#hunger games rewrite

[muted-like-sunset]

Spark| Chapter 7

peeta mellark x fem! reader

masterlist

word count: 7.1k

trigger warnings: nightmares/nighterrors, drowning, implied abuse, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, mild argument, animal death (minor), fire, bears and bear attacks (nongraphic), canon typical violence, weapons (knives, swords, etc.), sort of sexual harassment? (mild), mentions of death.

(mostly) unedited, all mistakes are my own

She thrashes through the night, haunted by a familiar voice. She fights against long fingers grasping clumps of her hair, fighting to reach the surface of their bathtub as hands hold her under, trying to scream for Asher and instead getting lungfuls of water. She wakes with a start, kicking at the blankets wrapped around her until she can free herself. She draws back to the head of the bed until the blankets fall entirely from her body. 

There, she shivers. Her hands press firmly into her eyes willing the feeling of water in her lungs to leave her. She casts a glance to the window in her room, eyes drifting out over the still sleeping city. The sun has just started to rise, casting a warm glow through the streets of the Capitol. She breathes in the sounds of the early morning, the sound of the city sleeping in after last night’s festivities. There is no birdsong, no soft rustle of trees like at home. She longs, for a moment, to hear her parents talking in the other room. To hear Asher pushing his blanket down the scratchy sheets.

She drags herself out of bed, making her way carefully to the bathroom. Hesitating at the shower for a minute, she gathers her thoughts before turning it on. She plunges in quickly, thankful for whatever Capitol technology makes the water warm as soon as she turns it on. Her teeth chatter with the force of her shivering, forcing her face under the spray just to come out gasping and running her hands over her face to orient herself. A quick press of a random option in the selection in her shower has her doused in a sickly sweet, almost fruity scent. The bubbles are a bright pink, brighter than even Effie Trinket’s hair, but she’s thankful for the visual stimuli. Theres nothing like this at home.

She works a bit to find the matching lotion, wondering if it will match its predecessor’s hue. After testing a criminally large collection of lotions, she settles on one that smells the same. This time, its assaulting shade brings a smile to her face. Once she’s moisturized and dried, she makes her way to the closet. Towards the front hangs a full outfit. Her skin prickles, wondering when it had been placed there. A chill runs up her spine as she pulls it from its place, dressing quickly to keep her mind from wandering too much. Tight black pants, a burgundy top with long sleeves, and plain black shoes. She stares at herself in the mirror for a second, studying her body. For the first time since leaving Twelve, she looks somewhat like herself. Her face is clear of makeup, clothing plain enough. She tilts her head, imagining a few snags in the clothing, more tearing on the arms and around the hem. 

Her eyes prick and she takes a deep breath, eyes darting from her reflection. She isn’t home, she might never be home again. If she wants to go home she needs to focus on getting through the next few weeks, not moping over whats passed. Instead, she rolls her shoulders back, casting a quick glance to make sure her face is steeled back in a calm manner. Then, she remembers the pin. Where had she left it?

She trails back in her mind, picturing all of the clothing she’d worn since the reaping and realizing when it had gotten lost. The last time she’d seen it was yesterday morning, before the tribute parade. Perhaps Cinna still had it. 

Its early enough that no one has come to collect her, so she waders aimlessly out into the main room of the apartment. By a long table in the dining room, a man with dark hair and an all white outfit stands silently. Another avox. Where has the girl from last night gone? 

The table is covered in food of all kinds, so she takes a plate from one end and piles it high with a little it of everything she can fit. Eggs, sausage, hotcakes, and pretty purple fruit make their way onto the plate. She finds a jar of honey and drizzles it on top of the hotcakes, smiling. This is a familiar treat. She settles at the table with her plate and a glass of orange juice, tucking in to her meal. The purple fruit turns out to be some kind of melon, the juice of it pooling on her plate. She returns to the table and fills a plate with rolls and some fruit spread that smells strongly like oranges. 

She moves to the window, setting her plate on the ground and picking a roll to pull apart in her hands. There, she watches the city streets slowly begin to come to life. She thinks of her parents getting ready for work, of Mama combing her Papa’s hear with a practiced hand. She wonders how the morning is in Twelve. If the streets are foggy yet or if the morning is dry. Katniss and Gale will already be in the woods, working to feed more than just their own families. She hopes Asher has started to go with them, that he isn’t moping alone at home. Knowing him though, the call of the mines has gotten more of his attention than she would like. The mines offer somewhat security where the woods rely on his skills. She knows that the mines are what he would choose, but she holds out hope that her friends can bring him along anyway. If for nothing else than a place to release his frustrations.

He and Gale might just be a match.

Had they seen them last night? How did they feel about their debut, had it given them hope that she could make it home? She hopes they’d slept a little sounder, that she’d looked confident enough to ease their worries for the night. 

Haymitch and Peeta come into the room together, she wonders briefly if she has woken them. 

“Comfy?” Haymitch asks, his face pulled down with sleep. She smiles sheepishly, pulling herself out of her seat. She collects her plate and joins them at the table, tucking herself towards the end and across from Peeta. He’s wearing an identical burgundy top with loose black pants. She tugs the fabric against her thighs and wishes hers were loose as well.

She’s anxious to start training. They’ll  have three days to practice their skills before showing them off to the gamemakers. Three days is not nearly the time she’ll need to hone her skills, but she’ll have to make it work. There will be other tributes, like Marvel, who have spent their lives preparing for this moment. She can’t be caught unprepared. 

The table is quiet as Haymitch and Peeta eat, she’s lost her appetite. After a while, Haymitch pushes back from the table with a small sigh, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a swig. Leaning heavily against the table as though already drained by the day, he speaks. “So, training. If you’d like, I can coach you both separately. It’s up to you.”

