completely. As I go down to the stream to wash up, all I can think is that he's going to die if I don't get to that feast. I'll keep him going for a day or two, and then the infection will reach his heart or his brain or his lungs and he'll be gone. And I'll be here all alone. Again. Waiting for the others. I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parachute, even though it floats right by me. Then I spring after it, yanking it from the water, tearing off the silver fabric to retrieve the vial. Haymitch has done it! He's gotten the medicine  -  I don't know how, persuaded some gaggle of romantic fools to sell their jewels  -  and I can save Peeta! It's such a tiny vial though. It must be very strong to cure someone as ill as Peeta. A ripple of doubt runs through me. I uncork the vial and take a deep sniff. My spirits fall at the sickly sweet scent. Just to be sure, I place a drop on the tip of my tongue. There's no question, it's sleep syrup. It's a common medicine in District 12. Cheap, as medicine goes, but very addictive. Almost everyone's had a dose at one time or another. We have some in a bottle at home. My mother gives it to hysterical patients to knock them out to stitch up a bad wound or quiet their minds or just to help someone in pain get through the night. It only takes a little. A vial this size could knock Peeta out for a full day, but what good is that? I'm so furious I'm about to throw Haymitch's last offering into the stream when it hits me. A full day? That's more than I need. I mash up a handful of berries so the taste won't be as noticeable and add some mint leaves for good measure. Then I head back up to the cave. "I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream." Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet." "Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth. "No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?" "Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go. "They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgivable. I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me. It doesn't matter. The rest of Panem can.

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house gently pulls me toward consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware that my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother's, and I'm scared. "Katniss," it says. "Katniss, can you hear me?" My eyes open and the sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mother. I'm in a dim, chilly cave, my bare feet freezing despite the cover, the air tainted with the unmistakable smell of blood. The haggard, pale face of a boy slides into view, and after an initial jolt of alarm, I feel better. "Peeta." "Hey," he says. "Good to see your eyes again." "How long have I been out?" I ask. "Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood," he says. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything." I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily. "You're better," I say. "Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick," he says. "By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone." He doesn't seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I'm just too beat-up and I'll hear about it later when I'm stronger. But for the moment, he's all gentleness. "Did you eat?" I ask. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet," he says. "No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon," I say. "Not too soon, all right?" he says. "You just let me take care of you for a while." I don't really seem to have much choice. Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin. "Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," he says. There's a clap of thunder, and I see lightning electrify the sky through an opening in the rocks. Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head an upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rock above me

The memory of the feast returns full-force and I feel sick. "He did. But he let me go." Then, of course, I have to tell him. About things I've kept to myself because he was too sick to ask and I wasn't ready to relive anyway. Like the explosion and my ear and Rue's dying and the boy from District 1 and the bread. All of which leads to what happened with Thresh and how he was paying off a debt of sorts. "He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" asks Peeta in disbelief. "Yes. I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain," I say. "And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it." "It's like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that," I say. "The bread? What? From when we were kids?" he says. "I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead." "But you didn't know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then," I say. "Why did you, anyway?" "Why? You know why," Peeta says. I give my head a slight, painful shake. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing." "Haymitch?" I ask. "What's he got to do with it?" "Nothing," Peeta says. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" But the thought only upsets me. "I think we would like Thresh. I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve," I say. "Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to," says Peeta grimly. I don't want Cato to kill Thresh at all. I don't want anyone else to die. But this is absolutely not the kind of thing that victors go around saying in the arena. Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears starting to pool in my eyes. Peeta looks at me in concern. "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?" I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss. "I want to go home now," I say. "Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it," lie says. "Okay?" "Okay," I whisper. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch." "I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?" he says. What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite ii brings us? The Games themselves? I don't know, but I'm ion sad and tired to ask. It's evening when Peeta wakes me again. The rain has turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Peeta has placed the broth pot under the worst one and repositioned the plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to sit up without getting too dizzy, and I'm absolutely famished. So is Peeta. It's clear he's been waiting for me to wake up to eat and is eager to get started.

ither that or he's got very generous sponsors," says Peeta. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread." I raise my eyebrows before I remember he doesn't know about the message Haymitch sent us a couple of nights ago. One kiss equals one pot of broth. It's not the sort of thing I can blurt out, either. To say my thoughts aloud would be tipping off the audience that the romance has been fabricated to play on their sympathies and that would result in no food at all. Somehow, believably, I've got to get things back on track. Something simple to start with. I reach out and take his hand. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," I say mischievously. "Yeah, about that," says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. "Don't try something like that again." "Or what?" I ask. "Or. or. " He can't think of anything good. "Just give me a minute." "What's the problem?" I say with a grin. "The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," says Peeta. "I did do the right thing," I say. "No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?" I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who. who worries about. what it would be like if. " I fumble. I'm not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. "If what, Katniss?" he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one's business but mine. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don't get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it's just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta's been distracted. "I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," he says.

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Peeta's not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking. "Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew  -  just like your mother  -  I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast  -  fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer. Peeta wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve." 

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta's voice stops me. "We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then." "You're right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!" I say regretfully. But I don't. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls  -  they even sent us silverware and plates  -  savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. "I want more." "Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving," Peeta says. "Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour." "Maybe not that long," says Peeta. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me. no competition. best thing that ever happened to you. " "I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. "Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing." I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me to keep up the act. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" I ask him. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you," he says. "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," I say. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," he says. That's right. If we win, we'll each get a house in the part of town reserved for Hunger Games' victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most of the others have never been lived in at all. A disturbing thought hits me. "But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" "Ah, that'll be nice," says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games' tales." "I told you, he hates me!" I say, but I can't help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. "Only sometimes. When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," says Peeta. "He's never sober!" I protest. "That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire," says Peeta. "On the other hand, Haymitch. well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." "I thought you said I was his favorite," I say. "He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." I know the audience will enjoy our having fun at Haymitch's expense. He has been around so long, he's practically an old friend to some of them. And after his head-dive off the stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. By this time, they'll have dragged him out of the control room for interviews about us. No telling what sort of lies he's made up. He's at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to be ready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he's holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to keep us alive. It's funny. Haymitch and I don't get along well in person, but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts. Like how I knew I must be close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasn't something to ease Peeta's pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance. He hasn't made much effort to connect with Peeta really. Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl of broth to Peeta, whereas I'll see the strings attached to it. A thought hits me, and I'm amazed the question's taken so long to surface. Maybe it's because I've only recently begun to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity. "How do you think he did it?" "Who? Did what?" Peeta asks. "Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?" I say. Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers. Haymitch is sturdily built, but no physical wonder like Cato or Thresh. He's not particularly handsome. Not in the way that causes sponsors to rain gifts on you. And he's so surly, it's hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him. There's only one way Haymitch could have won, and Peeta says it just as I'm reaching this conclusion myself. "He outsmarted the others," says Peeta. I nod, then let the conversation drop. But secretly I'm wondering if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we just might have the wits to survive. Maybe he wasn't always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. Year after year after year. I realize that if I get out of here, that will become my job. To mentor the girl from District 12. The idea is so repellent, I thrust it from my mind. About half an hour has passed before I decide I have to eat again. Peeta's too hungry himself to put up an argument. While I'm dishing up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky. "There won't be anything to see tonight," I say, far more interested in the stew than the sky. "Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon." "Katniss," Peeta says quietly. "What? Should we split another roll, too?" I ask. "Katniss," he repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore him. "I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," I say. I see Peeta staring at me. "What?" "Thresh is dead," says Peeta. "He can't be," I say. "They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," says Peeta. "Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything," I say. I push him away from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glimpse of Thresh's picture and then he's gone. Just like that. I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me run because of Rue, who died with that spear in her stomach. "You all right?" asks Peeta. I give a noncommittal shrug and cup my elbows in my hands, hugging them close to my body. I have to bury the real pain because who's going to bet on a tribute who keeps sniveling over the deaths of her opponents. Rue was one thing. We were allies. She was so young. But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh's murder. The word pulls me up short. Murder! Thankfully, I didn't say it aloud. That's not going to win me any points in the arena. What I do say is, "It's just. if we didn't win. I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." "Yeah, I know," says Peeta. "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." He nudges a plate of foot into my hands. "Eat. It's still warm." I take a bite of the stew to show I don't really care, but it's like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us." "And he's got supplies again," says Peeta. "He'll be wounded, I bet," I say. "What makes you say that?" Peeta asks. "Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory," I say. "Good," says Peeta. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out." "Oh, she's fine," I say peevishly. I'm still angry she thought of hiding in the Cornucopia and I didn't. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her." "Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," says Peeta. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times." "Me, too," I admit. "But not tonight." We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta's face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I'll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we'll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we've saved each other's lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale's gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

"Not us," I say. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," Peeta says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate to him. "All this?"

"We'll earn it back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my finger. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners."

"Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!"

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I'm laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

He grabs my hand away. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him.

"Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss. 

