#district 13!Peeta

[mollywog]

Not new, but Since we’re talking Everlark in Different Districts…

Read on Ao3

He’d been 5 the first time he’d heard it. They were in one of the fenced yards District 13 used for aboveground recreational time. He'd been holding his father’s hand, watching his brothers wrestle when the first bird had flown over. It wasn’t the usual chirps and chittering, but high and clear notes intoning an unmistakable melody.

The next bird that passed echoed the song but in a slight variation, taking up the harmony.

His father’s grip tightened as he inhaled sharply. His brothers stopped their tussling and craned their necks to see the source of the sound. Even his mother, though her mouth pinched in a frown, stared up at the sky. Peeta scanned the faces of the crowd: Everyone frozen as if under a trance, the entire yard falling silent as the flock of mockingjays passed.

The mountains reverberated a final somber echo and the spell was broken.

This wasn’t the first nor the last time this anomaly occurred.

The District’s official position was simple: a genetic defect in a Mockingjay allowing it to remember a single song and repeat it back at random, inspiring a whole flock's tune: a mutation.

They had all seen the maps. The closest district was hundreds of miles away: the mockingjays would have grown tired or forgetful of even their favorite melody on their journey and the space in between the districts was harsh and uninhabitable. Where else could the song originate? The District knew best and the citizens knew not to question, so the official opinion was adopted, but that didn’t stop the stories.

Everyone had a tale of fortune or sorrow connected to the tune. That very night, his father had spoken of a girl he had known: her disappearance on a rare day when the music had returned. For his father, the melody forever inexplicably linked to the lost girl.

Some swore it predicted a good gather, a fortuitous hunt, or clear skies. The older children whispered terrifying tales to the younger: a rite of passage before their time in the woods. With two older brothers, Peeta had heard them all.

By the age of 12 a rotating job assignment were added to their daily schedules. If in any other district a twelfth birthday meant a slip in the bowl for the annual reaping, 12 was old enough to contribute to the workforce in District 13. Peeta along with the other 12 year olds had spent weeks in training, preparing them for their shifts: in the kitchens, in the woods, in the laundry room.

Over the years, the leaders of the district had established hatcheries, green houses, and herds of animals all underground, but of course not everything thrived there, so they sent gathering parties and hunters to collect what they couldn’t support. He had been paired with his brother, but when in the woods Matti felt his time best spent in pursuit of the girl he admired: Too perturbed by their father’s tale to let her out of his sight above ground. Peeta didn’t mind: his fascination with the woods far exceeding his fear.

He was alone and lost in wonderment over the alternating patterns of light and dark that the sunlight falling through the leaves cast when he realized the woods were eerily silent; void of even the usual chirps, until he heard the faint echo of a song. Not any song but the Mockinjay’s song. It had been months since anyone had mentioned the birds or their melody.

His feet moved of their own accord. He wasn’t thinking straight enough to be scared as he approached the direction of the crescendoing sound. He crested the hill and that’s when he saw her.

She stood by the lake in the valley bellow, face towards the sky, eyes pinched shut as she sang the song the mockingjays mimicked. The sun at her back casting a glowing orb around her, wild strand’s escaping her single dark braid. He could almost believe he was dreaming; but his dreams were never this pleasant and so full of light.

Shifting his weight, a branch splintered under his foot.

The birds registered the sound first, letting out a bellow, wings in a frenzy of feathers, as they took flight. It was another moment before the chaos cleared and he could again see the girl. Frozen, eyes wide, she resembled the frightened rabbits he stumbled upon: terrified, trapped.

He opened his mouth to speak, not having the faintest idea what he would say, when she turned and ran; a flash of yellow released from her grasp as she took flight like the birds that now echoed her song. Disappearing into the woods, out of sight, seemingly forever.

The melody had disappeared with the birds and the sun slipped behind a cloud throwing the landscape into a dulled affect after just being so clearly golden. He cautiously approached the spot where she had stood. Reaching down he picked up the yellow flower the apparition had dropped. He held it delicately: a taraxacum officinale, the only tangible proof of what he had witnessed.

He pressed the remnants of the flower between his pocket field guide, taking one final look at the empty forest, before turning away, back towards home.

🩶🩶🩶

“Does anyone live in the woods?” All week he’d gathered his courage to ask the question.

“Of course not! What kind of fool are you? Have you not been paying attention in school?” His mother’s words came quickly with a bitter edge.

“Yes mam” he mumbled and dropped his eyes back to his book.

“Nothing can survive out there. The weather, the wild animals, the Capital hovercrafts, no government to provide: Imagine! A worse fate than the games, that’s what it’d be!” And with that the conversation was over.

Parents told stories, cautionary tales, some even incorporated the mockingjays song: Beautiful Capitol mutts, who lured children too far into the woods, devouring them whole. As they grew older the threats became more tangible: breaking a limb as you fumbled over uneven terrain, drowning in streams, real animals hunting for prey: dogs, and bores, and bears,

He knew it wasn’t impossible to survive out there. Refugees sometimes arrived from other districts. Brave souls that made the trek through the Wilds: Dalton from 10, a couple from 5, a handful from 11. He had waited for the day an announcement would be made of new refugees, but none came.

He hadn’t told a single person about the girl: he was meant to report any unusual occurrences to the guards at the end of his shift. He wasn’t completely sure she was human but whatever she was, was too precious to share.

He hadn’t heard the song since that day nor heard reports of it either. Still, he traveled to the valley with the lake every chance he could; it was just as he remembered it, but he had yet to see the girl again. He collected the items required of him, while pacing the water’s edge, searching for signs of the girl or her song. He’d almost convinced himself the whole thing was a daydream, until he opened his pocket guide once more to caress the faded yellow remnant; the only proof he had that she truly existed.

Each time before he returned home, he collected a fistful of yellow flowers to leave on the spot she had stood, a paltry offering to his mythical songbird. The tribute missing each time he returned - lost to weather, or animal, or simply time.

Several months after the occurrence, he still made his treks to the lake. Though plentiful in haul, his valley visit had begun to leave him feeling empty and alone.

It was a particularly hot day when he came across a bush of berries he hadn’t noticed before. Picking one, he rolled it between his fingers, lifting them towards his nose to sniff.

“Drop it”

Startled, he instinctively dropped the berry, swinging his head towards the voice.

There she stood several feet away, half hidden by the shadows of the woods: arms crossed, scowling, annoyed - but very real.

He raised his empty hand, unsure of his intent: a demonstration of compliance or a greeting

“That’s nightlock.”

He stared dumbly.

She shifted her scowl away from him to the bush, “You’d be dead before they reach your stomach.”

He dropped his hand wiping it on the cloth of his pants, removing the memory of the berry from his fingers.

She remained rigid, half hidden in the shadows of the woods.

“You’re real.” He finally whispered. Perhaps the dumbest thing he could have said.

She rolled her eyes “of course I’m real. Though I can’t believe you still are!” She scoffed “Not knowing about Nightlock.” She mumbled under her breath.

“I wasn’t gonna eat it.” His temper momentarily flaring before he dropped his head in embarrassment. He had been traveling to the lake week after week to get a glimpse of this specter and now he was liable to run her off.

He peered up at her through the too-long waves that fell in his face “Is that what it’s called? This is my first summer on gathering duty. I’d never seen it before.” He reached for his pocket, but stopped when he noticed the girl position her weapon? He was used to the sleek metallic guns of 13, not this delicate wood and string contraption.

“Sorry,” He raised his hands. “I wanted to show you something… it’s in my pocket.”

She lowered her bow enough to encourage him to proceed. He pulled out his pocket field guide, holding it out for her inspection. She hesitated before flitting towards him, plucking the book from his grasp, retreating a few steps out of reach. She frowned as she leafed through the pages.

Unobscured by the foliage, he took the opportunity to commit every detail of her to his memory. He estimated her to be about his age. She was tiny, though slightly taller than him: That wasn’t much of a feat, most the girls his age were. Her skin was olive, darker than most from his district, likely in part due to the summer sun. Her raven black hair was tied back in a long single braid.

But her eyes! Her eyes were the most beguiling shade of gray. His life in District 13 was full of grays: his clothes, his compartment, even the food somehow took on the hue. Color was purposeful: to distinguish rank, to identify routes, to call attention when necessary. He was sure he had encountered every shade of black mixed with white, but he was mistaken.

Peeta tried to imagine her face with a smile: he’d seen her frown and scowl, but imagined the way her mouth would upturn and eyes dance with the motion.

“There aren’t any colors”

He snapped back to present “The colors are listed” he furrowed his brow “can’t you read?”

She scowled, holding the book out to him abruptly “Of course I can, I just don’t know how you’re supposed to tell nightlock from an elderberry based on that. Or excuse me, a conium maculatum from a sambucus nigra.” She lifted her chin as she rattled off the names from his book with an air of superiority. “You really use those long names?”

He shrugged. He'd never pondered the printed titles.

She didn’t wait for a response as she began plucking berries from the bush, a perplexing move to the boy. “I won’t do it again. You don’t have to get rid of them on my account.”

“I’m not.”

He waited expectantly. But she didn’t speak, pulling a deer skin sack from her belt and filling it, before securing the parcel to her belt. She looked up at him, annoyance evident, “They’re useful, just not for food.”

“Oh.” the book contained no reference to use, simply: name, diagram, and physical description. Gatherers were under strict orders not to eat from their hoards; they were told what to collect, not why. He knew some things served purposes beyond food: dyes, medicines, polymers. He just didn’t know which ones were which.

“Are you the one that keeps leaving the dandelions.” He forrowed his brow in confusion. “The taraxacum officinale”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to let you know I was here.”

“Didn’t need the flowers to know you’d been here.” She motioned in the direction he had come. “You’re very heavy footed. If I had thought you were an animal, I could have easily tracked you back to your den”

“I’m a gatherer, not a hunter, I don’t need to worry about scaring off the plants.”

Her lips twitched, an attempt to contain a smile and she turned her head away from him to school her features. She turned back abruptly “you didn’t tell anyone about me or the lake, right?”

He shook his head vigorously, blonde waves bouncing. “I don’t think anyone else knows about this place. I only came here because I had wondered too far and then heard your song.”

She didn’t look wholly convinced but didn’t argue the matter either. She turned to busy herself in her gathering.

He looked back towards 13, his time quickly coming to an end. “I have to go” she didn’t acknowledge him. “I can leave you alone” still no response “you can call me if you want. If I’m on duty and I hear your song, I’ll know to come.”

She looked up at him, sharp eyes narrowed, “So now I can’t even sing for fear of you coming?”

He took a step back, stricken by her words “nevermind”

She must have detected the hurt in his eyes; Her features softened and she turned her head back to her work.

He pivoted towards District 13, a heaviness enveloping his limbs.

“Fine.”

He snapped his head back in the direction of the voice.

“I don’t really sing anymore anyways, but if you hear the song you can come.”

He nodded dumbly, dashing away quickly, before she could change her mind.

🩶🩶🩶

It wasn’t until his journey back that he began recounting the meeting and realizing how little he knew of this girl. He hadn’t even gotten her name, let alone where she had come from, who she was with, why she was there. The questions formed a queue in his mind. He kept his word and stayed away. He knew she was real and she knew the same of him as well as how to summon him.

So he waited. It was nearly a month before he heard the song. His heart soaring as he crashed through the greenery to the lake.

She did not look surprised by his presence: She shouldn’t have been - She lured him in after all and he couldn’t resist the grin that crept across his face. She eyed him wearily as he approached and he made sure to stop with plenty of space between them.

“Your book. Can I see it?” She extended her hand.

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but receiving no further explanation, pulled it from his bag, tossing it to the girl.

Her scowl deepened as she thumbed through the pages reviewing a select few before leafing further in the book, closing it abruptly and handing it back.

She didn’t elaborate nor did he inquire, losing the nerve to ask his questions. She wandered a bit as he wordlessly followed, finally finding a patch of white flowers with sunny yellow centers. She didn’t protest when he knelt beside her to gather them with her.

