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thesweetnessofspring · 6 months ago

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Everlark modern au, inspired by Gilmore Girls. Rated a M for nudity and references to sex.

The blare of the alarm hits my ears and I flinch awake, eyes scrunching closed in protest. Peeta's naked, broad chest is warm and firm underneath my cheek and I feel him shift underneath me to turn off the alarm.

"Sorry," he says, voice low and gravelly. "Forgot to turn it off."

"'S'okay," I say. "Have to get up."

His arm tightens around my waist, fingers on the flesh of my hip, where they'd been last night as we made love for the first time. I wasn't usually one for putting out after a first date, but that's not what this was. That's not what we were. Might have taken us a decade to realize it, but after a little awkwardness and driving nearly an hour out of town so no one would see us, Peeta brought out the program from our middle school talent show with my name printed on it. He described how he fell for me right then hearing me sing the Valley Song and that he was "all in" on us. It didn't seem necessary to hold back my craving for him. We hardly made it through the front door of his apartment fully clothed.

"Stay," he whispers.

"Work," I say. "I'm opening."

I hadn't expected our dinner date would lead into such rigorous, late night sex and I'd agreed to open up the outdoor shop this morning. Hikers and campers are annoyingly early birds, so we open at seven and I had to be there a half hour earlier to get everything set up. I sigh, wishing I could stay in bed with Peeta all day instead. I'm not going to have the energy for anything else. I don't move for several minutes, working up the boost to leave this cocoon of blankets and limbs.

"Coffee," I say, forming a plan to get myself to work. Usually I drink tea, but on mornings like this one I need the extra caffeine boost.

"Downstairs," Peeta mumbles.

Of course. Why have coffee in your apartment when you own a bakery downstairs with all of the bells and whistles? I peel my eyes open and Peeta's head is turned to the side, chest rising and falling with the breath of someone still in sleep. I think of all the work he put in last night getting me to come over and over, and decide to let him rest. He'd more than earned it.

I give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth and then stand up, feeling a delicious soreness between my legs from last night. I can't find my underwear and I'm still too groggy to remember where Peeta had flung it before diving mouth-first into me. I won't wear my jeans without any underwear, so instead I find Peeta's blue button-up at the entrance of the door. He's so much bigger than me, it'll do until I can get coffee to perk me awake and hunt for the rest of my clothes.

I shrug the shirt on, threading my arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up as I sneak down the stairs toward the bakery. I get to the bottom, turn to enter the shop, and find myself staring at a dozen townies sipping coffee and waiting in line for their pastries. Delly peers from around the counter, eyes widened in surprise. The clink of cups and chatter die down as all faces turn in my direction.

Everyone stares at me, with my bare legs and mussed hair and braless boobs in a man's shirt, coming down from the apartment everyone knows Peeta lives.

Embarrassment rising up from my stomach to my face, I back away and then retreat up the stairs. I fling open Peeta's door and shut it firmly behind me, the frosted glass in the window rattling. I round the corner to Peeta's bed, where he's sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Katniss?" he asks.

"There are people down there!" I exclaim, my face still flaming and heart sprinting.

"Yeah," Peeta says. "Early morning crowd. Did you go down there?"

"Well you don't have any coffee up here," I say defensively, folding my arms across my chest.

"You should have woken me. I'd have gone down and gotten coffee for you."

"I didn't know there would be people! I know the bakery could open without you."

"I asked Delly to open for me," Peeta says. His eyes roam my clearly just-got-laid look. "You do come over here often. Maybe they won't think anything of it."

"When I come here I always wear pants!" I gesture forcefully toward my lower half.

"Okay, so, people are going to know about us," Peeta says. "Is that such a bad thing?"

I fold my arms and practically pout as I say, "I don't want people gossiping about us. Teasing us."

Peeta stands and I'm flustered all over as he tilts my chin up to look at him. "Do you want me to walk down there in your clothes to get the heat off of you?"

I laugh, imagining the ridiculous scene. He raises an eyebrow, and the thing is, if I asked him, he would. I already know he'd do anything for me, because he has time and time again. He moves his hold to my hips, scrunching up the shirt slightly and lighting a fire in my belly.

"Your boobs are bigger than mine," I say. "You'd stretch out my sweater."

I put my hands on his chest, over his heart and the impressive muscle he's built up there. Part of me still can't believe he wants me, and the other part is worried that he'll change his mind soon, once he has to go from a friend to dating me. I don't have the best track record with relationships. Now, if this thing we have ends, people will know. They'll pick up on the fact that yet again, I haven't made a relationship work. Usually, the fact that I could always break up with a guy I was seeing comforted me. Thinking of Peeta using the same retreat I usually did, though, makes me ache. I don't want this relationship with him to go the same way as my others. I don't want to run.

"I've seen what size you wear," Peeta grins. "I'll definitely be stealing one of your hoodies after we spend the night at your place. I'll walk in and serve coffee with Valley High Girls Cross Country Team displayed on the front and back."

I bite my lip and run my hands up and down his chest. "If people ask...can we say we started dating at your brother's wedding?"

That gave us the cover of an additional two months. Sure, Peeta had spent most of that in Maine helping his brother and his new wife after they got injured on their honeymoon, but hadn't we been talking on the phone constantly, too? Being discovered sleeping over at your friend's...boyfriend's place is better than a rumor of a one-night stand.

"Well, I always intended that to be a date," Peeta says. "You're the one who didn't pick up on the fact I was trying to woo you."

"How was I to know you didn't mean to ask me as a friend?" I say defensively.

He wraps his arms around me, drawing me into his still-naked body. I weaken at the feel of him. The muscles under the palms of my hands and the the memory of last night distract me from my previous embarrassment.

"Maybe from the way we were dancing," he says. I think of that dance at the wedding, slow and dreamlike, accompanied by romantic lyrics and Peeta's blue eyes and my feelings for him all pecking through the shell of my protected heart. While the feelings must have been building for years now, I made the complicated revelation my love for Peeta had an additional flavor to the platonic.

I'd been so certain that I had the first feelings of romance between us I hadn't known it was meant to be a real date, and I almost tell him so when Peeta bends down to kiss me. As I accept his kiss, I don't have any more room for my upset feelings because everywhere Peeta touches feels so impossibly good.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #modern au #gilmore girls au #thg fanfiction

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waywardangel-wilds · 6 months ago

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Most unhinged HC about post-MJ everlark?

Hmmm I don’t know. I feel like my hcs are pretty tame. Let me write down my most silly ones:

No.1: they gossip together. They GAB. They love to talk shit at home.

No.2: Katniss has a jealous fit over something or someone and Peeta which Peeta reacts to with confusion and then laughs about it for years. “Hey Katniss, remember when—” “SHUT UP.”

No.3: Peeta’s on a mission to have sex everywhere he’s ever wanted to in his fantasies. All furniture. In the woods. In the bakery. They would do the school too but the chances of getting arrested and traumatizing someone are too high. Oh and in Peeta’s new-to-him truck too.

No. 4: Peeta cannot be normal about sports. As the volunteer coach he’s gotten complaints but no one is brave enough to tell him to stop being so annoying outright. Imagine Katniss watching in the background with sunglasses and a smirk during a sunny day.

No. 5: Peeta and Katniss enjoyed doing the whole “polishing my gun” routine (but without an actual gun lol) for their daughter’s first boyfriend.

No. 6: Katniss cannot be normal about Peeta on the days after they sleep together for the first time. She wants to do it all the time. When they go out in public it’s kind of obvious by her face alone what she’s thinking about. It makes construction crews laugh and elderly ladies raise their eyebrows. Haymitch laughed so hard he choked and slapped his knee. Called her a starving dog and Peeta the unfortunate piece of meat in her path. Peeta does not care, he’s getting lots of liquids in, he can do this.

No. 7: if Finnick had survived he’d be the most no-boundaries friend ever. He’d just show up unannounced all the time. Picture him in flip flops and a Hawaiian shirt ready to use Peeta and Katniss’s nonexistent grill. The friendship would be immaculate. He’d be the glue who’d form the victors friend group: Jo, Peeta, Katniss, Annie and Finnick. He’d force them all to get on his boat all the time. He’d introduce Peeta to rum just to watch his face get all pink. He’d see Katniss like this little-sister best friend type but he’d still make dirty jokes at her cause she’ll never be able to handle those. Him and Jo are the best duo. Bro should have lived.

