#I would love to write more about witches and history but I'm tired right now

[theflashjaygarrick]

As someone who has studied the history of Early Modern European witchcraft at university it is funny how many terfs spread theories as indisputable fact that are unaccepted within mainstream historical scholarship.

Yes men could be witches. No it was not a conspiracy against midwives. Yes it was rooted in misogyny and the societal disempowerment of women. No this was not the only relevant factor. Religion, class and social dynamics were also super important. Not to mention the blatant anti semitism.

The European witch hunts are such a fascinating and disturbing historical phenomenon, and I hate how it has been over simplified to support a radfem narrative.

[terapsina]

#2 for the book worm ask game!

(ask game)

2. Favorite fantasy book(s).

(Eeeeexcellent, I do love fantasy books. Though how I'm gonna narrow it to only a few I've got no idea. Okay. I'm going to remove the very obvious choices like Lord of the Rings (though it is one of my faves)).

---

Monstrous Regiment. I love the entire Discworld series (especially The Witches) but I've also got a huge soft spot in my heart for Terry Pratchett's take on 'a girl dresses like a boy to go to war' (and thinks of everything except some spare socks in- erm... the right place). Along with Polly, the squad consists of a vampire, a troll, an Igor, a religious fanatic and two very, very close "friends" (and yes, the official summary put the friends in quotes too). And everyone has their own secret.

I love basically everything about this book and I can't tell you guys any of it because it would spoil all the fun.

The Goblin Emperor. This one's a story filled with light. Maia the half goblin son of the elven Emperor was never supposed to take the throne (or to ever even be at court. because racism). And then everyone ahead of him dies in a single "accident" and suddenly he's the new Emperor. Maia is a good person, and a kind one, and despite everything that gets thrown at him he keeps hold of that understanding of right and wrong and refuses to bend.

(I have to mention that the language of the writing is kinda hard to get into in the beginning, and the characters's have very complicated and long names, but once you get into it it really did enhance the story for me).

Good Omens. An Angel and a Demon try to stop the apocalypse and instead lose the Antichrist. I've loved that book for like a decade now and if I don't put it on a list of my faves that list would be a lie.

The King of Attolia. Third in The Queen's Thief series and my favorite one out of all of them. I've always enjoyed Outsider POV in fics. And here is a book that just... proves why. We've got Eugenides and Irene, the Thief and the Queen, and we know them from the two previous books. And adore them. But the story isn't from their POV, it's from the POV of Costis, a Queen's guard who's suddenly gotten assigned to the King. The useless, weak, undeserving king that as far as Costis is concerned doesn't deserve to even kiss the Queen's boots. And it's hilarious to read the story from the eyes of someone who knows so much less than us. And so satisfying, as he begins to understand.

(I recommend the whole series and am personally glad to have read them in the published order but Megan Whalen Turner has stated that she wrote them in a way that allows you to jump in at any point you want).

The Raven Tower. The story is from the viewpoint of a sentient, omniscient rock whose name is Strength and Patience of the Hill and it is the GREATEST THING EVER. The gods are real and must be very careful with their words, because if they speak a lie the reality will alter to make that lie the truth but if the lie is bigger than the power of the god... well. Inspired by Hamlet.

(the book also has a trans man as the main character; the other main character? The sentient rock is the narrator but the largest part of the story focuses on Eolo).

A Natural History of Dragons. The first book from The Memoirs of Lady Trent (and honestly it would probably be more honest to say that every single book from this series fits the category of fave but I'm putting up the first here because this isn't a series where you should skip ahead). The book focuses on the life of Isabella as narrated by her older self. This is the story how a Scirland lady bucked all tradition and became a world renowned expert on the Natural History of Dragons.

(this series has a piece of my heart and always will).

---

(and finally, here's some more of my favorite fantasy books that I also adore and would totally ramble about but I got tired of typing).

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hiii, I'd like to request a match up !!

