#litlifelover writes

[litlifelover]

Six Sentence Sunday - Smitten With You

It's sneak-peek-time! :)

This is from my story for A Candle For The Caribbean charity anthology. 

I'm finished with it, and already sent it to betaing. So therefore this couple of sentences are totally in their "raw form" and all mistakes are mine. 

Title is still up to change, it gives me a headache thinking of something, seriously. 

Please, if you want to read some wonderful stories from different fandoms, even a couple original works, and at the same time support a good cause, please consider to donate! All details about the charity can be found on @loveinpanem's blog.

Okay, that's it. Hope you like the very short sneak-peek. Hugs & Kisses!

Katniss first discovered Mellark's Bakery & Bistro when Prim suggested to grab lunch there. The Everdeen Sisters grew up knowing about Ronan Mellark's bakery on Merchant Street corner First, but Katniss didn't know that the youngest son expanded it. She instantly fell in love with the cheese buns and the Penne al salmone.

And with it's owner.

It's ridiculous, really. Katniss is happy with her life and this stupid crush she has on Peeta doesn't fit into it. Also because it's very one-sided. If she hadn't known it before tonight, his very blond, very pretty date would've made that point clear.

[xerxia31]

Glühwein and Girl Talk - an Everlark drabble

The lovely @litlifelover and I have some of the most interesting discussions, and hopefully she’ll forgive me for turning one of them into this little drabble.

This one’s for you, M ;) I’m still keeping three Chrises...

“You can’t have all of the Chrises, Katniss, you have to save at least one for me,” Madge giggled, the warm ruby liquid in her cup threatening to slosh over the edge.

“Careful with that, drunkie,” Katniss snickered. “Peeta will be cheesed if you spill Glühwein all over his couch.” Madge rolled her eyes at the botched pronunciation.

“Who are you calling drunkie, drunkie?” Madge giggled again, but put the cup down anyway. “Peeta never gets cheesed,” she continued. “Your roomie is the most even-tempered guy I’ve ever met.”

“He has to be, to put up with me.” Katniss winked, and grabbed another cheese puff from the tray Peeta, her best friend forever, and roommate since they finished college a year and a half ago, had prepared earlier. He’d baked several trays of treats - both savoury and sweet - for her Christmas girls night in. But six hours into her annual celebration of mulled wine and bitching, the trays were nearly empty and all that remained of the Glühwein was two very drunk women and the lingering scent of orange and cloves. “Fine,” Katniss said, returning to their conversation. “I'll give you one Chris, your choice... but I'm keeping Henry Cavill.”

“Oh maaaaan,” Madge groaned. “You have three Chrises, you have to at least share Henry, I'm sorry, those are the rules.”

“Well,” Katniss acquiesced. “Henry is so big, we could share and not even notice that we're both clinging to him.”

Madge burst into laughter. “Although, if he keeps the mustache, you can have him.”

Katniss shuddered. “I hate the porn ‘stache too.” “Okay then, you get three Chrises, I get one, and we share Henry ... you’re getting a better deal here, girlfriend.”

Katniss nodded. “I think you need one more to add to your harem.”

Madge picked up her cup again. “I can't think of a single attractive man now. What's in this stuff anyway?”

“Uhm,” Katniss wrinkled her brow, thinking back to earlier when Peeta had been cooking and she'd been assisting. “Cloves. Cinnamon. Cardamom. Orange peel. Peach juice. And four bottles of wine.” Minus the glass Peeta had poured for her as a helper payment.

“It's sooooo good,” Madge sighed, draining the last of her cup. “Oh! Tom Hardy. Add him to my list.” Katniss scowled.

“I just don't get what you see in him.”

Madge grinned. “He looks like Gale.” Katniss rolled her eyes. As much as she loved Madge, being reminded of her friend’s perfect relationship just made Katniss all the more aware of her own complete lack of romantic prospects. Hence, the imaginary harem she was building of hot men.

“What about Armie Hammer?”

“Who's that again?”

“Madge! He’s only the hottest guy on the planet!”

“Talking about me, are you?” Katniss looked up with a start to see her best friend walking through the apartment door. Peeta crossed the room, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and shaking snow from his overlong curls. He stopped in front of her, leaning down to press a kiss to her hair.

“You’re home early,” Katniss said, but the smile was clear in her voice. Peeta laughed, holding out his arm for her to read his wristwatch.

“Rye and I closed out the bar,” he said. “It’s half past two, Kitten.” Katniss flushed with pleasure at the nickname that only he was ever allowed to use.

“I thought you were going back to his place?” she said, gazing up at his wide smile and winter-kissed cheeks.

“I thought so too, but he decided he’d rather keep company with a girl he picked up at the bar.” Katniss snorted; that was pretty typical of Peeta’s brother.

“And you couldn’t find a one-night-stand of your own?” Madge laughed, but Katniss frowned. Peeta hadn’t brought any girls to their apartment the entire time they’d been roommates, and the idea of him doing so now made her strangely uncomfortable.

Peeta stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to acknowledge Madge. “Ah, no, wasn’t looking,” he said. “And how are you, lovely Madge?”

“I am a little tipsy on this very nice Glühwein you made for us.”

“I’m surprised Katniss let you have any of it,” he laughed. “It’s her favourite you know.” He started towards the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, “Where are the rest of the ladies?”

“Their boyfriends all picked them up already,” Katniss called back, pouting. Except for Madge, the others had all bailed early, anxious to spend time with their significant others.

“Meant more wine for us,” Madge said, wrapping her arm around Katniss. “But I should really head home too.” Katniss nodded, and Madge pulled out her phone to text her boyfriend for a ride.

While they waited for Gale to make the four-and-a-half minute drive over to the apartment, Katniss pulled up Armie Hammer in google images. “See,” she slurred. “Totally hot. He’s exactly my type.” She sighed. “So pretty.”

Madge stared at the phone screen for a long time, flipping through image after image with a thoughtful expression. “You know, he looks an awful lot like Peeta.” Madge squinted. “A slightly older Peeta, maybe.”

Katniss snatched the phone from her friend’s hand and gawked at the screen. Bright blue eyes. Ashy blond hair that flopped appealing over his forehead. Perfectly defined pecs. Shit, he really did look like Peeta. Her jaw dropped and she lifted her glassy gaze to Madge’s

Madge was smirking. “And the Chrises, they all kind of look like Peeta too, blondies with big blue eyes…”

“Stop,” Katniss whined, and Madge laughed.

“I’m just saying…” The doorbell ringing put a halt to any further teasing.

Peeta reappeared, wrapping an arm around Katniss as she said goodnight to Madge and Gale. When the door closed, Katniss looked up to find Peeta was gazing down at her, a soft smile lighting his handsome face. “What?” she said, but she was smiling too. It was hard not to smile around Peeta.

“Missed you tonight,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Me too,” she smiled. She twisted in his arms, pivoting to really look at Peeta, whose eyes twinkled in amusement at her inspection. It was true that he resembled Armie Hammer, they were both strikingly handsome. But Armie Hammer didn’t make her Glühwein or cheese buns. Armie Hammer didn’t hold her hand when she was scared or send her flowers when she got that promotion. The more she looked at the beautiful, kind man standing beside her, the more she realized that all of the Chrises and Henrys and Armies in the world couldn’t compare to Peeta. He was the real deal.

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

And now for the Winter/Holidays Prompt: No. 42 "And now the power’s out.” Pretty please! :D

Here it is, @litlifelover - Hope you’ll like it. Unbeta-ed, all mistakes are mine :)

“And now the power’s out.” Peeta says, as he tries to find his way in the dark.