She furrows her brow, glancing to Peeta to find much the same confusion. She leans forward. “Why would we ask to be coached separately?”

Haymitch smiles a teasing smile, looking up at her from where he rests his chin on his hands. His smile drops as soon as he finishes speaking, settling back into a slight grimace. “You can’t hold hands through the arena. Say you have a skill that Peeta doesn’t know about. You might be able to use it to your advantage.”

A skill Peeta doesn’t know about? To her, she has no unknown skills. Everything she’s learned is seen by the population of Twelve every day. She glances over to Peeta, watching for his reaction. He shakes his head so subtly she wonders if he even meant to, his eyes moving to find hers. “No, nothing. I’ve eaten enough to know yours, too, I think.”

She’d considered that he’d know about her hunting. Everyone in Twelve did, most likely. Still, its kind of nice to know that he’d reliably eaten something she provided. It makes her face heat a bit. She nods to Haymitch. “We’ll train together.”

“Alright,” Haymitch leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What can you do?”

“Nothing, unless you count baking bread.” Peeta says dryly, she smiles. It’s harrowing to think it might be his only skill, but she knows that isn’t true. He’s strong, she’s seen it herself. She shakes her head, smiling at him like this is their own little joke. 

“I don’t.” Haymitch says, turning to look at her. “I know you can use a knife, got anything else?” 

She considers this, turning her days in the woods over in her head with a keen eye. She can use a bow, just not as well as Katniss or Gale, and she sets the groups traps, a skill also dwarfed in comparison to Gale. “I’m okay with a knife, that’s sort of it.”

Peeta scoffs a laugh, sitting forwards and shaking his head. He speaks to Haymitch, but his eyes are on her. “She’s better than okay, she’s excellent. She sets traps,” He looks to Haymitch, flexing his hands almost like he could feel the wire between is fingers. “My father buys her squirrels, sometimes rabbits. He says the way they’re caught must be quick, its so clean they barely have time to struggle.”

“If we’re correcting one another,” She begins, crossing her arms. “Peeta’s strong. I’ve seen him lift hundred pound bags of flour in the market, carries them two at a time if not more. Tell him that, it’s not nothing.”

“It’s not the same.” Peeta shoots back, his blue eyes locked onto her. It’s intense, she has to steel herself from looking away. “Lifting flour isn’t the same as using a weapon, you know that. Besides, I’m sure every tribute in the arena will just stand still for me to, what, carry them?” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. She looks away from him, face flushing. 

“He’s a wrestler.” She tells Haymitch. “He always wins unless he’s pitted against his brother, but even then its close. There’s always hand-to-hand in the arena, he’s making himself sound worse than he is.”

“Well, so are you. I’m not going to wrestle anyone to death in the arena. You’ll be off in a tree somewhere picking the rest of us off with traps.” He almost spits, moved to anger. She can see the way his hands tighten around nothing, curling themselves into fists before relaxing and splaying out large. 

“It won’t matter if I can’t get any sponsors.” She mumbles, pushing her plate away from herself and slumping down in her seat, arms crossed in front of herself. “You do that kind of stuff naturally, I have to actually try to make people like me. People are going to fall all over themselves trying to sponsor you.”

He scoffs, but she doesn’t turn to look at him, too busy fighting off defeated tears. “She has no idea, the effect she can have.” He says quietly, like she might not hear him. 

The effect she can have, what does he mean? That people will pity her, or that they’d have some reason not to? She forces herself to think. Surely, she has something to gain sponsors attention. She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, listening as Haymitch and Peeta shift. 

“Well then, you two make a good show, don’t you?” Haymitch says, smirking. “We’ll work with that. Y/N, theres no guarantee you’ll have any supplies to set any snares in the arena, make sure you save that for your private session. Show them what you can do, it’d make an interesting games. Until then, steer clear of any trapping, do you hear?” 

She nods, not meeting his eyes. 

“Peeta,” Haymitch begins again. “She’s right. Don’t underestimate physical strength in the arena, it tilts the advantage to you in a confrontation. They’ll have weights in the training center, you can use them, just don’t go all out. The plan for both of you is to learn things you might not already know. Throw a spear, swing a mace, learn to tie knots. Save your skills for your private showings, are we clear?”

They both nod, she doesn’t have to look to know it. Haymitch leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. 

“In public, you two stay by each other’s side every minute. You’ll figure it out, you always seem to.” This peaks her attention, sitting up and meeting his eyes. Seam gray, like everyone she grew up with. “Now go on, meet Effie at the elevator at ten to head down.”

She pushes back from the table, making a quick exit back to her room. His footsteps follow her down the hall and she pauses inside of her door, listening intently for him to show up to talk. It wasn’t so much a fight as it felt to her, but she’d still like to see him. Her shame cements her feet to the floor, listening instead for some sign he wants to talk. His footsteps pause just in front of her door, only for a moment, and her breath hitches. Then, she hears him continue, his door opening and shutting quietly. 

She freezes for a long while, waiting at the door for him even though he isn’t coming. She shakes herself from her stupor, moving instead to her bathroom to get ready. She brushes through her hair, securing it the same way she always does before brushing her teeth. It’s almost ten, so she slips back into the hall to meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator. 

Peeta’s already there when she gets there, talking quietly with Effie. She dips her head, following them into the elevator. Her nerves, temporarily stayed by a flash of anger at him at breakfast, return in full force at the idea of meeting the other tributes. Marvel will be there, and his district partner. The tall one with golden hair. She wonders if she might be spiteful of the attention her district partner is paying her.

“Hey,” Peeta whispers, bumping her gently with his arm. “You okay?”

If Peeta made friends with her, would she be angry? She tries to imagine her laughing at something he said, smoothing over her golden hair with an elegant hand, giving him a bold and flirty smile. Her stomach knots, would she be angry?