It was another month before her song and his work assignment collided once more. She again requested the book: Wrinkling her nose in annoyance as she read. Finally exclaiming, “This book is useless.”

He smiled at the outburst “I guess that depends on what the use is. I’ve already learned the plants. It’s just for reference if I forget.”

“So you can identify them, big deal. You don’t know anything about them or what they do.”

He shrugged, “don’t need to. There are people at home that do.”

“You’re not even interested?”

“We’re all doing our part, no matter how small, working together to contribute to the District’s brighter future” at least that’s what they taught them in school.

He had never thought to question it until one day when Peeta had been in the kitchen. One of the large mixers had toppled to the ground, a panel had come open and parts sprang and spilled to the floor. He had watched the mechanic reassemble the machine, collect and inspect all the parts and meticulously rebuild. A few pieces were damaged, but the mechanic didn’t bat an eye, exchanging the deformed parts for new. The old parts would be melted down and made into something useful.

Peeta had been melancholy the whole weekend. It wasn’t until class on Monday morning as they recited the pledge that he realized he was an expendable piece in well oiled machine: important but replaceable.

She rolled her eyes, “And this is your contribution?”

“For now” he said simply. There were all kinds of jobs in District 13, all balanced to support the community. His oldest brother, Solly, looked forward to his upcoming testing and placement. His father baked and his mother was a mid-ranking Commander.

“We used to have one,” she held up the book. “But it was more detailed: with colors and uses. My parents added handwritten notes in the margins. I thought if I could see the pictures again…it might remind me.” Her words trailed off. She looked into the distance away from him, throat bobbing, before turning back towards him, voice again under control, “Why wouldn’t they want you to know their use? What if you were stuck out here? Wouldn’t they want you to survive?”

He’d puzzled over the book that night. He’d never thought about it much before. Most things in 13 were straight forward, no-nonsense, portioned and precise, black and white. The book was no different. If his job was to collect specimens, this book aided him.

He was reminded again of the mixer. All the pieces working together towards a common goal, though they didn’t know what the other pieces did… although they didn’t know anything because they were just bits of metal.

After that she began to call for him more regularly, though she had dropped the pretense of viewing the book all together.

At home he’d often been told he was charming. His charisma however, seemed to have very little effect on the girl at the lake. His conversation was met with scowls rather than smiles. She was fiercely private; it wasn’t until the fifth visit that she reluctantly gifted him her name: Katniss.

They didn’t speak of home: her because she was still weary and him because she was his escape.

He couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped the first time he made her grin and the first time he heard her laugh he felt dizzy at the sound. Her song was mythical but her laughter was magic.

🩶🩶🩶

Everything in the district was made and maintained with military accuracy. The temperature, water consumption, nutrient intake, all perfectly calculated and dispatched for plant, animal, and human alike.

His schedule contained shifts in the kitchen where his father worked making the bread. Baking no exception, the recipe precise, no room for variation, the yield uniform: Not baked for flavor but substance.

At the lake she gathered and fished, hauling a heavy load home, wherever home was, in her bag and on her back. He marveled at the variation in her catches: different shapes, colors, sizes.

It was pure luck that his thirteenth birthday landed on a gathering day and that the mockingjays happened to sing. Birthdays had little significance in th District: his name listed on the screen in the dining hall in tiny print, an extra tight hug from his father, and added responsibilities.

When he mentioned the day's significance to Katniss she frowned at the lack of acknowledgement. She asked his favorite meal and when he described the grayish fish and okra stew that ‘wasn’t half bad when warm’, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Then taught him to harvest Katniss roots, to fish, prepare and cook their catches on an open fire. Adding fresh Rosemary and wild scallions that stung his tongue with flavor and clung to his taste buds all day that he could revel in the memory.

She laughed as he described bite after bite in vivid detail, enthralled with each new flavor. Eating in the wild gave him a new appreciation for taste. She listened to him as he filled the smokey air with the recipes he could enhance, the bread that he could make with the wild spices.

The fish from the district were born, bred, and died in underground hatcheries, just large enough for them to fulfill these duties. Peeta had always been thankful for the food District 13 provided; in much of Panem children and adults went hungry or starved. He’d been hungry before, even craved but never feared the feelings. After his sunlight meal at the lake, he imagined he could taste the Distinct fish's despondency. The echo of flavors haunting his taste buds

After that she began to introduce him to forest delicacies: mushrooms, edible barks and leaves, wild berries, strips of dried meat she had saved him. He savored each bite, licking his fingers, delighting in every new flavor as she watched on with amusement. They added notes to the margin of his field book on taste descriptions, placing symbols next to favorites.

Working in the kitchen gave him access to the food waste. He began sneaking seeds from the compost pile, squirreling them away until he returned to the lake. Taking only things discarded: shriveled peas, okra and pumpkin seeds, squash remains, a half rotten tomato, a slice of a sprouted potato. They planted them together, the seeds quickly sprouting, stems with leaves reaching greedily for the sun. Their garden blossomed like their friendship, though the latter at a much slower pace.

One day she mentioned a sister, the next time a hunting partner, a neighbor’s baby she tended: brief fleeting words that began escaping unbidden, but she slowly allowed to flow freely.

🩶🩶🩶

At fourteen his teacher caught him doodling during lessons. She’d ripped the page from his pad, and he spent the remainder of class imagining the punishment the District, or worse still, his mother, would inflict for his idleness. Instead the teacher submitted his sketches to the resource department and his work assignments shifted so his newly identified artistic skills could be put to use. He was tasked with drawing diagrams: technical sketches for soldiers and hovercraft pilots. Black and white renderings of control panels. No room for imagination or colors unless strictly necessary.

This addition to his work schedule had him on outdoor duty inconsistently. When he finally heard their song Katniss had looked both relieved and annoyed to see him. She had scowled as he complained of the dullness of his new job, but the next time they met, she brought dried berries and pressed flowers in all colors. Crushing them between rocks, they made powders mixed with water and goose grease to create inks. They sharpened mockingjay feathers to points to make quills. She doodled patterns of repeating shapes while he mixed colors, painting fleeting images on rocks and trees, that faded slowly between visits.

Katniss was more disappointed by the loss of their pictures than he was until she suggested they shade the loathsome field guide. Visit after visit they searched the ground for colors to match and mix for each page, digging iron rich clay, mixing soot from past fires. He detailed and shaded while Katniss looked on, adding notes and providing names: chamomile for inflammation and sadness, wild carrots were edible but easily confused for deadly Hemlock.

When they worked on the page labeled oenothera she gave him the common name: Primrose. Her eyes shifted from the page to covertly glance at him as she added, “my sister’s named after these.”

He bit the inside of his cheek until he could contain the smile that threatened to overtake his face at the admission. He couldn’t imagine a sweeter gift than her trust.

Little by little she shared more: now calling her sister by name, she spoke of her often, along with a cat and goat, sometimes a mother, but rarely a father. Talk of her sister brought her joy, but her parents a sadness he couldn’t work up the courage to ask about. He told her about his brothers, about his father, rarely speaking of his mother. He didn’t think she avoided talk of her father for the same reason he avoided his mother.

🩶🩶🩶

At fifteen the District began strenuous workouts to gauge physical aptitude. His mother had shaved his head in a bid to demonstrate his eagerness to serve. As a Deputy-Commander herself, it was good optics to have children ready to take up the cause regardless of how unlikely the odds. Peeta had mourned the loss of his youth as the yellow waves fluttered to the ground. He wasn’t the only one; he was amused by the scowls Katniss directed at his head for months after the change.

But it had its perks. He no longer needed to fear explaining a head of wet waves. So he gladly accented when Katniss decided time had come to teach him to swim on a day when he bemoaned the pains from his long awaited growth spurt. The cool water, she reasoned, would soothe his aching body.

It was daunting at first; the water was foreign and freezing. It didn’t help that they were half naked and painfully aware of their own hormone riddled bodies. She had made him turn as she stripped to her undershirt, wading until only her head was visible above the water. She kept her distance as she barked commands that he couldn’t quite grasp. Their frustrations mounting until the lesson devolved into bickering, then splashing, then laughter. Lessons abandoned, they stumbled from the lake feeling happily refreshed.

The next time they met she came armed with a thermos of birch bark tea for his soreness and a less ambitious objective to teach him to float. She had him lay on his back, tethering him in place by small calloused hands at his lower back and neck. Her touches were purposeful and fleeting but they sparked an ache in his chest that distracted him from the ache in his bones.

They climbed from the lake, averting their eyes from the shirts and shorts that clung to their bodies. Then sunbathed like lizards on warm rocks, staring up at the sky, naming shapes in the clouds, listening to the rustle of the leaves as the branches overhead cast shadows until they were forced to pry themselves from the ground, redressing and returning each to their separate homes.

🩶🩶🩶

At sixteen his brother Matti turned 18. His viability confirmed and his preferred match approved, he took his permanent place in the kitchen with their father and eldest brother. He walked taller in his new distinction as adult, baker, and ‘breeder’ and the brothers, once childhood companions, drifted further apart; his wife and ‘duties’ taking precedence and Peeta only a little brother who could no longer relate to his more mature endeavors.

Fraternizing was not forbidden, however coupling was strictly forbidden before adulthood. The District couldn’t risk the complications associated with a high risk young mother and wouldn’t risk birth control sterilizing an otherwise healthy female. Every viable womb mattered to the growth of the District and the doctors determined 18 years was the earliest a woman could safely support life.

He had kissed a few girls, but the memory filled him with guilt rather than pride. It had been pleasant in the moment, but left him thinking of another girl. Imagining how her lips would feel against his, her petite body cradled in his arms, hands in his hair.

He’d gone to the lake unbidden that day in hopes of clearing his head of the estrangement at home. Being underground he was often unaware of the shifts in weather. The air smelled of rain, the ground was spongy, leaves and branches littering the ground as he made his way to the valley. Not expecting to find her there, he was surprised to see a massive charred tree had fallen victim to the evident storm with a weeping Katniss on top of it. They’d rarely touched, but he didn’t hesitate in gathering her in his arms. She clung to him sobbing.

When her tears subsided She rested her head on his shoulder, Her fist gripped tightly to his jumpsuit, dazedly staring off towards the lake as the words poured out. She spoke of her father: How he taught her to hunt and to swim and to sing. How he had died shortly before she and Peeta had met. How her mother’s spirit had died with him. How she had to begin providing for her family alone early on. How the lake was his place, their place - she and her father’s. She knew it wouldn’t go on being the same forever, but each season it had changed in such a small degree that it would still remain the same in her mind. But the fallen tree had forced her to come to terms with the change, with the loss.

Once she’d recovered, they sprung into action. She picked wildflowers as he mixed hues. She taught him to weave flowers so they could adorned the tree with flower garlands and painted designs - a makeshift memorial. They had a funeral of sorts for the tree and by unspoken extension her father; hands clasped in shared sorrow.

He’d left thinking of spirits and souls - The district taught of the body and mind, but the soul, at least as Katniss described it, was something intangible; The heart and the mind combined, but not just as organs, but ideas, feelings, beliefs! It was a concept he cherished. One which he kept safely to himself like the girl who had introduced it to him.

The event seemed to overcome the final restraints on conversation, they spoke freely of their homes and families.

She shared her history: The colony living in the wilderness outside the reach of Capital rule or District restrictions. How their great grandparents' generation had fled District 12 when the first rebellion was all but lost. How they traveled north until they were far enough away finding habitable ground to establish themselves.

In exchange he told her of 13: how children were as good as currency: healthy girls - the most valuable. Not everyone could have children so those that could weren’t given a choice: they were tested and matched or a mutual preference reviewed and approved at age 18. Pairs were directed to do their duty for the greater good of the District. In exchange they were given preferential treatment. His parents were matched based on genetics not personality and had produced three sons in quick succession: Peeta’s birth had been difficult, ending his mother’s chance at producing a daughter. His birth came with her final promotion, Deputy-Commander, a bitter victory as she became convinced had Peeta been a daughter, she would have been made a full Commander, been invited into Command as well as Coin’s confidences. He was a constant reminder of her stalled career.

