#in the arena

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour

PEETA MELLARK X GN!READER

CHAPTER ONE

[Table of Contents]

Summary: You wake up with a migraine, surrounded by forests and kids that are more than willing to kill you. What have you fallen into the middle of? And why can’t you remember getting here?

Warnings: Cannon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, descriptions of a panic attack, temporary memory loss, (more to be added over time)

Author’s Note: I was planning on doing like full-amnesia, doesn’t remember anything and suddenly waking up with everyone wanting to kill them, but it seemed a bit too unrealistic to me so i went partial amnesia from head trauma and ran with that. And to make the whole gender-neutral reader thing easier, I made the reader from a separate district and killed off the other tribute during the Bloodbath section, and i make no mention of whether your other tribute was masculine or feminine.

You slowly come to consciousness, your head pounding along with your pulse, and each beat seems to get more painful. You groan low in your throat, curling into a ball to minimize the stabbing only to hear your ears begin to ring. You slowly took stock of the rest of your body, and you could feel a burning, searing pain coming from your left abdomen; your clothes felt sticky in that area and you could only assume you’d been losing blood.

Your ears begin to clear, and you stretch your jaw after realizing you had been clenching it this whole time. You were just about to open your eyes when you feel a shove against your right side, falling heavily against your left and calling out in pain. Your eyes shoot open from this, and you take in the scenery surrounding you. You were in some sort of forest, the light was low enough that it seemed to almost be night- and there were two men fighting each other not ten feet away from you. Their grunts were only just registering, and you raise a hand to wiggle one of your ears, trying to clear out the last of the ringing.

You were terrified- the two men that were fighting seemed ready to end each other. One raised a hatchet above his head and swung wildly, missing once the other ducked before jumping back upward with a strong uppercut to the jaw. Hatchet man fell to the ground, losing his grip on his weapon as it swung and fell a bit away, tettering off the edge of a rock before falling into a rushing river nearby. You suck in a deep breath, looking at the man still standing and seeing him remain there, breathing heavily.

He was a bulky guy, with short blonde hair- and as he turned to look at you, you catch sight of eyes so blue they reminded you of the skies back home, in District 9. The blue skies mixed with the fields of grain surrounding you had always been a calming thought, and you were instantly transported back there just by one innocent look from this boy.

He approached slowly, raising his hands in a placating gesture, before finally speaking with a low voice. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m here now.”

“Where am I?” It was one of the main questions on your mind, along with who is he, why are you here, and why that man was trying to kill him. Along with why your head hurt so much, where your home was- really, the list could go on, but figuring out where you were definitely seemed like a good starting point. This question, however, seemed to be the wrong one as the only answer you got in response was a furrowed brow and a slight pout from the boy’s lips. Then, the hatchet man began to stand back up.

“Look out!” You point behind him, and the blond boy spins to face his attacker head-on. The boy- tall, but skinny, with short brown hair that curled around his ears- just laughed as a bit of blood trickled down his chin.

“I’m going to have fun ending both of your lives,” He taunted, raising his hands in some sort of readying position and twisting his feet until they matched his stance. The boy beside you huffed out a breath, shaking his head and readying his own stance. Were you supposed to know what was going on?

The men rushed at each other, the blond angling to grapple the other’s middle and bring him down to the ground, but the hatchet man managed to keep his footing, and it ended with a clash of both pulling opposite directions and struggling against each other. You stood slowly, scanning the area before finding a rather large stone, bigger than your own hand when you kneeled down to pick it up. You approached slowly, trying to go unnoticed by the wrestling duo before finally lifting the stone over your head and bringing it down on the brown-haired head. He collapsed and it took a moment for the blond to finally let go of him and lay him on the ground.

You met eyes over the body, you raising the stone in the air as if to explain, and you watched the blond boy eye it warily. “You’re not going to hurt me, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” The boy agreed cautiously, slowly moving to stand. You drop the heavy rock from your hand, grunting and moving to clutch at your hurt abdomen once more. The blond boy watches you from afar before slowly approaching, moving your hand and kneeling down to get a better look. He pulls your black shirt away from the wound, and you can tell by his wince that your injury doesn’t look good.

“We should get out of here before he wakes up,” You grunt out, taking a step back from the blond boy and fixing your shirt. He only furrows his brow further before looking down at the unconscious kid next to him, then glancing toward the sky. You only just noticed, but it seemed to be getting darker outside, and the drop in temperature was beginning to worry you. “Perhaps we should gather wood for a fire or something.”

