#i do know that the 72nd games has a canon victor but the point of fanfic is supposed to be to change canon isn’t it? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

terresdebrume · 6 years

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Spin Control reread: 2. Arena Talk With Flickerman

Aaand we’re back for chapter two! I’ve slept four hours ish last night (and it’s now half past 9pm) so please forgive any typo or weirdness the spellchecker doesn’t take care of ^^’ @trovia, @princess-nell, this is your call before we start :3

Also, the way I did this chapter is a little different from the others. For the prologue and chapter 1, I wrote my comments down as I read through the story but in this case I read the full chapter first and I’m going back on it now, for the simple reason that I was as confused as Finnick about the turn of events.

See, this chapter starts on the evening of Haymitch’s very public overdose, as Finnick gets ‘invited’ to participate in a talk show where Haymitch and his alcoholism are very obviously going to be the center of attention. Finnick is kind of confused as to why he’d be invited except for looking pretty ‘while other people [use] the big words’. It took me until the end of the chapter to realize it but actually, yeah, I’m pretty sure being pretty is exactly what Finnick was called for.

Because the other guests on that talk show?

Mags, an eighty-ish years old woman whose refusal to upgrade her prosthetics is already making it harder for people to understand her.

Chaff, a nearing-fifty alcoholic with a stump and a rather caustic attitude

Terence from District 6 who looks closer to Mag’s age than his actual sixty years and has a morphling addiction problem.

In other words, Caesar Flickerman now has to host a program with three walking reminders that life doesn’t stay pretty forever or for everyone (after all, you can make an argument that Mags is just old, but there’s no way you can pretend like Chaff and Terence’s lack of compliance with Capitol beauty standards aren’t linked to their games, even if most of your population is eager to pretend it is). That’s already three reminders too many for a government trying to normalize and glamourize the Hunger Games until its victims have to say thanks for being sent to the slaughterhouse and punished for it afterward. So what do you do? You throw your local sex-on-legs eye-candy in there so people have something nice to look at while other people discuss the utter mess that is Haymitch’s life. It’s brutal packaging is what it is, down to Finnick’s clothes actually:

After a remake session with Cherry, his stylist, and her team, [Finnick] was trying to get comfortable in his chair despite the excuse for a pair of pants he wore, while the studio lights burned down on him and Flickerman discussed Haymitch Abernathy’s alcoholism, which was still a disease.

Also I have to say I like that this sentence starts with Finnick’s discomfort with an outfit clearly meant for the audience more than for him, and ends with a reminder to himself that Haymitch isn’t completely lost yet. It’s like he glances at his own predicament and trauma then subconsciously steers himself back to the more pressing issue. It’s both a touching sow of solidarity and care toward Haymitch and a heartbreaking dismissal of himself...which, in turn, is an excellent and subtle reminder that it isn’t like Finnick lives in a world that will ever allow him to heal anyway.

Oh, and:

Finnick tried to avoid looking at Terence’s long sleeves, such an uncommon styling choice in a boiling hot television studio, covering up puncture wounds of Morphling needles. Before the show, Finnick had walked in on him shooting himself up in the men’s room. As far as he knew, Terence had never once sobered up since he’d won the 26th Games with a knife and a garrote.

Just in case there was any doubt left that the Capitol (specifically president Snow, but also many people who do not use their brains so they don’t have to come to accurate conclusions) cares more about the Victors’ use as narrative devices than as persons. Not that the people reading SC would have any doubt about that (or at least, they wouldn’t survive very long) but it’s still a good reminder to get. And boy do we get some more.

Chaff took control of the conversation without prompting and did what needed doing on the victors’ end to keep Haymitch alive, swiftly building on the news coverage by weaving a story of loneliness and fame and social responsibility, a term Finnick hadn’t been aware the Capitol actually ever used for anything.

You know, I said in my prologue post that Haymitch’s friends didn’t fully realize what situation he was in and I stand by that, but just because they didn’t realize doesn’t mean they didn’t care. Chaff is putting himself on the line here, subtle as it may be. Also the fic may be in Finnick’s pov, which means one of the more perceptive Victors is our guide here, but that doesn’t take away from the others’ ability to observe and/or toe the line when needed I mean:

“Well yeah, all the signs were there for me to see though and I didn’t, right?” Chaff replied. “All the signs were there, but I didn’t want to see. I didn’t realize how hard it must be for Haymitch, only victor of Twelve and all and always the only mentor for the two tributes, too. He never gets to sleep properly during the Games until they’re both out, did you know that? Probably used the alcohol to stay awake.”

After delivering that last statement with a sorrowful face as if it actually had made any sense, he paused.

Of course Chaff’s statement doesn’t make any sense: it starts with the truth and ends with a Capitol-PR-ready, ‘but of course he was only trying to serve you’ when Haymitch’s entire life at this point is basically the most long-term suicide attempt ever seen. It’s lucky Chaff isn’t the only one who cares and the others pick up the thread before it can start to unravel:

“The public often underestimates how stressful the life of a victor can become,” [Mags] said […]. “It is especially hard for victors if they are supposed to be performing as mentor but failing. It is a great honor to be a mentor, victors are always anxious to succeed. It can be too much, honestly. I have seen this playing out many times. We put ourselves under pressure. One can get overwhelmed.”

“That’s what it was like for me, too,” Terence agreed with his grainy old voice, having aged prematurely. He could as well have been Mags’ age instead of only sixty. “The responsibility was weighing down on me. Not just to the Capitol, who I owed so much, but also to my tributes.”

“We all want to be at our best during the Games,” Chaff concluded.

“What do you think, Finnick?” Flickerman addressed him with a face of rapt interest. He usually adopted that same expression when he told Finnick to get on his knees and suck him off in his dressing room, as if it was a great adventure they were undertaking together.

Okay, sorry to ruin the beautiful moment of solidarity (because even with their limited means, everyone on this side of the talk show is doing what they can to help Haymitch out) with Flickerman being a creepy douche, but considering it’s been established that the topic of Finnick using drugs was supposed to be off-limits (implicitly, but still) I can’t help but wonder if this is Flickerman deciding to toe the line just so he can have Finnick under his thumb again, and that only make him even more gross.

“I am worried about Mr. Abernathy, I am. This is going to be a difficult case,” the doctor told the camera. “As therapists, we see this every day. Yes, we can help this patient to detoxify and send him on his way. Will he have lost his attitude problem? No. He will drink again, and we cannot blame him for that. It will be almost impossible for him to not drink without undergoing extensive therapy first. It would even be so if he was a Capitol citizen, held to our higher standards of restraint. In my professional opinion, Mr. Abernathy is not fit to fulfill his duties by himself and he will not be for a long time to come. You cannot expect this man to act as the sole mentor for his district any longer.”

Okay, first of all, this doctor may have understandable reasons somewhere but he’s still participating in the vile hostage-holding of Haymitch by helping to lay out the bricks for a Capitol-issued miracle narrative, but also the sheer hypocrisy in the bolded part is astounding, even though I knew it was coming. The levels of willful blindness you have to maintain for this sentence to be even remotely acceptable are staggering, even higher than Effie’s disdain of the District Twelve tributes who didn’t know how to eat with forks and knives. It’s even worse to read after having seen the actual canon party where people puke just so they can eat again. And then they have the gall to talk about the Capitol’s higher standards of restraint. Ugh.

“So there is the pressing matter of District Twelve’s participation in this 72nd Hunger Games,” Flickerman continued when the feed was cut off […]. “There are two young tributes at the Training Center now, anxiously waiting for a mentor to prepare them for the Games as we speak. It doesn’t seem like it will be Haymitch. Furthermore, there is the matter of Haymitch handling mentorship in the future. Mags.”

“Well, there is precedence, of course,” Mags said. While she answered promptly, Finnick could see that a guarded expression had crossed her face. She wasn’t clear on what angle on this topic would most likely help the victors and Haymitch. Haymitch, who would have to step in front of a camera once the hospital released him, working with what they delivered right now and telling the public whatever Snow expected. Haymitch, who wouldn’t retire because none of them were allowed to retire. “District Twelve is special even now, it’s the only district with only one mentor. I remember a time when there would always be a district or two that would not be able to provide their own mentors at all. District Twelve was the most recent district without a district victor as mentor, actually, before Haymitch himself won the second Quarter Quell. Four years before, Twelve’s first victor, Swagger – he had died in a terrible accident, I remember…”

Oh my, I remember reading that part and taking so long to process the actual meaning of it with regards to Haymitch’s situation because I was too busy thinking ‘OKAY THIS IS IT FINNICK IS MOVING’. Which is entirely not supposed to be the only point of the scene (and it definitely isn’t as soon as you spare even a second to remove the shipping goggles) but well. It’s be untruthful to pretend like that didn’t happen ^^’

“Oh, of course.” Flickerman shook his head sadly. “He fell and broke his neck, I believe…”

“Yes,” Mags agreed with a nod of gratitude, although the way Finnick had been told the story, Shane “Swagger” March had fallen and broken his neck only insofar that he had kicked away the chair he had been standing on, a noose wrapped around said neck. “Swagger had died, so Lyra Ingram from District Two moved to Twelve as substitute…”

Okay I’d quote the entire exchange about past Victors who mentored for Twelve in a more or less temporary fashion but that would make for waaaay too big a quote-block. That being said, having Finnick’s fact-checking commentary to rely on is both painful and invaluable. It’s a much more knowledgeable pov than Katniss’ because contrary to her, Finnick has insider knowledge. He’s been doing this long enough to have learned the truth, a bullet which Katniss dodged in canon. It also works to make the reader dislike (ha) the Capitol on a much wider level than Katniss’ pov initially does. A lot of the deaths she acknowledges (or speculates about, though with very little risk of error) are abstracts at first. In her first game, Rue is the only kid Katniss really cares about aside from Peeta. Later, we start with Seneca Crane, then the old man from Eleven, and then the deaths get progressively closer to home.