Her grip tightened around their linked hands. Since their funeral for the tree, they had become more liberal with touches. Not in the ways his brothers talked about touching their wives, but in comforting gestures they were rarely untethered; they’d lay in the grass holding hands or wither head on his chest. No matter how innocent the actions, her touch set his skin ablaze, the lost connection leaving him starved in a way that had nothing to do with his food.

🩶🩶🩶

His seventeenth birthday came and went with little fanfare. While his classmates made predictions and plans for their future, his final year of school was filled him with dread. The months ahead filled with testing: for occupation, status, and compatibility. A few girls and even one of the District 13 widows had propositioned him to submit a match request with them; all which he’d solemnly denied.

Whispers of a second rebellion grew louder every day. They were all required to watch the Games, to remember the Capital’s cruelty. If he were destined to be a soldier in the fight against injustice he could bear his fate, but it would not be his future if he was deemed viable (and there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t be deemed viable). All the men in his family before him had been: brothers, uncles, cousins. All had paired and all so far fruitful.

He’d be a baker or a diagram illustrator and a husband and make some woman as miserable as his mother. Not on purpose of course, but because his soul surely couldn’t survive trapped underground without Katniss and their lake. Without the array of colors and the sunshine grown fish. Without the cool water of the lake and the feel of her hand in his. Without her song!

These thoughts left him feeling like wretched. He could barely eat or sleep; maybe his bodily neglect would make him unfit.

He continued his treks to the lake, even without the Mockingjay’s song to bid him. Just being close to where she had been and would be was a comfort. He put on an unaffected air on the days she was there, but she knew him too well, could sense the shift. She placed her cool hand on his forehead then his cheeks, inspecting his exposed skin for a physical cause for his malaise.

He couldn’t burden her with his fears; wouldn’t sacrifice a single moment of fleeting joy with her to the stifling images of the future, so he begged off with tales of nightmares. These weren’t complete fabrications, for when he did sleep he dreamed in gray monotony.

Their next rendezvous she brought a small cloth sack filled with lavender, catnip, and rosemary, made small enough to be sneaked past Distinct customs. She had him lay in the grass with the parcel close, his head in her lap. The scent, the breeze, and her nimble fingers rubbing circles in his velvety hair lulled him to sleep.

His reprieve was short lived. He soon received his packet confirming his viable designation with schedules, rules, and instructions.

🩶🩶🩶

His gathering day aligned with her birthday and promised himself this would be his last trip to the lake when he heard their song. One final golden day before he wished it all farewell.

He emerged from the woods, her smiling as she spied him, his worries momentarily vanishing as he jogged down to meet her. She seemed happier, lighter, today and for a moment he let himself imagine spending every possible minute of the rest of my life with her.

He laughed “I’ve never seen you so happy to see me”

She rolled her eyes but her smile didn’t falter as she opened her bag to share her elation: goat cheese. A gift from her sister. She had said it was her favorite, but he’d only tried it once.

Katniss set the lines while Peeta gathered: chives, Dandelions, violets, keeping her in sight all the while, dreading the moment he’d have to let her go for good.

Once the fish were placed on the fire, they stripped their clothes. Floating and swimming in their underclothes, laughing and talking of trivial things. Eventually crawling from the lake to lie in the grass and pick at their feast. She placed her head in his lap as he teased out the knots in her hair while she fed him bits of fish and cheese.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” He felt so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about the future that the words slipped out.

She smiled up at him from her place on his lap. “We can do this again, you know? Next time.”

He hummed. A lump formed in his throat and he averted his gaze, unable to look at her knowing it would all spill out if he looked at her now. His eyes fell on the nightlock bush, the place of their first interaction. Where he discovered she was real.

He felt her hands on his face. She’d extracted herself from his lap and was kneeling across from him, forcing his head in her direction. He closed his eyes in a last defense until she spoke his name and he could no longer deny her.

At her pained expression it all tumbling out: the tests, the impending pairing, the placement, the end to his outdoor duties.

She was up and pacing, biting the nail of her thumb, listening intently. She paused her movement when he finished, “And that’s it! You weren’t going to tell me? You were going to leave here today and never come back? Leave me to wonder what happened to you? Never knowing if you were dead or if you hated me? Or if you’d found some other girl, some other lake?” Her eyes brimming with tears.

He sat stupefied, his legs pulled tightly to his chest. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Or maybe he’d thought she meant more to him than he did to her: That she would move on quickly, never looking back to the friend of her youth. Maybe he had wanted to save her the pain, or maybe save himself? Maybe his plan was selfish, not selfless.

He stood, “that’s the problem: there could never be another valley, another lake, another song, another girl. You have Prim, your mother, the Hawthornes. I’m the one losing something. I’m losing the little freedom and choice I have, going on to take my place as a piece in the great District 13 machine, fulfilling my empty destiny. In a place that needs my body and mind, but cares nothing for my soul. That doesn’t want nor need it. No one does.” He paused breathing heavily. “I was blind and content before I met you. I didn’t need a soul to survive but now that I know, I can’t go back. Can't go back to the bliss of ignorance, back to the District to inflict my misery on someone else for the rest of my flavorless gray life. I’d be better off dead.” He stared at the nightlock bush longingly, only a half baked idea he could never follow through on.

“I do, Peeta.” It was spoken so softly he thought he’d imagined it. “I need you, all of you; Your soul most of all.” She paused before whispering “Stay with me”

Certain he had misheard her, but seeing that she required a response he croaked out, “What?”

She grasped onto his hand pulling him down to face her, shaking her head as she spoke, “don’t go back. Come with me. You could choose your life, retain your soul. You could paint in color or bake the recipes you used to talk about. You could grow your hair long and sleep in the breeze. There are so many things still for you to experience: sunsets, fireflies, the moon. You just have to stay with me.” She’s pleading. No longer attempting to hide her tears, her eyes darting across his face, searching his face for a hint at his decision, not realizing he has always been hers.

“Always.” The word escaped along with the breath he’d be holding, “Yes.” He began nodding, “Anything. Yeah. I’ll do it” The words come crashing out in a confusing jumble of syllables, but she seemed to understand them as she let out a choked laugh. Then he laughed and she began in earnest, pressing her forehead to his as he cupped her face in his hands, swiping away fresh tears, lips quickly meeting between relieved laughter. Too giddy and high on their mirth to feel bashful about the thin damp fabric separating their embrace or the gravity of their decision.

After a while, recollected themselves, they gathered their things, heading in the direction of her home, their home, hand in hand. But only after executing one small request: A song for the birds, a final farewell and a continuation of the lore.

To District 13 it would be the song of a boy lost to the woods. But for Peeta, it would be the song of his homecoming.

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[kometqh]

𝐒𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (fem reader)

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨; @hashcakes , 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 <𝟑 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞) 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲.

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚, 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

Pink waves grasped at the sand, their back and forth swishing easing your nerves.

You were at the beach, with your love, your husband, Finnick Odair.

It had been a couple of months at this point, after the Capitol was overthrown and President Snow was no longer. Though the Capitol was gone and all citizens of Panem had seemingly integrated into one, equal society, the scars and marks that you had been left with did not go away as easily.

When you had arrived at District 13, you could barely utter a word, barely look up from your wounded palms. It had taken Finnick just over a month to get you to look at him, to let him hold you, and even more to get you to speak. But when you did, he cried of joy. He had asked you carefully if he could embrace you, and kiss you.

The Capitol did not only take away your voice, but they took much more than that. Your love for the seas.

You remember it vividly; eyes covered by a mask until you only saw darkness, the electrified currents rushing through your muscles, tightening the tissue like a rope. All the while all that your ears could register were your pleading, muffled screams, along with the sound of waves crashing agains the shoreline.

It was all that haunted your nightmares for the next year or so, coming back with dripping fingers, taking you deep down into the void.

When you were rescued, you had to be sedated in fear of becoming a danger to everyone else.

Quickly after waking up, you had been informed that Peeta had brutally attacked Katniss, strangling her to near death. You understood his actions and what drove him to them, and you wished that the young boy would recover quickly, although now you were well aware that these kinds of scars will never truly heal, never fully disappear.

Lost deep in thought, you failed to notice how Finnick's muscular arms wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzled his nose into your neck.

His deep, hushed voice whispered, "What are you thinking, my love?" It never failed to send a pleasurable chill down your spine. Melting into his embrace, your eyes fluttered shut, your head leaning to his.

"Just... About the water," You paused, releasing a soft sigh, "It looks so calm, so safe, and yet I'm still so, so afraid."

You felt Finnick's fingers feeling the soft material of your sundress, rubbing it between the pads of his fingers.

His voice was soothing, dripping with sweetness as he spoke, "We can go back, love. You don't have to do this."

You shook your head. "I need to do this."

He nodded his head, slightly lifting his head to place a kiss on your cheek, his hands caressing your waist. He then slowly let go, one of his hands travelling to your shoulder, then down your arm until his fingers interlocked with yours, fitting perfectly like a key in a lock.

"Let's get this over and done with then."

You smiled softly, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

You stood a good couple of feet away from where the water met the sand, and yet your heart was still rattling like a wild bird in a small cage.

Finnick was trying something called 'Exposure Therapy' on you, as suggested by a doctor from 13. It involved you and the water. It took you a long while to be okay with showers, however the bathtub was not an option. That was something you couldn't overcome in your short time in the hospital.

Though now, as Finnick encouraged you to face your deepest nightmares, you felt grateful to at least be able enough to listen to and to watch the waves.

It used to be your most favourite thing to do in the world, and Snow took it away with just a lift of his finger.

Eyes heavily trained on the water, your mind had gone blank. Your lips slowly opened, stuttering over complete silence. You heard Finnick chuckle, and felt his body shake. He turned wholly to you, placing his free hand on your cheek, gazing into your eyes lovingly.

"I'm here, love. We're in District 4, standing on our favourite beach, watching the sea." Finnick said slowly, voice hushed as his eyes searched yours. "As long as I'm around you'll always be protected, always be safe." He continued, placing a tender kiss to your lips, and you leaned in, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

As the two of you parted, you nodded your head lightly, gaze never leaving his.

A soft smile stretched across his face, his teeth gently peering through the gap between his lips. His dimples were also peering through, and you felt the urge to touch his face, to feel his skin on yours.

"Now, we'll go into the water, is that okay?" He asked, but you didn't respond. You didn't nod or shake your head, you didn't utter a single word. All you could do was swallow down your fear, and shakily grip his hand.

Finnick's free hand came to hold the side of your face again, his own face coming closer and closer, until your foreheads touched and your eyes were closed, listening intently to the sound of the waves, the sound of his voice.

"I've got you darling. You're safe." He continued, and pressed another kiss to your lips. Your grip on his hand tightened, and your free hand travelled up to his hair, gliding through the golden locks, down to his cheek.

Your hand caressed his sun-kissed skin. You didn't open your eyes, and instead squinted them shut as you felt the fear creeping up your bones.

"Look at me honey, I need you to show me that you know you're safe." He says, nudging your nose with his. "I'm gonna be with you every step of the way darling. With me around you ain't got nothing to be afraid of." He whispered softly, his hand squeezing yours back as he took two steps back, pulling on your hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you could feel your breath beginning to hitch as you moved two steps forward.

You could feel your heart stop for a moment, before it began to hammer again. With a deep breath, you nod your head.

"You'll keep me safe, Finn."

At that, the corners of his lips curled upwards, his dimples coming back. You trailed closely to him, leaving an arm's length between your bodies.

The sand beneath your feet was soft, still dry as you trudged forward, coming closer and closer to the foamy, pink waves. You slowly looked up, and with laboured breaths, you noticed how pretty the cloudy sky was.

