#poor Peeta never figures it out

[mega-aulover]

Spiraling down an Everlark hole. Picturing Katniss missing one of her socks. Going into the freshly dried laundry pile and grabbing one, just 1 of Peeta’s because she can’t find her other pair.

Peeta folding laundry later on and discovering that another one of his socks has gone missing.

[queuestarter]

imbrued

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: stab wound, vomit, mentions of prostitution, murder, blood, death

link to the request → reader and finnick are in the quell together and reader gets injured. finnick does everything he can to protect her

open to submissions/asks !!

You never expected to be back.

Why would you? After winning the 68th Hunger Games, you thought you were free from the torment, but that was never the case. After winning and gaining the favor of the capitol, you were immediately thrust into the spotlight, being sold off to those who could afford you. You were given a slot each week on television, showing off baking recipes that you had no interest in making. 

And now, your name was called once more from the pool of victors, placing you back to where you started when you were just sixteen years old, only this time with your boyfriend Finnick by your side.

The events of the weeks leading up to the start of the Quarter Quell passed in a blur. Things only start registering with you when you’re finally in the arena, eyes searching frantically around your surroundings to try and figure out what’s going on.

You can see water immediately in front of you with trees just beyond it, which is more than ideal since you’re from District 4. In your first games, you had to trek through fields of tall grass for miles before there was a place to take shelter.

After you find your bearings on the platform, you immediately begin to search for Finnick. You spot him across the water, the distance upsetting you, but Johanna is on your other side which is slightly comforting. 

When the gong sounds, you immediately head for the Cornucopia. You thrived in the bloodbath in your last games and you plan to do so again. Finnick didn’t want you to put yourself at risk, but you have a reputation to uphold. You know the only way that you’re going to get any sponsors is if you put on a show.

Due to your strong swimming skills, you and Finnick get to the golden Cornucopia first. You barely have time to send a smile his way before you’re grabbing weapons- small knives to strap onto your body and a metal spear to hold. You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when you’re forced to use your newly acquired spear on another tribute, proud that you protected Finnick from a man that was going to kill him.

It’s only when you are finally forced away from the Cornucopia by Finnick’s strong hold on your upper arm that you have the time to talk to him. You can tell by the slight frown on his face that he’s not very happy with you.

“What were you thinking? I told you not to go to the Cornucopia.” He’s still holding onto your arm as you make your way through the jungle, Katniss and Peeta in front of you.

You roll your eyes and smile at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Finnick only frowns at you more. “I’m trying to protect you, here. Something bad could have happened.”

You actually laugh at that. “I know you remember my games, Finn. The Cornucopia was mine in the last games. Don’t worry so much about me.”

He sighs, but drops the subject. The two of you fall silent.

The next few hours are terrible. Peeta’s near death, the acid fog, the monkey mutts that killed the poor morphling from District 6 and claimed your spear. The Quell is moving at a much quicker pace than any of the games have in the past and it’s worrying you. 

Things only start to look up after Katniss uses Wiress’ cryptic words to discover that the arena is set up like a clock.

Finnick, ever inquisitive, says, “I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” You all decide that it’s a pretty good idea and walk the short stretch over to the golden horn.

The others begin to talk mindlessly as you and Finnick branch off into your own conversation while you patrol the border of the Cornucopia. “It’s interesting that there’s nothing but weapons here this year. They’re really trying to get this over with,” you comment.

Finnick nods. “They want us dead. Good thing we know how to fish,” he smirks.

You shake your head in slight amusement, carefully toeing closer to everyone else. As you get closer to the group, you look up from your feet to see Gloss creeping up on the rock wedges, getting closer to an unsuspecting Wiress.

“No!” You scream, pulling a small dagger from your belt. “Wiress, move!” You try to close the gap between you and her.

But it’s too late. You watch in horror as Wiress’ throat gets easily cut by Gloss. Without much thought, you finish the sprint to Gloss, your blade swiftly leaving your hand and ending up in his neck. His eyes widen as he grabs at the handle but before doesn’t pull it out, instead he jumps towards you.

You almost don’t realize what happens. As Gloss lands on top of your body, the same knife he used to kill Wiress ends up in your lower abdomen. You scream, but in the chaos of trying to kill the rest of the careers along with the rapid shifting of the Cornucopia and surrounding waters, the sound gets lost.

It’s only after Finnick grabs your hand and begins to drag you off the island that the reality settles in. You were stabbed in the abdomen and you are losing blood. You put your hand over the wound and keep walking.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks you once you are back on the beach. “Are you hurt?”

You debate lying for a second. The last thing anyone needs right now is another injured tribute. Beetee is barely hanging on as it is and Peeta is constantly slowing down the group, there doesn’t need to be another liability. But Finnick knows you and he would know if you lied to him.

“I think Gloss stabbed me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth. You almost wish you lied when you see Finnick’s reaction.

His face twists up in a look of sheer panic, pupils blowing. His hands run across your body until they meet your own hand, holding firmly onto the meaty flesh of your lower torso. “Here?” He asks, gripping your red fingers. “This is where he got you?”

Tears welling up in your eyes, you nod. You can’t help but feel like a disappointment. You thought you would be able to absolutely dominate in these games based on your last ones, but you completely overlooked the fact that everyone else here is a victor, too.

“Okay, baby, let me look,” he gently commands. His eyes turn even wilder when you shake your head. “I need to look. I can’t help you if I can’t see it.”

Your hand drops from your side. Finnick wastes no time in unzipping your jumpsuit, pulling it below your sports bra and to your hips. He bites his lip as he assesses the damage. With a gentle hand, he prods at the tender flesh. A second later, you push him away and throw up.

You can hear him cursing behind you as you continue to retch. You don’t know why you’re sick, but you know that it cannot be good. 

When your sudden sickness is over and you turn back to Finnick to assure him that you don’t know what that was, that you’re fine, you see the rest of the group staring at you, Katniss hands Finnick a mound of what looks like moss in one hand and a small tube.

“I know this isn’t the best option, but it’ll help. I’m sure someone will send us something better soon,” he sends you a small, still panicked smile.

You just nod your head. You’re embarrassed and tired and you want everyone to stop staring at you. You allow Finnick to lead you to where the spile has been hammered into a tree, rinse your wound, apply the medicine, and pack it with the moss. After a few minutes, you feel as good as new.

“Thank you, Finn,” you smile at him. He wraps his arms around you tightly.

“Of course,” he breathes into your hair. “Anything for you. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

You press a kiss on his collarbone. “That was nothing. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We need to get out of here. You need a real doctor.”

You nod into his shoulder, not too worried anymore. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he repeats back.

And he keeps his promise. The rest of the plan plays out, although not perfectly. You and Finnick are both evacuated and he makes sure you see a doctor, for both the stab in your stomach and the gash in your arm where you cut the tracker out.

You know there’s still more to do, but you feel safe knowing Finnick will be there to protect you.

-

[flowershines]

Special Treats

Bf. Peeta Mellark x F. Reader

warnings: smut, tabs (sex chocolate), protected sex, nicknames, cunnilingus

Not proof read

Coming home from work, opening the front door to your shared apartment with your boyfriend, he was sitting on the couch in front of the tv watching the new season of the Hunger Games. Ever since he had been in the games with Katniss he kept trying his hardest to stop watching them and have the others follow in his footsteps but he just felt bad for the contestants this year, you had told him that they put two 8 year olds in the games this year.

Ofcource he never wanted to see those kids die so he did as much as he could to make them stay alive by sending in donations for them to keep them alive, after winning he had more of a wealthy lifestyle having you both live in the wealthiest side of the capital.

“I’m home.” Dropping all of your belongings in the chair that had been surrounding the island in the middle of the kitchen, he stood up and made his way over to you kissing your temple then complaining about how messed up the producers are “I’m surprised that they made it this far anyways, I think my donations are helping them I hope.” He said while looking down at the ground, shameful for the kids. “They are, they’re still alive aren't they.” “I don’t think for very long though, one and two have been trying to find them since they would be the easiest targets, I left them some small notes saying that they need to find shelter and hide for now.” Running his fingers through his blonde hair as he sat down into one of the chairs next to you, walking to him and giving him a small hug as a way to try and comfort him.

You always loved how caring he was, even though those kids weren't his and weren't even in his old district he felt like he had known them their whole life, kind of like an older brother figure to strangers.

“Oh I forgot Haymich gave me these chocolates for you, he said there was a note on it for you but it fell off when he gave it to me, it's just chocolates so I thought the note wasn't that important anyways.” “Yeah, you're right it’s Haymich, he probably wrote some stupid shit on it.” Handing the chocolate he took it and unwrapped it, “Want some?” shaking your head you exclaimed how you just went out to eat with Katniss for lunch. Taking a bite he hummed at the taste of it, “Good?” he shook his head up and down very fast you thought that he might get whiplash. Laughing to yourself you walked towards your bags and started to put them into your shared bedroom and started putting things away, Peeta walked back over to the couch and sat down right in front of the tv as you heard another buzz sound notifying you that he had just sent another donation to one of the kids.

As time went on he watched the tv closely as the group of trained teens walked over to where one of the kids had been hidden since the games had started.