But here with Finnick, they already are hitting home. Not just because every Victor who died knew Mags and/or him directly, but because every instance of this is a reminder that Finnick is only one displeased president away from being the next on the list of suicides and/or suspicious accidents.

“So was there a call for mentors and they volunteered?” It took Finnick a second to recognize his own voice, because he hadn’t known he would open his mouth before he heard himself say the words. This wasn’t really supposed to be his show. Uneasily, he sat up in his chair, the cameras all on him now, while he spoke on, the words still just tumbling out of his mouth. “How did it work? Were they just chosen?” In the corner of his eye, he could see the other victors’ eyes turning towards him briefly when they wondered about his angle.

“Now Finnick, that would be quite cruel,” Flickerman laughed. “Forcing a victor to move to another district and leave their loved ones behind just like that.”

Finnick forced an unconcerned smile on his face, shrugging it off. “Seems to me like it would be a great honor,” he replied, half automatically, following the victors’ cardinal rule – when in doubt, call it an honor. “I’m sure a lot of victors would be greedy for the opportunity.”

Look at the gears already turning in Finnick’s head! Of course he’s good at split second decisions and rapid thinking under pressure. Even Annie, who Katniss describes as having only won her games through luck (which is only true insofar as any Victor only gets there thanks to a number of favorable conditions) wouldn’t have survived the flooding of her arena if she hadn’t been able to make good decisions while swimming, and Finnick made a lot of these good decisions at fourteen, there’s no reason to think he’d have lost the ability now at twenty-one.

It hurt Finnick to see, knowing [Mags] was trying to help him out before he could do something stupid. But he didn’t want to be stopped. He suddenly really didn’t want to be stopped.

Honestly it kind of hurts to picture what could be going through Mags’ head at this moment, too. She’s got a wife and children with her in Four. She managed to build herself a family that, presumably, helped her to keep going. Most likely, several other Victors have found similar solace in their families. It makes sense for them to think Finnick’s family would have the same sort of positive impact on him, but that’s not where Finnick is coming from. And since he never told people about his problems with being in Four (and can’t very well explain it now) it makes sense that they’d be scared shitless for him when the previous victors’ moving could only have been punishments.

(Because of course it is. No one moves out of their district unless specifically instructed to, and Snow simply doesn’t do gifts, let alone gifts that would potentially allow people to form unmonitored inter-districts connections when his whole system relies heavily on keeping each district in the dark as to what its neighbors do.)

Oh course, Finnick plays the audience like a fiddle. Even in canon, if you think about it, his particularly infamous reputation as a heartthrob is already evidence that he knows how to maintain his image, and the later revelation that he ‘gets paid’ in secrets is also indicative of his knowing exactly how important presentation is...so really, it’s not that surprising, even if it takes him a couple minutes to get the audience around to his point of view.

What I am a little more surprised by is this:

Because any victor, given the chance, would have taken the opportunity to run away.

I don’t know if this is me misreading things but it sounds to me like that isn’t quite as absolutely true as Finnick makes it sound. Certainly he would take any opportunity to run away that didn’t get his family killed, but I’m not sure everyone else would, not when there’s already of history of what happens if you fail as a guest mentor—as well as what happens if you succeed too much, as well.

It was only in moments like this anymore that he felt like his body was his own, starkly aware of how it still was such a powerful weapon, how he could still use it to kill if need be even seven years after he’d won.

Very consciously, he drew a breath and released it again like he would before he attacked.

Chaff was throwing him a sharp look, his face guarded now – the expression of a tribute suspecting that his alliance was falling apart.

Oh yeah. You know how Katniss and Finnick took one look at the Capitol streets in Mockingjay and declared the 76th Hunger Games open? Yeah. This is an extension of that, in that the games never really end for anyone (in some ways, they never really start, either, you just go from a nameless pawn in Snow’s machinery to a named, visible and important piece).

It’s also the first hint we get of Finnick, in some respect, regretting his days in the arena, which doesn’t make sense until you realize Finnick (or Victors in general) never had as much control on his own fate as he did during the Games. Back then, it was up to him to figure out how to survive, to be quick enough to kill before he got killed. It’s tragic and horrible to think, but Finnick was empowered in the arena in a way that he isn’t here, because he can’t do anything without having to worry about a heap of very literally life-or-death problems.

Like I said, this is the first hint of that, and I didn’t pick up on it until later but honestly when I did it made so much sense to me, and it’s a pleasure to see the seeds of that particular thread sowed this early in the story.

“Finnick,” Mags said softly, reaching up to take his face into both of her hands. “Finnick, lad, what did you just do?”

Instead of replying, Finnick closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Never again, he thought. Mags, his parents, Keanu and Perri – his older brothers who both looked at him as if he’d gone Capitol – Coral, his kid sister who was of Reaping age now and slowly figuring out what exactly it meant when he was shown with all those movie stars and politicians on the television. All these people who meant so much to him that it hurt to think about. Soon, he would never have to look at any of them ever again. So he had become … he’d become that man, so what… at least his family wouldn’t have to see it.

They’d never learn his secrets, how fucked up he’d become. The things he thought about when he was alone at night, waking up from those dreams he’d never told anybody about.

Oh, Finnick. He’s so ashamed of his own trauma and the way it presents itself, and I mean it’s not like it’s all that surprising because trauma is an ugly beast at the best of time, filled to the brim with things that don’t make sense and illogical reactions all around...having to live with it under scrutiny, surrounded by people who don’t get it (at best) or judge you for it (at worst, though I don’t remember Finnick’s family being confirmed to go one way or the other) and don’t really have the means to help even if they want to, honestly just makes tings worse. I suppose it’s time I brought my ‘blanket burrito’ moments count up to two.

“No,” Mags replied sadly behind him. “I wish you had been allowed to be, though.”

Thanks for breaking my heart, Mags. And then, of course:

President Snow wanted a word.

#My Posts #Hunger Games #Spin Control #princess nell #trovia #Matt reads #LR: Spin Control

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 7 years

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Happy Birthday, que-sera-sera88!

Today, we wish a huge happy birthday to EBG’s own @que-sera-sera88! We hope you’re having an awesome day, and an awesome holiday, too! To add further birthday cheer, the incredible @herainab has written a story just for you.

Title: Come Away To The Water

Gift For: que-sera-sera88

Rating: Mature

AN: Happy Birthday Millie. I hope you enjoy your special day. There will be another part to this hopefully in the coming days. Millie asked for a Canon AU story about a marriage of convenience. I had a few ideas but this one stuck. I hope you enjoy Part 1. It’s quite a monster coming in under 13,000 words.

---

The reaping for the 72nd games is hot. The families watch from the sides fanning themselves from the heat. Babies cry in their mother's arms. Small children whimper as they hide behind their mother's skirts. They stand red-faced and sweaty hoping for the whole thing to be over so they can return to the shade of their homes.

And the rest of us stand like lambs waiting to be slaughtered. There's fear amongst us all. We get impatient waiting to see who will be called for the slaughter.

It basically felt like a slaughter.

Effie Trinket appears on stage with this energy that doesn't inspire us. We stare back at her. We wait. She frowns slightly but moves the show along. She moves the impending slaughter along.

In another District, one that was proud, the escort would call a name and there'd be plenty of lambs, fat, proud lambs ready to make their District proud. Lambs from good breeding stock. Here, we were all timid lambs born from poor breeding stock. Scared lambs who could smell the blood. We knew what was coming. We weren't raised by a good quality farmer who had fat, strong lambs. We were kicked to the side and dragged up to the stage when we were called for slaughter.

She calls for a girl. She's from The Seam. She's 17, scrawny and takes care of her brothers and sisters. Her father killed in a mining accident two years before. She sells herself to Cray as her mother sits vacant in a rocking chair in the living room. She was kind of pretty and stood out for The Seam. She also went to the Slagheap often with Merchant boys for favors like food or things she could trade to feed her siblings. If she dies, they'll end up in the community house.

No one volunteers for this little lamb.

"Peeta Mellark." Effie Trinket calls.

14-year-old Peeta looks around shocked and tries to walk on his shaking legs.

Until a brave lamb volunteers for his place.

"I volunteer." That lamb is Bannock Mellark. Peeta's 18-year-old brother.

