#if he was able to operate better than katniss because

[softchouli]

Coin being frustrated that she didn't get her wanted prize at the claw machine, as if the plushie with the bread wouldn't successfully gaslight her entire district on day one just to rescue his pregnant wife

[rebellicnrising]

'tell me you see it falling into place.' and he can, the more nilani talks it's like he can see their fingers plucking up individual cogs and gears and moving them into place —— and the gears begin to spin. "the goal has always been katniss on either side," he says quietly, the fingers on one hand tapping against his thumb- index to pinkie, double tap, pinkie to index, double tap— "with how important she is, i can't imagine that they wouldn't have operatives within the gamemakers, unless there are plans to extract before the arena." but his mind is already tracing out the paths of how that could go wrong- dozens of scenarios based on a what if. "and snow would be expecting that—— they'll know snow is expecting that. they wouldn't chance it." ( right? ) but of course, he doesn't know— just as in the dark as nilani about what next steps are to be taken—— district thirteen took great care to leave just enough holes in everyone's knowledge to keep the whole puzzle from being complete. from being uncovered. but others were given pieces neither of them had, it was just a matter of finding out who held the right piece and volt pauses, wondering if the place his mind went was truly in the spirit of finding out more- of finding those pieces they didn't have- or if there were a secretly selfish reasoning behind it. "i think i might know who to ask."

the one thing that they all knew though? "katniss has to stay alive—— rye too. if he dies, so does any chance of getting her to fight." because was that not what drove all of them to step forward? that love and instinctual human desire to protect one's progeny? it's what brought katniss to the games to begin with, that desire to protect that which was most dear to her and how much more precious was a son than a sister? without that, would she even still be the mockingjay? ( would she fight harder? ) "we can't publicly align ourselves to her before the arena- it'll cause too much suspicion with our scores. alex is a guaranteed alliance, no one will blink twice at that, no matter what their score." teeth worry the corner of his bottom lip in thought, brow furrowing and he pauses again, rolling the thought over in his mind before voicing it, "it'll likely be urban—— like you said, he won't give her another forest... the names were intentional, allowing us the opportunity to volunteer was intentional— you're right, he was waiting to see how we would react to determine where our loyalties lie. same as the night of the tribute parade with trifle, terra and heath, that was meant to garner a reaction, to see how and who would react in what ways... what if... what if the arena is also designed with that intent?" and those tapping fingers speed up- index to pinkie, double tap, pinkie to index, double tap— "a warzone, an abandoned city, and technology that few outside of district three might be able to maneuver... what if the arena is thirteen?"

his eyes go to her and it's a shot in the dark- there's still too many parts missing, too many cogs that won't quite fit in the piece to complete the piece- but it's as good of a guess as any, "it's all been a message- from the reaping, to the parade, to the scores—— not to katniss, katniss is just the goal—— the capitol denies that district thirteen still exists, what better way to help perpetuate that than to showcase the ruins as the arena? how better to send a message of how much control they continue to have on the districts than than to broadcast twelve districts coming together to kill each other all to ensure their own survival on the remains of a district that tried to bring them together? that's still trying to bring them together."

Keen eyes watch over their mentor, watching the wheels turn, synapses firing forth, reliving the trauma that saw them here. It is not as bad as other moments where the past flairs up to destroy the present, shoving one into a reality one questioned. Mixed with the clear and present anxiety both lived within, vacillating from stunning composure to being overwhelmed Nilani attempts to pull him from the wreckage of his mind, of a similar headspace giving both of them a concept to wrap their heads around. When they are home, back in rooms, Nilani thought they might pull them all together, their fellow district three family, and hold them all a little while or perhaps just Volt. Hold Volt close and cry together but that would be for later, saved and reserved for the family Nilani would see out of this alive. They had to

"Katniss began it all. Showed us what it was to defy him. She unnerves him and even now is not something he can conquer easily. The arena is bound to be hard - something that Katniss is not going to be able to handle without sponsors that it is not within her element. A four means that even her child won't likely be safe if she does not have the people who adore her behind her. The four is to say without speaking it that he believes he can crush her, cause her to end her friends and make for a stunning showing of how much of a monster he can make the girl on fire. Alex's 12 is more than just turning sponsorship away" Nilani speculated. They could not confirm anything they did not have the presidents mind, they had attempted to see if gamemakers would falter and reveal some detail or that stylist that might be in the know. They'd be going in blind but any fellow disctrict three mentor had a mind for strategy and tactics.

"Consider the ways we have won, our tactics, the ways our arenas were designed, what we have made ourselves into the arena may play to those strengths. It could have technology in it we've designed - that I have sold to them. It could have resources naturally that we know how to use and deconstruct to turn against their plans. Dante's arena was a warzone and he knew, and worked the layout to his advantage. Alex had an abandoned city - how many persons would think to set traps or hide as well as Alex did. I had a mansion that tried to destroy you and that boggled your mind and made you question what could be trusted and used its layout to my advantage and paid attention to patterns. You - you know yours.. Additionally, you my beloved Volt - you are a clockmaker. Do you think he doesn't consider that in the approval of the design? He would never give Katniss another forest. That would be tantamount to handing her an audience and a win. The arena, instead to throwing her completely, must be something that we - the four with the scores of twelve would know how to read, how to dismantle it, to tear it apart and make it hard for his games to go quickly. Take out the ones that would be of the most help to her, and give others high enough or low enough scores that make them desperate to try and put us down first in the bloodbath if possible. He plans, strategizes the most effective way to kill a rebellion and those who threaten him. He does not plan simply to have a thrilling end to victors who pose a threat, its an example to be made, its a battle strategy put together not in haste but months, perhaps even down to the names that would be selected. I would go as far as to absolutely believe the draws were not at random that the bowls were full of the names he wanted pulled to see if we would react in a way to confirm his suspicions of who might be a rebel and who not. The logic is sound. Tell me you see it falling into place. He wants her to suffer as much as possible. I wouldn't be surprised if he, from on high when desperate and frightened enough, would send a silver little parachute containing the same berries that brought her that win. Thirteen needs to tell us what their plans are. It leaves me wondering if they know what the arena will look like or if we will have to stay alive that much longer in the game before we're given a signal or instruction"

[therealvinelle]

What would happen if Katniss was stuck in a time loop from the beginning of Mockingjay to the end ?

I’m afraid I don’t remember Mockingjay well enough to give you an especially detailed answer to this one. I forgot Prim died while writing this. I’ll try, though.

Round one

Katniss finds herself thrown back through time, and she’s just tired. She’s been so much already, Mockingjay depleted her in every sense. At the end of the book she’s broken in a very irrevocable sense of the term. She just wants to retire with Peeta and be safe and left alone for the rest of her life. Waking up in a District 13, then, to find that Peeta is captive and being tortured all over again, Coin is alive, Snow is alive, and the Rebellion is back and she’s their figurehead... on its own, this is all bad enough, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke down completely.

But then she sees Prim again, Prim who is alive and healthy.

Finnick, too, is alive again. He’s a mess, just as he was originally, but he’s alive.

For them, Prim above all, Katniss can’t give up.

She pulls herself together, or tries to. She’s hollowed out after the events of Mockingjay, and to go through it all again? Unimaginable.

More, how is she actually going to save these people?

Prim wants to help people, she’s not going to agree to stay out of the Capitol when the invasion comes about.

Gale hates the Capitol with every fibre of his being, he’s not going to stop making weapons because Katniss told him people will get hurt. I think even if she laid out the scenario of «say that Prim goes to the Capitol to help and your bombs fucking kill her» he’d remain resolute - that’s not gonna happen, Katniss. (And even if he silently agrees there’s the possibility, this won’t change his mind. Prim will be a casualty of war, the important thing is to defeat the Capitol.) As for Finnick, he was pure bad luck. There was nothing Katniss could have done there, save for maybe keep him home. But if she does, someone else may die in his place.

But, Katniss isn’t going to sit back and say «yup, nothing I can do to save these two people I care about. See y’all in heaven, fellas». As she goes through the motions of Mockingjay, doing the photo-ops and listening to Finnick’s interview, Katniss comes to fear that there’s just no road ahead that will lead away from Rome. All she can do is tell Prim about Gale’s bombs and plead with her not to go in when the Capitol is invaded.

It’s no surprise, not really.

The Hunger Games is not about Katniss Everdeen the brave heroine taking up the mantle of revolution, it’s about Katniss the girl becoming a game piece in someone else’s chess match. And so, her prescience won’t make as much difference as it would someone like Harry Potter or Bella Swan, as her choices simply don’t matter all that much.

This is what she’s forced to realize.

Peeta is rescued, it’s easier and harder than last time. Easier because she knows what to expect, harder because she’s seeing him suffer all over again, just as original timeline Peeta was returning to himself.

The invasion of the Capitol comes around, and Katniss is no more able to save Finnick than she was last time.

Prim refused to stay behind. Then, seeing her fellow medics rush towards bombs she knows could go off at any second, and injured people lying helplessly nearby, she runs in hoping to stop her colleagues and maybe drag someone away from the scene before it all blows.

She fails, and Katniss watches her die all over again.

The time loop doesn’t stop there.

Katniss goes to see Snow, only to go through the motions, and then shoots Coin. There’s no point to any of this if she doesn’t still shoot Coin, right?

More broken than ever, Katniss returns to District 12 with Peeta.

She just wants to rest.

Round two

A part of Katniss isn’t even surprised.

Her sister is alive again, but not for long. Katniss almost wishes they could skip to the part where Prim is dead, just so that she wouldn’t be in this horrible limbo of wanting to save her sister but not knowing how.

This time, Katniss devotes all her energy to Prim.

She neglects all her other duties and relationships, everything else that mattered. She never develops her friendship with Finnick.

She’s going to save Prim.

She tells her about the time loop, about what will happen if Prim isn’t careful. Prim listens.

This time around, Peeta isn’t rescued, and when Katniss invades the Capitol he’s the one who kills her.

Maybe Prim survives this time around. She hopes so.

(This is the timeline where Finnick survives: with Annie never rescued from the Capitol, he never became well enough to participate in a military operation.)

Round three

Katniss tells Prim about the time loop again, leaving out what happened at the end of round two. She befriends Finnick and campaigns for Peeta to be rescued. On the night of the invasion, Prim tells her teammates what she learned about the bombs before they land in the Capitol, leaving out how she found out. She’s accused of espionage and leaking military grade secrets, and shot. Her body is left in the streets, and Katniss is told the Capitol did it.

Katniss suspects what happened, and she hopes she’s right, because the other option is that her interference did this, that Prim died because of something she did.

Finnick dies, of course, which tastes all the more bitter now that Katniss knows she saved him in one timeline.

She speaks with Snow, or more to the point she walks into his room of roses and says nothing.

She shoots Coin.

Round four

She kills Coin on the first chance she gets.

She’s swiftly executed.

Round five

She waits until the night of the Capitol invasion before killing Coin.

Again, she is executed.

Round six

She makes it all the way to Snow’s office. Prim and Finnick are dead again. Peeta, too, this time around.

She tells Snow about the time loops. He seems to think she’s lost her mind, but she doesn’t care. She asks him about poisons.

Round seven

Coin dies suddenly.

Things are better in some regards, but the invasion still happens. Once again Prim and Finnick die.

Round eight

Katniss has nothing more to give.

She spends the round in her hospital room, curled up in her bed and refusing to be disturbed by anyone who isn’t Prim or Finnick.

Round nine

She has nothing more to give this time either.

She tells Finnick everything, about the time loops, the bombs, and the invasion, and asks him to try to save Prim and himself.

Finnick dies pulling Prim away from the bombs, and Prim succumbs to her injuries shortly after.

At Snow’s execution, Snow is shot.

Round ten

Katniss tells Haymitch.

They still end up in Rome, with Finnick and Prim dead, only now Haymitch is dead too.

Round eleven

Katniss for the first time starts to wonder if maybe this has all been an elaborate torture brought on by the Capitol. Or maybe her own side, who knows.

Because, really, how does she know she hasn’t been hijacked?

Katniss starts telling the people around her that she knows they’re not real, and quickly gets herself locked up in a psychiatric cell.

Round twelve

Still convinced she’s been hijacked, Katniss quickly gets herself locked up in this timeline too.

Round thirteen

Katniss poisons Finnick, Peeta, and Prim, not much, but enough to force them to stay behind when the invasion happens.

This time it works.

They’re all safely at home, and Katniss knows the invasion well enough by now that survival isn’t as hard as it once was.

She shoots Coin, then returns to them after.

This time, Peeta can’t trust her again after this. Nor, for that matter, can Prim or Finnick. They still love her, but Prim chooses to take a job in District 3 a little too easily, and Finnick quickly becomes a friend who stays in touch nominally, but never visits. Peeta moves back to District 12 with her, but they live in separate houses and the intimacy and trust between them is now gone.

Katniss, for better and for worse, is alone now but surrounded by people.

There are no more time loops.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

-

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, ��Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

-

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

-

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

-

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

-

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

-

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

-

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

-

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

-

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

-

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

-

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

-

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

-

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

-

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

-

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

-

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

-

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

-

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

-

[cyanidesouffle]

Me nitpicking Imagine me

CW: Dub-con. If you read the book you know what I’m going to point out.

I didn't go into this book with high expectations. What I did want was more Anderson and Warner angst. Because I am a sucker for that stuff. And you do get that, so I can say I'm way happier with Imagine me than Ignite me.

That is not to say that Imagine me doesn't have it's issues. This is mainly going to be a long list of me nitpicking stuff.