“Well of course it is! it’s not like we are having fourteen people over in three hours! We still have dinner to finish cooking!” I say, trying not to fall on the huge pile of presents that are under our Christmas Tree. Too many presents for a house that only has two people, who swore to only get the other one gift. It’s not my fault I found too much. Nope

“We’ll order Chinese, Love.” He says from somewhere on my right.

“Ouch!” my toes have found what I suppose is the sofa. Turns out its really it, and I carefully sit on it. “What are we going to do? It could be hours before we’re having power again.”

I smell cinnamon before I feel hands on me, slipping under my shirt.

“I have an idea or two…”.

That he has.

We order dinner for Christmas, and never regret it.

Well, until nine months later when the contractions start and I scream.

But it doesn’t last, though.

And I’ll never regret that the power went out.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Idea! Six Sentence Sprints

Hey! You know how one of those crazy suggestions for squeezing exercise into a busy schedule is to get up during commercials and crank out as many crunches/push-ups/lunges/whatever until your show comes back on? Well, I have a challenge for you all...

We’ve got three days until the closing ceremonies, 15 days until the opening of the Paralympic Games. If you plunk yourself down on your couch to watch some Olympics, your challenge is this: try to write six sentences during each commercial break. It’s okay if you only get in one per break. I know some of the pauses in the US are reeeeeally short. But the ultimate goal is six! When you’re done watching for the night/day, share a word count or a snippet, or just an “I DID IT!!” so the rest of us can cheer you on.

Anyone up for the challenge? @norbertsmom @mega-aulover, @alliswell21, @savvylark, @lynamloveseverlark, @deinde-prandium, @burkygirl, @xerxia31. If I’ve missed someone who's working on something Olympics related, feel free to add yourself/them to this list. I’ll make the next one more inclusive. @litlifelover :You’re on fire with this Olympics stuff. You’ve given us Everlark and Gadge so far...got some Odesta in you?

All are welcome, even if you’re not writing a winter Olympics piece. Even if you’re not watching the Olympics! Use the commercial breaks of your favorite show to sprint it out!

[peetabreadgirl]

Writer’s Block, CH7

Here it is! Thanks @litlifelover for the gif suggestion! I’m going to use it because there is a stay moment here. Thanks also to everyone that gave their gif opinion! I think we can all agree we just like Everlark together, however we can get them there. So here’s a little ‘togetherness’ for you. Read on AO3 or FFnet if you like. And happy continued bday to @katnissdoesnotfollowback. It’s almost time again! Lol. I’m slow....

“Done.”

 I open one eye and stare at Peeta, sitting cross-legged next to me on my bed with his computer in his lap. The bright glow of the screen is the only lighting in the room. It’s two in the morning and our project is due in 6 hours. He’s been re-reading and editing here and there while I fell asleep. I don’t know how he’s still awake.

 “Really?” My voice is raspy from sleep and my eye closes, too heavy to care that it’s finally finished. But my body feels weightless at the news.

 “Really.” I listen to the click of the laptop closing, the sliding of it onto my nightstand before he says softly, “It’s late. I should go.” He stands from the bed but doesn’t get far before my hand is around his wrist. I let my fingers slide down, tangling with his.

 “Stay?”

He doesn’t hesitate, nodding and stripping off his shirt before he climbs back onto the bed. My eyes are suddenly not so heavy, but it’s too dark to see much, so I turn over as Peeta curls around me, pulling a blanket over us. His arm across my stomach is comforting, and the warmth of his body would lull me right to sleep, but there’s something pressing against me that’s not going to allow that.

 Peeta’s hips flex once, and my lungs stop working. His breath ghosts across my neck and cheek, my mind racing and heart starting to thump harder. He doesn’t move again. Eventually his breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. A mixture of both maybe?

 I inhale deeply and try to go to sleep. Since it seems Peeta can do it so easily after being turned on, I should be able to as well. But no. An hour later, I’m still staring at the plain off-white wall, turned dingier by the lack of lighting. My eyes are big enough to set tea cups on and drier than the desert. I bet I haven’t blinked in seven minutes. I rub them closed and huff a big sigh, which causes Peeta to shuffle and his hand moves from my ribs to my lower stomach. An instant surge of need hits me. Shit.

 And it’s not going away. Not with him so close. If anything, it’s getting worse. Or better, depending on how I want to look at it. I count sheep to keep from thinking that the only things separating our private parts are four minimal layers of clothing - my sleep pants, Peeta’s basketball shorts, and our underwear.

 I don’t mean to wiggle my butt and push into him, but I can’t help it. He breathes and adjusts, turning his hips slightly away from me and repositions his hand back to my ribs. Not exactly what I had in mind.

 What do I do now? I guess I could get up to go to the bathroom and take care of it myself. At least it would help me get some sleep out of this busted night. But I’m too…  something to move. Too nervous or too aroused. Should I just wake him up and ask? No. I can feel my cheeks turn scarlet at the mere thought of it. We haven’t done more than steal a few kisses over the last week. There just hasn’t been time between work and school.

 But there is now.

 I wiggle against him a second time. “Peeta?” It’s a whisper, just to test if he’s fallen into deep sleep yet.

 “Mmm,” is his sleepy response and he snuggles close to me again, but goes still. I lace my fingers through his, wiggling once more before I give up. This night is going to suck. I’ve decided to close my eyes and ignore my body when his fingers curl in deliciously against my bare stomach where my shirt has ridden up. Sparks ignite inside me as he starts to draw lazy circles with every one of his fingertips.

 “Aren’t you tired?” he asks in a sleep-roughened voice.

 My heart beats a few times as I decide how best to answer. “No,” I whisper truthfully. His lips touch the bare skin of my shoulder while his hand continues to create delicate art above the waist of my pants. I can’t help reaching behind me and sinking my fingers into his hair. He groans and flattens his palm against my belly, pulling my hips into his. I can feel him again, but my concentration is lost when his fingers wander further south.

 “Katniss?” His lips are at my ear now. The warm breath that tickles me also lights me on fire. My lips are pressed together so hard my only response is a muffled, “Mmm?”

 “Can I touch you?”

 I don’t say anything. I am physically incapable of speech right now, so I cover his hand with mine, guide it to the waistband of my pants and push it underneath, letting him know without words that I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. Sleeping next to him even for the few nights we have has turned into sweet torture. To hell with slow.

 When his fingers sink between my legs, my toes curl. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for, but way too soon he removes his hand. My chest almost explodes with disappointment until I realize he’s tugging on the elastic sitting lower on my hips than it was moments ago. His lips hover just below my left earlobe, and the warmth of his breath raises tiny bumps across all of my body when he asks me, “Can you take these off?” Again, I say nothing. Just shed my clothing like he wants. I’ll do anything he asks right now.

 His hand returns to the place I want - no need - it most, and my body is on a climb to the top of an imaginary mountain. Every stroke of his finger is a step towards the peak, and when I finally get there, there’s no time to spend ogling the view. I jump off the other side without a parachute. Weeks of frustration and longing shatter beneath his touch as I sail to the valley below. It’s even better than the first time it happened in his apartment and I wonder how soon we’ll be doing that again, out loud apparently because he answers with a soft laugh.

 “Anytime you want. That was amazing.” He nuzzles my neck with his nose as I float down from my spectacular high. My body sags against his as he cocoons me from behind, completely and utterly relaxed. He doesn’t try to go any further than that. If I had the energy I might wonder why, since the story is technically finished and there will be no more adding to it. No opportunity to write our experiences as Julia’s and Adam’s. But I don’t bother to analyze it, and in no time at all I’m drifting off.