Peeta’s POV:

Watching the kid shiver from fear made something in me feel horrible for her, a single tear ran down her face as she probably knew that it was the end for her, as they would kill her in no time. I put my hand over my mouth trying to stay quiet as if I was in the games myself, seeing her shiver and cry reminded me of my time during the games, not wanting to see the poor innocent girl get brutally murdered I walked towards the door letting Y/n know that I was going to take a walk along with asking her if she could shut off the tv not wanting to watch it anymore. I knew those kids were probably going to be the first to die but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them, I mean who wouldn’t.

On the walk Y/n kept coming into my thoughts wondering what she probably thought of all the murder and what she thought of me being in the games as well, more questions about her wandered into my mind. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed deeply, I should probably start heading back to the apartment now heading back thoughts of Y/n couldn’t escape my mind, I probably just missed her so much today so I keep thinking of her.

Walking through the second to last hallway towards our apartment an image of Y/n popped in my head of her laying in our bed in my favorite pear of her lingerie, the red ones that never really covered much. I felt a rise of heat shoot through my stomach down to my sudden growing bulge which twitched at the thought, walking faster than before not wanting any of our neighbors to catch me with a growing hard on in my pants.

The more I would think of that image of her the more tighter my pants would go up against my dick making the sensation of the fabric rubbing against it even more hard to concentrate on any other random thought that might run through my head. Arriving at the apartment she was in our shared bedroom but instead of wearing the lingerie she was wearing the same clothes since the last time I saw her in.

She was on her knees putting things away in the bottom drawer of the dresser, I walked in front of her hoping she would see my aching problem and help out. She noticed that I was standing above her, she looked up at me with the most innocent eyes that stared into mine as she smiled softly. “When did you get back?” She said as he attention went back to what she was doing before, “Not that long ago.” I grabbed her by her jaw with one hand and made her look up at me, “I need you, now.” her eyes trailed from my eyes all the way down to my pants. My dick was right in front of her face making it perfect eye level with the tip as it leaked pre cum through my boxers and pants.

“All of the sudden?” She giggled still looking at my bulge then up at me, “Please Y/n, I was thinking then you came into my mind then an image popped up of you in my favorite lingerie on you.” I let go of her jaw and looked down at her with pleading eyes, “Your always horny.” She said standing up and walking towards the kitchen to get the last of her bags, I stood there defeated knowing that I would probably have to resort to my hand again. “Peeta?” She said from the kitchen, I walked into the room that she was in and stood in the doorway with an arched eyebrow and head tilted in the slightest way possible. She looked at me holding the box of the chocolate, “Do you not know what this is?!” “Chocolate.”

She rolled her eyes, “No shit, Tabs?” Looked her in the eyes and shook my head as a way to tell her I was not following, “It’s a chocolate made to turn you on, I should have read the box before giving it to you but I thought you knew.” She dropped the box on the island and rubbed her forehead, “So what am I supposed to do.” I rubbed my hand along the tip of my dick as she looked at it. She took one of the chocolates that showed three water droplets and ate it, “I’ll help you out, we just have to give it a minute for me to digest it.”

My eyes lit up with excitement, she walked over to the couch and placed a movie on and started watching it. I walked over to her and sat down next to her, I kept shifting and squirming in my seat as her attention was focused on the show in front of her. “Can I please eat you out?” I asked looking her up and down, she nodded and laid back against the arm of the couch using it as a pillow, I pulled her pants down which to my luck she wasn’t wearing any underwear giving me even more easy access. She whined at how slow I was going, I got closer to her heat and licked my lips as they hit her folds. I loved eating her out she always tasted so good and she would play with my hair all roughly making me moan into her pussy.

She would whine and breath all shaky which was my favorite noises that she makes, I couldn’t help but feel aroused as my tongue was deep into her. I uncontrollably got harder and started grinding down onto the couch for some sort of friction that my aching bulge was missing, as her moans and breathing became more sporadic she would grip onto my hair more tighter as my groans were muffled by her pussy, she loved the vibrations that it would give her and brought her over the edge making her cum on my tongue.

She sat up and pushed me down onto the couch and sat on top of my lap and started to unbuckle my belt I grabbed her shirt and started to unbutton it. The sound of my zipper being undone made me shift my hips up so that way she would be able to move my pants down to my knees. I finished buttoning her shirt and pulled it off each arm and brought one arm behind to her back and undid her bra. “Your a pro.” She said talking about being able to undo her bra with one hand, “You helped me become one.” I said smirking and dived into her neck and started to make my way down to her boobs, she moaned as my hands traveled from her waist down to her heat starting to do small circles on her clit.

She fell into my chest and started kissing my jawline then working down to my neck, she kept whispering sweet nothings into my ears. Pulling my hand away I reached towards the side table next to us and pulled out the drawer, taking out a condom and handing it to her and I shut the drawer and kissed her check. She ripped the packaging with her teeth off and took it out sliding it down on my dick, i softly groaned into her neck from the sudden sensation of her hand on me.

She grabbed my dick and placed it right at her entrance slowly sinking down on me as my hands rested on her waist, throwing my head back from the sudden sensation as I could feel her clench from every angle, her pussy ran along on the veins on my cock, she was made for me.

Grabbing at her waist tighter she started bouncing up and down on me, I kissed her on the lips as she continued bouncing on me. She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me closer, our tongues danced on one another fighting for dominance. Her free hand ran up and down across my abs then bringing her hand down to my balls to play with them giving me the best pleasure.

Moans and groans filled the rooms our neighbors banged on the wall telling us that they can hear us, I placed a hand over her mouth to muffle her moans but she started to reach her peak and get closer and closer to her climax, realizing this I reached my hand down to her clit and started to rub it in circles while thrusting my hips up to meet her motions. Moans got louder and louder both of our climaxes at their peak, “P-peeta I-I’m gonna-” “Me two, princess.”

With that she started to fall apart on my dick as my cum shot into the condom filling it up, she slowed down her pace till she stopped moving and just cuddled against my chest. She went and grabbed my dick pulling it out of her making me whine from her hand touching my overstimulated cock, then proceeding to take the condom off and bring it to the kitchen and throw it away. She went into the bedroom not soon after came back in her comfy pjs sand had brought me out some as well, she handed them to me and picked up our clothes that had been thrown off earlier.

She walked back over to the couch and cuddled into my side I kissed her temple and said “Thank you princess, I love you.” “I love you too baby”

[solar-halos]

my baby fever is officially back so here are some odesta baby hcs

• i’ve mentioned this before, but i think their baby is annie’s spitting image but his mannerisms / personality are very similar to finnick’s

• building off of that, he makes poems about tadpoles and seashells and sand crabs and annie hangs them all up on the fridge. when there is no more space on the fridge they make a scrapbook

• also mentioned this before but i think it’s a pretty popular hc that annie knows how to knit bc mags taught her how. so i think she’d make baby booties and beanies and gloves and she’s freaking out bc she wants to finish all the projects before her due date and everyone is like “?? you live in d4” and annie and finnick (bc in my opinion he lives) are still freaking out bc what if their kid gets cold? (they end up lending a lot of it to katniss and peeta for their kids)

• okay apparently my dad was the only person who cussed around me as a kid so when i was little i said a curse word except i said it in such a thick accent my mom wasn’t even sure what i said at first. i think this would happen with haymitch. odesta is the first to have kids out of the bunch so he’s probably still a little rough around the edges and annie and finnick know that bc their kid starts reciting very colorful d12 curses in a very haymitch abernathy accent. but at least they’re spending time together

• whenever annie is up late from a nightmare she checks up on him and in my experience kids are literally awake like 24/7 so when she sees that she’s like “you wanna bake cookies or go for a swim?” and obviously the answer is yes but he has to know the rules in order to break them (it’s the finnick odair in him!) so he brings up the lights out rule and she’s like “babe i made up that rule so i can just take it back let’s go do something” and so they do! and then her son is soso tired the next day and annie is like hm. maybe MY mom never broke the lights out rule for a reason. (she still breaks it anyway. in moderation)

• finnick loves pretending to be a submarine whenever he and his son play out in the water, complete with sound effects. annie thinks it’s fucking ridiculous (it’s also her favorite thing ever)

• speaking of finnick, i think they have one more kid after the first one but they’re so close in age they’re like we’re never doing this again. they end up doing this again a few years later

• you know those towel cape thingies? yeah. love that. they def have matching duck ones

• finnick and annie are both so chill in different ways. spoiling your appetite? annie’s like, yeah. i was literally doing the same. finnick is like, um. i’m literally in the middle of cooking dinner. going cliff diving? finnick is like, sure. we did that all the time when i was your age. have fun. annie is already swaddling their poor kid in a bunch of flotation devices

• with that being said whenever odesta’s kid wants something he has to be very strategic on who he asks. egging the mayors house? annie will buy him the eggs. traversing the district w some friends? finnick tells him to be back by curfew

bonus:

johanna’s favorite game to play with odesta’s kid is hide and seek. not in a you-hide-i-seek way. have you ever seen that tiktok that’s like “when you’re done playing hide and seek and someone comes out of the most ridiculous place sweaty and dusty and have dry lips and no money and no future”? that’s them, except the feeling is mutual. at first it freaked annie and finnick out that their son would disappear for long periods of time but then they figured out that all they needed to do is see if johanna was marching around the house and upturning everything in her path