Fundamental things I want to get out of the way:

So before I even begin talking about Imagine me I just want to say: I think it would have been way better if the last novella had been from James's POV. James being kidnapped, Adam giving himself up to protect him, being told he is Warner's brother. I think that would have made a great few chapters compared to Kenji sulking and pining after Nazeera. Reveal me just confirmed my headcanon that Adam and James were still in Sector 45. But it feels like nothing in Reveal me sticks. Kenji having bad side effects after being drugged? It doesn't last for longer than two chapters. Anderson being back in sector 45? Yeah, he goes back to Oceania after crashing the Sanctuary. Reveal me is (imo) better than Shadow me, but I think we all can agree than neither of them are as good as Destroy me. Adding James to the male POVs would have been a cool change. Get to know him better. Give Adam one last chance at being appreciated by the fandom.

Now to Imagine me. I think it's WAY too similar to Defy me, plotwise. Think about it: Juliette is stuck in Oceania, except she's now hanging out with Anderson instead of Evie. Kenji and Nazeera, and now Warner, have to go get her back. They do and kill some Supreme Commanders on the way. The end. It feels very… lazy for the final book in a series.

"Big" plot points I keep questioning:

I'm going to say it again: Anderson going to Sector 45 to Sanctuary and back to Oceania again. I guess he wanted to go pick up Adam and James, but it seemed like such a big deal at the end of Reveal me; it sounded like the final showdown was taking place in sector 45. But nope. He goes back to Oceania again. It just felt pointless to tease us like that.

Can't we be real? In every scene between Anderson and Juliette I was expecting him to tell her to take her clothes off. And then rape her. Robo Juliette probably wouldn't have seen it as rape; but it would be rape. Especially when she woke up IN HIS BEDROOM! (Am I a pervert for anticipating it? Probably. (And now there’s at least one fic about it so yeah, not just me))

On that note: Anderson's drawer containing either his whip, or a BDSM kit. Or both I guess. You can't change my mind :9

And I also thought it was funny when he wasn't into Juliette finding him attractive.

The supreme kids not being utilized, again. I thought it was weird how they were shoehorned into Restore me. Then I thought it was strange that only Nazeera showed up in Defy me. Stephan, Haider and Nazeera team up with the gang in Imagine me, which is an improvement. But the south American twins and Lena? They were just there. In tanks (which is never explained!). Let them distract the parents or something. Anything!

The supposed climax of the book. Robo Juliette is defeated/turned back to normal immediately. Warner talks to her. Then they hug. Done. Predictable. Boring.

How are we supposed to take Robo Juliette seriously when everything is undone like *snaps* that?

Hunger games spoiler I guess:

I can't help but compare it to Mockingjay, Peeta tried to kill Katniss, what was it?, three times? And he's not perfectly turned back to normal at the end. They continue to have issues. But they fight through it, because they love each other. You, as the reader, understand how much they love each other. The reader understands how much work they are putting in, and you appreciate it.

End of Hunger games spoiler

My suggestion is that there would have been a confrontation earlier, and they fail to bring her back. Maybe Juliette could have killed someone, I suggest Castle, and everyone would be way more freaked out. Here they would talk about maybe having to kill Juliette. Then we would have a larger confrontation at the end, where Warner actually managed to snap her out of it. I would have been able to appreciate the effort they put in more that way.

Medium things:

Mafi making Kenji influenced by stuff but not really. Kenji is said to be super drugged at the beginning of Imagine me. Then it goes away. Why did she make him unconscious because of drug side effects? To make him unable to talk to Juliette? Then he's tipsy. Half an hour later Anderson attacks. Kenji is supposedly STILL TIPSY when he's running around the battlefield. Can you tell he's tipsy during the battle? Not until it's already over. Why did Madi make Kenji drunk? So he would have an easier time to talk to Nazeera? But then he doesn't really? Why put these status effects on Kenji when they don't do anything?!

My friend suggested that: I think the tea was supposed to be played as a joke. My response to that is: Does Mafi think making your friends intoxicated with laced tea without their consent is funny? That's not funny. Ever.

Kenji not making a Tangle reference when Warner's asks Anderson to let him take Juliette's place. #WarnerIsBestRapunzel.

On that note: Can Anderson make up his mind about whether he wants to kill Aaron or not? In Defy me he was ready to let Warner know about operation synthesis, but Ibrahim stopped him. But he seems to have given that up completely by Imagine me.

My friend pointed out it might be to underline how erratic he is. But I'm like: Why spend the time making Anderson more human with his tattoo, childhood trauma and protecting Juliette, and NOT have him try to get Warner back one last time? "Juliette, hit him I'm the back of the head. Kill the other one."

((Maybe it's that I've written too many fics with Anderson acting like an actual father…))

Or he wanted Aaron to be killed by Juliette, the one he's in love with, because it would fulfill the whole "Feelings will kill you", lesson Anderson has going on. Yeah, that would make sense now that I think about it...

The scorpion girl didn't contribute to anything. It was pointless drama and killing. Kenji is the one to kill her, but again it doesn't last. Kenji doesn't walk around thinking about how awful he is for killing someone. He just brushed it off and continues with going to rescue Juliette.

I like how people don't know whether to call her Juliette or Ella.

I like how Nouria gets a lot of screen time.

Now to Things probably only I care about:

We never find out the name of Adam's mom.

Seeing no interactions between James and Anderson. Again, I would have loved a novella from James' POV.

Seeing no interactions between Anderson and Adam. I'm more upset about this one. I wasn't that surprised to be honest that Adam made a deal with Anderson. I was pleasantly surprised because I actually had a fic idea about it a while back. After the flashback with Adam in the aviary I had a tiny whimey hope that Adam would turn out to be a bad guy (because if Anderson can come back from the dead then anything is possible). I thought Adam was the reason they have all the blue thingie magingies, cuz Adam's blue and Adam turn off people's powers. He wasn't evil though. Instead he just laid on a table. I was right about his powers being used to kill Anderson though, so I guess that's nice.

And it's also nice that Mafi remembered to explain Adam's tattoo.

I wanted to know what Anderson's tattoo was. Wild guess is that it's just a shape reminiscent of a whip.

I like Warner's ring being back. I thought it would have been really sweet if he had used it as an engagement ring, but at least it's here.

No one cares about Delalieu. Kenji mentions him by name once. Once. Warner doesn't even mention him in the epilogue. DELALIEU WOULD HAVE LOVED TO BE ON THAT WEDDING! *cries*

[majorsoapfan]

Yeah, well, I think that if any Mentors or other Capitol citizens had thought about messing with the tributes by taunting them with food, Arachne's death had very quickly warned them of the potential consequences that could befall them for doing so. Like, I don't want to check right now, but I'm pretty sure that Arachne met, and was killed by her tribute on the same day, which was the tributes first full day in the Capitol too, so we don't see the food taunting happening to the other tributes because the dangers were shown to the Capitol very fast.

But I think that it was possible and I'm working on a little fic about it, but Arachne wasn't the only person at first to taunt the tributes with food the way she did when they first arrived at the zoo, but Brandy had been the only one able to physically attack. After all, not only had Arachne been stupid enough to taunt a starving girl, who she already considered to be like a vicious animal, she also forgot that this girl knew how to kill and that the knife was closer to Brandy than the food was. So even if Gaius had thought about doing something like that to Panlo to get some laughs or had already done so before Brandy demonstrated what would befall him, he very quickly learned that it was a 'proceed at your own risk' kind of way.

But regardless of whether the taunting had happened to the others or not, the fact that the tributes had had to perform of beg for their food at all, is sickening, especially when you consider that by the time that they had arrived at the zoo, some if not all of them, likely hadn't been fed since before their Reaping if that (depending on whether they got anything to eat while waiting for the train to collect them, which is unlikely). So by the time that they arrive at the zoo, they probably had been desperate enough to do anything just to get enough to tide them over for another little while.

So yeah, I don't think that Gaius or Androcles were good Mentors and unlike some of the others who might have been able to change their initial opinions on the tributes and develop some trust, they would not.

Then with Reaper's opinions on Clemensia, the guy is so conflicted on her right now. Because initially he's dislikes her simply because she's Capitol. He assumes that everything she's doing for him and by extension Dill with the medication is only out of self-serving interest, which is fair for him to assume so, judging by the way that the Capitol has treated the Districts. He might be willing to slightly co-operate with her because doing so would likely better Dill's chances in the Arena, but he doesn't like or trust her.

And then she commits treason.

Because that's what she does as I had Dill remind him of in Chapter 7 when she was talking about the Mentors to him. By knocking the Peacekeeper out so the tributes could escape, Clemensia committed treason and if caught, she's basically as good as dead. And Reaper knows this, as much as he wonders whether the Capitol would seriously punish one of their own. It's what's makes him so conflicted as he wonders just where Clemensia's loyalties lie and whether she might have actually been against the Games and possibly a decent person and for obvious reasons, it's very unlikely he'll ever know now.

Yeah, and as for the med team, I kind of have a headcanon, that one of Circ's parents in particular was like a healer during and after the Rebellion and people brought themselves/family members to their house like how people in the Seam did for Katniss' mum. And they passed those lessons onto Circ, especially as injuries are rife in the factories like you said. District 3 is the electronic District, and what's a common consequence if something happens due to a faulty electronic? Fire.

In chapter 11 are panlo and sheaf still injured and need someone supporting them as they walk or have their wounds fully healed?

Hi!

Yes, Panlo and Sheaf are still injured. Now they're both feeling a hell of a lot better than they did two and half days ago at that point (the length of time from when they had arrived at the house to the end of chap 11), but they are still recovering. I do believe that while the duo were badly hurt in the explosion (not as bad as Gaius was obviously, but more severely injured that the other tributes) they still could have survived their injuries if they had been treated by a professional (aka trained to treat humans), had gotten proper medication/supplies meant for humans and were in a location that allowed for proper healing (now the basement wasn't much better, but at least there was no dirt or hay there and they had mattresses/clean sheets).

To sum it up, I think that it was their wounds becoming infected that killed them in the book, and not the injuries themselves.

But now, in this AU, they actually received Capitol medicine to kill any developing infections and their wounds have been cared for by the other tributes, so while the duo are still recovering, they are able to walk some short distances by themselves before they need help.

(The others are aware of this despite the two trying not to make a big deal of it and so neither have heavy bags to carry right now, the stronger tributes are shouldering their load while their injuries heal.)

[raptured-night]

Hello, I have two questions this time. Why do you think we can’t really compare Death Eaters to Nazis? Why can’t we really compare purism with racism? Oh and do you think Death Eaters are more like nowadays’ terrorists or not?

So, it's no secret that I have drawn attention to the issue of Death Eaters being treated as literal stand-ins for Nazis or blood purism as a literal example of racism. Importantly, there is a difference between acknowledging the ways that Death Eaters or blood purity might work as semi-functional allegories for the Nazis and their ideology, white supremacy, racism, etc., and treating fictional representations of invented prejudices as if they were comparable or on par with non-fictional Nazi ideology, white supremacy, or systemic racism.

An article for Medium makes this point very well:

Silent resisters and ‘I don’t really care about politics’ people deserve our contempt. But what makes those who filter life through fiction and historical revisionism worse is that they are performing a soggy simulacrum of political engagement.

As a woman of colour watching, all I can do here is amplify the call to step away from your bookshelf. Let go of The Ring. My humanity exists independently of whether I am good or bad, and regardless of where the invented-fictional-not-real Sorting Hat puts me.

Realise that people are in danger right now, with real world actions needed in response, and not just because you want to live out your dreams of being Katniss Everdeen.

The problem with discussing Harry Potter’s fictional examples of prejudice as if they were literal or completely comparable with real-life prejudices is that it does lead to an oversimplification of the reality of prejudice (whether white supremacy, racism, homophobia, transphobia --looking at you Jo-- or otherwise) and the very real people who experience these prejudices every day. The fantasy of being Harry Potter up against Umbridge or Voldemort in a YA series where the line between the good and bad guys is almost clearly denoted by the narrator is a far cry from the reality of what activism is or what living under oppression is like for many marginalized people. 

I would argue that this is also a leading reason why the��“social justice” (yes, in many cases I believe that deserves to be enclosed in dubious quotations) discourse in Harry Potter fandom trends more towards performative than it does sincere (one need only look at the defense posts for Rowling in response to real marginalized groups criticizing her for things ranging from her offensive representation of Asian people, Indigenous and Native peoples, or her failures in representing the lgbtq+ community particularly in light of her coming out as an open TERF and they can get an idea of how those “I’m an intersectional feminist/social justice ally and that’s why I read HP!” fans quickly shift gears to throw the bulk of their allyship behind Rowling instead) because when you spend all of your time debating fictional prejudices it’s much easier to detach oneself from the reality of non-fictional prejudice and its impact on real people.

Fiction has no stakes. There is a beginning, middle, and end. In Rowling’s fictional world, Harry Potter ends with Harry and “the side of light” the victor over her allegorical representation of evil and he gets his happily-ever-after in a world we are led to believe is at peace and made a better place. In the real world, decades after the fall of Hitler, there are still Nazis and white supremacists who believe in the glory of an Aryan/pure-white race and are responsible for acts of violence towards marginalized groups; even after the fall of the Confederacy in the U.S. we are still debating the removal of monuments erected in their honor (and the honor of former slave owners and colonialists like Christopher Columbus) while the nation continues mass protests over the systemic police brutality Black people and other people of color have long faced (not to mention the fact the KKK are still allowed to gather while the FBI conspired to destroy the Black Panther Party and discredit them as a dangerous extremist organization).