The rising sun casted a candy cotton colour to the skies. The rays gently grasped at the horizon, and you stumbled for a moment, your breathing calming as a light breeze took a hold of your hair, pulling it as it went past you.

A soft smile appeared on your lips, and you felt a snap of confidence rush through your veins. In the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick turning back to look at you, his small footsteps coming to a stop as he allowed you to absorb the beauty of the morning sky, his eyes softening at the sight.

You looked to him, grinning a toothy smile as you gave his hand a tight squeeze. With a nod of your head, Finnick began moving again, tugging you towards the water, his warm hand embracing yours.

At first, you only felt the tame licks of coolness against your feet. The confidence you felt quickly evaporated.

You felt terrified, heart pounding against your chest with a long-known fervor, but you also felt the smallest bit of comfort.

It reminded you of how you and Finnick would run into the water, swim into the unknown depths without a single bit of fear. Back when you were kids, back when you were safe from the ghastly tentacles of the Hunger Games.

Now, as you stood there, your mind was at war. More water began lapping at your feet, dragging soggy sand over your skin lazily.

"Is this okay?" Finnick's soft voice ripped through the air, and you looked up, seeing how he was standing over you protectively, hands ready to lift you effortlessly and get away from the sea. His golden locks bounced in the sea breeze, the sun shone behind him, highlighting his honeyed skin.

"Y-yes, it feels... Strange. But I can stand it." Your voice was merely a whisper, and it tugged heavily at Finnick's heartstrings. He looked you over, noting how gorgeous you were in your white sundress, miniature sunflower patterns decorating the entirty of the fabric. Your feet had dug deep into the sand beneath, your legs frozen still, unmoving.

"Can you go any further?" His voice was sweet, steady and full of love. You nodded your head, but struggled to move. Finnick took note of this, and his arm easily wrapped around your waist, guiding you forward. "We can stop at any point, just give me a sign."

The more steps you took, the more numb your limbs became. The water was cold, freezing cold. The sand mostly smooth, though a couple round stones and seashells dug into the soft skin of your feet, lessening as you walked further into the sea, the water rising gradually.

It's when the two of you reached far enough for the water to lap at the hem of your dress that you singalled for Finnick to stop. The waves were much larger, swaying your bodies upwards, but they were also much gentler at this distance. A blanket of darkness enveloped you, and you felt a trickle of sweat falling down the side of your forehead, numerous shivers going down your spine.

Your breath stuttered, and your eyes focused on the water, your muscles cramping.

Finnick stood behind you, placing his warm hands on your hips. He placed soothing kisses to your neck, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek. If it wasn't for him, you'd already be crying hysterically.

His embrace was warm and secure, comforting and mellow. His kisses softly ghosted over your skin, and his hands secured you into place, ready to whisk you away at any moment.

The two of you stood like this for a long while, enjoying each others warmth, feeling the gentle sway of the waves, and your heart eventually calmed, slowly but surely. The waves remained steady, passing by you as though you were nothing but a phantom.

Slowly, your feet began to move, until you were waist deep in the water, eyes closed in concentration, Finnick holding you tightly. Your mouth was dried up, and your eyebrows furrowed in worry, stress cursing through your veins, pulsing like your heartbeat.

"You're doing great, love," Finnick softly muttered, grazing his skin against your own, arms wrapped around your torso to keep you warm, his fluffy hair tickling your face. "You're doing so good, keep going." His voice eased your nerves, and slowly but surely, your shoulders relaxed, and you released a shaky breath.

"Thank you Finn, thank you." You whispered, and you fought hard to open your eyes, but the wet sensation of tears had stopped you. You began to sniffle softly, and soon you felt the tears escaping your closed eyes, sliding down your cheek.

Finnick's thumb quickly wiped the first stray tear away, but more poured out. Your quiet sniffles turned into hiccups, body shaking with every breath you took, with every movement of the waves. Finnick gently lifted you up, carrying you away from the water, until you were safely seated in the soft sand, far out of the waters reach.

"I'm sorry..- I- I couldn't do it, Finnick." You sobbed out, tightly gripping his white T-shirt in your fist, crumpling the soft material.

Your meek, silky tears were cushioned by his shirt, his hand caressing your back with delicate strokes.

"It's okay honey, you did so well today..." Finnick softly muttered into your ear, his voice helping to ease your guilt. You knew how desperate he was to go swimming with you again, to be able to explore the kelp forests and spend day and night relaxing in the waters.

"I'm so so so s-sorry.." You continued, and laid in his arms for a while, until the tears dried up and you were left laying in his lap, watching as the sun made its way higher up into the sky, the sea gently swishing back and forth.

You had been there for hours, silently watching.

You could feel Finnick's stomach begin to rumble, and you shifted in his lap, leaning your head back to look at him.

His eyes were boring into the sea, watching with furrowed brows as he was lost in thought.

"Finn... Finnick," You whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline, "I think it's time to go, I can hear that you're hungry."

He blinked a few times, inhaling deeply as he looked down at you.

"Are you sure?" He asked, unsure and unwilling to leave the comfortable spot.

You nodded your head, lightly sitting up but his arms stopped you.

"I think Johanna might be bored of looking after the baby." You spoke with a smile, and Finnick reciprocated with a toothy grin of his, shaking his head lightly.

"Oh she loves our boy, she's always calling asking to come see us." He said sweetly, his grin having turned into a soft smile.

"Fine.. We need to stop by the market anyway, we've barely got any food." You said, leaning back on your hands, sitting between Finnick's spread legs.

"I can go catch something, you know. Maybe some abalone or something, like we used to." Finnick said, trying to convince you.

You didn't need much convincing though, as you knew how much he wanted to go back into the water. Maybe someday you'd be able to join him again.

"Off you go then, but don't be too long, and- and be careful. Okay?" You asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry, lifting your hand to caress his cheek.

Finnick leaned into your touch, the soft smile remaining on his face as he nodded.

"I won't be long, I promise."

With that, the two of you stood up, and you embraced each other. Your arms wrapped around his neck, Finnick's hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

The two of you shared a deep kiss, lips moving together in sync as you smiled, feeling your heartbeat speed up.

The wind tugged at your hair, invisible fingers stroking through it as it flowed by.

Finnick's hold on you tightened, and you felt him inhale deeply, his feet shifting in place. You smiled into the kiss, and felt his tongue dart out slightly, ghosting over your bottom lip.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging smoothly at the roots, eliciting a groan from him.

You parted from him, hands leaving his hair, coming down to his shoulders.

His lips chased yours for a second, eyes shut as he nudged your nose with his.

You allowed him one last peck, and then moved your face further away, forcing Finnick to open his eyes.

"Go on, I'll be here, waiting." You spoke softly, the smile on your lips finally reaching your eyes.

Finnick nodded with heavy lidded eyes, his lashes casting pale shadows over his cheeks.

"Fine, but you owe me one more kiss." He stated quietly, his hand flying up to the back of your head, keeping it in place as he stole a passionate kiss from your lips.

He then let go, saying a soft, 'I'll be back in a bit', before he stripped his shirt, handing it to you as he flexed his muscles.

You laughed out loud, head hanging back. He truly never failed to make you laugh.

With one last hug, Finnick proceeded to jog off towards the water, his body disappearing further beneath the waves until you saw him dipping under, for a long while.

You sat in the sand, eyes trained on the water.

He would make a reappearance from time to time for some air, before he'd dip back in.

It took him a long while, but eventually he returned, swimming up to the shore with pocketfuls, one hand grasping a whole bunch of abalone.

You raised your eyebrows in bewilderment, extending the corners of his shirt to create a makeshift basket.

Finnick dumped all of the creatures into it, and you tied the ends together, a gleeful smile on your face. "You sure got a lot." You said, shaking your head at him.

Finnick grinned at you, and you looked him over, from his dripping hair to his toned chest, to his shorts.

There was one more, rather large, shell poking at his pocket.

"I think you forgot some there." You pointed out, and Finnick shook his head with a smile.

"This one isn't for eating," he stated with a laugh, his hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve a snail shell, "It's for you." He said softly, handing you the object.

You looked over it, your fingers tracing the intricate, dark red patterns embroidered into the shell. The overall colour was a faint rosé pink, one of your favourite colours. It felt hard in your clutch, but sturdy and strong.

You brought the shell, or rather conch, up to your ear and listened.

After a short moment, you heard the distant sound of wind echoing through the conch. It sounded much different to the breeze present at the beach, but it was calming, comforting.

You looked up to Finnick, unable to hide your smile.

"It's beautiful... H-How did you find it?" You asked, surprise lacing your voice.

"I looked far and wide for it, I wanted to give you something to remember today," Finnick muttered, his voice gravelly and deep as he tried to catch your gaze, "You did so well today, and I want you to know that I'm so proud of you darling."

He spoke softly, and reached a hand up to your chin, lifting it so that you'd look at him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head with a smile. Reaching on your tiptoes, you placed a tender kiss to his lips, feeling how his hand embraced your cheek.

"Thank you Finnick. It's beautiful," You whispered after the two of you parted, feeling the shell in your palm, "I love you so much."

His toothy grin stretched across his cheeks, and Finnick shook his head, gazing at you lovingly, his fingers stroking mellow circles into your waist, "I love you more darling."

[lady-corrine]

One of the (many) reasons I deeply dislike the "Annie and Finnick's wedding was only a propaganda move that meant absolutely nothing to anyone" take is that is... simply not accurate?

It is often claimed Plutarch had Finnick and Annie intentionally wear Peeta and Katniss' outfits to send some type of message, but that means to completely ignore how it was Katniss herself that offered to give Annie a dress for her wedding:

“when Plutarch has a fit over what the bride will wear — I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs.”

How Peeta himself also made their wedding cake:

“As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.”

And to also disregard how everyone else felt and how happy and excited they were to be part of it:

“When it’s announced that children are wanted to sing District 4’s wedding song, practically every kid shows up. There’s no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event.”

All in all, it means to brush aside how everyone perceived their wedding as simply something good, genuinely so, and nothing linked to a false spectacle:

“Maybe it’s more than the festivities. Maybe it’s that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it.”

[ellswritings]

Love and War

Finnick Odair x reader

TW: Reader and Finnick are both villains in this, Finnick cheats on Annie with reader, terrible timing, idiots in love, angsty, this one’s kinda heavy with the infidelity so read at your own risk.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶

No one ever honestly talks about the cruel heartbreak love creates. It’s portrayed as this life-altering, amazing feeling, but for Y/N, that could not have been further from the truth. Everyday since the fateful morning she realized she was in love with him, all that love brought to her was agonizing pain.

She would never let it show, of course. That would ruin the image. The image of her being Finnick Odair’s best friend.

Friend.

How that word vexes her very being. In the beginning, she truly thought it was some silly school girl crush she developed on the Prince of Panem. Something that she would easily get over. Unfortunately for her, that was not the case.

With each passing day, her feelings for him grew. And it only worsened with the silly side glances, the inside jokes, the way he would always know when something was wrong by the simplest quirk of her lip. Or even the way he would pull her aside for a dance as a way to cheer her up, to celebrate, or even just to cure a simple bored spell. He knew Y/N better than she knew herself, and she knew him.

That’s why she’s kept every single feeling besides friendship bottled up within herself. Because she knew he would never be hers.

Tears brim at the corner of her eyes as she watches Annie Cresta walk down the aisle to the altar where her future husband awaits. Where Finnick awaits.

President Coin was kind enough in all her strict glory to permit Annie and Finnick’s wedding as a way to show the people in District Thirteen thriving. When Y/N had heard, she could physically feel her heart falling out of her chest. It only shattered further when he asked her to stand beside him as his Best Woman.

And how could she ever say no to him?

That’s why she’s here now, choking back the sob that threatens to escape her lips as Finnick stares at Annie in the way Y/N has always desired. Perhaps if she had been honest about her feelings. Only she knows the amount of opportunities she could have told him. They’re countless, but she could never seem to decide when the perfect moment would be.