[districtscare]

🔥 haymitch

i spare like no!!! feelings!!! when i say this because I'm so SICK of the haymitch mischaracterizing in the year 2024........

thoughts & breakdown of hayffie (negatively) under the cut

haymitch is so touch avoidant that i don't see him with ANYONE canonically minus chaff (his best friend and has known him the longest) or hazelle (slowburn but i love them and they are often real to me!) he never interacts physically with anyone minus, say katniss? and this is usually to comfort her/hold her in the times she needed it most. (as a FATHER FIGURE.)

and what i feel about woody harrelson's already poor take on haymitch which is already made bad solely by the fact that he was whitewashed, is that the kiss that happens with hayffie is so out of character for him. haymitch hates effie. effie hates haymitch. they weren't canon in the books, didn't get along in the books lest they were with cinna and portia to keep up a good impression but the fact is that there's so much wrong with the ship as a whole. effie is heavily prejudiced against 12 in the beginning, calling it “barbaric” and looking down on it and wanting to be moved to another district. as a whole, effie as a district escort who not only delights in her job (i don't care about her redemption because she says such horrifying shit that can't be washed off by joining the rebellion,) but she also could care less about haymitch. for him, she represents everything he's tried to flush out for 24 years, and who he is the opposing side to, especially because she's capitol. but not even just that, her role as a district escort is like a modern day grim reaper, she finds joy in the sense of children being sent to fight to the death. how long had she been preaching to him this consistent rhetoric that his district is foul and she could do better than being stuff with him LONG BEFORE katniss and peeta came into the picture?

hayffie's dynamic, when you actually deep it, is oppressor (the capitol/effie) and the oppressed (the districts/haymitch.) how is that romantic in any way? the movies sugar-coat the meanings a lot and so i understand why it gets shipped blindly. but for book readers? and just as a general concept? it's so weird. it's not your doomed, enemies to lovers, it's a ship with clear power play and a lot of fucked up stuff within its idea, including oppression and classicism along with other stuff!

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game - 🍄🔪🧩

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Katniss tells us in the epilogue that she was nervous all through her pregnancy but I headcanon that right after the first toastbaby arrived, it was Peeta who had the first emotional breakdown over being a parent and Katniss had to be the one to talk him down while she’s holding their daughter.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Well if we’re going with not x rated, that’s probably satellite images and street views of cities, web camera viewing, to get a sense of the place I’m setting a story if I’ve never been there. #stalker mode

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Grammar/formatting/editing so poor that I can’t overcome it to enjoy the story. Examples would be walls of text, like the writer doesn’t use any paragraph breaks or their sentences and/or paragraphs are fifty miles long. Look I’m here to relax. I didn’t sign up for a Tolkeinsian dissertation. I can’t stand it when a fic is written in all lowercase or has large sections in all uppercase. My brain needs the difference to figure things out. And I can overlook mistakes. They happen, way more than we’d like, and we don’t have the kinds of editing teams that published writers do, but if a fic is an absolute mess of errors, I cannot. If a writer cannot take more than five seconds to edit, then I cannot bring myself to spend more than five seconds trying to decipher it.

Content that will make me nope out of a fic like nothing else? Untagged rape/assault/dubious consent or treating it like it’s romantic.

Thanks for the ask, love!

❤️ kdnfb

Truth or Dare Asks

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

I went to Ollie's Bargain Outlet yesterday and came out with, among other things, a box of WizKids/NECA blind-bag figures for The Hunger Games. I had known about these for ages, but they never seemed worth it—seeing them priced at less than $1 per figure changed that. My thoughts:

I hoped the box would net me a complete set, but alas there were only 24 figures inside and I needed 27. At least I didn't get any duplicates; unsure if that's by design or chance. I'm missing the boy from District 5, Gale, and possibly a second Peeta. (I couldn't find a checklist for these anywhere.)

Your eyes don't deceive you—every single Tribute from the 74th Hunger Games is represented here. A majority of these characters don't even have names, since the film and all its tie-ins weirdly refused to add any that weren't in the book, despite plenty of opportunities to do so. Meanwhile, plenty of major players from the film are absent—Prim, Haymitch, Effie, Snow, Cinna, Caesar, etc. If not for Gale, it feels like something that would be sold in-universe. But in our reality, who wants to risk getting an extra instead of a character you recognize? Those odds aren't ever in your favor. The actors who played them must have been thrilled, at least.

The bases are neat. They're modeled on the platforms the Tributes stand on at the start of the Games, with their District numbers added to make them easier to identify.

The paint jobs for Rue and Thresh are calamitous. They picked one skin tone for them both that manages to be wrong for them both, and their hair should be black, not brown.

Poor Katniss doesn't actually have an arrow notched.

The character with the best face sculpt is... Glimmer, the female District 1 Tribute who Katniss kills with the tracker jacker nest. The others are generally pretty rough, although you can only expect so much from figures this small. Most of the notable characters have good action poses, at least (but poor Peeta).

There was a Catching Fire set too, sensibly dropping the number of figures to 12, but giving all the characters I could find pictures of bad sculpts, zero accessories, and neutral poses. All the same, if they show up at Ollie's next year, I'll probably give in again.

[eventiderpg]

Transgressions within the Transmissions

In the eyes and ears of The Capitol, Cinna begins to fade away like a distant memory. Or at least by Day 50, few speak publicly about the stylist anymore. The air retreats to normalcy, like war isn't impending outside of city boarders. Social events, the avant-garde attire, and the latest gossip flow once again. Though nothing can be as normal as it seems.

By Day 58, propos seem to be targeting holos nonstop. Those that continue Panem's traditionalist messages are not uncommon to be seen. However, it's the infiltration of Rebellion propos that might turn an eye or two. The occurrence had not gathered attention from credible news channels nor the incredible Caesar Flickerman - that was until one saw its way for Peeta Mellark's interview. The following are just a few experiences within the last week regarding sudden propo infiltration amongst those residing in The Capitol.

Domitila viewed Effie Trinket's Pro-Rebel propo

as the images flicker through the screen, domitila's pose falters. thankfully, the woman on the footage is also hesitating, which gives domitila a moment to try and pick at details to figure out who the person is — it comes with some struggle as all she can see is the drab greys, the lifeless hair do, the paleness of the figure. in all of her years, she has never seen someone looking so ghastly (thea ellis does not count) and the stylist's gaze goes from inquisitive to scornful as the appearance and the words fit together, such opposites to the very woman she knew: effie trinket, always so eye-catching, yet so in tune with everything of the capitol. a scoff leaves domitila's lips. how self-righteous of the darling miss trinket. "one would think she did not parade with all that the capitol has to offer with a ready smile on her face." anyone who is anybody has seen effie around the parties once she finally got a chance to rise the ladder, squawking around her poor excuse for victors. how she had loathed the woman and all who accompanied them, who had robbed her tributes the chance for a real victory. panem certainly deserves better. it deserves better than someone who is so volatile they'd hop to another side — and not even a good one. "look at her face!" obviously, this is an important point. how can anyone in their right mind present themselves so poorly?!

Lyah Yazbek viewed Sterling Whitvale's Pro-Rebel propo

A mid-morning talk show had been playing when it happened; some renowned Capitol chef walking the audience through decadent new dish he had developed only for the feed to cut to a shaky frame of a familiar face. Lyah had never met Sterling, but all her years of catching reruns of Waking Up with the Whitvales and flipping through magazine spreads ensured she knew his face. He looked tense, nervous even, however, his gruff voice still managed a tender note as he recounted the finer details of his first encounter with Cecelia. For a moment she debated reaching for the remote and shutting it off, but something about the softness in the man’s eyes and sincerity in his voice kept her watching. She couldn’t look away. The whole thing is over just as quick as it started. Sterling finishes the anecdote by saying he “wouldn’t change a goddamn thing about it,” and the screen cuts back to two rather distraught looking anchors. Lyah suddenly wished she had had the strength to change the channel or turn it off entirely. Was it supposed to hurt? It had been far from the first time the rebels had managed to disrupt Capitol broadcast, but it had been so different. Instead of exploiting yet another victor-turned-victim, this had been just a man proclaiming the love he had for his wife. It didn’t make sense. What were the rebels doing? Trying to paint themselves as innocent? To humanize themselves? Whatever they were trying to do, it gave her a headache. Lyah reached for the remote sitting on the marble-topped coffee table sitting before her and the screen went dark. She sat silently for a moment, unable to redirect herself as she replayed it all in her mind again and again until a thought came to her. When the rebels had access to all those victor, including Cecelia, a woman known in the Capitol for her beauty and poise, why had they chosen Sterling?