“It’s a big, big, big daaaa-aaaay!” Professor Trinket sing-songs at the beginning of class on Monday. “Hopefully, you all sent your submissions in to my email by the start of class. I’ve already seen a few that I can’t wait to read.” Professor Trinket claps her hands together and gives me a pointed look. There’s a gleam in her eyes that makes me certain ours will be first. And probably read more thoroughly than any other. It causes a bit of a nervous flutter, but then Peeta’s knee knocks into mine and he gives me a smile that almost makes me not care about what the professor thinks. I got something even better than a perfect grade out of this project. Something that rooted itself inside me and grew before I knew what was happening.

 I return his smile, unable to imagine what life was like before him, and then I blush, looking away quickly when I remember what happened in my bed last night. Peeta was gone before I got up, leaving me half asleep with a quick kiss to the back of my head, so I didn’t have the opportunity to be embarrassed around him. Which is what’s happening now.

 “Obviously there’s no way I can read all of these in a week, so I’ll task you with one more assignment, which will also be part of your final grade.” My attention snaps from last night’s events to the present at the professor’s statement. Everything around me is forgotten. “You will read and review another group’s project - no skimming,” she warns. “You have until end of class Friday. Time starts now, class. Chop chop.”

 I look at Peeta, always so calm and collected. The exact opposite of how I’m feeling right now. Most of our story is about us. Me. Finding my way through my own sexuality and a boy I despised but came to... like a lot. I only recently became okay about Peeta and Professor Trinket reading it, and now I have to let more people in? This can’t be happening.

 Before I can collect my thoughts, Cato looks past me to Peeta. “You guys want to switch?”

 My breathing stops as Peeta looks around at the other pairs, already partnering up and says, “Sure,” before I can scream No! at the top of my lungs. I can’t fault him, though. He has no idea how uncomfortable Cato makes me feel. Should I tell him?

 “Here,” Cato says, placing a sheet of paper in front of me. “Write down your email and number for me.” I panic, grateful I don’t have a number but I don’t want Cato to have any way to contact me. I’d rather him not even know my name. Or that I exist as a person.

 I grab my things faster than I ever have and excuse myself, not meeting either of their stares even though I can feel them burning into me. “Actually, I have to go. Peeta can you handle that? Thanks.” I don’t wait for a response before I’m barreling towards the exit.

 I go on with my day, tense and anxious for most of it. I try desperately not to think about the last leg of the project. I am also trying not to plan Professor Trinket’s slow death. I partially succeed at the first one. I tell myself every ten minutes that it’ll all be over in a matter of days, and while it’s true, it doesn’t make letting a stranger into the doc any less daunting.

 It’s not until later when I’m in my room that Peeta knocks on my door. I open it and find him leaning against the frame, a curious look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks as I push the door all the way open in invitation. He shoves off his shoulder and walks in, closing the door behind him. I plop down on my bed, fold my legs under me and shrug my shoulders.

 Peeta follows, sinking slowly next to me and places his hand on my knee, shaking it lightly. “Talk to me.”

 From anyone else, the statement would come off demanding, but with the person who’s come to mean more to me than almost anyone, it’s an opportunity to purge my feelings in a safe place. Something I’ve never really had before.

 “I was just surprised that we have to share our story with other students, and honestly Cato is not the person I would have chosen to review it.” I shiver at the thought of what the brute will have as ammunition after he reads it. “He’s kind of a creep and now he has my email.”

 Peeta squeezes my knee in what feels like an apology. “He doesn’t have your email.”

 “He doesn’t?”

 “No. I didn’t want to partner up with him, either, but it seemed like everyone else was already taken. But I wasn’t about to give another guy my girlfriend’s information anyway, so I just gave him mine.”

 I’m almost compelled to tell him I love him right then, and I might have if it hadn’t been for the word he just used. “Girlfriend?” I can feel one brow inch its way up my forehead. We haven’t talked about it and I haven’t given any thought to labeling us. I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to ruin the easy feeling between us.

 “Yeah,” he replies, his hand inching up my thigh, making me lose focus on our conversation. Then his brow creases as his hand pauses. “Are you okay with that?”

 I swallow and my eyes flutter. I want him to stop talking and finish where I think this is going, but I know he’s going to want an answer. I don’t have one for him right now, partly because he’s touching me and partly because I haven’t had time to think about what it means, so I answer his question with one of my own. “Are you?”

 He leans in and his lips are so close I can feel the smile on them. “I’ve been okay with it since the day I met you.” And then he kisses me. Something in my chest flutters. I stop thinking and fall back on the bed, Peeta following without breaking the kiss. He’s on top of me and his weight is like a welcome home hug. Except way more indecent.

 One of his legs finds its way between mine as his tongue divides my lips and conquers my mouth. I raise my white flag of surrender by driving my hips into his. I can feel his hardness pressing against my thigh. He grunts and one of his hands slides down my side to rest at my hip. He squeezes and it feels urgent.

 Our kiss speeds up, my pulse with it, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tight to me. Our hips are in a rhythm that feels so natural and… primal. I can feel his length sliding against me, but I want to know more. I need to know what it feels like in my hand. I want to see if I can make him feel good, too.

 His hand begins its descent between my legs and for a split second I forget all about wanting to do something for him.

 “Peeta, wait.” I say through our kiss. He freezes, his body tensing above me.

 “‘I’m sorry-”

 “No, it’s not that, it’s um, I want to…” Just tell him you want to touch him.

 Peeta must think he knows what I’m trying to say, because his eyes widen and he drops his weight off to the side of me, scrubbing a hand over his face and uttering a soft curse. “I, uh, didn’t bring anything with me.”

 I raise up on my elbows to stare down at him and narrow my eyes, trying to decipher what he would need to bring with him other than his cock, which is definitely present, when I realize he means a condom. “Oh! No I didn’t mean - I just wanted to t-touch… you,” I stumble around the words, not able to meet his gaze. Instead, my eyes land on the very large object in question. I don’t want to look away but I know I should. Shouldn’t I? Then it moves. Just the tiniest twitch, and my eyes flick to his, dark sapphires now.

 I sit up on my knees and reach for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up a little. “Can I?” My fingers itch and my stomach is a ball of nerves. The good kind I guess, because they’re not holding me back. He nods and his eyelids shutter a few times before he closes them. It’s a bit of a relief not to have him watching my first attempt at pleasuring a man. I’m not a hundred percent sure what to do, so I recall a few scenes from my reading. Scenes that at first made me cringe, but now make my mouth water and my legs tighten when I think about them.

 I release the brass button of his jeans and drag the zipper down. Peeta helps by raising his hips and pushing them even further. I’m unprepared for the way it springs up at me and I jolt a little. It’s just… standing there. I bite my lip, watching as it twitches again. A quick glance at Peeta and he’s watching me as intently as I’m watching it.

 He breathes out a shaky breath that sounds like my name, and that’s all it takes for me to reach out and grip it in my hand. It’s warm and the skin is soft.

 “Fuck.” The curse is quick and soft, freezing me in place.

 “Did I hurt you?” I loosen my already loose grip.

 Peeta shakes his head and one side of his mouth lifts barely in a crooked grin. “Here,” he says as he puts his hand over my own. “Grip it tighter like - fuck - yeah... like that.” He guides my hand up and down and when I’ve got the hang of it I move his hand away and straddle his thighs.

 “Holy shit, you’re gonna… kill… me,” he says between breaths. I bite back a smile. I was always a fast learner. “Feels… so good.” His groans mixed with his affirming words make me feel so empowered. Like I can do anything. I’ve got the world at my fingertips instead of just his cock.