But that’s her fault for thinking that there never would be that special moment. If only her naive mind would have known at that time that the thing that makes moments special is the people, then maybe she would have found a way to tell him.

However, as she watches one singular tear fall from his eyes as Annie says her vows, she realizes that there’s no use of dwelling on the past. This is happening. She missed her chance and Finnick found his happy ending with someone else. Someone better. Who would never wait to tell him how now she loves him. Who wouldn’t hesitate in confessing her true feelings because that’s what he deserves. A life full of love.

Y/N is happy for him. She always will be. All she has ever wanted was for Finnick to have a future with someone that he cherishes and who admires him just as much… even if it’s not her.

But despite her joy for him, she can’t help but look away as the officiant pronounces them husband and wife. The way Finnick plants his lips on hers, with an undying flame of passion, it makes Y/N’s stomach twist and turn in ways that would send anyone to the infirmary.

When she finally finds the courage to look back, she notices him already staring at her. The bright smile on his face drops slightly when he analyzes her expression. He knows her fake smile anywhere. It’s accompanied by yet to be shed tears and a crease between her eyebrows. He’s mastered the art of reading the closed off book that is Y/N L/N.

He wants to reach out to her, pull her into his arms and ask what terrible thing could be plaguing her thoughts. But the feel of his newly wedded wife pulling on his arm distracts him. Annie pulls him down the aisle of cheering people as they clap and cheer for them. It’s not like they’re going far, just over to the clear area where the reception is. But his eyes never leave Y/N’s form as he’s rushed away. He watches as Johanna and Katniss walk up to his best friend before Y/N quickly brushes them off, walking in the opposite direction.

There’s something very wrong.

It’s only confirmed when five songs have already passed and Y/N still hasn’t shown up. He and Annie have been mingling as much as she’s comfortable with, dancing, and talking quietly to their close friends. His eyes constantly search the floor in hopes of seeing her. He doesn’t even realize how checked out he’s been until Johanna walks up to him, a glass of water in her hands since no one feels morally ambiguous enough to give her champagne.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to escape your own wedding,” she chimes sarcastically, sipping from her glass as she pretends there’s some kind of alcohol in it.

“What?” Finnick glances at her, his eyebrows furrowed. Annie is off talking to Haymitch and Beetee, two of the very few people she’s comfortable with. Hence why Finnick is now standing on his own at Johanna Mason’s mercy.

“Don’t try to play dumb, Odair,” she scoffs. “I’ve been watching you all night. You look like you’re trying to find a way to bust out of here without being caught. Constantly looking around, kind of shady if you ask me.” Her scrawny finger points over to Annie who has a happy smile on her face, “Especially when your betrothed is over there.”

“I’m not trying to find a way to bust out of here,” he shrugs off her accusation. “Just… keeping my head on a swivel is all.”

“Yeah, right.” Johanna nods mockingly. “You sure it’s not because you’re looking for a certain (h/c) haired girl with big (e/c) eyes who hasn’t been seen since you tied the knot?”

Finnick tenses, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he looks away from Johanna. She doesn’t need much more of a reaction to know she’s right. An obnoxious chuckle leaves her lips, “I knew it.” She shakes her head, “You’re unbelievable you know that? Both of you are, actually. I mean, the fact she ran off in the first place, and you’ve spent more than half of your wedding night looking for her… it’s pathetic, really.”

Finnick pauses as he takes in her words. Ran off sticks out in his mind because it implicates she’s choosing not to be here. “Do you know why she hasn’t showed up?” He asks quietly, a part of him pained that he hasn’t gotten to share a dance with her.

Johanna has never wanted to smack someone more. But instead of giving into her physical impulses, she settles for a verbal one instead. “Why don’t you go ask her yourself?” She quirks an eyebrow. “She went back up to her room, said she was feeling sick. Probably cooped up with one of the books she’s already read a million times.”

He feels himself become internally torn. His wife, the woman he just swore to love for the rest of his life, through sickness and in health is standing just a mere few feet away. He could forget all about this conversation and enjoy his night with his wife. He could dance his worries away and live one night in joy before this rebellion really hits the ground running.

But the tug on his heart is pulling him in the exact opposite direction.

And that’s how he ends up running through the emptied out corridors of District Thirteen, most of the residents downstairs at the party. His footsteps echo loudly in the silence, a hand running through his already messy hair. His once out together tie is now completely undone, the black cloth just dangling loosely around his neck. He feels his breath hitch when he reaches Y/N’s door. He raises a fist up to knock, but hesitates. What if she doesn’t want to see him? Or slams the door in his face once she sees it’s him. He doesn’t quite understand what he did to make her leave his wedding, but he can’t bear the thought of the woman he’s become so dependent on these last few years being mad at him.

Knock, knock.

Y/N brings her head out from in between her knees. Her eyes are red and puffy, the tears she shed long since dried. Her eyebrows furrow, not knowing who would be knocking at her door. She was positive that no one saw her leave besides Johanna and Katniss. A small part of her hopes it’s just a soldier doing rounds, checking in on residents, but something inside of her tells her it can’t be that simple.

She stands up from her rickety bed, her Best Woman dress now a wrinkled mess. She cringes at her appearance, not having seen the whole thing, but she knows she must look like a total wreck. She runs a hand over her face in hopes of making the swelling go down.

Y/N opens the door just a crack so no one could see the disaster she’s made herself. Her eyes widen when she sees a disheveled Finnick Odair standing on the other side. Alarm bells go off in her head, her cheeks flushing from pure embarrassment. The very person she’s been breaking down over for the past hour is standing outside her door.

“Can I come in?”

Her lips part slightly, looking more and more like a warm invitation than Finnick would like to admit. He gazes at her face and immediately knows she’s just got done crying. Her cheeks are puffy, eyes bloodshot, lips are a bright pink, and yet she still looks absolutely beautiful.

Y/N doesn’t realize how long they’ve been standing like that before answering. She blinks slowly, still processing his presence, “Yeah…” She winces at the weak sound of her voice. It’s rubbed completely raw, cracking at just one simple word.

She steps to the side, allowing Finnick to walk into her sanctuary. He nervously runs a hand through his blonde waves again as she closes the door behind them with a sniffle. He takes in her full appearance, noting she hadn’t even taken off her dress. Her bedsheets are in complete disarray, showing it must have been an emotional hour for her.

“What are you doing here, Finnick?” She manages to croak out, folding her arms over her chest. Not in a defensive manner, but almost as a way of protecting herself. Protecting herself from him. It makes his heart ache at the thought.

His mouth runs dry as he tries to find the right words. His tongue darts out over his lips in an attempt to come up with something, anything. “Um, I… I saw you leave earlier,” he admits breathily, the slight dent in his cheek from his dimple still there. How she loves his dimples. “I knew there was something wrong. You had your crying eyes, and not the fake ones you used in the Capitol, or the ones you would use to manipulate someone, but your real ones.” Her breath hitches as he takes a step towards her, concern the only expression on his face. “The ones that have only been reserved for me,” the last sentence comes out as a whisper. He towers over her, neck craning downwards just so he can look at her face. Not that she’s making any effort to make eye contact. In fact, she’s making it a point to stare anywhere else but at him.

He places his finger under her chin to force her to look at him, but she flinches. A part of him dies inside at the sight of her deliberately trying to get away from him. Like he had hurt her in some unimaginable way. He couldn’t. He could never hurt her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles, tears brimming at her waterline once more as she takes a step back from him. Y/N curses herself in her mind for letting her vulnerability show. She’s never been a crier, and what makes it worse is that he’s right. He’s the only one who’s ever seen her real cry.

Finnick’s face falls, his own eyes glossing over. He takes another small step forward. He reaches out, lightly grabbing her hand. He can see she wants to pull away, but he silently pleads with her not to pull away. And once again, how could she say no to him?

So she lets him take her palms in his. “Yes, you do,” he insists. “Y/N, I know you. I know when you’re sad, angry, happy, passionate,” he lists off. “I don’t know what I did to make you so upset, but please talk to me.” Y/N squeezes her eyes shut tightly as the tears begin to fall again. He thinks it’s his fault that she’s like this. He sounds so desperate, so broken. “I’ve been waiting all night to see you, to dance with you, to just be with you–”

“Stop,” her voice cracks as a son wracks her body. “Please, stop,” she begs him.

Finnick’s entire world stops spinning as he realizes something. She’s not crying to him. She’s crying because of him. A surge of panic rises in his chest, confusion taking over his body. “Stop what?” He asks quietly, his shoulder visibly deflating.

“You can’t say things like that,” she whimpers softly, shaking her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” He asks her desperately, not understanding what’s going on. He tries to wrap his head around what she could mean. “Y/N, tell me what’s going on, please,” he pleads. “I just want to help you. I want to make you happy.”

“You can’t!” She finally exclaims, the floodgates opening as she pulls away from him. Her hands are clenched tightly into fists as she internally beats herself up. “You can’t help me. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn’t be telling me that you’ve been looking for me all night when your wife is downstairs. You shouldn’t be wanting to dance with me or to just be with me. And you shouldn’t be wanting to make me happy,” she rants out breathlessly.

Finnick’s at a loss for words, “Y/N, I–”

“No, Finnick!” She stops him, moving past him as she begins gathering all the stuff he’s given to her over the years from her bedside table. She’s kept every single little seashell he’s brought to her from the beaches of District Four, every little pebble, bracelet, photo, drawing, all of it. They’re some of her most prized possessions. But she can’t keep them anymore. Not when they simply serve as a reminder of her failed attempt at love. “You can’t do this. I can’t do this,” she sobs, putting all of the keepsakes in a small box before walking over to him and shoving them into his chest.

“You need to leave,” she commands. “Now.”

Finnick looks down at the box, every memory they’ve shared together playing in his head. He remembers everything in this box. Every reason why he picked a certain shell, why he thought a certain drawing reminded him of her, even the matching bracelet he still wears to this day. If only she knew it was hidden delicately under the cuff link of his suit.

“You need to go back downstairs,” Y/N continues. “Go enjoy your party. It’s your wedding night. Go be with your wife and the people who are there for the right reasons. Go be with Annie and just leave me alone, please.” She begs desperately. “Live your life with her and just please leave me out of it.”

His eyes snap upward, “What?”

“Leave me out of your life,” she repeats as if it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a serrated knife she just plunged deeply into his chest.

“What the hell do you mean ‘leave you out of my life?’” Finnick raises his voice. It’s not in an angry way, but in an emotional one. He’s normally levelheaded, but hearing that makes it feel like his entire heart is being torn to shreds. “What does that even mean Y/N?”

“It means I can’t keep doing this, Finnick!” She responds with just as much vulnerability. “I can’t live the rest of my life watching you be happy with her. I can’t do it!”

“You can’t watch me be happy?” He scoffs. “Really?” He deliberately walks forward, the box still in his hands, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping it.

Y/N looks for an escape route, but it seems he’s managed to trap her between her bedside table, the wall, and her bed. The only way out would be to jump over one of the furniture pieces and there is no way she can do that in this dress.

“I–I– that’s–” she groans loudly, trying to keep herself from screaming out of pure frustration. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what do you mean?!” He shouts, practically tossing the box onto her table with a loud thud. “Because I don’t understand! You’re not making any sense. You’re running away from my wedding, giving me back all the things that make me think of you, and now telling me you don’t want to be a part of my life anymore?” He shakes his head exasperatedly. “I don’t know what’s going on with you Y/N, but you need to tell me.”

“I want you to be happy, Finnick!” She screams. “I do, okay? I really do! But I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t kill me inside whenever I see you two together,” she cries and all he wants to do is pull her in his arms and tell her it’s all going to be okay. “I’ve tried for so long to swallow my selfishness, but it’s becoming too hard. But I can’t ruin your wedding. I can’t stand the thought of getting in the way of your happiness, so the only way we both can move on from this unscathed is if I remove myself from your life,” she explains, wiping the snot from underneath her nose. “It’ll be better that way.”