Tiberius Germaine viewed Lyah Yazbek's Pro-Capitol propo

His thumb freezes over the piece of sheet music, fingers falling still over the keys of his piano, music falling silent as the viewing screen in his sitting area springs to life. Blue eyes shift to the screen, his body turning to face the screen as the clips plays. Tiberius recognizes the woman, of course he does. Lyah, a victor from District Five. He didn't know her well though. The clip is short and just as quickly as it had appeared on his viewing screen, the screen is black again. He stares at the dimmed screen for several seconds, did she really believe that the rebels would be welcomed back with open arms? She was naive if she did. Anyone who was associated with the rebellion would undoubtably be killed possibly after torture if the Capitol were to come out victorious in this war. He sighs, the piano forgotten as he stands from the bench. His hand is run over the top of his head, anxious habit from a time in which he'd had hair. Things are getting worse and now the Capitol seems to be trying to lay traps. Come home darlings, we'll let you back in with open arms. There's room for you still. Yea right. It's more likely to be a ruse, call the rebels back to the Capitol to face another mass execution. He wonders if Lyah realizes this, possibly, but of course again she could be naive enough to believe it.

Xiomara Pena viewed Cadence Kentwell's Pro-Rebel propo

She was still in bed (Domi would surely have something to say if she could see Xio now), when someone's voice echoed through her otherwise empty apartment asking a question about the rebellion and Cadie? The brunette's brow crinkled and she rolled out of bed, leaving her blankets hanging half off her bed and grabbing a small butterfly knife off the top of a dresser. Rebellion? She was no rebel. And she was certainly no friend of Cadie. How had they gotten into her apartment? A long moment of silence followed the question and it was only as Xio came into the living room that she realized this was a recording. She scoffed, leaning over the couch and reaching for the remote for the television. But then Cadie began to speak. Xio listened incredulously. "You act like you're the only one who's lost loved ones to the Games." She muttered angrily, ignoring the fact she might feel the same if Aléjandra had ever volunteered. "That doesn't give you a reason to rebel. Clove wouldn't want this, you... a rebel. And you act as if... as if you didn't enjoy the parties and extravagance." She realizes she's talking to a recording, Cadie can't hear her. Her words are wasted. Fuck this. She tries to hit the power button, but the screen stays on so she launched the knife in her hand at it, watching as the blade embedded into the device and the screen shattered. She'd just buy a new one. But she would not listen to the nonsense the rebellion had drilled into the woman she'd at one time considered almost a friend.

Sarah Kline viewed Finnick Odair's Pro-Rebel propo

Her mascara wand halted mid air as a familiar voice echoed against the walls of her apartment. Blue eyes shifted subtly so her gaze could go to the source of the sound. Finnick. Lonely. He mentioned loneliness and complexity. A lack of preparation. Sarah knew for a fact that was a lie. There was no loneliness for Finnick Odair. Not when he was surrounded by the adoring people of the Capitol. And he was prepared. How could he not be with the amount of pr that was arranged for him. Sarah had tried to ignore the murder part. She had tried to swallow back any and all doubts that might linger in the back of her head. Suppress the sting of betrayal she had felt. Not necessarily because they had lied to her, but because she was left in the dark. Because she hadn't belonged. Because she was not part of the team, despite her many efforts. She continued to listen to his words and her own thoughts of protest got cleared to the background. Her mind went to those subtle moments of resistance. When he needed convincing. His expression when he thought no one was looking at him. Sarah had caught it before. Had dismissed it as stubbornness or even arrogance. It was what she had concluded it to be when he betrayed her the way he had. Lashes fluttered shut, she sniffled and softly cleared her throat. "Manipulating. Manipulator - I am being manipulated." She sucked in some air, paused and exhaled. Elbow rested on her vanity and her palm pressed against her brow in defeat; careful to avoid the recently applied make up. Blues shifted back to her reflection. "It's all fake."

With no end to the Rebellion in sight, the prevalence of propos occuring is likely to increase. Information is power. It is on the residents of The Capitol to decide whether what's being aired is true or not. And if they find themselves siding with the rebel forces, then they can only hope to have a better fate than Cinna.

With our Mockingjay era plot drops, these will be similar to the Claudius and Caesar updates. You are absolutely welcome to write a self-para or actively do threads in relation to this plot drop! If you choose to roleplay this on the dash, please tag your threads with both #eventideevent04 as well as #eventidetwtt. Our players are now welcome to play through day fifty-eight.

This plot drop does not effectively pause time in the roleplay. It does however signify that we are getting closer to the rescue mission in this era. Happy roleplaying and thank you for your patience!

[sktsmiyasimp]

Representation of Male Trauma in the Hunger Games: Gale

CW: general violence from canon events, abandonment issues

Ok so it turns out I actually cannot shut up about this series so here’s another post about the depiction of trauma in the male characters in THG.

Something I really love about the series is again how SC plays with gender. From their upbringing to their traumas to their coping mechanisms, a lot of the male characters suffer wounds we often see in female characters and vice versa, whether it’s abandonment, parental wounds, various types of abuse, and trauma from relying on poor coping skills. Given that these stereotypes don’t hold IRL, it makes these depictions even more important to see and analyze. I dove into Peeta’s childhood trauma in my last THG post, so for this series I think I’ll focus on Gale, Finnick, and Haymitch, but I am happy to make another Peeta post too :))

Gale’s Love, Loss, and Loneliness:

I like to rag on Gale for fun on tiktok since I was a diehard Peeta fan when I first read the series (11 year old me definitely wished I had my personal baker boy!). However, I do genuinely believe he’s a good character, and a lot of the slander he faces regarding his relationship with Katniss is a direct reflection of his trauma growing up. This post focuses on how his abandonment issues lead to a violent grasping of control.

We learn early on that Gale lost his father at 14 in the same explosion that killed Katniss’s father. Additionally, while Hazelle is a much more involved parent than Mrs Everdeen is post-explosion, Gale still has to take on a lot in order to feed his family of five.

So not only does Gale have to grow up too fast, he also finds that he doesn’t have a lot of people he can rely on, emotionally or literally. He has his mother, but no male figure to look up to for guidance or advice. He also has his siblings, but when you have to raise your siblings like they’re your own kids, it often feels inappropriate to confide in them. Gale is, essentially, alone.

Then Gale finds Katniss in the woods. To Gale, Katniss is the one person he can rely on to both fully understand losing a father/growing up too quickly AND help feed his family. As shown throughout the series, they trust one another in ways they don’t trust anyone else. They make each other feel physically and emotionally safe to be themselves. They are, in fact, each other’s woods to escape in.

So, when Gale loses Katniss in the 74th games, he obviously feels distraught, especially when she doesn’t entirely come back to him despite surviving. The part of Katniss that felt safe and exclusively his died in the arena. Once again, Gale is alone.

Now, this part is where I like to kind of rag on him given that Katniss isn’t a possession. And really, if your best friend had to kiss someone else to survive a totalitarian regime’s death trap, then telling them about how upset you are about not being able to kiss them too seems insensitive and problematic.

But again, Gale has no adult father figure to help him navigate romance. He has never had much time or energy for anyone else. And in a world where his life could so easily be upended by an explosion or illness or reaping, Katniss was someone consistently in his life, someone who always showed up for him, someone with whom he could truly be himself. So, much like basically everyone in D12 (besides Katniss herself) thought, he kind of assumed that Katniss would be around forever. And when she suddenly wasn’t, well…it’s easy to see how this abandonment wound got triggered. And while saying “I had to do that, at least once” after kissing her traumatized and emotionally confused ass was rather selfish, Gale has never been allowed to be selfish in his life. Ultimately, an 18 year old with a shaky support system is not going to make the best decisions, communicate well, or cope perfectly every time. So his reaction, while unlikeable, makes sense.

Another thing I want to touch on with Gale is his plan with the bombs, both with the Nut and in the Capitol. People like to boil it down to “Gale murdered prim lmao,” and “Gale’s a war criminal,” and while Katniss will never be able to separate Gale from that act, it’s definitely more nuanced than the memes.

We see Gale’s plans become more and more sinister throughout Mockingjay (he’d definitely become a victor had he ever been reaped). While I obviously do not condone any of those plans, it’s hard not to empathize with him. The capitol repeatedly ripped up anything Gale saw as stable and happy. And again, without extensive support and lots of therapy, it makes sense that a fiery 18 year old who’s life has repeatedly been ruined emotionally would want revenge. For once in his life, Gale has control over what happens. His voice matters; he has a place amongst Coin’s elite forces and strategists, and he’s surrounded by likeminded people who have losses and angers just as large as his own. Unlike when he was just ranting to Katniss alone in the woods, he has an army full of people just like himself. Gale is no longer alone.

Additionally, he has some form of Katniss again…which is good in that he has his best friend around, but bad in that he also lives with the constant reminder of who she is now vs who she was before, and the person who did this to her—and who did this to him—is in closer reach than ever before.

The main issue lay in the fact that not only did most people (even Katniss) fail to direct that energy towards the correct target, but the higher ups that DID give Gale that sense of power and control actively encouraged these unmerciful plans. It really places Coin right on Snow’s level even before we learn of her plans for the new games, killing off the victors, or extinguishing Katniss’s spirit. The ways in which she manipulated the young, the emotionally vulnerable, and the angry really hinted at her villainy all along, and Gale and Katniss’s relationship was unfortunately a casualty. Of course, we never really know what may have been, and of course Gale’s anger and fire probably would have led to their downfall anyway. But Coin using Gale’s trauma to her advantage definitely turned a potential into a reality.