No. 8: Katniss, at 38, can still miss the point when someone tells her a dirty joke which her friends LOVE. she’s frequently like “what are you talking about?” And everyone just laughs. Also, Katniss is so used to Peeta just getting her that when her friends complain about their husbands not listening, or not understanding her honest reaction is: “just break up???” And everyone is like “girl, it’s not that serious. You just have the perfect husband.”

No. 9: Katniss cried one time when her daughter said she didn’t want to play with her anymore because who wants to play with their mom when they could just go outside and play with their friends. Peeta found her sobbing over a tray of cookies and tried not to laugh because it really isn’t that serious. It’s totally okay for ten year olds to want to be outside, but Katniss was still like “she doesn’t like me 😭”

No. 10: Where Peeta was a hopeless romantic who only ever wanted to be with one girl Peeta’s son goes through girls like water. It’s what Peeta yells about in the car when it’s just him and the boy. “Why?! Be respectful! I didn’t raise you like this!” I’m a believer in that the toastbabies are nothing like their parents. They’re their own unique ppl with the ability of driving both their parents up the wall. I looove thinking about them being teenagers and rebelling. Their kids grew up in a mansion, they’re gonna have a fun rebellion haha.

#just silly thought #not an invitation for fandom war cause literally just my opinions and ideas lol #the hunger games #everlark #thg #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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soft-mafia · 10 months ago

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When We Were Young [Buggy x Reader]

warnings: fem reader, fem y/n, oc insert, fluff, chloroforming, their convo is inspired by Everlark but really loosely

a/n: a flashback story of Buggy and Y/n when they were younger with Buggy still struggling to form his own crew.(I think that somebody already had this title for a Buggy fic but I can’t quite remember and I couldn’t find anything in the tags, so if someone already took that title let me know so I can change it😭)

Buggy was trapped on a ship. A real pirate ship, his head was being held hostage and he had no clue where the hell his body was. He might’ve gotten too confident when he snuck onto the ship unnoticed when the crew wasn’t looking— all he wanted to do was steal their treasure and get away! Was that so wrong?

As he sat there(well, his head at least) he truly thought he was done until the window beside him opened from the outside. His eyes widened, then he smiled widely when he saw Y/n, his current ally and a girl he was starting to get the hots for.

“Y/N, YOU CAME TO SAVE-” He screeched with joy, but was silenced by Y/n squeezing his cheeks shut.

“Shh!! Do you want me to get caught?! Where’s your body?” She whispered, letting her fingers loose a little so Buggy could answer. He frowned and glanced off, “I-I don’t know… I can’t feel my feet.” He said, his voice muffled.

Y/n sighed, then let him go and patted his head, “Ok. I’m gonna be good for it, I gotta put you to sleep so you’ll be quiet.” She whispered again, then reached into her back to grab something. Buggy raised a brow, squinting at Y/n, “Wait what do you mean, “put me to slee- Y/N NO-” the next thing he knew he had a cloth up to his face and he was out like a light.

When he woke up, he could feel his body, and his body parts instantly reconnected to each other. It looked like she laid everything out for him, they were back on his small boat parked out on a dock somewhere. Y/n was sitting on a bench across from his body.

“You ok?” She asked him as he finally awoke. Buggy groaned and held his head, “Yeah, yeah I’m good…” once he began to remember what happened, he then snapped at Y/n, “HEY!! You drugged me!!” He shouted.

“It was just chloroform! And I only did it since I knew you couldn’t be quiet for two seconds!” Y/n snapped back at him. Buggy growled and stood up, glaring down at Y/n as he continued to shout, “Why are you saying that like it’s normal?! Are you crazy?!”

Y/n growled and stood up as well, “If you don’t like how I do things then you’re free to go off on your own!! I agreed to an alliance, not a friendship.” Her words stung him, he knew she could be a bit cold at times but this was just hurtful, especially since she was looking this beautiful during the sunset.

Buggy grumbled and sat down on the opposite bench, “You’re the most confusing woman I’ve ever met.” He sighed. Though he hadn’t actually spoken to any girls ever since his old Captain Roger was executed, it was either the girls avoided him or he was too scared to actually go near any.

“I’m not confusing, just practical.” Y/n said, and Buggy couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Chloroforming me isn’t practical!” He growled as he looked up at her, he then sighed, “Look, the whole alliance thing kind of comes with friendship. And friends are supposed to be NICE to each other.” He snapped.

Y/n sat back down on her bench, “Friends are useless in pirating.”

Buggy chuckled lightly and looked back up at her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “Who the hell told you that? That’s a terrible way to view things.” He said through a grin, “You’re always straight to the point… you never tell me anything about yourself.” He looked down slightly sadly, was this really just a business deal to her? Did she not care about this alliance and planned to leave him once he got a sizable crew? He knew they weren’t anything serious, but Buggy thought they would’ve bonded by this point.

“Why should I?” Y/n asked, her words sounded testy but it was a genuine question, she really didn’t see the need for friendship in alliances at all. Buggy paused for a moment as he thought, then looked back up at her, “Well, friends are supposed to tell each other stuff about them. Y’know, like the deep stuff.”

Y/n giggled softly, she rarely smiled but whenever she would Buggy always made sure to treasure it. Maybe it was getting a bit too obsessed, but she didn’t have to know anything. “The deep stuff?” She mused, “Yeah, like what?”

“Umm…” Buggy looked out to the sea, sitting up straight as he thought, “Like, when’s your birthday?”

“Now you’re going too far.” Y/n said jokingly, making Buggy giggle a lot more than he should have. However his laugh always brought a smile to Y/n’s face. “October 8th, you?” She answered.

Buggy perked up a little too excitedly, “August!! Same day!!” He said as he instantly answered, “At least we have that in common.” He chuckled. After a while, Buggy asked something else, “Have you ever… been on a pirate crew?” Y/n paused again and looked away, then shrugged.

“Once, but I left. I didn’t like being told what to do.” She said, looking back at him. Maybe Buggy was a bit starved, but that was kind of hot. He laughed softly, looking down to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks, “Yeah… you don’t look like the type.”

Y/n looked back up at the sky, “Hey, it’s getting late. Do you wanna stop at a lodge or do you wanna set sail?”

Buggy stretched his arms up, then rested them behind his head as he stood, “With the day I had? I wanna get some rest…” he sighed, taking off his feet and tossing them onto the dock, separating his body until he was standing up straight again.

Y/n climbed up on the dock, “Your ability is pretty convenient huh?”

“Convenient but a pain in my ass…” Buggy sighed, “Do you think we’ll find a place to stay here?” He asked as they began walking into the town.

“We should.” She said, “We can look around and if we can’t find a place to sleep we’ll just head back to the boat.”

Buggy nodded and put his hands in his pockets, “Alright… just don’t chloroform me again.”

#one piece #one piece buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #op buggy #buggy op #buggy headcanons #buggy imagines #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines

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mswyrr · 1 year ago

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I love the comparisons and contrasts between Everlark and Snowbaird (edit: I wrote a meta here discussing some of what I see there and Rachel has drawn the comparison too) because there is no "safe" purely "wholesome" love. It doesn't exist.

I genuinely hate that fandom thinks there's such a thing as a pure ship. Or that we can or should take art and cut it into neat little pieces, use stories to "teach girls" (where girls are presumed to be the most ignorant and worthless of creatures, incapable of the full experience of what it means to be human, but also the only ones responsible for anything bad that happens, creatures so responsible that all tragedies that befall them are their own fault, their deepest shame) how to make love safe. It's a lie. Loving is about people, and people are never pure. Everything good we give each other is hard won with courage in the face of fear.

It is inherently dangerous because humans are. And if you're lucky, you give yourself to someone who meets that trust and courage with their own. And if you're not lucky, it hurts. And there's no way to control it. There's no way to be smart enough or pure enough or notice the right "red flags" (irl abusers are good at hiding and perfectly lovely people can become ill or addicted or just *change* on you). You can be lucky for a time and someone can still change.

