#best seeder

[chonideno]

we really need to teach the kids how to download stuff. what do you mean you're 16 and you don't know what a torrent is. who failed you like that

[baynton]

Hi! Was wondering if you could make a Google drive for a BBC Radio 4 series that Ben's in called "Recorded For Training Purposes" please? Thanks!

i've had a look around for a source for it, but the only thing i've managed to find is a seemingly dead torrent and this link to archive.org to listen to the first episode only i'm afraid!

[fangirlerastour]

Chapters 4 and 5 of who's gonna hold you like me, my hayffie x ttpd kinda au fic are now up! You've got the annual Trinket party which Effie avoids and Haymitch, of course, avoids it with her. And then Effie gets a boyfriend (shock horror) to try and make her mother happy, but it turns out, he's not that great of a guy. And Haymitch hates him...obviously. Oh...and it's Effie's birthday

[bewindiasblog]

"Straw Reaper Price List: Choosing the Best Agricultural Machinery for Your Farm"

Outline

Introduction to Straw Reaper

Definition and Functionality

Importance in Agriculture

Factors Affecting Straw Reaper Prices

Brand and Manufacturer

Features and Specifications

Market Demand and Supply

Price Range of Straw Reapers

Entry-level Models

Mid-range Models

High-end Models

Comparison of Top Straw Reaper Brands

KS AGROTECH Private Limited: Features, Pros, and Cons

Bhagwan Engg. Works: Features, Pros, and Cons

Tips for Buying a Straw Reaper

Assessing Farm Needs

Researching Brands and Models

Considering Budget Constraints

Where to Find Straw Reapers for Sale

Agricultural Equipment Dealerships

Online Marketplaces

Directly from Manufacturers

Maintenance and Operating Costs

Regular Maintenance Requirements

Fuel and Power Consumption

Repair and Replacement Costs

Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Importance of Reviews in Decision Making

Real-life Experiences with Different Brands

Future Trends in Straw Reaper Technology

Advancements in Design and Efficiency

Integration of Smart Features

Conclusion

Summary of Key Points

FAQs About Straw Reapers

How do I choose the right size of a straw reaper for my farm?

What are the common maintenance tasks for a straw reaper?

Can I finance a straw reaper purchase through agricultural loans?

Are there any government subsidies available for purchasing agricultural machinery like straw reapers?

How long does a typical straw reaper last before needing major repairs?

Introduction to Straw Reaper

Straw reapers are essential agricultural machines designed to harvest, thresh, and clean straw in a single operation. They play a vital role in modern farming practices by efficiently managing crop residues and preparing fields for subsequent planting or cultivation. These machines are commonly used in areas where manual labor is insufficient or uneconomical, offering significant time and labor savings to farmers.

Factors Affecting Straw Reaper Prices

Several factors influence the pricing of straw reapers, including the brand and manufacturer, features and specifications, and market demand and supply. Brand reputation and reliability often dictate pricing, with well-known manufacturers commanding higher prices for their products. Additionally, the inclusion of advanced features and capabilities can increase the cost of a straw reaper. Lastly, market dynamics, such as seasonal demand fluctuations and availability of competing models, can impact pricing.

Price Range of Straw Reapers

Straw reapers are available in a wide range of prices to accommodate different budgets and requirements. Entry-level models typically start at a lower price point, offering basic functionality suitable for small-scale farming operations. Mid-range models offer a balance between affordability and features, making them popular choices among medium-sized farms. High-end models, equipped with advanced technology and superior build quality, command premium prices and are preferred by large-scale agricultural enterprises.

Comparison of Top Straw Reaper Brands

KS AGROTECH Private Limited:

Features: High-speed threshing mechanism, adjustable settings, durable construction.

Pros: Efficient straw separation, low maintenance requirements.

Cons: Relatively higher price point, limited availability in certain regions.

Bhagwan Engg. Works:

Features: Multi-crop compatibility, hydraulic controls, wide cleaning area.

Pros: Versatile performance, easy to operate.

Cons: Mixed reviews regarding durability, occasional breakdowns reported.

Tips for Buying a Straw Reaper

When purchasing a straw reaper, it's essential to assess your farm's specific needs and requirements. Conduct thorough research on different brands and models, considering factors such as performance, reliability, and after-sales support. Additionally, establish a realistic budget and explore financing options if necessary. By carefully evaluating these aspects, you can make an informed decision that maximizes the value of your investment.

Where to Find Straw Reapers for Sale

Straw reapers are available for purchase through various channels, including agricultural equipment dealerships, online marketplaces, and directly from manufacturers. Local dealerships offer the advantage of personalized service and support, while online platforms provide a wider selection and convenient purchasing options. Directly sourcing from manufacturers may offer cost savings but requires careful consideration of shipping logistics and warranty coverage.

Maintenance and Operating Costs

Like any agricultural machinery, straw reapers require regular maintenance to ensure optimal performance and longevity. This includes greasing moving parts, inspecting belts and chains, and cleaning filters and screens. Additionally, operating costs such as fuel consumption and power requirements should be factored into the overall ownership expenses. It's advisable to budget for potential repair and replacement costs to avoid unexpected financial burdens.

Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Before making a final purchase decision, it's beneficial to seek out customer reviews and testimonials from farmers who have experience with different straw reaper brands. These firsthand accounts can provide valuable insights into product performance, reliability, and customer support. Pay attention to recurring themes and consider how they align with your own priorities and preferences.

Future Trends in Straw Reaper Technology

The future of straw reaper technology is poised for further advancements aimed at improving efficiency, productivity, and sustainability. Manufacturers are increasingly investing in research and development to enhance design features such as threshing mechanisms, cleaning systems, and automation capabilities. Additionally, the integration of smart technologies, such as GPS guidance and data analytics, holds promise for optimizing field operations and resource management.

Conclusion

In conclusion, straw reapers are indispensable tools for modern agricultural practices, offering efficient and cost-effective solutions for managing crop residues. By considering factors such as brand reputation, features, and budget constraints, farmers can select the right straw reaper to meet their specific needs and maximize productivity. With ongoing advancements in technology and a growing emphasis on sustainability, the future looks promising for this essential farm implement.

FAQs About Straw Reapers

How do I choose the right size of a straw reaper for my farm?

Consider factors such as field size, crop types, and available storage space to determine the appropriate capacity and dimensions for your straw reaper.

What are the common maintenance tasks for a straw reaper?

Regular greasing, belt and chain inspections, and cleaning of filters and screens are essential maintenance tasks to ensure optimal performance and longevity.

Can I finance a straw reaper purchase through agricultural loans?

Yes, many financial institutions offer specialized loan products tailored to the agricultural sector, providing flexible financing options for equipment purchases.

Are there any government subsidies available for purchasing agricultural machinery like straw reapers?

Depending on your location and farm operation, there may be government incentives or subsidies available to support investments in agricultural machinery. Check with local agricultural authorities or extension offices for more information.

How long does a typical straw reaper last before needing major repairs?

The lifespan of a straw reaper depends on various factors, including usage intensity, maintenance practices, and environmental conditions. With proper care and maintenance, a well-built straw reaper can last for many years before requiring significant repairs.

[finnickodaiir]

In 85 years, the t*rrent should be done downloading... more than enough time to finish my assignment

[ksagrotech]

best super seeder in India

The Super Seeder consists of a rotor for managing the paddy residues and a zero-till drill to sow wheat. Flail-type straight blades are mounted on the straw management rotor, which cuts (hits or shears) the standing stubbles or loose straw coming in front of the sowing time and cleans each tine twice in one rotation of the rotor for proper placement of seed in the soil.

[buckeyemachines12]

Best Super Seeder Product | Bewindia | Super Seeder

Bewindia - We are a significant part of KS Group, an eminent brand recognized by the agricultural industry in India. It is a part of KS Group, which has remarkably outreached to the farmers and professionals in this industry with its benevolent practices and elegant solutions. Our Partners are KS Agrotech Pvt. Ltd., KS Agriculture Industries Pvt. Ltd.