“No offense, but that is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he snaps, his face turning red. Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline out of shock. “How dense do you have to be to think that my life will be better without you in it?” He lets out a laugh but there is absolutely no humor behind it. “Y/N I would be an absolute mess if I didn’t have you around. The only way you would be standing in the way of my happiness is if you left me.”

“Finnick…” her bottom lip quivers as she shakes her head. “I just can’t anymore. It’s too hard. You’ll get over missing me eventually. You’ll have Annie to help you.”

“I don’t want you out of my life!” Finnick practically rips his own hair out. How is she not understanding how much she means to him? “What do you not get about the fact that I would fall apart without you, huh?!” He has to pull back slightly to try and calm himself. “I don’t want to get over missing you. I want to have you. I want to be able to see you, to hug you, to tell you about my day, to go to you for anything and everything.”

“That’s why you have Annie!” Y/N points towards the door, not caring if any people passing by hear them.

“I DON’T WANT ANNIE!”

Just like that it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Finnick’s chest heaves up and down with every heavy breath he takes. Y/N’s brain buffers as she tries to register what he just confessed. It doesn’t even look like he realizes what he said. He exhales shakily, “I– I don’t… I don’t want her,” he says almost like it’s a realization.

“Finn…” Y/N says sympathetically, “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She tries to find a logical explanation. “You’re upset and–”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” he scoffs with a definite nod. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m saying.” He moves in closer to the point where Y/N can feel his breath fanning her face. Her mind is screaming at her to move away, but the rest of her forces her to remain in her place. In fact, her face draws nearer, getting lost in his seafoam eyes. “She’s not you, Y/N…”

Y/N nods slowly, “You’re right, she’s not.” Her throat bobs notably as she swallows. “But she is your wife,” she reminds him, her voice becoming softer as he continues leaning in. “Your wife who is patiently waiting for you to go back to her. To your wedding reception.”

“I’m busy,” he justifies like Annie is nothing but an afterthought. “I have more important things to take care of right now…”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she says against his lips.

He reaches up, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb as he wipes away her tears. “When will you realize Y/N/N? I’m always gonna feel the need to take care of you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she counters. “You can’t feel that way about me… Not when she’s waiting downstairs for you.”

“Do you always have to be this stubborn?” His eyes bore into hers, making a shiver run down her spine. His voice is dangerously low, it manages to scare and excite her at the same time. “Don’t you think I would be with Annie right now if that was my priority?”

Y/N can feel the air between them sizzling. If anyone were to walk in they’d be found in a very compromising position. Y/N tries to force herself to think of Annie, to think of how she would feel finding her husband here with his best friend like this. But the way Finnick’s scent fills her nose completely clouds her judgement. Or her will to care about anything else other than how badly she wants to completely close the distance between them.

“Finnick, you can’t throw away what you’ve built with her this soon,” Y/N still tries to maintain the moral high ground. “I’ve watched the way you look at her for years. She’s your entire world,” her eyes fall to the floor as she recalls the painful memories.

“Is that the truth? Or is that what you’ve convinced yourself so that you didn’t have to tell me what you actually felt?”

Y/N’s heart stutters in her chest, her pulse quickening as the walls she’s built around herself begin to crack. He can’t be serious, can he? She can’t—she won’t—let herself believe it. But the way he’s looking at her, the way his words settle in the space between them… it’s undeniable.

"Finnick, you’re married," she protests weakly, though it sounds more like a plea than an argument. “I can’t—”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he interrupts, his voice steady and firm. “Waiting for you to admit that you feel the same way. I know you do.”

Y/N feels the air between them thicken. Her thoughts race, but they can’t keep up with what’s happening right in front of her. Finnick, this man she’s loved for so long, is standing here, his eyes filled with something she can’t quite name—but it’s the same thing that’s always been there.

“I’ve waited for you to tell me you love me,” he adds, his voice rougher now, the teasing tone fading into something deeper, more intense. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

Y/N’s stomach twists. She wants to run. She wants to tell him how wrong this is, how much she’s tried to bury her feelings for him because she knows she can’t have him. But as she looks up at him, she sees it—the same longing she’s felt, the same unspoken desire. And it’s too much. Too strong.

"I..." She doesn’t know what to say. How to explain the years of silence, of holding back. She swallows hard, struggling to find the right words.

“Say it,” his eyes darken as he commands her to do as he asks, yet there’s still a sense of pleading. Like he’s begging to hear it. “Enough excuses. There is no right time. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Finnick–” She tries to protest.

“Don’t make me force it out of you,” he says with a bit of playfulness. She knows he would never do anything to force her, but with the mischievous glint in his eyes, she’s not sure what his plan would be.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. The room feels impossibly small, the space between them closing in with every breath. Finnick watches her, his dazzling smile never fading, but there’s something else in his gaze now—something raw and primal.

“You know, I could be wrong,” he says, his voice soft, as if coaxing her, trying to break that last string of restraint she’s holding onto. “Maybe you don’t feel that way. Maybe I’m just... imagining things.”

Y/N looks at him, her chest tightening as she fights the truth she’s kept hidden for so long. “You know you’re not imagining things…," she says, almost choking on the words. “But this is wrong, Finn. We can’t just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, his voice fierce, his hands gripping her hips as he pulls her closer. “I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N. You think I don’t care about Annie? Of course I do. But I told you, she’s never going to be you.” He leans in, his breath hot against her lips. “I’m not asking you to fix this for me. I just need you to admit what we both already know.”

Her pulse is racing, her head spinning. She’s so close to losing herself, to giving in to everything she’s been holding back. And then something magical happens, “I… I love you,” if Finnick wasn’t so close to her lips, he never would’ve heard the sacred sentence he’s been longing for. Her words echo in his mind like a mantra he wants to keep on repeat for the rest of his life. It pushes him closer to the precipice and when she opens her mouth to say something, Finnick stops her, his lips crashing down on hers before she can get a single syllable out.

It’s not gentle. It’s raw and desperate, a release of everything they’ve both been holding inside. Y/N’s hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as she kisses him back, all the years of unspoken feelings flooding to the surface. She doesn’t care about the guilt anymore. Doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. She only cares about the way his mouth moves against hers, the way his touch makes her feel like she’s finally home.

When they pull apart, breathless, both of them are lost in the realization of what just happened. Y/N’s head is spinning, her heart racing in her chest, but Finnick doesn’t let go. He’s looking at her with a softness she’s never seen before.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he whispers, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve been waiting for you to admit it. I just... I just needed to hear you say it.”

“I... Oh my gosh,” her mind floods with guilt once again. “What did we just do?” She goes to hide her face but Finnick’s grip on her arms stops her. “We can’t do this,” Y/N admits, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re married, Finnick. I can’t—”

“Don’t. Care,” he repeats, his hands sliding to the bottom of her thighs as he wraps her legs around his waist. He can’t help but smirk cockily as she doesn’t fight it. It’s finally his time to show her what they’ve been missing playing this little game of cat and mouse. “I don’t care about that right now. All I care about is this.” His lips find hers again, more gentle this time, as if they’re both trying to savor this moment, this long-awaited release.

The kiss deepens, slow and steady, as if the weight of everything they’ve both been holding in is finally being released. It’s messy and complicated and full of years of longing.

And then, with a soft moan, Finnick pulls away just enough to catch his breath. “I’ve wanted to show you how much I love you for so long” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. Without waiting for an answer, he scoops her up, carrying her to the bed.

Y/N’s heart is still pounding, the reality of the moment not quite sinking in yet. She’s still processing everything—his kiss, his words, the weight of what they’ve just done. But none of it matters right now. Not when he’s here, with her.

He lays her down gently, his hands caressing her face as he looks down at her, eyes filled with an emotion that almost feels too much for this moment. “You’re my everything,” he whispers, his voice breaking with the weight of his admission.

She reaches up, cupping his face with her hands, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re mine.”

And with that, they kiss again—more tender this time, but no less intense. The world outside doesn’t exist anymore. There’s only the two of them, finally letting go of everything that’s held them apart.

The night stretches on as they lose themselves in each other, every touch, every kiss, a promise that no matter what happens next, they’ve finally found what they were both waiting for.

[everlarksquell]

thinking about how when katniss was leaving district 13 to go to the capitol she considered saying goodbye to peeta but didn’t because he wasn’t her peeta anymore yet chose to take the pearl with her because it was all she had left of the boy with the bread.

[aubdromeda]

#EVERLARK — “ real or not real? “

they mean so much to me omfg how I wish we got a book or just like a little TREAT a little EXERPT of peetas “recovery” in district 13 and what methods they used for them oh how I wish to just take a PEEK inside his MIND SUZANNE COLLINS PLEAAAASE PLEASE…..!!!Anyways peetas games by igsy on ao3 🤤 my lord they’re so good they’re canon in my head I don’t even CAREEE ugh they write peeta so well… anyways I tried to draw everlark with how I see them when I read the books/how I picture them in my head so I hope u like thissss 😊😊😊 I drew this from the scene in mockingjay where katniss sees peeta for the first time after being brought back and the DREAD I felt reading that part is REAL ok pls don’t flop first post whatever idk how to use tumblr im using my 5 year old amino knowledge on this one boys

[catastrxblues]

this is soooooooo katniss everdeen coded

[thatbitch-withattitude]

I have to say, I fucking love Katniss and Finnick’s friendship in the third book.

They are the ones that understand each other the most it’s just Finnick understands that a bit better.

Finnick has dealt with the after effects of the games for longer. He understands what it’s like to have your loved ones still in the grips of the capitol to be used against him.

They comfort each other, they joke, they care. I think their friendship is the first real male/female friendship Katniss has ever had.

Gale thought he was in love with her, their friendship was made from two people trying to keep their families alive after the deaths of their fathers.

Peeta, they were in love even before they could see it. It was always going to be the two of them because how could it not be. Gale ultimately liked fighting, he would stay with it. Peeta was more for peace which is why Katniss herself says “I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in spring.”

Haymitch was her mentor even when neither of them wanted it. He showed her how it all works because he knows the cost of being a stubborn victor in the capitol.

Finnick though, together they could joke around, they could protect each other, support each other and have a truely platonic relationship with no expectations.

[brookesophelias]

think about how

each five total time i read The Hunger Games Trilogy, the more times I THINK "WE WERE ROBBED" when it comes to Haymitch Abernathy & Gale Hawthorne.

IMAGINE

Gale Hawthorne: the resourceful hunter who thought his 42 slips would give him so much more than... well, nothing. (his family is still wanting, the girl he's crushing on doesn’t see him like that. HE'S A COAL MINER JUST LIKE HIS FATHER TO KEEP HIS MUM ALIVE).

of course, Gale's angry because the Capitol says all he has to is play The Game & he'll be full. But he never gets to play. He has all this anger at his government, for the sickness he sees. so much that it blinds him & all he yearns for is revenge. REVENGE is the only thing that lights him up these days!

he has no empathy for Victors—as he's unaware Haymitch doesn't allow anyone clean or cook for him, doesn't understand Haymitch sleeps with a knife every night for 25 years, & gets through the days drunk because he knows every tribute District 12 lost, the all 49 tributes he fought—when they have all the money & food he ever could dream & don’t do anything with it.