She nods, letting him stay close “Nervous.” She admits with a watery smile, looking to meet his eyes. The ride is quick, probably less than a minute before they’re coming to a stop. The doors open to a large gymnasium, and despite it not being ten yet it seems they are the last to arrive. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high as they enter. She lets herself study the other tributes, they’re all dressed athletically. Still, she and Peeta are the only pair that are dressed alike. 

Her eyes find Marvel already looking at her, a grin on his face. The blonde girl is near him, glaring daggers at her. She fights the urge to tuck herself close to Peeta, to seek his protection from the girl. She’ll be on her own if this girl decides to take it out on her, she won’t always have Peeta at her side in the arena. 

She and Peeta join the others in their tense circle, standing still as someone pins a cloth square with a 12 to the back of their shirts. A tall woman stands in the center of the circle with a name tag that says ‘Atala’, she begins to explain the training center. The rules go in one of her ears and out of the other, thankful that Peeta seems to be listening attentively enough for the both of them. She lets herself study the tributes she hasn’t seen closely before, trying to make herself useful.

Almost all of the male tributes are larger than her, and even some of the girls seem to dwarf her. Marvel’s district partner is one of them, tall and athletic looking up close. Her hair is pulled back into a braid that runs down her back and her eyes are trained on Y/N. She looks away, the other girls seem more manageable. Though, even the smaller one from District One looks frightening. The other tributes not from career districts look more like herself. It’s easy to tell that many of them come from backgrounds like her own, if the hollowness of their cheeks and eyes is anything to go by. 

Soon, the group splits. She feels Peeta’s hand move to take her own, trailing down her arm before locking their hands together and tugging her alongside himself. She tries to shake off her thoughts, following closely behind even as she feels eyes on them. Was this what Haymitch meant as “in public”? 

“So, what do we do first?” Peeta asks quietly, leaning down to talk almost into her ear. She bounces on the balls of her feet for a moment, looking around. The eyes of the other tributes flutter away as she surveys the room, all but Marvel’s. He holds her gaze until she looks away, looking instead to find an empty station. 

“Feel like trying firestarting?” She asks, pulling him beside herself as she moves towards the station. They detach as they come up on the station, straightening themselves to begin training. She wipes the sweat from her hands.

 Fire, as she has always been taught, is dangerous. One stray spark could bring down almost all of Twelve, so their fire had always been her Papa’s job. After the accident, that fell to Asher. 

Still, she had built up kindling before. In her house, Papa had always scraped the coal dust off of every surface. The bottoms of their shoes were often caked in it in the right weather conditions. After collecting it, he pressed it into small discs to use as an accelerant. 

She takes the lead, curious to try her own hand at what she’d seen done endless times. First, she tries with dry materials - grasses, ark, and leaves - and finds easy success. She flinches back each time the spark takes and bursts into flame, but quickly becomes accustomed to the flash of heat. The way it flickers mesmerizes her, she almost feels remorse when it dies out. Her next tries are in a damper environment. The woman running the station gives her pointers and she sets quickly to scouring the materials laid before her. Some are meant to make it easier, like puffs of cotton o a tarp, but she’s intent on learning. 

She’d seen Katniss do a trick a couple of times when they’d been caught in weather they shouldn’t have, one that required a specific type of wood. 

“These trees,” She begins looking over to see how Peeta is doing. He’s more focused on her than his fire, eyes darting up when he should be working on getting his flint to spark. “Can we use them? For the fires, I mean.” She asks. When the trainer nods, she slips into the fake woods created in the station. There are only a couple of trees, likely not even planted and instead just propped up below the damp soil. 

What had she said? Y/N stoops low beneath a pine, pinching a fistful of dry needles from underneath. She moves back to her materials, taking the training knife and moving back to the tree. She scrapes off some bark, happy with the sticky feeling of the sap against her fingers. Yes, this will spark. She brings her spoils back to Peeta with a smile, offering the small chunk of wood and bark in her hands. 

“Here,” She begins, settling down beside him to show him what she hopes will work. “See how its sticky? It’s pine, the sap is flammable.” The moment she’s gotten the wood into his small attempt at a fire, she holds a hand out for his flint. He passes it over wordlessly and she strikes it. It only takes one, the moment the spark touches the sap it bursts into a small flame, quickly taking over his pile of tinder and sticks. 

They work together for the rest of the hour before Peeta suggests that they move on to another skill. They move down the line, stopping at the camouflage station, which makes Peet light up. She focuses on trying to mix colors to match the ones Peeta creates easily from mud or berries or clay. Meanwhile, he easily creates a scene on his own skin. She looks up from his arm as he steps away, backing himself against a mossy rock and checking his work. His arm practically disappears when he holds still and she can’t help the gasp that leaves her. “Peeta, that’s amazing.”

“I used to do the cakes at the bakery.” He flushes, looking to her with his chin down. The cakes he’s referring to are up in the window of the bakery, decorated in flowers and other pretty things painted in frosting. She had been by with Primrose many times, both enraptured by the sight of anything pretty. 

This is how they pass the time until lunch. When time is called, they stand from their station (knots, much to Peeta’s dismay) and move to join the other tributes. They follow behind as the tributes are guided to a room off of the gym where the walls are lined with carts filled with food. She and Peeta find a cart that isn’t surrounded and pile their plates with a meat that reminds her of grouse or chicken, green beans, butter beans, and bread. She can’t help but grin when they come across a dish of small potatoes and piles some onto her plate before helping Peeta add them to his own. They find an empty table, sitting across from one another. Conversation should come easily, they certainly have plenty to talk about, but their conversation this morning with Haymitch makes any words that might come out stop, sticky in her throat. 