He kisses his little brother on the head and makes his way up to the slaughter. This lamb might have a chance.

"What's your name?" Effie asks.

"Bannock Mellark."

"And I bet he's your brother."

"Yes."

"What an honor to volunteer for your District." Effie tells Bannock.

Bannock looks to his brother who shakes in the crowd, comforted by his other brother. Bannock nods his head at Rye Mellark and Rye nods back.

This little lamb has been spared. The brother's holding a pact between them to protect the little lamb for as long as they could.

---

"Papa, will Peeta be OK?" I ask. We're on our way home from the meadow having gone and paid our respects to Bannock Mellark. It's getting on to dinner time and Mom and Prim are at home preparing dinner for us.

Bannock Mellark did our District proud, he ranked high, survived within the arena, even started to figure out the logistics and outsmarted the game makers. But it wasn't enough and the lamb was torn to shreds by a creature that he didn't see coming.

Bannock's body, or what remained showed up in a pine box on a train early this morning. His coffin lowered into a plot he'd share with the 17-year-old girl he went to the games with. There was a special place in our cemetery for those who were in the games, it's just as the years went on, we had more pine boxes returning than Victors. They were slowly running out for room for our tributes.

"It'll hurt for some time." He tells me as we walk towards the square. "He'll feel pain, he'll cry and have bad dreams. He'll be angry and sad a lot of the time."

"What can I do?"

"Be there for him. Make him laugh. Make him forget about the pain. Distract him. Just be a good friend."

I nod and we come to the square. It's silent, people shutting themselves inside of their houses tonight as a way of respect. As a sign of mourning. Tomorrow trading will start back up and 12 will try to get back on their feet. The girl's siblings were taken to the community home this afternoon, their cries sounding throughout the District. The cries of another family let down by the Government.

Father stills, stopping me. His hunter instincts are on alert.

Then we spot a spark, smoke coming out of the Mellark's bakery.

"We have to help them." I demand. The Mellark's had been in their home since this afternoon.

He runs into the flames, breaking a window to get access. I watch on in horror. I can hear the screams coming from inside. The screams for help.

The whole upstairs is on fire, they're trapped. No matter what I do, help won't arrive in time.

Merchant shop owners come out to the square, they watch on as the flames engulf the Mellark's bakery.

There's an explosion inside the house, the crowd outside falls to the ground and the screams fall from my mouth.

"Dad!"

Darius holds me back as I go running for the bakery.

"Katniss, no!" He tells me, holding me tightly in his arms as we watch the roof cave in. There's only silence. No more screams for help. Just the smell of burning flesh, bread, and fire.

But there's a cry for help.

"Dad."

And besides the bakery, Dad is putting out the flames that burn Peeta Mellark. Peeta is unconscious but alive.

He becomes the only surviving Mellark in District 12.

---

Madge asks me a question that I don't answer. My attention isn't on her. It's on him.

He's scowling as he eats his lunch in the schoolyard.

He has a lot to be pissed about in this world. I allow him the scowling. The moodiness. The temper. The anger.

He's allowed to be angry.

I watch him. I always notice him.

But he never notices me. Or pretends to not notice me. He tells me it's for the best that the kids don't notice him watching me.

A ball rolls towards him, hitting his leg but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't even feel it.

"Throw us the ball, tool!" One of the kids yells at him.

He barely flinches, puts his head down even more and eats his lunch.

"Didn't realize you were deaf as well, Cripple." The 12-year-old kid says to him as he collects the ball, kicking Peeta's ankle before he runs off.

He barely flinches and just continues to eat his lunch.

He's had a rough few years. After the fire, his leg was taken. My mother cared for Peeta, took him into our home and nursed him back to health. She comforted him from the nightmares, the pain and the loss. She became a mother figure he never had. He became a part of our family for those few weeks he recovered with us.

Until his Uncle came for him. His Uncle was a bitter man. He despised Peeta much like Mrs. Mellark did. He saw Peeta as another mouth to feed. His uncle preferred Bannock or Rye over his youngest nephew. His Aunt barely spoke a word to him. His cousins stared, pointed and laughed. He wasn't liked in the family. He was only taken in because his Uncle felt obliged and his sister would have done the same.

Peeta worked hard, was pushed hard and neglected in every way possible.

He kept his head down and just kept going. He kept surviving the way he knew too. The little lamb was impressing me every passing day.

Even if he was yelled at and abused, he kept going. The entire District knew Peeta was suffering but no one did anything to help and those who tried were rebuffed, Peeta not wanting anything in return. He felt like he didn't deserve the help.

And I'm scared the youngest Mellark boy. The sweet baker boy will turn into his mother like the children say he will. Will turn bitter. Will be angry and mean.

And the older we get, the more he alienates people. The less of a chance he will have to marry, to have a family and live the life he always dreamed of.

He doesn't want to drag people into the drama, to make them see what is happening to him, to bring them down to the level he is feeling and affect everyone around him. For someone who used to inspire a room he barely has the inspiration to turn up to school.

He turned 18 a month ago and ever since then, he's wage has been cut and constantly threatened that the second school finishes; he'll be out on his arse. He'll work the 12 hours a day in the mine, will return home to the Miners boarding house and hate the world even more.

His Uncle constantly reminds him that he'll fit in with the Seam folk as they are nothing more than useless scum.

In six weeks, he might not have to worry about finding a job in the mines or a house in The Seam if he is reaped.

Our last reaping before we age out.

I hope we age out.

I hope the two innocent lambs can grow up.

I find him after school, he is pushed and knocked about by those who race past him laughing and giggling at him. Calling him all the names under the sun.

"Hey." I greet him.

"Hi." He still gives me the time and day. He is always genuine and friendly towards me. He saves all his smiles for me.

"We're having a dinner for my birthday on Saturday if you wanted to come."

"I'll be there." He tells me with a smile. He usually turns down dinner offers.

"Great, I'll let Mom know." I tell him.

I walk home with him, Prim having already headed home, walking with Rory Hawthorne.

"Are you ready to finish school?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. We still have four weeks left of school and two weeks later is the reaping. He'll be homeless in four weeks.

"Me either." I tell him. "But I think I've lined up a job with Mayor Undersee. His gardener is getting quite old and he doesn't think he'll last another winter. Mayor Undersee recommended me. Dad doesn't want me in the mines."

"I wouldn't either."

"But I might not get the job."

"They'd be silly not to give you the job." He tells me with a smile that makes my skin break out in goosebumps. That makes me blush and my heart race. This smile is the one he saves for me and it's when I know he truly means it. His eyes shine and the light reappears.

"Thank you."

We near the florist and I see him hesitate.

"Do you want to hang out in the meadow?" I ask him.

"I'd love to but…"

"That's ok, another time." I smile. "See you tomorrow?"

He nods and heads on into florist. He hobbles, limping slightly. His prosthetic must be giving him grief.

He's shot up in the last few months, becoming just a little bit taller and broader.

I wave goodbye to him, notice the change in his body language. I can see his shoulders have dropped, the lines on his forehead have appeared and a scowl on his face. I know he hates stepping foot into that house especially with the days passing by.

I walk on home, my hands in my pockets and kicking a loose stone.

I wish I could do more for Peeta Mellark.

---

Peeta shows up to the house early on Saturday. I wasn't expecting him for another hour.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you so soon." Mom and Prim are at a delivery and Dad still at work.

"I finished early, thought I'd come around."

I nod at him. I'm still not ready. I haven't showered and I smell like the woods. "Could you watch dinner, I was just about to get ready."

He tells me to go and get ready and he sets up in the kitchen watching the turkey and preparing the rest of dinner.

I bathe, washing my hair and scrubbing my body. I scrub so hard my skin is red and raw.

I pull out the dress Mom gifted me with this morning, telling me she wore this on her 18th birthday. The night she broke the baker's heart and ran off with my father. My father proposed to my mother in this dress under the stars in the meadow and promised that no matter what happened in the coming months, he'd love her forever. My mother was spared from the reaping and happily moved to The Seam with the coalminer. She left behind her easy life for love. She gave up everything, her friends, money, job, and house for love. For my father.

She could have had fat, healthy babies with the baker and baked for the rest of her life but couldn't resist the charm of the coal miner who she had met only previously at the Harvest Festival, falling in love with his voice, the way he told stories, his crooked smile and hearty laugh.

I always wondered why you could do something like that. Give up your entire life for a man. Move to another part of town. Say goodbye to your friends. Your house. Your job. I never understood this when I was young. But as I grow older, I can understand why my mother did it. I can understand how she fell for the charm of my father and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

And despite my desire to not want to marry or have children, I'd do the same as my mother if it was for a man who made me feel the way my mother feels about my father. Who made me smile and laugh all the time. Who accepted me for who I was. Who kissed me deeply and passionately every day. Who held me close to his body at the end of the day, making up for the time we were apart during the day. Just someone who I couldn't stop smiling about.

The dress is almost like the color of the sunset and hugs my body. The light coming in from the window catches on the fabric and it almost looks like the dress is catching fire. I leave my hair out of its usual braid, doing two simple braids to keep my bangs out of my face and let my curls fall down my back.