As a professor in literature, I’ve often argued that fiction can be a reflection of reality and vice versa. Indeed, it can be a subversive tool for social change and resistance (e.g. Harlem Renaissance) or be abused for the purposes of propaganda and misrepresentation (e.g. Jim Crow era racism in cartoons). So, I am not underscoring the influencing power of fiction but I do believe it is important that when attempting to apply fictional representations to real-world issues we do so with a certain awareness of the limitations of fiction. As I have already observed, there is an absence of real-world stakes for fiction. Fictional stories operate under a narrative structure that clearly delineates the course they will take, which is not the case for real life. In addition, the author’s own limitations can greatly affect the way their fiction may reflect certain non-fictional issues. Notably, a close reading of Harry Potter does reveal the way Rowling’s own transphobic prejudices influenced her writing, not least in the character of Rita Skeeter (but arguably even in her failed allegory for werewolves, which are supposed to reflect HIV prejudices, but she essentially presented us with two examples of werewolves that are either openly predatory towards children or accidentally predatory because they canonically can’t control themselves when their bodies undergo “transformations” that make them more dangerous and no surprise her most predatory example, Fenrir Greyback, seems to have embraced his transformation entirely versus Lupin who could be said to suffer more from body dysmorphia/shame). 

Ultimately, fiction is often a reflection of our non-fictional reality but it is not always an exact reflection. It can be a simplification of a more complex reality; a funhouse mirror that distorts that reality entirely, or the mirror might be a bit cracked or smudged and only reflecting a partial image. Because fiction does have its limits (as do authors of fiction), writers have certain story-telling conventions on hand through which they can examine certain aspects of reality through a more vague fictional lens, such as metaphor, symbolism, and allegory. Thus, the Death Eaters can function on an allegorical level without being problematic where they cannot when we treat them as literal comparisons to Nazis or white supremacist groups (particularly when we show a greater capacity for empathy and outrage over Rowling’s fictional prejudice, to the extent we’ll willingly censor fictional slurs like Mudblood, than we do real-world examples of racism and racial microaggressions). As an allegory, Voldemort and his Death Eaters can stand in for quite a few examples of extremism and prejudice that provoke readers to reflect more on the issue of how prejudice is developed and how extremist hate-groups and organizations may be able to rise and gain traction. Likewise, blood prejudice looked at as a fictional allegory goes a lot further than when we treat it as a literal comparison to racism, wherein it becomes a lot more problematic. 

I’ve discussed this before at length, along with others, and I will share some of those posts to give a better idea of some of the issues that arise when we try to argue that Voldemort was a literal comparison to Hitler, the Death Eaters were literal comparisons to Nazi, or that blood purity is a literal comparison to racism.

On the issue of blood prejudice as racism and Death Eaters as Nazis, per @idealistic-realism00.

On the issue of blood prejudice as racism, my own thoughts.

On the issue of Death Eaters and literal Nazi comparisons, per @deathdaydungeon and myself. 

Finally, as I have already argued, the extent to which fiction can function as a reflection of non-fictional realities can be limited by the author’s own perceptions. In the above links, you will note that I and others have critiqued Rowling’s portrayal of prejudice quite thoroughly and identified many of the flaws inherent in her representations of what prejudice looks like in a real-world context. The very binary (i.e. good/bad, right/wrong, dark/light) way that she presents prejudice and the fact that her villains are always clearly delineated and more broadly rejected by the larger society undermines any idea of a realistic representation of prejudice as systemic (we could make a case for an effort being made but as her narrative fails to ever properly address prejudice as systemic in any sort of conclusive way when taken along with her epilogue one can argue her representation of systemic prejudice and its impact fell far short of the mark, intended or otherwise). In addition to that, the two most notable protagonists that are part of her marginalized class (i.e. Muggle-born) are two comfortably middle-class girls, one of whom is clearly meant to be white (i.e. Lily) and the other who is most widely associated with the white actress (Emma Watson) who played her for over a decade before Rowling even hinted to the possibility Hermione could also be read as Black due to the casting of Noma Dumezweni for Cursed Child.

Overall, Rowling is clearly heavily influenced by second-wave feminist thought (although I would personally characterize her as anti-feminist having read her recent “essay,” and I use the term loosely as it was primarily a polemic of TERF propaganda, defending her transphobia, and reexamined the Harry Potter series and her gender dichotomy in light of her thoughts on “womanhood”) and as far as we are willing to call her a feminist, she is a white feminist. As a result, the representation of prejudice in Harry Potter is a distorted reflection of reality through the lens of a white feminist whose own understanding of prejudice is limited. Others, such as @somuchanxietysolittletime and @ankkaneito have done well to point out inconsistencies with Rowling’s intended allegories and the way the Harry Potter series overall can be read as a colonialist fantasy. So, for all of these reasons, I don’t think we should attempt to make literal comparisons between Rowling’s fictional examples of prejudice to non-fictional prejudice or hate groups. The Death Eaters and Voldemort are better examined as more of a catch-all allegory for prejudice when taken to it’s most extreme. Aicha Marhfour makes an important point in her article when she observes:

Trump isn’t himself, or even Hitler. He is Lord Voldemort. He is Darth Vader, or Dolores Umbridge — a role sometimes shared by Betsy DeVos or Tomi Lahren, depending on who you’re talking to. Obama is Dumbledore, and Bernie Sanders is Dobby the goddamn house elf. Republicans are Slytherins, Democrats are Gryffindors.

The cost of making these literal comparisons between Voldemort or the Death Eaters to other forms of extremism, perceived evil, or hate is that we impose a fictional concept over a non-fictional reality and unintentionally strip the individual or individuals perpetrating real acts of prejudice or oppression of some of their accountability. I can appreciate how such associations may help some people cope and for the readers of the intended age category of Harry Potter (i.e. YA readers) it might even be a decent primer to understanding real-world issues. However, there comes a point where we must resist the impulse to draw these comparisons and go deeper. Let Voldemort and the Death Eaters exist as allegories but I think it is important we all listen to what many fans of color, Jewish fans, lgbtq+ fans, etc. are saying and stop trying to fit a square peg into a round hole by treating these fictional characters and their fictional prejudices as if they were just as real, just as impactful, and just as deserving of our empathy and outrage as the very real people who are living daily with very real prejudices --because they’re not equal and they shouldn’t be. 

[chouetteffraie]

About BSD S3

Alternative title: Kenna talks about stuff literally nobody asked her to <3

So now that s3 is over and I’ve had a few days to breathe, I think I wanna say a thing or two about the season overall. Now, I’m not a meta writer, I’m not a person who can go in over analyzing everything perfectly- quite simply, I don’t have the brainpower to do that for too long. So rather than this being an analysis of everything and an objective evaluation of the quality of the season, this is largely an emotional response where I just talk about my experience with it. I’m not a critic- I don’t think I have that in my blood. I watch to enjoy, then reflect on what I did and didn’t enjoy, taking snippets and twisting them into something that might become deep and meaningful occasionally if it suits my writing. There’s nothing wrong with being a critical analyzer! We need you all in the fandom for all these fabulous metas and such <3 I just don’t think I’m the right gal for the job.

“So, Kenna, what is it you have to say?” Well, in the simplest of terms,

I really liked season 3.

“...wow. Groundbreaking.”

Now, let me explain myself. There are problems with season 3, as there are with most seasons, but I feel, overall, there were enough things that I liked about season 3 to keep the season in my favor.

I think my biggest criticism would have to be with pacing. The pacing  in this season was so off for me and can be described as sporadic at best. From backstories to character introductions to character re-introductions, there was so much that went by in a blur and so much that seemed to go on forever. My biggest complaint probably has to do with (yup, you guessed it) the adaptation of Fifteen.

Let me explain.

First of all, I think the complaints that Bones used Soukoku as ship bait have a sturdy foundation, and I’m not here to dispute that. As a Dazatsu main myself, I’m not gonna complain about loving scenes with your favorite ship in them- I would absolutely die if next season (hopefully there is a next season!) we got a three-episode plot revolving around Dazai and Atsushi. However, I just don’t think it fit in nicely with the rest of the series.

After all, it’s kind of unfortunate that we got 3 episodes of Soukoku’s backstory, and yet our protagonist only got 1/3 of an episode.

Maybe Fifteen would’ve stood better as an OVA, or maybe if it could’ve been shaved down to two episodes. Maybe if BSD had been given three more episodes for genuine content, things would’ve been better. I don’t know how possible any of these things would’ve been, but they’re ideas. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed Fifteen overall. But I remember thinking that it seemed so out of place when I knew the chaotic arc that was coming. 

I’m not an avid manga reader, but I know enough to be able to say that the BSD manga has a lot of content, a lot of nuance, and a lot of personality. The manga is the source material and what got people so invested in the story. If there wasn’t an interest in the manga, would there even have been an anime adaptation? What I’m saying here is that staying true to the manga is a good rule of thumb, and while of course you won’t be able to translate everything into animation, it’s probably best to try and be as similar as possible with a story like BSD.

Manga readers ate up the story of BSD without being interrupted by Fifteen, because as far as I’m aware, Fifteen is fairly new? (Didn’t it come out around Dead Apple time? I’m not entirely sure, but it might’ve been.) And, unlike The Dark Era, the events of Fifteen didn’t have nearly as much of an impact on Dazai (that would later impact our protagonist- after all, how could he mentor Atsu if he never quit the mafia?). Fifteen was more Chuuya-centric in terms of future impact, which brings me to my next point.

Chuuya is a side character. I love him, honestly, and think he’s a great character, but he isn’t our main focus. This seems to be a problem that Bones has a lot: “forgetting” who their protagonist is. 

I can defend The Dark Era because of how it explains Dazai’s connection with the mafia and why he switched sides. Dazai is easier to get away with focusing on because he is a primary character, although not the protagonist, and probably has some of the most influence on our true protagonist out of all the characters we know. Chuuya....doesn’t. At least, not yet. His backstory, while interesting and fun to see, is inconsequential to where our protagonist is at right now in the story. In fact, I’m not even sure if Atsushi and Chuuya have interacted in the anime aside from that standoff in the hospital hallway- and even then, that was an illusion. While Fifteen gave us a glimpse to Dazai’s life in the mafia, it didn’t give us anything we didn’t already know other than how he met Chuuya, and how he met Chuuya didn’t impact his relationship much with him or explain why he hates him so much- they just kind of always did. (what would you call that? Anti-chemistry?) That means it also didn’t really impact the major decisions Dazai had to make to get to where he was when he found Atsushi- which is when he began to matter, because that’s when he started influencing the world of the protagonist who is supposed to drive our experience through the narrative.

Please note, this isn’t a hate on Soukoku, and if you like Fifteen, or thought it fit, or just liked it because it gave you such good SKK content, I’m happy for you! This is just a personal grudge I have with the series.

This is why Fifteen would’ve stood better as an OVA- it doesn’t have anything to do with the protagonist. A core purpose of the protagonist in any story is to make the narrative relevant. The events of a story are connected because they pertain to the protagonist. Let’s take the Hunger Games as an example. The events of the actual game don’t relate at all to the death of the Everdeen father, or the fact that Primrose Everdeen was selected, or the fact that a certain Everdeen was given a pin of a mockingjay. These are all important because they relate to our protagonist, Katniss. Her father dying made her have to step up inthe household and feel responsible for her mother and sister’s safety, which helped prompt her to volunteer as tribute. Her pin later became the symbol of a revolution, but only because it was hers. If our protagonist had been Peeta, Katniss’ backstory with her father and mother and sister wouldn’t matter to us because it wouldn’t be our protagonist’s concern.

So, why, then, did we get 3 episodes of Chuuya’s backstory and 10 minutes (not even) of Atsushi’s? Hell, we got more of Kyouka’s backstory than Atsushi’s, or at least a better buildup to it. We even got more content of Randou, a character they completely screwed up (and also didn’t really affect Atsushi). I know events are tied together and connected, but when trying to fit an arc like Cannibalism into 12 30-minute episodes, you’ve gotta decide what’s important and what’s not.

Bones, I feel, didn’t choose what was most important.

“Alright, Kenna, all you’ve done is complain. I thought you said you liked season 3?”

That’s the thing, though- I did.

I like the time they spent with Lucy and Kyouka’s hostile interactions. I liked the background they gave to certain characters (Gin, Kyouka, Atsu [even though we got so little], Katai [-ish]) plus we got more Fyodor content. Fitzgerald’s episode was really good, too! I’m a newly-fledged, softcore Fitzgerald stan. I think the last three episodes were pretty well put together, and I ADORED the final scene (no, not just for the Dazatsu content- although thank you for the food, Bones uwu).

Now, these are all little things, yeah, but I feel together they make up enough for Fifteen on my end. See, I’ve always thought BSD had pacing issues from season 1. It’s no news to me that they had trouble squeezing all the content in the episodes they were given, to be honest. If I separate Fifteen from the rest of the season, to me, it’s cardinal sin is pacing, and only pacing. The issues of Fifteen are plentiful, but it doesn’t seem fair to me (and for me, it’s more than ok if you disagree) to pile that all on to the rest of the episodes. Yeah, it was disappointing that we didn’t get as much Fyodor time, or Atsu backstory time, or whatever else we wanted. But to me, that’s okay. We still got the point of what’s going on- the city is in trouble, the worst is yet to come, and Atsushi and Akutagawa have a deal now.

Bungo Stray Dogs has always appealed to me because of its characters more than its story, I connected with the people, not the narrative. I still thoroughly enjoy the story, but I’m more interested in how the characters interact in general and how they operate as a team or in stressful situations. For that purpose, Bones provided. At least they did in my book, even if we didn’t get enough of who we wanted to see.

I have hope for next season, if there is one. I have hope that Bones will right their wrongs. I have hopes that they’ll fix their pacing a little bit. The manga has so much content to portray, though, that a certain pacing issue can be forgiven (like the ones I saw in s1 and s2.) And, because I love the characters, I’m willing to hold out for another potential season and see if they can fix it.

If you’re upset, you have every reason to be. But, though I have my complaints, I can’t say I’m too terribly disappointed. Maybe a little, but I still look forward to future content. I hope we get it soon, if at all.