She eats quietly, trying to avoid looking up in case Peeta is looking at her. Its only after she’s finished half of her plate that she sits back, wiping her mouth and looking to him. He’s looking at her, his own plate mostly finished. “Well,” He practically whispers, leaning forwards over the table. “Haymitch will want us to look friendly. Laugh, like I’ve  said something funny.”

She covers her mouth, trying to make her nervous laugh sound more like a friendly one. He smiles at her, leaning back on his seat. “Now, your turn.” He directs quietly, settling his hand on the table, intertwined with one another. On impulse, she reaches across the table to smooth the tenseness from his fingers. 

“Have I told you about the time we got chased by a bear?” She asks softly, still smiling nervously. Where they had melted the callouses from her hands, they left his rough. She runs smooth fingertips over his hands, feeling every crack and ridge, every burn that scarred his pale skin. He shakes his head, turning his hand over and taking hers in his hold. She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter. 

She tells the story, trying to mimic Asher’s animated storytelling but falling flatter. They’d been young and foolish enough to not back down from a bear that was in a hive. Honey, when they can collect it, is a valuable trade in the Hob. She’d been hoping for a new pair of boots for Asher, who’d outgrown his months before. Normally, black bears are easy enough to scare off if they’re alone. The issue is, bears can be hard to identify. Black bears aren’t just black, and grizzlies come in all shades. This particular grizzly seemed small, with a coat so dark it had looked black. That was, until it turned and the sun caught it’s coat differently. She’d been the one to spot the color, taking several steps back and throwing her arm out to her friends. It stood on its hind legs, threatening a bear often makes them show their true size, and it had been large. She’d cursed herself for not paying closer attention to the rounded shape of its ears, or the large hump of its shoulders. They’d had to climb high to avoid it, the bear too heavy to get to the branches they could at their size. 

Peeta, better at this whole thing than she is, laughs and prompts her for more information at just the right times. ‘Wait, they’re not just brown? No, they come in lots of colors. That’s terrifying, how big was it? Maybe six and a half, seven feet.’ They laugh at her misfortune, garnering the attention of several other tributes. Facing them, she has a clear view as they turn to see the pair. Peeta notices her looking away, turning over his shoulder only long enough to see the others looking before he turns his gaze back on her. “Hey, why don’t we get some water and see if we can head back in.”

She looks past him again, catching sight of the careers. Some, like Marvel, are already looking. The massive tribute from Two is watching, smirking side by side with his district partner. She meets Marvel’s cool gaze and looks away, nodding. She sticks close to his side as they stand and move away from the table.

They stick by the drinks for the remainder of their hour lunch, only a handful of minutes, talking quietly. This is how their days pass, breakfast with Haymitch and Effie in the apartment, training, lunch, training, dinner in the apartment, bed. Rinse and repeat. 

On the second day of training, they split in the mid morning to practice different skills. She’s no use in weight training, and even though she’s been instructed to avoid her skills, she’s hardly got any skill with a bow and arrow. It doesn’t count, not really. 

She spots Thresh, the massive tribute from Eleven, wielding a knife of some kind in hand to hand training with one of the trainers. His dark skin beaded with sweat as he and the trainer trade mock blows, resetting periodically with a small nod and a tensing of his massive shoulders. She creeps closer, positioning herself just to the side of their session in order to get a closer look. Thresh seems to notice her, finishing out a round with the trainer before backing off, grabbing a hand towel from the trainer’s hand and wiping it down his face before stepping off of the platform. 

“It’s all yours.” He offers, eyes trailing over the room as though to find his next stop. His low register startles her, but only for a moment.

“Oh, no. I just,” she gestures wordlessly to the platform and waiting trainer, eyes locked onto Thresh. “Just wanted to watch. You looked like you knew what you were doing, I guess.”

He eyes her warily, setting the massive blade and his towel down on the nearest table. His voice is honey sweet, a low comforting bass that rumbles low in his chest. “Not my first fight.” 

“Guess you’ve got the advantage.” she smiles, hoping to keep him from running off. She wants him to like her, even just a little bit. Hopefully, that small acquaintance will keep him from killing her. “You’re Thresh, right?” 

He nods, humming.

“Y/N.” She introduces. “What is that?” 

He lifts the blade again, its curved blade glinting in the light of the room as he turns it over in his palms. “This is a hand sickle.” 

He stretches out a hand, offering her the blade. She accepts it, surprised to find it lightweight. “Is this something y’all have in Eleven?” 

“Sort of.” He answers, readjusting her grip on the handle with his own hands. He spins the blade so the interior of the curve faces outward, curving away from her body. “Just smaller, better made.” 

She nods, watching as he chokes her hand up the handle. Once he seems satisfied, he backs away and grabs a matching blade. He swings it a bit, like he’s getting used to it. Then, he swings it in a powerful arch. She watches, mimicking the swing to the best of her ability. 

He laughs a bit and it catches her off guard. For someone so serious, he’s got a wonderfully contagious laugh. She grins at entertaining him, cocking a brow. “Was it that bad?” 

He shakes his head, smiling still. “Not bad, just clumsy. You ever used a blade before?” 

She smirks, sinking her weight onto one hip. “Don’t have much reason, the coal doesn’t bite.” 

He laughs again, tilting his head down and giving a single shake. His shoulders shake with his laughter and her grin grows impossibly larger. 

They settle into a small routine. Thresh shows her a move, she tries to replicate it, he adjusts her, and she tries again. They exchange small conversation. By the time lunch rolls around, they’re joking around regularly. Thresh has settled back into his imposing look, but she keeps smiling. 

She follows behind him as he collects a plate and moves to sit at an empty table. His tiny district partner joins shortly, sitting silently next to him and eating her food. She can’t help but eye her, its startling to see her here. Of course, there have been young tributes in the past, it isn’t even uncommon. Still, seeing her here, in person, is considerably more alarming than it would be to see it on television. 