Peeta has his back to me when I come downstairs and he chats with my mother and sister. Prim spots me first, smiling at the sight of me.

"You look beautiful." She tells me.

Mom nods, gushing proudly and this makes Peeta turn around.

His jaw drops and it's the first time I've seen him speechless in my presence.

"That… you… You should wear your hair out more." He stammers and I smile, touching my curls nervously and thanking him.

"I knew that dress would suit you." My mother says. "I wore that dress on my 18th birthday." She tells Peeta.

"It's a beautiful color." He smiles. "It's my favorite color."

"Soft like the sunset." I add, remembering him telling me that years before when I screwed my nose up thinking of a bright orange color.

My mother must notice the way Peeta and I are looking at each other and she shoos us away, telling us to take a walk to the meadow.

I tell her we'll be back shortly and we walk to the meadow. Kids play in the street, playing games of tag, kicking rocks to one another and dodging their mothers as they fold washing and sweep their front steps.

Those out in the street notice us, stop and gawk and I know what they're thinking.

The oldest Everdeen is now 18. She's to find herself a suitable prospect, move into a house and start popping out baby after baby.

But they're also gawking over the fact that it's Peeta Mellark. They always assumed I'd end up with Gale Hawthorne.

He had other suitors on his mind like quiet Madge Undersee.

I had other things to worry about at this moment before I worried about the other things. I had school to finish and a reaping to survive.

The last reaping, I could protect my sister.

But we'd be fine. That's what Prim kept telling me.

"Are you scared for the reaping?" He asks.

"I'm scared for Prim."

"Would you volunteer for her?"

"I've got to protect her, just like Ban did for you."

"It cost him his life."

"He knew what he was doing." I remind him. "Do you miss him? I mean your family?"

"Every day."

"Does it get easier?"

"Slowly."

I reach out for his hand, squeezing it with my own hand. I did this when he lived with us for those four weeks. I held his hand when he had nightmares, when he silently thrashed or when he trembled slightly as he was sedated. I sang him lullabies and songs and constantly told him he was safe. I counted the freckles on his nose under the soft candlelight. I noticed how golden his eyelashes were. I noticed every little feature of Peeta Mellark.

He holds my hand as we sit in the meadow that afternoon and barely move. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his body. He smells of sugar, spice, spring and fresh flowers.

He places something in my palm when I'm not looking.

"Happy birthday." He whispers and I open my palm.

It's a gold locket. One that would have cost him a fortune.

"It's beautiful." I tell him. "But I can't have it."

"It's a gift, you have to take it."

"Peeta, it's too much."

He shakes his head. "It's the one thing I saved from the ashes. It was my grandmothers. My father always wanted me to give it to someone special."

I study the locket, see on the back there's a Mockingjay that's been carved into the locket and trace my finger over the delicate work.

"My grandfather gave it to my grandmother on her 18th birthday." He smiles.

"It's beautiful. I love it."

He puts it on for me and I admire how it sits on my chest, catching the light of the afternoon.

"It's perfect."

We walk back home together, hearing the whistle from the mine signaling the end of the shift.

Dad arrives home just as Mom dishes up dinner and we all sit crammed in the kitchen eating the turkey I caught.

Mom has gotten me a cake from the government-run bakery and we delve in.

It's not the same as a Mellark's cake and we force it down, bite after bite.

"I don't know about you all but I sure miss Mellark's." My dad says.

"Me too." Mum adds.

"Have you thought about what you'll do after school, son?" Dad asks him.

"Work in the mines. I won't pick anything else up."

"It'd be great if you could reopen the bakery. The town desperately needs it."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"You could do it out of your home." Mom says. "Start small and sell to the district. Build from there."

"Or the Hob." Dad suggests. "They have the ovens there."

"I don't know. Maybe in the future."

"I'd be your first customer." Dad tells him with a smile. "And I'd order four cheese buns."

Peeta laughs. "You all love your cheese buns."

"They were beautiful."

I can see Peeta getting a bit upset and I change the subject quickly.

"I caught Prim kissing Rory yesterday afternoon."

"Katniss." Prim whines, blushing red as Mom and Dad jokingly interrogate her.

And Peeta silently thanks me with a smile as they focus on tormenting Prim.

Mom and Prim clear the table and Dad presents me with one last gift.

"I don't need anything else."

"I know but it's a special occasion."

I'm gifted with a new bow, one that is much different to Dad's old wooden one. This one is lighter, sturdier, the string tighter and would be much more powerful.

"Where'd you get this?" I ask.

"I know people."

"It's beautiful." I tell him. "I love it."

"I knew you would. Do you want to test it out tomorrow?"

"Yes please."

Peeta and I go and sit out on the front step of the house and watch the world, watch the sun slowly set in the distance.

"Peeta, where are you going to live?"

"I'll find somewhere. Maybe in the cottage."

I screw my nose up at him boarding with the single men. They are rough, have no respect for personal space and Peeta would be a target.

"I was talking to Mom and Dad and they suggested you stay with us."

"Your family has already given me enough. I can't owe you anymore."

"It's the right thing to do." I tell him. "You'd do the same for us."

He knows I'm right and kisses my temple. "I'm forever grateful for your family. I'll never be able to return them what they've given me."

"It's what we do and we don't need debts repaid."

"One day I'll repay your family, that's a promise."

He kisses me for the first time that night.

It's short, sweet and nothing more than a kiss that is the start of everything. It's the springtime, stars, the smell of flowers and the sweetness of chocolate. It's the beginning of love.

I kissed him one night when he was unconscious. He had had a bad night of nightmares and was in pain. His leg had been amputated that morning and stitched to heal and hopefully fit with a prosthetic. That night he was in pain, despite the morphling he had been given. I kissed the corner of his lip and watched his face soften and he woke briefly, whispered my name and went back to sleep after I ran my fingers softly through his hair and sang to him.

I watch him walk on home and imagine all the other kisses we'll share.

---

Four weeks later, he's waiting on my doorstep with nothing but a bag over his shoulder. School only finished 20 minutes ago. His uncle wasted no time in kicking his nephew out.

Mom and Dad invited him to stay with us. They insisted. And he couldn't turn down their offer when he'd have nowhere to sleep for two weeks.

And he found solace with us, the only people who didn't turn their back on the youngest Mellark.

"Hi." I greet him.

"Hi."

He follows me inside, placing his bag on the floor next to the worn couch that he'll sleep on. Everyone is out of the house. Leaving us alone.

And his lips are on mine quickly.

The last two weeks, our relationship blossomed quickly.

He backs me into the wall, steadying both of us as we kiss, the hunger overcoming us both.

The front door swings open and we're caught.

"We do have a bedroom." Prim groans, covering her eyes.

Our lips are both red and we blush having been caught. We'd been quite discreet with our affection in front of my family and in public. We'd usually meet behind the ruins of the bakery, making out before he had to return home. Or he'd come and find me late some nights and in the shadows of the house, we kiss as the stars shone down on us.

"Be thankful it was me and not Mom or Dad." She chuckles heading into the kitchen with Rory tagging behind.

Ground rules are put in place when Mom and Dad return home. "You are both adults but this is our home. If we respect each other, we'll all be fine."

Peeta starts baking again, selling his creations to those who stop by and I've never seen the people in the District so happy. Despite the dark cloud that hangs over with the upcoming reaping, everyone is enjoying the simple things like Mellark's bread.

One night, he makes us cheese buns as a thank you and I am brought back to those Sunday mornings when Dad and I would go hunting. The Sunday where the baker would trade a rabbit for some cheese buns.

I thank Peeta with a big kiss. Kissing him in front of my parents.

My mother kisses his forehead, my father shaking his hand and Prim embraces him.

He brought our family tradition back and it's been a long time since we've all enjoyed cheese buns together under this roof.

"You'd be silly to not open a bakery." My father tells him.

"I'll think about it." He tells Dad, rubbing the back of his neck.

And I know, I have to protect Peeta. He is starting to shine again. Only a week after he moved in with us.

Maybe he feels safe. Maybe he feels protected. Maybe he feels love. Maybe he feels like he is home. He has found a home. A new family.

The afternoon before the reaping, we picnic in the meadow.

We feast on cheese buns, some fresh strawberries, and goat cheese.

Peeta is looking so much healthier and is much happier. He smiles now, he speaks to people and he is baking and painting again.

He is Peeta Mellark.

"We should get married." I propose.

"What?"

"Let's get married." I say. "I don't want you going into the mines. I want to protect you."

"I can protect myself, Katniss."

"I know you can but you can't work in the mines. I forbid you."

"I can make my own decisions." He tells me offended.

"I know you can but I won't forgive you if you step foot in the mines."

"Do you want to me to remain home, wrapped in cotton wool and do nothing? I'm not an invalid." He tells me. I've made him angry.

"I know you're not." I tell him. "I just think, it'll be best if we get married. It'll help us both out."

"You want a marriage of convenience?" He asks. "I thought we had something."