[ferpykins]

hi please stop paying for streaming services

hi so i've been using this epic swag little app called stremio for the past (At Least) year or so and it is. VERY good (i have some gripes with the way its not seeder friendly but you win some you lose some).

it's basically a do it all video streaming app with access to movies, shows, anime, even certain dramas as far as I know??? ymmv overall

Anyways. its available for just about any device you could use these days and has SURPRISINGLY good community support that makes it 500x more powerful than if you were to stick with the stock addons.

so to start off i'd suggest downloading one of the desktop apps so you can get your addons configured before logging in on your tv device (the addons will sync when you log in) and after creating your account and familiarizing yourself with the UI, go ahead and start getting some custom addons. your best friend in the world here will be Torrentio hands down. It'll basically allow you to stream from any available torrent of whatever you search for, but with the obvious caveat of still being a peer to peer connection which your isp may or may not be very mad about.

this brings me to your VPN selection! personally i've used both nord and proton heavily and can only recommend proton vpn as nord is just. well basically they've gotten worse and worse as far as trying to get you to keep subscribing and shit. its annoying as hell but the connection is dece. proton however has a free tier that is very robust all things considered so like. give it a try lol you probably won't regret it.

once you get your vpn setup, download the app to your streaming device of choice, start your vpn connection and get logged in to stremio! search far and wide so you can get an idea of what series of yours will be available, test out different addons, maybe even figure out what a debrid service is and ABOVE ALL ELSE have fun :)

[vexwerewolf]

Not the original asker, but how would you make NPC equivalents of PC mechs? Some stuff feels fairly intuitive, but there are some others that I'm less sure of/not sure how to do.

IPS-N

IPS-N mechs are probably the easiest, since there are many mechs that are close to being 1-to-1 NPC approximations of IPS-N mechs.

Blackbeard - One of the easiest, since the Berserker NPC is basically just a Blackbeard. It has the Chain Axe, it has the reckless speed and it has the inability to properly determine between friend and foe. It doesn't have the Blackbeard's enhanced Grapple shenanigans but those aren't really appropriate on an NPC mech anyway.

Caliban - Give an Assassin the Devil's Cough Shotgun and Explosive Knives.

Drake - Take the Bastion, increase its HP just a little, remove the Rotary Grenade Launcher and give it the Scourer's Thermal Lance, except make the Thermal Lance do Kinetic damage instead of Energy.

Lancaster - Another easy one. The Support NPC is just a slightly slower Lancaster. It has a Latch Drone, it has Restock Drones, it has Whitewash, it's got all the fun stuff.

Nelson - Yet another easy one. The Cataphract does pretty much exactly what the Nelson does, just with added trample.

Raleigh - This is much more difficult - so much so that for In Golden Flame, I created an entirely new NPC class, the Slinger, just to simulate it. If you don't have IGF, start with an Assault. Remove the Assault Rifle, Combat Knife and Hunker Down. Take the Drum Shotgun from the Goliath and call it a Hand Cannon. Give it the Archer's Impending Threat optional.

Tortuga - This one's fairly simple. Take a Sentinel, upscale it to Size 2, give it Punisher Ammunition and the Bombard's Siege Armor.

Vlad - Take a Berserker, give it the Nail Gun optional, and then give it the Bastion's Near-Threat Denial System.

Zheng - Take a Berserker, give it Juggernaut and Retribution, remove Aggression, remove the Chain Axe and replace it with the Demolisher's Demolition Hammer.

SSC

SSC mechs also have a lot of parallels, so it's pretty easy to model them.

Black Witch - Probably the hardest mech to model with existing NPCs. I created another whole new class, the Lodestone, just to simulate these guys.

Death's Head - Take a Sniper, cut the damage on its Anti-Material Rifle to 6/8/10, strip the Loading trait and permanently give it the effect of Deadmetal Rounds (shots become Line 20 instead of Range 25).

Dusk Wing - Literally just a Hornet.

Metalmark - Take an Assault and give it the Operator's Fade Generator.

Monarch - Depending on the exact flavour of Monarch you want, you can do two things. Either take a Rainmaker, scale it up to Size 2 and give it Atlas Missiles the Ace's Missile Swarm, or take an Ace, scale it up to Size 2 and give it Missile Swarm.

Mourning Cloak - Literally just a Specter.

Swallowtail - Literally just a Scout.

HORUS

HORUS mechs are where we need to get a little bit more inventive. This shit ain't natural boys.

Balor - Take a Hive, give it Electro-Nanite Cloud and the Berserker's Harpoon Cannon, then give it the Exotic template and choose Regenerator. Or, if you have No Room For A Wallflower, just use the Lurker NPC.

Goblin - It's a Witch.

Gorgon - Take a Sentinel, scale it up to Size 2 and give it the Archer's Impending Threat and Suppress reactions.

Hydra - There's not really an NPC that simulates a mech deploying 800 drones and honestly that's probably for the best.

Manticore - Give a Berserker the Superhot optional, the Cataphract's Capacitor Discharge, the Sentinel's Combat Shotgun and the Operator's Self-Erasure.

Pegasus - Do not attempt to simulate me, ha ha.

Harrison Armory

Home stretch here.

Barbarossa - Take a Goliath, give it the Ultra's Short-Cycle Lance or the Bombard's Bombard Cannon.

Genghis - Literally just a Pyro.

Iskander - This is just a Seeder.

Napoleon - Why does this mech exist

Saladin - Scale up an Aegis to Size 2.

Sherman - Take a Scourer and give it Emergency Vent.

Tokugawa - Take a Berserker and give it Superhot. Make its Chain Axe do Energy instead of Kinetic, and instead of Shredding on crit, make it do a couple of Burn damage.

[theoutcastrogue]

My thoughts on the best strategies to preserve human knowledge and creation in perpetuity

1) don't put all your eggs in one basket

archives need to be paper and digital, public and private sector, centralised and decentralised, fully legal / by the book and rogue, in vaults and cabinets and servers and torrents

create as many redundancies as you can: make copies, and copies of the copies, and copies of the copies of the copies, ad nauseam; anyone anywhere who can make copies, should

spread the physical hubs (paper stacks or servers) geographically, in as many places as possible; you never know what kind of natural disaster or man-made horror will take out a whole building, city, region, or continent tomorrow

2) entropy is a bitch, think longterm

pick methods that are more likely to last

schedule regular copying: you gotta transfer the stuff to a new medium before the old one falls apart, so have some idea when it's expected to fall apart

3) keep converting to new formats

no format becomes obsolete instantly, there's always a transition period; use transition periods to furiously convert everything

4) indexing and searching is as important as the content itself

self-explanatory

5) eyes on the prize: the end goal is public access

if a random nobody, with no status and no money, can't access it easily, freely, and anonymously, the job is only half-done; you've built the back-end and neglected the front-end; get someone to complete it ASAP, because now it's just sitting pretty and isn't doing anything; or isn't doing enough, in any case

bonus: use. fucking. torrents.

It is truly bonkers that the bittorrent protocol is not being used for archiving. It's an ideal method for digital archiving and it should be standard procedure. If a university has stuff on a hard disk, it can put it on its server, and if it can put it on a server, it can torrent it and seed it 24/7. If the same archive is useful for another university on the other side of the planet, that one can download it and then stay in the swarm, also seeding it. If a library or city council anywhere on earth finds the archive of interest, it can do the same. The more the merrier, every download is a potential redundancy and every seeder is an actual redundancy.

If you got space to store it, you got space to share it. And of course, any private individual can at any time join the swarm. So we get excellent preservation (with multiple redundancies, spread far and wide geographically) AND public access, global and free, which is what preservation is FOR in the first place! It ain't for the heck of it, it ain't only for the eyes of the elite, it's for everyone, that's the purpose, that's the end goal. If that's not your end goal, you're doing it wrong.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 10

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12 A/N: a lot of yall are gonna be mad at me, but let me cook real quick. Trust 🙏🏾

Past (xi) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

You tighten your coat around you, burrowing into the warmth as you walk. 