“What’s your name?” She asks, eyeing the little girl. Her head pops up, chin down and eyes finding Y/N’s gaze shyly. Her dark curls, somewhere between dark brown and black, are pulled back into two small buns at the base of her skull. She looks almost like a lamb with peacefully lowered ears. 

She chews a moment, swallowing her food before she speaks. “Rue.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Rue. I’m Y/N.” Y/N smiles, trying to keep her face calm and happy. Her chest aches with the thought that this would have been Primrose. She wonders for a moment if they’d have gotten along before quickly correcting herself, everyone likes Prim. 

Rue giggles, pulling a roll apart between her finger tips. “I know.”

The older girl laughs, finding talking to the girl easier than she imagined. They pass the first part of lunch easily before she stands, taking her tray in hand. The careers have been staring since yesterday, even now Marvel’s eyes are locked onto her. She can’t hep but be curious, but even so, she won’t attach herself to the tributes from Eleven. She excuses herself, looking for Peeta. He’s sat at a table with a couple of other tributes but none of them seem to be talking. She moves to a mostly empty table, save for the boy from Disrict Three. 

Not wanting to intrude, she sits down the table from him. Its nice, to have a somewhat secluded meal. In the apartment she’s at a packed table, here she can distance herself. It’s not technically being in public, she and Peeta don’t have to always be attached. 

Behind her, someone clears their throat. She suppresses a startled jump, turning over her shoulder to see what the fuss is about. The careers have abandoned their table in favor of hers, but it isn’t her that’s being accosted.

“Move.” The massive tribute from Two commands, setting his tray down firmly on the table. The boy from Three, the real target, gets the message quickly enough. He’s smart to not aggravate such a massive adversary so early, not when theres still so much to get through. She’s starting to collect her things when Marvel sets his tray beside hers, sitting a bit closer than she expected. 

 He’s giving her an odd look, something she can’t quite put a finger on. She hears sound in front of her and turns to see the tributes from Two taking the seats across from her, Marvel’s own district partner hovering behind them venomously. . 

“Got a name, Twelve?” The boy from Two asks, a smirk on his face. She hesitates, wiping her hands down her pants. 

“Its Y/N,” Marvel hisses at him, giving him an agitated look. He looks to her, bumpng her playfully with his shoulder. “Don’t mind Cato, the muscles dont let all of the blood reach his brain.” 

Across the table, Cato huffs. She knows better than to laugh, instead looking to the two girls for a reaction. Cato’s district partner is tense but smiling, Marvel’s seems absolutely tickled at his jab tough her eyes remain hard on her. Cato laughs at this, glancing back and forth between the two. Giving in to the curiosity, she looks between the careers before settling to ask Marvel. 

“Okay, what’s this?” She asks harshly, causing silence among the group. Cato laughs lowly, mumbling. 

“Ooh, kitty’s got claws!” He laughs, leaning over to his partner. Y/N gives him a look before she can think better of it and the girl from One bristles behind them. 

“We just think you’re interesting, Y/N.” Marvel almost purrs, leaning in closer to her. She chances a look away from the group, eyes searching for Peeta. He stands across the room, speaking quietly to Rue. He’s showing her something, but Y/N can’t see it. 

“Aw, no need to call in your bodyguard.” The girl from One whines, leaning against Cato’s massive shoulder as though bored. “We just want to talk.” 

“He’s not my bodyguard.” She says flatly. Theres no need to drag Peeta into this, not when she isn’t sure what they want. Leaning forward on the table, she looks into Cato’s eyes. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning towards her with a smirk. “we were wondering if you wanted someone to have your back in there.” Her eyes move to study each career, looking for some hint of their plans for her. Cato is smirking, oozing arrogance, and she knows that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. None of the careers would, but after seeing Cato train she feels especially in danger around him. His partner as well, even though she looks completely bored. She’s seen her throw her knives, she’s not one to be messed with. Marvel’s partner glares at her, obviously upset at the idea of her entering the group. 

She leans back a bit, brows furrowing as she takes in the situation. “You want me to join you?”

Marvel laughs quietly, the sound makes her hair stand on end. A shiver runs up her spine and she fights down the blush at his proximity, clearing her throat. He reaches over to her, patting her thigh with a grin. “We do.”

She jumps at the contact, pulling her leg tighter to her body as the careers laugh. She splutters a bit, her words caught in her mouth as she scrambles to get them out. “I don’t understand. I’m not-“ She trails off, gesticulating nervously with her hands.

Cato shakes his head, his smile dropping. He leans back in his seat, framed on either side by the girls, and crosses heavy arms over his chest. It makes him look all the broader. “Doesn’t matter. If people like you, they like you.”

“If you want to join us, hang around.” The smaller girl says, her dark hair shiny under the lights. “We’ll know if you fit after the interviews, then we’ll send word to your mentor.” 

She studies them, but finding any tell that they’re lying or baiting her would require her to know more about them. Perhaps the way the blonde twirls her hair around her finger is a nervous habit, or maybe Cato only seems dry and stoic because he’s hiding something. 

Then again, perhaps that's nothing. Sighing, she nods. After all, what is there to lose? With Peeta’s strength, they’ll be an easy choice for careers. “Alright, I’ll let Peeta know.” 

“No.” Marvel interjects, quick to reach a hand out for her arm. His hold is gentler this time, but still a bit too tight. “We just want you.” 

—

The third day, part way through lunch, is when the private sessions begin. She’d spent the remainder of yesterday and the entirety of the morning following behind the careers as they moved stations. They focused heavily on showing off their skills. Clove, the girl from Two, was a master with knives. Cato favored a sword, Marvel was good with a spear. Glimmer, Marvel’s district partner, was decent with a bow.