"And we do." I tell him. "If we marry, we'll have better benefits. We can get a house together because I know despite appreciating my parent's hospitality, you don't want to be sleeping on our couch forever." I say. "You can remain out of the mines and I'll work for the Mayor. This can work." I tell him. "I know deep in your heart you want to open the bakery, build a home to live in, we do this and it'll work. We can make it work. We can make your dreams come true."

"What do you want, Katniss?"

"For you to be happy." I tell him.

"No, what do you want? I don't want you to ruin your dreams by being married to me. You're not the girl who dreamed of being married and having a family. You just want to keep your family alive. You don't want to have children because you don't want to watch them starve and be reaped. I don't want to force you into a life you don't want."

"You're not forcing me. It's the right thing to do."

"No, it's not." He shakes his head. "I can't force you into a life you don't want just so you can protect me."

"I want this, Peeta."

"Sorry, Katniss. I can't-do this."

---

It's a quiet morning as we prepare for the slaughter. Hopefully the last slaughter. We hardly eat. We shower, dress and wait for the call. I'm wearing the soft orange dress I wore on my 18th birthday. Prim has fitted into Mom's blue dress I wore two years ago.

Mom is sure to embrace us, holding us in her arms and trying to send out nothing but positive thoughts.

We walk to the square, check in and go to our holding area. Go to possibly our final place before we're called for the slaughter. The new lambs, they tremble in fear.

The older ones, they're hopeful it's anyone but them. They hope to leave the slaughter today for the last time. I can smell the fear in the younger lambs and wish I could comfort them.

But they've smelt the blood already.

I find Madge who is as pretty as a picture in a new dress and her signature gold pin pinned to her dress. She hopes to leave the slaughter today as well. She's got a taste of life and she's not ready to go to the slaughter.

Effie Trinket comes to the stage in green get up this year. Her hair is a bright green. Her outfit a mix of greens with puffy sleeves, flares, and cut-outs. She wears sky-high heels that she can barely walk in.

She taps the microphone, begins her usual spiel before we watch the same video we watch every year. The video that tries to inspire us to be great. District 12's involvement is always laughed at and no one is ever inspired. The lambs aren't ready.

Haymitch Abernathy is surprisingly sober this year.

He has been almost sober since Bannock's involvement in the games and is beginning to show he wants to fight.

Haymitch has actually extended his kindness to Peeta since Bannock's death. Peeta hasn't told me this but Haymitch had been supplying him with a small allowance and has always kept an eye on Peeta. A parcel always makes its way to Peeta on the first day of the month filled with mostly money or anything else that he finds applicable.

I don't know if he's up to something and I'm not too keen on his intentions with Peeta. But Peeta accepts his help.

Haymitch looks out at the crowd, looks amongst the lambs and tries to not show emotion as the call for slaughter begins.

It'd be hard to have the death of nearly thirty kids on your hands.

"Ladies first." Effie Trinket announces.

She reaches into the bowl, searching for a slip.

I haven't taken out any tesserae. Either has Prim. Dad didn't want us putting our names in there in exchange for food. He always ensured he had something we could trade. We never had to put any extra slips in.

I know Peeta has though. His uncle forcing him to put his name in for extra food. He was constantly pressured into doing so. He thinks he has over 40 slips in the bowl.

"You deserve to die in that arena just like your brother did. Your brother who sacrificed his life for you."

Effie finds a slip and turns to the microphone.

"Esme Banner." She calls. It's a 15-year-old girl from the Merchant class. Her parents own a clothing boutique.

No one volunteers for the lamb. Her mother cries. She stands before the district knowing that this is where she leaves us, it's time to head to the slaughter.

Effie moves on to the male bowl and dips her hand in. I can see Peeta tense up. He believes it will be him. The extra slips in the bowl make him a target. Make his odds higher and higher.

Effie smiles when she finds the slip. I grasp Madge's hand tightly and close my eyes.

"Jonah Green."

My eyes open when I realize it's Peeta's cousin who has just aged into the reaping. The first year he's stood before the slaughter. It's rare but sometimes the baby lambs are picked at the reaping. Those lambs make for great entertainment.

The crowds step back from Jonah as Effie calls for him.

"Fred, no." I hear someone cry. "Don't do this."

"Volunteer you, coward!" Frederick Green calls out from behind the crowd of children. "Volunteer!"

And we know who he is telling to volunteer. He wants Peeta to sacrifice his life for his cousin.

Frederick pushes through the crowd towards Peeta.

"He volunteers. Peeta Mellark volunteers."

"I do not." Peeta calls back as he is pushed by his uncle.

"Sir, please." Effie tries to calm him down.

"Move that crippled leg of yours and volunteer." He grabs Peeta by the collar and forces him to move, Peeta trips over onto the ground. "If you had any values you'd volunteer for your cousin. He's only 12."

"I'm not volunteering." Peeta tells him from the ground. He doesn't want to. He has been set free from the slaughter. Frederick falls to the ground, fists flying in the air. He gets one good punch in before the Peacekeepers pull them apart. Fred kicking and his fists flying. I run for Peeta.

"You're scum. I hope you burn in hell." Frederick tells his nephew. "You're nothing like your brother's. You have no family values. You're rotten. You should have died in that fire." He yells. "You don't deserve to breathe. Go and live your life in the Seam with that fucking Everdeen girl you have a permanent hard-on for. You're not my family you piece of…"

The butt of the gun hits him in the temple, knocking him out and silencing him.

The crowd looks at Mr. Green's unconscious body and then at his eldest son who stands up on the stage shaking from what he's just witnessed. He's smelt the blood. He can sense the fear. He knows this is it.

It could have easily been a bullet put into Fred Green's head but they're allowing the lamb the chance to say goodbye.

The public humiliation will likely cause the business to suffer for a short while. Despite the son being in the games, no one will step foot in the florist.

A few of our classmates' comfort Peeta, ensuring he's alright as Effie finishes the reaping.

We send them off to the slaughter and watch as the doors to The Justice Building close them in.

Peeta's prosthetic has broken, cracked in half. Most likely from the fall or the fact it's too old for him.

"We'll have to get you a crutch." I tell him. My father has found us. "His prosthetic is broken." I tell Dad.

Dad reaches down, helping him up off the ground. "Will you be right to hobble back to the house?"

Peeta nods and they head on home. Dad leading us away from the slaughter. I carry his broken prosthetic and watch as the crowd slowly disappears back home. Some go to say goodbye to the tributes but we don't dare step foot in the Justice Building.

But I am safe from the slaughter. And Prim, she'll have to face it alone next year.

"I don't know how we're going to fix it." Dad tells Peeta.

"It's alright, I can use some crutches for a while until I can afford a new one." He replies, holding a cold press to his eye.

That night, Peeta and I sit on the couch together, Mom, Dad, and Prim all gone to bed. They play the reaping over and over. District 12 incident has been cut and edited to seem like it ran normally, you can only notice that Effie is slightly flustered. Only the District 12 residents will know what happened that day.

Peeta reaches for my hands, squeezing them with his hands and resting them on his lap.

He plays the game we started four years earlier when he healed with us.

"We've aged out, real or not real?" He asks.

"Real." I tell him. "We're safe, real or not real?"

"Real." He answers softly. He kisses my temple and brings me closer to his body. "I was so scared I'd lose you today."

"Me too."

"I think we should get married. It'll be the only way to survive." He says. "I won't survive working in the mines and I don't want to live in the boarding cottage. If we marry we'll have our own house. I can work from home, I can bake and paint and create things. And you can work for the Undersee's." He says. "We'll make it work."

"When do you want to sign the papers?"

"As soon as we can."

He presents me with an engagement token, one he pulls from his luggage.

"Katniss, will you marry me?" He asks with a purple colored pearl. It's beautiful.

"Yes."

It's a pearl he tells me he found at the Hob last week. Greasy Sae let him have it and he carefully turned it into a charm to hang from the locket he gave me.

He kisses me and that night, we break mother and father's rule by sharing a bed. We only hold each other, our legs entwined, my head resting on his chest and his arms holding me to his body.

Mom and Dad congratulate us on our engagement the next morning.

"When is the toasting?"

"As soon as we're assigned a house." I tell her.

There's a knock on the door after breakfast, a Capitol attendant with a package for Peeta.

"Peeta Mellark." The attendant says. "Package." He tells him, holding out the package.

Peeta opens it. "Who got me a prosthetic?"

The attendant shrugs his shoulders and is gone after he is sure it fits Peeta well. It's better made than his previous one. This one fits him better, doesn't rub or pinch his skin.

"How is it?" I ask him.

"Perfect." He tells me, smiling from ear to ear.

We go to the Justice Building to book in our wedding and organize our house. The Government issued families with a house for free. If you were single, there was a small fee involved and most people couldn't afford the house and ended up in the single boarding cottages. Most married for the sake of marrying.

But what Peeta and I are doing, it's something different. There's genuine love and even if we're not there yet, we will be.

It was always bound to happen. I always think we would have ended up together.

We can move into our house by the end of the week and our wedding is planned for that same day.

"What cake do you want?" He asks me on the walk home.