TL;DR:

Gale’s weak support system, repeated abandonment, and lack of control made his character painfully realistic. While some of his actions certainly made him unlikable and ruined his relationship with Katniss, I think he deserves some slack given his circumstances.

Edit: while I call Gale’s support system weak, I don’t mean that his mother/Katniss/other family don’t care for him. It’s just that a support system isn’t really a strong system if there are only one or two people that you can only partially rely on.

[wisteria-lodge]

Archetypes: Sorting Hat Chats

I’ve been asked about my rationale for naming different primary/ secondary combinations. I did this originally as a tool to help me sort characters - I wanted to see how these types tend to be used, so I could more easily see what subversions looked like. I'll run through my thoughts, but know there’s a lot of variation within each category. But even WITH that variation, I do think that each one has its own specific energy that makes it interesting to talk about. An explanation of the terms I'm using.

DOUBLE LION “THE REVOLUTIONARY”

Pretty straightforward. The Lion primary knows something is wrong, they know it in their bones even if they can’t articulate it, and they’ve got to go out and do something about it. Probably charging at whatever power structure is directly in front of them. It’s unlikely you find a character leading a revolution who isn’t a Double Lion. These guys are intense, inspirational, single minded.

The villain version of the Lion primary tends to be the person who “went too far" or "became the monster they were trying to fight.'' But I think that the much more interesting Lion primary villain trope is the Traitor. Since Lions work from their feelings, and their philosophies can’t necessarily be articulated or linked to individuals outside of them - they can definitely have their head turned while still feeling moral about it.

One of my favorite examples of this Revolutionary archtype is actually Christian Bale‘s character from Newsies. He’s the spark that starts the unionizing revolution, but 100% needs his Badger and Bird lieutenants to keep him focused and keep him from defecting

LION SNAKE “THE ROBIN HOOD”

These guys are similar to the Double Lion - they will recognize a cause or injustice revolutionary style - but Robin Hood doesn’t go up and bang on wicked Prince John’s door. His move is the snake secondary one: confront the problem indirectly. Undermine the regime by stealing tax money and re-distributing it to the poor. Be simultaneously Robin Hood the outlaw and Robin of Locksley the noble, infiltrating and getting information. The Lion Snake is more likely to work within society (or deliberately separate from society) versus just breaking everything down.

LION BIRD “THE LAWMAN / THE VIGILANTE”

The fact that the Lion Bird can either be the Lawman or the Vigilante shows off the very clear hero/villain split you get with Bird secondaries. We also see this with the Snake Bird (simultaneously the Mastermind and the traditional Villain) and the Double Bird (either the Scientist or the Mad Scientist.) This is why I think I had such trouble naming the Badger Bird. I wasn’t leaning into the duality of the Bird secondary enough. The Badger Bird can be the King Arthur, or he can be the Mob Boss, and he’ll look kind of similar either way.

The Lion Bird also has that Lion primary conviction and drive, but they want to follow up on it with investigation, evidence, and plans. I actually think there need to be more stories about Lawmen turning into Vigilantes and vice versa. Because Lion Birds are their Cause no matter what external alignment gets attached to it.

LION BADGER “THE LINCHPIN”

This is my own sorting - although when I came up with this name I still thought I was a Double Bird. The linchpin is the pin-axle thing at the center of a wheel that prevents the whole thing from falling apart, and I think it's a good way of talking about the energy of this combination. The Badger secondary means they’re a lot less single minded than the other Lion primaries: their power comes from being part of a group. They become the emotional “heart” a lot, and have a way of quietly keeping things together just by existing. They can be leaders, but a Double Lion will lead from up front while a Lion Badger will lead from in the middle (if that makes sense.)

I do think it’s really funny that this is a common sleeper villain trope. Peter Pettigrew, Prince Hans, and Randall Boggs of Monsters Inc. all became integral to a group, and then exploit their position within it. They’re kind of the evil bureaucrat. Maybe that's a good trope for children’s media

DOUBLE SNAKE “THE TRICKSTER”

This is another straightforward one. Double Snakes are in it for themselves (and maybe like three other people.) They're going to be clever and tricksy about how they get what they want, and will not mind doing things backward and unofficially. And they won't mind if you know that's what they're doing. There’s something very unapologetic about the Double Snake which makes for very attractive characters. They are consistently voted the sexiest... and when they’re villains they’re fun villains. You know what they want, and what they want is not that complicated. I think that’s a big reason for the appeal of Snake primaries in general. They’re the easiest primary to understand and explain.

SNAKE LION “THE LANCELOT”

I used to call these guys “The Rebel,” which... is too generic, doesn’t really mean anything. So I started thinking about the Lion secondary as the Knight secondary, and I liked that. Double Lions are the Crusader Knight, riding for their Cause. Bird Lions are Grail Knights, riding for their own personal truth. Badger Lions are Champion Knights, here to help the helpless and defend the innocent.

And if that's that case… Snake Lions have to be the Knight Errant, the knight who rides for his lady. It is that simple. Lancelot might be a Knight of the Round Table, but he’s riding for Arthur the person, not Arthur the King. And for his lady, Queen Guinevere. I feel like his dilemma is one that’s common to a lot of Snake Lions: what happens when they’re forced to split their loyalty? It’s tragic, but Lancelot can’t have Arthur and Guinevere simultaneously.

(At least not until my awesome Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot OT3 which I will totally write at some point :)

SNAKE BIRD “THE MASTERMIND / THE VILLAIN”

The classic. We see a little more of the Bird Secondary split, and well… this is your stereotypical villain. They want power. They’re going to use an elaborate plan to get it. There’s a lot you can do with this sorting, but I actually do think it’s fun that whatever you do, this slight undercurrent of villain and/or mastermind… never quite goes away.

SNAKE BADGER “THE LOVER”

The Love Interest sorting. Chances are very good that if there is a love interest (who does not serve some other role in the story...) they're going to be a Snake Badger. Devoted to one person, solving problems by caretaking. This is the Badger secondary who is likely to have the smallest group, which is just going to make them look excessively devoted to their friends. This type is pretty gender neutral, which is fun. A lot of female love interests, but also your Mr. Darcys and Peeta Mellarks.

One of my favorite things about this trope (mostly just because I think it’s funny...) is that if you write a character who is not supposed to be a love interest, but who is a Snake Badger... subconsciously I think people are going to read them as a love interest anyway. Looking at you Jaskier, Horatio, and even Captain Barbossa.

DOUBLE BIRD “THE [MAD] SCIENTIST”

I think that (especially if you aren’t a Bird Primary yourself) your response to hearing a fictional Bird Primary’s motivation is kind of …huh. That seems random. Or oddly specific. You get your Hannibal Lecters, whose entire motivation is... wanting to eat people while drinking nice wine.

Double birds seem especially unusual, just in terms of society. They are Bird secondaries and they interact with the world through gathering data, but their Bird primaries mean that data can literally lead them to any conclusion, no matter how potentially wacky. These guys consciously build themselves from the ground up, and that can make them kind of detached - either in a logical way, or an unmoored way. They're written as either really stable, the rational mentor figure. Or really... not. And that’s how you spot a Bird villain. They’re not after money/power/safety, they’re after something weird.

BIRD LION “THE GRAIL KNIGHT”

This is the trope of Perceval or Galahad, questing after the Holy Grail chalice... which is really just meaning, and truth. It’s a personal quest. Grail Knights tend to ride alone, and a lot of the things that concern them are metaphysical, to do with identity, purpose, things like that. You can have extremely different Bird Lions, but I do think there is a sort of spiritual core there. Doctor Harleen Quinzel sees freedom and truth in whatever the Joker is doing, and then once she recognizes his hypocrisy, has to go build her own meaning.

I actually think these guys are pretty easy to spot because of that Lion secondary. When they change direction, they change direction, and there’s probably a period of despair between the direction changes. I’ve talked about how Bird Lions having a habit of falling apart pretty dramatically, and that’s where this idea comes from.

BIRD BADGER “THE SURVIVOR”

A rare sorting, but an interesting one. I call this one “the Survivor” or “the Last Man Standing” because, well, they seem to be. They seem remarkably stable. This is the Bird primary least likely to be a villain, and maybe the sorting least likely to be a villain. I think what’s going on is that they are grounded and integrated in whatever community they happen to be in (because of that Badger secondary), but they can define themselves and rebuild themselves in the Bird primary way. This makes them uniquely suited to building a new version of themselves for whatever situation they happen to find themselves in.

Maybe a better name for these guys would be “The Adapter.”

BIRD SNAKE “THE ARTIST”

Like all Bird primaries, these guys are inspired by their own projects and their own worldview, but because of that Snake secondary, Bird Snakes have a more easy-going ‘take the world as it comes' kind of energy. They are “the Artist” because everything they do is art: they want to use themselves and the world around them, put all of that towards whatever their Bird primary happens to be interested in.

You can have villains like the Nolan Joker, or the Talented Mr. Ripley, who kind of turn the world into their own personal philosophical social experiment. Or Scotty from Star Trek whose meaning is solely the well-being of the Enterprise. Maybe they just like traveling, and that's all they need. (It's a way for the Bird primary and the Snake secondary exist very happily together, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was pretty common.)