“Well that’s a sure way to get us killed,” The blond mumbled, standing with a wince. “And I don’t think we should just leave him here like this, he’d come after us. You heard him.”

“And what are we supposed to do? Kill him?” Your question was rhetorical, but you only received a baffled look back from the blond. “Exactly, so why don’t we just-”

“Yes. That’s what we’re supposed to do. We’re supposed to kill him.”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to process this before laughing loudly. This apparently startles the blond, who stands there baffled once more before lurching forward and placing his hand against your mouth.

“What are you doing, trying to get us killed?” He stares into your eyes with deep worry, and your humour suddenly leaves you as quickly as you found it. As he slowly lowers his hand, you find you can’t raise your voice to more than a whisper.

“What do you mean? Where are we?”

You suddenly feel something grasp your ankle, and as you’re in the process of a surprised gasp it yanks hard and pulls you down to the ground. You land roughly against the stone, bumping your head and OW that hurt again! Your migraine comes back in full force and you see stars dancing in your vision. You feel a weight against your chest next, and through the stars and throbbing you begin to make out a figure, a person sitting atop your chest.

Then once, twice, three times you are hit across the face. Your head swings wildly from side to side, and all you can do is groan, too dizzy to figure out where you were and how to stop this. You feel intense pressure coming from your left side and it matches the pumping feeling that fills your head and you’re not sure you can breathe or even continue-

You gasp a breath quickly, turning onto your side and coughing as the weight sitting on your chest is suddenly removed. You hear a scuffling nearby through the pounding of your ears, and you struggle to open your eyes and take a look around you. Hatchet man is wrestling the blond onto the ground, rolling around and round in circles. Their grappling techniques seemed matched, both relying on strength to win this fight and ending in a stalemate.

‘Well it worked the first time, didn’t it?’ You think to yourself, twisting your head around until you find a red-stained rock nearby. You heft it with some effort, breathing heavily through your nose and moving to stand. You catch yourself briefly as you almost fall over, but eventually succeed and approach the wrestling couple, who once again seems too concentrated on their own efforts. You lift the rock above your head, wait for the opportunity, and then send it crashing down.

Somewhere in the distance, a cannon goes off. You choke on your breath, dropping the rock from your grasp and stumbling backwards until you trip on your feet and land on your bum. Scooting back more until your back hits a rough surface, you shake your head in disbelief. No, no, no, no, you couldn’t be- this can’t be-

“Hey, hey, are you okay?”

You look up into the blond’s eyes, your breaths coming in pants, too fast to control and though you’re hyperventilating, you still feel as if you can’t get enough air into your lungs. You continue shaking your head back and forth, staring into his blue eyes and hoping to find even a portion of the calm you had felt earlier. He approaches slowly, his hands in full view until finally he’s within touching distance. He reaches forward slowly, placing a hand on your chest with his left, and taking one of your hands with his right. You hadn’t realized you were practically clawing at your throat until he had, and he brings your hand to his own chest.

“Breathe with me, alright? In, there we go now hold it, a few more seconds, okay now out, there we go.”

He’s talking you through how to breathe, mimicking it with you and- wait, if you’re here and he’s helping you- why is he helping you?

“We’re in the Hunger Games.” You meant to phrase it as a question, but it only came out as a statement. As his eyes darkened, he only nodded in response before continuing to breathe along with you. You shake your head again, trying to calm your breathing as you can feel the need to speed it up once more. “I didn’t- I really didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t- I can’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You should see yourself right now. Trust me, it was self-defence.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

The blond hushes you, crawling in closer and pulling you against his chest. His arms tighten around you and- wait, but you’re in the Hunger Games? Why is he helping you?

“You’re not from my district?” You were able to ask that one as a question, your tone finally inflecting where it needed to. You felt him shake his head against you, repeating in whispers how everything is alright now. “Why are you helping me?”

“Do you remember anything? At all?” His voice was still whispering in your ear, though now that you couldn’t see his blue eyes anymore you could see the rest of the world surrounding you. It was darker now than it was and the last vestiges of the light barely lit up the area you’d woken up in. And there he was, the man that you had killed laying not ten feet away from you. Your breath begins to pick up again and the blond just tightens his hold on you. “You’re fine, everything is okay now.”

“I killed him. I really killed him.”