To the left of you, dairy cows moo distantly, some grazing the open land while others stay tucked away in their barns. To the right of you, you pass empty victor houses. Once upon a time, District Eleven used to produce an immense number of victors. Certainly not as many as One or Two, but a strong contender right next to Four. It makes sense. Compared to what the citizens here have to face day to day, the arena is a welcome change. And tributes from Eleven develop a skill set that’s meant for survival at a very young age—one step away from being careers in your own right.

Eleven has always been incredibly rebellious. But after the Uprising a few decades back, which the citizens refer to as the First Movement, Eleven lost any good standing with the Capitol. In its place came droves of Peacekeepers and more oppressive rules than there were people. With them came the inability to train children, malnourishment, and conformity. They make sure to teach all about it in school, making sure students know just how far their district fell. Once a powerhouse worthy of rubbing shoulders with the best of them stands one of the most ‘primitive’ and militarized districts in the nation.

The remaining houses are left without any upkeep and are abandoned to fall apart.

As a victor, you're afforded some leniency by the Peacekeepers, but not much. Just enough that they won't find it suspicious that you’re carrying a blanket-covered wicker basket. Regardless, you keep it close to your side, and it knocks into your calf with each step. 

Winter is the worst time in Eleven, though it doesn’t last long. It doesn’t snow often since it’s so far south, but the ice is just as bad—if not worse. Not many people can survive the subzero temperatures, let alone crops. So, though it seems impossible, what little rations they give the people are shortened even further. The only plus is that it isn’t harvest season—there are so many crops to collect that children are pulled out of school for weeks at a time to help.

You remember what it feels like to be hungry. To be forced into the orchards to harvest pears, apricots, and Mandarin oranges—some of the only crops that can weather the cold, small hands stiff and your stomach numb with pain as you endured the freezing winds. You had friends when you were younger, other children that worked alongside you. Very few of them survived through the winter.

They give victors more food and money than they have any right to. So once a month, you pack up food that you, Chaff, and Seeder have gathered and journey to the poorest part of the district. You don’t take it all at once. That’s far too risky. You spread out the trips over several days at different times so the Peacekeepers on the clock don’t notice a pattern.

It’s not an easy walk by any means. You reside in the wealthy part of Eleven, and you use wealthy in the loosest sense of the word. The mayor’s family, doctors, Peacekeepers, landowners, and victors. Your destination is almost on the complete opposite side of the district from the Victor Village. Far away so the rich don’t have to see the harsh reality that the citizens live in.

It’s never been explicitly said that you can’t give out food, but it’s certainly implied. You try not to think about what they’ll do to you if you’re caught.

You wave at the few people you pass and avert your eyes as you walk past the whipping post. There’s only one. The Peacekeepers line up anyone who’s committed an offense and thrash them one by one. Most of the time, the people are innocent. Everyone has to watch. No one can intervene. It’s stationed beside the deck they conduct the hangings on.

People avoid the area if they can.

You pass open farmland and empty cotton fields. The further you walk, the more run down the buildings become. Until the houses aren’t much more than shacks guarded only by the hulking trees surrounding them. You relax. The Peacekeepers don’t patrol here. They’re certainly supposed to, but even they can’t stomach the squalor. 

The kids spot you first—they always do. Little heads pop up from behind trees, shouting your arrival. 

“She’s here!”

You laugh as they surround you, jumping up and down and shooting rapid-fire questions your way. You know that more would greet you if they could, but they likely can’t move. Huddled up in their homes and crippled by hunger or the cold, but probably both. The commotion draws adults toward you. An older woman with graying curly hair and sunspots on dark brown skin steps out of the gaunt-looking crowd. Elm, she's the de facto leader here. 

A man, Maple, smiles and takes the basket from you and walks into one of the buildings in the far back to stash the food away. You pull more wrapped food out of the hidden pockets on the inside of your coat and hand it off.

You have a system in place. You’ve been doing these deliveries for a long time. You trust them to distribute the goods to those who need them the most. Everyone here looks out for each other. Even if the kids aren’t theirs, an adult won’t let them go hungry if they can help it. It truly takes a village. You would know. After all, you used to live here.

The Shacktowns mainly exist because there are too many people in the district, having reached overpopulation decades ago. Living here is preferable to having to pay for food, clothing, and a house that’s seen its fair share of price gouging. From what you’ve seen, the clothing in the Shacks is somehow worse than what Districts Ten or Twelve get to wear. It’s all ill-suited for the temperamental cold. So, in exchange for working in the fields and forests under horrible conditions, the people get free housing and food. Clearly, both benefits are incredibly lacking.

It’s all the illusion of choice, anyway. Only three percent of the population works outside of the fields, that’s including the Peacekeepers. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t work on a farm, a grove, an orchard, or a plantation.

Elm pulls you into a hug once your hands are free, and you lean into her warm embrace. She’s been as old as the dirt on the ground for as long as you’ve known her, but it feels like she’s rapidly declined every time you see her. She’s well and truly sick, and she has been for a long time now. No one knows what it is or what effects it’ll have on her. Medicine isn’t readily available here. And you don’t think something that simple can help her anyway. Sadly, she isn’t the only one. You just hope this information doesn’t get out.

If anyone orbiting the elite circles found out just how many people were sick here, they wouldn’t send them to the Capitol to get help. They’d see it as a waste of resources. They’d let them suffer and die or have them put down if they’re feeling benevolent. Again, Eleven is heavily populated. The lives here have very little value outside their abilities to work. If they can’t do that, what purpose do they serve? 

What use is a horse with a broken leg?

She pulls away, hands on your shoulders as she looks you over. “You look good, healthy.”

“I can’t say the same for you.” You raise a brow at her hunched frame. She’s a tall woman with the endurance of a mule. She’s a decade younger than Mags, but she doesn’t look it. But, as you’ve learned after touring the districts, manual labor ages people. 

“And you,” you lean back as she wags her finger in your face, “inherited that mouth from your daddy. It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

"You’re getting worse.” You note, ignoring her attempt at diversion. The kids disperse, running back to the forest they were playing in. You know they won’t go far enough to reach the thirty-foot-tall fence, but you still worry. The gate is guarded to the teeth with trigger-happy Peacekeepers who won’t hesitate to shoot on sight.

“'M fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.” She waves off your concern, and you frown, stuffing your hands into your pocket when a breeze comes through.

“My offer still stands, Elm. There’s plenty of room in the house. Me and Mama would love to have you.” She practically raised your dad, and she even made the broom your parents jumped over at their wedding. Hell, when you were born, she was the first person to hold you after your parents. She’s family, and it kills you to leave her out here.

She shakes her head, and you know this argument is going to end the way it always does. “You know that’s not fair. They need me out here.” She pats your cheek and finishes with no room for argument. She’s stubborn, so going in circles about this will get you nowhere. You shift your jaw, agitated.

“And while we’re talkin', I think you should skip next month’s delivery,” your jaw drops. “Let me explain before you start assumin'. You know we appreciate everythin' you do for us, but you need to lay low for a while. You’re pushin' your luck comin' out here as often as you do, and if you get caught, you won’t be any help to anyone.” She makes a convincing argument and effectively cuts off your protest before you even start. 

You sigh. Seeder and your mom have been telling you the same thing.

“Please? Do it for an old woman’s peace of mind.” She pleads, squeezing your shoulders.

“We can’t afford to just stop coming out here entirely, but I guess it doesn’t always have to be me.” Chaff had offered to start delivering in your place, or to at least switch off who makes the trip each month.

You’re barely able to make ends meet for the people here, and this is only one Shacktown of hundreds.

“Just...start lookin' out for yourself more, alright?” She asks, and you agree with a scowl. You refuse to call it a pout, though Finnick definitely would.

You don’t stay for long. You need to get back before it starts getting dark out.