Because you cannot control someone else, just love them.

And--here is the great part--it was that very lack of control that drove Coriolanus to throw love away! He was so afraid of what an inherently terrifying thing it is, how it is giving yourself away without guarantees, that he brought that fear down on them. He became the traitor he was so terrified that Lucy Gray might be. He destroyed something infinitely precious because he couldn't live with what a sublime wonder and terror it is to give yourself away with open hands. Love is never pure. It is so much better than that. It is...

I write all kinds of ships and like all kinds of love stories and see no contradiction because even the happiest ones are that too. I am endlessly frustrated by the way Gothic romance and tragic romance and other romances that explore the terror and darker side of that are pathologized because it makes the more joyful, happy endings dishonest. Love is risk, touching the sublime, allowing yourself to be remade.

Every joy we find in life--every single one, not just in romance, but anywhere--is like making love in the lap of death. In the midst of life we are in death; in the midst of death we are in life. The only thing worse than the fear of giving yourself away (in all the ways we can seek intimacy, not only romance) is the truest death, the death of never opening yourself up to begin with, never letting yourself be changed and moved and remade by another. And if we need an object lesson in that, here we've got Coriolanus Snow!

He's not an object lesson in "bad boyfriends." Lucy Gray made good choices from her pov! (I'm writing a separate meta on this). Nothing that happened was her fault! She is not an object lesson, she's a brave, loving girl who experienced a tragedy. She was betrayed. She's a character of the kind of folk ballads Collins was drawing on, which are actually more honest about people and more compassionate toward women who experience tragedy and loss than a rigidly US-centric, individualist, inherently victim blaming, just world fallacy view of control and "teaching girls good lessons." You can drain all the pleasure and joy out of life in the effort to control things and keep someone from being able to hurt you and still not really be safe, just be dead inside - like Coriolanus did.

The only way to truly possess someone is to destroy them and then you don't actually possess them at all! They're gone. The person you wanted to keep you've driven away. And the only way to truly be safe and in control is to kill your own heart. So what are you even protecting?

There is no shame in being Lucy Gray. The shame is in letting fear and the need for control own us like Coriolanus.

As someone who feels torn often in fandom because I ship both love stories that get categorized as "wholesome" and "problematic," the fact that Collins wrote both one of my favorite ships ever that gets categorized (and, I think, often massively simplified) into "wholesome" AND another "problematic" one that IMO is a gorgeous object lesson in why the whole idea of this binary is bullshit--and why love stories can and should explore the terror of being alive and living as well as the joy and genres like Gothic and tragedy are a beautiful part of the tapestry of narratives exploring love and living as a human in fiction--and we should very much NOT be Coriolanus?

I love her. I want to kiss her hand.

#suzanne collins #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #snowbaird #thg meta #my meta

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oolhan · 11 months ago

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Everlark: The Classics #1

okay. so. I won't assume someone will remember my blog last year where I promised I will list down the everlark fics classics (in my opinion) for those whose new to the fandom and those who came back from the renaissance last year. Sooo, instead of having them compiled in a neat list, I will post them individually with a corresponding moodboard and small review (probably once a week? let's see)

With that said, I present you the one and only: Waterlily by HGRomance!

Published: 2013

Chapters: 18 | Complete

Waterlily is a modern AU where Peeta is an exchanged student spending a year in Panem Island, where he stays at Katniss' village and his host family. I won't spoil it for those who never encountered this masterpiece but the whole build up of their relationship is an interesting dynamic that sets it apart from other fanfics I read.

The setting alone makes it unique from the rest. Islands, rural seam community, beaches, then boom a sudden white boy coming in the picture. The way this fic entangles and straightens the everlark HEA is such a fun read especially the added character of Katniss' here. (I'm dying to spoil it lol). The writing is poetic, as always, if you're a fan of HGR's works. The pacing, especially that one scene that breaks and makes it all (something about a cave) was a tear-jerker.

It's safe to assume this is one of the classic fic every thg fan should read when they wanna start getting into the rabbit hole of fanfiction, hence why I chose it as a welcoming fic for this series. If you happen to love this one too and wanna chat then please do! If you haven't read it, what are you waiting for?

#everlark classics series #everlark fic rec #everlark #waterlily by hgromance #HGRomance #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games

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adsosfraser · 1 year ago

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the witching hour and the healer's hands

everlark one shot; set between the hunger games and catching fire

I can’t sleep that first night.

The soft glow of contained fire flickers across the lace and thick white curtains. The window is open, letting the drafty chill of the night into the room and rustling the curtains weakly, however drafty the oppressive and stagnant heat of the late summer nights can be. With the blinking light of the candle, I breathe in and out, forming my lungs to force the oxygen through themselves in rhythm with the fading and strengthening circle illuminating the curtains as the flame breathes with me.

A choking sound sticks in my throat at his silhouette. Through the curtains and the flame, he distorts everything with his shadow and the sturdy presence of his body. He meticulously makes his way through his room, pausing to rip his prosthetic off and crawl into bed. I can just barely see him from the corner now, but I don’t take my eyes away from the window and the small slit made in the curtains. How the sight of even just the outline of his shape, twenty-five yards away, wraps me in the familiar safety I’ve only just begun to know in his arms, I don’t know.

He hates me now.

I have to content myself with only glimpses.

I take watch over him as he tosses and turns, only allowing my legs a break from standing for hours when my legs go completely numb and my foot twitches and feels more like a joint than anything actually attached to functioning bones and toes. I panic for a moment, truly feeling as though I’ve lost my lower limbs until I look down and shake them out. The cruel irony does not miss me as I stare across again at the boy with the bread again, keeping up the vigilant watch I haven’t been able to shake off since the Games. I pull the rocking chair out from the corner of my room and sit. There is no fire in the room or lights I bothered to flick on as I sulked upstairs to the last vacant room.

He settles down finally, when I know the sun will make itself known again soon with the predawn light and dimming stars. I hope he is able to sleep, if not at least for an hour. I can’t bring myself to, no matter how heavy my arms and eyes become. No matter how much I want to tuck myself in with Prim and go back to how things were before everything. Besides, I don’t want to disturb Prim or my mother, who has taken it upon herself to suddenly care about me now. I can’t sleep without the nightmares, without screaming, without thrashing in my bed and contorting my body with the sheets tangling and choking me. I wouldn’t want it to bother their peaceful sleep across the hall.

I’m glad Peeta doesn’t have the same reaction as me. Maybe his kindness, his selflessness, his inherent goodness combat against it. He doesn’t deserve what I go through every night since the Games. He shouldn’t need to feel the guilt and the shame I feel coupled with the horrors we’ve faced. He’s successfully escaped the Games without the Capitol changing him and I’m happy for it. He didn’t watch a twelve-year-old child get murdered before his eyes. He didn’t pull back his bow string to pierce a boy through the neck.. At least he was spared that. Someone good like him, like Prim, should be shut far away from that.

He wakes with the pre dawn glow, undoubtedly used to the hour he would wake to work the ovens. I watch as he stumbles out of bed and blows out the candle, pulling open the curtains to his room to squint outside. Electricity hums through the room as he putters about. I must not have noticed him flipping the switch for the light, some of his movements becoming a blur to my droopy eyes. My cheeks burn and I snap my body around to look at the intricate carvings on the wood chair holding me. Through the open window I saw too much before I realized his intent to shuck his clothes off to change into new ones.

After a minute or two I presume it’s safe to take a peek again. My heart races and I take in a sharp breath as everything inside me jostles around like the frantic rabbit bouncing around in one of my failed snares. Peeta isn’t in his room anymore. Every light in his house is off.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I hear his clomping steps as he hurries out of his front door. He is dressed sensibly for a day at the bakery with a button-up shirt and long pants in case something were to spill.

I frown as he comes down his steps. He’s clearly in pain, clutching his cane tightly in his hand. I hear a curse echo through Victor’s Village as he reaches down to massage and scratch where his prosthetic meets his leg.

He better come to my mother for a salve. Or else.

***

A week passes and I’m furious with him.