 His hips start to pulse in time with my hand and he grabs fistfuls of my comforter. I can feel the dampness in my panties. I fight back the urge to rub myself on his leg, but it’s no use. My body joins the same rhythm as my hand and his hips, like a well-timed harmony.

 I wonder what would happen if I just stop thinking and let my body take complete control. I’m tempted to give in and see, but Peeta tenses beneath me. I watch, mesmerized, as his his eyes close tight and his lips purse together. When his hand wraps around the top of his cock, I freeze again, unsure if I should let go or keep going.

 “Don’t stop,” he grunts, as warm liquid trickles down my hand. I start pumping until he stills my movement and lets out a deep, shuddering breath.

 “Katniss, that was amazing.” Peeta says softly, his face tilted to the ceiling, eyes still closed and lips parted. I feel like I just aced a test and got the extra credit.

 “Yeah?” I ask, finally letting go to survey the mess on my hand and his body. It’s gooey and… weird. I grab a few tissues from my desk and hand them to Peeta, then clean myself. It’s strange how satisfied I feel after doing that to him, and he hasn’t even done anything to me yet. I guess he doesn’t need to. I’d be happy to lay next to him and take a nap.

 I sit back on the bed, Peeta still laying there with his eyes closed and a contented look to his features. He’s mostly covered again, except for a sliver of muscled abs. He cracks one eye open when he feels my weight next to him, and I have no time to react as he lunges up and grabs me, twisting us so that I’m pinned underneath him. I’ve never been wrestled before but I have to admit that I may take up the sport.

 “Your turn,” he says with an adorably crooked smile. He laces his fingers with mine, raising them to the pillow above my head. Then, he nudges my chin to the side with his nose and I feel his lips on my neck. The nap I wanted evaporates like drops of water in the driest climate.That satisfaction I said I felt? It’s long gone. And in it’s place is a hunger I’ve only acted on over the last few weeks.

 “Katniss?” he asks as one of his hands skims from my hand all the way to my waist and under the hem of my shirt. His fingers draw figure eights on my skin, up and up and up. He stops just below my breast. It’s difficult, but I use my words and give him the permission he seeks to make me feel good.

 He pinches and rolls my nipples between his fingers for a long time, making me squirm and arch beneath him before he undresses my bottom half and parts my legs. He caresses my inner thighs and I can feel his breath hit my center. My pulse thunders in my ears and my chest rises and falls, more labored than a sweatshop in China.

 Peeta takes an inordinate amount of time exploring the flesh around my hips and down my legs. He kisses my calves, licks the underside of one of my knees, and bites the inside of my thigh. I both love it and hate it. I wiggle my hips at him, growing more frustrated by the second.

 “Touch me,” slips out in a panted plea.

 “I was thinking maybe, if you want me to, I could… go down on you.”

 I tense when I realize he means he wants to put his face there. I know guys do it. I’ve overheard a few girls talk about it before and I thought it was disgusting. How could someone let a human being put their face down there? Bodily functions happen from there. But now, with Peeta so close, I don’t have the same grossed out feelings, but I also don’t know if I want him to do that.  

 “We don’t have to.” he says, his hands skimming my legs before he crawls up my body. He kisses me and I relax a little.

 “Thank you,” I whisper. “Can we just… kiss for a little while?” The desire I felt moments ago isn’t quite as strong, and I feel like I need to slow down. His answer is just to kiss me again, soft and slow, with no end in sight. His hands don’t venture any place other than my hair, cheeks and neck, and it’s not long before we’re holding each other and falling asleep.

It’s Wednesday and I’m at work, sitting in the box office with a Marie Claire magazine I discreetly snagged off the table of the students’ lounge the day before. One of the articles is about oral sex and, curious, I want to see what all the fuss is about. Maybe get some tips on what to do or how to prepare. I’m mainly concerned with whether or not Peeta will think I’m gross after the fact. Pubic hair and body fluids aren’t exactly sexy in my book, but I’ve learned over the length of this project that whatever I have an aversion to, learning about it helps me understand. Take the edge off whatever reservations I’ve built up over time.

 The main question I have is does he really want to do that? According to Marie, he’s fantasized about it. The article is fascinating, though, and what I thought was going to be a cringey read is getting me a little excited and making me feel strangely desired.

 I’m insatiable for more on this subject, and I’m rounding out my third read-through when I glance up at some movement on the curb and see Cato strolling towards the building. I stash the magazine hastily like I’ve been caught by my mother with porn. When he’s only ten yards away my heart leaps to my throat. I’m sure I won’t be able to form any words, which is ironic considering mere words can’t express how badly I don’t want to interact with him.

 The thought dawns on me that he’s here for me and not to see a movie. It’s matinee time on a Wednesday. The only people who ever come to see movies during this time are the elderly and mothers with toddlers. He is neither of those and he’s alone. Smiling unnervingly. It’s not an ugly smile, and if I didn’t get a bad feeling every time he’s in my vicinity, he might actually be attractive. But I do.

 His hulking frame takes up most of the window space. “Everdeen,” he says, tapping his fingers on the outside counter. I clear my throat to speak into the microphone.

 “Can I help you?” I pray that being professional and aloof will hurry up whatever this is. Maybe he really is here to see a movie. By himself. In the middle of the day. His smile grows wider, showing bright white teeth all in a perfect row.

 “Yeah, I just wanted to see if I could buy you some dinner after work. I read your story. It was a real page turner,” he winks at me, “and I want to give you my thoughts on it.”

 “Oh,” comes out as a squeak, but I cover it quickly with, “I already have plans, but you can leave comments in the doc. I probably won’t be able to get to them until late.”

 “I don’t want to leave them in the doc. I’m more of an in person kind of guy.” He leans over, elbows on the counter, his face so close to the glass his breath creates a light circle of fog. One of his eyebrows raises in an assumptive way and it makes the fake cheese from the nachos I had at lunch curdle. He tries again. “What about tomorrow?”

 “Ummmm-”

 “Come on, Everdeen, don’t make me beg.” He winks again.

 “I really can’t tonight or tomorrow. I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up and shrug while silently praying for this to please be over.

 “Damn, girl,” he replies, and I catch a sliver of annoyance in his tone. Then one side of his lip curls up. “You’re making it hard.” He winks for a third time and I’m starting to think maybe he has something in his eye. But no, he read my story. My very dirty, very private, should have only been read by my professor story.

 “How about I drive you to wherever you’re going after work? I know you don’t have a car.” The way he says it gives me this feeling in my gut. Like I should watch out for myself. I freak out inside. An imaginary mallet strikes the lever on my panic meter and the puck goes straight through the bell. So I lie. Anything to get him to leave, and that’s giving him a ‘yes.’

 “Yeah, okay. I get off at eleven.” Not true. I get off two hours earlier. I can’t look him in the eyes through the deception. I’ve never been good at lying, so I stare at my computer screen and click the mouse a few times to make it look like I’m working, then say casually, only glancing up once, “But you don’t have to wait around. Just come back later.”

 He taps his fingers on the counter twice and a huge smile overtakes his face. A sign of victory, I suppose. If it weren’t for his cold eyes, he might seem harmless. Or at least not as intimidating as he does. “You got it, Babe,” he calls out as he walks away.

 A shiver rips its way through my spine. Babe. I can’t wait to get out of here.

 By 8:30 I’ve kept a running total of the cash I’ve exchanged tickets for and cleaned my area three times to make sure I can walk out the door by 9:01. I want as much time between myself and Cato’s arrival as I can possibly get. My hands tremble a little more with every minute that ticks by. I swear my bottom lip is going to be one giant bruise tomorrow morning from how hard I’ve been biting down on it. My stomach is twisted into fifty knots. And counting.