On your way back, you stop by the bakery like you always do. It’s a good halfway point between your two destinations—you’ll have something to show for your trip as well as an alibi, just in case you get stopped. 

You order two loaves of seeded rolls, another loaf of sourdough, and a blueberry muffin for your mom. Sage, the worker behind the counter, wraps the baked goods and pauses. “It’s dangerous. What you’re doin'.” He murmurs under his breath, so quiet that you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if you two weren’t the only ones here. He hands you your stuff, waving off the tip you attempt to give him. “But it’s good. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to take that kind of chance.” 

“It’s brave enough that you offer me food to give to them.” You say and mean it. What you do is only a secret to the people who aren't supposed to know. It's not just you, Seeder, and Chaff who contribute. Sometimes, people give you food and clothes to donate—among other things. Sage has spent many nights making extra bread and pastries just so there’ll be enough left over for you to deliver to the Shacktown.

Most jobs in Panem are passed down through families, such as Caesar Flickerman, who took his profession from his father, Julius Flickerman. And Julius inherited it from his father before him, all the way back to Lucky Flickerman. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Pitsone never had any kids of their own, so the mayor allowed them to adopt one of the many orphans running around the fields to train in the art of baking. They picked Sage. 

He’s a meek boy despite his height, skittish and paranoid, but very kind. With light hair and even lighter skin that’s rare to see in Eleven, it’s no wonder he stood out amongst the other kids. He and his parents live above the bakery in a small home, though luxurious by Eleven’s standards. 

You used to be sweet on each other when you were much, much younger. A kiss on the cheek here and there as you worked side by side. Nothing special, but the most childish you were allowed to be. You were so envious when they took him out of the fields; you all were. He wasn’t one of you anymore, he got to work on the inside. Nobody wanted to be around him, so he was ostracized. You, angry and young, wished it was you. But now, you only wished it had happened sooner. You wished you had kept in touch.

He rings you up, and you gather it all in your basket before he stops you. 

“Oh! Wait here for a second.” He goes through a door behind him that you know leads to storage. You lean forward and hide a handful of coins on the little shelf under the front counter where you’re sure he won’t find them until it’s time to close. You hear rummaging and boxes moving before he comes out with a wrapped parcel tied with string. “I saved a few chocolate croissants for you. We usually run out of those in the mornin', but I know you like them.” He gives you a closed-mouth smile. Small, but real.

You try to picture a world where the two of you ended up together, running the bakery until you’re old and gray—maybe if you hadn’t been reaped. But you can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t in love with Finnick Odair. 

“Thank you, Sage.” The bell above the door jingles as you walk out.

“Be careful!” He calls from behind you.

Walking back is always hard, having to leave them all behind to suffer while you’re allowed to go back to your stupidly big house. With its giant pillars and long, stretching brick walkway framed by old willow trees that curve into each other and make an arched tunnel. And it’s in the middle of this tunnel that you see Peacekeepers guarding either side of your front door.

Your heart stops and then starts again at a runner’s pace.

Did they…find out? You were so careful, how did they—

One of them spots you lingering a few feet away and waves you closer. You walk forward, closing the distance. And then you take hesitant steps up the old stairs, tensing up in preparation for rough hands dragging you to the whipping posts. Instead, one just opens the front door for you. That’s worse. That means your punishment is on the inside. You’d rather take your chances with the whips. 

They shut the door behind you but don’t follow you. You place the basket of goods on a nearby hallway table and walk into the living room to see your mom sitting on the couch by herself, flanked by three guards, safe.

“There you are, baby.” She tries to smile at you, a play at normality, but it creaks and shakes like a house in a tornado. “We have a very special guest. He’s waitin' for you in your study.” She nods to the double doors further down the hall with even more Peacekeepers. You know who’s on the other side before the doors even open, and you really would have picked the whipping post over this.

Coriolanus Snow sits in your office—inside your home, almost seven hours from the Capitol. Snow traveling that distance? That's nothing to scoff at. 

He sits with his back to you and turns when the doors shut behind you. You feel like you’re a guest in your own home.

Seeing him sitting behind your big mahogany desk is akin to seeing a fox in a chicken coop. It’s dangerous. Foreboding. It has you looking for blood-soaked feathers. Nothing good can come from it. And for him to be so comfortable in the spot where you write your letters to Finnick makes your skin crawl. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in the one place that's truly yours.

“President Snow.” You say in greeting. You wrack your brain for any mentions of him coming to visit you and come up empty. Maybe there was a letter you missed, but you doubt it.  

It’s dusk. The setting sun shines through the windows behind him, bathing him in golden lighting that would have made anyone else look angelic. 

“You’re back,” he props his elbows up on your desk, steepling his fingers together. “Your mother said you were off to the bakery. You were gone for an awfully long time. Is it far?” Nothing on Snow’s face gives away his true intentions. If he knows about your little escapade, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

“Yes. It’s almost a day's walk,” You reply truthfully. When he does nothing more than hum in return, you’re quick to fill the silence. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s no fault of your own, my dear. I’m sure if you knew I was coming, you’d have postponed your little trip, yes?” You nod like a bobblehead, and he leans back, most likely confident that he has your full attention. Again, you can’t tell if he knows about the donations. If he does, he clearly doesn’t care enough to mention it. Surely, he didn’t come all this way just to sleep with you. But what else could he be here for?  

“Your mother was a fantastic host in your absence.” He lifts his teacup in mock cheers to you and you clasp your hands together behind your back, nails digging into thin skin.

“I’ll… I'll be sure to pass along the message.” You smile, pressing your nails deeper into your skin. Had they been any sharper, you would’ve drawn blood. It’s quiet as you silently observe each other. The only sound in the room is the tick of the grandfather clock and a few birds outside the window, happily ignorant of the cyclone forming inside.

He finally breaks and speaks, though break probably isn’t the right word for it. Rather, he allows you to breathe by saying something, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Under the weight of his unrelenting stare, you eventually shake your head no and it feels like admitting defeat. Like you’re not smart enough to catch on to his train of thought and you both know it.

“Of course you don’t.” He tsks, and you lower your gaze, ears growing warm. He stands and takes poised, measured steps to where your feet are rooted to the floor. He towers over you, literally and figuratively. 

“I am here,” he circles you like a vulture, “to remind you of your standing. Hear me when I say this, as there will be no room for misconceptions. You are incredibly privileged.”

You think you do a very good job of refraining from gawking at him like he’s grown a second head, even though that’s definitely the reaction he deserves. What privilege could he possibly be talking about? You, who grew up in the poorest part of the most oppressed district. You, who’s been whored out for the safety of the people you love since you were sixteen. You, who’s lucky to see the man you love more than once a month. 

You’re privileged?

"Now, I've allowed you a certain amount of freedom that not many are rewarded. Namely, your relationship with Mr. Odair," he nods to your desk where your letters from Finnick are hidden. Perhaps not as hidden as you thought. "I’m sure you know communication between the districts is forbidden. You get away with it because I allow it. Because you are obedient, because you don't ask questions when given a task, because you have a value that many like to indulge in." Snow rubs his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. You know better than to flinch away. 

"But you are not irreplaceable." He drops his hand and turns towards the room. Your lungs are cool with the breath you’re finally able to take. You should be used to his presence, and you usually are, but only when you can prepare yourself. He’s completely blindsided you. 

You nod clumsily. “I know.” Really, you do. You knew Snow knew about you and Finnick, but not to what extent. You also wondered how long it would take until the both of you got pushback. You just weren’t expecting it to happen like this.

He toys with the few picture frames you have set up on your shelf. He glances over the picture of your parents on their wedding day and a framed photo you took of Finnick in the Capitol, beaming a big grin at the person behind the camera—you. Instead, he goes for the magazine you have propped up. The first cover you and Finnick were on together. Life in the Spotlight as Told by Panem's Hottest Victors.

“Do you? It appears to me you believe yourself invincible. I assure you, you are not.” He turns to you, magazine in hand, and taps Finnick’s face on the cover. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. “And neither are the people you care about.”