I can handle his distance. His indifference. His rational hatred and dislike of me. But he won’t even take care of himself. I worked hard to bring him home and so did he. The limp is now more pronounced than it was a week ago. It’s absolutely ridiculous that he is disregarding the effort we put in in that arena by throwing out his health not even a week out of the careful supervision of Capitol doctors.

I clomp downstairs in spirit, without actually stomping in case I wake the other inhabitants of the house. But my soul stamps its way through the house for me. I sort through the small cabinet of medicines and herbs my mother brought from our house in the Seam and frown when I find most of it bare, with jars awaiting a restock. I suppose they haven’t had a steady supply from their go-to forager in over a month. All of the nice new shiny Capitol medicine from the last train that shipped is locked away upstairs in my mother’s medicine cabinet.

I grumble as I pull my boots on at the front door and sling my game bag over my shoulder. My braid doesn’t thwack my neck or the middle of my back with a hard thunk and it’s strange to feel the short length hang from my head. It barely even fits in a braid with the formerly singed and newly cut strands.

The meadow is far enough for my needs and I don’t think I have it in me to venture into the woods for quite some time. I’ve had enough hunting to last a lifetime.

Lush green lies before me, dotted with yellow, and the rare blues and whites. I pluck the dandelions under the hot sun. There isn’t another soul around so I hum one of my father’s love songs under my breath. The warmth of the sun and the brush of the grass against my hands and calves soothes me into a state of near sleep. Soon though, I don’t like being alone, something I treasured with my freedom in the woods. As I pluck the bright yellow flowers they warp into blue. My hands run with the dark black juice of nightlock that turns to blood. Foxface stares up at me where my game bag is and groans. She turns to Peeta and he stares unblinking at me with Rue’s glossed over eyes. I did this to them. I rammed the berries down his gullet. Shaking, I crawl to my bunch of dandelions. I shove everything deep inside my bag and I run back home, shutting the door firmly behind me.

***

Another week passes and I’ve finally made a crude imitation of what a salve should be. Prim is busy off at school most days and my mother is surprisingly gone most days too, tending to the sick in the Seam. I’ve actually managed to sleep for two uninterrupted hours now since the Games. The deep dark bags under my eyes expand across my face everyday and I wouldn’t be surprised if they took it over entirely one day. I smile down at the finished product in my hands, suddenly giddy and light from the delirium that accompanies my lack of sleep.

It’s not perfect, but it has what’s necessary for Peeta inside of it. He’s the one with an eye for beautiful things, not me. Maybe decorative salve making would fall under his area of cake frosting expertise but I won’t ask him.

I don’t want to bother him after what was said between us on the train home.

Hopefully he thinks Prim made it. She has such a bright soul it’s no doubt she would be a prime suspect for making such a thing for him.

***

Without fanfare, I plop the small glass jar onto his porch and scurry away off into the woods for the first time to take a nap in a tree.

It’s gone from the porch within ten minutes.

***

His limp improves and I smile into my pillow. I don’t care if I’ll only just be woken again in an hour with a horrifically detailed nightmare now that Peeta has accepted my gift. I want to fall asleep at the same time he does, maybe our dreams will cross and we’ll protect each other in them that way. I cuddle deeper into my pillow and sigh.

My delivery today is neater and prettier. I use the head of a dandelion to imprint a little design into the top of the salve and wrap the jar in one of the yellow hair ribbons I haven’t used in years.

Peeta’s in his other upstairs room that he often frequents. But I’m not worried, the windows to that room are shut now and the curtains too. He won’t notice.

Prim is awake in the kitchen when I return and startles at my silent and sudden presence. She startles even more at my crazed smile and the colour under my eyes. With a yawn, she leans into the kitchen island. She smacks her lips together from sleep and walks over to me for a hug. It’s only now that she’s awake with me do I put the time in perspective. Four in the morning is normal for me, but definitely shouldn’t be for Prim. Who has an actual schedule and routine besides naps, nightmares, and stalking our neighbour, and those happen whenever they want to happen. I’m not their dictator. I’m at their whim.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

I brush back her loose hair, marvelling at how strong and silky it is now with a good few weeks of filling meals.

“Of course little duck.”

I settle in first, and hold out my arms to my sister who groggily slips into my bed. Our old quilt from our bed in the Seam just barely wraps around the two of us. Buttercup tries to squirm his way inside of the limited space and hisses when I kick him to the foot of the bed.

“You know you could just talk to him and have an actual conversation instead of plopping random things on his porch and running away. Even the boys in my grade don’t ding-dong ditch anymore.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmhm. Sure.”

***

My heels silently pad across the creaky wood boards of Peeta’s porch. I didn’t feel like wearing shoes this time and the feel of grass squishing underneath my feet was pleasantly calming on my journey. But, the sharp pebbles and gravel that constitutes a narrow path between houses in the Victor’s Village were most definitely not.

The window to the left of his bedroom is bright and welcoming. I’m always curious what he does in there at this hour instead of dreaming in his bed but I have no place in asking him about it.

With a small smile, I squat down to offer my gift to his doorway. This time the green ribbon attached to it is tied in a clunky and uneven bow.

A jolt of fear pierces my heart as I feel a breeze. Not from outside with the stagnant and sticky air of the last days of summer clinging on, but from a fan. Inside.

Slowly, I raise my chin from the evidence below me and come face to face with the calming blue eyes that star in my nightmares every night. The shade changes in them with the shifting moods and plots of my dreams, and the feelings etched behind them as well, but they remain constantly his.

I freeze. Like a deer caught in the line of sight of my arrow. Maybe he won’t see me if I pretend I’m not here.

“You know you always say I’m impossibly loud in the forest but you’re not exactly subtle yourself either.”

“I was just-” I knock on a wooden beam to my left, “inspecting the integrity of the wood. Can’t be too careful.”

“Someone leaves me a salve on my porch at three in the morning every Tuesday like clockwork.”

I slowly rise from my squat, unfurling my back straight as I come level with him.

“Who knows what Prim does with her time.” I shake my head and smile. “Tweens.”

“Katniss.”

I worry my lip between my teeth but it’s no use, it’s been chewed raw already. I finally meet his gaze after the short flicks I sent his way after I was caught red handed.

“I know it’s you.” He offers me the first smile since the train home. Part of me hopes he’s shared his first genuine smile with me and only me since we’ve returned to 12 but that’s too selfish. He should be happy without me. “I’m always up Katniss I can never sleep. I’ve known it was you since you first started it. Why don’t you just knock on the door?”

I will blame the well of emotions on my lack of sleep. That makes the most sense.

To my embarrassment tears gather in my eyes and my vision becomes blurry. I pull my arms further into myself in a hug as my lip wobbles. I stab my nails that are bitten to the quick into the palms of my hands to push the tears down my throat.

“You hate me.” It’s hard to get the words out with the way my throat constructs painfully.

His furrowed brows smooth out across his forehead and his frown turns sad. His eyes clear before they too water with mine. They dart back and forth from my face, my eyes, my lips, and the rest of my body before he steadies his jaw. Before I know it, his arms wrap tight around me, nearly squeezing the air out of my lungs but I don’t mind. It’s comforting, the weight of him. I whine into his chest and it’s an ugly sound but he remains firm around me.

“Oh Katniss,” His strong and calloused hands brush the hair at the back of my head as he tucks me under his chin. “I could never hate you.”

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #one shot #thg #the hunger games #catching fire #katniss takes care of peeta in her katnissy ways #everlark fanfiction #adsofraser writing #i suck at titles

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 1 year ago

Note

WIR Everlark are hot-hot-hot. But I wonder could we have a little something about finding out Katniss pregnant. First or second time. I love parents-storyline of that fic just as much as Peeta being horny.

How about a little of both? Lol. No graphic smut here, but there are some very adult themes and language in this piece. Fair warning: sometimes, being pregnant is not fun.

Also, I have one more request for pregnant Wrapped in Red Katniss, and that piece will feature much later down the pregnancy road.

A refresher on ages before we get started. For this piece: Karina - 19 Avery - 15 Olive - 13 Cole - 7

** Karina **

“So is Katniss preggers yet?” Meaghan asks as she half hangs off my bed, painting her nails a deep shade of purple. I watch as several drops of polish land on the towel I laid out on the floor under Meaghan’s hands when she got started on the impromptu manicure.