 The door to the box office pops open and my boss leans his head in, irritation in his voice and a snarl on his lips as he tells me, “Bristel called in. I need you to close tonight.”

 He doesn’t wait for an answer, just slams the door, the sound of it reverberating through my ears, settling in my stomach as a boulder, flattening all those knots. When it’s gone, I’m left in complete silence. A needle could drop in a haystack and I’d hear it. I stare at the door knob, feeling like if I tried to turn it I’d find myself locked in. And with only a small opening in the bullet proof glass, there’s no other way out.

 My heart beats faster and within moments I feel beads of sweat on my forehead. This can’t be happening. I told him to come back! And now I have to stay? Fuck!

 No.

 I can’t stay.

 I won’t stay.

 The walls start to close in. I need air. This place is feeling more like a tomb that wants to swallow me up rather than four walls designed to keep people out.

 I’m not supposed to leave the box office unattended, but I don’t care much about it right now. I need to tell my boss I can’t stay late. Fear is eating away at my insides, trying to keep me rooted in place and bolt out the door at the same time. I peel my leaden feet from the floor and choose the latter.

 On my way to Marv’s office, I throw a quick prayer up, promising I’ll never lie again if I can somehow get out of this. Begging a higher power for him to have mercy on me. I start coming up with a list of good deeds, like working in soup kitchens every holiday or reading to underprivileged kids at the public library. I could volunteer at the old folks home on the weekends. I’ll do anything.

 I shouldn’t have to, though. I’m a good worker. I come in early and leave late. I do my job, going over and above to make sure I’m never written up or give anyone a reason to think I’m slacking off. I’m his best worker. He’ll understand. Or not. He’s kind of a douchewaffle.

 I rap my knuckles on his door, my fear waning some in the face of the confidence I’ve built in my work performance.

 “Come in,” he hollers. “Yeah?” he barks when he sees me. He’s extra cranky tonight.

 “About closing, I-”

 “I need you, Everdeen. You know we don’t keep a big staff on Wednesdays. Take it up with Bristel the next time she’s in.”

 I stop just short of whining, even though I really want to. “But, I can’t stay.”

 “Look, I’m in a bind and you’re my go-to girl.” He sighs, as if deciding whether or not to say something that’s on his mind. “I’ll be needing an AM soon and I was thinking of recommending you for the position. It’d come with a significant pay raise and get you out of that box. Just say you’ll do it and the job is yours.”

 Huh. I did not see that coming. I should have told him ‘no’ months ago. I’m about to graduate college, and while I’ll be looking for work in my field, I also know it could be weeks or even months before I find something. I could really use the raise.

 I set both options on the scale - weighing them out against each other. On one side - Cato. But more money. On the other - hiding out from him at my place. He may even know where I live. He knows I don’t have a car. Would avoiding him now help me? He’ll probably come back anyway and I’ll have to deal with him another time. He’s been persistent in making me feel uncomfortable for the last few months. I think it’s about time I told him to back off.

 “Fine,” I answer Marv with the same snarl he gave me earlier. “But you better not be screwing with me.” I close the door harder than I meant to, but maybe that will seal my point with him. I’ve never spoken to my boss like that, but only one thought is at the forefront of my mind as I return to the box - I need Peeta. He should be here to hear Cato’s thoughts, too. He wrote half the story and edited most of it.

 I enter the tiny cubicle, no less nervous about Cato, but I do have an idea of what I’ll be buying as soon as I get my raise - a cell phone. And Peeta’s number will be speed dial numero uno.

 I glance at the dingy, white phone hanging on the wall of the tiny room. I could use it, but the one person I need to call right now is unreachable because I don’t have his number.

 The doc! I bounce on my toes a few times in relief before springing into action. Employees aren’t supposed to be on the internet with work computers, but I’m desperate to reach Peeta. If Marv finds out I’ll get written up and my record won’t be so perfect anymore, but I don’t think too hard on it. I log in to my google account and click on my gmail, sending off a quick email to get Peeta online. Then I open hangouts and the doc, and wait.

 And wait.

 And wait some more.

 A line starts to form for the late shows. It’s not long, but it takes my attention away from the screen. A few people trickle up to the window, but it dies down as it approaches ten o’clock. Peeta still hasn’t gotten online. My stomach turns over a few times. 52 minutes and 36 seconds left if Cato doesn’t show up early.

 At 10:15, it’s time to close the box office and help clean up the concession area. I have to log off the computer, but before I do I send a message through hangouts, hoping with everything in me that he gets it and comes, but trying not to put all my eggs in that basket. I may actually have to do this myself. Which is fine. Totally fine. I’m a big girl.

 Can you come by the theater around 10:45?

 I add ‘please’ to the end, hoping he realizes that’s me begging.

 I shut the lights out. I’m about to leave when I spot a figure in the far corner of the parking lot, leaning against the hood of a red car, arms folded while he checks his phone. Goosebumps pepper my skin and my mouth dries up instantly.

 Cato is here. And he’s so early that I wonder if he even went home.  

[gadgeficrecs]

Recap: Gadge Day 2017

Thank you so much to everyone who joined the Gadge Day celebrations. And a special shoutout to the phenomenal @porchwood for her infectious energy, her delicious posts, and (of course) for her gorgeous Gadge!

Here’s what we saw on #gadge and #gadge day, including posts from the 1st and the 3rd to account for time zones. Have we missed anything? Let us know. 

It’s been eight years, but this fandom will always feel like home. See you on October 2, 2018, for the 9th Gadgeversary!

Art/edits/fancasts

Ewa Kepys as Madge, fancast by @porchwood​ and shared by @southsidestory​

Gadge by chrysalisgrey on DeviantArt, shared by @porchwood​

Tale As Old As Time (Gadge as Beauty and the Beast) by maiasm on DeviantArt, shared by @porchwood​

Prep school hockey AU by @damndonnergirls​

Fic

Essence of Murtlap and A Pinch of Courage by @hawthornewhisperer​

Everything’s Fine by @litlifelover​

The Fucket List by @hawtsee​

The Good Neighbor by @hawtsee​

Justice by @hawthornewhisperer​

In which Gale and Madge act like they hate each other by @d3ndroica​

roses are red, roses are white chapter 3 by @foreversillythings​

Gadge Day Snippets! by @foreversillythings​

Writing Check-In: Six Months to Strawberry Time, Ch 4 by @porchwood​

you don’t give your heart in pieces by @madgesundersee​

Fic prompts

Gadge Plot Bunny Wishlist: North and South (BBC/Gaskell) by @porchwood

Gadge Plot Bunny Wishlist: La Belle et La Bête (2014) by @porchwood​

Gadge Plot Bunny Wishlist: Jane Eyre by @porchwood​

Fic recommendations

Fic Rec: Six Months to Strawberry Time submitted by @porchwood​

Operation Vixen by @hawtdamngirls​ recommended by @porchwood​

Meta

why is gadge day today? answered by @madgesundersee​

gadge day 2017 by @madgesundersee​

Birth of the World (Gadge animal totems) by @porchwood​

Gadge Day Reflections: My Journey with Gadge by @porchwood​

Playlist

Gadge Day Playlist by @foreversillythings​

[geekymoviemom]

Last Sentence Meme

THE RULE: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/ original/ anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

I was tagged by both @xerxia31 and @litlifelover (thank you both so much!). This isn’t exactly the last snippet I wrote, but I tend to write all over the place, so this is the last part that I worked on.

From Practice Run chapter 21:

“Daddy!” her small but very loud voices calls out, echoing throughout the large, humid room. “Look at that man! He has a robot leg! Can I have a robot leg too? Oh please, please, please? Look how cool it is!”