We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta's face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I'll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we'll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we've saved each other's lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale's gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss

The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg  -  well, you're naturally going to make some noise. But even on the smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. And I mean loud loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him. "What?" he asks. "You've got to move more quietly," I say. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius." "Really?" he says. "Sorry, I didn't know." So, we start up again and he's a tiny bit better, but even with only one working ear, he's making me jump. "Can you take your boots off?" I suggest. "Here?" he asks in disbelief, as if I'd asked him to walk barefoot on hot coals or something. I have to remind myself that he's still not used to the woods, that it's the scary, forbidden place beyond the fences of District 12. I think of Gale, with his velvet tread. It's eerie how little sound he makes, even when the leaves have fallen and it's a challenge to move at all without chasing off the game. I feel certain he's laughing back home. "Yes," I say patiently. "I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter." Like I was making any noise. So we both strip off our boots and socks and, while there's some improvement, I could swear he's making an effort to snap every branch we encounter. Needless to say, although it takes several hours to reach my old camp with Rue, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. As we stop to rest and drink water, I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt, but then he'd be left with only a knife to defend himself against Cato's spears and superior strength. So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion. "Katniss," he says. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game." "Only because your leg's hurt," I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem. "I know," he says. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." "Not if Cato comes and kills you." I tried to say it in a nice way, but it still sounds like I think he's a weakling. Surprisingly, he just laughs. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That's what I want to say, but I can't. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. "What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help." I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Cato is a long way off. I teach him a bird whistle  -  not a melody like Rue's but a simple two-note whistle  -  which we can use to communicate that we're all right. Fortunately, he's good at this. Leaving him with the pack, I head off. I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta's roots, this will be enough for now. As I travel the short distance back, I realize we haven't exchanged signals in a while. When my whistle receives no response, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it. But where is he? "Peeta!" I call out in a panic. "Peeta!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. Fortunately, I pull my bow at the last second and it sticks in an oak trunk to his left. He jumps back, flinging a handful of berries into the foliage. My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" "I found some berries down by the stream," he says, clearly confused by my outburst. "I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?" I snap at him. "I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," he says. He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That's when I feel that I'm trembling. "I thought Cato killed you!" I almost shout. "No, I'm fine." Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Katniss?" I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?" "All right!" he says. "All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" I say. I turn away from him, go to the pack and open a fresh bottle of water, although I still have some in mine. But I'm not ready to forgive him. I notice the food. The rolls and apples are untouched, but someone's definitely picked away part of the cheese. "And you ate without me!" I really don't care, I just want something else to be mad about. "What? No, I didn't," Peeta says. "Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," I say. "I don't know what ate the cheese," Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, "but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?" I would actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapse to the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. I should have known the moment I saw the missing cheese. Peeta has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above." I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's." "What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?" In answer, I hold out the berries.

Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance.

Okay I skipped to the   Mutt Part with Peeta and Katniss ( After Catos down on the ground)  

I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding as badly as ever. All our supplies, our packs, remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts. I have no bandage, nothing to staunch the flow of blood from his calf. Although I'm shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control. Peeta's face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I've seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don't have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It's risky business  -  Peeta may end up losing his leg  -  but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lay down with him. "Don't go to sleep," I tell him. I'm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I'm terrified that if he drifts off he'll never wake again. "Are you cold?" he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It's a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice. "Cato may win this thing yet," I whisper to Peeta. "Don't you believe it," he says, pulling up my hood, but he's shaking harder than I am. The next hours are the worst in my life, which if you think about it, is saying something. The cold would be torture enough, but the real nightmare is listening to Cato, moaning, begging, and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him. After a very short time, I don't care who he is or what he's done, all I want is for his suffering to end. "Why don't they just kill him?" I ask Peeta. "You know why," he says, and pulls me closer to him. And I do. No viewer could turn away from the show now. From the Gamemakers' point of view, this is the final word in entertainment. It goes on and on and on and eventually completely consumes my mind, blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow, erasing everything but the present, which I begin to believe will never change. There will never be anything but cold and fear and the agonized sounds of the boy dying in the horn. Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I'll go completely insane. He's fighting it, probably more for me than for him, and it's hard because unconsciousness would be its own form of escape. But the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can't let him go. I just can't.The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.Finally, I hear him whisper that the sun is rising. I open my eyes and find the stars fading in the pale light of dawn. I can see, too, how bloodless Peeta's face has become. How little time he has left. And I know I have to get him back to the Capitol.Still, no cannon has fired. I press my good ear against the horn and can just make out Cato's voice."I think he's closer now. Katniss, can you shoot him?" Peeta asks.If he's near the mouth, I may be able to take him out. It would be an act of mercy at this point."My last arrow's in your tourniquet," I say."Make it count," says Peeta, unzipping his jacket, letting me loose.So I free the arrow, tying the tourniquet back as tightly as my frozen fingers can manage. I rub my hands together, trying to regain circulation. When I crawl to the lip of the horn and hang over the edge, I feel Peeta's hands grip me for support.It takes a few moments to find Cato in the dim light, in the blood. Then the raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where his mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is please.Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into his skull. Peeta pulls me back up, bow in hand, quiver empty."Did you get him?" he whispers.The cannon fires in answer."Then we won, Katniss," he says hollowly."Hurray for us," I get out, but there's no joy of victory in my voice.

A moment  not matter what I will always Watch

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." There's a small burst of static and then nothing more. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it. "If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt  - Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. "No," he says. "Do it." Peeta limps toward me and thrusts the weapons back in my hands. "I can't, I say. "I won't." "Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," he says. "Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two. "You know I can't," Peeta says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth. "No, you can't kill yourself," I say. I'm on my knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto his wound. "Katniss," he says. "It's what I want." "You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out. "Listen," he says pulling me to my feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around. We both know they have to have a victor. Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country. If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were. My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you  -  the tributes of District Twelve!"  

And we are not done Yet...

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see that while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta's leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious. My fingers are still gripping the back of his jacket so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of black fabric. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room, and a glass door seals between us. I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage. I slump down on the floor, my face against the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, but I place it carefully on the floor, not trusting anything so clean and pretty. Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes, watch a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin. But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch? And now I know. It's because you have no choice. I startle when I catch someone staring at me from only a few inches away and then realize it's my own face reflecting back in the glass. Wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tangled mat. Rabid. Feral. Mad. No wonder everyone is keeping a safe distance from me.

I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight and find them strong and steady. Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch. It's what all of us tributes wore in the arena. I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear to greet my team. I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Peeta. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him. He must be all right or the Avox girl wouldn't have said so. But I need to see him for myself. "Peeta!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness. Effie. I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall  -  Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic. Effie's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were pearls. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice Portia is absent and get a bad feeling. "Where's Portia? Is she with Peeta? He is all right, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out. "He's fine. Only they want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony," says Haymitch. "Oh. That's all," I say. The awful moment of thinking Peeta's dead again passes. "I guess I'd want to see that myself." "Go on with Cinna. He has to get you ready," says Haymitch. It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. The hospital then is far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened, and a handful of guards stand on duty. No one else is there to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind and there's a heavy, tight place in my chest. 

When the elevator doors open, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them, too, although not like I was to see Cinna. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affectionate trio of pets at the end of a particularly difficult day.

Okay I know this part doesn’t really have Peeta in it but It’s super important 

Haymitch's eyes shift around my musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. "But nothing. How about a hug for luck?"

Okay, that's an odd request from Haymitch but, after all, we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. Only, when I put my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing his lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem," says Haymitch.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. "So, what?"

"Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions." Haymitch pulls back and adjusts my hairband. "Got it, sweetheart?" He could be talking about anything now.

"Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?"

"Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there."

"But you think I'm not?" I say, taking the opportunity to straighten a bright red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into.

"Since when does it matter what I think?" says Haymitch. "Better take our places." He leads me to the metal circle. "This is your night, sweetheart. Enjoy it." He kisses me on the forehead and disappears into the gloom.

I tug on my skirt, willing it to be longer, wanting it to cover the knocking in my knees. Then I realize it's pointless. My whole body's shaking like a leaf. Hopefully, it will be put down to excitement. After all, it's my night.

  The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Peeta  -  his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them. Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Peeta and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths. The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead. Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Peeta really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison  -  dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies  -  until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta's name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta's name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion  -  whose head will he place it on?  -  until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's. That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished. Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice. Peeta and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door. "Why can't I talk to him?" I ask. "Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, you're on air at two."

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least. Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I. come in. "Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" "Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say. "Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat. "I'm not good at talking about myself," I say. "Nothing you say will be wrong," he says. And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak. Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. I shake my head.

"I haven't had the chance," says Peeta with a slight shrug.

"It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Peeta.

"He's right," says Caesar. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it."

I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

"Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind. hm?" he says.

I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just. couldn't bear the thought of. being without him."

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," he says.

Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Haymitch. "Okay?" I whisper.

"Perfect," he answers.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us.

The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta's arm around my shoulders feels alien.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There's no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can't find anything to say now that we're alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can't know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I've spent gathering them with Gale.

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

"Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes.

"What's he mean?" Peeta asks me.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out.

"What? What are you talking about?" he says.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say.

"Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

"It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.

I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through?