“Y/N, do you remember anything at all?” You turn quickly at the sound of your name, studying his face intently. He knew you, but you still had no clue who he is.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?” He sighs, his face looking pained.

“My name is Peeta. We should get moving before someone stumbles across us here. I’m sure our fighting was pretty loud.” He moves to stand, offering a hand down to help you. You leverage his help to stand, with Peeta holding fast as you stumble from dizziness. “Someplace nearby though, I don’t think you can continue on for much longer without having those wounds dressed.”

“Wounds? Plural?” You huff a breathless laugh at him, shaking your head and bending over slightly, trying to put pressure against your side. “I know my side is bad, but it’s not-” You cut yourself off as Peeta raises a hand to the side of your head, then brings his hand back covered with blood. He stares at it for a few moments before a look of determination crosses his face.

“Let’s get moving.” He turns, roughly yanking a backpack off of the other guy’s body and approaching the fast-running river, scanning the inside. “I think we lost the hatchet, but we can make do. Come on,” He offers a hand out to you, and you reach the one not holding your side out to take it. He pulls you alongside the river upstream, scanning the area for something- someplace safe, likely.

After a bit of walking, you become extremely glad that Peeta had the idea to hold hands. The world around you becomes so dark that you can spot a lit campfire that seems a few miles away, and blearily wish for the heat that it would provide before your thoughts are interrupted by a scream and a flickering of the campfire light ahead. It eventually goes out at the same time another cannon sounds, and Peeta tightens his grip on your hand. It’s another few minutes before you hear him speak again.

“I think I found something, stay here.” You’re reluctant to let go of his hand, but he pulls away anyway and disappears from view. You’re scared, hurting, and tired. And now alone. You hunker down, kneeling down on your feet with your knees on either side of you like some sort of protection. You try to breathe through the pain, hissing slightly as you press a little too hard on your side. You raise your free hand to clutch at the side of your head, realizing that the source of your pounding migraine stems from whatever injury was congealing on your head. You could feel it wet with blood, but it wasn’t pulsing out like the one on your side was so you felt slightly better about your chances.

The idea of your own death was finally hitting when you felt a hand grab hold of your arm. You stumble backwards, trying to wrench your arm from the hand, but then Peeta appears directly in front of your face whispering assurances. You calm slightly, staring into those blue eyes once more and- just, wow, why was he so comforting? Especially in this place, where you know you’re supposed to kill everyone else, even if you don’t remember officially being put in here?

Once Peeta notices your compliance, he pulls once more and directs you downward toward the water. You try to watch your step, the stones slick under your feet before you hear Peeta tell you to duck your head down. He stands between you and the river, placing a hand on your head to make sure you don’t bump it as he guides you into a small cavern space. Inside is even darker than before, but you place a hand on the cave wall and follow it around until you reach the back of the cave. You raise your hand upward, feeling the roof above you in your hunched-over form. You weren’t sure how much space was here exactly, but it definitely wasn’t a lot.

“Okay, just rest for now. We can’t do anything when we can’t see.”

“Shouldn’t we do something about this,” You grunt out, trying to lower yourself down into a reclining position while applying pressure to your side. “I feel like I’m about to bleed out over here.”

“You won’t,” Peeta replies quickly, assuredly, before you feel his approach. He places a hand on your leg before dragging upward, meeting your hands and pressing even harder against your side. You hiss in pain and hear Peeta sigh in response.

“I’ll go look outside for some sort of healing herb, at least there’s a moon out there, even if only partially full. I won’t venture far, don’t worry.”

Before he could remove his hand from you, you reach forward and encircle his wrist. “Why are you helping me? Isn’t that the opposite of the point?” It’s quiet for a moment before you heard some more shuffling. You feel Peeta place his hands on both of your shoulders, then lift you up. You’re gently laid down on his legs, and he begins to run his hand through your hair, smoothing it away from your forehead.

“We became friends during training. I know a bit about you already, though I suppose if I’m reading this situation right, you don’t remember me?” You shake your head gently, then feel as Peeta gently runs his fingers against the injury on your head. “It sucks,” He says with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “We planned on teaming up. We have pretty opposite specialities, so we thought it would be a smart idea.”

“So what is your speciality then?” He laughs again and you can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind hearing that again. You absolutely wouldn’t mind having a teammate on your side, especially while injured.