Out of the mouths of babes, right? ;)

I’m sure some of these lovelies have been tagged already, but I’ll tag @booksrockmyface, @tinaday3w, @notanislander, @justajjfan, @mtk4fun and @peetamymuse. <3

[loveinpanem-blog]

Ladies, I wanted to thank you for giving me and other new authors of the fandom the possibility to get a foot into writing, to encourage them and help them along their way. The mentors were such incredible help, and I for my part didn't only felt supported and understood, but also found a wonderful friend in the process. All of this made me more confident in my writing, and brought me back the joy of writing, which I hadn't known I missed so much. So, from the bottom of my heart: THANK YOU! :)

You are really welcome, @litlifelover. Glad we could be of help !

[ellanainthetardis]

How I write

I was tagged by @litlifelover ! Thank you!

Is there a snack you like to eat while writing?

Not particularly. I usually don’t eat and write at the same time.

What time of day do you usually write?

Morning mostly or late at night.

Where do you write?

On the bed or at the desk depending on my mood. Or everywhere else I can make sure nobody sees my screen ;)

How often do you write a new thing?

It depends. Long fics take a long time so for that every few months but for one shot every few days.

Do you listen to music while you write?

Almost always, yes.

Paper or laptop?

Laptop all the way. Tablet sometimes when it’s too hot and my computer tires and phone if I’m out and bored.

Do you have a special pre-writing ritual?

Well, since I write in the morning, I like to have my tea first. But I’ve got no real magic mojo.

What do you do to get into the writing?

It usually does it by itself but it’s true that for long stories ideas I like to use someone as a soundboard. The more they get excited about the idea, the more motivated I am.

Do you have a reward system for word counts?

God, my objective is not to go over certain word count because I write far too much. But no, I really don’t. I don’t really keep an eye on that excet to make sure chapters won’t be 20 pages. Actually, I check the pages count more than I check the words count.

Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don’t know about?

Well, it’s pretty standard... I guess I never start with a definitive definite plan of what’s going to happen. I usually have a point A that leads me to a point B and then it starts unraveling by itself.

And I tag: @akachankami @allonsysilvertongue @abbykomskaikru and @fandammit

[litlifelover]

@albinokittens300​ said: Hmmhh…what about, the first time Katniss and Peeta share a bed Post-MJ, Katniss just feels so good she can’t help jus continue to try and cuddle as close to him as possible and make little content sighs and breaths of relief; because it feels so nice. Peeta is confused, but just holds her.

Thanks for helping me out! :D

Sorry for my englisch. Not betaed and first language's german, so ... ;)

The night before, for the first time since the Victory Tour, they fell asleep together. Peeta remembers Katniss head rested on his chest, right over his heart, the moment before exhaustion overcame him.

It was a peaceful sleep, no nightmares plagued either of them.

At least not until now, Peeta thinks, when he wakes up to Katniss softly sighing, her hands gripping the back of his shirt, and her face pressed to the spot between his neck and shoulder. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through her hair, now falling out of the braid she put it in the night before.

He's just about to whisper reassuring words to her, silently thanking whichever deity is listening that the bad dream seems to be a mild one, when another soft moan escapes Katniss' lips.

Only at the last second he can hold back a loud gasp when her foot slides up his shin and one of her hands slips into his hair.

Maybe it's not a nightmare after all, he considers, wrapping his arms around her more securely. Which makes her sigh contently.

The foot and the hand, combined with the noises she makes and the puffs of breath he feels on the skin of his neck, also awakens other parts of him.

Blushing, Peeta tries to gain a little distance, not wanting to make Katniss uncomfortable if she should wake after all.

To his surprise, she immediately tightens her hold on him. "No. Stay. Please," she whispers, unconsciously pressing a kiss to his neck.

He's more than happy to comply.

[litlifelover]

Hayffie post-Mockingjay. Where They were and they are Not lovers, they Shared the bed because of the Nightmares

Thank you for the ask, anon! :)

As usual: all mistakes are mine, and I’m sorry for the not so perfect english. ;)

The first two years are a struggle. Haymitch tries to stay away from alcohol, he really does.

But Twelve is only slowly getting back on its feet. Peace is still a new and foreign concept, not just here, but in all of Panem.

Katniss doesn’t fare well at first and he can’t help but blame himself: He was a key player in the revolution, he should have known what Coin was up to. He didn’t trust Thirteen’s leader further than he could throw her, but they needed the Underground District’s firepower to win. She was a means to an end, just like his Mockingjay had been for her. But not even he could have imagined to what lengths that woman had been ready to go. Prim’s death was his fault. Just like the fourty-six kids he couldn’t help in his twenty-three years as a mentor.

Nightmares plague him whenever he closes his eyes for more than a minute.

He falls back into his old patterns, uses the buzz the liquor brings to dampen his thoughts, and the dreamless blackouts to get at least a little rest.

It’s during one of these blackouts Effie arrives.

After they rescued her from the dungeons - tortured, beaten and starved - and when she finally had been allowed to leave the hospital, she tried to get back to a normal life. Plutarch organized a job for her in the new government, but it was hard to get accepted, looked at by both sides as a traitor. Fashion no longer had any value to her. Wigs were no option anymore after Peacekeepers torn it away from her head without taking the pins out first. She would never forget that pain.

City life gets too much for her. She can’t stand the crowds in the streets, but neither the solitude of her apartment. Every day is a hardship. She’s having panic attacks more often than not. Everything seems to be a trigger now.

Nightmares plague her whenever she closes her eyes for more than a minute.

She’s not sure how it happens, but suddenly she resigns her job, puts her apartment for sale and boards a train to Twelve, after remembering the “Don’t be a stranger”, which is “You’re welcome anytime” in Haymitch speak. Effie knows she needs her friend now. And Haymitch - as sad as it may sound, when knowing how they often treated each other - is her best friend.

They fall into a routine. There’s no questioning about her being here, or her staying. Not even from Peeta and Katniss, who at some point ask her why it took her two years to finally join them.

“We’re a team. You said this yourself,” Katniss scowls before shoving another spoonful of stew into her mouth.

But the most surprising change is their sleeping arrangement, which now is Effie and Haymitch sharing a bed.

At first she stays in the guest room. It lasts a week of them taking turns to rush to the others room to rise them from a nightmare and try to support them afterwards.

When a particularly bad nightmare makes Haymitch scream himself hoarse, Effie crawls into bed with him, strokes his hair and shushes him until the dream finally loses its grip on him. With a last stroke over his head she’s about to get out of his bed again, but stops when Haymitch whispers, “Please stay, Effie.”

She never leaves afterwards.

They grow closer, their friendship finally on a level of equality. He’s no longer the low District-drunkard in her eyes, and she no longer the Capitol-bitch in his. Truth to be told, they haven’t for years, but never admitted to it. They’re both tortured souls. They both went through hardships. They both value the support the other offers.

His alcohol consume declines. The period between her panic attacks grows.

Every night they crawl in bed together, fall asleep on opposite sides and wake up embracing each other. The sleep is still fitful more often than not, but the nightmares get less and less every week.

“I’m glad you’re here, sweetheart,” Haymitch mumbles one evening after they turned off the bedside lamps.

“I’m glad, too,” Effie responses, and it’s the first night they fall asleep in each other’s arms. No nightmares come that night.

It’s not much, but it’s a beginning.

[litlifelover]

One Cool Thing: Quote

Post a cool line from your WIP or one of your other stories. It can be a line, a sentence, a paragraph, in context or out, whatever—it just has to be cool.