(And, believe it or not, this is the shortened version of all my thoughts. Haha!)

[everlarkchristmasgifts]

Thanks to all the mods putting this Holiday prompt page together! Thank you for all your hard work and contributions to the Tumblr everlark family now and in the past.

A/N: This is part one of a hasty, four-day attempt to multi-part a drabble set for @everlarkchristmasgifts ‘s prompts. It may not get done on time, but they say it’s good to believe in miracles at Christmas, lol.

This part rated G

Thanks to @alliswell21 for giving it a beta read on quick notice.

And… *deep inhale, because why on earth am I trying to butcher one of my favorite stand alone drabbles with a sequel???**… this follows on the events of Pasty White Raisin.

________________________________________________

“Shopping…”

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.  

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.  

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush.  There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined.  And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue.  The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.   

A  friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment.  Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic.  Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…”  He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office.  “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp.  She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature.  Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise.  He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast.  They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together.  By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press.  The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television.  Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.  

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway.  He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t.  He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.

[parachim]

Here I am doing this the second month in a row! Enjoy!

 Fiction The Intestine of the Basilisk @natsinator (AO3) Oh to be a little robot stuck in a time loop partially of your own creation. The best part of this is the tiny bit where the mining operation machine assumes the body of the boss' sex robot and kills everyone. Catching Fire Suzanne Collins I read Hunger Games around 2014ish? I think Collins has compelling writing if nothing else, and sometimes you just want to read something that you know will be gripping in the moment even if it may not be ultimately satisfying so I returned to the series. I sort of love the fucked up glimpses of the culture of the Capitol we get? It's over the top in a YA way, but not so much so that you can't believe that at least maybe it could happen like that in this universe. Mockingjay Suzanne Collins Collins' is trying to say something about media in this one and it doesn't completely work for me. It's just a little too silly to imagine them making cool action war videos that are all style and no substance with their top fighters when there is an actual war going on. Though the US military puts a lot of money into movies and video games that achieve some of the same purposes of the glorification of war, so it's not like something similar doesn't happen in real life. Kind of wish that the book had managed to pull off Katniss getting with both Peeta and Gale. I think it could've worked without it being too forced and it would have been fucking awesome. Does this series suffer from the 'happily ever babies' trope? Somewhat, yeah. But it does a much better job at it than the HP series does at least. I read The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes last year and I thought that was really good. Thought it was supremely quality to write a novel from the POV of the villain who does not get any real comeuppance within the novel.  How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe Charles Yu Starts out strong, if not at least intriguing and then goes nowhere at all, just like the character stuck in his little time travel machine. There are some glimmers of brilliance here (the depressed mother being given a one hour memory time loop to live in over and over again as some sort of elder care is bonkers) but ultimately it suffers from 'extremely sad man continues to be sad' disease. The protagonist has a holographic AI assistant who he admits to having feelings for and it doesn't go anywhere! I think that he should've at least been able to consummate that relationship in whatever way he could. Like can we give this man one W?

Gregor the Overlander Suzanne Collins This was Collins’ debut novel. It does exactly what it needs to do in terms of being an unlikely hero’s call to action story for middle grade readers. It doesn’t really do much beyond what you expect it to do, but I can see the appeal to the voracious fifth grader.

Nonfiction Burning Questions: Essays and Occasional Pieces, 2004 to 2021 Margaret Atwood I like getting a look at someone who has had a pretty long career in the writing world. It's pretty hilarious to me that some of the first reviews for Handmaid's Tale were so critical. Makes me think about how there probably are a lot of really quality books out there that didn't get very far because they got a few bad reviewers in the beginning. Likewise, I think there are a lot of lousy books that end up as best sellers because someone pens a particularly good review. Some of these essays probably could have been cut for having low substance, but when you're Margaret Atwood you can have anything you write published. Kind of drove me a little nuts how many narrators this audiobook had. I understand that it's easier to have almost every essay read by a different person (saves time) but I think I would have preferred if the accent of the various readers was always the same since I have to readjust to listening to a new narrator each time. The Homework Myth: Why Our Kids Get Too Much of a Bad Thing Alfie Kohn The main argument of the book is homework is bad, actually. And really, he's probably right. I think there are some valid use cases for homework (mostly essay writing because imo it's too hard to write when there are other people around you) but so much homework is absolute bullshit. Especially projects assigned to elementary schoolers that the success of mostly depends on how much effort the parents put into them. Instead of homework for homework's sake it would be better to just let children do something they actually kind of enjoy after school rather than busywork.  Pedagogy of the Oppressed Paulo Freire I feel like I am simply Too Stupid to understand this book. Anything that is mostly theory I clock out too fast. I understand the Point being conveyed here is that the system of education is typically designed to keep people who are already down, down in a systematic fashion. But so much of this book just washed over me. Probably would be more productive of me to process this book in a graduate seminar, but that's not the sort of thing I can waltz right into these days. Tell Me Where It Hurts: A Day of Humor, Healing and Hope in My Life As an Animal Surgeon Nick Trout I'm really into day in the life as x occupation books, as well as books on the field of medicine. This book checks both those boxes. There's some clever prose and funny stories but it's not wildly funny - but it does do everything that it needs to do. Surviving Death: Evidence of the Afterlife Leslie Kean Do I believe in these recounts of reincarnation, talking with ghosts, supernatural experiences etc.? Not really? I think I'm agnostic about it in that I could perhaps be compelled to believe, but am skeptical of it generally. I do like the idea that you as a mortal human could get a chance to come back in one form or another, so I guess I am primed to hope that these things could be true at the very least. The opening section with the toddler recounting his life as a WWII fighter pilot is, if not true, at least a very compelling story. If you want to construct a narrative that really works, this one really *feels* like it could be convincing. "I want to believe," as they say. The other examples get progressively less convincing as the book goes on. The people who have had loved ones die and then experience some unexplained phenomenon well, I mean, that could happen. Who am I to take that away from them? Though the book becomes very weak as it gets further into spirit mediums and seances. Mediums I could buy that maybe they could have some psychic link to something. I can rule out that there's a few people who could perhaps do this in a way that is meaningful. Sort of wish the author talked more about her dud experiences with mediums to round it out. Writing only your most compelling evidence just screams bias. The seance section at the end is too goofy. It's too hokey for anyone other than the most ardent believer to buy into. I just don't see how little ghost hands manifesting in paraffin wax is anything other than the continuation of outright fake seances of the Victorian era. Wish the book had ended before it got to this part.

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

At the Zoo - Chapter 4

To my friends, @xerxia31 and dandelion-sunset – thank you  so so much for your beta skills and for challenging me, always …

To my @akai-echo … you stun me everytime, with the art you create for my stories … you are a gem.

As usual, please please leave a message, a comment, an ask, anything to let me know whether you liked this chapter or not.

Here on FFN // AO3

4. Pelecanus onocrotalus.

Over the weeks, time and time again, Peeta found himself in the red pandas’ pen, watching the babies grow from the cutest fur balls ever to toddlers trying to get out of the nest.

Katniss was always the one to suggest they go monitor their growth, that it could be good for the show - the pandas had always been a favorite of the visitors - if he could get more images of them.

He always ended up taking pictures with his own phone, rather than the professional camera.

He always ended up staying later than anyone else when he went to visit the pandas.

He ended up staying later than anyone else when Katniss was working.

He pretended it was pure luck that they seemed to end their days at the same time. There was so much to catch at the zoo in the few remaining days, they had to spend there. Peeta tried to take as much shots of the everyday life of the place as he could, whether it was the crowds of people walking the paths, looking at the animals with big round eyes, or keepers  stealing time with their animals, taking the time necessary to make them feel home.

Peeta always tried to take the unexpected shots, the one nobody else would dare to take. He once waited for hours just to see a bear plunging into the pond under his waterfall, relishing in the cool water, mouth open to suck the droplets. The shot had been one that the network praised, that made the zoo happy - that made everyone happy.

He started taking more and more of those kind of shots, always lingering on the southern side of the park. He kept telling himself it was because the ground there was almost flat, making it less painful walking on his prosthetic - and being near the aquatic department was a sure bet to have fun with Finn - all the while being very close to the aviary.

Very close to Katniss.

Not that he did it on purpose, mind you. He just happened to be there when she was too, right?

Like the particular Thursday when he found himself in the most funny day of his life. Everything started with the daily dispatch of the tasks for the camera crews. The keepers usually shared information about their sectors, about what was going to happen, or if anything special would occur which would be good for the cameras.

That Thursday, though, Gale started with an unexpected pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Operation Pelican Day. We’ll need as many volunteers as possible for this adventure. Do we have any volunteers, or do I have to ask Effie to pick some of you?”

The journalists and cameramen all looked at each other, trying to decipher the meaning behind Gale’s words. Operation Pelican? Pick people? Were they in an alternate version of the latest dystopian movie?

“For our new friends here, let me tell you this - it’s worth seeing. And filming.” Gale answered the silence plea of the journalists - without giving away too much. “We have to clip their wings today.”

Peeta wondered if that was supposed to help them understand how big a day it was, how Gale thought it could make good television. But it didn’t.

As things turned out, it made hilarious television.

The camera crews discovered very early in the day that being able to clip the wings of the pelican implied being able to catch it first. Which seemed easier said than done.

Peeta tried to do his job as professionally as possible.

He really tried. As did his colleagues.

Castor nearly collapsed on the ground laughing several times.

It all started with a group of keepers gathering around the pond, like soldiers getting ready for a war, Gale dispatching them at “strategic locations”, urging them to hide as much as possible.

Because obviously,

They were all witnesses to the greatest spectacle they’d ever seen. Several keepers were hidden around the pelican pond with large nets, trying to catch the birds that were sliding slowly across the water, failing almost every time. Added to that crowd, Gale was on a small boat, paddling around with Johanna behind him with her own dip trying to catch the pelicans escaping the pond.

And try they did.

Pelicans turned out to be very sneaky birds, who easily avoided every attempt at being caught. They swam away from the banks of the pond every time they came close to a keeper, as if they could sense their presence nearby, teasing them as they slid away from them, a mere inches from the tip of the nets trying to catch them.

Reinforcements were brought in, in the form of a small boat, complete with a floating team, ready to catch the birds.

If they could.

Gale made a first crossing, paddling the boat to the small island in the middle of the pond to drop one of the trainee keepers with a larger net, before taking Johanna, armed with a fishnet, on board with him.

Then began a game of hide and seek, between all the keepers, who kept jumping from behind the bushes or  trees where they were hidden, and the birds, who kept escaping the nets thrown at them. Endlessly.

Causing Johanna to fall into the pond’s water twice. Causing Ellen, the trainee, to fall on her behind three times, and to escape the dangerous beaks of the birds twice as many times. Causing a gathering of keepers and visitors around the pond to laugh at the adventures of the keepers - who weren’t the last ones to laugh either.

Making it even more difficult to catch the birds.

Peeta felt like he had fallen into an episode of Laurel and Hardy, the implausibility of the scene unfolding before the lens of his camera - and yet, it was real. Very real. Everybody was having fun, trying to catch the birds. He could even ear Annie’s laugh, clear like the morning, as she was nearby, waiting for her “patients” to arrive.

He could feel something bubbling in him, something from deep down he wasn’t able to immediately identify that started to make his belly warm. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When Gale and Johanna both fell out of the boat, he knew.

For the first time in more than a year, he heard it. The sound of his laughter, coming from his throat, spreading through his body, relaxing his muscles and joints, relaxing his jaw, releasing endorphins.

For the first time in more than a year, he laughed.

Laughed at keepers trying to catch pelicans, laughed at their own cries of joy, laughed at the life pouring out of them, that seemed to come into him, making his breathing easier, his burden lighter.

“You should laugh more often.” A soft voice came from behind him, so soft he might think it was the wind talking. But it was her, of course. “I like the sound of your voice.” She added, before moving, passing in front of him, as she shouted at the disheveled crowd of keepers.

“Come on, it’s only five pelicans! We can do this guys!”

Katniss walked straight to the bank of the pond, on the opposite side of where the pelicans were gathering.

“I’ll divert their attention so you can grab them,” she told the other keepers, before she started making noise with her mouth to attract the birds.

Which led to the capture of two of them, whose wings were clipped by Annie immediately before they were put in a transport box until all the birds were done with.

Which happened in a matter of minutes.

When the pelicans were all back onto the water, as if nothing had happened, Katniss turned back to the group of soaked keepers gathered around. “So, once again, the aviary saves the day, right? The drinks are on you guys!”

Peeta watched the crew from the aviary depart, leaving the rest of the keepers to deal with the mess the pelicans made. Everywhere around, he could see long, white feathers on the ground or in the bushes, even in the hair of the keepers.

Katniss came closer to him as she was making her way out of the Pelicans Pond, closer than was necessary. He was putting his camera down, getting ready to move to the next pen they were supposed to film, when she stopped right next to him, leaning in slightly to talk just to him.

“I hope you can make it tonight…. It will be at Sae’s, at seven.”

She moved away from him, swiftly, with the grace of the animals she loved so much. Her words lingered in his ears, a soft music echoing in his mind, soothing him, quieting his demons.

She had that power over him, he realized, to bring the calm back with just a word or a touch, just like she had done at the giraffes’ pen a few weeks ago, bringing him back from his flashback.

He stopped packing his camera, a thought crossing his mind.

His last flashback had been with the giraffes.

Weeks ago.

Weeks.

Not days.

Weeks.

Almost two months ago.

When he was used to have one or two per week.

He didn’t know what had happened here to stop the attacks. Maybe it had to do with him being focused on work again, or being outside every hour of the day, or the animals, he really didn’t know.

All he knew was that he felt better - so much better than the first day he had walked into the zoo.

“Mellark? You coming?”