“I’m strong. I was a baker’s child over in 12, I used to lug those large sacks of flour and grain. I would feed the pigs we had out back, and carry them when they were slaughtered.” He sighed softly, and you reach a hand up to tangle with one of his. He squeezes your hand before continuing. “I was in a wrestling club after school back home, so I have some hand-to-hand experience as well.”

“And what were my specialities?” You asked with a smile, and you could hear a smile in his voice as he replied.

“As if you wouldn’t already know, but sure. You’re good at differentiating between plants. I would’ve died five times over during training- that’s when you first approached me. Laughing at me, actually.” You laugh then, at the image it invokes, nodding your head. “You’re also good at setting snares and traps. You mentioned pests, like field mice that would run through your grain or eat your product. Your father had taught you to lay traps and how to mark them so the others in your district wouldn’t run into them.” He blew out some breath, brushing his free hand through your hair once more, his voice lowering. “You were worried that setting up traps for humans would be harder, or more noticeable. But we practised and tested it out. As long as you use strong enough rope, you can catch them easily.

"Actually, there’s the boy from district 1, Marvel, who accidentally ran into your trap while you were trying to show me. He was hoisted up into the air by his leg. It was a funny sight really,” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face, “He was hanging upside down and I couldn’t tell if his face was red from anger or all the blood rushing downward.” You laugh along with him, then as the laughter dies off you sit in silence until you finally decide to break it.

“Please tell me the guy I k-killed was that Marvel guy, then?” His voice was low and serious when he answered.

“No. I think he was the guy from 3.” He runs his fingers through your hair one more time before lifting you up and trying to gently lay you down on the stone underneath where he had been. “I should go look for those herbs now.”

“I thought I was the one who knew the difference,” You pointed out, raising your eyebrows. Now that your eyes have finally adjusted you could see the basic form of Peeta hovering nearby, his hands reaching toward you before withdrawing.

“Well, I don’t think you’re in any position to go looking. Plus, you showed me a few things in training.” You smirk, laying your head back and closing your eyes.

“At least someone remembers, then.”

[onscarlitos]

folks, if you haven't seen the serena williams docuseries on ESPN...pls do so RIGHT NOW. It's SO good, this is a model for how tennis docs should be done !! i didn't know serena could inspire me more but im barely done with the first ep, and my respect for her is increasing !!

[finalatomicbuster]

Ken Ryker in Ryker's Web (2001)

[jazda-iga]

I knew Serena Williams didn’t return to Indian Wells for 14 years but the documentary episode on what happened from her perspective was so disturbing. The racism that happened to her was appalling.

[letmeinimafairy]

A new scene, flooded ruins of amphitheatre. Eh, overdid it with the waves. Carved shell fragments, stone, quartz sand and resin in a spisula shell.

[inadlzbth]

My invisible string theory story and how it inspired me to write my new song, forces of nature, out at midnight eastern time on 12 January!

[robinmark64]

[zanephillips]

MANU BENNETT Spartacus: Gods of the Arena 1.05 "Reckoning"

[imaginariumwanderer]

It's fitting Mystic got paired with another fluffy critter

[owainigo]

yeah

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour

CHAPTER TWO

[Table of Contents]

Summary: The process of healing and dreaming

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injuries

Author's Note: I wrote this part instead of a part of another fic that I should've been writing- and sure it's only been a day since I posted chapter one but y'know whatever, it's peeta, and he's sweet so there

You must’ve fallen asleep. You open your eyes slowly, blinking against the harsh light filtering in through the opening just ahead of you. Your head is still pounding with a migraine, the light accentuating the pain, shooting daggers through your eyes. You groan low, then looked down at your side to see multiple leaves and moss pressed against your wound. It hurt, but it looked to have stemmed the bleeding for a time now. You draw in a long breath, pushing yourself to sit up and wincing at the pain it caused, pushing back to lean against the wall behind you.

Now with the light, you could see the little cave that Peeta had found was barely big enough for two bodies, as long as they were hunched over. You heard the rushing river just outside the opening of the cave, and you could just see the edge of where the river flowed downstream. You heard some splashing coming from that direction, and hoped it was Peeta coming back and not someone else about to stumble upon you, defenceless.

You continue to hear splashing every so often as you wait. Silence, then boots splashing through water, then silence again. You reach down to press against the leaves on your side, pulling them back to finally get a look at your wound. It definitely needed to be cleaned, and you couldn’t tell the extent of the damage until you’d done so. You gently press the leaves back on, then start inspecting your pockets. You don’t have a backpack, so you could only hope you managed to grab something before you hit your head.