First of all, sorry if it's written weird, English is not my first language and I'm in need of a few days of sleep lmao :') also this is very long because I have no idea how to write concisely to save my life, so, sorry for your eyes? brain? Idk but sorry

1 - I'm AFAB genderqueer, might be a demigirl ? idk gender is confusing. anyways, I use any pronouns because I'm extra like that lmao, and I prefer my sexuality to stay unlabelled for now

2 - Papas !! (they're so silly I love them)

3 - I'm rather small (163cm/5'4") and kinda pudgy. I would not say I'm plus size but I'm definitely thicker than average, especially around my hips and thighs (stretch marks n cellulite gang WYA). I used to be very insecure about it but thankfully I got better at loving myself (still working on it but I'll get there eventually). I'm also getting a tattoo on my upper left arm very soon (inspired by Kafka's Metamorphosis because yes) and hopefully some more piercings (I only have triple lobe for now). my hair's light brown and very short, I buzzed it back in August and I'm growing it out. Yes, I do have a terrible case of bed head. I also trim my eyebrows to be very short, makes it easier to do my makeup. Almost forgot to talk about my eyes, but basically they're blue-ish green and usually overshadowed by the huge dark circles I have. I don't dress according to one particular style, although I enjoy being in full goth fashion, makeup and all. I would probably describe my style by 'satanic grandma' because as much as I love my band shirts and inverted crosses, I also cannot live without my extensive collection of grandpa sweaters and ugly ties.

4 - I'm an introvert - and an awkward anxious ball of nerves at that, but I don't mind stepping up to the task in social situations if the people I'm with are not comfortable ordering food/asking a question. I usually am very cautious of how I act with new people I meet as I am autistic and don't want to 'scare them off' or make them uncomfortable. However, if we vibe, you get to know the still anxious but also very silly me. I especially love coming across other people that are on the spectrum, because we usually have a certain understanding of each other's way of acting and just be silly together. Speaking from experience with my closest friends, at least (not generalizing autistic people !!).

5 - I've been hyperfixating on Ghost for a good while now, but apart from that I'm very much interested in art. Learning about it of course, but also making it (I'm in art prep class rn and it's kicking my ass, send help). Drawing, writing, taking photos, making zines and stuff... hopefully after prep class I can get into a proper art school and study illustration, and maybe look into becoming a graphic novel author. My favorite artists would probably be Dora Maar, Gustave Doré and Gustav Klimt tbh. I also have an interest in geopolitics and history, especially in the Middle Ages' witch hunts and black death, but also in more recent topics such as the satanic panic. Basically all things occult and satanic. I also love internet horror media such as ARGs, like My house.wad or the Hypnagogic Archive. Music taste wise, I listen to everything, but my favorite genres are hard rock and metal. I'd say my all time fav artists are Ghost, Slayer (South of Heaven walked so that Year Zero could run, change my mind), Iron Maiden, SOAD, Twin Temple, Radiohead, alex g and Mitski.

6 - I'm a huge cat person but I also very much love crows and rats and reptiles and overall all the animals that would seem weird to keep as pets. Also I love love LOVE having deep conversations about complicated philosophical topics at night in a calm spot at a party or smth, specifically while drinking off-brand soda. Idk why I included this, I just thought of it and I'm too tired to question how my sleep deprived brain thinks right now.

Sorry again for the huge wall of text, y'all are the best !

Have a good day/night !!

This post is part of the 1000 followers match up event. Entries for the event are now closed.

Your match is...Copia

He's all for helping you love yourself, he'll kiss any part of your body you are insecure about and everyday he tells you how amazing you look. The thing that really makes it work is that he means it, you can see the sincerity in his expression.

He can also be an awkward anxious bundle of nerves. But what is so cute is that both of you try and step up for the other in social situations. You see Papa Emeritus IV come out a lot at those times.

You vibed immediatly with him it was just an instant connection. He just got you, and you him. He treasures that so much.

He will help all he can with your art class prep. Like whatever you need. If you want him to just keep you company he's there, if you need models he'll get his rats to pose with him (it's just adorable). Or if you need to work super hard he'll bring you food and drinks to keep you going.

Sometimes he joins you but drawing isn't his strongest skill so it's a good giggle, he can laugh at his mistakes and he enjoys seeing you smile at them. Other times he'll sit and write songs as you work, he wrote one about you just the other day.

He got so excited when he found out you had an interest in the middle ages, witch hunts and black death. He literally squeaked with joy and you discussed it long into the night, while drinking lots of off-brand soda.

He also finds some really cool books for you to read from the clergy library, occult, satanic panic and so on, it's all there.