DOUBLE BADGER “THE PEACEMAKER”

Badgers are interesting, because while I think they’re generally regarded as “correct,” they’re also seen as kind of boring. That’s the case with both Badger primaries and Badger secondaries, which means it is doubly reflected in the Double Badger. They often get written as simplistic, the sweet Jane Bennet type who loves everybody and caretakes everybody and just wants everybody to get along.

They are often the targets of what TV Tropes used to call “Break the Cutie.” What could be more interesting than making this character, who wants to be happily part of a community, be forced to build protective models, be all tortured and angsty? I actually think we’re seeing a return of the Double Badger as an interesting character in their own right, with people like Aziaphale, and I'm here for it.

BADGER LION “THE PROTAGONIST”

What can I say? There are a lot of protagonists that are Badger Lions. They want to help the group - so we know they're the good guys - and then they charge and make stuff happen. Lion secondaries are very useful in fiction - you drop them into a situation and stuff just happens. I also think of this as the Starfleet officer sorting - because if you’re a Starfleet officer, either you are the sorting, or can model it really well.

I will say that this is kind of the stock Protagonist sorting, the way that the Snake Badger is the stock love interest and the Snake Bird is the stock villain. There’s just something sort of generic good guy about this one, which is why I want to see it used as a villain sorting more. Badger villains - mostly people who define ‘human’ very narrowly - are insanely terrifying.

BADGER SNAKE “THE ADVISOR”

Possibly “the Power Behind the Throne.” This is another one I had difficulty pinning down. I called it “the Politician” for a while, which unfortunately came off as a little bit more negative than I meant it to, since I think this sorting has a lot in common with Lion Badger, the linchpin of a heroic team. The difference is that Lion Badger takes on that role kind of unconsciously, while the Badger Snake does it very consciously.

Their loyalty is to the group, but their skill set is all about subversion and different ways of going around the group, which is why there’s an interesting contradiction at the heart of Badger Snake. A lot of real life Badger Snakes struggle with feeling like “bad people" and it's too bad. These guys are ridiculously powerful and competent when they are sure of themselves, and I love seeing them in action

BADGER BIRD “THE KING / THE MOB BOSS”

Another difficult one, despite (or because) I really like them. I was calling them “the Architect” because “The City Planner” sounded too boring… but that’s what they do. They’re all about the community but they problem-solve the way all Bird secondaries do, by prepping, and gathering knowledge. I talked more about this in the Lion Bird entry, but Bird secondary seems to have this villain split going on, and that’s what I see here too. This is a controversial love-them-or-hate-them sorting, and I think that’s why. There’s a lot of room in whether or not you see this sorting as villainous.

[toast-notcooked]

People like to clown on dystopian fiction and the ways in which it became a bastardisation of itself based on what was the most marketable, and like while I agree that this happened and it's important to point it out in those cases (like Divergent), I think it should also be appreciated and rewarded when it gets done right.

I remember the conversations me and my friends had as teens when The Hunger Games films came out about the ways that it was advertised going directly against everything that is shown to be good and right in the books. I remember when they released The Hanging Tree on radio and my friends and I lost our entire minds about how that is exactly what the Capitol tried to do to Katniss and Peeta's stories and image. I also remember the sheer amount of people that read the books based on a love for the films and found themselves analysing the marketing and other media because of it. I remember literal teenagers who had never shown an interest in politics suddenly realising that our governments want poor people to "know our place" and wanting to fight against it.

I also remember my younger sister studying it for school and me being jealous because of the impact I had seen it have on my classmates and wishing we had been encouraged to follow that, only to learn that it was being taught the way Romeo and Juliet is, and that the heart of the story had been ripped out by the governing bodies decisions on what parts were important for the grade. And I remember the anger and the pushback from parents who claimed that teachning kids about YA Literature was going to produce a much dumber generation than the ones who were taught Shakespeare and An Inspector Calls in those same classes. I remember them saying that you shouldn't change the syllabus to study books the kids are interested in and enjoy reading because they won't learn anything in the classes if they aren't "pushed academically" (read: made to do something they hate and have no interest in).

So yeah, I think clowning on some dystopia is good, and often it's actually important because they are written in a way that goes against every single thing that dystopia is about, they're written for marketing purposes and not for any kind of internal content. But people really do need to figure out what they're clowning on and why they hate something before they do. And we need more kids to be allowed to study the books they actively want to engage with if we want them to learn literary comprehension.

[everlarkrealornot]

This is real...? Chapter 11

Chapters One through Ten here

He felt good as he parked the car. It was going to be a great day! Katniss was going to tour WVU with him and afterwards they were going to go look at apartments; he practically had to stop himself from skipping up the sidewalk to the Everdeen’s front door. Helen invited him in, telling him that Katniss was in her room and that he should feel free to go on back as she was just job hunting.

His heart sunk as he took in Gale sitting on her bed. He had wanted this time alone with her, but if he was important to Katniss then he could make the effort. Walking closer, the scene in front of him started to shift. Katniss’s eyes were locked on his, but those weren’t his hands in her hair or his lips on her skin. She opened her mouth to speak but her voice was distorted, and the dark sound seemed to swirl around him.

“Gale, you know that I’ve always wanted you…that I’ve always dreamed of you…loved you…”

“AHH!” Peeta woke with a start, cutting off the haunting words. He pressed a hand to his throbbing head as the room seemed to sway around him.

“Peeta?” Katniss ran her hand over his back and held his shoulder. “You okay?” she asked with anxious eyes.

Looking at her he took several deep breaths, orienting himself to the moment. She was there, with him. No one else.

“Bad dream.” He leaned over and kissed her, finding comfort in her lips against his. “Just a dream,” he said more to reassure himself than her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as they settled back down on their pillows.

“No,” he shook his head gently, “I’m good now.” He forced a smile and placed a kiss on her forehead.

--

May

Before she had left for Cinna’s that morning, Katniss had been talking about needing to call the roofer again and get scheduled. He knew if he was going to reach out to Haymitch it was now or never and pulling on his shoes he decided it was now. It was a sunny day, so he assumed he would be able to find Haymitch in his usual spot. As he walked down their front porch steps he could see he was right.

“Ahh, the boy has been let off his leash, has he?” Haymitch mocked as Peeta walked across the lawn and up the steps.

“Good morning to you too, Haymitch.” Peeta leaned against the railing.

“I see that you and the missus have been having fun trying to trigger your memories.” He smirked and Peeta internally cursed himself for thinking no one would see them having sex on their back porch but then Haymitch tapped the side of his neck. “You would think that since people have been getting hickeys since the dawn of time, we would have figured out a way to get rid of them.”

“Yeah,” Peeta rubbed his neck in relief, “You would think.”

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?” he asked as he took another drink from his flask.

“Katniss told me the other day that you used to be the owner of H&C.”

“She did, did she?” Haymitch snorted. “Apparently the girl can do more than just annoy me.” Peeta sighed; if all he was going to do was insult Katniss, they would pay the full price and just deal with it. “What about it?” He seemed to notice Peeta’s irritation and pushed forward.

“Last week during the down pour we got a leak. We had H&C come out to give us a quote on how much it was going to be to fix it. The guy said the situation was worse than he expected due to some poor patch job a few years ago,” he explained.

“I told those two idiots that they were going to regret using the company they did,” Haymitch scoffed.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t regretting it, we are.” Peeta paused, unsure how to ask something like this of Haymitch.

“And what does this have to do with my previous work experience?” he asked in exasperation.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking a look and giving me a quote for how much it would cost to have you repair it,” Peeta said with an optimistic tone.

Haymitch was silent for a moment before busting out into laughter.

“BOY! What about me makes you think I would want to help you out?!?”

Peeta shook his head. “Katniss was right, you are a bastard…this was a waste of time.” He hurried down the steps and across their lawn.

--

There had been a note waiting for her when she got to work. Cinna was going to be out of town for the day and wouldn’t be home till late as he had been invited on a tour of another designers’ space in the city. Katniss sighed as she threw the note in the trash, holding back the tears that were stinging her eyes. She wasted no time and started her meal planning for the week.

She had been looking forward to work this morning as she had expected it to be a nice break from the reality she had been living in for the past couple of days. Peeta had been having nightmares for the past two weeks and he had told her about the ones that seemed to be connected to his car accident, but they were too surreal to have been returning memories.

Then there were the ones he kept to himself. He seemed to hate those the most, usually holding her tight to his chest afterwards, kissing her or hugging her more throughout the day as if to assure himself that she was there. She had asked if those dreams had been about losing her. He seemed embarrassed when she asked, saying that they were in away, but hadn’t shared what he had meant by that and she didn’t push.

She cleaned out the fridge quickly and headed to the store. The quicker she could get her work done today the sooner she could go home. Working at Cinna’s had always been good, but she realized as much as she liked her space she hated being there when it was just her. His house was too big and too empty when he was gone and it constantly reminded her that he would be moving on at some point. It might not be to this design studio that he was touring today but there would soon come an offer that would be too good for him to pass on.