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Black and blue

(Hayffie after midnight before the third Quarter Quell. Sensual fluffy angst? I’m not sure how else to describe this. 💗)

What’s left after the world takes a mallet to your illusions? When you realize the career you’ve built is a house of cards that you wrote for other people to read. Your words were co-opted as a script, within a game that hurts and never ends. What’s left when at last you understand that your primary function has been to make it all seem pretty? The words, the players, the game — even the hurting.

Tears are left. So you cry until your eyes are sucken and as empty as you feel inside. Your tears touch the ink on the cards that you wrote and live within. The words wash away in streaks of black and blue. The hurt is real. Perhaps it’s the only thing that’s been real all along.

***

Effie couldn’t sleep that night with shattered illusions. She’d replaced her dress with a silk robe, gold in color. Another token. This recognition drew more tears up from the emptiness. Her wig sparkled on its stand, ready for tomorrow. She clung to the notion that tokens could keep them together to the end: she and her victors. With shattered illusions in a dissolving house of cards, there wasn’t much to hold.

She brushed her real hair and tried to remove her makeup with the usual routine. The preceding hours of crying had pulled black and blue from her eyes down to her cheekbones. Those saltwater streaks of hurt were dreadful. Trying to wash them away only made it all worse.

She sat on the edge of the bed and searched her bag for the industrial makeup remover which she used for these kinds of emergencies. This act felt as false as the cards and the script and the game. This was pain that she was trying to cleanse and make pretty. Her own pain.

She lay back on the bed with the found bottle in hand. She didn’t want to use it. Tonight she wanted the hurt. She wanted the ugliness. She’d earned it, and she deserved a moment to feel it without washing it away.

***

Earlier when Katniss had asked Haymitch for last advice, he told her to stay alive. Haymitch felt those words as a sense of purpose. Helping her stay alive felt more vital and interesting than anything he’d had the chance to do in a quarter of a century. Thinking about that length of time highlighted the waste of so much life. Effie was right. Those kids deserved much more than this waste. All of them deserve more.

The plan was in place to try to keep Katniss alive in order to play the game in a different arena with new rules that Snow wouldn’t get to dictate. Haymitch had spent the evening facilitating Plutarch’s moves and making some of his own. He’d given Finnick the bangle along with some language to use with Katniss. He’d kept his promise of a drink with Chaff.

“Last call, my friend,” was his buddy’s toast.

Life hadn’t left Haymitch with many tears still inside. Nonetheless, he swallowed some down with the alcohol.

“What is this shit?” he raised the half-empty glass, speaking casually, as if it was any other night of shared drinks.

“Some fancy Capitol booze. These people wouldn’t know good liquor if it hit them over the head.”

“Actually, that might be a better place to put it.”

They drank awhile in silence. The absence of his friend’s laughter was like the memory of an axe in his own gut.

“One more toast,” Haymitch added, “...To staying alive.”

“To the Mockingjay,” Chaff whispered in case the walls had ears.

Haymitch understood his friend’s priorities and willingness to sacrifice. He hated that it had come to this. “I’m not saying goodbye to you.”

“‘See you later’ works just as well now as ever.”

They clapped each other on the backs, hugging longer than usual.

“Haymitch, you better not grab my ass, or I’m going to have to hit YOU over the head with this empty bottle.” Chaff joked, knowing they both needed a last laugh as much as the drink.

“How about you keep your ass, and I’ll see you later.”

Chaff nodded. “I’ll see you later, friend.”

***

Haymitch couldn’t swallow all the emotions as he headed back to his room. One annoying tear spilled onto his cheek, and he wiped it away quicker than it had fallen.

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered, as angry as he was upset.

As he passed Effie’s room, he saw light shining from below the door. He paused to listen. She was crying.

“Damn it,” he whispered, “Is there anybody who doesn’t need help tonight?”

He raised his knuckles to the door and leaned his forehead against it in a mixture of exhaustion and other feelings he didn’t want to think about. It was late. He shouldn’t knock. He should try to get a few hours of sleep now with the alcohol still in his veins.

Her crying was soft, soulful some would say. His knuckles had a will of their own, rapping gently against the door. “Effie?” His voice had a will of its own, calling her name. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the feelings that he didn’t want to think about.

She glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. What is Haymitch doing here? Her first thought was concern for Katniss and Peeta. She dragged herself off the bed and moved to the door, but she didn’t open it.

“Are they alright? Is something wrong?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. Will you open the door?”

“I’m not decent.”

“Me neither, sweetheart. Just open the door.”

Her concern for her victors won out over her vanity. Haymitch was dressed the same as earlier. The thin shirt he wore did little to hide his body. She was irked by the fact that she noticed this now of all times. Her attraction to him was constantly irritating, like sand that she couldn’t quite shake off her skin.

The sight of her was a blend of macabre and erotic. He hadn’t expected this goddess-of-the-underworld look. A dozen quips ran through his mind, but he said none of them. She’d obviously been crying a long time. He stepped inside without invitation.

“What are you doing here? What’s wrong with Katniss and Peeta?”

“You mean aside from them being forced back into the arena in a few hours to kill or be killed?”

Effie struggled to hold back more tears. This existential angst was too much to take. She lost the fight. Tears spilled silently, lengthening the tracks of black and blue that ran down her cheeks.

“Come here.” Haymitch’s feelings were too close to the edge for him to say anything else. She was already there. They were already touching, fitting into one another’s emptiness.

“Everything is wrong,” she sobbed onto his neck.

Without her 5 inch heels, giant wigs, and corsets, the feeling of her against his body was different. She was all silk right now and unarmored nakedness. A strand of her hair caught on the stubble of his jaw, and he didn’t reach to free it. He just let her tangle with him.

Tonight she was like one of those yellow birds he used to see as a kid in the Seam before all the trees had been turned to firewood. The birds’ chatter and song kept him company on his long walks to and from school. By the time his brother was old enough to walk with him, those birds were gone. He’d never learned their names.

Everything had always been wrong. Living with ghosts wouldn’t change their fate. But Effie was no ghost. She was present and voluptuous, and for a moment he allowed himself to feel it.

“You should wear this shirt more often,” she said. Her tears had stopped, but she didn’t pull away. Through the light fabric, she could feel the solidity of his body and the warmth of his skin. With shattered illusions in a dissolving house of cards, he was something worth holding. He was something real.

“You should wear this outfit more often too.” He didn’t pull away either. He was enjoying the feeling of her too much, and the alcohol helped him not care that it was too much.

“What would Caesar say about this one?” she smirked.

“He’d say you’re a goddess.” Haymitch said without jest, caressing the small of her back. Just once.

“You’re drunk.” She tried to make light of what was happening here, because otherwise she was going to fuck him. And he’d let her. She was certain.

“Not tonight,” he said.

Effie had lost track of their conversation. Was he reading her mind?

“Not tonight?”

“I’m not drunk tonight. I see clearly how you are.”

“How am I? Dressed for death?”

He pulled back to look at her eyes, not at the eeriness of her makeup, but deeper into the black of her pupils and the blue of her irises. He held her hips. His body was responding to her in ways he didn’t want to stop right now. Maybe he should stop, but he really didn’t want to.

“Why should I NOT dress for death.” Quiet crept into her voice. “After all, it’s what I dress other people for. It’s what I do, Haymitch.”

He couldn’t argue with the truth. Her self-awareness surprised him.

“You deserve better,” he said.

His perspective surprised her. He usually covered compassion with mocking sarcasm.

“There’s so much to you.” She traced her thumb along his throat and settled in the hollow between his collarbones. “I want to see it all.”

Her touch and her request stirred him. “It’s scary shit, honey. Dressing kids for death is nothing compared to it. Everybody thinks they want to see it, until they see it. Then once they do, it’s the only thing they can see.”

“I’m not everybody.”

“Time will tell.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Time tells everyone’s secrets if they live long enough.” He ran his fingers through her hair, remembering again those yellow birds.

Her eyes closed. Foregoing the pleasure of someone’s fingertips along her scalp was a price she paid for being a fashion icon. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than this. His hands in her hair — what else mattered?

“Would you help me fall asleep?” she asked with her eyes still closed.

The feeling of her, raw like this... The reality that he didn’t know when he’d see her after tomorrow... The possibility that he never would... For all these reasons, he’d do almost anything for her right now.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

For the first time since he entered her room, she let go of him long enough to turn down the bed and slide between the sheets. The bottle of makeup remover fell to the floor, forgotten. She’d find it in the morning.

Haymitch covered her with a blanket and lay down beside her without taking off his shoes and without slipping under the covers. If he took off his shoes and held her body, he was going to fuck her. And she’d let him. He was certain.

She’d asked to sleep, and sleep is what she needed. She had no idea what tomorrow would hold, and he couldn’t anticipate what would happen to her. He already had too many regrets. He didn’t want to bring her into any more.

He rested his head close to hers and stroked her hair like before. He could lose himself in her, this real version of her, if he was the kind of man who could let go of that much control. But he wasn’t that man.

She pressed her hand to his sternum. His heartbeat was wild. Sex with him would be wild. Not tonight, filled with so much sadness, but sometime. She WOULD see inside him. It was a promise she made to herself.