~

Written by Nyx

[hazardmemetic]

— STARTERS from SOPHE LUX’S album WAKING THE MYSTICS

Edited for usability, change pronouns/wording as needed.

Target Market

"I'm the target market." "There is no danger." "I could be the savior." "Always wanted something to live for." "It's gonna be my day, no one's gonna take it away from me." "No one's gonna take it away from me!" "I got the right look." "Pain is pleasure's cushion."

Lonely Girl

"I was a witch in my time of Descartes." "Fought for my soul, but they tried to tear it apart." "Who does she think she is?" "I am a virgin, and I am a whore." "I am a saint and a sinner galore." "I am the inventor of my own tradition." "I know the key and the form of your heart." "I know how to make you tremble and groan."

Marie Antoinette Robot 2073 (A Rock Opera)

"And who would now create such harm?" "What a bonney-bon need." "Sometimes I'm tired of being a serf." "Sometimes I wish the doll on the shelf lead existence, breathed." "Did you know that it was me?" "She's having a crisis." "She's having a crisis about being." "And when the darkness comes to me, it's a star to count on." "You can write it out to make your way back home." "When I look in the mirror, it's empty." "It's just an infinity winking back at me." "You might say I'm a fool to feel this way." "They're making moves in my brain, they say." "They're pretend I know my history."

Time of Light

"It was the time of light." "We'll be loved through thick and thin." "What's outside is just a reflection of what's within." "So dance the night away, my dear." "My cup's already overflowing." "Oh, yes, it is." "I am just waiting for my soul to be restored."

Little Soldier of Time

"Pierce the vortex of your mind, and see what images arise." "You're burning up inside." "My thoughts of you are spinning 'round." "You broke the bronco of my heart." "The past explodes and burns." "Love is a dangerous game." "I guess that love of the self is the only love you can trust." "Deep in my heart, there is a line of keys."

President

"You're going to light your soul on fire." "The world will blossom with your love." "You sparkling little dove!" "I believe in a world where you are president." "Everything would be so divine." "You turn the water right into wine." "Tell the people how to see the beauty of a thousand dreams." "Pointless wars based on the expert of democracy." "We have no answers, no solutions, no possibilities." "Cast my ballot for a new day and eternal spring."

God Doesn't Take American Express

"I dreamed the Statue of Liberty fell over." "Any move you make creates danger." "It takes a lot of hard work to be saved." "Come take a trip outside of your mind." "It's got a way of treating you so, so unkind." "Got a big surprise waiting here, just for you." "Your dreams are coming true." "Bring back the feeling inside my brain." "The eye that is hidden feeds off the stranger." "God doesn't take American Express no more." "How you ever going to make it home again?" "Oh, my love." "How you ever going to fill that emptiness deep inside?" "What a challenge it'll be." "You'll go down in history."

String Theory

"Freedom can mean a lot of things." "Fly your way into the sea, baby." "The key to creation's in your heart." "You know it is." "She speaks to her many dreams, but her words sew too slow." "You know, they put on quite the show."

Lou Salome

"In the past they called me Lou Salome." "Found myself on fire in the pursuit of philosophy." "For me, wisdom was my ecstasy." "There's a light shadow now, clear out on the water." "History and we live on the invisible wings of your legacy." "Hey [NAME], what are we to do without you?" "You could see the dragons." "You could see the angels." "All of life is poetry."

Electra 33

"And isn't it for you that I'm still waiting here?" "And isn't it for you that I'm still alive?" "And isn't it for you that I parted the veil to the other side?" "It's all over now, love." "I don't need you to feed me anymore." "I've got my own medicine now." "I killed the dragon with its terrible teeth." "Find a way to break the spell." "But I broke the hook that she tried to put in me." "There's no going back now."

Girl of Your Tomorrow

"In the times of old, we used to dream about her." "You know it's true, my love." "She'll soon be here." "She's the girl of your tomorrow." "She'll see you through." "Cry to cleanse the body of your fears." "You know that I'll be here for you." "She is your morning girl." "Baddest little girl in the whole wide world."

Fill Me Up With Grace

"Fill me up with grace, 'cause I'm falling." "I've buried my crown." "Fill me up with tears and Jesus." "I could use some healing." "I found the reason today to be living." "I saw the answer." "And you have stayed my heart with the blood of a thousand rose petals."