“Not yet. At least, they haven’t said anything,” I tell her and reach for the polish but retract my hand. “Can’t you do that sitting at my desk like a normal person?”

“No, I really cannot,” Meaghan says happily. “I need some childish insanity like this. I spend too much time at school, stressing over my grades and making sure my dad doesn’t find out too much about my life there because he’d never let me leave the house again if he knew about Jack.”

“And Bryan… and Trevor… Drew,” I tease. “Really half the Zeta Psi house.”

“What?! I’m only nineteen. It’s not like I’m gonna repeat my parents’ mistakes. I’m not settling down to have a kid with The One anytime soon… I’m just… enjoying myself before I get around to finding him. And the Zetas are easy practice for making myself irresistibly charming to the future Mr. Hawthorne.”

I purse my lips and look away. I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. Talking like this. Meaghan’s mom was nineteen when she was born, just like mine when I was born. And my dad, too. But unlike mine, Meaghan’s parents stayed together. Not that I would have wanted my parents to stay together. Exactly. I mean, from where I sit now, it’d be stupid to wish that. Especially since we have Katniss now.

“But my dad is…” Meaghan makes a face and I can’t help but laugh.

“Overprotective?”

“To say the least,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Oh my god, I didn’t tell you about this one,” she starts, finally screwing the cap back on the polish and handing it to me. I shake it a little and peel off my socks, starting in on painting my toes the same shade.

“What?” I prompt.

“I forgot I was doing my laundry earlier today, and I guess Dad decided to move it for me. Not sure if he was trying to be helpful or impatient, but whatever. And he started yelling for my mom like he was on fire or something. She came to me with my basket of dry clothes and told me that I should probably make sure to keep track of my laundry if I’m going to be washing my thongs at home…so my father doesn’t get traumatized.”

We stare at each other with matching, wide eyed, shocked expressions until we can’t hold it in anymore. Then we explode with laughter and screeches of mingled horror, embarrassment, and amusement.

We’re still screeching when someone knocks on the door, and before I can say a word, Dad pokes his head in. “Kare-Bear, we have really loved having you at home for the summer but--”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Dad. We’ll try not to wake Cole again,” I say. He sighs softly and runs his hand through his hair.

“Or Katniss.”

“Mom’s already out for the night?” I ask and Dad nods. “Again?”

“Yep,” he says. “So please keep it down just a little.”

We agree and I sigh too as my dad closes the door. “I’m worried about her,” I admit to Meaghan, only half paying attention to my toes as I swipe on the polish. “I can’t remember her ever sleeping this much before.”

Meaghan snorts and snatches up the bottle of clear top coat. “And your dad sounds frustrated as hell.”

It takes Meaghan waggling her eyebrows at me for it to sink in what she’s saying. I grab the nearest pillow and whack her with it as she laughs.

“What? It’s the truth. He’s a total horn dog for Katniss, and you know it!”

“Ugh!”

“You wanted to set them up!”

My cheeks are burning and I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean I want to think about them having sex, let alone talk about it!”

“And you wanted siblings! How do you expect to get those siblings if there isn’t some bow-chicka-bow-wow between your parents?”

“I was fine with adopting them,” I insist and Meaghan guffaws.

“I think they’re cute. It’s obvious how in love they still are. I figured you’d appreciate that and all given…”

She trails off and I fight the urge to snap at her. She’s not being mean. We’ve talked a lot over the years about how awful the last few years were before my dad and Glimmer finally realized they just needed to get a divorce already.

“Maybe,” I counter, “but unless you wanna talk about your parents getting frisky with each other--”

“Pffft, old news,” Meaghan says with a roll of her eyes. And she really does sound so blasé about it. It truly doesn’t bother her at all, and I wonder what that must be like.

“God I hate you sometimes,” I mutter with false venom and she shakes her head.

“No, you don’t. You--” She stops talking abruptly and her eyes round out, saucer wide. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Holy shit!” she practically squeals, but she does it under her breath.

“What?!” I ask again and she motions me closer.

“Okay, you cannot freak out about this, but when I was downstairs, getting snacks and things, they were in the laundry room, and your dad was pawing at Katniss--”

“Really, Meaghan?” I ask, wishing I wasn’t blushing this much.

“Shut up and listen,” she retorts and I snap my mouth shut. “He couldn’t keep his hands off her, and I swear to god, I heard him tell her that the shirt she was wearing made her tits looks amazing and that he wanted to--”

“Does this have a point?” I try not to screech. Don’t get me wrong, I really do love that Dad and Katniss are so in love with each other. So happy together. And that their romance still seems to be going strong, chemistry still sizzling, all those are good things. But that doesn’t mean I want my friend witnessing or sharing graphic details.

“Yes, this has a point. Because he’s right. I noticed it, too. Haven’t you?”

I open my mouth to protest but then I stop. Because I did think the other day that the shirt Katniss was wearing stretched a little tighter, dipped a little lower than anything I remember her wearing before.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as Meahghan starts nodding.

“And she’s tired all the time now…”

“Oh my freaking god!” I squeal again. “I’m gonna be a big sister again!”

We dissolve basically into excited chaos. It’s only when someone knocks on the door again a few minutes later that I realize how loud and squeally we’ve gotten. We silence ourselves immediately, and I call out a timid, “Come in!”

It’s Katniss this time and I have to purse my lips the whole time she’s standing there, with her arms crossed over her chest, only making it more obvious.

“Really, girls? I know you’re enjoying your newfound independence at college, but please. There are people trying to sleep here.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

Katniss smiles softly at us then and notices the nail polish. “Alright. Just try to be considerate while you enjoy your girl talk. I think Dad is planning to make his spinach and feta croissants for breakfast, Karina.”

“Yes! We’ll be awake for it,” I promise and Katniss looks askance at us.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She slips out the door, closing it behind her.

** Katniss **

“See?!?!” I hear Meaghan hiss through the door and I pause for a moment. “Either your mom got a boob job recently or she’s totally preggers.”

“Do you think they know? And why haven’t they told me yet?” Karina asks and I’m thrown back to years ago, when Meaghan knew that her own mother was pregnant when Madge had only told Gale and myself.

Maybe I should’ve put on Peeta’s sweatshirt before I went in to see them, I think with a sigh. Although it sounds like they already suspected.

“I dunno. But there’s all kinds of reasons why they might not be ready to say anything yet. My parents kept it to themselves after Mom had a few miscarriages.”

“I guess. They were trying for a really long time.”

“Yep. Exactly. But it’s so obvious now. No wonder your dad wants to slide his dick between her tits.”

“Meaghan!” Karina squeals and I almost join her. I can’t believe Meaghan witnessed Peeta saying that to me without my knowing. I can’t believe she’s talking about it. As the girls dissolve into more chatter and laughter, I make my way back downstairs to where Peeta is taking care of a few last cleanup tasks before bed.

“Hey,” he says, clearly surprised to see me. “Thought you were asleep.”

“I am. I think I’m sleepwalking. That or college girls gossiping while on break woke me up,” I tell him and he sighs.

“I warned them to keep it down.”

“Hmmm but how can they with such juicy material like Gale having heart attacks over discovering that Meaghan wears thongs and—“

“What the fuck?” Peeta freezes and stares at me in shock. I blink and bite my lip, trying to hold back his clearly smoking brain as he makes the next logical leap. “You don’t think Karina is wearing thongs too, do you?”

“Love. I would never betray her trust in me and tell you what sort of undergarments we’ve gotten for her. But do I have to remind you that you used to be okay with this sort of thing?”

“I know, I know,” he says and I sit gingerly in one of the barstools at the kitchen island and he moves to stand next to me. “I guess I just… she’s nineteen and I know we’ve taught her to be careful but I still worry she’s gonna get caught up in the moment with someone and—“

“And what?” I prod and his shoulders slump.

“Maybe I should be grateful that the daughter I had at nineteen turned out to prefer girls,” he says and I snort.

“We still could wind up dealing with broken hearts.”

“I just wish she felt like she could tell us,” he murmurs and I set one hand on his cheek to reassure him.