He plucked a few kisses from her eyelid down her cheek, tracing the tracks of her tears. “You know, this whole watercolor eye thing you’ve got going on tonight could be the next big trend.”

“Don’t be wicked.” She slid her hand up to the base of his throat without pressure, and she kissed his mouth. The kiss was tender and brief. Her lips were open so he could take more if he wanted.

He returned a kiss exactly the same as the one she’d offered, without taking more. Even still, they were crossing a line. They both could feel it behind them as he ran his fingers through her hair again.

“I like you.” Her voice was sleepy now. “Don’t break my heart.”

“Close your eyes, honey. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

She was still young. He could see it in this light without so much makeup. 30 maybe? How could a murderer and a drunk not break her heart? How could a revolution not break her heart?

When her breathing turned even, he caressed the black and blue streaks on her face. He couldn’t protect her from heartbreak which was already happening. He kissed her forehead, confessing in hushed tones, “Damn, I like you. I always have.”

He left quietly, locking the door and closing it behind him. In the hallway, he added the words he wouldn’t burden her with now, awake or asleep. “Stay alive, sweetheart. I don’t do promises, but if we survive this, I’ll show you anything you want to see.”

[ilguna]

Whist - Chapter Three

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

Word Count; 6.2k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: not a finnick odair x reader. it’s a ‘what if’ series

–

“Today is your first day with the other tributes.” you fix Alyssum’s hair, and readjust Rigg’s clothing, “Make an impression.”

“The two of you may show off one important skill each.” Finnick says, “One thing that’ll stand you out to the gamemakers and make the other tributes want to be allies.”

“We’ll talk about how we’ll wow the gamemakers during the private session, later. I promise that if you use your good skill today, it won’t be a loss. The private session is typically for anything you want to keep a surprise from the other tributes.” you back up.

“Try out stations you don’t know anything about. This is your time to learn anything that you don’t have a clue about, or you’re shaky on. It’s a fantastic opportunity.”

The two of them nod, and after a few more pointers that Rigg probably won’t use, he’s the first to leave the apartment. Alyssum is a different story, she waits for you to tell her to go.

“Don’t psych yourself out today, okay? What you did yesterday is exactly what we’re looking for. Confident, smart. If you sound older and show them that you can fight, they’re going to want you.” you cup her face, “But do not stay with them the entire time. Go around and meet the other tributes too. Don’t stick with Rigg, let him do his own thing.”

“Right.” she nods, you let go of her face, standing up again.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, (Y/n).” she smiles, “I can go now?”

“Yeah. Make your skill count.”

“I will.” she goes down the steps, and Elysia trails after her loosely to show her the floor. She’ll only take the elevator down, and then she’ll go see the stylists.

Now it’s just you and Finnick.

“What’re you thinking?” Finnick asks, you look at him.

“I think we need to pay Haymitch a visit.”

The two of you spend the afternoon getting ready to leave. You take a bet that Haymitch is probably somewhere in the betting room, along with the other mentors. But just in case, you’ll take an elevator to the apartment and hope that he’s there first.

When Finnick’s gathered his bearings, both of you get to the apartment. Finnick knocks on the door, and you flip through the notepad, staring at the plans for today.

Talk to Haymitch, go see the betting room, then down to the stylists to help them on a few things. To tweak and make them to the tributes likings. After that, the entire day is up to you and Finnick to figure out a way to get Alyssum and Rigg’s scores to stand out.

“Could teach Alyssum a trick.”

“Alright, then what would we do for Rigg?” you ask, knocking on the door again.

“Have him make a hook or something. He said he was pretty good at that.”

You squint at Finnick, “We want them to stand out.”

“(Y/n), he doesn’t have the same training that Alyssum does. The kid barely knows how to hold a plastic sword correctly. He’s--”

Before Finnick can say the word ‘hopeless’ the door swings open to reveal Haymitch. He’s dressed fairly nice, a little hunched over. When he sees that it’s you two, he straightens up considerably.

“Odairs.”

You roll your eyes, “Abernathy.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised to see that he doesn’t have his flask in hand. Normally it’s always right there, even the cap is unscrewed. You bet that it’s on the inside of his blazer, always within an arm's reach.

“Just curious about your tributes.” you give him a nice smile, slipping your foot inside of the apartment. Just in case he does try to shut the door, it won’t be that easy, “Quite the show yesterday.”

“The stylists' idea. Wanted something eye-catching, different.” Haymitch notices your foot, and after a long look at it, he looks back at you, “Here to steal my sponsors?”

“No, I’d like to negotiate something, though.” 

Haymitch squints.

Finnick picks it up now, “We’re allowing Alyssum to make allies on her own, but if she does settle on Katniss, are you willing to work with us?”

“Doesn’t look like I have a choice.”

You slide your foot out of the way, crossing your ankles, “Just wanted you to hear our pitch, is all.”

“Katniss is a hard one to work with. Aly would have a better chance if she talked to Peeta.” 

“We’re not after Peeta.” Finnick says, “We want Katniss for a reason.”

“Her sister, right? You think she’ll show the same emotion for your sister?” Haymitch makes a face, “Fine, whatever. I can’t guarantee anything.”

“We just wanted something to fall back on, is all.” you stand up straighter, “See you later, Haymitch.”

You and Finnick go down to the betting area next. It’s a simple task, talking to the sponsors that are loyal every year. And since it’s only a couple of people, the whole task is over before you know it. Then, you’re heading to see the stylists, prep teams and Elysia.

There, you spend the rest of the evening messing with everyone. Laurel has decided that she’s going to play off of the princess idea, and give Alyssum a dress that stands out, very puffy. It might just consume her when she sits down for her interview.

Rigg will be given a simple blue suit that vaguely resembles the one he wore for the tribute parade. There’s not really much that the stylists can do for the male tributes. A suit is expected, and so that’s what’s given. Plus, what else would you give?

Right when you’re done with helping Beth with this crown, you have to go and get the kids. You thank them all for their company, and just like that you’ve left with Finnick. On the way to the room, Finnick holds your hand tightly. 

“While you were in the shower, Reed called.” Finnick says.

You look at him, “Why?”

“Mox can’t bring himself to get out of bed. The peacekeepers have visited the house two times already, wanting him to watch with everyone else. Reed keeps telling them that Mox is sick but neither of them can provide proof.” Finnick shakes his head.

Poor Mox. And Poor Reed, too. Mox wasn’t nearly this hopeless when you left, but then again, you were fifteen. You had eight years rather than just a measly five years beneath your belt. You also didn’t have a couple of mean-looking career tributes to worry about. 

They really don’t make the tributes like they used to. Back when you and Finnick won, they were fairly manipulable. They were easy to shape and form, and they weren’t nearly as solidified as they are now. Hell, Finnick was able to get you in, and then you were able to get Thyme in.

It was definitely more people than they had wanted, and yet they didn’t care at the time. As long as it made themselves look better, stronger, more desirable.

Now, they just want the glory of the win. And to get to that point, they have to be ruthless. They have to show the Capitol citizens a show they’ll never forget.

So, every year it’s just a continuation of it. All of them are trying to beat each other. One up each other, and when they do it, the next round is screwed. 

It makes it hard to mentor.

Anyway, Mox has lost hope. And you feel bad for Reed because he has to put up with it. He has to act strong for Mox, but you know he’s tired of it. Although, you can imagine that the both of them are pretty guilty, especially since you’re the one that’s getting her ready to send her off.

“Better keep that to ourselves.” you give Finnick a smile, “Not tell Alyssum, so we can keep her mind on track.”

He nods, he understands.

You and Finnick make it to the door right on time to see Alyssum skipping out of the training center, a huge smile on her face. Rigg is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Rigg?”

“Left early, said he didn’t feel good.” she says, tucking some hair behind her ear, “Just me the entire time, wasn’t too bad.”

You hold the elevator for Alyssum, making sure Finnick doesn’t head inside. For a second, Alyssum is confused, until Glimmer and Marvel are sliding past to get inside. You give Alyssum a wink, because this was your plan all along.

Cato and Clove come around too, you give the five of them a smile, “I’ll see you later, Alyssum. I’ve got to talk to your sponsors.”

You let go of the door, watching as the steel doors closed. And as soon as they do, you brush off your hands, turning to look at Finnick. He’s got a grin on his face, shaking his head at you, “Dirty, dirty.”

“Gotta cheat to get ahead. Wanna take the stairs?”

“Do we have much of a choice?” he asks, and the two of you slip into the fire escape staircase.

When you finally do get back to the apartment, Alyssum has a giant smile on her face, “They offered an alliance!” she heads towards you, arms out for a hug. You pick her up, spinning her around, “I told them I’d think about it and tell them in a couple of days!”

You press a kiss to Alyssum’s forehead, squeezing her tighter.

The next two days followed as the first training day did. You got up, gave your tributes a few pointers on how they should do things, and then they were off. You didn’t visit Haymitch again, but instead saw him in the betting area. You broke the news that he wouldn’t have to worry about an alliance, and he didn’t really seem to care.

After the betting area, came the time with the stylists. The dress has really come along, and today will be the finishing touches. Adding the accessories that they think would go with it, tweaking the size and whether or not it’ll fit.