Your throat is dry, tongue fitting uncomfortably in your mouth. You swallow and it goes down rough.

“I don’t think that at all, President Snow. I apologize if my actions came across that way. If there’s anything I can do to remedy that…?” You trail off rather pathetically.

He chuckles and cracks the first smile you’ve seen since he’s been here, and it’s almost worse than his scowl. "Always so eager to please. This is not a reprimand, just a reminder. You toe the line, but as long as you do not cross it, we shouldn’t have any issues." The heels of his sensible shoes click against the wooden floor as he comes to stand before you again. "So long as you keep up your streak of good behavior, you’ll be permitted to carry on the way you have.”

“Yes, sir. I…I understand.”  

He hums and goes to walk past but stops. "I know you do, good girl that you are."

Your fingers twitch.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he pulls an envelope from a pocket on his waistcoat. You know who it's from by the color alone, the color of sand. "You have mail." He smiles again, sharp and cruel in its kindness. It's still sealed, held between his middle and pointer finger, but you're certain he knows what the letter says already. You take it hesitantly along with the magazine.

He walks out without any farewell. The doors shut behind you. You hear shuffling and steps, but you only untense once you hear the front door open and shut. You wait there for what has to be at least thirty minutes before you even think about opening the letter.

My Star,

At the time that I’m writing this letter, it’s been two months since I’ve last seen you. I think this is the longest we’ve been apart in the past seven years. Only two months and it’s felt like a century. It’s been agonizing. It makes me wonder how I was able to survive without you for sixteen years.

I got the picture you sent me. I worry I’ll wear it thin with how often I touch it. In the absence of having you near me, I trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the slant of your eyes. I carry you everywhere I go.

My hands should be in yours, fingers laced together. Instead, I use them to write to you now.

I hope I can see you soon. Dreaming of you can only tide me over for so long. 

-With all the love in the world and beyond,

Finnick O.

You lean back and slide down the door. You groan, knocking your head against the wood. You never thought Snow would go as far as to threaten Finnick’s life. Especially with all the popularity he’s cultivated. It doesn’t make any sense.

You lift the letter to your face, tracing his signature. You glance at the magazine. You were both so young here, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and seventeen. Your youth is encapsulated forever on a teen gossip magazine.

You rest your forehead against him, the glossy cover cool on your skin. Your body is still trying to disperse the rush of adrenaline Snow brought with him.

“You and me.” You sigh. You’re going to need all the strength you can get. For him though, it’s all worth it.

Past (xi) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Ocean water burns his eyes as he swims to shore, his muscles strain and burn as he pushes against the current. The hot sand sticks to his wet feet as he walks up the beach and he waves to a few surfers who call out to him. It’s getting colder, and everyone wants to get in the water while they still can.

Finnick has always believed that good things come to those who wait. He prides himself on being a pretty patient man, but—and there’s always a but—patience is as good as dust when it comes to you.

It’s been four months, going on five, since he’s last seen you.

He’s been seeing you less and less over the last two years, and at this point, he’d be lucky to catch a whiff of your perfume. He doesn’t get it. It’s not like he’s lost any standing in the Capitol, and based on your letters, you’re still in high demand. 

Besides, it’s not like either of you can request to come to the Capitol at the same time.

He drags himself up the stairs to the Victor Village, wood creaking under his weight. When he gets to the top, he turns left instead of right—actually heading back to his beach house for once instead of Mags’s. After taking a shower, he plans on going into town with Annie. She hadn’t asked him to and she’s been doing pretty well, becoming more lucid. Yet, there’s no telling what’ll trigger her—whether it be some kind of commotion that sounds too much like a canon or someone’s outfit that too closely resembles what she wore in the arena. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Plus, he’s expecting a very important letter any day now.

When he finally gets to the sand road in front of the village, he hears the horn of a ship in the distance. He glances behind him and spots the biggest fishing boat in the district. The Cod Be Ever in Your Favor. He scoffs. That thing’s been around longer than he has, and it’s a rite of passage for everyone to go out to sea on her at least once. 

His father was a deckhand and he adored the job like it was his lover. He was rarely ever home—something Finnick was very grateful for. He never inherited that passion for the high seas and he had to learn the hard way that he’s much more adept in the water than above it. He’s crossing his fingers that the old relic capsizes one day. He’s not hoping anyone gets hurt or anything, but he will be celebrating the day that hunk of junk gets turned into scrap metal.

“On your right!” Finnick jumps to the left as a man on a bike zips past him.

Cars aren't driven down here. It’s too close to the ocean, and the cars manufactured in Six aren’t built to handle the terrain. But they’re substituted by the electrical bikes fashioned specifically for the coastal towns of Four.

Palm trees sway in the stiff wind before a line of three-story buildings. He has no immediate neighbors; the beach houses on either side of his lay empty and desolate. Tributes from Four aren’t that rare compared to lower districts—the latest victor being Annie. But, with being a wealthier district, comes access to more substances. Morphling overdoses are the leading cause of death for victors in districts one through six. Followed closely by alcohol poisoning and, well, the Capitol itself. Just in the past five years, the population dropped from seven to three.

He remembers them. 

Emilia Killroy was found washed up and bloated on the shore. Rían Hugh was struck by a car further into the city after stumbling into the street. He was so drunk he wouldn’t have felt it. 

Lottie MacHale and her son, Lukas. Lukas left the games mentally and physically disfigured. His game was a disaster that led to the untimely death of the previous Gamemaker and the implementation of Seneca Crane. A winter tundra that froze two-thirds of the tributes. The frostbite took the entirety of Lukas’s left leg and all the fingers on his right hand. He was found by his mother with a needle in his arm sans a pulse. Truly, it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did. 

It didn't take long for Lottie to follow him. Drowned in her vomit after drowning in her liquor, but everyone always said she died of a broken heart. 

He remembers them all. 

He slams the door shut behind him, eager to take a shower. His swim trunks are laden with water, getting dragged down his hips from the weight. Saltwater drips between his wet feet on the hardwood floor and weighs down his hair. He slicks it back so he can see where he’s going as he walks past the living room. 

He pauses, taking a few steps back to see…President Snow sitting on his couch? Finnick leans to the side to glance down the hallway, and—yep, Peacekeepers are milling around his back door. He bets as soon as he came in a few sprang out from wherever they were hiding to guard the front door behind him.

“President Snow. This is a surprise.” And far from a pleasant one. Finnick smiles, mask slipping into place, but Snow has unbalanced him. “What’s this all about?” It can’t be anything good. He can’t say he’s ever heard of Snow making a house call.

“I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mr. Odair, but this is an urgent matter.” He crosses his ankle over his knee, and Finnick hedges into the room. Cautiously, feeling like a wary animal walking into a trap.

Briefly, he’s reminded of something you told him. You had mentioned off-handedly that you’ve eaten frogs in Eleven. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how you’d get the frog into the hot water while it was alive and you said you have to trick it. You put the frog in the water while it’s still cool, and then slowly raise the heat without it noticing. Eventually, the water is boiling and the frog is trapped. 

“And what matter is that?”

Snow stares at him thoughtfully for a moment, and in Finnick’s experience, that’s never good. He hums before speaking, and Finnick imagines steam rising around him as Snow cranks the heat up. “Are you aware of what purpose keeping the districts isolated from each other serves?”

“No, Sir, I don’t.” He lies, but he’s sure Snow will give him his own twisted, convoluted reason. Finnick is well aware that Snow enforces this rule because it keeps the citizens ignorant. Ensuring they only really know about their district means there can be no real unionizing. 

“Panem as a nation runs on a very delicate balance of hope. Too little, and the people become despondent. Too much and the people begin to think—the people begin to rebel. For the citizens to see two victors from drastically different districts have such an intimate relationship complicates things.”

“...You think we’ll spark a rebellion? Just by being together?”