Turning his head, Peeta saw his teammates walking away from the pond. His epiphany had obviously taken more time than he thought, but for once it didn’t matter. He packed quickly, jogging to catch up to his co workers, a slight smile on his face.

If he could go two months without a flashback, maybe he could go way longer. Maybe, there was hope for him, at the end of a very long tunnel.

He found himself outside of Sae’s dinner a few minutes before seven, wondering whether he should go in or not. Sure, he was pretty sure Katniss had invited him, but would he be welcome there? Would the other keepers, and the staff he wasn’t used to dealing with, be happy to see him?

“Bread Boy! You coming in or not?”

Peeta turned his head towards his name, seeing the now familiar face of Johanna looking at him, holding the door opened with one of her hands, the other waving at him to come closer.

“I don-”

Johanna carefully closed the door, walking towards him, stopping a few feet away before she started talking.

“Come in, she’ll be here soon. She just called Gale to say she was leaving.”

“I have no clue who you’re talking about, Johanna,” Peeta answered, casually sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he looked inside the diner.

“Small, black braid, grey eyes? The one you stare at every day? The one who looks at you as if you were the sun itself? You sure have no idea?”

His eyes snapped back to Johanna. Did he really hear what she just said? Katniss was looking at him?

He never caught her eyes on him, never once. Maybe Johanna was making fun of him...

Maybe Katniss was too, talking about him with her friends, telling them about his attack…. But no, he hadn’t heard anything about it so far so  He lowered his gaze to the ground.

“So, you coming in, or not?” Johanna was starting to get impatient, if the stomping of her feet on the ground was a sign.

“I don’t know… it’s not my scene, really…” The desire to run away was getting stronger and stronger now - the irony he couldn’t run on his prosthetic wasn’t lost on him either.

“It’s not your scene unless you make it yours. Look, Peeta….” Johanna paused, and he heard her sigh, but it was the sound of his name that made him look up at her. She never called him by his name, always using silly nicknames she seemed to have an endless list of.  “I don’t know what happened to you, and it’s not my business.”  As Peeta started to open his mouth to talk, she stopped him with a wave of her hand.

‘It’s written all over your face. Or it was, whatever, as I said, not my business. But you have a choice, now. You come in and mingle with us, or you stay out, and keep not living your life. Road’s not taken, and all that Frost shit.”

Without another word, Johanna turned on her heel, opened the door to the diner, the sound of  music and  conversation flying to his ears. She watched him for a few seconds, holding the door for him, until she shook her head, disappointment on her face when he didn’t move.

The sound of music and chatter died.

Peeta remained alone, on the sidewalk, watching through the big windows people having a normal evening.

For a few seconds, he wondered what would have happened if someone else had held the door open for him - would he have had the same thoughts? Would it have changed what he was doing right at this moment? Watching from afar?

Wasn’t it what he always do? Watch from behind the lens of the camera, away from the action, never a real part of it.

Just a witness.

Never a participant - even in Afghanistan. He had made images, filmed what happened. From afar, never willing to give his opinion, keeping to what he thought the media would expect.

Just filming the others.

His friends, or complete strangers, making stories fit for the news, never the vision he had of a conflict.

Or of the zoo he was working in.

Never participating in the life around him.

Following.

His brothers, his parents, his friends, orders.

Maybe it was time to actually do something he wanted.

For him, only.

Peeta shook his head, took a deep breath, then turned to the right, facing the door.

It couldn’t be that hard, right ?

It wasn’t.

He was met by the sound of music, unending chatter, forks and knives clicking.

The sounds of life.

“Peeta! Come on over!” a voice called after him. Finnick was waving his hand in the air, beckoning him to come closer, showing him the empty chair at his side. “Kitty Kat will have to find another place to sit, right?” the keeper added, smirking.

“I guess so…” Peeta answered, almost shyly. He took a deep breath, taking the time to let all the smells get into him - some familiar, like Finnick’s faint smell of chlorine he carried with him, some he couldn’t really recognize.

He bathed in the sounds, in the warmth surrounding him, agreeing to whatever Finnick ordered that was placed in front of him. He bathed in the laughter coming from their table, in the sounds the cooks made, the rock music that played behind them, the colors of the diner - neons flashing pink, the red of the benches , more laughter, more sounds, more noise …

Until the familiar tickling in his head started. The first signs of an upcoming attack fell upon him - Everything was too loud, too bright, too shiny - he needed to get out as fast as possible, get away from the crowd, escape or he would found himself hit by a bullet - or a bomb …

He couldn’t hear any music anymore, just the sounds of bullets flying around him, teasing him, playing with him.

He could swear the next one would hit him.

He jumped out of his chair, the pain in his head unbearable.

Escape was on the other side of the door.

The cool air hit him right in the face.

Cool.

The wind on his face.

Sounds, still.

Someone shouting.

At him, most probably. Because that’s who he was. The one people shouted at, because he was always in line to take a good shot.  

“Go back inside!” he heard a woman’s voice shout.

“Should we call 911?” someone asked, a man, for all he knew.

“No. I’ll handle it,” the woman firmly said. The voice was a familiar, though, even if Peeta couldn’t place it. “Deep breaths. Breathe in through your nose, then exhale through your mouth. Slowly. Count to three, yes, just like that. I want to hear you breathe, Peeta.”

The voice was calm, almost relaxing. Almost soothing.

“You just breathe, Peeta. Focus only on your breathing, there’s nothing more important than that. Don’t let anything derail you from your breathing. Nothing can disrupt your peace of mind. Nothing. You’re stronger than your fears.”

Peeta didn’t know if he could trust the voice he was hearing. The ruckus in his head was stronger, maybe, the demons too strong for him. It was easier to get lost in them than to fight.

He had no reason to fight.

“What’s going on? What happened? What are you doing, Jo?!”

He heard another voice, through the noise in his head, through the pain and commotion. It was a sound he knew, something he could hold onto. Someone he knew he could trust.

A link back to reality.

Peeta forced all of his will to hang onto the voice that had struck through his mind like a lightning.

He forced his nails to dig deeper, harsher into the skin of his palms, to make the monsters go away.

He didn’t want to lose his grasp on reality.

He failed.

[ellanainthetardis]

Prompt, Based on the one where Katniss calls Effie 'Mom': The group visits Annie & Jo in 4. Katniss' mom finds out they're there & overhears Katniss' kids calling Effie 'Grandma', & cue regret that she'd never met them, maybe someone even had to tell her who the kids were, & perhaps envy that Effie's closer to them all than she'll ever be now?

Here it is, some toastbabies with a side of old very domestic hayffie {X]

Grandma

The playgrounds in Four were a lot bigger thanthe single one in Twelve and Effie was running herself frayed trying to keep aneye on the children. Next time, she vowed, she would force Finn to come withthem. He was a nice young twenty-three year old man and he would never refuseher. He was even sweeter on her than his father had been. It was shocking torealize Finn was older than Finnick had been when he had died and when she hadseen him waiting for them on the station’s platform with Annie and Johanna, shehad been forced to swallow back a gasp.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Haymitch snorted.“Willow’s right there.”

Willow was climbing the monkey bars, urging hernewfound friends on – she was just as reckless as her mother and just as promptto make friends as her father. Effie blamed most of her grey hair on the eightyears old.

“And Rye?” she worried.

“Still in the sandbox where we left him.” hepromised, relaxing further against the bench they were sitting on.

He looked tired, she noticed, briefly takingher attention away from the children to study him. One of his arms wasstretched behind her along the length of the wood, his other hand was on hisknee and his fingers were restlessly drumming an uneven rhythm. He alwayslooked restless since the surgery. Or perhaps it was having been forced to giveup liquor for good.

On bad days, days when he felt weak and sick,he blamed her for what he was going through. He would have simply given up anddied if she had let him, let cirrhosis win and take him away from her… She hadfought and fought until he had surrendered and accepted to go to the Capitol toget a second opinion and then she had fought and fought until he gave in andagreed to have the operation. They could do all sort of things in the city, cure all sort of things that would haveotherwise been considered terminal. It simply had a price because those privateclinics didn’t operate pro-bono.

All their savings and a part of Peeta’s hadgone into getting him into that program and Plutarch still had been forced topull strings.

But it had been worth it. Oh, so worth it.

Now he had a brand new liver grown especiallyfor him from his own DNA – and perhaps it was similar to mutts and perhaps hehad had reasons to be wary but she didn’t care because he was alive. They wouldn’t have had much morethan a few more months together without that surgery and instead they had had twoyears and hopefully many more to come. Having to take meds every morning andnight and staying off the liquor were a small price to pay in her opinion.

“We are far too old for this.” she sighed.  At fifty-eight, she didn’t have the energyshe used to and the children were a handful on the best day. At sixty-four,Haymitch was even less partial to entire days spent watching children all tooprone to accidents. Babysitting was fine but she wasn’t sure how they wouldsurvive an entire week as their sole caretakers. “Next time, they can send themto Annie and Johanna.”

Truth be told, that week was supposed to be asecond honeymoon for Peeta and Katniss who had packed up for Seven while theytook the children to Four for the traditional summer trip. The children wouldjoin them later, at which point, Haymitch and Effie would switch hotels for asmaller cozier one where they would be able to have some honeymoon time of their own.

Haymitch tossed her an incredulous glance. “Youwanna send your preciousgrandchildren away for a whole week with only Annie and Johanna to supervise?”

“They didn’t do such a bad job raising Finn.”she countered.

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Have you metWillow?”

“Point taken.” she chuckled. Willow and Johannawould be a bad mix. Willow was always up to all sorts of shenanigans and Jo wasalways too willing to humor her. “Oh, no! Rye is crying…”

The three years old must have gotten some sandinto his eyes. Effie was already halfway up but Haymitch waved her down,hauling himself off the bench to hurry to the boy. Despite his grumpy attitude,she watched as Haymitch’s irritation melted around the baby of the family. Ifanyone had ever told her she would see Haymitch Abernathy, Quarter Quellvictor, willingly sit down in a sandbox to play with a little boy, she wouldhave laughed hard enough to break a rib.

Rye being safe with Haymitch, she turned herattention back to Willow who had now urged her little group of friends to theslide. They were apparently playing at having an adventure and Effie smiledwith fondness at the girl’s antics. She was having the time of her life, itseemed. Hopefully, if she exhausted herself enough she wouldn’t beg to go tothe beach later on. Effie refused to let the children in the water if there wasno adult to supervise – which often meant herif Annie or Finn were otherwise engaged. She could never say no, of course, it was the point of theholidays after all but… She wouldn’t have minded a quiet afternoon, truth betold. A fashion magazine, a cocktail…

Perhaps they could take the children furtherdown the pier where there were carousels and ice cream to distract them fromthe ocean when they would be done playing. They would enjoy it and they couldall go to the beach in the morning instead of���

“Miss Trinket?”

Effie looked up at the woman who had called hername, adjusting her pink sunglasses on her nose to see better – she was up toall tricks to keep people from knowing her sight wasn’t as good as it once was,she wore contacts and had her sunglasses corrected. It took her a few minutesto place her because it had been years since she had given her any thought atall.

“Mrs Everdeen…” she said slowly, without anywarmth.

Her feelings about the woman had always beensomehow mixed because she didn’t believe an eleven years old should have beenforced to care for her family when there was a capable adult present. But thathad been another world and she could have understood if the woman hadn’t packedup and left right before the end of Katniss’ trial, leaving Haymitch forced tostep up to take custody of the girl and thus compelled to leave her behind in the Capitol to look afterPeeta when she had barely been able to take care of herself and when theirrelationship had been at a very fragile breaking point. It had added a lot ofdifficulties that the obvious pain Katniss had felt at her mother’s desertionhadn’t helped curb. Never mind the lack of surprise on the girl’s part.

The healer looked hesitant but she flashed hera small smile. “I thought it was you. You haven’t changed at all.”

Effie patted her dyed strawberry blond hairself-consciously, she kept the reddish hue because Haymitch was fond of it andbecause it was close to its original colors. There were lines at the corner ofher eyes but she supposed the sunglasses hid those. The blue summer dresshugged a figure that, fortunately, was still appealing enough in her ownopinion, the scars having faded enough in the last two decades not to be sonoticeable. The hands, though, were the dead giveaway. They were old woman’shands now. Wrinkled and sometimes swollen at the joints, preventing her fromsewing or knitting.

Wait until you hitsixty, Haymitchalways mocked because it was went his body had finally cried uncle for him. Notonly the liver but his knees and his back.

“You neither.” she offered politely.

It wasn’t a far cry from the truth. AsterEverdeen looked the same, albeit a little older. Her blond hair was mostlywhite now, it fell in a long braid over her shoulder. Delicate hands wereclutching the strap of a medical bag passed over a shoulder over a medicaluniform of some sort.

“Are you still living in Twelve?” the womanasked with a touch of… eagerness. “Katniss mentioned you had moved there a fewyears ago.”

Effie pursed her lips. As far as she knew,Katniss had had almost no contact with her mother aside from the occasionalphone calls in the years after the war – and those phone calls had becomeshorter and shorter until they had simply stopped. Aster hadn’t come to thewedding and the girl had never forgiven her for it.

She glanced at the boy who was now busy withhis favorite game of let’s climb Grandpa andwondered if the woman even knew about them. How long since the last timeKatniss had talked to her mother? She remembered it had been a big deal duringKatniss’ first pregnancy, how the girl had uncharacteristically sought her company at odd times because shefelt insecure and needed the input of another woman, one she was close to andto whom she could confide things that would have had Peeta and Haymitchrunning.

“I have been living in Twelve for more thantwenty years, yes.” she confirmed. “With Haymitch.”