[princessmisery666]

PM666Reads - Fic Recs - September 2022

Please heed all the warnings on the individual fics. I am not responsible for what you choose to read.

To the authors - thank you for putting in the work 💕no one gets enough recognition so thank you for taking the time to write and being brave enough to share it with us 💟

📖Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Monday To Friday - @wildbornsiren - It’s just a crush– on one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever met in your life. There’s no way he would ever return your feelings right?

You're No Bun - @writercole -Rooster tries to get a drunk you to bed.

Don't Think, Just Do - @evansrogerskitten - Rooster has a crush. 

📖Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts - @seresinhangmanjake - You and Jake had a history of flirting and occasionally kissing if too much time was spent at the bar, but it never went any further than that. One night, after showing up at your house and passing out on your couch, Jake wakes up the next morning only to learn he had drunkenly confessed his feelings for you.

Magic Jake - @evansrogerskitten - Your boyfriend has a secret - once upon a time, Hangman was a stripper. 

Country Boy - @princessphilly - music soulmate AU

Rebel, Rebel - @therebeccaw - Sufficed to say, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin wasn’t the pilot you were looking for.

📖Rhett Abbott

Proving A Point - @writercole - Rhett sees a guy trying to hit on his girl. She brushes him off but the guy just doesn’t want to take the hint.

I Can Still Make Cheyenne - @writercole - Rhett Abbot isn’t an easy man to love but when he’s about to lose everything, his head is finally clear.

📖Sam Winchester

Without a Stitch - @raidens-realm - While Dean’s on a hunt, Sam stays behind with a cold. The Bunker seems bent on ridding him of far more than a virus and only when he gets the situation under control does he begin to glean it’s true intent.

Butter Knife - @fictional-affairs - Sam, thinking that Dean and the reader have been sneaking around as a couple, locks the two in the bathroom so that they’ll establish their relationship. But Dean and the reader know the truth- and the reader has to choose between using the bathroom in the presence of Dean, or admitting her feelings to Sam.

A Little Trip - @mariekoukie6661 -Sam doesn’t sleep well.

The Best and Worse Plans - @girl-next-door-writes - gif drabble

The Almost Kiss - @myinconnelly1 - fluffy drabble

"I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Torture - @girl-next-door-writes - gif drabble#

“I’ll give you $200 if you don’t bring it up again.” - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Tight - @kittenofdoomage - A few hundred words about Sam's humungous cock

📖Dean Winchester

Feast - @talesmaniac89 - Dean has grown tired of your game of cat and mouse. He’s ready to show you he’s a hunter. And tonight, you’re his prey.

Big Brother - @girl-next-door-writes - gif drabble

Lavender Skies - @talesmaniac89 - A relationship ends under lavender skies…

📖Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Falcon? - @writercole - In which the Daggers find Fanboy’s doppelganger.

📖James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes

Treacherous - @scrumptious-delusion - you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.

📖Jensen Ackles

Remind Me - @pink-sparkly-witch - Jensen and Y/N have been drifting apart since he went to film The Boys. When a song on the radio makes him realise just how bad things are, he’s determined to fix it. Problem is, he doesn’t know if Y/N wants to fix it or if it’s over between them.

📖Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Enlightened - @writercole - The heart wants what the heart wants. But sometimes, it needs a push to figure it out.

📖Steve Rogers

Would I Lie To You - @cockslutpadalecki - steve catches a hydra operative- she’s low level, maybe a receptionist, a medical assistant, not given enough information to be important, not given enough to really know who she’s working for. but steve thinks she knows more than she lets on. what interrogation tactics is he using on poor reader?

📖Ransom Drysdale

The Hunt - @navybrat817 - Ransom likes the hunt, especially when you turn him down.

[polar534]

Jersey Stealing Pt. 4

Titan, this was a lot longer then I had ever planned on it being. I started writing Jersey Stealing I want to say MONTHS ago. You guys have only recently seen the parts that have been sitting done for ages. I guess it's just a side effect of this being my secondary, recovery project. Something fun I can write up while I'm at work.

Anyways, I'll stop babbling now and let y'all get to the well deserved end to this arc. This one is long. It's got a lot of loose threads tied up and it's also got my first instance of me ever typing out 'I love you' in any sort of writing... so that's a thing. Hopefully I did it alright.