Glimmer was something to see, she could see her succeeding in the games. Long, lean, and muscled, Glimmer looked like something off of a Capitol magazine. What she lacked in skills she made up for with her beauty and silver tongue. More than once, Cato had fetched her weapon from the rack or gotten up to get her something she asked for. All it took from her was a smile and the touch of her hand. Clove seemed upset about it, but even she said nothing. 

Glimmer is the second person to be called for her private session, right after Marvel. As the female tribute for Twelve, Y/N has a long wait. At first the room seems to buzz with conversations, though all talking ceases the moment Cato leaves for his session. Clove has no interest in talking to her and, knowing she isn’t wanted, she stands and moves to find Peeta instead. 

They sit in a tense silence as the other tributes are called and exit, waiting for their own names. When Thresh is called, Rue moves to sit closer to them. She talks quietly with Peeta, sparing Y/N glances every now and again though she doesn’t speak. When Rue is called, they’re left alone. The silence returns until Peeta is called. He sighs, standing and heading towards the door. 

“Peeta,” She calls, startled by her own voice. He turns easily, brows raised as he waits for her to speak. “Just, remember what Haymitch said. Be sure to remember the weights.”

He nods, giving her a small smile. Her tense shoulders relax a bit as she prepares herself to be alone in the room. Continuing towards the door, Peeta calls back to her. His voice echos in the quiet room. “Thanks. Good luck, Y/N.”

She nods back. If she can’t win, she wants Peeta to. Its better for her family,for their district. If Twelve has a victor they’ll be given food for an entire year, which in turn gives next year’s tributes a better shot. For career districts, maybe this doesn’t matter. 

When her name is called after what feels like an eternity, she stans and moves to the door. On the other side, the gamemakers sit up in their viewpoint, looking down on the training room floor. She moves to stand in front of them. Many seem to have enjoyed too much wine, talking and laughing loudly to one another as she approaches. They’ve been through twelve districts, plenty of time to finish at least a bottle a piece. 

Still, there is nothing to do but enact Haymitch’s plan. Of her skills, only two could be worth showing. There is nothing to snare here but herself, or perhaps a training dummy if she could lug it across the floor. Off to the side, there is a rack of bows. Theyre made of a variety of materials and sit by matching quiversof arrows. She plucks a silver one from the rack, shouldering the quiver and taking a stance before the gamemakers. There are basic targets down range from the rack, but across the gym are move lifelike dummies, like the ones Clove used during training. They’re farther, but she’s shot smaller game at a greater distance. 

The moment she pulls back the string she knows something is amiss. Unlike her bow back home, this one feels tight. She takes aim nonetheless, trying to avoid psyching herself out and insead taking a steadying breath in. Breathe, aim, let loose.

The arrow misses the dummy by several inches and she knows that she’s lost any attention they may have been paying her. She glances up, only managing to confirm her fears.

Instead of looking at her, all eyes are turned on a table behind them. A large pig has made an appearance, skin perfectly roasted a golden brown color. She forces herself to take a deep breath, turning back to her target. She nocks another arrow, steadying herself and adjusting her aim for this bow. When the arrow flies, its immediately clear to her that it’ll land. It sinks deep into the dummy’s head, nocking it’s head back in a graphically intense manner. The arrow sinks deep, surely protruding from the other side of it’s head. Right between the eyes, she smiles proudly. She turns back, excited to see the gamemakers reactions. 

Still, the gamemakers are absorbed in their meal. They’re laughing, clapping one another on the back with huge smiles. 

Frustrated and bordering on furious, she rips an arrow from her quiver, nocking it and pulling the bowstring taut. In the roast pig’s mouth rests a perfect red apple. She takes aim and lets go. 

The arrow strikes the apple, flying a few feet further before pinning it to the wall. The gamemakers turn, and her stomach leaps into her throat. Why had she done that? She had never been an incredible shot, she’s lucky no one is horrifically injured or dead. Still, she curtsies low to them, hanging on to her confident air. “Thank you for your time.” 

She rights herself, forcing her muscles to move slowly, to not shake. The bow is set back in its place. Her feet carry her quickly to the door to the elevator, slamming her hand onto the button to her floor without waiting for dismissal. Some mix of horror at herself and the motion of the elevator makes her stomach sink to her feet and the rise quickly into her throat. Why, why shoot an arrow at the people solely capable of making the next few weeks of her life hell? It was that pig, that damned pig. She’s facing her final days and they hadn’t even had the decency to pay attention to her.

More than that, it was her own temper. For the second time in the last week, she’d signed her own death certificate. She sinks against the back wall of the elevator, imagining the glass breaking and her plummeting to a quick death at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

[rewrite-canon]

im going crazy with how people are starting to agree with snow that sejanus was really stupid and deserved what was coming to him. reading the books first should be a pre requisite to the movie idcccc if that takes away the wider audience, the wider audience all have smooth brains anyway.

“why was he colluding with rebels when he could’ve just thought about it pragmatically 🙄” i’m in your fucking walls. sejanus was never dumb, snow just kept pushing that perception of him through the book to deflect the fact that sejanus was an actual good person. snow thought himself the personification of good and benevolence, which was why everything he did had to have some half-assed excuse as to why he was justified in doing it. it was why he was actually tweaking in the woods when lucy gray left him, because he wanted to rid himself of her but he didn’t have an actual reason so he convinced himself of the most random scenario ever to justify trying to shoot at her. so we can establish that snow was an evil broke boy who clearly wasn’t good— then sejanus was a direct confrontation of snow’s own shortcomings towards that (i don’t think i have to detail how sejanus was genuine, it was obvious). coriolanus and sejanus are like the direct opposite characters of each other, and snow knew and took pride in this to an extent. which is why snow couldn’t admit that sejanus was good to himself, thus sejanus was deemed ‘stupid’ to protect his own deluded self actualisation (but this also includes other aspects like how the war made the plinths rich and the snows poor, leading to resentment and jealousy from snow).