“Oh, of course.” Aster smiled awkwardly. It was public knowledge after all. It hadmade quite the scandal and they had appeared together at various officialevents since then – the anniversaries of the rebellion weren’t things they wereallowed to miss, particularly when they hit a new milestone. The healer clearedher throat. “And how’s…”

“Grandma!” Willow shouted, choosing that momentto come running to the bench. “Grandma! Can I get Tali’s number so I can callher tomorrow for a play date, please? Her mother says I can have it and we cangive her Auntie Annie’s if you say it’s okay.”

Effie glanced from the flushed girl to thewoman who was standing next to another bench with a little girl, clearly aboutto leave. She rummaged in her bag for a piece of paper and quickly scribbledAnnie’s number on it. Willow snatched it from her hand and was gone before shecould even blink.

She shook her head with an amusement thatquickly faded when she looked back at Aster. The healer was staring at thechild.

“I didn’t know you had children.” Mrs Everdeencommented.

“I don’t.” she denied. “Not biologic onesanyway. Willow is…”

She never had time to confirm what the womanprobably already suspected because the girl was back, her prize clutched in herlittle fist. “Can you keep it safe for me, Grandma? I really like Tali. I don’twant to lose it.”

“Of course, darling.” she promised, placing thepiece of paper with her little friend’s number in her purse for safekeeping.“Wait.” she ordered before the child could scamper away. “Here, drinksomething. It’s too hot to be running around without proper hydration.”

Willow took the plastic bottle full ofstrawberry flavored water without protest and dutifully sipped from it, knowingthat the sooner she complied the quicker she would be allowed to go back toplaying. Her grey eyes fell on Aster and her eyebrows shot up, she pointed outat the woman’s hair. “My mommy does the same kind of braids.”

“Does she, now?” Aster breathed out, her eyesshiny. She dropped on the bench next to Effie who had half a mind to protestbut didn’t quite know how to handle the whole thing. What would Katniss wanther to do? It wasn’t her place todecide how to introduce the woman.

“Yep.” the girl nodded enthusiastically.“You’re a friend of Grandma?”

Mrs Everdeen flinched and Effie realized itmust have been a slap in the face to realize she was grandma. Their biologicalgrandmother was a stranger to them.

“I…” Aster hesitated.

“Hey, squirrel, why don’t you go back to playingwith your friends, yeah?” Haymitch suddenly cut in, his voice a touch wary.“They look like they’re waiting for you.”

Willow didn’t need to be told twice. She tossedthe bottle at Haymitch who caught it easily despite the boy clinging to hisneck and snickering hard at the game. It wasn’t long before Haymitch hadsecured the three years old against his chest and had handed him the bottle hissister had left behind. Rye took a few sips with obvious relief. He was lessflushed than Willow but it was clear he wouldn’t have minded some peace andquiet. The way he was rubbing his eyes, Effie figured it wouldn’t be longbefore he took a short nap. Without him needing to ask, she handed him the frayedstuffed horse that usually resided in her bag when it wasn’t in his arms. Hewedged it between Haymitch and his body, cuddling it close.  

“Hello, Haymitch.” Aster said, a bit waryherself. “Hello, young man.” Rye peered at her under his long eyelashes andthen buried his face in Haymitch’s neck, placing his horse over his head forgood measure. The woman smiled sadly. “I trust this one isn’t yours either?”

Effie shook her head. “Why don’t you say helloto the nice lady, Rye?” The boy clung to Haymitch a little tighter and refusedto look at the stranger. She shrugged apologetically. “He is a bit shy but heis such a sweet child…”

“He’s tired.” Haymitch said, his grey eyesnever wandering away from Aster. Effie knew that look. It was the way hewatched out for threats. “I was coming to tell you we should bring the kidshome.”

“Wait.”Aster pleaded, sounding scared. She searched Haymitch’s gaze, found no sympathythere and turned to Effie. “How old are they?”

She hesitated but really… “Willow is eight and Rye is three.”

“Rye…”the woman repeated. “Wasn’t one of Peeta’s brother…”

“Yes. His favorite one.” Effie nodded.

“Oh…” Aster breathed out, desperately staringat Willow who was once more leading her friends in an adventure. “But Katnissdidn’t name the girl after…”

“It was too difficult for her.” she interruptedswiftly. Rye was now watching them without looking like it and he was a brightlittle thing. He would tell his sister who was naturally curious and would putthe puzzle back together. Questions would be asked if certain names wereraised. “We all wanted a clean slate.”

Naming the children after dead friends andfamily members… Nobody had opposed Peeta’s choice to give his son his favoritebrother’s name because none of them had been close to the dead young man. Primnow… It would have been too painful. Rue had been pushed aside for the samereason. In the end, Katniss had decided her children wouldn’t carry that sortof weight.

“And they call you Grandma.” Aster stated,almost accusative.

Effie opened her mouth, feeling all defensive,but Haymitch got there first and there was a growl in his voice that hadintimidated more than one powerful person. “Cause she’s there.”

“Do they know you aren’t their realgrandmother?” the healer asked.

And it hurt.

It hurt alot.

She looked down at her knees, brushing imaginarycreases off her blue dress. Haymitch automatically cradled the back of Rye’shead as if to shield him from those words. Unfortunately, the boy’s blue eyeswere staring straight at Effie who gave him a small reassuring smile. It wasenough for the child to smile back before he started sucking on his thumb. Itwas a habit they were trying to break him out of but she didn’t chide him forit.

“Now, you listen and you listen hard.” Haymitch hissed. “Effie’s just asreal as…”

“Enough.” Effie declared, standing up.

“Sweetheart.” he warned with a  glare, clearly dying to say his piece. He hadclaimed to understand Aster’s decision to not go back to Twelve after the warbut her behavior since then, her failure to come back into Katniss’ life hadleft him angry and bitter. He hated to see his victor hurt.

“Darling.” she replied in the same warningtone. She found another piece of paper in her bag and scribbled Annie’s numberfor the second time before handing it to Aster. “Katniss and Peeta will join usnext week. Call your daughter if you wish to see your grandchildren.”

“Don’t call if you’re just gonna take offagain.” Haymitch snapped. “They’re kids,not toys. You can’t just waltz in their lives and disappear right after.”

“I didn’t disappear, I left her with you.”Aster protested faintly, rubbing her face. “I could never have… I knew you werethe best choice, Haymitch. I knew you would look after her better than I evercould have. She had always been closer to her father, you know, and you… Youfilled that gap in her life.”

“Yeah, well…” he grumbled. “Effie filled theone you left so…” He shook his head.“I mean it, Aster. If you call, you better be ready to own it.”

“Willow!” Effie signaled to the girl they wereready to leave and the child came running, wrapping her arms around her middlewith pleading eyes. “No, darling, we really need to go home. Your brother wantshis nap.” she said firmly before Willow could beg for five more minutes thatwould turn into a half hour. “However Iwas thinking that after a nap and a snack we might just go to the pier.”

Where there would be carousels and all sorts ofgames and where, she was sure, they would end up with one of those giganticstuffed toys Haymitch grumbled so much about because they had ended up with ahuge stuffed panda and a zoo of smaller animals in their guest room given thatWillow was running out of space to stock them at home.

The girl’s eyes brightened and she squeezed herwaist harder. “You’re the best Grandma in the whole world!”  

Aster flinched and Effie almost felt sorry forher. Almost.

It had been her choice to give up on herdaughter after all.

“How about me, squirrel?” Haymitch scowled,faking a pout. “Don’t even get a hug? I smell or what?”

Willow laughed, carefree and happy, andswitched targets to barrel into Haymitch. He winced a little when her head hitthe always tender spot on his stomach but it was soon smoothed away by anexpression of utter fondness.

“I am afraid we have to go.” Effie told Aster,polite but a touch cold. “Do consider giving your daughter a call.”

They didn’t give her a lot of time to ponderthat. Haymitch herded the children away, Willow clinging to his hand. Theyhadn’t gone really far from the playground when the girl grabbed Effie’s freehand so she could walk between them and peered up at her curiously. “Who wasthe lady?”

“An old acquaintance.” she dismissed.

The word seemed to puzzle Willow who made aface and turned to Haymitch for clarification.

“Just someone we used to know, sweetheart.” heshrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

Willow pondered that and then probably decidedit wasn’t worth her interest because she started hopping happily between them.“Can Finn take us to the aquarium again sometimes? I like watching the fish.”

“We will ask him tonight.” Effie promised. “Butif he can’t we won’t insist, alright?”

Finn had been working at the aquarium since thebeginning of the year and she didn’t want him to get in trouble for them. Heloved his job, he loved taking care of animals, and she wasn’t sure giving themthe behind the scenes tour had beencleared with his superiors.

“Okay.” the girl agreed readily. She escapedtheir hands to run a little ahead.

“Stay in sight!” Effie demanded, shaking herhead at how impetuous that child was. A glance at Rye confirmed the boy was nowsound asleep in Haymitch’s arms. “What did you think?”

“Not sure.” he admitted. “Just hope she’sserious about it if she decides to call Katniss. The girl’s been let downenough.” His lips twitched with anger. “She had some nerves too, saying you’renot their real grandmother. What’s thatsupposed to mean? Who was there when Katniss went into labor? Who changeddiapers? Who stayed up all night with the kids when Willow had that fever?Who’s always there to watch the babies when the kids need some air?” Hescoffed. “Got some nerves, I’m telling you.”

She smiled at how protective he was of her butwaved a dismissive hand in the air. “She was just jealous, I think. What I getto be to those children… She will never have it.”

He seemed a little surprised. “Didn’t botheryou?”

“The comment did a little.” she admitted.“But…” She shrugged. “A few years ago, I would have been afraid of her stealingthem all away from me. Now… Now I know nothing can drive us apart.”

They had all been close since the war, theyformed a solid family unit that the children’s babies had only strengthened.But after Haymitch’s health troubles… Katniss and Peeta had rallied around themin a way that had brought her close to tears a few times. Katniss had beggedhim to take the surgery, she had raged until she had burst out in full sobs andshe hadn’t stopped until he had held her close like he almost never did becauseneither of them were touchy-feely –as they claimed. Peeta was the one who had sat Haymitch down and had forced himto consider everything he would be leaving behind if he chose to just give upand accept his fate – not only Effie but Katniss and him and grand-children whoworshiped the ground he walked on. The children had been there every step ofthe way. They hadn’t come to the Capitol with them but they had called threetimes a day to check on him, to talk to him, to make sure everything was goingas best as possible – to the point he had one day exclaimed that he didn’t needto be that coddled, all the whileflushing red in embarrassment and, Effie was sure, pleasure at knowing he wasloved that much.

So, no,she wasn’t scared of Aster Everdeen coming and stealing the matriarch placeback because that place belonged to Effie and to Effie alone. Katniss herselfhad confessed she felt closer to her than to her own mother. There was noquestion about how Peeta felt about her. And the babies… Well… Willow and Ryeloved her, she knew it deep down and she was secured in that knowledge.

“Look at you being all wise.” he teased.

“It suits me well, I think.” she teased rightback.

It didn’t have to be all hers or all Aster’s.She could share a little of them.

But it was Aster Everdeen’s decision to takethat first step.

[everlarkficexchange]

What Goes Around

Title: What Goes Around

Written by: @wildlyglittering

Prompt 44: Peeta has a gf before entering college where she meets Katniss. K&P are both in the same major/dept. They break up and he and Katniss become really close and everybody thinks they’re a thing but part of Katniss thinks he’s not over his ex so he never asks her out even if they have chemistry and all. Something happens and the ex ends up transferring to the same major/dept and Katniss is extremely frustrated because she’s fallen for Peeta but the ex is trying to make sure Peeta never gets over her

Rating: T (to start with)

Notes: Because there is something clearly wrong with me I decided to take two prompts and turn them both into WIPs. So this is part 1/ part of part 1 that is now a WIP.  I don’t know if I’m entirely happy with how this has turned out so far but thought I would give it a go!

“Well I don’t know. Have you tried under the stairs?” Her foot beat out a constant tap against the wood floor of the hallway as she eyed up the clock on the wall, the big hand steadily ticking its way to twelve. There was a reply from the receiver pressed to her ear but if she was honest she hadn’t heard a word. A minute into the conversation and Katniss had thrown out a series of locations in a panic, hoping to get her Mom off the line. She was, as it turned out, failing miserably.

The million-dollar question was why, with a few minutes until her class started, had she taken the call? Especially when she saw who it was calling. The only explanation was that guilt and a sense of daughterly responsibility had won out which had resulted in a ball of anxiety squirming in her gut for her efforts.

“Mom.” There was no sign of the other woman stopping but Katniss pressed on. “Mom. I have to go.” At those words her Mom’s voice took on a familiar wobbling tone but she knew if she stayed on the call any longer then she would be dealing with another of her mother’s episodes. “Mom, I’m going now. Bye. Bye.” She stressed the last goodbye with more finality before quickly ending the call before another word could be said.

“Jesus Christ.” With each syllable she gently hit the back of her head against the wall she was leaning on and took a moment to shut her eyes.

The desperation to leave home for college had built up over a long, hot summer and every moment she had been in that house, just her and her Mom, Katniss swore she was one minute nearer to committing a random act of violence. When the start of semester finally arrived, she threw everything she had into her old rucksack, chucked it in the car and drove off at full speed.

For about five blissful minutes she had been free.

Before she stupidly, stupidly, answered the phone she had been heading into Professor Abernathy’s Psych class and was now late. Three lectures in and she wasn’t too sure what she had learnt about Psychology so far but she had learnt that Abernathy was a mean, rude man. Due to the classes popularity and mismatched lecture hall size, being late meant you didn’t get a seat. The Professor held a ‘no seat, no stay’ policy, stating that those who wanted to attend his class would ‘damn well be on time.’ In previous lectures those who hadn’t quite made it and who had nervously twitched and hovered by the door were unceremoniously kicked out. One even had a pen thrown in their direction.