(If you like this/want to read the other parts/want to figure out what the heck this Hockey AU is in the first place, consider checking out the MasterPost.)

***

Amity tapped her fingers, the sharp sound echoing loudly throughout the empty house. Sighing, she pushed her chair out and set aside the homework she was working on. The quiet nature of the house was almost physically bothering her as she walked to the window.Opening up to the sounds of the street below and woods behind, Amity took a deep breath and let the sounds comfort the growing restlessness creeping into her bones. Normally on the days she didn't have practice, both her and Luz would spend the evening in the Boiling Isles, visiting Lilith and Eda at the palace. There was always something to do, and Eda in particular was always looking for some excuse to sneak away from her duties even for just a little bit. It was something they both looked forward to. A time in which everyone could catch up, Gus and Willow included, outside of school or Willow and Amity's games.

However, today was different. Luz had a lot less shine in her eyes as Amity said goodbye to her at the portal, something that rarely happened. It only furthered Amity's resolve in her decision to stay behind and find some sort of resolution to the incident that now had been plaguing her girlfriend for almost a week.

The itching in her bones began to crawl into her skin as Amity felt her restlessness increase. Moving to the bed she grabbed some shoes and slid them on, making sure to grab her stick and jersey on the way out the door. Even if it was late, she knew Luz wouldn't be home anytime soon, and there was no telling when Camilla would be off of work. Equipment in hand, she moved down the street quickly, the daylight slowly fading behind her.

***

Crack!

The slam of the puck against the stick offered little resistance to Amity's swing as she continued the course she had designed for herself. Lapping the rink she crashed into the football training dummy she and the team had borrowed (stolen) from the local highschool. Feeling the weighted dummy barely move against the slick ice had her hitting the next lap even faster then the first.

Crack!

This time the swing was straight through the puck, almost as if Amity was merely cutting through the air with her motions. The puck flew through the air and pushed the netting of the goal to it's limit as the witch ducked her head down and lapped the rink a second time, building up speed to once again charge the dummy. Her chest heaved as her feet slowed in their steps, the ice now almost like water under her skates. There was no more traction to be gained and she instead allowed her body to continue it's momentum as she practically soared towards her goal. Her mind emptied as she plowed into the object in front of her, shoulder out, intending to cause as much damage as possible. This time, the metal sled holding the dummy up slid effortlessly through the ice as it flew backwards. The force of her impact wasn't clean though. Losing her balance and with too much speed to stop, Amity careened around the edge of where the dummy had stopped and she hit the ice hard. The green-haired girl barely registered the pain as her stick flew from her hand and she was left spinning out on the ice.

The witch panted heavily as she lay on the frozen rink, completely dazed, her heartbeat thudding so loudly in her ears that she could barely think.

As the pain of her fall caught up with her, so did the emotions she had tried to outrun for the past week. She wasn't aware of the first tear that slipped down the side of her cheek, but the many following after had her face almost bitterly cold in chilly temperature of the arena. A question repeated in her mind over and over.

Why?

The tears didn't bother her. Neither did the reason she was shedding them.

Why?

What bothered her most was Luz. Why was this the thing, this hope, this person, the one thing to break Luz like Amity had never seen? Why did this emotion, this defeat, seem to haunt Luz like a ghost that was all too familiar? Amity's heart broke for Luz, and maybe she was finally allowing herself to feel the pain, the burden she had tried carrying since she had seen it. Her mind raced to fill in the gaps and answer the questions as the adrenaline from her training began to crash and her body melted further into the ice.

She thought about all she knew and had learned about Luz's history in her own world. This world that Amity now had become a part of. It seemed like every day was a struggle for Luz, her wild and dangerous ideas being so obviously unappealing to others. Forcibly being isolated, even when you are trying to reach out was a lot different from how Amity grew up. She was always welcome, but never felt like she belonged… never wanted to.

'I think that’s why Luz held on to the hope that one day they could be friends'

It was Luz's connection to Amity that severed the last chance of her bonding to her past. It was the step over the line for Sasha, the person Luz had hung her last hopes on before she met Willow, before she met Gus, before she met Amity.