“but that still didn’t mean he wasn’t doing dumb things throughout the book” was it really that dumb? a rebellion will always include some level of risk but i don’t hear anyone calling heavensbee stupid because it actually worked out for him. plus sejanus is district, so if we use our common sense of who he is as a character and emotional intelligence of his situation, it’s pretty easy to see why he would get in touch with rebels. he’s literally always yearned for the districts, he never once cared about his money or safety, which isn’t stupid, it’s sad. this was his way of dealing with the guilt of profiting from his people’s suffering— again, not stupid. you could argue he was reckless, especially when he went into the arena, but most people who simply cast him as a ‘dumb character’ ignore how troubled he is and fall into the very filtered lens of snow who was just concentrating on his stupidity.

sejanus’ growing radical actions had nothing to do with stupidity and everything to do with feeling helpless and like nothing was changing. he tried minor/low-risk things such as attempting to change the perception of the districts in the capitol, advocating against the hunger games etc etc. of course it didn’t work, so his options grew limited to more radical courses of action. its a natural line of thought— activists literally do it in real life when they feel as if their cause isn’t getting enough attention (eg. setting themselves on fire). sejanus is a desperate character who is so selfless in light of snow’s constant self-preservation. snow will always put himself first and be paranoid that he will be betrayed like he’s betrayed others, so he never understands sejanus’ disposition to help and trust people, so he labels him dumb. omg. like. sejanus is so not-stupid i’m actually gonna start freaking out!! this is defamatory leave my boo alone!! plz go read a book and work on media literacy i am begging!!!

[rewritingcanon]

my sister and i just yapped for almost three hours and we were just talking about how genuinely weird people in fandom are surrounding characters who have explicit mental illness. like they can never ever be normal. there are characters who are romanticised and glamourised for their mental illness (eren. wanda. joker. kaneki. nico. almost any danganronpa/ddlc character). characters who are consistently ridiculed for their mental illness either because it simply isn’t getting taken seriously (reiner) or because no one takes the character seriously (armin). and there are the characters that get blatantly outright DESPISED for it (basil, harry potter, korra, gale, also eren etc etc). like yes im seeing a correlation but its still so astounding how selective people are about where they draw the line with mental illness and what traits they can accept.

[softchouli]

Green and orange are Katniss and Peeta's favorite colors, and both shades are partially yellow. A color that can represent feelings and virtues akin to liquid sunlight, promising life. Their differences are complementary but it is the similarities that help glue what they have together. And those easily surface since the two are so intrinsically kind and compassionate. It's at the yellow, their yellow, where they blur into the other, that will always resonate.

[boyharder]

chaffnathy ways of intimacy because i miss them and so. threading hands through each other's hair in the bath and tending to unkempt curls. washing with shampoo and love (with research on what will work for their hair types prior). the tub side is lined with all sorts of products that they both use and cabinets of remedies and medicine and health-oriented things because they're growing back to health and god they are doing it together after the war.

during certain years of mentoring they'd buy each other lunch from whatever place they had spoken about liking to each other, attempt to keep them both sober but when they succumb to the drink it's with a mutual comfort to follow.

they plan approaches on how to keep their tributes alive, and when all fails they'll go through another. they'll go to shitty capitol parties if it means being stupidly drunk together, or sober and making sly criticisms about panem in the corner.

in district 13 they'll stay in a pod together, lie about their marriage and temporarily hold each other's surnames. chaff goes on missions and slowly works himself back up from his torture, where haymitch will plot on the sidelines and watch over him. secretly praying that they'll make it to the end of things.

their final night before the quell is the pair huddled close, with nothing but remembrance through the eyes, the mind and the hands. their love doesn't wilt, even with the threat of one-sided death, or maybe mutual when things begin. they clutch their wedded hands together, feeling palm against palm and the soft in the rough.

[reader-104]

I hate whenever I think I came up with an original idea for a book but then realize it’s just made up of a bunch of elements from different things I’ve read.

[wriheart]

hello! I figured it was about time I made an introduction/pinned post about me and my page.

My name is Wri, I’m a full-time student trying to find a balance between school and actually enjoying my life. I have so many ideas for stories I want to tell but I tend to get so focused and overwhelmed by the big picture that I struggle to take the small steps to get there. Aka I focus on the destination and not the journey.

Some of my interests include: Avatar The Last Aribender, Ever After High, Marionetta, The Hunger Games, Miraculous (though it's mostly angry rants), DanDaDan, The Owl House, She-Ra, and much more! I love consuming well-crafted stories, and I hope some day to be able to write my own. Until then I'll be posting my thoughts, analyses, and rewrite ideas.

A List of My Posts

🏹 Hunger Games

• Coriolanus Snow could have come up with a waaaay better lie.

•Ok but I hope that Sunrise on the Reaping isn't from Haymitch’s point of view.

🐦‍⬛ Ever After High

My EAH AU

Establishing the World

Raven Queen, Apple White, and a Bit about Magic

Darling and the Charming Siblings

Cerise Hood (And the True Ending of The Big Bad Wolf)

Wonderland (And Alice's Betrayal)

🌊 Avatar the Last Airbender

Sister of the Moon

📚 Book Reviews

My Reading Log 2024

The Secret Society of Irregular Witches

Madoka Magica Thoughts

Howl's Moving Castle Thoughts

🌟Other Stuff

Decedents Rise of Red Rewrite Ideas

[books-4-life9]

Me whenever someone tells me my crush is a fictional character and therefore I can’t date them -

You know I want them

It's not a secret I try to hide

I know they want me

So don't keep saying our hands are tied

You claim it's not in the cards

And fate is pulling them miles away

And out of reach from me

But they’re here in my heart

So who can stop me if I decide that they're my destiny?