You stopped picking the kids up from the training center after the first day, especially since Alyssum said yes to the alliance. She needs to get to know the careers on her own. But you’ve given her a few pointers on how she might back a cozy place in their mind, so they might even feel bad if they kill her.

She’s getting along well with Glimmer and Marvel so far, and from what you heard yesterday, Clove is beginning to come around faster than Cato is. It’s a little worrying, especially since it seems that history is repeating itself. But Alyssum said what you told yourself when you first saw the District Two tributes; they’re a lot meaner than they’ve been the previous years. 

It’s only natural.

Now, today is the private session. And you just spent the last hour trying to teach Alyssum a trick that would catch the gamemaker’s attention. Unfortunately, she’s still shaky at it, and not entirely sure if she’s going to use it. But Rigg on the other hand--has decided that he’s going to try out something with a sword.

You run your fingers through your hair, motioning to the space in front of you, “Show Finnick.”

Alyssum gives you a reluctant look, “(Y/n)--”

“Come on.” Finnick urges.

Rigg isn’t even here, he hasn’t been spending much time inside of the apartment. It seems like he likes to run off, and you’re hoping that’s going to come in handy inside of the arena. If he’s not going to make allies, he’s going to need to be able to run.

That and he doesn’t seem to trust you and Finnick very much. Finnick’s gotten as close as Rigg will allow, but it’s not that much. He won’t tell you what he thinks about the other tributes, who he wants to make allies with, what his special skill is or what he’s going to do for the private training session. It’s all radio silence on his side of things.

And you understand that he’s afraid that you’ll pass all of that information off to Alyssum or something, but it’s really not like that. All he’s going is putting himself in a position where you see him as unpredictable, and therefore unreliable when it comes to certain things inside of the arena.

If you can’t confirm or deny his plans to sponsors, and you have to admit that you have no clue what his motive is--besides making it out alive--then he’s not worthy of sponsorship. And since he’s literally twelve like Alyssum, it puts him at an even bigger disadvantage.

Alyssum picks up some knives, twirling it between her fingers. She nails this, it doesn’t cut her skin at all. Then, she draws her arm back wickedly, throwing the first knife from her finger. Quickly, she passes off a second to her right hand, to throw again. It takes her only half a second to get a new knife to throw.

By the time that she’s done, there’s three new holes in the wall, and she’s nailed two out of three of the tricks. You go down the two steps, onto her level of the floor, continuing all the way up to where the knives are. You pluck them out, weighing them in your hands.

“Are these too heavy?”

“No, they weigh just fine.” she says, looking at you.

You stare at the human diagram on the wall. It’s the exact shape of Elysia. She wasn’t too thrilled to have her body shape be the example of a target, but it was what you two need.

Stopping right where Alyssum had been throwing, you take your shot at it. The first knife she always throws is for the thighs, left or right, it doesn’t matter. You aim for the right one. The next she throws aims for the heart, and hers all varies around the same area. This would be a good, direct kill. You get that one without a problem.

The one that Alyssum can’t get right is the forehead. You give Alyssum a look, and she shrugs her shoulders. All the holes reside around the head, not even one has come close to hitting the bullseye. You throw the final knife, getting the head without a single problem.

“Take your time inside of the session. I get that we want it to be quick, but it’s okay to be slow.” you fix some of her hair, “Go at your own pace. The gamemakers won’t be bored by the time you go in.”

“Make sure to be confident when you walk in. Wait until they say you can start, and they’ll also dismiss you.”

“Be nice to not get on their bad side, but show a little bit of arrogance.” you say, “And if you’re sure that you can’t get the forehead in there, aim for the throat.”

Finnick nods.

“Alright.” she nods, standing up straighter, “I guess I should go.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing her hair back, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” she hugs you, and then Finnick on her way out. As soon as the door shuts, you’re leaving the area and heading for the cellphone. 

Finnick cleans up the wall as best as he can. But there’s a ton of holes in the wall, and the berry juice has left a faint stain on the white walls. Either way, Finnick dumps the materials, thanks the avox, and heads to the bathroom to wash his hands.

You tap your feet slightly, leaning your head against the wall. It’s a long moment of ringing before the phone is finally picked up.

“(Y/n)?” a voice asks.

You raise your head, “Yes, who is this?”

“Caspian’s brother--Lucas.”

Lucas. Shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes and tan skin. He mostly roams around his house without a shirt, which always drives his mom nuts, but he never changes. Sweet kid, he’s turning fifteen this fall.

“What happened to Mox?”

“At the hospital, so is Reed, Caspian, my mom and Mags. He’s unwell, and last night he wasn’t too hot. Reed went to see my mom because he didn’t know what to do and didn’t want to worry you or Aly.” Lucas pauses for a moment, “My mom said that they should bring him to the clinic, and that’s what they’ve done. He’s… strapped down. Don’t want him to harm himself or anything.”

You close your eyes, trying to fight back the tears that are gathering. You pull the phone away from your face for a moment as you take a deep breath in, and then you place it right back up against your ear.

“You’re not supposed to be telling me this.” you say.

“Yeah, but Annie said it would be a good idea anyway. Want to talk to her?” 

“Please.” you look at Finnick when he comes out of the hallway.

He has his eyebrows raised, and you’re shaking your head, trying to tell him that it’s not alright back home. In fact, it’s what you feared. It’s in shambles.

“(Y/n), how’s everything in the Capitol?” Annie asks, “Is Alyssum doing okay?”

“Got herself an alliance with the careers, looks promising. If she does well on tonight’s score, then she’s got an official spot.”

“Good.” she says, and then moves on, “Reed doesn’t want to tell you anything, so calling back later won’t do anything. He won’t admit it, even if you tell him everything you know. I’m keeping an eye on the both of them. I didn’t know much about what happened until two days ago.

“Mom’s been keeping me inside a lot, afraid that I’d get everyone around me sick. Only a stomach bug, I’m better now.” she pauses for a long moment, “Sounds like Caspian is back with Mags. I’d give them the phone, but they’ll assume the worst. Instead I’ll just say you called to check up on Mox.”

“Yeah, it’s not the best idea.” you hold your finger up to Finnick, “Which means that you shouldn’t tell them about the career alliance either.”

“I won’t, promise. Call again after the interviews, we’ll all be here. Good luck, (Y/n). Give my best wishes to Alyssum, please.”

“I will,” you say, “Thank you, Annie.”

“No problem.” and then there’s a click.

You place the phone on the hook, taking in a deep breath as you look at Finnick, “Mox is in the clinic because they’re afraid he’s going to hurt himself. Reed and a couple of others are there to visit him.”

“Oh, (Y/n).” Finnick says, face drooping as he reaches out. You let him take you in a hug, squeezing him tightly as you cry into your shoulder.

--

“Sit, please.” Elysia begs, pushing Laurel and the prep team to the big couch that’s entirely dedicated to them. Pleurisy and the others are already sitting on that same couch, ready to go.

You’ve got Finnick to your right, and Alyssum in your arms on the left. Elysia gets her own private arm chair, and so does Rigg, all the way on the right side of the living room. He’s got his legs pulled up to his knees, and he refuses to talk.

“I’m nervous.” Alyssum mutters.

“It’s okay, Aly.” you rub her shoulder, “As long either of you got anything over an eight, we’ll be fine.”

Caesar then shows up on screen, and suddenly everyone is readjusting in their seats to sit up taller, lean forward or get comfortable. You don’t move. Just tighten your arm around Alyssum’s shoulders.

Starting with District One’s Marvel, he kicks it off with a nine. And this is when you know you can relax. If a boy like him is getting something so low, then it’s easy. Alyssum will be just fine. And since Glimmer gets the same score, you can let out a breath of air.

With Clove and Cato, they get ten’s, which was expected. For District Three, get averagely low scores, and for your tributes, you sit up a little more.

“District Four, Rigg Estridge with a score of six.”

You resist the urge to physically wince. Instead, you turn to Rigg with a warm smile, “That’s good, Rigg.”

He gives a timid smile, and your attention is turned right back to Caesar.

He has a smile on his face, looking up to the camera for a moment, “District Four, Alyssum Gallows with a score of--” he pauses on purpose, and the smile only widens, “--eight.”

You shake Alyssum’s shoulder excitedly, patting her upper arm a bit. She looks as happy as you do about all of this. The praise comes from everyone, directed to both Rigg and Alyssum. 

The next few tributes aren’t all that important, they all get around the same score, which only means that they hadn’t done anything outstanding inside of the training center when they had the chances. Not even their private sessions were good, it seems.

Then, it hits Haymitch’s tributes. First is Peeta, who gets an eight. It’s not that bad, it’s actually pretty good. Considering that the careers are always the ones to have a score between eight and ten, he basically qualifies. As for Katniss--she gets an eleven.

You hum, eyes a little wide. You can’t remember the last time Haymitch has got a pair of good tributes. You can only imagine that if his tributes win, it’s going to dig him out of his twenty-four year long streak of only losers.

“Regretting anything yet?” Finnick whispers, you turn to look at him.