Oh, girl! Of course you tag me, @xerxia31, when I hadn't had the chance to work on a single story in over a week. Thanks anyway. ggg

My "cool" - depending on who you ask - snip of the story I'm currently working on is still named "Title to be done", but otherwise known as the ... ah, I can't tell, or you'll know too much. Let's just call it "the fic, which one day snitched up on me and didn't leave me again, but will probably take years, if ever". Approximate time of publishing: May 2024. ;)

Totally unbetaed, all mistakes are proudly my own. :)

"Rebellion, this is Thunder 112, Super Hornet, State three point five."

The transmission cracks slightly in the LSO's ear, even though the connection is stable. But the wind is howling especially strong today. The waves smack violently against the sides of the USS Mockingjay and the sky is unusually dark: heavy clouds hang over the pacific. The fighter jets have anything but ideal conditions today.

"Roger, Thunder 112. Clearance to land."

The pilot quickly checks the instruments a last time, before his eyes and mind focus on the landing. Bringing down a jet on an approximately 360 yards long, moving ship isn't exactly a walk in the park. Thankfully it's not the first time he has to land in not so stellar conditions. His WSO provides all relevant data, the LSO screams his commands, the tailhook catches the gear and the jet comes to a stop.

Minutes later Lt. Peeta Mellark, the pilot, and Lt. Finnick Odair, his WSO, emerge from the F/A-18E Super Hornet, sweat running down their faces and dripping from their hair, patches of dirt scattered all over them. Flying a jet is dirty work. It doesn't take them long to be on the way to below.

That's it, folks. I'd like to tag @hawthornewhisperer, @operaticspacetrash, @ellanainthetardis and @greetingsfromthenorthernsea. What cool fics can we look forward to? 

[litlifelover]

WIP last sentence meme

@thegirlfromoverthepond tagged me to post the last sentence in a WIP, then tag the same number of people as there are words in the sentence to post the last sentence of one of their WIPs. 

I wasn't sure which WIP I should take without spoiling too much. So I took the last sentence I wrote for "Third Wheel", a 5+1 format I started a couple months ago and work on from time to time. It propably won't ever see the light of the day. hahaha

"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed, totally stupefied.

Jup, that's it. Whatever there's going on. Maybe you'll never know. *muahahahaha*

I would like to tag: @ellanainthetardis, @operaticspacetrash, @hawthornewhisperer, @rumaan, @jeeno2 and @peetabreadgirl

[litlifelover]

How I Write

Wonderful @thegirlfromoverthepond​ tagged me, so here we go. :)

Is there a snack you like to eat while writing?

Not really. But odly enough I always have the munchies for white chocolate with whole hazelnuts ... hmmmm ....

What time of day do you usually write?

Most of the time in the evening. Sometimes - when work is slow - even during the day. I really hope nobody from work reads that. ggg

Where do you write?

I have a favorite spot on my couch, it's cozy and warm and always stuffed with blankets and pillows. :)

How often do you write a new thing?

Probably once every other week. I get this idea stuck in my head and I need to write it down. Sometimes it's just a scene, a couple hundred words, and will never see the light of the day again. But the idea doesn't leave me until I get it down on virtual paper. ggg

Do you listen to music while you write?

Normally not, because I tend to sing along ... like always. Even when there're no lyrics to sing along with. So, music is wonderful, but very contraproductive during the writing process. ;)

Paper or laptop?

Tablet with bluetooth keyboard. My writing by hand is often too slow and half the ideas get forgotten. hahaha

Do you have a special pre-writing ritual?

Actually, when I first start a story, I have to tell someone about the  initial idea or I might explode ( @thegirlfromoverthepond you can sing a song of this. LOL). But when I continue working on it, I need to get into the characters and read one or two one-shorts etc. to get me in the right mood ... which often leads to total distraction because 'okay, one more chapter an then I'll start, promise'. hahahaha

What do you do to get into the writing?

See last question. ;)

Do you have a reward system for word counts?

Nah, no reward. A story is as long as it should be, no matter if 100 or 10,000 words. But I admit I always feel giddy when the word count rises and rises.

Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don’t know about?

Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of a sentence, an idea overwhelms me and I start to write a completly new scene. When I get back to the original sentence I have no idea what I wanted to write there. It's not the norm, but it does happen sometimes. ggg

I would love to read this from @xerxia31, @ellanainthetardis, @rumaan, @greetingsfromthenorthernsea, @burkygirl, @titaniasfics, @hawthornewhisperer, @hawtsee and everyone else who'd like to do this. :)

[litlifelover]

Punsh

For @loveinpanem's July-challenge "Adopt A Fic/Finish A Fic" I had the wonderful opportunity to finish a short ficlet of @xerxia31. She sent me the first 800 words, and I finished with the rest. Therefore I asked her if it would be ok to post this here as co-authors (also because "co-author" sounds so swanky and makes us feel very sophisticated. ggg).

Thanks to the team of LIP for another awesome challenge, thanks to @xerxia31 for not only being co-author, but beta as well, and thanks to all of you awesome people for the constant support. You're lovely!

You can also read this on AO3.

Happy reading! :)

PUNCH

Katniss was slumped in a chair, the painkillers they'd pumped her full of making her light-headed but doing precious little for the pain in her broken hand.

They weren't helping the hurt in her heart either.

"Finnick, where are you?" she grumbled under her breath. The hospital wouldn't release her without someone to take her home, despite her insistence that she'd be fine on the bus. So she sat, fidgeting with the sling that supported her newly-splinted hand, feeling miserable.

She dropped her head into her one good hand, concentrating on her breathing. She wouldn't cry. Not here. She didn't cry when it happened, didn't cry in the cab to the hospital, didn't cry while the doctors and nurses poked and prodded. She wasn't going to cry. At least not until she was home, alone.

It felt like forever before footsteps crossed the room, familiar ones that her mind refused to consider possible until a pair of double-knotted sneakers appeared in her line of vision. She quickly dashed away the few tears that had defied her iron will and fixed her face into a scowl before looking up.

The white tape across his nose was a stark reprimand, faint purple bruising already beginning to snake beneath his haunted blue eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze, instead focussing on his chest, broad and warm, an indy band t-shirt stretched snug. Apparently he'd gone home to change since the incident.

"Here to finish me off, Sweetheart?" she drawled, glancing behind him, praying that Finnick would save her. But of course not.

"Katniss," he sighed; she could hear the exhaustion in his voice. It nearly broke her heart.

"What are you doing here, Peeta?" she asked, her voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.

"I've come to take you home."

She stiffened. "Finnick is going to come." But even as she said it she knew.

"He asked me to come instead."

She shook her head. "No, I'll take the bus."

She stood, but a little too quickly, the drugs and shock making her swoon. His hand on her good arm steadied her. He was always so steadying, so good and just so damned nice, even when she didn't deserve it. She wanted to shrug him off, bolt for the door, but his arm wrapped firmly around her and just for the briefest of moments she let herself sink into his warmth.

"Please," he said softly, and when she finally met his eyes she could see he was afraid she'd refuse him again. So she nodded.

They walked slowly and silently to his car, the same battered Civic he'd been driving since high school, the car that had been scene to so many of their adventures. He helped her into the passenger seat, even buckling the seatbelt for her. She closed her eyes tightly as he climbed into the driver's side, biting her trembling lip viciously, pain the only thing capable of holding back the sobs bubbling just under her placid surface.

When she reopened her eyes she wasn't surprised to see that he was parking in front of their apartment building. Though she couldn't meet his eyes, she let him help her out of the car, let him lead her up the stairs, that same steadying arm wrapped snugly around her, squeezing away her resolve.

She let him lead her to their couch, the shabby plaid couch they'd bought together from the second-hand store, fresh out of school and high on freedom. Let him give her a glass of water and a pair of pills from the little vial the hospital had discharged her with. Even let him sit beside her, stifling her wince as the shifting cushion jostled her.