The adrenaline was gone. Her body aching, Amity crawled her way to her feet feeling more hollow then ever before. Slowly, she slid the training dummy off the ice, and grabbed her stick. Her eyes glanced to the puck that was still in the empty space of the goal as she packed the last of her equipment away. Glancing at her phone she saw that there were missed messages.

-I'm home now.

Missed Call from Luz

-Amity?

-Where are you?

-I hope you're ok.

Amity took one last look at the ice behind her before she tapped out a quick response, slinging her jersey off and over her shoulder as she walked out of the building.

-Sorry. I was practicing.

-I'll be home soon.

***

Amity crept up the stairs and to the bedroom. Peeking open the door slowly she saw that Luz was curled up on the bed, wrapped up snugly in a blanket and using a small lamp to read by. As soon as the door opened her eyes shot up and the ghost of a smile lit up her face in the relative darkness.

"Ahhh, there she is!"

Amity smiled back as she wormed her way further into the room and set her equipment down. Kicking off her shoes she sat down on the edge of the bed as Luz set her book down and clung onto her back, her head resting comfortably in the crook of the witch's neck.

"I'm sorry I was late." Amity mumbled quietly as she leaned her face into Luz's, enjoying her girlfriend's warmth as it chased away the bite of cold that still lingered from the rink.

"I am too." Luz rumbled back into her ear as she squeezed her arms tightly around the witch's torso and pulled her fully down onto the bed.

"Oh? Miss me much Noceda?" Amity teased as they both wrapped the blanket around them and settled in, Luz in Amity's arms.

Luz merely responded with a low growl as she snuggled further into the other's girls embrace, making sure her face was buried into Amity's chest. After a moment of enjoying being close and together again, Luz finally lifted her face. Her eyes were tired, but they held the shine of curiosity that Amity was used to. Deep in those wide brown eyes there was a flicker of the Luz she knew and loved.

Then that flicker faded.

"So… you were out pretty late."

Amity nodded. It wasn't an accusation, just a comment. It didn't stop the guilt from rushing in however.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was caught up in practicing and didn't realize the time."

"Lokte's brother stopped by earlier." Luz said calmly.

Amity's blood froze. It wasn't as if she wanted to hide what she had been up to for the last few days, but rather didn't want to worry Luz any more then she already was. It was too late now though.

"He wanted to apologize. For what happened at the game. He looked pretty spooked. Guess Lokte didn't go easy on him."

"I wouldn't either." Amity growled stiffly. It may have been a genuine mistake, but that didn't mean the threat didn't bother her. What was worse was that Luz still seemed completely calm. Amity didn't know what to expect. Would she be mad? Or just disappointed?

Silence fell between the pair.

"You talked with them today… didn't you?"

There was another moment of silence before Amity nodded. Luz continued to face away from her, but the witch knew that her girlfriend knew the answer before she had asked. After a few more agonizing seconds, Luz finally faced her. The smallest sliver of a smile crept it's way on her face, and the light in her eyes seemed to come back ever so slightly.

"Sooo… just how obnoxious is Bryce?" Luz asked, gently teasing. Her light voice instantly broke through the stiff air between them.

Amity let out a sigh of relief as she laughed a bit to herself.

"I have no idea how you put up with him at all. He's got to be one of the dullest people I have ever met. I told him multiple times I was your girlfriend and he still couldn't take the hint! He kept trying to ask me out." The witch growled lowly, unconsciously squeezing Luz tighter.

"Oh. Huh..." Luz hummed thoughtfully.

"Luz there was no way I was going to say yes. You know that right?"

Luz sat up and waved her hand as if dismissing Amity's thought.

"Yeah of course I know that." She assured the witch almost like an after thought, now looking curiously out the window. "It's just weird. Bryce isn't the type to ask girls out. He just hasn't ever been interested in dating before."

"Could've fooled me." Amity grumbled unhappily, Byrce's aggressive way of flirting still very much prevalent in her mind.

Luz turned back to her with another smile, this one supportive and warm.

"Oh Ami. He's still very much a trashbag." Luz said slowly, her distaste for Bryce very barely hidden. "You didn't have to go talk to them for me you know." She added after a pause, her voice growing quiet.

"Well. Let's see, they threatened you, called you a liar and then tried to go on with their life as if everything was ok. As if there wasn't any consequences." Amity listed as she stared at the ceiling and counted on her fingers. After thinking for awhile she stared hard at Luz. "Yeah. I wasn't about to let that happen."