“She will. In her own time.”

“I know, I just… I guess I worry that we’ve done something to make her doubt how supportive we’d try to be, or to make her not trust us.”

“All we can do is keep being there for her, and be there for her as much as we can when she does tell us. And then we’ll definitely be dealing with a whole other host of issues,” I remind him.

“I’ll take them. I like my chance of intimidating a girl better than I do the meatheaded frat boys Meaghan’s been supposedly chasing.”

“Poor Gale,” I say and can barely contain my chuckle. Or my feeling of vindication, knowing what I do about his tendencies before he started seeing Madge. “Too many to count,” he’d once told me.

“But really, Peeta,” I soothe and slide my hand up his arm. “I think you'd be much better at intimidating horny college boys. I mean, you know exactly how they think.”

“Or don’t think,” he offers. “That’s half the problem. Most of them are too young, dumb, and full of cum to be afraid enough of Daddy to do us any good. I was, at least,” he pouts, and I laugh slightly.

“Except you have an advantage.”

“Oh?” He perks up at this and ever so subtly flexes his arm muscles.

“You’ve been acting like one of them lately, according to Meaghan. Wanting to slide your dick between my tits and all.”

He stares at me for a moment and then groans, hanging his head in embarrassment. “She heard that?”

“Yep. And apparently, my amazing new boobs are what clued Meaghan in about our new little one.”

“So the girls know?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“So much for keeping it low key.” Peeta’s laughter softens as he pulls me to my feet and slides his hand soothingly over my belly. I’m still nowhere near showing, but I still love the way he touches me even now. Almost reverent.

“God I can’t wait to meet them,” he whispers and we share a meaningful look. We’d almost given up. We’d been trying for over a year with no luck. Then we stopped trying specifically to get me pregnant and decided that we’d just set it aside, revisit the conversation six months later and decide if we wanted to give fertility treatments a go or if we’d just accept that it wasn’t meant to be.

But four months after we stopped actively trying, I missed a period. Then two. And my boobs started to feel heavy and the thought of drinking milk turned my stomach and then Peeta made a comment about my shirts looking a little tight as things got heated one night. He peeled my shirt off and stared at my breasts, gaping at me and then suggesting I take a pregnancy test.

It came back positive. But it had taken us so long to conceive that I wanted to see a doctor before we told anyone. And then, shortly before our appointment, the nightmares started. Horrifying, violent images that make me question my sanity and drive me to a near paralyzing fear of losing our child. Peeta’s child.

Of course, Peeta has been a rock through the whole thing, waking me from the terrible visions and holding me while I sob. Going to the appointment with me, and when the doctor confirmed what we already knew, Peeta went into what I have dubbed his nesting phase. He’s constantly cleaning the house and reevaluating the safety of it. He’s constantly touching me as though he can’t believe I’m still real, and he’s always checking on me, verbally demanding reassurance that I’m okay. He pampers me like nothing else, too. Back rubs, foot rubs, fragrant baths. All the smallest of tasks that he’s suddenly taking care of so I don’t have to. He brushes and braids my hair for me almost every day. Cooks almost all the meals unless I chase him out of the kitchen with a spatula.

But my food has become a battleground over what’s the most nutritious and has the least empty calories versus whatever the fuck I want to eat without feeling like I’m gonna vomit. But even that, I know, stems from his love for me and our child.

And there’s this, the way he so effortlessly reassures me that everything is going to be okay. We’ll have each other, and our already formidable brood of kids. And it’s okay that Karina still hasn’t technically come out to us. She’ll do that in her own time as well.

“You’re already an amazing mother. I can’t wait to witness you slay at this form of motherhood too. Can’t wait to parent our baby with you from day one,” he tells me.

I smile as he whispers words of love and loop my arms around his shoulders. I’m still smiling and stifling my own girlish giggles when he carries me upstairs and lays me out naked on our bed.

** Peeta **

I’m already awake when I feel Katniss stirring beside me. I couldn’t go to sleep, even after. Wrestling with my own fears and unable to articulate them to Katniss just yet. Maybe I shouldn’t at all, given that it looks like her nightmares might persist awhile longer. She’s dealing with enough. When the whimpering starts, I roll over and shake her awake.

“Katniss. Katniss, honey wake up,” I murmur. It takes twice more before she flies upright with a huge, gasping breath. Her eyes wildly roam the room and her chest heaves before her gaze lands on me and her shoulders sag. There’s a faint sheen of perspiration on her face and chest. I reach out for her and she’s already crying quietly when she buries her face in my shirt.

I fucking hate this. I hate that she lives in terror during the night. I hate that it’s my fault, for wanting another child. With Katniss. I hate that there’s nothing I can do but hold her after the nightmares.

I hold her, rocking our bodies ever so slightly as her breathing comes under control. I reach out and snag a tissue from the box on my nightstand and barely pull back from her, lifting her chin to wipe away the remaining tears.

Katniss takes the whole tissue from my hand and blows her nose rather loudly. I smile slightly and hand her a second tissue when it’s clear one won’t be enough.

“Better?” I ask, tossing the used tissues aside to deal with later.

“Not really.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Not really,” she repeats, but her words are less certain than before. “Peeta… am I going crazy?”

I almost miss the question, she whispers it so quietly. But I hold her face in my palms, dragging my thumbs over her cheeks.

“No more than anyone else,” I whisper back. She bites her lip and in the faint light from our phone docking station, I can see her eyes welling up with fresh tears.

“It’s just… I’m afraid of my own thoughts,” she whispers. “The things I see… they’re horrible.”

“I’m scared too. Scared I’m too old, that I won’t have the energy or patience I need anymore. Won’t be enough—“

“Not like that,” she cuts me off, and something in her voice chills me.

“My nightmares… they’re not about the baby. They’re … they’re about people I love. Hurting other people I love and…” she pauses to swallow, her eyes closing as she murmurs the rest. “And enjoying it. Everyone I love becomes a psychopath in my nightmares and I… see what they do to each other, in graphic, horrifying detail.”

I open my mouth to comfort her but no words come out. She manages to speak first.

“Did Glimmer have dreams like this? With Karina?”

The question startles me. We don’t talk about Glimmer very often. Not because we’re avoiding the topic, but because there’s rarely something that needs to be said about her anymore.

“Not that I know of,” I say. Katniss looks stricken for a moment and I rush to reassure her. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t. She just might not have told me about them. I looked it up, though, right after the nightmares started. It is sometimes a pregnancy side effect. To have night terrors.”

At this, Katniss snorts. “Great. As if becoming a parent isn’t terrifying enough already.”

I can’t help but chuckle and pull her into my arms again. We lay back down and settle in, although I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep.

“You’re already a parent, Katniss. Karina hasn’t called you anything but ‘Mom’ in years. Avery, Olive, Cole… you are their mother, Katniss. maybe the girls have memories of their biological parents, but a person can have more than one mother.”

She nods against my chest, her fingers clenching to grip my shirt then relaxing, again and again.

“Maybe I should talk to Madge,” Katniss says, just as I think she’s about to fall back asleep.

“I think that’s a great idea,” I tell her. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a slight pang of jealousy. But a few deep breaths and reminders, and it passes. Katniss needs and deserves friends who can truly understand what she’s going through. And while I’ve been a parent longer than Katniss, I’ve never been pregnant. I’m not a Mom.

Her breathing starts to even out and it takes me a while to join her in sleep, but in the morning, I wake up and realize she’s still cocooned peacefully in my arms. No more nightmares after that first round.

Thankfully, we already had plans with the Hawthorne’s, so Katniss won’t have to wait long to talk to Madge about it, although I don’t bring it up. I worry that if I do bring it up during the daylight, it’ll only make Katniss shy away from the idea.

We meet up with the Hawthornes downtown, with plans to eat lunch together and then let the younger kids play in the park while the older ones roam the shops along the main street of the town. After lunch, I engineer a reason to talk to Gale, and we wind up focused on the younger kids in the park while Katniss and Madge sit on a nearby bench, talking quietly, with their heads bent together.