He turned and fixed his eyes on her, stormy oceans, daring her to bolt. "I know you were going to hide out at Annie's," he said softly, and she looked away. She hadn't even asked Finnick or Annie about staying with them, yet Peeta had guessed her intentions. "I know you," he whispered. "I know even now you're trying to figure out a way to run." A gentle hand on her shoulder silently asked her to look at him, and she was powerless to resist. "We need to talk about this, Katniss," he said gently, but in a tone that brokered no argument. "Now, before it can fester. Before you can convince yourself that this is worth tearing us apart over."

The pain in his eyes was so raw. And it was her fault, all of it. The tears she'd been fighting for hours finally broke through, wetting her cheeks and tightening her throat. He reached for her, but she reared back, and the hurt on his face made her cry harder.

"No," she gasped. "You can't … after what I did!"

Peeta shook his head, motioning with a hand to his face. "A broken nose?" He shrugged it off as nothing, which made her cry even harder.

"A broken nose isn't nothing, Peeta!" she hiccuped, ignoring for the moment the dull pulsing in her hand, instead searching for a way to get out of this situation - this conversation - as soon as possible. It hurt enough having to see his half-broken form, but him dismissing the state of his health like that tore her to shreds.

"Katniss, please," he pleaded, but with a simple shake of her head, she made him stop talking again. Defeated she placed her hands in her lap. Squeezed her eyes closed. Took a couple deep breaths to steady her voice. To stop the hiccups and the tears.

Finally she looked at him again, now seemingly calm, but in reality cut to pieces. The slight shudder in her voice was unmistakeable. "I didn't trust you, Peeta!"

He shook his head. "You just misinterpr-"

"No!" she interrupted him forcefully. "You need to listen! I saw that kiss, and instead of trusting you, I snapped and hit you!" She shuddered when she thought back to the moment her arm developed a life of its own. The dull throbbing coming from her splinted hand a constant reminder. "Peeta, I hit you! Not once before in all our years together had you given me any reason to not trust you. And still, today I saw that … that … hussy crawling all over you and promptly assumed the worst. What does that say about me?"

Peeta reached for her again, this time she wasn't fast enough to stop him. The pills made her mind a little slushy and her reactions slower. He held her face in his hands, his thumbs stroked carefully over her cheekbones. She shivered at the contact.

"Stop this, okay?" The pleading she heard in his voice made her sight blurry again. "Katniss, now you listen, and you listen carefully: You had every right to mistrust me."

The sharp intake of air made her dizzy and stopped her from shrugging off his hands and jumping from the couch. "What … what are you-"

"It's my fault you and Prim are fighting," he said, again with so much hurt simmering around him, she couldn't have interrupted him if her life depended on it. "It's my fault you're not even talking at the moment. It's all my fault, because I couldn't hold my fucking tongue, although we agreed on calming down before saying anything. It's me who abused your trust."

He let go of her and buried his head in his hands, leaning on his knees. Everything about him screamed remorse and hurt.

All the fight left her, leaving the guilt, and the pain, and the indecision of what exactly to do next. Of course he felt like it was all his fault, when in reality they both made mistakes. Katniss could see that now.

She could see that the fight between her and Peeta after he confronted Prim with her cheating boyfriend, her younger sister not believing a word and blaming Katniss for everything, hadn't really helped the situation.

She could see the supposed 'cheating' she witnessed today that made her punch Peeta in the face, was simply the cherry on top. With everything going on in her life an explosion was bound to happen. Katniss had known the overly flirty girl, Glimmer, from before, and she had also known that Peeta had always been his usual friendly and polite self, but never encouraged her. He had told her when Glimmer asked him out and he had declined. Katniss should have known the kiss wasn't initiated by Peeta, and that he stopped it only a second after it had started. But with her feelings in turmoil that split second had been enough for her rage and hurt to take over. Only after she punched him, and the pain in her hand started to register with her brain, did she realize what just occurred. And she fled.

She could also see that no matter how far, or how long, or how often she ran: Peeta wouldn't stop trying to reach her. And she loved him for that. Oh, how much she loved him. But that didn't automatically make her deserve him. This good, precious soul. This wonderful man.

With a loud sigh Katniss leaned back on the couch. She was done running.

"Does it hurt badly?" he inquired, motioning to her wrapped hand, making her smirk. As if she didn't know what he was asking about.

"It does," Katniss answered nevertheless. "What about you?" The faint purple under his eyes had turned into a dark blue by now.

"Like a bitch." A slight chuckle escaped him. For the first time in hours she felt her lips form into a smile, but she sobered up quickly.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she said, the fingers of her good hand coming up and carefully brushing over the bruise under his left eye. For a brief moment he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her touch.

When the deep blue pools of his eyes connected with her silver ones, shining only with adoration for her, she knew they would get through this. "I'm sorry, too. I love you, Katniss."

She leaned her head against his chin and felt his lips softly caress her forehead. "I love you, Peeta."

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and leaned back. Katniss snuggled into his side, her head resting in the spot between his chin and his shoulder, his fingers brushing slightly over her upper arm.

As it got darker outside, they sat there, in their apartment, on their couch, with the lights turned off, in complete silence, but fully aware of the other.

And although they didn't say a word they felt assured they would get through anything life was about to throw in their direction.

Not even a broken nose and hand could change that.

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

Everlark Author Tag

Everlark authors, I want to hear from you! Answer as many of these are you like, or even add more questions!

Copy and paste or reblog. Tag it with #everlarkauthor

1.     What inspired you to start writing Everlark fanfiction?

It all started with a friend watching the movie and telling me how good it was - that the ending wasn’t the HEA we would expect. So instead of watching the movie, I turned towards the book. I had no clue it was a trilogy.

I fell down the rabbit hole of Everlark (I was never Team Gale), and as in everything I liked, I started looking for fanfic. Of course I fell onto @promptsinpanem, started to eagerly read the entries ... and felt something I hadn’t felt in years.. the desire to write, again. So I grabbed my keyboard, and launched myself into the FF world, again.

2.     How did you choose your handle name (tumblr, ao3, ff)?

merciki (AO3) is a play on words. it’s something I said to my kid very often. it’s basically “Thank you who?”, but is much better in French. Even though it should be spelled “merci qui?” but well.

Thegirlfromoverthepond for tumblr - well, it’s me. I’m a woman, not a girl anymore (where has time gone?), and well, i’m French, so from the other side of the pond.

Clever, right ?

3.     Any other THG pairings you ship?

Buttercup and a zucchini is always my favorite. Just kidding okay ?

4.      Favorite character to write?

That’s a tough one. both are complex characters, that have flaws and qualities. It’s always challenging to write from Peeta’s POV because I’m obviously no man, but it’s really interesting too.

I like writing from both POV, actually :)

5.     Weird habits while writing?

Working?

6.     Any advice for other Everlark writers?

What @hutchhitched wrote about getting a beta. It’s so important. I have been very lucky to work close with @xerxia31 and her red pen - but it’s soooooooooo rewarding. she never hesitates to tell me what’s bad, or what could be improved and that makes the story so much better.

7. Favorite thing about our fandom?

Being able to discover new people from around the world. And then, to be able to comment on the Eurovision with the European part of the fandom... Are we ready for 2019, ladies ? @bandathebillie @akai-echo @maxwellandlovelace @litlifelover @madamemarquise @ombradellaluna

Thank you for tagging me, @hutchhitched !

Tagging : @xerxia31, @maxwellandlovelace @mtk4fun @katnissdoesnotfollowback @burkygirl