Your pants had multiple pockets, though half of them were empty. You felt something metal in your front right pocket, pulling it out to reveal a knife that folds outward. You tested it against your thumb and drew blood easily, then closed it and put it back in your pocket. There was a bundle of thin cords in another pocket and some sort of metal circular container. Shoving the cord back into your pants, you twist the lid on the metal container to open it, revealing some sort of translucent ointment on the inside. You lift it to your nose, smelling a strong antiseptic mixed with alcohol smell.

“Oh, you’re awake!” You look up to see Peeta ducking his head into the cave, a large smile gracing his face as he looked at you. “I was worried, actually. I think I remember someone telling me that you’re not supposed to fall asleep after you’ve hit your head, but I didn’t want you to have to stay awake in pain this whole time.” He drops his backpack on the floor near the entrance, leaning a long, crooked wooden spear against the wall.

“How long was I out?” You screw the lid back onto the container and watch Peeta’s eyes track the movement.

“Through the whole night, and most of the morning. From the sun’s position, it might be close to noon, but I can’t really tell.” He makes his way next to you, plopping down and stretching his legs out. He holds a hand out toward you and you acquiesce, passing the metal container over. “I tried to spear some fish for food, but turns out I’m not quick enough.”

“I found that in my pocket, must’ve picked it up when the games started.” You nod toward the container. “I also have a small knife and some cords. If I’m able to get out of this cave anytime soon, I could set up a snare for some small game. I don’t exactly have practice with fishing either, though.” You watch Peeta raise the opened container to his nose, sniffing it and pulling a face. His nose scrunched up, and you couldn’t help but find the gesture cute.

“This seems like some sort of first aid ointment,” He gestures toward your side, “We could try to treat that with this? If you feel comfortable with it?”

“I’d feel more comfortable if the damned thing was labelled,” You muttered, then nodded. You stretched out lower, extending your side and turning to face the cave wall. “But if you have any spare cloth, might want to clean it first. I can’t even tell where the wound begins and what’s just blood everywhere.” He nods quickly, screwing the cap back on the medicine and setting it down to crawl back to his backpack. He digs through before pulling a long strip of cloth out.

You begin the process of removing the leaves and moss, setting them aside as Peeta leaves the cave to drench the cloth in water. When he returns he begins muttering something under his breath before making himself comfortable next to you. The first press of the drenched cloth against your side causes you to hiss from the cold, goosebumps appearing across your flesh. He’s gentle as he cleans your side, wiping any blood from the top of your shirt before eventually pulling it up and out of the way. His pace was slow and his touch light, as if worried to hurt you. As if you could be in any more pain already.

Once you felt him finally lift the cloth away, you look down to finally get an idea of what you’re working with. It looked like a large gash had hit just below your ribs, though from this angle you couldn’t tell how deep it went. If you were to guess, the hatchet that 3 had lost could easily explain this injury. Peeta brings his hand over, and you watch as he gently begins dabbing the ointment onto the cut. The ointment brought another wave of cold through your body, causing a shiver that pulled concern across Peeta’s face.

“So,” You breathe out, finally laying your head down and letting Peeta get on with it, “How many days have we been here?”

“Yesterday was the first day.” Peeta’s voice was low and mumbled, and he sounded concentrated. You huff out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking your head. At a sudden touch to the side of your head you flinch, then let out a breath as you feel Peeta’s gentle fingers glide across what was likely the injury that caused your memory loss, your hair beginning to feel sticky from the ointment.

“Of course it was the first day. Can’t miss any part of this hellhole, can I?”

“You’ve forgotten the techniques you learned during training, and the plans we made together.” Peeta finally withdraws his hand, and you twist to look him in the face once more.

“You could always go back over them with me?” He sighs in response, and you hear the clinking of metal as he puts the lid back on the jar.

“Honestly it’s kinda pointless now, with your injury like this. I say we just take it one step at a time.” You smirk, raising your arm to rest your head on.

“Oh yeah? Did you learn that from your baker parents? ‘One step at a time,’ like a recipe?” You heard Peeta’s chuckle in response and your smirk slowly formed into a full grin. You tried to resituate to get comfortable, the pain in your side lessening from the ointment, yet once you’ve touched an unused spot of the cave stone you could feel the cold seep into your skin causing another shiver.