“She’s only one person--two if Peeta sticks with her. Alyssum will be surrounded by four people, and she fits right in. I’m not worried about Katniss.”

You look back at the screen, only to see that Caesar is analyzing the scores briefly, until he hits Alyssum again. Then, he picks apart everything that he thinks might have happened, “Do any of you folks remember what had happened during the Gallows’ family interview?”

He then pulls up a clip from the interview. Alyssum was only three then, so little. But that’s not his focus. No, he plays a particular clip where they’re discussing your score;

“That’s a reasonable thought,” Caesar says, a few people in the audience agree, but it’s basically none, “What about her training score? A ten is a very big score, especially for someone who’s fifteen! I would never have guessed it.”

“Me neither.” Reed admits, “I thought she’d get something a little lower, but she always has a trick up her sleeve. She likely thought up some trick last minute that she knew would blow the gamemaker’s minds. And it worked just like she had hoped.”

“I bet she did that trick with the two knives.” Mox says, “Do you remember her doing that?”

Reed shakes his head, “Not really.”

“It’s a difficult trick to pull off, it takes a lot of practice. But if she did the one I’m thinking about, it’s likely the reason why she got one so high. It would be impressive to see her kill two tributes at once.”

After the clip, Caesar’s back, “It makes me wonder if Alyssum had pulled off that same trick that we were never able to see--or something similar! I hope we get to see it inside of the arena.” he winks.

It moves on after that, and Elysia shuts the tv off, turning to all of you, “How do you feel about a celebratory dessert?”

--

This week has been one huge blur. You still can’t believe that the interviews are tonight, and your sister goes into the arena tomorrow. The fact that she’s a tribute in the hunger games doesn’t seem real to you at all.

This has to be one big nightmare that you can’t escape. Your little sister, Alyssum Gallows, who is twelve years old and has only five years of experience and her name was only in the freaking glass bowl once is going inside of the arena. Nine years ago she was three, and you were in the arena, yourself.

It seems like there’s some unfortunate pattern when it comes to the women in the Gallow’s family. First it was your great-grandmother, caught and killed for her participation in the rebellion. Then it was your grandmother for not obeying the laws and standing up for herself when a peacekeeper was out of line.

Then it was your mother, not surviving childbirth. You came close to death a number of times, thanks to the arena. And right when you had thought your family has gotten off lucky--that you had finally managed to break the streak--it falls onto Alyssum. If the universe couldn’t have you, then it would definitely have her.

You know that after this, when you get home, you’re going to see the remnants of Reed and Mox. Mox will probably have to be medicated for the rest of his life, like Annie. Only time will make the wounds better, but they will never fully heal. Alyssum is the final product of your mother, and sometimes, is her.

Reed will throw himself into work. Maybe something dangerous, something that will get him away from you all for a good amount of time. Take week-long fishing trips, and only come home for a day, before leaving again. You can’t imagine he’ll be able to take the pity that everyone will be giving you, well.

And you can assume that the nightmares will resume. They haven’t just yet, but they will when you get back home. You’ll have to avoid the television for months in order not to see the recaps. As for the victory tour--you don’t think you’ll be able to hand it. To have to stand on a platform with your two brothers, barely sane and being held together with tape and glue.

Finnick will finally be able to see what it’s like to be a part of the family. Misfortune follows you all like the grim reaper. It was only a matter of time before the next big thing would happen. 

“Please get that look off your face.” Finnick’s voice is gentle, he reaches up to bring your chin a little higher, wanting you to look at him, “You’ve done a very good job this week. She’s got sponsors, she’s got an alliance, and a high score. You and your brothers prepared her well, just like you said you would.”

“I don’t want her to go inside.” you tell him, throat feeling thick. You look back to the door where she’s supposed to come out in a few moments, “I want her to stay.”

“I know.” Finnick says, pulling you into him. He wraps his arms around you, and you lean your head against his chest, reaching up to grab one of his arms.

You two of you stand like this, staring at the door. The second she comes out, you’re going to have to force a smile and give her more pointers about what she should do on the stage. For now, you get a long moment with your thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go home.” the words leave your mouth without a second thought to them, “Not because I can’t face my brothers, but I don’t think I want to see what they’ll become.”

“I’m here with you.” Finnick says, “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I know, I get that. But I can’t see them so broken and torn apart. Mox hadn’t even been like this for mom or dad. And Reed literally raised Alyssum and I…” you trail off, eyebrows drawing in, “I can face all the looks from everyone, and the funeral, and the apologies. But my brothers are a whole new thing.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, but his arms do tighten around you a little at the thought of all that. He probably forgot entirely about the funeral. But it’s really not only that. As soon as they retrieve her body, they’re going to do their best to restore what she looked like before she died, and you and Finnick are going to have to approve it.

Then you get to travel back home with her in a casket that the Capitol provides. Since she was a tribute, and she ‘served’ them, she’ll be in a white one, with a Capitol seal as well as a district one.

You frown now, “No, I don’t think I’ll go home.”

Finnick opens his mouth, but the door opens, and it reveals Alyssum in the biggest blue dress you’ve ever seen her in. She gives a bright smile, and you give one back. She twirls a little for you, holding onto her necklace to keep it in its perfect place. Then, she does a curtsy.

“I love it!” she laughs, coming out of the doorway to allow Elysia and Laurel to slip out of the room, “I’m like royalty.”

“Because you are.” you want to give her a hug, but it’ll have to wait until after the interview.

She looks like she did when she was a child. Playing pretend with the fairy wands and the pretend paper and plastic crowns. You never understood her obsession, but now seeing it in front of you, it’s because she was able to have a childhood. Thanks to you winning the hunger games, you brought your family out of poverty, and it was right in time for Alyssum to start playing with toys.

You almost feel guilty for taking it away from her so soon. She really only got four years before you all were on her back simultaneously. Then again, your early training is what’s going to save her. Even if it’s just for a little while.

“Alright, make sure that one of the first things out of your mouth is a compliment to the Ca[pitol. Like their people, outfits, the apartments that they provide, whatever.” you tell her, “I want you to act like yourself today, okay? Make them melt.”

“Right.” she smiles, “I guess I don’t have to lay it on too thick, then. Especially with this dress.”

You laugh, “You’re already halfway there.”

“Answer the questions honestly, but if you think that it’ll get you in trouble, don’t. It’s okay to lie, they’re not going to know the difference. Not if we’re all going to lie with you.” Finnick says, “If you don’t like a question, answer shortly, and then move on before he can ask you a second question about it. He won’t go back.”

“Three minutes on stage.” you hold up your fingers, “He’ll likely split it into three things. Family, the Capitol, and then either a message you can say, or something about yourself. If you ever get nervous, we’re in the crowd. Find us if you need someone to look at for comfort. But I’d really like it if you looked around the room.”

“I can do this.” she says, “I think I’m ready.”

“Follow Caesar’s lead, he’s going to make you comfortable.” Finnick says lastly, “He’s got you.”

You all go to the line in the hallway to see the other tributes. You wish Alyssum good luck, before heading off towards to retrieve Rigg next. He’s not excited, more nervous and scared. You tell him that he’ll do just fine, and drop him off next to Alyssum.

You and Finnick find your places in the crowd, taking a very special spot next to Haymitch. He doesn’t care that you’ve sat next to him, and he even offers his flask without a word. 

You take it from him, take a nice gulp, and then pass it off to Finnick while your throat burns. This has to be the Capitol stuff, the districts don’t even nearly have something this strong. Finnick sputters out a cough, and the three of you share a laugh because of it.

“Thanks.” you say.

“You probably need it more than me.”

Caesar introduces the show like he always does, for the audience back home. He starts off with Glimmer, who comes on stage in a short pink dress, her blonde hair curled and a wide smile on her face, waving to the audience. Next is Marvel, who easily tours over Caesar because of his height. 

Clove comes in with a red dress, looking mean and smart. She spends her time being sarcastic, but clearly winning the hearts of the people around you. In this time, Haymitch passes the flask over for another drink, and you take it without complaint. You’d rather be drunk than sober when Rigg finally rolls around.

Cato is dressed in a blue suit, and talks about himself the entire time. When the interview is finally over, you’re all relieved and happy to be watching someone who isn’t as full of themselves. Before you know it, the District Four tributes are up.

Alyssum comes up the stage, holding the bottom of her dress just barely up enough so that she doesn’t trip on it. She stops next to Caesar, and the crowd is absolutely in love. You can hear a few people behind you muttering about the dress, and then the crown.

“Wow!” Caesar gasps, “That is--” he backs up, trying to get a whole view of it. Alyssum poses for him, and even turns side to side to allow him to see all of it, “Amazing! Let me guess, you’re supposed to be a princess?”

“Yes!” Alyssum gives a big smile to the crowd, catching you and Finnick instantly. And just as you instructed, she looks out to other people, “Being here in the Capitol makes me feel so…” she stops for a moment, thinking of the word.

“Famous?” Caesar encourages.

“Famous! That’s the word.” she laughs--or more, giggles--at herself, “It makes me feel like I have some fans.”

Caesar gasps, “How could we not? I know I have been a big fan, ever since I saw you for the first time! And you were just a little toddler.”