"Whatever you want to make me."

"And bread to toast?"

"Bread filled with raisins and nuts." He smiles at me, remembering the loaf he gifted me years before in the rain.

It's ultimately the bread that started our story. His generosity is what brought me to want to save his life three years later. To offer him the same type of compassion he showed me.

Hope began that day. And hope is continuing to grow between us.

We go and check out our home. It's right by the meadow with a blooming garden. It's one of the biggest houses in the Seam.

"Plenty of room for us." He tells me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. There'd be room for a studio for Peeta and somewhere to bake. I always loved this house when I was a child, always dreamt of living in it. Now, my dreams were coming true.

I turn to him, wrap my arms behind his head and smile at him. "Thank you for making me the happiest person in the world."

He kisses me in front of our future home and everything feels right.

---

"Katniss." Mom calls.

I see her enter the room from the reflection of the mirror. Peeta is getting ready at the Hawthorne's, Dad helping him get ready. Peeta has bought a suit and a tie to wear for the occasion. Hazelle and Mom have mended Mom's wedding dress instead of me renting one. It's bohemian with vintage lace, short sleeves and backless. It's beautiful and I want to cherish it forever.

"You look beautiful." She tells me. She has a proud smile on her face and I smile back at her.

She helps me do my hair, braiding my hair up into an updo. Prim had picked some flowers earlier, that Mom carefully places into my hair.

"Peeta is going to love it."

I can't help but smile. I never imagined this day, never imagined getting married and having a family but I can't help but love the idea.

"There are a few things I wanted to give you." She tells me. I hadn't noticed she brought in a box filled with items.

It is filled with sheets, crockery, vases, a copy of the plant book, a nightgown, a brooch and photo frame.

"And there's one last thing." She tells me handing me a diary, a bag of herbs and contraception. The form that only Merchant people can afford.

"I know we've talked about this but you're getting married. There are expectations and things that happen in a marriage. I know you haven't spoken about kids but this gives you and Peeta a chance to settle into your life and not worry about any added stress of children." She tells me. "The diary is to keep track of your cycle when you're intimate with each other, moods, emotions and everything else. If you need anymore come and ask."

"Thanks, Mom."

"And don't put too much pressure on yourselves when you both decide to share your first time together. You will make the decision when you are both ready. Don't rush it either. Enjoy being together, enjoying falling in love, enjoy the privacy and being adults. Enjoy sneaky kisses, touches, and gazes. Just enjoy each other's company. Fall for each other and grow together slowly, learn about each other and how your body responds to different things. It's now your time to live and grow and have some fun."

I blush a little. My mother and I had never spoken to each other like this before. After she sat me down and told me all about the birds and the bees, I ran to the woods and hid out for the afternoon, too embarrassed to think and consider the changes my body was going through. I hadn't at 13 even considered a boy touching me let alone considering having sex with someone.

And since then, I've always blushed at the thought, even talking to my mother about it. But she deals with this daily, she's always patient and accepting. And now that I'm an adult and have found someone she likes, she wouldn't judge me. And I feel like I could be open with her.

"Just enjoy your life. You've finally got your dandelion in the spring."

She kisses my forehead and does a final check.

Prim is downstairs holding a bouquet of flowers for me. This is a little over the top for a District 12 wedding but my mother always told me about her wedding, how my father brought her a bouquet of flowers to hold during the ceremony. Flowers that they pressed in a book to preserve for years to come.

They said a few words in the meadow on their way to their house for the toasting. Words shared in private before crossing the threshold into their marital home.

Mom, Dad, and Prim walk with me to the Justice Building.

Peeta has his back to us when we enter the Justice Building. He is looking at the paintings on the wall, admiring the sculptures and architectural work. He had no family coming to watch. No friends. No one. He didn't invite anyone.

But a few of his friends show up. Delly, Carter, and Lincoln. Their friendship fell out after the fire but they don't fault Peeta for that. They've had a lot more to do with him in the last two weeks than in the last four years.

And I invited them to witness their friend get married which they told me they didn't want to miss.

Peeta is speechless when he sees his friends enter the Justice Building. He hugs them all and thanks them as they congratulate him.

And then he sees me enter behind my family.

And he is even more speechless.

"You look beautiful." He tells me, reaching for my hand.

I smile at him, blushing and admire him in his suit and forest green tie.

We kiss after we sign our forms and pose for a photograph.

"Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Mellark." The official announces, handing over our certificate. "May your lives be filled with happiness and love."

Our mother directs everyone to meet at the house at 4 pm when we'll cross the threshold and gather for some food and cake. Where we'll build the fire and toast.

Peeta and I make our way to the meadow but we're stopped by his uncle who comes charging out of the florist, headed directly for Peeta.

My father and all the Hawthorne men protect us from Fred Green.

He hasn't handled things since Jonah left on the train. He's been making a nuisance out of himself in the square. Has been drinking and passing out. The peacekeepers have been returning him home quite often.

"You get married and not invite me? Not invite your family? You are useless, Peeta. Hope your new wife doesn't mind having a dud like you."

I push my bouquet into Peeta's hands and step between Gale and Rory Hawthorne.

"You know what, you don't even know what Peeta is like. You say he's all these things but he is because you made him. You didn't care to see who he truly was. You don't care about him. You tried to turn him into something he's not. But I cared about him. I got to know him. I nurtured him to be who he is. I love him, something you failed to do. He is my dandelion in the spring." I tell him. "And I know it sucks that Jonah got reaped but don't go taking it out on other people. Go and be with your family because they're hurting just as much as you. They need you at this time." I say gently. "I'm going to go and be with my family, just like you should be."

He looks at all of us, his eyes welling with tears before he steps back. He doesn't say a word, looks at his nephew for a long while before he turns around and returns home. His wife waiting at the front of the shop for him with their two youngest hiding behind her legs.

I comfort Peeta when we get to the meadow. We go and find the big willow tree. He kisses me softly on the lips, brushing the stray pieces of hair away from my face.

"I will never be able to thank you." He tells me.

"You don't have to." I tell him. "I want this."

I rest my head on his chest and he kisses the top of my head. Trees dance in the breeze, the dandelions sway and the birds sing their best song in the afternoon light.

"Here I am, just a guy standing in a suit, wishing to promise you whatever you want." He says.

"And I'm just a girl standing here in a white dress." I repeat. "Wishing to give you a good life."

"What do we want to promise each other?" He asks.

"To be patient." I add.

"Kind."

"There for each other."

"From this day on." He finishes. "This is our promise to each other." He says. "We're just two people standing together in a suit and a white dress, pledging the rest of our lives together."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Always." He tells me after a brief silence. We share another kiss before we retreat from the willow tree and head to our home. We can see it from the meadow and I can't wait to grow old in this home with Peeta.

Our family is waiting for us at the house. They smile at us and Peeta picks me up, surprising me and carries me down our footpath and over the threshold.

There's music played throughout the afternoon as we eat food and share the cake Peeta made. We dance in the living room around the bodies that sit and stand in our presence. In District 12, when there is music, we dance. The few instruments that have made its way play folksy tunes and we all dance. Peeta sits out for most of it, watching Prim and myself dance until I drag him up. It's a slower tune, one that Peeta can keep up with and we sway from side to side. Everyone has someone to dance with. I am just overwhelmed with the feeling of love that is filling this home. I hope love always fills this home.

It's late when we go to build the fire to toast the bread.

Peeta builds the fire and I slice a piece of bread. Our guests leave us to be as the fire catches and give us our chance to have our toasting. We kneel in front of the fire and together toast the nut and raisin bread before we share it together with butter melting into the toast.

He feeds me a piece and I feed him a piece.

And that's when we feel married, right then after our toasting. We share a long kiss in front of the fire, sealing our future as the flames flicker.

He carries me to our bed and places me on my feet at the foot of it.

"Katniss there doesn't have to be anything happen tonight." He tells me. "I don't want there to be any pressure on us."

"Me either." I admit.

"Do you just want to hold each other?"

I nod, smiling at him.

He helps take the flowers out of my hair, laying them out on the dresser. He undoes my hair, shaking my braids out and lets my hair fall in waves down my back. He unzips my dress for me and turns his back to allow me to dress into my nightgown. He has stripped out of his shirt and suit pants and pulls on a pair of pajama pants. He sits on the edge of the bed and goes to remove his prosthetic but I stop him.

"Let me." And I remove it for him, laying it beside the bed. I kiss the scar of his stump and help him swing around into the bed. He pulls me beside him and holds me in his arms.

"Today was amazing." I tell him.

"I thought so too." He smiles. "I haven't had that much fun in a long time."

"Did you ever picture your wedding to be like that?"

He ponders for a while. "Not with you. It would have a been a lot less of a celebration and more of a quiet affair. A chore. There's just not the same amount of life in Town as there is here in The Seam."

"We don't have a lot but we make up for it in other ways." I tell him.

"You all have big hearts and know how to party."

I feel safe. I know, I won't be able to sleep apart from him for the rest of my life, he settles me, calms me, wards away bad dreams and inspires only the good dreams.