There was movement behind you and you waited for a response from Peeta. When none was forthcoming, you requested from him, “Tell me about yourself.” You felt Peeta get even closer to you, realizing that he must’ve laid down right behind you. He began scooting in before eventually wrapping an arm carefully around your waist to pull you in. He felt abnormally hot against your skin, though that could just mean that you were abnormally cold.

“What would you like to know?” His voice was low and right next to your ear. You shivered once more, though from his proximity more than the cold. You could only hope that he thought it was the latter.

“You’ve said a few things already,” You couldn’t help but point out, lowering your own voice to a whisper, “That you’re from District 12. That you are a baker’s son, and you went to school. Did you win any trophies from your wrestling jaunt?” You felt his laughter against your back and his arm tightened his hold on you.

“No, I wasn’t that good.” You lay in silence for another few moments before you huff indignantly, annoyed that he didn’t feel the need to continue.

“Alright. Then what’s your favourite colour?” You felt more laughter bubble up from the boy behind you. His head was shaking before finally coming to rest, pressing his forehead against the centre of your back.

“Orange.”

“Orange? Like-”

“Not bright, or flashy like what the people in the Capitol wear. Orange like the colour of the sunset on the horizon.” You hum in response, closing your eyes to picture it. District 9 always had the most beautiful sunsets.

“Are you going to ask what mine is?” You could feel him shake his head against your back, tightening his hold once more as if afraid you were trying to escape.

“No,” He mumbles, and you’re confused until the rest of his sentence catches up to you. “You told me already.”

“Peeta?” You felt more than hear him hum, relaxing back into his hold. “Are we going to make it?” It’s quiet afterwards, the sounds of rushing water just outside the cave powering over any other sound that could be heard. You wait for a response from Peeta- whether positive and hopeful or realistic and pessimistic- but as more time passes it seems he isn’t going to answer.

Then you hear it: just a tiny little snore originating from behind you, and something swells in your chest. He had fallen asleep, that’s why he hadn’t answered. You began to wonder about this all. Had he been awake throughout the entire night? Was this the first sleep he was getting since being shoved into the arena? And- had he purposefully moved to protect your back before falling asleep?

You try to stay awake and keep an ear out in return, but it becomes increasingly difficult over time. Not only was the pain in your side finally fading away- likely due to some sort of numbing agent in the medicine- but the warmth of Peeta’s body heat against your back lulled you into a sense of comfort and security. You don’t even remember closing your eyes.

You were sat in a circular open field surrounded by tall stalks of golden grain, swaying gently in the light breeze. The sky above was cloudlessly blue and the world seemed so quiet it was almost as if time had stopped. You wish time had actually stopped, because here soon you were going to be fetched and put into your family’s nicest outfit, and you’d be shipped off to the long lines of children waiting to be reaped.

You were currently weaving a few dead strands of grain together into a sort of crown. Your friends from school had shown you how to do this, though they used the pretty weeds that grew around the school building during recess and called them flower crowns. They also haven’t made them at all in the last five or so years, but you kept up the habit on your off time.

‘Y/N!’ Your name was called by your parent, and you finish tucking the last piece into place. You carefully walk through your family’s fields, approaching your home. Your outfit was the same as it was the last four years, though you weren’t really complaining. You only had to wear it once a year as it was, and this was the last year you’d be forced to dress up for the Reaping. You placed your crown of grain against your head once you’ve finished getting ready, and were rewarded with a light laugh from one of your parents.

You didn’t bother saying goodbye to your family after dinner, just waved like it was any other day and left to enter the large cloud of kids migrating toward the Justice Hall. Your finger was pricked alongside everyone else, and the sharp red colour of your blood contrasted brightly against the muted colours of your district. They play their video- the same video as every year, and really, were they ever going to update it? And then they drew the names.

‘Y/N L/N!’

You jerk awake from the sound of a cannon, gasping and looking around wildly. Behind you, Peeta had also been awoken, sitting up straight and scanning the area, breathing heavily. You both try to calm yourselves, listening for anything nearby that could be heard over the sounds of the rushing water. It’s silent for a few minutes, and during that time you manage to sit up and push yourself back against the wall. Peeta follows your movement once you’ve settled.

“So,” You begin, trying to tame your racing heart, “How many is that now? How many died during the bloodbath?”