Behind her, a screen changes to her on Reed’s lap during the family interview.

Alyssum covers her mouth with one hand, “Oh, that’s embarrassing.”

The crowd loves this, and soon, Caesar is encouraging her to sit down too. Following in the footsteps of the six people before her. When she sits, the dress almost consumes her entirely, but she’s able to readjust enough so that it’s fixed.

“Now tell me, Alyssum, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

Alyssum presses her lips together, a clear sign that she doesn’t like the question. She fakes thinking for a moment, and then gives a shy smile, “I was upset that it was my first year of the reaping and I’d have to go inside of the arena. I thought I’d have a few more years until I would have to start to worry. But, it’s not like that anymore.”

Caesar raises his eyebrows, “Why’s that?”

“I have my older sister here with me.” she places her laced fingers on one of her knees, “Even if this is my last few days, I get to spend it with the person I look up to the most. Or, should I say people. Finnick is pretty cool too.”

She looks right at you and Finnick, giving a cheeky smile.

“Speaking of which, what is it like being in the shadow of her? Being constantly compared to her?” Caesar asks, this question is especially ironic because he’s the one doing it.

“Hard, knowing that I won’t ever compare. But kinda fun too, knowing that people were already familiar with me.” She says, “It’s like going somewhere, thinking it’ll be full of strangers, but instead it’s just family friends.”

“What a thoughtful way to put it.” Caesar says, and then smiles, looking out to the crowd, “what do you think folks? Are you a family friend?”

You wince at how loud the auditorium gets, but give Alyssum a reassuring smile. This is a good sign, a whole audience full of ‘family friends’. This seems to boost Aly’s confidence a little too, and she sits a little taller in her chair.

“You scored very high on your training.” Caesar says, and Alyssum nods.

“I did.”

He smiles at this, “Is there any hidden skills we should know of?”

Alyssum laughs, “If I told you--it wouldn’t be hidden!”

“Fine, do you think you’ll surprise us inside of the arena?”

Alyssum tilts her head with a sweet smile, “I think I might, but you’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

The crowd is cheering now, and the buzzer is going off. It’s perfect timing, in your mind. Caesar and Alyssum stand together, he takes her hand in his, and encourages her to step forward. She gives a curtsy, one that’s much more graceful than the one she gave you and Finnick in the hallway.

The crowd is standing now, clapping louder. She gives one final wave, thanking them for their time, and then she’s leaving to go back to the hallway.

As everyone takes their seats again, you and Finnick are slipping out of the crowd, not too focused on Rigg. He’s made his intentions clear, you won’t bother trying to salvage something that doesn’t want to be salvaged.

In the back, Alyssum is twirling around in her dress, and the second her eyes land on you, she’s running over. You hug her tightly, with only praise rolling off Finnick’s tongue.

Now you only have to worry about tomorrow.

[hutchhitched]

Maybe This Summer, Chapter 2

Summary: Katniss Everdeen needed a vacation. On a whim, she reserved three months at Panem Resorts in North Carolina. She expected to spend her time recovering from the recent death of her sister, exploring the nearby nature reserve, and reminiscing about happier times. What she didn’t foresee was bumping into Peeta Mellark, one of Panem’s most valued employees, during his early morning run. Neither did she think she’d grow to admire him when she’d hated him from first sight, but his killer smile and gorgeous blue eyes had a way of breaking down the walls she’d built around her heart. Maybe this summer she’ll finally get what she’s always deserved. Benefiting @fandomtrumpshate​ for @ldyglfr62​. AO3.

Author: @hutchhitched​

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Beta/Graphics: @xerxia31​

The story will post on Tuesday mornings at 11:00 am CDT.

_________________

Nightmares

Peeta woke slowly and rolled onto his side. He’d scored art class duty that afternoon and no bakery, so he didn’t need to be ready for work until long past when his fellow workers vacated the barracks. His plan was to pretend to be asleep until he had the place to himself and then spend some quality time in the shower with his hand and a bar of soap.

 He’d slept terribly the night before, his dreams full of fire and tortured screams. Monsters almost always tore at him while he slumbered, but the night before had been the worst he could remember for years. He needed the stress relief the solitude would afford him. Otherwise, he should give Dr. Aurelius a call. He was due for a checkup anyway. He could almost hear the conversation.

 “You know it’s not your fault, Peeta. You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t kill them.”

“No, but they’re still dead. My mother, father, and two brothers. All gone, and I’m still here.”

“It was faulty wiring. You weren’t home. You didn’t abandon them.”

“I did abandon them. I skipped curfew on purpose.”

“The fire wasn’t a result of skipped curfew. It’s not your fault.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“No, you weren’t. You got a second chance.”

“I don’t want a second chance. I’m tired of doing it all alone.”

“You’re not alone, Peeta. There are so many people who want to help you—sponsors who’ve helped you get this far.”

Talking didn’t change anything, though. His family was gone, killed in a house fire that ripped through their home while they slept. He was an orphan at seventeen, and he hadn’t let go of the guilt he felt over his family’s death for the past eight years.

 In the midst of his grief, he’d stumbled upon an advertisement for employment as summer help at Panem Resorts and, desperate for money, applied for the position. His extracurriculars as an artist, athlete, and baker impressed Plutarch Heavensbee, the director of operations at Panem, and he’d stayed on through undergrad and his graduate work. The pay was excellent, and he’d built a sizable nest egg to fund his entrance into the job market after one last year in school if he didn’t squander anything and saved his income for the next few months.

 He needed to piss so bad, but the last thing he wanted to do was disturb anyone. He couldn’t sleep. Instead, Peeta grunted as he rubbed his bleary eyes and stumbled to the communal bathroom to relieve himself. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, he decided to take a run. Quietly, he crossed to his bunk and shucked his boxers for a pair of shorts and an old concert t-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off back during undergrad. He adjusted the tongue on his left shoe and tied the laces before slipping through the screen door. Outside the cabin, he stretched for a few minutes, enjoying the pull of his hamstrings as he touched his toes. When he was limber, he headed for the trail that ran along the lake.

 In and out. His breath quickened as he found his stride. The familiarity of training relaxed him, even though it had been years since his high school wrestling days. He’d considered sticking with it in college by walking onto the team, but he’d found he couldn’t concentrate on much else than grieving his family in the months immediately following their deaths. Trying to pin an opponent didn’t seem remotely important in the wake of his own personal crisis.

 His feet slapped on the dirt trail, and the barest hint of sunlight peeked over the tree line that framed the far side of the lake. It was still quiet, but in another few minutes, the birds would wake, and the rest of the resort would stir, too.

 “Baker’s hours,” he huffed.

 Since his home burned, along with the family business that was housed on the ground floor, he hadn’t needed to rise as early as when he’d helped his father. Still, he often did it voluntarily because it made him feel closer to the rest of the Mellarks. There was no monument or gravestone for him to visit. There hadn’t been any remains to bury. The early morning hours were the only time Peeta felt like he could feel their presence and was the best time to honor their memories.

 The chirping began just as he rounded the bend closest to the numbered cabins, an area affectionately called “the district” by Panem’s employees. He had no idea why, but it had been that way for decades. He wasn’t one to challenge tradition or disturb guests, so he skirted Cabin 13 and ducked onto a little-known hiking trail that ran down to the lake’s shore. Mockingbirds and blue jays challenged each other as they woke and chattered back and forth.

 “Ooooof!”

 Peeta slammed into something and realized it moved. He wrapped his arms around it and dipped his shoulder to soften the blow as he fell. Grimacing when he hit the ground, he braced himself for impact. Instead, something warm and decidedly feminine landed on him with a very unladylike stream of curses.

 Dazed, he cradled her to him—whoever she was. She bent her knee, and he grunted when it slid between his thighs and brushed against his crotch. His hands grazed a patch of skin on her back when her shirt shifted upward, and he swore he experienced an electric shock.

 “Clumsy ass!” she yelped and pushed off him, her palms flattened against his chest. Perspiration moistened his shirt so the cotton clung to his pecs, and he hid a grin as her jaw slackened. She appreciated muscles, apparently, so he flexed ever so slightly.

 It took only a few seconds for her to snap back to attention. Her eyes were an unusual color; light, but not blue, they were a delightfully smoky hue that flashed silver with irritation. A thick braid of mahogany brown hung in front of her left shoulder, and he gripped the gentle swell of her hips as she writhed atop him while attempting to disentangle herself.

 “I’m sorry,” Peeta mumbled and helped her rock off him while protecting his groin. “I didn’t see you.”

 “Well, that’s obvious,” she spat and slumped onto her derriere in the dirt. She sifted through a pile of jumbled plastic rectangles and glared at him as she straightened them into piles. “All my samples…ruined.”

 “I’m sorry,” Peeta repeated. He propped himself on his elbow and waved to the mess. “What are those?”

 “They’re slides!” When he shot her a confused look, she added, “For a microscope. I’m a scientist. I had a bunch of soil samples, and you ruined them.”

 “You had soil samples on slides?” he asked, incredulous. “Wouldn’t tubes have worked better?”

 “What do you know? You’re just a—” She broke off and stared at him. “Yeah, that probably would have worked better.”