And I know, he now only has good dreams. He told me the other night how he hasn't slept this good since he lived with us during his recovery. How he constantly had bad dreams and nightmares. But now, he feels safe.

"I am your husband, real or not real?" He asks me. It was tedious for us to still be playing this game. Childish even but it got us by. It will get us through tough times.

"Real." I reply. "You are home, real or not real?"

"Real. Home is wherever you are."

---

Peeta's cousin dies two days later. He dies during the first night, killed at the hands of the careers. It's a pain-free death but Peeta still mourns.

I give him his space but am close by if he needs me. He takes a loaf of bread to his Uncle as a sign of respect. He embraces his aunt and hugs his cousins who don't really understand that their brother has died. He leaves them to mourn as Jonah's death is played over and over.

It's the first time in the history of the games that I've witnessed the Careers actually stop and wait for the hovercraft to take the body away. They kiss their three fingers and hold it up in the air as Jonah is lifted away.

Something has shifted within the game. The dynamics, the way it's played out, the tributes. Something is different this year and I can't quite put my finger on it.

When we return home, he wants to just sit on the couch and hold me. We sit together in the silence of our home.

I cook us dinner and we eat together at our kitchen table. He cleans up and I give him his space, going and having a bath and going to bed with a book Madge leant me.

I must fall asleep before Peeta comes to bed. I wake to find him taking the book from me, tucking me into bed and switching the light off.

In the darkness, we kiss, our hands roaming over each other's bodies slowly and tenderly.

He touches my breasts over the material of my nightgown, squeezing them gently as he kisses me. His lips wander from my lips across my cheek and down to my neck. He sucks the skin there, causing my back to arch in response. His lips move further down, along my collarbone, the hollow of my neck and down my chest.

I tug at my nightgown, letting the straps fall down over my shoulders and exposing my breasts to him.

"You're beautiful." He whispers to me. And I believe him.

---

He is up before dawn every morning baking bread which he sells to the neighbors in The Seam. He drops some loaves to the Hob, trading for some cheese and nuts.

Word catches on and from early in the morning, people are lining up outside of the house waiting for bread. Even those from Town venture all the way in. The demand is so high that he always sells out.

"They love your bread."

"They all grew up eating Mellark's bread." He tells me as we clean up.

I've started my job gardening for the Mayor and Peeta has focused his energy and time into creating things again.

He is drawing and painting again which is a huge feat. We grow together, learn to live side by side and under the same roof. In just a short amount of time, I know I love him.

After 12 days, The Games ended with a mass suicide from the Careers at the end, leaving Esme Banner from our District the winner.

Our District has been in celebration. It's the first time in 26 years that we've had a winner. The district prepares for the celebration for when Esme returns home at the end of the week and the focus turns to us as the cameras will capture her arriving home.

Peeta and I had some wine the night she was crowned. A bottle we were given as a gift for our wedding. We shared a glass together and fooled around on the couch.

We're becoming more daring, more loving and hungrier for each other. We're learning about each other's bodies, taking turns pleasuring each other and seeing more and more of each other's bodies.

He traps me between the counter and his body, pressing his body close to mine before he lifts me up onto the bench kissing me. He unbuttons my pants, tugging at them slightly.

"We should clean up." I tell him as he kisses my neck.

"That can wait." He tells me, lifting me up off the bench and carrying me to our living room. He lays me on the couch, pulling my pants down my olive legs before he kneels between my legs, pulling my panties down.

I never knew this type of hunger existed and now we crave this, crave each other's bodies like it's a necessity. And this has become Peeta's favorite thing, his head buried between my legs.

There's a knock on the door and a voice.

A voice that sounds a lot like my sister.

I push Peeta off of me. "Prim's here." I tell him as he looks at me confused. "I told her we'd have lunch." I inform him.

"And you forgot to tell me?"

"Sorry, we've had other things on our mind." I tell him and he laughs, handing me my clothes.

I redress as Peeta goes to answer the door.

"Hey, Prim." He asks her slightly out of breath.

Prim comes inside, notices how hot and flustered we are but doesn't say anything. She shrugs it off like it's nothing and sits down at the table. She's brought along some cheese from Lady.

We have sandwiches and fresh lemonade before she heads off to meet Rory for the afternoon.

She's so smitten." Peeta comments as we watch her head down the street.

"Say's you." I tell him, pinching his butt and smirking. I run on off, heading back to work.

"You'll pay for that tonight."

I giggle and blow him a kiss as I head on back to work.

I end up at the station to look at what needs to be done for tomorrow. I sit in the shade writing a plan and hear the station attendants speaking.

"They're not happy in the Capitol." One of them says.

"Why?"

"The careers showed them up. The Capitol hates being showed up."

"So, what's going to happen?"

"Nothing, they have a winner and they will turn her into something she's not."

I feel a shiver go down my spine. Winning the games looked wonderful but in reality, you never owned yourself. You couldn't step foot out of line and make Snow look stupid. You had to be a puppet and do everything he says. Peeta told me this just the other night when I asked about Haymitch. Haymitch showed up the Capitol, paid for it with his family being killed. Much like Peeta's family paid for Bannock's actions.

A lot of the Victor's do what the President says or they lose the ones they love. It's happened to a few of them. Most oblige to keep their family safe.

"Esme will be fine. Abernathy will keep an eye on her." The attendant says.

A few days later, Esme's train pulls in. She stands on a stage, waving at the crowd who welcome her home with wide arms. We celebrate with a feast in the square. There's music, lots of food and some wine. We dance, eat and celebrate the extra food.

Peeta and Haymitch chat in the distance and I try to read lips, try to figure out what's going on.

Peeta and I walk on home, cutting the celebrations short. It's the anniversary of the fire and his cousin was brought home in a pine box, buried earlier this afternoon before the party begun.

Peeta attended the funeral and then laid flowers for his mother, father, and brothers.

I comfort him that evening, letting him cry and grieve for his family. He used to not be allowed to mourn them when he lived with his Uncle. He wasn't allowed to show emotion.

This year, I allow him to mourn and the chance to grieve after all those years he was refused.

I'm there for him.

---

"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks me. I've gotten a case of the flu that has been going around the District the last few weeks and lucky me, I've gotten it a second time.

I groan, rolling over to cuddle him. It's our anniversary. Two years of being married and living together.

Peeta is a whole different person. It's like he's been reborn. And he much resembles the dandelions in the spring. He is a wonderful husband, he loves me, cherishes me, is patient and kind.

He's successfully running a bakery from our house, selling mostly bread but also creating special orders like cakes. I always have a constant supply of cheese buns.

He is also painting again. He is drawing. The house is covered in his drawings and paintings and I love coming home to the bright colors of his creations. Most of them are of me but I like seeing the way he creates me on the paper. He constantly draws the people of The Seam. Those on their way to the mines, backs bent and bodies aching, he draws the kids as they play in the meadow, Prim falling in love with Rory, my parents and anything else he can get his hands on.

And every morning, there's always a flower waiting on his pillow for when I wake up. It's the little things, the simple gestures of romance that make me smile.

The second bout of the stomach flu has come from the kids Peeta and I watch a couple afternoons a week. The kids aged 3 and 6 months old both had the flu, giving it to me. Peeta had a bread run and I watched the two of them by myself. Their mother insisted she stay but I shooed her off.

And now I was paying for it again. 6 weeks later.

My stomach lurches and I go running, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Peeta rubs my back, holds my hair back and ensures I'm fine.

He offers me water and wipes my mouth with a cloth.

"Happy Anniversary." I say to him.

He laughs gets me settled back into bed before he gets ready for the day.

He sells the bread when the miners go underground. There's enough bread to go around now and nobody misses out. He does a bread run after lunch, delivering all around town before he returns home and starts preparing dough for the next day. With the money he had made, he bought himself a big bakers oven which keeps up with the demand. Next plan was to buy a bakery with his earnings.

It's nice having a house that smells like fresh bread, sugar, and spice.

I must sleep as he trades because when I wake it's midmorning and he brings me toast and a cup of tea.

I manage to stomach that and he sits up with me in bed.

"I'll make you sick again." I tell him.

"I don't mind." He replies.

We were in no rush to have children. I've slowly come around to the idea but we wanted to enjoy our time together while building up a successful business and steady careers. Peeta had plans to have a bakery running within 12 months, opened by his 21st.

For now, we were enjoying our lives.

But I know the way Peeta looks at me when I hold baby Brielle, how I am around Cade.

"You'll make a great mother someday." He tells me. Truth be told, he'd also make a great father.

But we were in no rush.

He leaves me in bed to tidy up. The reaping had taken place last week, a girl from the Seam was reaped and a boy from the Merchant side reaped. They were both 16. They had better odds but stranger things have happened for the lambs who attended the slaughter.

I sleep most of the afternoon with just an unsettled stomach. I've had a few close calls and have resorted to sitting beside the toilet bowl.

My mother has sent over some herbs to put into my tea and a reminder to drink a lot of fluids.

He tickles my back as I lay in bed. A cup of herbal tea drunk and some water to sip on. He hums songs to me and I just rest my eyes. I feel protected and safe in his arms. No matter what will happen, he'll have my back.