(Gale never knew Peeta's mother beat him for throwing bread to Katniss, doesn't realise Mrs. Undersee's maiden name is Donner).

so when Katniss wants to run into the woods with everyone AND Gale, Gale's (only?) sees "Loverboy," "the Mayor's daughter," as well as the single town Victor who trips on live TV like a drunken idiot.

therefore,when Alma Coin lures Gale into making Rebel weapons, he's enthralled. He is finally doing something useful with his skills & IT'S AGAINST SNOW? sounds awesome!!

it's not his fault President Coin wants to usurp Snow & is using anti-Hunger Games rebellions to do so. it's not his fault Primrose Everdeen is dead.

ok, but there’s Haymitch: resident Quell Victor who begrudgingly lets Hazelle in his Victor’s Village house. Hazelle, with her young children & whose son is pretending to be Katniss' cousin?

i mean (honest) gale/katniss is a major damage to the star-crossed lovers angle

is it because he could see young Gale in himself? where Gale is skilled in building & planning & hunting, Haymitch knows methods & truly making something from for nothing

does Haymitch look at Gale's broken body after Thread whipped him & know that the younger man is already more than physically broken without even stepping foot in the Games?

does Haymitch just wish he could drill into Gale Hawthorne's cocky head that being angry at the Capitol is great motivation, just not how he's going about it.

Haymitch would probably give a month's worth of his winnings for life to Gale, just to hug the younger man and tell him: i see you, your effort, your determination to stop suffering?

the thing is: Gale believes he'd be able to survive the arena and still be himself & Haymitch knows that nobody can do that—not Maysilee; not even Peeta.

in all reality, Gale was just a kid that hungered for more than he received in return.

[triassictriserratops]

Since Peeta is Bi (in fanon for most people) how do you think people react to it, like I assume especially since Panem isn't really a accepting place that there would definitely be some false rumours, but what I personally think would be a popular rumour would be calling Peeta promiscuous (I think thats the word? Idk I'm dumb) mainly because I see that as a popular thought that Bi people can't be monogamous or faithful, just because they like both means they can't stay with one person, which is a weird idea. Tbh idk where I'm going with this ask I kinda just wanted to share my idea of Peeta being labelled as unfaithful for his bisexuality and him just gasping like how dare they assume that

Hokay, so, everything I'm about to say is just my opinions/theories since there isn't really enough information in the text to have a definitive answer. I'd definitely LOVE to hear other people's thoughts on this, tho! As for how queer identity is likely accepted in Panem - I think it depends on what side of the divide you live on.

THE CAPITOL

i think that The Capitol is likely pretty queer friendly. So much of the "fashion" and "artistry" of the Capitol is so reminiscent of 1950s ball culture that it's difficult not to see some sort of cultural inspiration.

I think that likely an aspect of the "panem et circenses" we see at play in the Capitol would hinge on excessive freedoms of expression. You have the freedom (obligation) to be anything and everything you want. You have to spend to excess, have sex to excess, follow fashion trends to excess - otherwise are you any more elite than any of the barbarians in the districts? (This level of pressure and expectation is what I think leads us to the credit/debtors prisons/avox pipeline that is hinted at in the books) If the above is true then I could very much see the Capitol encouraging the exploration of sex and sexuality - maybe even more as a "trend" or a fetishization of sexuality than natural identity

THE DISTRICTS

I believe that the districts are subjected to the levels of forced breeding that we see in the underserved communities in the United States today. It is to the Capitol's benefit to keep the masses poor, hungry, and constantly supplying new generations of children to act as a continuation of the entertainment fodder and the work force. Ergo, little to no medical facilities, little to no access to birth control, little to no sex ed, and little to no social services or resources. This leads me to believe that the Capitol would likely force restrictions on same sex couples. I don't think it would be outright banning or criminalization - but I do see them passing ordinances that same sex married couples do not receive government assigned housing. (Especially under the pretense of the houses being meant for "family and child stability" or some nonsense. Something that would, on it's face, look good to the average Capitolite. "Look how wonderful we are to them! We provide homes so people can build families!" I could also see them say that same sex couples aren't allowed to adopt children as that can be a potential "abuse of the tessera system". This would be spun as "preventing children from being taken advantage of for extra food portions." So, basically, it would be an undue hardship to be a queer person within the districts of Panem. Going further down the hole, i think it would be a HUGE no-no within the Merchant (or equivalent in other districts) classes. Life in the districts as a Merchant is heavily reliant on succession. These business have existed for generations and are passed down within the family. The merchants also maintain ownership by, as much as possible, marrying within other businesses versus marrying into the Seam.

A young, queer adult in the Merchant class would likely be as heavily ostracized as Katniss' mother was for marrying into the Seam.

DISTRICT 13

I theorize that, especially after the illness that wiped out a majority of the population - especially the children - of District 13, that this District is likely the HARSHEST on same sex attraction.

I definitely see this district as having heavy restrictions on sex in order to control and prioritize insemination and fertilization. Hence why someone like Dalton was given the field of work that he was given, coming from the cattle farms of District 10. As for the second part of your ask, Peeta Mellark Everdeen would LAUGH at anyone who would dare suggest he would cheat on his wife. He's been married since he was 5, thank you very much.

[catindabag]

One of my THG buddies kept asking me about the fate of District 13 in my TBOSAS on Crack!AU yesterday. So this is just me clarifying some random D13 stuff in this weird universe.

So what happened to D13? Here are the facts:

D13 and its citizens are still alive and pretty much hiding from the Ravinstill Regime.

Funny thing is, all of the Capitol Nobles are well aware of the fact that D13 is still alive and kicking. Even Coryo and his scheming grandmother knew about D13’s fate after the Dark Days.

However, the Ancient and Noble House Ravinstill and their sacred Bichon Frisé puppies ordered everyone to pretend that District 13 doesn’t exist anymore.

This is to protect the last remaining working marbles of crazy President Ravinstill and Class President Felix.

So District 13 is now and forever officially renamed by the Capitol Nobles as the “Mole Kingdom” ruled by the mole people.

As long as you are a certified rebel who lives underground, you are now considered a “mole person” by the Capitol.

In short, all of Panem knows about the truth of D13 and its mole people. However, instead of confronting or siding with the remaining mole rebels, everyone just agreed to ignore the Mole Kingdom’s existence after the war.

Also, after the 24 OG Mentors ended the Hunger Games forever and replaced it with ✨Panemvision✨, President Ravinstill made sure that no mole person is allowed to join the competition for rebelling against him and his ✨Bichon Frisé Cult✨.

This is also a way to punish the mole kingdom for rebelling against the Ravinstill Regime and accidentally killing the ever gorgeous Crassus Xanthos Snow.

And yes, President Ravinstill is still sadly allergic to “freedom” and mole people.

But because of ✨The Great Mole Ban✨, the mole kingdom and its mole people are now angry at the fact that they can’t join and compete in ✨Panemvision✨ for fun.

All the Districts’ excited children are now busy volunteering themselves and their most talented individuals left and right for ✨Panemvision✨. The prize was just too good to pass. I mean, who wouldn’t want to win free money, a big house, and lots of food for one’s family and District?!

Meanwhile, the mole people are just stuck living in their little underground bunkers without any real entertainment to distract them from their impending doom.

Years later, in Katniss Everdeen’s timeline, ✨Panemvision✨ is still the best show in the history of Panem!🥳

The ✨SnowPlinth Dynasty✨ is now the most powerful and influential family ever.

Sejanus Plinth-Snow is still the beloved President of Panem.

Former President Felix Ravinstill retired early in order to take care of his 40 fluffy fat cats with Androcles Anderson and their 12 Hello Kitty loving children.

Festus and Persephone’s meat stew loving dumpster diving kids even married into the ✨SnowPlinth Dynasty✨. The Creeds and the Prices finally linked their crazy bloodline back with the Snows and the Ravinstills.

And yes, Coryo and Sejanus did have 24 kids (and more), making Strabo and Ma Plinth the happiest grandparents ever.

After Sejanus and Coryo’s oldest son married Festus and Persephone’s oldest daughter, ✨The Great Sandwich Quartet Alliance✨ was officially formed.

And when Sejanus and Coryo’s oldest daughter married Felix Ravinstill’s oldest son, ✨The Great Pact of The Royal Hello Kitty Blood✨ was finally signed and secured for the greater good of Panem.

Tigris is still a tiger. Lol. But at least she now has several available nephews and nieces to spoil and design clothes for.

The ever gorgeous “First Lady” Coryo Plinth-Snow is still busy taking care of their 40 Snowjanus grandchildren and 10 Snowjanus great grandchildren.

He is also known as the beloved ✨King of Roses✨ and the true ✨Sandwich Queen of Panem✨.

Festus Creed still dumpster dives with Pup, Sejanus, and Coryo every weekend.

Hilarius and Wovey are still the best apple berry pie dealers of the country.

Clemensia and Reaper are still praying for normalcy.

Dill is still the best Mayor of District 11 and the smartest best friend of Former President Felix Ravinstill.

Treech and Lamina are still providing the best firewood and axes for Vipsania and Gaius.

The old Capitol Zoo is still ruled by the “sacred” rabid raccoons and wild squirrels.

Tigris Snow is now the ✨Queen✨ of Panem’s fashion industry along with the Ring Twins and their ✨Pajama Onesie Empire✨.

Dennis and Hy are still the secret kings of Panem’s Black Market Industry.

Arachne is still suing for her ✨Sandwich Queen✨ title.

Iphigenia is now the most famous food merchant in Panem. But she still sucks at handling money.

Mizzen and Persephone are still the eternal rulers of their ✨Pizza Palace Empire✨ and the accursed junk food industry.

Seneca is now the current biggest disappointment of the Crane family for working as a professional pizza delivery guy for Mizzen and Percy’s infamous empire.

Livia and her annoying children are still running and ruling the largest bank of Panem.

Lucy Gray is still the reigning ✨Queen✨ of the Capitol’s entertainment and music industry.

Billy Taupe is still banned for life.

Palmyra Monty is still banned from cooking.

Androcles is still the best professional kleptomaniac to ever walk on earth.

The Covey and its growing members are now the most popular band of the country, making Katniss Everdeen a nepo baby by default.

Lucy Gray is still happily married to Panini Panlo and his hair curlers for fun. They now have 5 curly haired children and 12 music loving grandchildren.☺️

Maude Ivory is still illegally selling popcorn balls and cookies for extra cash.

Mockingjays and Jubilee’s kind are still banned from the Capitol because Coryo, Coral, Reaper, Urban, and Treech are still tragically allergic to weird talking birds.

Coral and Festus are still ✨war baddies✨ who do “martial arts” every Friday.

Marcus is still denying his own existence, but is now working under District 2’s beloved immortal Mayor, Mr. Rocky Rock O’Rolly.

Lysistrata and Domitia are still the proud leaders of the ✨SnowPlinth Fan Club✨.

Dancing King Tanner is still the reigning crazy Dairy King and Mayor of District 10. He happily married Domitia Whimsiwick and her cows to rule D10 forever.😎

And yes, Lizzie is still selling her illegal ✨miracle pills✨ for fun.

First Lady Coryo Plinth-Snow even started his own secret ✨Cabbage Soup & Lima Bean Cult✨ with Felix, Festus, and Pup. In truth, they just wanted their grandchildren and great grandchildren to become close friends.

Florus is still allergic to rain. However, he now knows how to use an umbrella without getting wet.

Pup is now living in a luxurious cruise ship with a couple of retired and underpaid sailors and Peacekeepers.

Urban and Io Jasper are still busy finding the shrouded mysteries of love and the secrets of the universe.

Juno and Bobbin are still throwing insults at each other. However, their children and grandchildren are good friends for some reason.

Brandy is still living her best werewolf life.

Poor Hilarius is currently fighting for his inheritance (again) because his rebellious nephew (Plutarch Heavensbee) just disowned him and his beloved chihuahua out of the blue for no reason at all.🥲

At least homeless Hilarius Heavensbee is now happily staying at the Presidential Palace as a temporary live-in nanny for Sejanus and Coryo’s grandchildren and great grandchildren.

And D13 is still planning to launch a second rebellion against President Plinth-Snow and his friends.

In truth, D13 and its unfortunate, sad, and deprived mole children are just really obsessed with ✨Panemvision✨. They have been loyally watching, subscribing, and following the most popular show in Panem since its weird birth. Since its debut! Since its first season! Since the day they saw crazy Lucy Gray tried to strangle and throw Mizzen the Gremlin offstage for almost ruining her best performance (ever).