Snow releases a raspy breath that might have been a laugh once upon a time and the water is getting hotter. “I think it will lead to people envisioning a future where such things are allowed. I know you will cause a rebellion. You see,” he sighs, “the civilians are as subdued as they will ever be. But this will have them questioning their circumstances. It will take them out of the ‘us vs. them’ mentality they have against each other. It will make them wonder just how much they have in common and that leads to them seeing each other as people. It doesn’t help that you are both such influential figures. They will rebel, from One to Twelve, and they will all share the same fate as Thirteen.” 

“Is this…because she’s from Eleven?” He knows, thanks to you, that the people of Eleven are particularly defiant in the face of the Capitol’s oppressive ruling and always have been. Understandably so, considering no one feels it more severely than they do. He holds back a scoff. To think he thought Four was rebellious. At most, Four has the privilege of throwing temper tantrums, knowing they’ll face no real repercussions. Eleven, on the other hand, riots knowing they’ll be punished grievously.

Snow, again, takes a moment to watch him. “Her being from that particular district does make a rebellion far more likely, yes.” He pulls a forest-green envelope from a pocket inside his blazer. The exact letter he’s been waiting for. He doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither does Finnick.

“Of course, you can continue as you have, and I’ll take it upon myself to handle it. However, I doubt you’ll like the solution I have come up with. She's one of my most popular female victors. And I can admit, I have grown rather fond of her." Snow chuckles, and Finnick feels sick. He looks down at the envelope clutched in Snow's hand and pictures your arm in its place. He doesn't want to think about what happened behind closed doors to make Snow grow so fond of you. "It would be hard to replace her," Snow nods along to himself, "but not impossible." The room is quiet for a moment before Finnick asks, "What are you saying?" After working so closely with Snow for so long, you learn his language of non-speaking. You hear the silent threats in between the carefully crafted rebuttals. You feel the weight of his deliberate silence. So, Finnick knows exactly what Snow's saying. Snow knows this, too, which is why he says, "Don't act daft, Mr. Odair. It doesn't suit you." He's twenty-two years old—a grown man—but suddenly, he’s fourteen again—sitting in that chair, backed against a wall as Snow forces him to sign his soul away. He’s still that scared kid. He’s never outgrown him because he never got the chance to grow up—not if Snow had any say in the matter.

“As I said, this can only end in pain. It’s up to you to decide who will end up bloody. The lives of thousands over the life of one. Surely, you understand that.” He doesn’t. Finnick doesn’t understand it at all. It doesn’t matter what the other option is, he’s picking you every time without fail. He can’t imagine doing otherwise. He doesn’t want to.

“Unless you can think of something else, I don’t see any other way for us to proceed past this.” Snow moves his hand in a sweeping motion, the closest thing to a shrug that he’ll do. Finnick doesn’t understand why he came to him. He clearly favors you, so why threaten your life?

“Why me? Why are you making me choose? Wh-why,” he looks down to the floor, to the space between his feet, “Why not her?” If there was a choice on who would survive between you and him, he wants it to be you. Is that selfish? To wish you were the one given the choice instead of him. It feels unimaginable to live in a world without you, so is that cruel to expect you to do the same? 

To love is to be human. To be human is to be flawed. And there’s no one more flawed than Finnick Odair.

“You’ve been around longer.” He raises his eyebrows in another almost shrug as if it’s all so simple. “It only seems fair.”

Fair.

Fair.

When did he start caring about what’s fair? He didn’t even think that word was in Snow’s vocabulary, and, honestly, it still might not be because he isn’t using it right. There is nothing fair about this situation.

Snow uncrosses his legs and leans forward, a glint in his ghastly eyes. He looks worse every time Finnick sees him, and he wishes he could get any satisfaction from it, but he just feels as sick as Snow looks.

“It doesn’t,” Finnick shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to come to that. I’ll…I’ll handle it. I–I’ll end it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even comprehend them, mouth moving faster than his brain, and by the time it catches up, it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. They float between them, and they are terrifying.

Snow nods at the idea and…and...

It’s over. It’s all over. It was over as soon as Finnick sat down across from him, maybe even before that. 

“See that you do. I trust you’ll take care of this issue without my stepping in.” As Snow stands, he holds the envelope up to his nose and takes a long, obnoxious sniff. "Hmm, it even smells like her." His nauseating smile turns Finnick’s stomach. “Spritz of perfume? A nice touch.” His steps are unhurried, and he takes his time approaching Finnick’s tense form.

“And Finnick?” He pulls away before Finnick can take it from him, playing with him even now. “Go easy on the poor girl. I imagine she’ll be quite torn up over this.”

The water is boiling.

The water is boiling, and it’s too late to get out.

Finnick says nothing, but Snow isn’t expecting him to. He hands him the letter and walks to the door without a backward glance.

Two Peacekeepers follow him out, the door shutting behind them softly, and that nags at him. How dare they ruin his life and leave like—like this was just a social call? As if this isn’t crumbling his foundations, the same foundations that support the home he’s built with you.

Snow handed him a box of matches and told him to burn that home to the ground.

He looks at the envelope, wet with his fingerprints, and Finnick…

Finnick rushes to the bathroom to vomit.

-

A/N: why'd y'all let me cook 😕😕😕 come yell at me in my inbox!!! damn y'all were Peeta and Katniss b4 Peeta and Katniss 🤭🤭 and sage is such a peeta variant, all these Peeta variants falling in love with you uh, an actual lil author's note moment: when watching Catching Fire, I noticed the people in District Eleven dress like black people did in the 1950s and 60s while incorporating elements from the Antebellum South. Since most of the people that live there are black and indigenous and Eleven is the most oppressed district, it makes sense. It’s interesting what the clothing the people in different districts wear says about the culture there and what kind of culture Suzanne Collins based that district on. The Shacktowns are the District Eleven equivalent to the Seam in District Twelve, but even Katniss was surprised by how badly the people lived. She basically said it made twelve look like a paradise in comparison. When I mention the rich elites in Eleven, imagine them being around the same financial standing as Katniss was before she was reaped. So…not much.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 13)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Trigger warning: discussions of trauma surrounding ‘desirable victors’ and mentions of sex.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

The tribute parade is a glimmer of hope after a losing streak. Capitol citizens screaming and chanting for Katniss as the chariots are drawn out for display. Even the elites are vying to sponsor the star crossed lovers, who saved their mentors and the sweet little baby in Y/N’s womb.

There is no waving or smiling this year, at Cinna’s request.

“Way to make friends out there, you two.” Haymitch waves over Peeta and Katniss once they dismount the carriage.

“Well, we learned from the best,” Katniss shoots back.

“I want to introduce you to some special friends of mine, this is Chaff and Seeder.”

Seeder smiles in acknowledgment.

While Chaff closes the distance between them, giving Katniss a kiss on each cheek; then pulling away in a fit of laughter.

She is caught off guard, dismay painted across her features.

“He’s very friendly.” Haymitch chuckles, clapping his friend once on the back. “But don’t invite him over, he’ll drink up all your liquor.”

Y/N approaches with Cashmere and Gloss in tow, as if Finnick introducing himself with the sugar cube, before the parade, hadn’t been enough.

“There she is,” Chaff opens his arms, “come here.”

Y/N smiles, slinking around the side to greet him, for what might be the last time.

“It’s good to see you, baby.” He tells her, in earnest. For a minute there, I thought you were coming in with us.

“Good to see you.” She pulls away, giving Seeder a quick hug. Tears welling up in her eyes, without permission.

The older woman taps her chin, when they break apart. “Don’t you cry.”

“We wanted to come introduce ourselves,” Cashmere explains. “I’m Cashmere, this is my brother, Gloss.”

“We’ve heard nothing but good things.” Peeta says, truthfully.

“Pleasure,” Gloss grins, extending a hand to Peeta, allowing his sister to mirror the gesture with Katniss. Moving in perfect synchronization, like a well oiled machine.

“And to thank you,” Cashmere squeezes Katniss’ hand.

“For what?” Katniss wonders.

“Saving my friend.”

You love her too. The realization sits heavy in Katniss’ chest.