The next morning, I spring out of bed and go to the woods with Dad. I hardly go out anymore except for on Sunday's with Dad. We meet well before dawn and make our way through the woods returning just after sunrise with our haul. We always have a cup of tea and a cheese bun before we go back through the fence. Dad going to do the trading and me going home to Peeta.

We usually make love when I return from the woods. He has usually finished for the day and is usually waiting for me at the front door. He closes the door behind us, takes off my coat and leads me down to our bedroom where we usually spend most of the morning under our sheets. Our bed sheets always smell like the woods, sugar, and cinnamon.

Today we check our snares and traps, reset them and try our luck at some game. We end up with a good haul, fat rabbits, squirrels and fowl birds. Dad gives me a bird and he goes to trade quickly before the games start. My stomach still feels a bit queasy but I manage to make it home.

"You alright?" Peeta asks.

"Just feel a little queasy." I tell him.

"Go and lay down and I'll bring you a cup of tea."

I lay down on the couch and Peeta brings me my tea. The Games have just started.

"Should I get your Mom?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

He stays at my side as the Games play out. No one is killed in the bloodbath. The Careers give the rest of them a head start as they stand on the pedestals. It's bizarre watching a game that used to be so bloodthirsty resorting to this. I'm confused if this is their tactic but the rest of the tributes run for the safety of the thick bushlands.

A knock at our door wakes us up and its Mom, Dad, and Prim. They've come for lunch and we sit around the table enjoying a spread. Jas comes over with the kids after lunch and Prim plays with Cade out in the garden. Brielle happily sitting on Peeta's lap.

"Are you sick again?" Mom asks me.

"Yeah, I've got that stomach flu again." I tell her, handing Brielle her wooden toy she's dropped.

She studies me for a second and then leaves it. She'll have something to say later on when we're alone.

Prim comes inside with Cade crying.

"What happened?" Mom asks.

"He fell. I'm so sorry, Jas. I was watching him and he…"

"It's fine, Prim. He's a boy who is into everything." Jas assures her as she takes Cade, comforting him. "Hey big boy, let me have a look."

"He'll need it stitched." Mom tells Jas. "Come on, I'll take you back to the house and take a look at it."

Peeta and I stay home with Brielle. She sits on my stomach clapping and giggling. Peeta sits in the chair sketching and occasionally looking over at Brielle and me.

"I know we said we'd wait but that really suits you."

I smile, pulling a silly face at Brielle. "We have a bakery to open first." I remind him.

"I know we do." He smiles. "One day."

I didn't admit to him that I had dreams about our children constantly. Children we'd take to the meadow and watch play. Chubby, blonde haired babies who laid amongst the daisies and sung songs to each other. There were two little babies hanging out in the meadow together. Brother and sister. But I hoped to gift the world with more Mellark's. One's who took the words of the song for granted, who danced in the meadow, painted and baked. Who were the dandelions in the spring.

---

My stomach flu lingers for a few days. The Games play on but are slower and not as gritty as they usually are. The game makers intervene, creating drama and obstacles. The tributes are killed off by game maker devices rather than by each other.

Little Cade shows off his pirate patch that covers the three stitches he needed.

"You're the coolest little pirate." Peeta tells Cade as he sits upon our kitchen bench. We're having dinner, something that has become a normal thing in the two years we've lived next to each other. We usually have dinner after we watch the kids.

Peeta usually bakes a nice loaf of bread or dinner rolls to go with our meal and some type of dessert he makes with Cade. Tonight's was a flaky chocolate creation. One that had my mouth salivating.

Our TV turns on automatically and we know something has happened. Some type of breaking news.

It couldn't be the games, there was still 8 contestants left. Something bigger had happened.

"We interrupt your current screening with breaking news." The newsreader begins. "Reports are coming from the Mansion that President Snow is dead. I repeat, President Snow is dead."

"What?" Peeta asks, coming into the living room.

"President Snow was found by mansion staff this morning unresponsive. Despite numerous attempts to revive him, he could not be revived. He leaves behind his daughter and granddaughter." She states. "There are no words on the games and there will be a press conference held 5 pm Capitol time."

"I did not see that coming." I admit.

"Katniss, he was old. He was probably close to being well into his 90's. It was bound to happen. And his appearances in the public were declining as the years went on."

"Let's just hope his replacement is decent." I say to Peeta, holding Brielle close to my body.

We eat dinner and dessert and play with the kids. Brielle sits on her mother's nap nursing and Cade tucked beside his father.

The games have come to a bit of a standstill and the kids have a moment to breathe. The press conference starts and some young, up and coming politician is appointed after a unanimous vote.

He's in his mid-thirties and has a lot of potential.

"Someone new to ruin our lives." Des adds with a frown, looking down at his two children who he can't really protect.

The games will continue as normal.

"He might do a good job." Jas adds.

"If he keeps our children from starving and sending them into those terrible games then that's when I'll say he's doing a good job." I say.

The next day, the four remaining careers end their lives in an act that is almost similar to last year. A mass-suicide. It leaves District 7 to become the winner of the game.

Johanna Mason appears on screen, slightly pleased that they've won but I see the worry in her eyes. There's uncertainty of what really will happen now that President Snow is dead.

I don't watch anymore as I go running for the toilet.

I leave Peeta to head to my mothers with the baked goods that afternoon. I'll see him for dinner with my parents.

Mom is in the kitchen, putting together salves and lotions.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Still a bit queasy." I tell her. Something that she is making makes my stomach start rolling.

She sits me down and does a quick examination.

"You don't have a temperature." She tells me. "Stomach flus don't linger this long."

She asks me all these questions, mostly about my body and my cycle.

"Don't freak out just yet but could you be pregnant?"

"What, no? Peeta and I have been safe."

"Were you two intimate when you had your first stomach flu?"

"Yes."

"There's a chance that the contraception failed."

"What?"

"If you were sick, it might not have been effective."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it rarely happens." She tells me.

I rub my temples at a small headache that's coming along. "I can't be pregnant." I tell her. "We're not ready."

"You might not be but let's see."

She examines me, checking my cervix and gets me to take a test. We wait patiently together. Mom holding my hand.

I watch my mother. She's always had this incredible patience and non-judgemental attitude when it comes to her patients. And now, with her 20-year-old daughter sitting in an examination chair, she's calm and I think she's secretly hoping it'll be positive.

"It's time to see the test." She informs me. I exhale a deep breath and she goes to collect my test. She studies it for a long while I start to have doubt.

I had built up in my head in the few minutes of sitting, holding my mother's hand, images of my baby. Images of being pregnant. Of preparing for the baby. Of growing this being inside of my stomach. I caressed my stomach with my free hand and imagined what it would feel like to feel flutters and kicks inside of my stomach. I even imagined Peeta's reaction. Could picture his smile. Could feel his hands on my stomach.

And I fear that it's negative.

"Mom?"

She turns around, tears streaming down her face and I notice the smile as she holds the test.

"You're pregnant."

And I'm not as shocked as I thought I would be.

She embraces me, holding me in her arms tightly and squeezes me. "I know you didn't want this to happen but things happen for a reason."

She wipes the tears from my cheeks, kissing me and smiling at me.

"How do you feel?"

And I smile at her, my lips curving upwards into a beaming smile. A smile that I can feel right down to the tips of my toes.

I touch my stomach and hug my mother once more.

I help her with dinner and we wait for everyone to return home. There was a mandatory viewing tonight and our attention was needed in the square from 7 pm.

"How will you tell him?"

"I don't know." I tell Mom. "Maybe at the meadow."

The front door bursts open, Peeta running inside with Prim following behind.

"What's wrong?" We ask him.

"The peacekeepers left this morning."

"What?" I ask.

"What does that mean?"

"We're not going to the square." My father says running into the house.

"What's going on?"

"We're leaving."

"For where?"

"The woods. Now!" It's just after 6:30 and it doesn't leave a lot of time to get to the woods. To save our district.

Peeta and I run home, dodging those who are panicking and running in all different directions. We tell Des and Jas to pack a bag.

Peeta throws some clothes into a bag. I stuff my game bag with our possessions, the plant book, wedding photo and his drawings. We say goodbye to our home and go to find our family. Our friends.

The first bomb drops, coming over us from the west and dropping close to town.

We try to herd people to the meadow but some are scared of the tales they've been told and head right for the firing line.

We hide in the dense trees and try to remain undetected as we escape the district. I help them through the fence, Peeta carries kids who have lost their parents, Dad drags people towards the meadow as bombs fall on our district. Those who went to town had no hope of surviving.

And less than a thousand people make it to the woods. The rest lie under the rubble. We watch from the protection of the woods, our beautiful little town destroyed in a matter of minutes. Our houses were gone, our businesses, our memories all gone.

And we were made an example of. An example towards the other districts to not step out of line or this will become your home.

I'm still unsure what we did to deserve it. A bigger statement would have been to bomb District 1 or 2, not 12.

The fire burns but we're still breathing. These lambs escaped the slaughter.

For now.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by herainab

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