That morning Katniss got to watch, with increasing alarm, as fellow students filed in ahead of her. She took a moment to question whether she needed to attend the class at all, contemplating taking a non-attendance mark over public humiliation. The problem was Professor Abernathy also operated a rather strict ‘three strikes’ rule for no-shows and with circumstances the way they were she knew she couldn’t risk it. Those non-attendance marks needed to be bankable.

She groaned out loud to the quiet hallway. There was only one thing to do. “Fuck. My. Life,” she muttered and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. Public humiliation it was then. If she was quick she stood a chance at successfully ducking from whatever it was he decided to throw at her and if a miracle occurred then she might be able to sneak in unnoticed and discover an empty sear. Please, she begged, to no one, to the universe. You have everything else. Just give me this one thing.

Katniss pushed the door open and crept in, her stomach instantly stopping its fight to flee her body. The place where the grumpy, dark haired man usually stood at the front of the hall was…. empty. The miracle she had wanted had happened, she had somehow arrived before the professor. Thank you, she thought. Maybe pathetic pleading does work.

In the absence of an adult, a proper adult, the lecture hall was buzzing. Students sat chatting away to each other, leaning across rows to reach people they knew or were taking the time to scroll through their phones. Some students, the extremely pretty group of blonde girls that gravitated towards each other in lecture one, were even taking selfies. Katniss walked up the first steps past them, rolling her eyes. This is what people did when they found themselves at a loose end? She could be wrong but she was sure class was for learning, not for making friends.

Despite the win on a temporarily absent professor, she was faced with her second battle. Her eyes scanned the lecture hall for a seat and succeeded only in find a whole lot of nothing. Well shit. Maybe this was why people made friends with classmates. When you end up in a crappy class with bad seating arrangements at least a friend could help you out when you ran late. She turned around and was about to head out the door in defeat when she heard it. Over the noise of the talking and the laughter, Katniss thought she heard a yell of ‘hey by the door!’

Frowning, she looked up and around, her eyes sweeping over the heads of her peers. Then she saw it. Six rows up on the right side by the aisle. An arm waved in the air followed by another shout from a voice, a guy’s voice. “Hey, do you want a seat?”

Katniss looked behind her quickly to see if another tardy student had followed behind her. No. Just her.

“Yeah, you with the braid. There’s a spare here!”

Heat flushed her cheeks. Well this was public humiliation on a different level. A quick glance around however, told her that no one seemed to have paid any attention. Her foot waivered on the step. It was probably a matter of minutes before Professor Abernathy turned up and Katniss had learnt the hard way that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Gritting her teeth, she made her way up the stairs towards where the arm was still waving. Great, she got to be a charity case here too.

When she reached the seat, the guy was bent down, shoving his bag onto the floor of the spare seat next to him as he moved across to it, freeing up the aisle one for Katniss. A quick look at his back told her nothing aside from the fact he had wavy blonde hair and very broad shoulders. Jock, she noted. I see how this is. A dumb jock who thinks he can copy from me. This day is just getting better,

She murmured a quick ‘thanks,’ and threw her own bag onto the ground sliding into the seat next to his, keeping her eyes down whilst hoping that would be the full level of their interaction.

There was a chirpy, “you’re welcome!” followed by a pause. “I saw you on the phone out there and thought you might want a seat saved. I know how this class gets.”

He was obviously a talker. Marvellous. If she humoured him and thanked him again he may just accept it and leave her in peace. If he didn’t, then she would tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t interested in conversation. Katniss turned to look at him, her mouth open with a quick and curt reply.

Oh. Oh. He wasn’t entirely what she was expecting. He was grinning at her. No, not grinning, beaming at her, a wide and pleasant smile spreading across an equally pleasant face. She realised that her mouth was still open but no reply was coming out. She quickly spoke, “um yeah. Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again!”

She mustered a small smile at him and looked down at her bag, readying to get her notebook out but he must have read the smile as a sign of encouragement because he leant towards her, his voice low. “You know he does it deliberately?”

“Sorry?”

“Professor Abernathy overbooks his classes on purpose. It’s not because he likes to make people suffer,” he shrugged. “Ok, maybe there’s a bit of that, but it’s his specialist area of interest. His first ever thesis was on in-group and out-group behaviour in stress related situations.” He leaned in, even closer, and Katniss saw that his eyes, a remarkable shade of blue, were shining with humour. “A few years ago he took his final thesis students on a survivalist week and created awful living conditions to see how they would react. It was so bad that by the fifth day they snapped and tied him to a pole.”

She laughed before she could help it and watched as his face lit up. “Guys a mad genius. His next study is on conformity to authority. I think he’s started with yelling at people to get out of his class. Who knows where it will go.”

Where indeed, she thought. Instead she asked, “how do you know all this?” and internally cringed as she said it. Dammit, a conversation was the one thing that she didn’t want to start and now she was actively participating in one. He didn’t seem to mind though, in fact he almost seemed pleased that she’d asked.

“My brother took this class. He was actually the one that had the idea to tie up Professor Abernathy to the pole.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and the guy chuckled.

“I swear it sounds worse than it is. According to my brother Abernathy told him he had ‘spunk.’”

“And are you taking this class because you’re hoping to tie someone up?” As soon as she said it she regretted it. A stunned look took over his face and there was a pause while his mouth opened and closed. He was now either thinking she was implying he was a sadist of some sort or was thinking she was flirting with him. It wasn’t the first and it certainly wasn’t the last. Mortification flooded through her and she started to look around for another seat. If she couldn’t find one then maybe she would chance it and just let Abernathy throw stationery at her head.

Before she could swap one embarrassment for another Katniss heard a chuckle from her right and she glanced over at him. He was rubbing the back of his neck and his face had pinkened, a blush decorating his cheeks. “I promise I’m not taking this class for some re-enactment of my brother’s glory moment. Professor Abernathy is really revered in his field. I just finished his new book before the semester and-”

There was a slam from the hall door and the man in question stormed in. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he called out to the room. “I’m late and I’m not going to apologise for it. Now shut the hell up and pay attention.” Katniss rolled her eyes. Well glad to see that he could be late without consequence.

Her new conversation buddy caught her attention from the corner of her eye and mouthed ‘yeah, I know!’ followed by a sheepish smile at which, for some strange reason, she found her mouth had moved itself into a half smile in return.

For the rest of the lecture she couldn’t help but peek at him from the corner of her eye. There was something so irritatingly wholesome about him and Katniss realised, as she watched him take note after note on the material, that she had him wrongly pegged as a dumb jock. If anything, it was more obvious that she would benefit from copying from him.

Still, she hadn’t been entirely wrong on the jock front. When she first saw him she had noticed those broad shoulders and his physical presence seemed to take over the flimsy lecture hall seat he was sat in. Not in weight but in frame. While Katniss seemed to be small and inconspicuous in hers he seemed, solid. Stocky. And because she wasn’t a complete idiot she had also noticed that his sweatshirt said ‘D12 Wrestling Team 2017.’ That explained the build even if the slightly angelic looking blonde waves didn’t entirely fit the image.

When the bell finally rang, signalling the end of the hour, Katniss started. For someone so desperate to make it to this lesson she had paid surprisingly little attention during it. The guy next to her was packing up and she started to close her notebook, wincing at the lack of decent notes. She felt a rush of irritation at herself for getting distracted. This wasn’t why she was here. She couldn’t afford distractions. Sighing she grabbed her bag and threw everything in, leaping up from the chair and was wondering if the professor would post the lecture content online when she heard his voice again.

“Hey!”

She turned and almost tripped over her own bag strap but his hand shot out and grabbed at her elbow, keeping her upright. “Sorry! That was my fault, I shouldn’t have distracted you!” His eyes were wide and Katniss thought she could see genuine concern but she wrenched her elbow away from his grip, the feel of his warm fingers around her bare arm making her shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry. Again.” The same blush as before started to bloom across his face. She nodded and turned to walk down the steps. After a few seconds she realised he had joined her.

“I’m really hoping I’m not coming across as creepy but I was wondering if you wanted to take a copy of my notes? I noticed that you hadn’t written much and I think it was my fault. I probably put you off with what I was saying before the lecture so if you want my notes I’m happy to share.”

Jesus was this guy for real? She wanted to tell him that she was fine. She didn’t need his notes, she didn’t need his conversation and she didn’t need him to save a seat for her. Except, frustratingly, she did. Not the conversation maybe, she had never been one for that but she had needed a seat. And now she needed his damn notes. Sighing she turned to him. “Yeah that would be good, thanks. Maybe we could meet up before the next lecture. I could take some copies then?”

“Sounds great. I’m Peeta by the way.” He held out his hand for her to shake, such an unexpected gesture that she stalled and was immediately jostled by someone behind her. You are winning at life today Everdeen. She scowled at the person behind her who held their palms up and walked round her. She then scowled at Peeta’s upturned hand. Ugh. This is not want she wanted. She did not want polite people and possible friendships.

Reaching out with her hand, she shook his. “Katniss.” She would meet him before the next lecture, get copies and then go. It was a large class and she was small, she could blend in so he would never find her and start up a conversation again.

When they exited the lecture hall they walked to the side of the hallway and stood in the same place earlier where Katniss had answered her phone. Peeta had insisted that they swap numbers so that they could arrange to meet up for Katniss to get the copies. It made sense but she was still reluctant in giving her number over, not fully trusting that he would meet up and hand over the notes and dubious over the intentions of any guy with a girl’s number.

When they finished she said goodbye and turned to walk away but before she could he stopped her again. “I know I’m a pain in the ass.” She said nothing. “But I was thinking it would be good to have someone to talk over the lectures with, go over the assignments with, that sort of thing. Thought we could tackle this course together. If you’re interested?”

She frowned. Katniss didn’t know whether it was at him directly, at the whole concept of a class friend or if this was her face now. A semi-permanent frown.

Together? What the hell was he thinking?

[readbookywooks]

PART III "THE VICTOR"

19 I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there's almost no one left. Peeta, who's been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I've had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other's life now we'd be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute who didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case  -  being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12  -  it's an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors. The star-crossed lovers. Peeta must have been playing that angle all along. Why else would the Gamemakers have made this unprecedented change in the rules? For two tributes to have a shot at winning, our "romance" must be so popular with the audience that condemning it would jeopardize the success of the Games. No thanks to me. All I've done is managed not to kill Peeta. But whatever he's done in the arena, he must have the audience convinced it was to keep me alive. Shaking his head to keep me from running to the Cornucopia. Fighting Cato to let me escape. Even hooking up with the Careers must have been a move to protect me. Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me. The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands and hold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras can be sure to catch it. So, who is there left to be afraid of? Foxface? The boy tribute from her district is dead. She's operating alone, at night. And her strategy has been to evade, not attack. I don't really think that, even if she heard my voice, she'd do anything but hope someone else would kill me. Then there's Thresh. All right, he's a distinct threat. But I haven't seen him, not once, since the Games began. I think about how Foxface grew alarmed when she heard a sound at the site of the explosion. But she didn't turn to the Woods, she turned to whatever lies across from it. To that area of the arena that drops off into I don't know what. I feel almost certain that the person she ran from was Thresh and that is his domain. He'd never have heard me from there and, even if he did, I'm up too high for someone his size to reach. So that leaves Cato and the girl from District 2, who are now surely celebrating the new rule. They're the only ones left who benefit from it besides Peeta and myself. Do I run from them now, on the chance they heard me call Peeta's name? No, I think. Let them come. Let them come with their night-vision glasses and their heavy, branch-breaking bodies. Right into the range of my arrows. But I know they won't. If they didn't come in daylight to my fire, they won't risk what could be another trap at night. When they come, it will be on their own terms, not because I've let them know my whereabouts. Stay put and get some sleep, Katniss, I instruct myself, although I wish I could start tracking Peeta now. Tomorrow, you'll find him. I do sleep, but in the morning I'm extra-cautious, thinking that while the Careers might hesitate to attack me in a tree, they're completely capable of setting an ambush for me. I make sure to fully prepare myself for the day  -  eating a big breakfast, securing my pack, readying my weapons  -  before I descend. But all seems peaceful and undisturbed on the ground. Today I'll have to be scrupulously careful. The Careers will know I'm trying to locate Peeta. They may well want to wait until I do before they move in. If he's as badly wounded as Cato thinks, I'd be in the position of having to defend us both without any assistance. But if he's that incapacitated, how has he managed to stay alive? And how on earth will I find him? I try to think of anything Peeta ever said that might give me an indication as to where he's hiding out, but nothing rings a bell. So I go back to the last moment I saw him sparkling in the sunlight, yelling at me to run. Then Cato appeared, his sword drawn. And after I was gone, he wounded Peeta. But how did Peeta get away? Maybe he'd held out better against the tracker jacker poison than Cato. Maybe that was the variable that allowed him to escape. But he'd been stung, too. So how far could he have gotten, stabbed and filled with venom? And how has he stayed alive all these days since? If the wound and the stingers haven't killed him, surely thirst would have taken him by now. And that's when I get my first clue to his whereabouts. He couldn't have survived without water. I know that from my first few days here. He must be hidden somewhere near a source. There's the lake, but I find that an unlikely option since it's so close to the Careers' base camp. A few spring-fed pools. But you'd really be a sitting duck at one of those. And the stream. The one that leads from the camp Rue and I made all the way down near the lake and beyond. If he stuck to the stream, he could change his location and always be near water. He could walk in the current and erase any tracks. He might even be able to get a fish or two. Well, it's a place to start, anyway. To confuse my enemies' minds, I start a fire with plenty of green wood. Even if they think it's a ruse, I hope they'll decide I'm hidden somewhere near it. While in reality, I'll be tracking Peeta. The sun burns off the morning haze almost immediately and I can tell the day will be hotter than usual. The waters cool and pleasant on my bare feet as I head downstream. I'm tempted to call out Peeta's name as I go but decide against it. I will have to find him with my eyes and one good ear or he will have to find me. But he'll know I'll be looking, right? He won't have so low of an opinion of me as to think I'd ignore the new rule and keep to myself. Would he? He's very hard to predict, which might be interesting under different circumstances, but at the moment only provides an extra obstacle. It doesn't take long to reach the spot where I peeled off to go the Careers' camp. There's been no sign of Peeta, but this doesn't surprise me. I've been up and down this stretch three times since the tracker jacker incident. If he were nearby, surely I'd have had some suspicion of it. The stream begins to curve to the left into a part of the woods that's new to me. Muddy banks covered in tangled water plants lead to large rocks that increase in size until I begin to feel somewhat trapped. It would be no small matter to escape the stream now. Fighting off Cato or Thresh as I climbed over this rocky terrain. In fact, I've just about decided I'm on the wrong track entirely, that a wounded boy would be unable to navigate getting to and from this water source, when I see the bloody streak going down the curve of a boulder. It's long dried now, but the smeary lines running side to side suggest someone  -  who perhaps was not fully in control of his mental faculties  -  tried to wipe it away. Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued to it, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Peeta! Peeta!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down. My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks. "Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds. "Close your eyes again," I order. He does, and his mouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off." Peeta smiles. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying." "You're not going to die," I tell him firmly. "Says who?" His voice is so ragged. "Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," I tell him. His eyes open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "Did Cato cut you?" I ask. "Left leg. Up high," he answers. "Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say. "Excellent," he says. I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say. "One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway. "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out? "No more rolling?" he asks. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. It's hard to know where to start. He so caked with mud and matted leaves, I can't even see his clothes. If he's wearing clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right? I've got two water bottles and Rue's water skin. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour the third over Peeta's body. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail. "Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. "You must be hungry." "Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That's when I know how sick he is. "Peeta, we need to get some food in you," I insist. "It'll just come right back up," he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" he asks. "Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Cato's sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst of all, the smell of festering flesh. I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the skill nor the courage to face. But there's no one here but me. I try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when handling particularly bad cases. "Pretty awful, huh?" says Peeta. He's watching me closely. "So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well." I've left on Peeta's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg. what on earth can I do for that? "Why don't we give it some air and then. " I trail off. "And then you'll patch it up?" says Peeta. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am. "That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Peeta. "We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance. "Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?" I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it. "Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently. "I. I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!" "How do you hunt?" he asks. "Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you." "Can you speed it up a little?" he asks. "No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say. After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone. "What next, Dr. Everdeen?" he asks. "Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts." "Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta. "You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw. "You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all." I wrinkle my nose at the memory. "What's he sent you so far?" "Not a thing," says Peeta. Then there's a pause as it hits him. "Why, did you get something?" "Burn medicine," I say almost sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread." "I always knew you were his favorite," says Peeta. "Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," I say. "Because you're just alike," mutters Peeta. I ignore it though because this really isn't the time for me to be insulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse. I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Peeta, we've got to go now." "Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?" "Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this." But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream. When Peeta's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering. I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration. "Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me." "You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die. "Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I  - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers. I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth. Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff. I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