--

Peeta’s head had been hurting after his conversation with Haymitch. The night before he had had a pretty nasty nightmare where Katniss had left him for Gale saying that she couldn’t be with someone who didn’t know how to be a real man. Dr. A had told him the week before that these nightmares sounded like they were manifesting some of his worst fears. He had agreed then, but something about certain ones felt so real that it was starting to scare him.

He knew that he needed to just go in and call the contractor but his thoughts were swimming too much and there was only one thing that was going to help him sort it all out. He headed straight back to his studio and got to work. He wasn’t happy with the subject of what he was putting on the canvas but he knew that if he didn’t finish it, the images would dance through his head all day, so he pushed on.

Sitting back, he frowned even more as he looked at the completed piece. He had hoped that putting the scene on the canvas would help him make sense of it, understand it, but instead it just left him with more questions. Sighing, he stood up and tucked it away to dry where Katniss couldn’t find it. It wasn’t often that she got home early on his days off so he was shocked to hear the garage door opening and closing. He hurried to the kitchen to start the few dishes that were in the sink, hoping she wouldn’t ask what he had been working on.

“Hey,” she sounded exhausted.

“Oh, hey.” He gave her a small smile over his shoulder.

“When you’re done with those, do you just want to lie on the couch, watch a movie, and eat our feelings?” she asked as she slipped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades.

“That is an oddly specific request,” he felt the tightness in his chest loosen slightly as she nuzzled against him, “but I think I would be okay with that.”

“Good.” She kissed his back several times before letting go. “Should I make some popcorn?”

“Actually, can we talk for a minute?” He finished rinsing the last dish and turned around to look at her.

“Uh-oh, that sounds serious,” she joked, a smile on her face. “Oh.” She stopped smiling when she looked at him again. “It is serious.” She sat down at the table and folded her hands. “What’s going on?”

He finished drying his hands before coming to the table. He hesitated a moment and she looked at him with concern before he finally sat down.

“You know my memories are starting to come back.” She nodded. “But sometimes they don’t always make sense and get jumbled.” He ran his hand through his hair – the last time he had brought up Gale she had withdrawn. “I have some questions.”

“Okay,” she smiled hesitantly and reached over to take his hand, “I will do my best but you know that Dr. A wants you to try and – ” 

“Did Gale kiss you?” he blurted out before she had stopped talking.

“What do you mean?” She furrowed her brow and pulled her hand away.

“What do I mean?” he repeated after her softly, trying to understand her response. “Did Gale kiss you, yes or no?” he asked more forcefully.

She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. He could tell she was holding something back and had to fight the urge to assume the worst.  

“Yes, Gale kissed me.” His face fell but she hurried on. “You’re probably remembering when I told you about him kissing me when I was 15.”

“When you were 15?” he asked skeptically.

“Yeah, it was after my birthday that year.” She leaned forward and took his hand again. “He had asked me if I had a letter and kissed me.”

What she told him sounded right and for a moment it felt like old news, something he was hearing again. But there was something wrong still. He had taken down his wall weeks ago but for some reason he felt like she was trying to hold it up from her side.

“And that’s all that – ”

The doorbell rang, cutting him off.

“I’ll get it.” She stood up and left the kitchen, the feeling of his eyes on her back heavy.

Gale had almost torn them apart when they were courting and she didn’t want that to happen again – why had she given him a memory suggestion? She should have let him share what he was remembering before saying anything and just kept her stupid mouth shut. Cursing at herself she decided no more secrets – after she dealt with whoever was at the door, she was going to go back in and explain everything, fuck Dr. A’s instructions.

Taking a deep breath she forced a smile on her face as she opened the door only to be deflated when she saw who was on the other side of it. “Not right now, Haymitch.” She went to close the door.

“I’m not here for you, sweetheart. I’m here to talk to the boy.” Haymitch stuck his foot in the doorway, blocking her from closing it.

“This isn’t a good time.” She pulled the door back and swung it again, hitting his foot, hard.

“Well I don’t really give a fuck if it’s a good time or not.” Haymitch pushed the door open, but stayed outside. “I need to talk to Peeta.”

“What’s going on?” Peeta appeared behind her suddenly. After exchanging questioning looks, she stepped back to let him deal with it. “Haymitch,” he opened the door all the way, “what are you doing here?”

“I’ll do it.” He shrugged.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll take a look at your roof.” He pointed up, his hand wobbling.

“You asked Haymitch to look at the roof?” Katniss asked in disbelief. Ignoring her, Peeta frowned at him.

“You’re drunk – I’m not letting you anywhere near the roof.” Peeta went to close the door. “Good-bye.”

“Tomorrow.” Peeta stopped with the door halfway closed. “I’ll take a look at it tomorrow. Sober.” Peeta opened the door fully. “Promise.”

“I don’t get home till about noon…is that going to be a problem?” Peeta asked.

“I’ll be here at noon.” Haymitch gave him an awkward nod before walking back across the lawn.

“Hmm.” Peeta closed the door, still not quite believing what had just happened. Haymitch had said he would do them a favor and be sober while doing it but saying something and doing something are two very different things.

“You asked Haymitch to look at our roof?” she asked again, their earlier conversation almost forgotten.

“This morning.” He headed back to the kitchen.

“Why would you do that…you know how much I hate him!” she snapped, irritated that he would ask without discussing it with her.

“If he can fix the damn roof and save us some money in the process, I don’t see the problem.” He held his hands up, annoyed at her response.

“The problem is that it’s Haymitch!” She did not understand why he would want someone like that working on their house.

“Katniss,” he sighed, “unless you can give me an actual reason why I shouldn’t let him help us out, it’s happening.”

[plus-size-reader]

Not Really Goodbye

Peeta Mellark x Plus size!reader

Word Count:1519 words

Warnings: This one hurt my feelings

Summary: Having to say goodbye to Peeta when he leave for the games

——————————————————————————————————

You and Peeta had been nearly inseparable all your lives.

In fact, there had never really been a time that you were away from one another for more than a few hours. It just didn't happen, though to be fair, District twelve wasn't really big enough to put that much sizable distance between you.

You worked in his family's bakery most of the time, and when you weren't there, the two of you were at school together or walking the streets to pass the time. There wasn't much to do in a place mainly good for coal mining.

Still, when you weren't together, you were always thinking about the other.

Peeta was almost always on your mind, and while you didn't think twice about it as a child, that changed as the two of you grew older. The older you got, the more you realized that Peeta was more to you than your best friend, and the feeling seemed to be mutual.

...And not remotely a secret.

It was common knowledge in all of District twelve that you couldn't survive without him by your side, and as far as you knew, you couldn't. So, when his name was called at the reaping ceremony, you felt like someone had shot a hole through your middle.

You could feel a pit in your stomach that would never be repaired.

All you could think about as you stood in the dirt, your hands folded in front of you, was what could happen once he left the safety of district twelve. You were terrified, having grown up every year watching the broadcasts.

No one in Panem was a stranger to the brutal sights that came out of the games but for some reason, you never thought that Peeta would be in any kind of danger. You just couldn't imagine your life without him.

If Peeta died, it would certainly kill you.

However, before you could spend too much time thinking about that, you decided that there was one other thing that was more important. All you could think about as they led him away behind those curtains was getting to him.

You knew that you wouldn't have much time to say goodbye before he was whisked away, assuming they would even let you see him at all. Nothing was guaranteed but you weren't going to squander that opportunity.

For all you knew, it was going to be the last you would ever get.

It took quite some time before you could actually go meet him, but when you did, it was an experience that you were sure that you'd never forget.

The halls were deathly silent as you walked toward his room, making quick work of the distance with fast feet. It didn't hurt that you were being ushered along by a rather pushy peacekeeper, who would probably keep you from seeing him if given the option.

None of them really cared if something bad happened to you, or anyone else in twelve. You were expendable to them, just more poor folk that they didn't want under their boot. Still, it was hard not to be a little grateful to them for letting you see Peeta one last time before he had to leave.

They didn't have to let you see him, but if nothing else, they gave you a few more minutes with him than you would have gotten before.

You expected to see Peeta's family within the confines of his room, but when you opened it, he was entirely alone, staring out onto the street through the window. He had no idea what the future had in store for him, but there was no use really wondering right now.

He'd figure it all out in time.

Though, thankfully, before he could delve fully into his upset and start overthinking, you cleared your throat behind him. Neither of you said anything at first, just slowly wrapping each other up in a huge hug.  

There weren't really words for what you were feeling right now, to be fair.

"Is your family on their way? I don't want to intrude on their goodbyes" you asked, worried that you would upset his mother if she arrived to you already there. However, before you could worry too much, Peeta shook his head.

His mother had been in already, and left without much to say which as far as he knew, was as good as it was going to get from his family. Really, he had just been waiting for you. Neither of you really thought this day would ever come.

Peeta could only imagine how you were feeling.

"What are you thinking right now?" he asked, gingerly brushing a single tear from your cheek. You had been periodically staring at the ground since you'd entered, making it abundantly clear to Peeta that you were trying to keep it together.

You were hiding something, but he didn't have to guess what was upsetting you like he normally did. You both knew what was wrong with you, but he knew that you needed to say whatever it was that was on your mind.