It’s not much of a conversation between me and Gale. Mainly, I listen while he vents about whatever shenanigans his twins have gotten up to lately. Growing up hasn’t stopped Hunter and Archer from being absolute terrors. And they’re both planning on studying engineering, which means Gale is worried that now their shenanigans will only grow more complex and dangerous, and further reaching.

“At least their hearts are in the right spot,” I try to remind him and he snorts.

“Sometimes, I’m not sure.”

His phone chimes in his pocket and I take a second to make sure Cole hasn’t gotten bored and wandered off. He’s actually made his way over to the bench where Madge and Katniss are sitting. I’m about to call him back over, to give Katniss space to talk to Madge, when Gale curses under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“The fuck is this shit?” he says instead of answering and walks with purpose towards Madge. “Margaret Denise Hawthorne, what the fuck is your daughter doing with her life?”

“Pardon?” Madge asks, her pretty face already folding into a scowl. And I can’t blame her, based on Gale’s tone.

“First the thongs in the laundry, which you assured me are no big deal. Now Meaghan is using her credit card to buy something from a store called…” he looks at his phone and grinds the name out through his teeth, “Baby Bundles and Booties?”

Madge lifts one eyebrow at him and then coughs. “You really think she’d be buying baby clothes for herself right now if she were pregnant? Especially on her card, which you have access to the statements for?”

“Fuck if I know,” he says. I notice Cole’s eyes going super wide, and Katniss is starting to blush. She leans forward, like she’s going to speak, but Madge holds her arm protectively across Katniss’s chest.

“Come on, Gale, she’s smarter than that. And why are you getting notifications about every purchase she makes? I thought we talked about trusting her more?”

“One of us has to make sure she doesn’t destroy her life over some asshole boy,” he says and Madge stands up to square off with him.

“You mean like I did?”

Gale sputters and Madge snatches the phone out of his hands.

“Here’s an idea. Instead of spying on your daughter, try talking to her about these things. It’s what I’ve done, and you’ll notice that I’m not making an idiot of myself in the park.”

“All I know is our daughter has been wearing skimpy underwear and now she’s buying--”

“It’s probably for me!” Katniss blurts out and everyone goes silent.

“Katniss, you don’t have to--”

“But I want to,” Katniss cuts Madge off and looks up at me. I hold my hand out to her and give her a slight nod. She places her hand in mine and rises to stand next to me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her temple, letting her know that whatever she decides to tell him right now, I’m behind her. “We wanted to wait a little longer, because I was afraid, but Gale you’re one of my oldest friends. I know you’d never be intentionally cruel if things don’t… don’t go well.”

Her voice catches and Gale looks down at his phone screen. I can see him trying to make sense of it, so I go ahead and step in.

“The girls figured it out already. They were talking about it last night, but they don’t know Katniss and I know they know.”

Gale can’t help but laugh a little at my ridiculous sounding sentence. Katniss rises up and kisses my jaw. I hope she and Madge at least got in a decent conversation about the nightmares.

“So this is probably them buying something for you two,” Gale says, waving his phone around. “And your… your baby.”

“Yep,” Madge says, and Gale’s growing smile fades as he gives her an apologetic look.

“Wait, so we’re gonna have a baby?” Cole asks and I wince. I really would have preferred we had the chance to sit down and talk to him and Avery and Olive about this in private. They knew we were trying, because we talked about it with all of our kids when we first made that decision, and they seemed fine with it at the time, but maybe something has changed.

“We are,” I tell him as gently as I can.

“Awesome. As long as I get a brother and not another sister.” For a second, his face remains intensely serious and I can feel Katniss gearing up to explain to him when his face breaks out in a grin. “Hello, Baby Brother!”

He hugs Katniss tightly and she holds onto him for a minute or two.

“Can we go out for dinner tonight? To celebrate?” I open my mouth to say maybe not, since we ate out for lunch, but Cole isn’t done. “Babies are a lot of hard work. So Momma needs to rest… so do you, Dad.”

“We’ll think about it,” I say but I can already tell from the look on Katniss’s face that she’s not only going to insist on giving Cole what he wants, she’s probably going to let him pick the restaurant.

From there, whatever conversation we were going to have turns into expressions of happiness and excitement. Madge hugs Katniss last, and I just barely hear her whispering.

“I know they’re awful. You can always talk to me about them, but it’ll be so much easier to deal with them if you tell Peeta, too.”

I try not to feel insulted that Katniss obviously told Madge that she felt like she couldn’t talk to me about her nightmares. Because it’s not really about my ego or my feelings. I’m just glad that she’s felt comfortable talking to someone about them, even if she never does talk about them with me.

The rest of the day is almost a blur. For now, all of our kids seem excited about the news. Only time will tell if that excitement holds. As we’re getting ourselves ready for bed, three of our four children already asleep, Karina knocks lightly on our door.

“Hey,” she says shyly after Katniss tells her to come on in. “With all the excitement today, I didn’t get a chance to give this to you.”

She presents us with a gift bag, pale yellow tissue paper poking up out of it. Katniss hugs her and I watch happily as Karina melts into her embrace.

“Okay, well good night!” Karina says when she steps out of Katniss’s embrace and flings herself briefly into mine.

“Don’t you wanna stay for us to open it?” Katniss asks and Karina shakes her head.

“It’s been a crazy day. I figure you two want some alone time,” she says and scoots out of the room before either of us can say anything.

“Should I bring her back?” I ask as Katniss sits on the bed with a smile. She shakes her head.

“No. We can thank her for the gift in the morning. Besides, if I had to guess, knowing Karina, she’s trying to do something for us, to show us her excitement, without it having any kind of effect on her siblings.”

“Fair enough,” I say and sit next to Katniss as she pulls the tissues from the bag and pulls out a soft, pale green set of footie pajamas, patterned with frogs leaping between lily pads, and a matching cap for an infant.

“Oh,” Katniss says and I have to bite back my laughter when two seconds later, she’s crying on my shoulder and using a thousand phrases of profanity to curse her hormones. “I feel like I owe so many apologies to Madge right now.”

I fail at holding back my laughter when she says that, but I don’t ask her to explain. I think I can imagine pretty well how frustrated Katniss might have once gotten with Madge and her pregnancy hormones, and how Madge would’ve pushed back instead of taking it.

“Can I see the gift?” I eventually ask and Katniss sits back, wiping her nose with her sleeve before gently handing the pajamas to me. I hold them for a second and then Katniss curses again, right before tackling me and flinging aside the pajamas.

We’re a frenzy of movement and my head is spinning by the time she’s got us both naked.

“They’re just pajamas. How am I supposed to control myself when there’s a baby in your arms wearing the pajamas?” she asks, and my laughter at her fury is cut short when she slides down onto me, taking me inside her. I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle under her ear as she starts to move.

“Hopefully, you won’t have to control yourself. I don’t want you to control yourself.”

It’s only much later, when we’re breathless and spent and our bed is a fucking mess, that Katniss rises up on her elbow to gaze down at my face. Her movements are languid as she kiss my pectoral and then sets her cheek over my heart.

“The nightmare last night… it featured what I can only describe as erotic cannibalism.”

“Erotic… okay,” I say carefully. “That explains the way you phrased it. People you love hurting other people you love and enjoying it.”

“It was…terrifying. And I…” She trails off and I wait, but when she doesn't go on, I try to comfort her.

“It sounds terrifying,” I agree and she hums quietly.

“My brain has to be so fucked up to come up with something like that.”

“Not really,” I say. “Dreams are already fucked up without the pregnancy hormones and all the worries you’re working through. These night terrors… they aren’t something you should blame yourself for, Katniss. They’re just nightmares on steroids. Or pregoids… since you’re pregnant.”

I hear her release one reluctant snort and figure I’m safe to try and get her to laugh a little more. Not because it’ll make the night terrors go away, not because it’s funny that she has them, but because maybe it’s better if she doesn’t dwell on them too much.

“So um… who did I roast and eat? Or was I the banquet?”

“What?” she asks and gives me an odd look.

“I mean, not to make light of things, but I think I’d look pretty damn sexy wearing nothing but an apple in my mouth. Perfect feast for a bunch of erotic cannibals. Did I at least get to partake in the orgy before you feasted on me?”