[tatoforlife]

So true

Coin being frustrated that she didn't get her wanted prize at the claw machine, as if the plushie with the bread wouldn't successfully gaslight her entire district on day one just to rescue his pregnant wife

[readbookywooks]

24 It takes a while to explain the situation to Peeta. How Foxface stole the food from the supply pile before I blew it up, how she tried to take enough to stay alive but not enough that anyone would notice it, how she wouldn't question the safety of berries we were preparing to eat ourselves. "I wonder how she found us," says Peeta. "My fault, I guess, if I'm as loud as you say." We were about as hard to follow as a herd of cattle, but I try to be kind. "And she's very clever, Peeta. Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her." "Not on purpose. Doesn't seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead, too, if she hadn't eaten the berries first." He checks himself. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?" I give a nod. "We call them nightlock." "Even the name sounds deadly," he says. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered." "Don't apologize. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" I ask. "I'll get rid of the rest," Peeta says. He gathers up the sheet of blue plastic, careful to trap the berries inside, and goes to toss them into the woods. "Wait!" I cry. I find the leather pouch that belonged to the boy from District 1 and fill it with a few handfuls of berries from the plastic. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them  - " "Then hello District Twelve," says Peeta. "That's it," I say, securing the pouch to my belt. "He'll know where we are now," says Peeta. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us." Peeta's right. This could be just the opportunity Cato's been waiting for. But even if we run now, there's the meat to cook and our fire will be another sign of our whereabouts. "Let's make a fire. Right now." I begin to gather branches and brush. "Are you ready to face him?" Peeta asks. "I'm ready to eat. Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?" I ask. "Maybe not," he says. Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance. When the food's cooked, I pack most of it up, leaving us each a rabbit's leg to eat as we walk. I want to move higher into the woods, climb a good tree, and make camp for the night, but Peeta resists. "I can't climb like you, Katniss, especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground." "It's not safe to stay in the open, Peeta," I say. "Can't we go back to the cave?" he asks. "It's near water and easy to defend." I sigh. Several more hours of walking  -  or should I say crashing  -  through the woods to reach an area we'll just have to leave in the morning to hunt. But Peeta doesn't ask for much. He's followed my instructions all day and I'm sure if things were reversed, he wouldn't make me spend the night in a tree. It dawns on me that I haven't been very nice to Peeta today. Nagging him about how loud he was, screaming at him over disappearing. The playful romance we had sustained in the cave has disappeared out in the open, under the hot sun, with the threat of Cato looming over us. Haymitch has probably just about had it with me. And as for the audience. I reach up and give him a kiss. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave." He looks pleased and relieved. "Well, that was easy." I work my arrow out of the oak, careful not to damage the shaft. These arrows are food, safety, and life itself now. We toss a bunch more wood on the fire. It should be sending off smoke for a few more hours, although I doubt Cato assumes anything at this point. When we reach the stream, I see the water has dropped considerably and moves at its old leisurely pace, so I suggest we walk back in it. Peeta's happy to oblige and since he's a lot quieter in water than on land, it's a doubly good idea. It's a long walk back to the cave though, even going downward, even with the rabbit to give us a boost. We're both exhausted by our hike today and still way too underfed. I keep my bow loaded, both for Cato and any fish I might see, but the stream seems strangely empty of creatures. By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It's not much, but out here in the wilderness, it's the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's still here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad that I don't have to face Cato alone. Brutal, bloody Cato who can snap a neck with a twist of his arm, who had the power to overcome Thresh, who has had it out for me since the beginning. He probably has had a special hatred for me ever since I outscored him in training. A boy like Peeta would simply shrug that off. But I have a feeling it drove Cato to distraction. Which is not that hard. I think of his ridiculous reaction to finding the supplies blown up. The others were upset, of course, but he was completely unhinged. I wonder now if Cato might not be entirely sane. The sky lights up with the seal, and I watch Foxface shine in the sky and then disappear from the world forever. He hasn't said it, but I don't think Peeta felt good about killing her, even if it was essential. I can't pretend I'll miss her, but I have to admire her. My guess is if they had given us some sort of test, she would have been the smartest of all the tributes. If, in fact, we had been setting a trap for her, I bet she'd have sensed it and avoided the berries. It was Peeta's own ignorance that brought her down. I've spent so much time making sure I don't underestimate my opponents that I've forgotten it's just as dangerous to overestimate them as well. That brings me back to Cato. But while I think I had a sense of Foxface, who she was and how she operated, he's a little more slippery. Powerful, well trained, but smart? I don't know. Not like she was. And utterly lacking in the control Foxface demonstrated. I believe Cato could easily lose his judgment in a fit of temper. Not that I can feel superior on that point. I think of the moment I sent the arrow flying into the apple in the pig's mouth when I was so enraged. Maybe I do understand Cato better than I think. Despite the fatigue in my body, my mind's alert, so I let Peeta sleep long past our usual switch. In fact, a soft gray day has begun when I shake his shoulder. He looks out, almost in alarm. "I slept the whole night. That's not fair, Katniss, you should have woken me." I stretch and burrow down into the bag. "I'll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens." Apparently nothing does, because when I open my eyes, bright hot afternoon light gleams through the rocks. "Any sign of our friend?" I ask. Peeta shakes his head. "No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile." "How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" I ask. "Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment," says Peeta. "Yeah, I have a feeling today's the day," I say. I sit up and look out at the peaceful terrain. "I wonder how they'll do it." Peeta remains silent. There's not really any good answer. "Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble," I say. Peeta packs up our gear while I lay out a big meal. The rest of the rabbits, roots, greens, the rolls spread with the last bit of cheese. The only thing I leave in reserve is the squirrel and the apple. By the time we're done, all that's left is a pile of rabbit bones. My hands are greasy, which only adds to my growing feeling of grubbiness. Maybe we don't bathe daily in the Seam, but we keep cleaner than I have of late. Except for my feet, which have walked in the stream, I'm covered in a layer of grime. Leaving the cave has a sense of finality about it. I don't think there will be another night in the arena somehow. One way or the other, dead or alive, I have the feeling I'll escape it today. I give the rocks a pat good-bye and we head down to the stream to wash up. I can feel my skin, itching for the cool water. I may do my hair and braid it back wet. I'm wondering if we might even be able to give our clothes a quick scrub when we reach the stream. Or what used to be the stream. Now there's only a bone-dry bed. I put my hand down to feel it. "Not even a little damp. They must have drained it while we slept," I say. A fear of the cracked tongue, aching body and fuzzy mind brought on by my previous dehydration creeps into my consciousness. Our bottles and skin are fairly full, but with two drinking and this hot sun it won't take long to deplete them. "The lake," says Peeta. "That's where they want us to go." "Maybe the ponds still have some," I say hopefully. "We can check," he says, but he's just humoring me. I'm humoring myself because I know what I'll find when we return to the pond where I soaked my leg. A dusty, gaping mouth of a hole. But we make the trip anyway just to confirm what we already know. "You're right. They're driving us to the lake," I say. Where there's no cover. Where they're guaranteed a bloody fight to the death with nothing to block their view. "Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water's tapped out?" "Let's go now, while we've had food and rest. Let's just go end this thing," he says. I nod. It's funny. I feel almost as if it's the first day of the Games again. That I'm in the same position. Twenty-one tributes are dead, but I still have yet to kill Cato. And really, wasn't he always the one to kill? Now it seems the other tributes were just minor obstacles, distractions, keeping us from the real battle of the Games. Cato and me. But no, there's the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. "Two against one. Should be a piece of cake," he says. "Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol," I answer. "You bet it will," he says. We stand there a while, locked in an embrace, feeling each other, the sunlight, the rustle of the leaves at our feet. Then without a word, we break apart and head for the lake. I don't care now that Peeta's footfalls send rodents scurrying, make birds take wing. We have to fight Cato and I'd just as soon do it here as on the plain. But I doubt I'll have that choice. If the Gamemakers want us in the open, then in the open we will be. We stop to rest for a few moments under the tree where the Careers trapped me. The husk of the tracker jacker nest, beaten to a pulp by the heavy rains and dried in the burning sun, confirms the location. I touch it with the tip of my boot, and it dissolves into dust that is quickly carried off by the breeze. I can't help looking up in the tree where Rue secretly perched, waiting to save my life. Tracker jackers. Glimmer's bloated body. The terrifying hallucinations. "Let's move on," I say, wanting to escape the darkness that surrounds this place. Peeta doesn't object. Given our late start to the day, when we reach the plain it's already early evening. There's no sign of Cato. No sign of anything except the gold Cornucopia glowing in the slanting sun rays. Just in case Cato decided to pull a Foxface on us, we circle the Cornucopia to make sure it's empty. Then obediently, as if following instructions, we cross to the lake and fill our water containers. I frown at the shrinking sun. "We don't want to fight him after dark. There's only the one pair of glasses." Peeta carefully squeezes drops of iodine into the water. "Maybe that's what he's waiting for. What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?" "Either that or find a tree. But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover," I answer. We sit by the lake, in full sight. There's no point in hiding now. In the trees at the edge of the plain, I can see the mockingjays flitting about. Bouncing melodies back and forth between them like brightly colored balls. I open my mouth and sing out Rue's four-note run. I can feel them pause curiously at the sound of my voice, listening for more. I repeat the notes in the silence. First one mockingjay trills the tune back, then another. Then the whole world comes alive with the sound. "Just like your father," says Peeta. My fingers find the pin on my shirt. "That's Rue's song," I say. "I think they remember it." The music swells and I recognize the brilliance of it. As the notes overlap, they compliment one another, forming a lovely, unearthly harmony. It was this sound then, thanks to Rue, that sent the orchard workers of District 11 home each night. Does someone start it at quitting time, I wonder, now that she is dead? For a while, I just close my eyes and listen, mesmerized by the beauty of the song. Then something begins to disrupt the music. Runs cut off in jagged, imperfect lines. Dissonant notes intersperse with the melody. The mockingjays' voices rise up in a shrieking cry of alarm. We're on our feet, Peeta wielding his knife, me poised to shoot, when Cato smashes through the trees and bears down on us. He has no spear. In fact, his hands are empty, yet he runs straight for us. My first arrow hits his chest and inexplicably falls aside. "He's got some kind of body armor!" I shout to Peeta. Just in time, too, because Cato is upon us. I brace myself, but he rockets right between us with no attempt to check his speed. I can tell from his panting, the sweat pouring off his purplish face, that he's been running hard a long time. Not toward us. From something. But what? My eyes scan the woods just in time to see the first creature leap onto the plain. As I'm turning away, I see another half dozen join it. Then I am stumbling blindly after Cato with no thought of anything but to save myself.