Some mole children even tried to contact and convince President Sejanus and former President Felix that District 13 still exist. However, because of Ravinstill’s irreversible war trauma, they still haven’t gotten a single reply from the Capitol.🥲

Of course, their evil Mole President (Alma Coin) still wants to declare war against President Sejanus for some reason.

Honestly, Alma Coin just wants to control the country, imprison the 24 OG Mentors in a mental institution, and become the ✨Eternal Star of Panem✨.

But Seji Pie doesn’t even give a flying f*ck about District 13 and it’s rebellious mole children. He’s too busy making another child with Coryo to truly notice Alma Coin’s threats and messages.😌💅

Meanwhile, when little Prim was reaped for ✨Panemvision✨, Katniss Nepo Baby Everdeen immediately volunteered and stole her sweet sister’s spot.

However it’s not because she wanted to “save” her little sister from being “forced” to sing on stage, but because the ✨Girl on Fire✨ really wanted to compete and become the ✨Star of Panem✨ that year.

And because of that, little Primrose never forgave Katniss for stealing her only opportunity to join their ever famous crazy grandaunt (Lucy Gray) and her booming music business in the Capitol.

Prim even tried to contact Lucy Gray’s grumpy husband with Gale’s help, but old man Panlo thought that they were just trying to take his crazy wife’s life and money. So the Panini Man hanged up and blocked them from his phone.😂

So bitter Prim and her cat are now the first anti-fans of the ✨Girl on Fire✨.😔

On the other hand, when Peeta “I am the bread!” Mellark was reaped for ✨Panemvision✨, Gale “I can f*ckin’ sing!” Hawthorne immediately volunteered to be with Katniss.

So the baker’s boy had to challenge an angry Gale to a dance-off battle in front of an excited crowd in order to secure his spot for the competition. This is also his first and only chance to talk to Katniss Nepo Baby Everdeen. So he had to win no matter what.

Peeta only won after executing a perfect somersault and one flawless cartwheel in front of a drunk Haymitch and a bubbly Effie Trinket.

And jealous Gale became the founding father of the anti-Peeta Mellark Fan Club.

Meanwhile, old crazy lady Lucy Gray is still busy stealing her grumpy old husband’s hair curlers after every show. #PanBaird #lovelanguage #withPaniniPanlo

And the 24 OG Mentors and their former Tributes are still good friends who usually hangout every other week to cause some chaos and traffic in Panem.

Of course, old man Mizzen is still a little gremlin through and through. He is even the main reason why the 2nd rebellion failed and never happened.

Mole President Alma Coin and her loyal minions just can’t stand a chance against Mizzen the Gremlin, crazy Persephone Creed Née Price, and their ruthless Pizza Palace Empire.😈

“You can’t start a revolution, much less a 2nd rebellion without a merciless and efficient pizza delivery service!” - Mizzen.

[diddlesnap]

can you draw haymitch during mockingjay... i never see anyone draw the scars katniss gives him after realising that peeta's been kidnapped 💔💔💔

here you go. first one is obv at the scene . second is at some point @ 13. i imagine they strongly encourage men keep their hair short being a militaristic society and whatnot. couldnt get him to part with the facial hair though . anyway his hair would be relatively grown out here. iirc katniss says his eye doesnt sustain any permanent damage or whatever but i do think the nerves in his eyelids are kind of affected so that eye has a little bit of a squint even after the scars fade

[myalonyalala]

She is right. The game and the rebellion is using her as a pion without her consent. Worse, the rebellion use her without her knowledge. Force her to be the Mockingjay. I hate them too :(

Feel bad for Katniss. She only want to keep everyone alive. But the community need revolution so they force a 16 (or 17?) y o girl, to be their symbol, without even asking for her consent. Poor her.

I feel the dilema here. If they didnt use her, the revolution might never happen. But if they use her, they torture her (i classifies forcing as torturing. Especially for Katniss). But for the sake for people of the country, they sacrifice her will, prioritizing the people need: revolution.

Its like sacrificing one soul for the sake of the whole country isnt it?

Im sorry if my words sounds make no sense. This is not my first language. But that is my point.

I will summarize that Katniss is being manipulated by the adults around her. They didnt ask for her consent, she is youngggggg, the drive her to do things they think is right (for the people). Idk how could, a whole country put that much weight to the shoulder of ... 17 y.o girl??¿

Not to mention that she finally willing to be the symbol of the rebellion and do the rebellion itself. But at first, still, its not her first idea to really do it.

Seems like the rebellion and the capitol sounds no far different.

[the-sad-tree]

The Power of Silence.

Silent anger, silent fear, silent desperation, silent suffering, silence, silence, and silence. Silence has power.

The bulk of the second rebellion in THG was done with words, especially from Katniss and Finnick. But Katniss' inability to speak for another propos after realizing Peeta was being tortured was what finally prompted District 13 to rescue Peeta. Had she kept giving her words and cooperating for propos, District 13 wouldn't have prioritized the rescue of Peeta, and wouldn't have lost any sleep over his death.

What about the other twelve districts? If they had consistently rebelled and failed with disastrous consequences, would they have been willing to ally with D13 and try again? I doubt it. It would have been like adding one Mentos at a time to your bottle of coke. But the generations of people, hopelessly accepting their fate, suppressing their anger in fear of retribution... they became a ticking time bomb. And in the silence, there was no mistaking the sound of an explosion.

Silence isn't empty. There is power in silence.

[jillsvalentinex]

Thea Greene was already well known within her district. At the early age of ten, she was known as 'the heart of district four'. Not only was she liked among her peers for her angelic personality, her angelic voice was what made her a mini celebrity. Every weekend the district would go out to her family's bar and watch her perform. It was the only thing that made them forget about the dreadful Hunger Games, and although District four was grouped in with the other career districts, that didn't mean the district wanted to be constantly reminded of them, and young Thea saw the gloom take over the people. 

The blonde always had a love for music as her mother and father owned a bar where people could perform to entertain the guests. It was her source of happiness, her salvation. It only became more of a need when she began performing. The sounds of the cheers and guests clapping was somewhat overwhelming, but the feeling that came with it was wonderful, almost addicting like some sort of drug. Her parents weren't initially fond of their youngest child risking their life by refusing to get any type of training for the Hunger Games since they didn't want to lose her, but they soon came to terms with it once she began helping at the bar. Her brother, Jace, on the other hand, wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to learn a few tips if he would eventually get picked to participate in the games. 

The two were polar opposites, the only thing connecting them together was their family and similar appearance. Jace was known as the typical boy from district four; knew how to fish, how to swim really well, and trained for the Hunger games. Thea was known as the delicate performer; a die hard music lover, helped people carry heavy bags in the streets and spent her days swimming in the ocean. 

Even when the Greene's suffered the loss of their parents, it seemed life never stopped for the two siblings. Thea kept the two up-float with the bar, and even when he turned nineteen, Jace kept training, building up his strength in order to help out his younger sister in any way he could. 

The moon shone through the clouds trying to cover it up in the sky. A soft gust of wind passed by, sending a shiver down Thea's back as she was locking up the bar for the night. Once saying goodbye to her friend and co-worker, Annie, she turned around and began walking back to her house while getting showered with praise by numerous audience members from the bar.  

"Amazing performance as always, Miss Greene!" An older man, seemingly around his mid 60's with greying hair and a few wrinkles on his face, called out as the blonde walked by. 

She turned her head over her shoulder, showing a bright smile on her face as she gave him a nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Mr Morgenthau!" She said before she turned her body around to face the wrinkled man. "How's your grandson? He doing alright?" She asked. 

"Oh, he's doing just fine. He's ready for the games tomorrow, I hear." 

Thea stopped in her tracks, her eyes slightly widening in surprise. "He's volunteering?" She asked, earning a curt nod from Morgenthau. She then flashed a bright smile as she began to turn back around to continue walking. "Well, lets hope he wins." She then waved goodbye before she continued walking through the dimly lit pathways to her house.

It wasn't long until Thea arrived in front of her house. It was cramped in between a row of houses, looking identical to the rest with its smooth walls that were painted white and the stone roof. The lights seemed to be off with the curtains drawn from the inside. She stepped forward, unlocking the white door and stepping inside, switching the light switch on beside the door. "I'm home!" She called out to see if there would be any response and for a few seconds, there was only silence until she heard loud, rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. A loud thud came shortly afterwards and as the blonde was just hanging up her jacket, she turned her head to her left, watching a fairly tall boy with messy blonde hair flap his arms up in the air.

"Jesus, where the hell have you been? It's past curfew." He said as he began walking towards her, and into the kitchen. 

Thea rolled her eyes once she finished hanging her coat up and followed her brother into the kitchen where she watched him cook up some fish. "I was working at the bar. And don't use that curfew shit on me, you and I both know that only worked when mom and dad were here." 

Jace turned his head over his shoulder, sending a quick glare to his younger sister before turning back around, chopping off the head of the large fish. Thea turned away quickly once hearing the loud thud of a butcher knife slam down on the wooden table. "The reaping is tomorrow, Thea-" 

"Yeah, which is why I decided to go down to the bar. The district deserves at least a bit of good entertainment before they watch their loved ones possibly get picked to go into the Hunger Games and watch them die." Thea argued, cutting her brother off before he could finish his sentence. 

"And who said it has to be you to give them that?" Jace asked as he continued cutting up the fish.

"I did, the people did. If I stopped performing at the bar when mom and dad died, we'd be on the streets. The amount of people who come to the bar because I'm there is the reason why we have money. At least act like you're grateful." 

Jace seemed to stop suddenly, his right hand that held the sharp butcher knife resting on the edge of the kitchen counter. A harsh sigh escaped Jace's mouth, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "I am grateful." He shook his head before continuing, "I just don't like the thought of my little sister going out at night to perform for a crowd mostly full of old men." He stated before he went back to chopping up fish. 

"well, when you put it like that, I understand what you're getting at." Said Thea as she walked forward, leaning on one of the kitchen counters beside her brother. "But it isn't like that. If you actually come down to the family bar, your worries would be put to rest. I promise you, all the audience does is cheer and clap after a performance. So stop the worry flurry and make me some food." She then patted Jace's shoulder before pulling herself off the kitchen counter, earning a quiet chuckle from him before he turned back to the fish. 

Sleeping was always difficult for Thea, even at an early age. It wasn't that she was afraid of the dark, she has walked through the darkest of alleyways and not once has she ever been afraid, but it was rather the silence that came with it as she'd lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find even the littlest of noise that her mind could focus on. It would get extra bad after a night of performing. The amount of whiplash she'd get after a night full of music, and cheers, and laughter, to when it ends is overwhelming to say the least. She wanted it to be loud, but not so loud that it would overwhelm her, but she didn't want it to be quiet to the point where she'd be focusing on her own breathing just so her mind wouldn't wander. 

She'd often result to the little spinning nightlight in her room. When on, it would light up the entire room and it would slowly spin around. On top of it was a picture of her, Jace, and their parents standing on the beach with bright smiles on their face that would cast onto the ceiling, spinning slowly as the device would turn.  It sent out the sound of twinkling stars which would usually send the girl off to sleep in no time. With her head rested on her arms that were behind her head as she laid down on her bed, she stared up to the ceiling, watching the picture of her family spin around slowly with the accompanying sound of twinkling entering her ears. 

She closed her eyes, listening to the twinkling sounds that went around the room. A soft smile rose on her face as her mind wandered off, imagining the sight of multiple stars sparkling in front of her. 

The world around her almost seemed peaceful. Her mind was free from the worry of getting chosen at the upcoming reaping, some girl from the training academy would probably volunteer like Morgenthau's grandson, she thought. She'd no longer have to worry about the possibility of getting chosen, she's already eighteen which is the oldest you can be to get chosen, so all she had to do is pray that she wouldn't get chosen, or even better some girl volunteers and she'd have a peaceful life like her brother. 

Everything will be perfect . . .