Luz's smile grew a little more genuine as both girls looked at each other. She leaned back up against Amity as they settled back down into the bed. There wasn't anything more to say.

"So practicing huh? Did you use the football dummy?" Luz asked suddenly and excitedly.

Amity couldn't help but smile, it had been Luz's idea to use it (steal it) in the first place.

"It was a little weird to use, but honestly on the second try I sent it flying."

"Awesome." Luz breathed. "I demand you take me along next time."

Amity laughed. "You've been spending too much time with King." She teased gently as she sat up to lean against the bed frame. Luz promptly flopped across her lap and uncovered her book from earlier to flip open.

"Nonsense." The human girl dismissed as her eyes began to scan the pages again.

"What are you reading anyways?" Amity asked after a pause told her the conversation might be over.

"Shhhhhhh." Luz reached over and lazily flopped a hand against Amity's face in an attempt to gently shush her. "I'm almost done with this scene."

Raising an eyebrow, Amity patiently waited, unaware that she and Luz would soon spend the next 2 hours getting into the first book of a brand new series. After thoroughly researching to find out that yes, the rest of the series was available at the library, the two girls settled in for the night. As they were drifting off, Luz holding Amity tightly to her chest, the witch had almost completely forgotten about the trials they had both been through. The weight of their trauma seemed so far away, lost in the warmth of the blankets and her girlfriend's arms.

No matter what happened, if every day ended with Luz right beside her, Amity knew they could and they would survive anything that life threw at them.

Above her, Luz buried her face into her hair, breathing in deeply as sleep overtook her.

"…mity…" She mumbled sleepily.

Amity couldn't help but giggle a bit. Luz hated falling asleep, always clinging to her consciousness despite how exhausted she was. Always finding some excuse to stay up just a little longer.

"Yes?"

"… thanks."

Amity's ears twitched before a small smile appeared on her face. She snuggled into Luz further.

"Anytime." The witch reassured her as she heard her girlfriend sigh happily above her. The room grew quiet once again and Amity was almost fully asleep by the time Luz spoke next.

"I love you."

The heat rushed to Amity's cheeks, as it always did when she heard those 3 little words. Her heart skipped a bit as it beat faster in it's desperate attempt to return the affection.

"I love you too Luz."

***

Luz didn't return to normal right away, though the night clearly had an effect on her. However, it never took long for the unbreakable spirit of Luz Noceda to rear it's head again and soon enough, The Otter's hockey practice was once again filled with the sounds of rambunctious applause and cheering. The entire team seemed to be effected by the return of their number 1 fan as they all began to work harder, feeling the hope return. After all, they were 4-1 and were still riding high on their winning streak.

Amity and Lokte especially felt the effects of Luz's return to form, not only on a personal level, but also with the renewed gusto of their team.

Which is why, on the last practice before their big game, everything came to an almost halt as the door of the rink opened and a stranger appeared looking very lost.

It wasn't as if the majority of the team knew this new person, but they recognized the bad news this person brought as their star player completely froze. Amity recognized the figure immediately. She was already furiously skating off the ice as they started to approach Luz, Lokte quickly calling for a 5 minute break behind her. Up in the stands, Luz looked up, surprised to see a face beside her in the usually barren stands. She was even more surprised by just how familiar the face was.

Beside her, Sasha was clenching tightly to her arm, looking absolutely everywhere but at Luz herself. She looked like she was trying to form a sentence as the commotion on the ice finally caught up to them. Both girls turned to see Amity, desperately pulling off her skates in the players box, her face furious.

"Wait! Wait! I can explain!" Sasha called out as they watched Lokte skate up next to Amity who growled out a quick response. Now both players seemed set on heading up to the stands, completely uncaring about the former bullies cry.

Luz didn't know what to do. Her mind had frozen when she saw Sasha and not knowing what to think, she didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were locked on Lokte and Amity as they started climbing the stairs to where she was, feeling almost grateful that she would have some sort of backup in just a few moments.

It wasn't that she was scared, but her chest seemed to ache the same way it had the last couple of days and she was acutely aware that she seemed to shrink in Sasha's presence. Luz knew that she hadn't been herself in the days following her encounter with Sasha and Bryce before. It had taken a lot out of her, and although she always wanted to look for the best in people, she wasn't keen to repeat that experience.