 Chuckling, he popped to his feet and reached down to her. She placed her hand in his, and he hauled her upright a little too enthusiastically. She brushed against him and recoiled quickly. He would have been offended if she wasn’t glancing at his legs beneath her eyelashes and her hand wasn’t still firmly grasped in his.

 “I really am sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting anyone else on this trail so early.” His mouth curved into his most charming grin, and he squeezed her palm gently. “I’m Peeta Mellark. Happy to serve you here at Panem.”

 “Mr. Mellark,” she said curtly and pulled free. “I’m Ms. Everdeen. Cabin 12.”

 “It’s Peeta, ma’am. Just Peeta, and your first name?”

 She hesitated, and his heart hurt a little as he witnessed her internal struggle. He remembered that feeling so well; being afraid to open up to anyone, no matter how friendly; closing himself off to everyone because it hurt too much to feel anything other than icy cold numbness. She was wounded, but Panem was the perfect place to heal. Besides the money, it was why he continued to come back summer after summer.

 “Katniss,” she finally whispered, and he offered a gentle smile.

 “That’s a beautiful name for a—”

 “Don’t!” she barked. “Don’t say it. There’s nothing more passé than ‘a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’”

 “I was going to say—”

 “Beautiful woman, not girl,” she interrupted wryly. “No one could mistake me for a teenager anymore. Too many laugh lines.”

 “Gorgeous,” he insisted. “I was going to say gorgeous. A beautiful name for an amazingly gorgeous woman.”

 She blushed and then snorted. “You are hilarious,” she sputtered. “Smooth as silk and charmed the pants off about every woman who’s crossed your path, am I right?”

 Wounded, he took a step back. “Not really, ma’am, no. I’m sorry I offended you. It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure to arrange for a proper apology through some comped services. Have a good morning.”

 Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and sprinted toward his cabin. Gasping by the time he reached the building, he was relieved to find it empty. He kicked his shoes off and stripped before stomping to the showers where he turned the water to scalding and stepped under the spray. Frustrated, he forced the surprise encounter from his brain and concentrated on easing some tension.

 The hot shower felt wonderful and eased his rapidly stiffening muscles. He’d been particularly edgy since his conversation with Finnick a few days prior, and he seemed adrift, unanchored in a way he hadn’t been for a long time.

 He knew rubbing one out would help. No matter how much he tried to forget his chance meeting with Katniss, the memory of her body pressed to his sweaty chest drove blood to his groin until his erection jutted upward from the thatch of soapy blonde hair between his legs. Unwilling to suffer blue balls, he slickened his palm with soap and grasped himself.

 “Shit,” he sighed and dropped his head back as he pumped his cock. Her lovely face flashed behind his closed eyes, and he could almost see her mouth closing over him as her eyes drooped shut, the shine of her spit coating his erection, her lips plump and pink against his skin. He groaned when he came, then rinsed himself and washed all thoughts of her in the warm spray. Wrapping a towel around himself, he collapsed back onto his bunk. A soft breeze wafted through the windows and dried his chest and shoulders then tucked his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t long before his eyes closed, and he was fast asleep.

 _______________________

 Katniss watched him go and kicked herself for being so closed off and distant. The young man—Peeta, she reminded herself—had been nothing but apologetic and chivalrous after he’d slammed into her. It was an accident, and she’d overreacted. Probably because he was so damn attractive. And sweaty. And muscular. And charming. And… Lord, the guy was stunning, she realized as his tight ass disappeared into the trees.

 “And a child,” she muttered as she gathered her slides and stomped back to her cabin. “You are a grown ass woman who does not need to lust after a baby. And he works here! You are a mess.”

 She was still disgusted that afternoon when she made her way to the dining room and sat down for a late lunch. When she’d reserved a cabin, she’d fully intended to make most meals in her own space, but the sous chef was fantastic. What she could get at the lodge was much better than her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. If Katniss wasn’t careful, she’d pack on the pounds this summer—not that she couldn’t use a little more meat on her bones. Her appetite wasn’t much anymore. Not since Prim…

 “Ms. Everdeen! How lovely to see you.” Annie, the receptionist, beamed at her, and Katniss smiled back. “Finnick, be a dear and see to Ms. Everdeen, would you? Maybe provide her with a list of available activities this afternoon. We have a wide variety of events ranging from outdoor activities to art classes. Our art instructor is marvelous, actually. If you’re at all artistic, you should check it out.”

 “That sounds charming,” Katniss agreed but insisted, “Please call me Katniss. Ms. Everdeen is so formal.”

 “It is, isn’t it?” a deep voice came from behind her. She turned to find the blonde jogger, clean and dressed in chinos and a cornflower blue polo that stretched across his chest, smirking at her. She remembered with flush that she’d withheld her name from him only a few hours before and realized how it must seem that she insisted others address her by her given name.

 “Mr. Mellark,” she said with a nod.

 “Peeta,” he retorted. “Finn, can you ask for a basket for me? I need to get to class. Set up takes longer at the beginning of the season.”

 She’d been dismissed, and she tried hard not to be offended by his brusqueness.

 “Sure, man. Just let me take care of our guest first,” Finnick hissed.

 “No need. Suddenly I don’t feel much like eating. I’ll just head back to my cabin. Thanks, anyway, Finnick. Annie. Mr. Mellark.”

 “Peeta.”

 “Goodbye, Mr. Mellark,” she snapped and turned on her heel. This time he could watch her leave.

_______________________

 “Niiiiiiiiiiiiice,” Finnick laughed. “Way to make an ass out of yourself, Peet. What the hell was that about?”

 “Nothing.”

 “That didn’t seem like nothing.”

 “Drop it, Finn. I said it’s nothing. I bumped into her this morning. Literally. I was jogging and knocked her down. She went after me a little bit, and I didn’t react well.”

 “You? Noooooooo…”

 Peeta rolled his eyes and snarked, “You know what? Don’t worry about me. I’ll just go get my own food.”

 “What a man, Annie! He’s getting his own food!” Finnick shook his head at Peeta’s retreating back and glanced at his girlfriend. “What’s up his ass?”

 “Maybe he’s having a bad day,” she said quietly. “Excuse me, I should let you get back to work. Dinner at my cabin tonight?”

 “Can’t wait.”

 Pursing her lips, Annie left the dining room and stepped into the office. She compiled several flyers and brochures highlighting some of the resort’s most popular draws. She tucked them in her pocket and headed to find Peeta. He was slumped under a sycamore that leaned over the lake tearing his roll into pieces and tossing them to a family of ducks that swam in the shallows.

 “Rough morning?” she asked softly. When he blinked up at her, she slid down and leaned against his shoulder. Silently, that sat together until she reached over and took his hand. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

 “I just let things get to me.”

 “I know.”

 “I didn’t mean to be rude to her.”

 “I know that, too. You’re one of the kindest, most considerate people I’ve ever met.”

 “I can’t afford to lose this job.”

 “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

 “Really, Annie? What if she bitches to Plutarch? Or Haymitch? Or anyone else up the chain?” he said bitterly. “The number one rule of Panem is to behave like you’re being watched by the public at all times. The best advertising is the way we cater to our guests. We’re in a bubble here, and someone’s always watching. What if other staff heard? Oh, hell. What if Clove heard?”

 “She didn’t,” Annie assured him. “Although, how she ever landed the hostess job is beyond me. The woman doesn’t have a diplomatic bone in her body, and she interacts with every person who goes through our dining room.”

 “She must have slept with Cato.”

 Annie snorted, but they both knew it was probably true. Cato oversaw the dining halls, room service, and snack bars at Panem. If food was involved, Cato called the shots, and he was just as snarky as Clove. The difference was Cato knew how to turn on the charm when he really wanted, and he was a stickler for treating guests so well they looked forward to returning year after year. He called it “fattening them for the slaughter,” whatever that meant. For some reason, Cato and Clove seemed to be partners, and almost everyone assumed they were in some sort of sexual relationship.

 “You could just apologize again for knocking into her; offer to do something nice because she’s a guest.”

 “Why did I let her get under my skin? I don’t even know her!”

 “Maybe it’s not her. Maybe it’s you.” When he rolled his eyes, she asked, “When’s the last time you talked to Dr. Aurelius?”

 “It’s been a while,” he admitted.

 “You don’t have to be strong all the time, and definitely not all alone. I’m here for you.”

 “I know, Annie.”

 “And Finnick loves you. That’s why he gives you so much shit.”

 Peeta smiles ruefully. “He does that.”

 “I put together some stuff. Sleep on it, and then go apologize to Ms. Everdeen.”

 “Katniss,” he joked.

 “That’s right. Her name is Katniss, and it seems like she’s hurting, too. Maybe you can help each other heal.”

 “She’s a guest.”

 “I was, too. Finnick didn’t let that stop him, did he?”

 “Not even remotely.”

 “Just think about it.”

  Peeta didn’t answer, but he was deep in thought when she rose and headed back to the lodge. Whether or not he knew it, Peeta needed to stop relying on himself so much, and Katniss was as lost as anyone Annie had ever met. They’d be good for each other, and there was nothing Annie craved more than a happy ending.