What if we rewrite the stars?

Say they were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart

They’d be the one I was meant to find

It's up to them, and it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

So why don't we rewrite the stars?

Maybe the world could be ours, tonight

[inu-jiru]

For the ask game!

13. I saw your art on the goetia sometimes doing adverts for products in your rewrite. Do you have ideas for what other sins are advertising? It is a really neat idea! :0c

Ahhh! Great question! For "H U N G E R", I imagine the Sins have their own products to sell, as well as any collaborative projects they might do since a lot of sin tends to overlap:

For Pride, I don't see Lucifer really selling anything unless it's based off him in some way (i.e. a film adaptation of his various deeds). I seem him more as a straight up propaganda guy who'll just plaster his image everywhere to make sure everyone knows he's in charge (and it irritates him greatly when they're destroyed, but that's a different discussion entirely ;3). Lucifer's already paid a large amount in taxes from everyone (Goetias and Sins included), so money isn't his main concern.

Satan typically collabs with Belphegor to advertise steroids and I also see him hosting Hell's version of WWE (except a lot more violent). I do plan on keeping some of the wild west/ranch elements from canon, and Hellborn who own land can advertise their goods if they can afford it.

Beelzebub advertises various food items, but mainly pushes her own line of honey which is dangerously addictive (eating it can send a demon spiraling into a gluttonous frenzy). She also has her own food channel where some members of the Goetia (like Queen Felicity) host their own cooking shows (she'll regularly make demands on what kind of food they produce since it's all food porn to her, so if one day she wants to see some poor imp butchered and made into a roast, it has to happen). As much as I didn't care for "Queen Bee", I did think the idea of pop music and parties fit Gluttony in a sense that, yeah, people splurge when they're partying, so she'd have a hand in pushing Hell's music industry as well.

Mammon handles much of Hell's manufacturing, so anything from clothes, jewelry, theme parks and anything else he can make a buck on, he'll advertise (mainly to the other Goetia since most Hellborn can't afford the good stuff). He's not above the idea of "sex sells", so I tried to implement that in the art piece I did. A story in the series I hope to get to at one point relates to his and Leviathan's collaboration in bringing cruise ships to Envy's ocean, so that'll be fun to write more about.

Lust, of course, manages the porn industry and everything involved with that. Collaborations would include aphrodisiac-based foods with Beelzebub as well as some darker projects that I'd rather not outright state here, but involve Belphegor (you can probably piece it together; this series won't shy away from dark topics, but I wanna give fair warning before I go into detail). Ironically enough, Asmodeus doesn't advertise contraceptives all that much, but I imagine he'd want pregnancy and disease to spread like crazy.

Envy tends to overlap with Greed when it comes to goods, but I can't see Leviathan advertising very much. He's the most animalistic out of the Sins and prefers the primal fear and chaos he gets out of his demons rather than material gain. He only really bothers to do it because he can't stand the other Sins having things that he doesn't.

Finally, Sloth is the mass producer of drugs of all kinds, uppers, downers, the works. Belphegor also endorses spas and resorts (for those who can afford it, of course). She doesn't advertise much, and that suits her fine since it's less work to deal with.

I'm sorry if this answer was super rambly aaaa I was just really excited to answer! ^^ Hopefully, it's an interesting read!

[ebony-hawthorne]

Ok so, i'm reading a book for my english class, and i hate it, and especially the main character. And i realized why. He isn't flawed. Or well he is, but not in a meaningful way. His flaws don't relate to his strengths. Imma jump over to katniss rq to explain, so like think of her good traits, any of them. Shes carong, selfless, loving, right? Those are all to her own detriment at some point in time in the book, right?

Anyways the character in my book is a lot of things, but most of them are not really interesting. I'd rather one of the side characters was the main character, and then we could also see a super hero from a civilian standpoint. So yeah, if your writing feels bland or bad, look at your characters flaws. It will make them feel more realistic, and your fandom won't gate on them.

Anyways, i might continue my rewrite of mlb if y'all are interested

[call-me-strega]

Song to the tune of “The Hanging Tree”

Credits to @maryam.amaria on YouTube

Lyrics:

Are you, are you,

hearing all the screams?

There’s children being killed

right here in Philistine

Strange things are happening

The news is lying too

Are you, are you,

following the truth?

Are you, are you,

hearing all the lies?

The media is silencing whenever we try

Strange things are happening

It’s called a genocide

Are you, are you,

standing for what’s right?

[og-songbird]

Suzanne I love you for this but you better not touch my headcanons. Mwah 💜

[rewrite-canon]

you know what pmo soooo bad is that now that im in my twenties i realise no one knows how to fangirl anymore like genuinely tf is this about?? i mention the most godly piece of media known to man and i get a “yeah i watched that its prtty good” ???? i find out sm1 likes the same media i do and go on a rant of my takes and yap on how i like xyz and get “yeaaa” like the horrror. omg bro FUCK UP i knoe its good thats not what im askinggg.

likr its different if they’re genuinely just not interested in wtv im talking about but thats not my point like EVERYONE acts like this nowadays about EVERYTHING like howewewwww. like what. what is life even about if not to act embarrassingly crazed over something hilariously inconsequential. when i ask “how did u ffind it” its ur excuse to act like a fool. i want fav characters, analyses, takeaways, otps, ANYTHING INTERESTING not “yeah its alr”

[mzcain27]

I’m like 3 chapters into ballad of songbirds and snakes and already ms Suzanne Collins is pulling ZERO punches in fleshing out panem

[rewritingcanon]

fanfic writers whats the most horrid comment you’ve ever gotten on your work? i would go first but thinking about that comment makes me want to genuinely cry 😭😭

[caramelcoconutswirl]

Okay, so the new hunger games is so bad actually i mean i knew it would be trash but this is just sad