“Alright, let’s go get some of that makeup off you.” Haymitch spares Katniss from farther floundering.

They move into the elevator, just the victors of district twelve, until a hand slips in to stop the doors from closing.

Johanna she struts in with a heavy sigh, pressing the button for the seventh floor. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Katniss responds, under her breath.

“My stylist is an idiot.” Johanna tosses her bracelets to the ground. “District seven, lumber…I’d love to bury my axe in her face.” She shuffles closer to Peeta, moving her, long, red, ponytail over her shoulder. “Unzip?”

“Sure.” Peeta stammers, earning him a death glare from Katniss.

Johanna does not look away as she strips down to nothing, without preamble.

Katniss’ mouth is slightly ajar, Peeta’s lips set in a nervous smile.

“Not in front of the children,” Y/N gasps, rushing to hold a hand over both sets of eyes.

“Come on, you know you like this.” Johanna chirps, playfully.

“I remember when mine used to sit up like that.” Y/N cranes her neck to meet Johanna’s gaze, “enjoy it.”

“Cry me a river, you’re a walking wet dream.” Johanna rolls her eyes.

Haymitch is strangely silent, enjoying their banter.

Whether they are fighting or flirting, Katniss cannot tell. In any event, she’s glad when the elevator dings on the seventh floor.

“That was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” Johanna grins, quite pleased with herself as she exits.

“Johanna Mason, district seven.”

————————————————————————

“Explain to me exactly how this is going to work.” Y/N whispers, beneath the spray of the water.

Whoever is tasked with monitoring the audio from their room, in the tribute center, must think they have the highest libidos in Panem. Though they are here to exchange information, they are also in the shower, nude, at very close proximity.

“Plutarch has access to the trackers, he can override the information.” Haymitch allows his eyes to close, at the feel of familiar fingers in his hair. “Cannon goes off while the tribute is still alive. They are extracted by the crane, from the hovercraft, same as always. One by one. Ideally, Katniss and Peeta near the end, Snow will want to see their bodies for himself. By the time he realizes what’s happened, everybody is safe, underground, in thirteen.”

“What about twelve? First thing he’ll do is retaliate.”

“We have open lines of communication, we’ll be able to warn them.”

Y/N nods, in understanding. His lips are on hers then and they are no longer pretending.

————————————————————————

Keeping this secret from Katniss and Peeta is easier than Y/N anticipated. They assume she is distancing herself out of self preservation, reverting to the calculated woman they’d met on the train last year. Neither of them blame her.

They score twelves during individual assessment, painting even larger targets on their backs. And tonight, the last night before the games, they are prepping for their interviews with Caesar.

Katniss is almost certain that the master of ceremonies will ask about her volunteering. She does not regret it, even now, she would do it again in a heartbeat. No one deserves a happy ending more than you. Katniss hates that she is being laced back into Y/N’s wedding dress.

“I think you’re going to be happy with the alterations.” Cinna fluffs up the layers of fabric.

Haymitch downs his drink, drowning the vision of his sweet girl in the dress; squeezing his fingers when it hurt too much. The way she shook like a leaf beneath him, “it’s just you and me.” She is still after that, steady; allowing him to bring her pleasure she has never known.

Crying when it is finished, because he locked himself in the bathroom to vomit. Sick over what he had done to keep her safe, while she thought he was disgusted by something she’d done.

Apologizing profusely when he returns. “Haymitch, I- I was just nervous. Not because of you…I’m sorry it wasn’t, I’m sorry you didn’t like it. I’ll do better next time.”

His heart seizes, thrumming to an unbearable ache. “It’s nothing you did. Please never think that I-” Haymitch stumbles over the words. Evidence of his ‘enjoyment’ is mixed with her blood on the sheets, rolling forth a fresh wave of nausea. “Like you said, it’s not because of you. It’s everything else.” Snow and the cameras and-

Y/N knows how much he’s already given up, the deals he made for her. “I still want it to be real someday.”

Their marriage, their love story.

“You tell me when it’s real, and I’ll ask you to marry me again.” No more rushing, no more bullshit.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Haymitch swears. I’m getting you out of here. No matter how long it takes, I’m getting you out.

They are no longer in that room, trapped beneath the mechanical whirl of the cameras. They are here, with Y/N’s arms around his waist, one hand resting over his heart. Holding him where it hurts, because she understands him better at thirty than she could at nineteen. This dress is a prison, he hopes the girl on fire lights it up.

“These victors are angry, Katniss. They’ll say anything to try and stop the games, I suggest you do the same.”

When it is her turn to be interviewed, the audience is enamored at the sight.

“Welcome, Katniss Everdeen!” Caesar is humming with excitement. “Look at you, absolutely stunning.”

“Don’t go crying on me now, Caesar.” Katniss retorts.

“Oh, you know I can’t help it.”

“You know I wouldn’t believe you even if you did.”

“Ah ha ha, the girl on fire, so cheeky. I love it. Now, Katniss…on a more serious note, we’re all here a little disappointed, well more than a little, that a certain wedding will not be taking place.” Caesar laments, sharing his sorrow with the nation. “But here you are, in Y/N’s dress, the dress you would have worn. How do you think she feels, seeing you on stage tonight?”

“I hope that…” Katniss exhales. “I hope that she’s proud of me.” She searches beyond the blinding stage lights for Y/N, finding her in the sea of faces. She looks at Katniss the same way she always has, with love, sadness; something more. Perhaps it is pride.

“Awww.”

“I know she is,” Caesar nods. “It has been so beautiful to watch your story, to see this family you found. How you volunteered, first for your little sister and then to save your mentor. You are incredible. Would you do us the honor?”

The twirling.

Katniss finds Cinna, beside Y/N and Haymitch, catching his eye. He gives the go ahead and she begins to turn. The skirt of her dress igniting into flames, leaving a black and gray design in its wake. As fire reaches the top, it has transformed completely. Feathers at her shoulders spread with her arms. Wings.

The crowd rises from their seats, her mentors and stylist among them. Cinna has an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, “for both of you.”

“Thank you,” she leans into him.

“It’s like….it’s like a-a bird! Like a-” Caesar racks his brain.

“Like a mockingjay,” Katniss finishes for him.

“Your stylist has certainly outdone himself. Cinna, take a bow.” Caesar turns the camera’s focus to the audience.

Cinna kisses his hand and holds it up, sending all his love to Katniss. When the applause has died down, she joins the other tributes, on the risers near the back of the stage.

Peeta is last, in a pristine white suit, designed to match his wife-to-be.

“So, Peeta, the wedding.” Caesar gets right down to business. “The marriage, never to be.”

“Actually, we got married. In secret.” Peeta says, captivating the crowd to a stunned silence.

“A secret wedding? Tell us more.”

“We want our love to be eternal, Katniss and I. We’ve been luckier than most and I wouldn’t have any regrets at all if-” Peeta breaks off. “If it weren’t…”

“If it weren’t for what, Peeta?” Caesar is all but holding his breath. “What?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Once again viewers are out of their seats.

“Baby!?!”

“Tell us more.”

“Well we knew that Y/N would be too far along and we all agreed that Katniss would have a better chance.” Peeta explains.

“Stop the games!” The cry heard around the Capitol, is resurgent and in full force. The victors of district twelve have not one baby at stake, but two.

“Alright now, this is news to all of us.” Caesar reminds the audience.

Their outrage echoes off the walls. “Stop the games!”

“We’re going to find out what we do about this.” Caesars attempts to stop the riot. He leans in to Peeta, asking him to go stand with the others. “It’s a great night.”

Peeta trots up the stairs to Katniss, embracing when they meet.

“Oh, my heart.” The woman behind Y/N leans over the seat. “That’s why you tried to stop her from volunteering. Because of the baby.”

Y/N nods, sniffling for effect. “I just can’t stop thinking about the babies.”

“Don’t worry, President Snow is a good man. He’ll get this figured out.” She rubs at her back.