Especially with how worried Amity had been.

"Ok. Well since it definitely seems like I'm about to be chased from this place," Sasha spoke up, interrupting Luz's fleeting thoughts and quickly turning to her with wide eyes. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Really. I'm not looking for any sort of forgiveness. I don't… I don't deserve that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just… I was hoping we could talk."

Luz merely blinked, her mind swirling. She was still very much aware of her girlfriend closing in on them, and Sasha's already flighty behavior. She knew she needed to make a move to stop something from happening but she couldn't think past the girl's words.

'I'm sorry'

"You… wanted to talk?" Luz finally choked out, finding some sort of sticking point to allow herself to speak again.

Sasha almost looked a little sheepish, her fearful eyes darting back and forth between the hockey players quickly coming up the stairs and the girl she had hurt.

"Yeah. For all the years I've known you… I realized I know absolutely nothing about you." The blonde haired girl laughed.

The laugh was so genuine that Luz couldn't help but laugh with her. After all, everything she said was true. They had known each other for a long time, but they were still practically complete strangers. It was Luz who had always wanted that to change, but Sasha had never made an attempt to fix anything between them before. Time was running out however as Sasha turned to leave, clearly afraid of the players coming up the steps.

She was quickly stopped by Luz's hand on her arm.

"Hey! I thought I told you not to go near her again!" Amity snarled, now being close enough to yell.

Luz could feel the shiver of fear that shot through Sasha as Amity bared her fangs. Again, she couldn't help but smile, after all, Amity was pretty terrifying when she wanted to be. Looking absolutely ready to bolt, Sasha turned to Luz with wide eyes, clearly praying that this wasn't some big trap. Luz only winked as a response.

Letting her arm go, Luz stood up and put herself between Amity and Sasha, holding her arms out to the side to fully block the girl behind her.

Amity froze as Lokte stopped on the steps below her, their arms crossing in frustration.

"Luz?" The witch asked tentatively. Her voice was full of concern and worry, all traces of anger almost completely fading as she stared at her girlfriend in confusion.

Luz took a deep breath.

"It's okay Ami. She just wants to talk."

Amity bristled in anger, but she did her best to remain calm. "Are you ok?"

Luz glanced behind her and took note of Sasha's wide, shocked eyes. Her face was blank as she turned back around to face her girlfriend.

"Give me a stick and I'll make sure she doesn't get too out of line." Luz smirked after a short pause.

A startled gasp from behind her had Lokte and Luz both laughing while Amity merely rolled her eyes. Taking a step forward she planted a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek.

"Let me know the moment she starts bothering you, ok?" Amity whispered. Luz caught her hand as she backed up again and held it tight as she flashed a confident smile.

"Of course." Luz grinned at her as she swung the witch's hand and let it go. "You just get back to practicing. No need to stop on my behalf."

"I could name several reasons." Lokte interjected, still looking rather distrustful of the girl tentatively peeking out from behind Luz.

Despite their reluctance, Amity nodded at Luz and dragged her friend back down to the rink. Luz watched them leave for just a bit before turning to Sasha with a grin.

"Alright. Crisis adverted." She laughed playfully. "Just be grateful she didn't jump at ya from the ceiling. I've seen it happen. It's not pretty."

Sasha laughed nervously. "So… does this mean we can talk?"

Luz laughed again as she fearlessly grabbed Sasha and forced her to sit next to her on the bleacher.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to hear you ask me that?"

…

Amity slid into the seat next to Luz as she watched her teammates wrap up on the ice. Sasha had left only a little while ago and the witch could see a noticeable slouch to her girlfriends shoulders. Despite that, Luz barely moved as Amity gently reached for her hand.

"How are you doing?" She asked quietly, weaving her fingers through Luz's own.

After a short pause, Luz squeezed her fingers back and looked up at her with watery brown eyes. Amity immediately tensed. She didn’t trust that look and if Sasha had hurt her again…

Well the girl hadn't left that long ago, if she hurried, there was still a definite chance that the witch could catch her. She was preparing to grab her stick and hurry out the door as Luz finally spoke.

"We aren't friends yet…" Luz stated slowly, the light in her eyes vibrantly bright as she spoke.

"But it's a start."

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"