“Oh my god,” she says and covers her face with one hand. Her shoulders are shaking and it's only when she moves her hand that I see she’s laughing. “You were definitely the main course.”

“Come on now. Did I get to partake in the orgy first? Was I at least delicious?” I ask and she smacks me with a pillow before I can wrench it from her hands. “Oh now you’ve done it.”

By the time we manage to stop playing around, she’s smiling and then holding me close to her. I kiss her temple and wrap my arms tight around her.

“Thank you. Sometimes, I just need you to hold me and I know it’ll be okay,” she whispers as we settle back in to hopefully sleep.

“Joke’s on you,” I say. “This is me pinning you in place to make sure I at least get to take part in the orgy before the feast.”

She laughs again and when she finally slips into sleep, I notice that her expression is relaxed. Maybe, I hope, it’ll help her subconscious stay away from such horrifying images. But if it doesn’t, at least now I know just how terrifying her fears are to her.

#words are peetas thing not mine #ten years of fanfiction mania #wrapped in red nonsense #no seriously pregnancy nightmares are a whole other level #they do not come to play #a-catgirl-universe #look at that ask

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mollywog · 1 year ago

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Everlark Executioner AU inspired by this post

Read on Ao3

Had the messenger arrived a day earlier, he would have been greeted by a yellow flag above our door, and had to turn back, summons undelivered.

The odds, however, are not in my favor.

My sister, having been ill the week prior, had quarantined us both at home. She hadn’t been fearfully sick, just unwilling to put her patients at risk. The flag hadn’t prohibited me from hunting alone but it had kept the townspeople and duties away for a spell.

I should have known my temporary reprieve would need repaid in spades.

So as my luck would have it, there's no obstacle to the trembling messenger boy delivering the summons. It seems my services are needed for a midnight hanging.

I am an executioner by chance, not choice. Well that’s not exactly true.

Though the Capital acts as judge and jury, the districts must supply the hangman. And because no one willingly seeks the position, about once a generation, they hold a ceremony to select a new one. They call it a reaping: someone’s idea of a joke. Haymitch Abernathy’s name had been drawn twenty odd years ago after the previous executioner had disappeared into the wild, never to be seen again. Haymitch should have been it for another decade or so, but he’d given everyone a scare two years back when he fell off his horse and into a coma for a week. He came to no worse for the wear but the district officials decided he needed an apprentice lest they discover him face down in a ditch with no one to measure their next noose. My name had not been called, but my sister’s had.

I ‘volunteered’ to take her place, but there was really never a choice in it. She never would’ve survived the social isolation let alone the job requirements.

After that my sister and I moved to the far edge of the District near the woods. It’s better not to know the condemned or subject the town to my presence. Most people know the proper direction of their anger, most don’t blame the executioner, but they still avert their gaze and hold their children tighter to their chest as I pass.

My sister, Primrose, on the other hand, is universally admired; a born healer in a place where there are few and the need is great. If I keep myself scarce, they still seek her out for treatments.

Prim is somber as she hands my satchel up to me. She’s used to hearing news from town ahead of time but with our week sequestered, we know nothing of who I may face. But Midnight hangings are reserved for the most deprived criminals,so I’ll take solace that the wearer of my necklace will be worthy of it.

The hanging tree mars the district skyline. It looms ominously over the landscape, growing as I approach the center of town.

The fog thins as I arrive at the tree, a noose is already in place as invitation to the crowd. The messenger this morning claimed the hangman was indisposed, but Haymitch has at least prepared that much before absconding into his bottle; He will have taken into account the wearer’s height and weight when selecting the rope's gauge and length: I inspect his work. Likely a man: Average height, but well fed. I release a breath: no chance it will be a child today.

In the Justice building I check in with the clerk and settle in a seat. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes, pretending to nap, lest someone try to speak to me. I hear fragments of the gossip: three murdered.. a fire… caught red-handed. At least this time my nightmares will revolve around the condemned’s actions and not my own.

Time crawls by. The growing clamor outside is my cue that the time is nearing and I shrug on the executioner's robe, rubbing my sweaty palms down the fabric at the thighs. The hood isn’t necessary, Haymitch gave it up years ago, everyone knows who we are, but I flip the material over my head anyways. If only it could shield me from my conscience.

I had always assumed Haymitch drank because he didn’t care. Now I know it’s the opposite; he drinks because he can’t help caring. I refuse to fall victim to the bottle, it doesn’t solve the guilt, I suppose nothing will, but there are other ways to live with myself.

I take the dose of elixer Prim packed with enough time for the herbs to take effect, making me feel hollow enough to perform the job, but as I exit the Justice building, I'm immediately on edge despite the tonic

Something’s not right.

Through the numbness I can feel the stilted weight of the crowd. The low simmering of discontent is unexpected. With the allegations, I’d expected eagerness if not indifference.

I take my place on the platform. The mayor nods in my direction distractedly.

Head Peacekeeper, Thread, emerges from the prison, two uniformed men in tow, dragging the limping convict. His head is bent, obstructing my view of his face, but I take in the broad shoulders and yellow hair. Another surprise. The man I am to execute is from the merchant side of town, where most have the means to survive without breaking the laws or bribe the Peacekeepers into turning a blind eye.

The man is placed beside me and I discreetly peer around my hood for a better look. The name registers right before it is spoken. My stomach drops.

Peeta Mellark

Oh, no. Not him. No, the odds are not in my favor today.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn’t matter. Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. We don’t speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He’s probably forgotten it. But I haven’t and I know I never will.

At eleven and in my lowest moment a boy had risked a beating to give me two loaves of hardy bread. The loaves and the hope it provided saved my life. I haven’t yet found the courage to thank him, and now I never will I think as I stare at the boy with the bread’s limp form.

I’ve broken into a sweat despite the chilled breeze. The Mayor reads the charges, but I hear nothing except a buzzing in my ears.

I’m fighting through a violet haze to make sense of my dilemma. I cannot kill this man, but refusal to do so will earn me a spot swinging beside him. Damn Haymitch! This should have been his problem, and I could have wiped my hands clean if Peeta Mellark. But no, that’s not right either. My debt and his death would haunt me for the rest of my miserable life. Besides, something in my gut tells me I am meant to be here, that there’s still yet something I can do.

A single word floats to the top of my memory.

“Nightlock,” I murmur, no more than a whisper, but it’s enough for the mayor to pause his reading. In the years of my apprenticeship it was only mentioned once. Haymitch had been drunk. Much drunker than usual when he’d discussed a small list of extenuating circumstances and loopholes. When I’d pressed him for more, he’d told me to ‘forget it’ before shattering a bottle and demanding I leave. I had left, but not before hearing him break down in sobs. I’d seen him in all forms of drunk, but never so much as to weep. So, of course, the word was immediately, irrevocably branded into my brain.

“Excuse me?” The Mayor interrupts my muddled memories.

“Nightlock,” I state more firmly.

At the sound of my voice Peeta lifts his head and sways on his feet. The motion reveals what his hair has concealed; a lump, angry and purple over his eye. He’s likely concussed.

There is a mixed reaction among the crowd at my outcry: mostly confusion, but some of the older spectators understand the implications of what I have said and begin whispering among the crowd. The Mayor mops his brow, his pained expression cautiously hopeful, “Do you wish to enact the nightlock clause Ms Everdeen?”

“I do” my voice sounds foreign to me; More fierce and decisive than my foggy mind.

“And Mr Mellark do you accept?” I grasp his arm urging him to stand straighter, supporting him under my shoulders. “Trust me,” I whisper. He has no reason to believe me, but I suppose it doesn’t matter; his only other option is the dangling rope.

His mouth twitches in something of a grin. It can only be a reflex though, I’m surprised he’s lucid enough to slur out, “I do,” and when he does, I’m uncertain whether it’s in response to the mayor or in answer to my plea.

Either way he’s said the words; The ones that will save him from the gallows and bind him to a new fate

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” The Mayor’s voice booms over the crowd. “Congratulations Mr Mellark, you’ve been granted a pardon.”

The Hanging Tree Series

#everlark fanfiction #if we met up at midnight #executioner AU #everlark #fanfiction #thg fanfiction

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