The victors joining hands only serves to further rally the crowd. Together they watch as the lights cut off. Leaving them all in darkness.

————————————————————————

The deliberation is long, or Snow makes it out to be. Y/N, Haymitch and Effie wait, impatiently, on the bench with the other mentors. It was a good show, with a response better than they could’ve asked for. But in the end, the games are still on.

This is more or less the outcome Peeta and Katniss were expecting. Somehow that doesn’t make it any easier to deliver the news.

Haymitch has to hand it to Peeta, “baby bomb was a stroke of genius. Unfortunately, the games are still on.”

The room is still.

“This is goodbye for now.”

“Presents,” Effie reminds them, their tokens. “Bracelets for you two.”

Y/N opens her box, revealing a slightly thinner version of the bangle her husband’s been gifted.

“And for Peeta, the medallion we talked about.”

“Thank you, Effie.” Peeta hugs her, in parting.

This year is different. Mentors will not be seeing tributes to the hovercraft, only stylists. Presumably for the districts that only had two victors to begin with.

“Thank you, Y/N.” The boy finds her next and she squishes him to her properly.

“You’re welcome,” she sighs. Stay safe.

When it is Katniss’ turn to say goodbye, the girl on fire is struck by the realization that she cannot. Instead she buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.

“You can do this, Katniss.” Y/N passes a hand over her hair, “I believe in you.”

Katniss nods, “thank you.”

The five of them remain together for a while. Katniss and Peeta splinter off first, sending them all in different directions. Effie to her room, Y/N and Haymitch to opposite floors of the tribute center.

Y/N reaches the last level before ground. Cashmere is waiting, wringing her hands. “We almost did it,” stopped the games.

“This isn’t over yet,” Y/N reminds her. “I have something for you.”

Cashmere sighs, the rebel plan is a wild one and there’s no guarantee it will work in time.

Y/N turns over the gold bangle, “Katniss knows it’s mine. As long as she sees it, she’ll honor the alliance.”

“I’ll do what I can to keep her alive…the boy too.” Cashmere assures her.

“Keep you alive too, while you’re at it.” Please.

The blonde gives her a sad smile, “you know me.”

Part 14

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[bewindiasblog]

Our organization is India's leading manufacturing company that understands market demands. It is our motivation to serve hardworking farmers all over the world by designing and manufacturing the best agricultural implements and machinery, such as the KS 9300 Maize Special Combine Harvester, KS Paddy Straw Chopper, Laser Land Leveler, KS Happy Seeder, KSP multi Crop & Paddy Thresher, Reaper, Tractor Combine, and so on. we mention Super seeder price also.

[headspace-hotel]

Do yk of any annoying plants (annoying for an hoa, sterile city planner, in the oh God we've sprayed pesticides on it four times how does it keep growing) I could put into a seed bomb? I know mint can be annoying in a garden but im not sure if its the best thing for the ecosystem. Idk if this is a strange question. I've been researching a bit and ik you're kinda a plant fella on here so I thought I'd ask anyways (south coastal USA, near gulf of Mexico)

Alright so here's the thing:

Seedbombing an area that is heavily maintained and treated with pesticides and herbicides: ranges from pointless to potentially harmful. The toughest plants nature has to offer are the first to show up in disturbed areas, and they don't need human help to get around.

At best, you're not really doing anything, at worst, you're leading to more pesticides and herbicides getting sprayed than before.

Seedbombing an area that might see occasional maintenance but is mostly neglected and ignored: GOOD. GREAT. What you're doing basically is re-introducing extirpated species, which can have a cascade effect on the rest of the surroundings.

Places like this might include the side of a drainage ditch, a roadside, a little empty lot set aside for stormwater drainage, just those forgotten little areas that get weedy.

You have a ton of biodiversity on the coast that isn't present here, so this will be your own quest mostly, but here's some guidelines for what you're looking for:

Native species (please do not spread invasives, and the benefits of non-natives generally are limited)

Suited to the site you want to try seed bombing (wet and soggy areas host plants suited to wetlands, drier areas have different inhabitants)

Herbaceous plants (nothing that could interfere with underground wires or pipes, so no trees or shrubs sorry)

Vigorous self-seeder that spreads by wind (because you want it to spread)

Germinates and blooms the same year (so it can reach the point of producing seeds)

A lot of plants that fit the above criteria will be annuals.

Spring or early summer blooming plants are a good idea, simply because they are more likely to survive to reseed and to be noticed by people who might think they're pretty and want to preserve them.

There are many species of milkweed. Find a few that are native to your area and mix them in. This is because they will attract monarchs, the general public is at least marginally aware of monarchs as endangered, and thus milkweeds will have a protective effect on everything else on the site.

Include a large variety of seeds. Biodiversity, and also higher success rate.

Good luck in your endeavors.

[satisaranea]

ok re: weird race stuff in thg i literally was just thinking about your post and how every single black boy is described as a threat. anyways. i am dropping in to ask about any thoughts you have on chaff and seeder and how they're treated in the narrative - i've been thinking about seeder's connection with katniss and chaff's with haymitch and how it made wayy more sense for them to be allied with katniss and peeta. idk. felt like another way for them to be more Tragic Deaths. but i also don't know if i'm making a mountain out of a mole hill

hey, hi! you're totally not making a mountain out of a molehill and i do actually have some thoughts.

i feel very strongly about chaff and his part of the narrative (if that wasn't already apparent) and how i absolutely loathe his introduction. kissing katniss as a joke looked very predatory at first to me, and it was weird that suzanne collins would pose one of her black characters in such an unfavorable light as SOON as he's introduced. then you've got the comments about “he could never stay out of a fight,” and then that poses him as predatory AND aggressive. those negative traits will overide the positive in a read where he's been mentioned.

his redeeming qualities is looking over katniss and peeta, (and bonding with him specifically,) alongside playing a huge role in haymitch's life, as a best friend/drinking partner, which even reads as queer-coding, considering that the first person that we see is important to haymitch, is a man. and yes, men have best friends! not denying that! but it's the nature of descriptions in their relationships, and even peeta's adamance to mention chaff every so often. chaff ALSO lasted a long time in the arena, being smart enough to likely figure out the tree + water trick without a spile.

with seeder, she seems almost forgettable. a seam-resembling woman who reassures katniss about rue and thresh's family, and holds a sense of comfort and wisdom as an older woman. and yet, first chance, she's one of the first people to go. we don't get her story, or any important details otherwise, and it really stunts getting to know the (introduced) victors of 11. it simply seems as if they weren't important enough in comparison to other victors, when they were in on the rebel plan in the exact same way.

and on the subject of reaper, chaff and thresh, it is so repetitive to have all 3 of your main black characters be brutal, fighty, aggressive. reaper killed a peacekeeper. thresh killed clove brutally. chaff, we don't know. but if he's a fighter, then i assume his actions aren't any better. it's okay to make your black characters good people. you don't have to weave in microagressive stereotypes to display racism, especially when it isn't your place. each of these characters do so much good, yes! but by collins constantly giving them that fatal flaw of violence and aggression, which is ALREADY a trait that condemns black people in the modern day, true or not true of any character, she undoes that. she harms the community she's attempting to represent in her work.

i could also mention how the torture system in district 11 eludes to lynching, and how strange it is to beat people for eating crops, or kill them for harmless mistakes. it is not racism representation, it is harm, because we don't have to be tied to slavery every time! a lot of our history is, but in the same vein? it's not the only thing that happened to black people, and you don't have to hint or reference it to create a successful black character/population.

very true that suzanne uses each character as a tragic death. it's literally like how every black character dies first in a horror movie. overused, and absolutely uneducated. because we have reaper & the poisoned water (and in the movie the snakes,) seeder in the bloodbath, rue and the spear and her mural/tribute grave, chaff dying right as they were leaving the arena, boggs getting his legs blasted off and dying violently. all of this is repetitive, and she gives life to these characters, just to have that discontinued. and it's unfair, it isn't representation to the full extent.

[buckeyemachines12]

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