“If we didn’t miss a cannon while we slept,” He paused, scrunching his face and considering it, “Which I really doubt we did considering we both shot awake for that one- then that would’ve been the ninth dead.” He rests his arms against his knees, rubbing his face before dropping his hands back down. You watch him try to widen his eyes like he’s trying to wake himself up, then turn to look outside. If it had been around noon before- and with it still being light outside- then he likely hadn’t slept much at all.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” You begin, intending to offer him more sleep before he suddenly interrupts you, placing a hand on your arm.

“No, don’t be. You’re injured, you need the rest.” He rubs your arm, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You feel a lot less cold than earlier, though.”

You hum, then realize something you feel like you should’ve noticed sooner. Your side didn’t hurt at all anymore. You look down, lifting your shirt to show it. It was mostly healed, closed at the very least, with a long and ugly line running across your side. It wasn’t red or itchy, so you knew it couldn’t be infected, but if it wasn’t already finished healing then it would be soon. And it would end up being a very obvious scar, that much was for sure.

You hear Peeta gasp beside you and he reaches forward to place his fingers gently under the line. He traces it lightly, and then you both lock eyes. “It looks- that’s like, a miracle or something.”

“Or something,” You mutter, running your own fingers down the line of it, brushing against Peeta’s hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.”

“That’s incredible.” You study him for a moment, chewing the inside of your lip before reaching over and lifting his shirt, scanning his abdomen. You feel him chuckle against your hand, and you meet his eyes once more. “Can I help you?”

“Were you injured?” You stare directly at him, and he tries to hold your gaze until eventually he looks away. “I may not remember you very well, but I have the strange feeling you’d ignore any of your own discomforts to tend to me first.”

Peeta shrugs casually but doesn’t push your hand away. Narrowing your eyes, you push yourself to sit directly in front of him, lifting the shirt higher. There, you notice a smattering of purple and blue bruises along his ribs and you sigh in response.

“You think that miracle ointment would help with bruises?” His voice was mumbled but sounded mostly dejected. You huffed, looking around until you spotted where he placed the metal container, leaning over to grab at it. When you return to your position, his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “No, I doubt it’ll actually work. You need to save it for some other, worse injury.”

“I’m not using all of it,” You mumbled back, gently dislodging his hand from you and opening the container. “But I am putting this on you. We’ll find out if it works or not.” You dip your fingers into the ointment, leaning over him and raising his shirt once more. You try to touch as lightly as possible, but Peeta still winces as it’s applied. Your chest begins to hurt in response but you power through, hoping that this would help at least minimize the bruises if not fix them completely. “Once this is put on you’re getting more sleep.”

“As long as you stay with- stay here.” He changes course halfway through his sentence, clearing his throat and wincing again at another pass of ointment. He felt solid and real beneath your fingers, and you begin to wonder blandly whether this is the closest you’ll get to him. Either way, feeling his body underneath your hands was grounding, taming something that had been free-floating through your head.

“No,” You begin, then raise a finger to interrupt him before he could argue, “You’re going to stay here and rest like you let me do last night. And I’m going to take this cord in my pocket and set up a few snares. Hopefully, we’ll have something to eat before the sun goes down.”

“It’s too dangerous out there,” Peeta whispers, raising a hand to brush against the side of your head, gently testing the area where you had bled. You didn’t hurt at the touch, so you figured it healed the same as your side had. “There are other tributes. There could be traps or-”

“If there’s a tribute I’ll hide, and if there are traps then I’ll be alerted to them much sooner out there than in here. I’ll be able to come to fetch you, and we can run together.” You finish, pulling his shirt down, then begin to scan his face. You raise your finger up, gently pressing whatever ointment was leftover against the small split on his bottom lip.

Once finished, you reach over and wipe your hands off on the cloth still soaked and bundled into a ball nearby. You closed the metal container, then crawl over to the entrance of the cave where Peeta had dropped his backpack. Unzipping the small pocket, you slide the container inside and close it back up. Meeting Peeta’s eyes, you could tell he wanted to argue with the action but held himself back.

“Lay down,” You tried to keep your voice gentle, smiling toward him, “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if I find us some food.”

[artie-dartie]

In the SkyWing arena

[sugardells]

ATHENA BADASS ON THE ARENA | Sugardells Epicverse

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[jazda-iga]

The tennis legend explores her career trajectory in a new ESPN+ docuseries, In the Arena