For all either of you knew, this would be the last chance you would ever have. As hard as that was the accept, it was the reality of the world you lived in and no one could do anything about that.

"I just can't believe this is happening? Are you sure you have to go?" you asked, your eyes screwing shut as you tried to keep the tears at bay. You swore that you weren't going to cry when you came in here, but you couldn't help it.

The two of you just had never been apart for this long and you weren't sure how it was going to go. Not to mention the fact that you couldn't be sure that he would actually make it back, which would make this the last time you would ever speak.

Overall, it was just too much for one person to handle.

"I don't have a choice" he shrugged, doing his best to keep it together for the pair of you. He was the one facing death but really, he felt more guilty for putting you through this, even if it wasn't his fault.

You just didn't deserve to go through hurt like this and it killed him that he really couldn't do anything about it.

"Just promise me you'll try and come back, okay?" you sniffed, practically begging him to do it, even though you both knew the chances were slim. District twelve hadn't won the hunger games in a number of years, and it just didn't look good.

Still, you just had to believe that he would be okay. It was the only chance you had, and even if it wasn't all that realistic, you didn't care. You were rather sure that you couldn't survive if you had to wake up to the news that he'd been killed, or sleep in the first place with such a mounting threat.

However, before you could think too much about what could happen to him, you were startled by a yell from outside the door. It would seem that the peacekeepers patience was wearing a bit thin from waiting.

"Hurry up in there!"

You jumped just a bit at that, but recovered quickly because you knew what that meant. You and Peeta didn't have much time left before he had to leave. It was far from ideal but just like most of what had happened today, there was nothing either of you could do today.

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever happens, it's okay" Peeta assured, watching you start to shut down once again at the idea of what was happening. It didn't even seem real for the most part, until you got those sick reminders that it was.

It wasn't.

It really wasn't, but you weren't about to tell Peeta that.

Instead, you nodded, wiping away the tears that had started to well up again. "Just be careful" you pleaded, snuggling into his waist again, holding him tight as if that would make it all go away. Of course, it didn't work, but you just had to try.

"It's time to go now, okay? I love you" he whispered, gingerly tilting your face up toward his own to get you to meet his eyes. Then, without really giving the action much though, Peeta leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

It wasn't something he ever would have done normally, or should have done given the circumstances, but he couldn't help himself. If he didn't do it now, he would never get the chance and as selfish as that was, he couldn't think about that.

Almost as soon as you separated, you were both taken in separate directions, very much against either of your will. Still, you did your best not to fight it, knowing that it would do no good. All  you could do now was hope that that really wasn't goodbye.

You wanted to make sure that you got the chance to tell him back, after all.

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

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

Teen and up

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

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

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

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

KPKPKPKP

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

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

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

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

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

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

  They were starting to scare me, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

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

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

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

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

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

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ——————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

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

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

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

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

  I nodded. 

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

  “Same.”

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

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

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

——————-

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

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

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

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

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

  There were gasps all around. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

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

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

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

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Still…

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

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

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

———————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I turned 16 that spring.

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

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

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

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

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

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

  Whatever happened, was bad.

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

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

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

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

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

  “We’ll see.”

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

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

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

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

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

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

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

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

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

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

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

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

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

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

  “YES    NE”

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

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

  “K”

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

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

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

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

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

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

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

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

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

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

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

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

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

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

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

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

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

  I was momentarily frightened.

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

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

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

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

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

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

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

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

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “‘kay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

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

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

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

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

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

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

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

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

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

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

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

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

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[theartofdreaming1]

I like the scene when Peeta’s just making conversation by talking about the different kinds of bread, it’s such a simple but cute moment... He’s truly living up to his moniker of being the Boy with the Bread 😉🍞

My thoughts on chapters 7-9 regarding this week’s prompts, as well as some random thoughts under the cut:

heart

I had watched (most) of the movies first before reading the books (because otherwise I get so disappointed by my favorites moments being left out in the adaptations that I can’t appreciate them for what they are), so by the time I read this passage, I already knew it was for real😊 Generally, I was inclined to believe Peeta anyway, because I liked his character from the start (didn’t mean I wouldn’t wonder about his motivation at times, but there were just so many hints of him being a genuinely good guy that I was a lot less reluctant to believe him than Katniss). Also, Katniss’s reactions and thoughts regarding Peeta had been all over the place so far (she was constantly switching between being drawn to him/recognizing his kindness and questioning his every move/accusing him of plotting her demise, lol)... so it definitely felt more like she was going the route of “better safe than sorry” by assuming that he was doing this all simply for his own benefit.

mind

Hmm, I think that Peeta’s score was proportionally given, considering he was throwing weights; we know that Peeta is very strong, hence the 8 (according to Katniss, Careers generally range between 8 and 10, so for someone from district 12, he already did really well) - but, as Peeta says, throwing weights is not particularly exciting... And in hindsight, we know that Peeta has far more impressive skills than being physically strong (like his camouflage skills, for example)

I feel like Katniss’s score got upped a notch to make her a target; her skills alone would have probably warranted a 10 under “normal” circumstances (which, again, is pretty impressive for someone who is not from your usual Career district)

soul

I think that Rue was drawn to Katniss because she volunteered for Prim; considering her age, I used to think that Rue was looking for a protector/big sister figure in Katniss, but considering their later interactions in the Games (in which we learn that Rue is also the oldest of her siblings), I wonder if it maybe was more of a “birds of a feather”-kind of thing, with the both of them being older sisters and caretakers.

random thoughts:

Chapter 7:

What is it with this chapter and Peeta constantly undervaluing himself? We have his "I can't do anything, unless you count baking bread", ironically followed by his remark aimed at Katniss that she shouldn’t "underrate [her]self”, while he’s completely dismissive when she points out his strengths (i.e., lifting heavy bags of flour and wrestling) and then later, in the cafeteria, after he told Katniss about the different types of bread and she comments that he “certainly knows a lot”, he shrugs it off (”only about bread”). Of course, in this chapter we are also presented with the reason why - when Peeta bursts out how his own mom rated Katniss over him to his face (What is wrong with that woman?! All she had to do was let him know that she loves him - nobody asked her to share her winner predictions with the flippin’ class!!?!) Ugh, I get this feeling that Peeta’s mom just measured his worth in how useful he was for the bakery (since he only ever acknowledges his knowledge/abilities when it comes to bread (or cake decorating) - poor Peeta!🙁

I wonder if Peeta excelling in hand-to-hand combat despite Haymitch’s advice to appear mediocre was a calculated move on Peeta’s part to improve his chances of joining the Careers later?

Chapter 8:

Aww, it’s so heartwrenching how horrible Katniss feels after shooting that apple out of the roasted pig’s mouth! She is so worried that it will have repercussions for her family... Good thing that the District 12 team is there to cheer her up, especially Haymitch and Peeta :)

Chapter 9:

Lol, Katniss’s intense sense of betrayal after Peeta asked to be coached separately cracks me up - she immediately tries to rationalize her reaction and to to be pragmatic and move on, but you can tell how much she already trusted Peeta despite her constant questioning of his motives ^^

As a sidenote, I absolutely love how much Katniss struggles with wearing high heels - as someone who can’t walk in high heels to save her life, I’m always relieved to hear/read that I’m not the only one with that problem ^^ (I’ve only worn high heels once in my life - during high school graduation - and I was so afraid of falling, taking those few stairs to accept my diploma, that I blocked out everything else from that moment)

Katniss’s stage fright feels so real and relatable - this is me before any presentation, oral exam, piano recital, or theater performance I’ve ever taken part in... and it never got better with practice😳😞

[petruchio]

This has nothing to do with meta (maybe?) but so many food descriptions in THG are so mouthwatering, and I know Collins does this to note both the disparity of the wealth distribution, but also because all of the raw material comes from the districts, and even if a district citizen attempted to recreate the food, it would be a poor imitation of the Capitol version. I want to make some of this Capitol food because it sounds so good, but if I do, I know I’m missing the point. Thought I’d share.

no i think this is a really good point! i mean i think there’s that passage when katniss tries to figure out how she would make her favorite captiol meal with the materials she has available to her in twelve and basically comes to the conclusion that she could never recreate it, no matter how hard she tries. and i think that’s kind of to your point about all the raw materials coming from the districts, and points again to a larger social commentary on the nature of wealth and the nature of those who live in luxury without thinking about the realities of how the resources that they get are produced.

it’s also interesting to think of in context of how katniss describes the bread from the bakery in the opening of thg as opposed to how she describes the bread she makes from her tesserae grain, and the ways in which food reflects the larger stratifications of wealth and power both within districts and more broadly in panem’s society. because katniss sees peeta as “always having had enough,” but he has the same reaction as she does when they go to the feast and the prep team offers them the drinks that will make them vomit so they can eat more. it’s again that kind of fascinating nuance of class, where peeta does have more than katniss, but ultimately they are much closer to each other in wealth and access than either of them really are to the captiol. but again--when katniss directs her anger at the merchants in the districts, it’s another division that keeps them weak. as long as the districts are divided against themselves, and further divided against each other, they can never truly mount a revolution or overhaul of the system.