#peeta is TIRED but would he change her for the world? no

[paintedpeeta]

Peeta getting so tired of recleaning the floors after Katniss gets messy in the woods that he gets her old bucket tub from the seam house and makes her a bath in the living room when she comes home so not to track mud upstairs

ahhh i definitely headcanon that peeta is big on keeping their house clean, loves the order and mental clarity that it brings, loves everything having a place so that he can put his hand to it whenever he needs it. (and also, likes to periodically repaint the rooms and move furniture around to freshen things up, but that isn’t relevant here).

enter katniss, stage left.

she isn’t a dirty person. she just isn’t as fussy about it as him. like, she’ll pair odd socks together when she’s doing laundry and she’ll leave dishes on the rack overnight. and, of course, she trails in from the woods most days looking like she’s been dragged through the mud. if he’s lucky and is home, he’ll catch her and toss her over his shoulder in the hallway before she can track leaves and muck through the house. other days, she gets home before he does and he’s greeted by the sight of dirty boot-prints across his pristine floors.

truly, she riles him up something awful when it comes to it. no matter how many times he reminds her to take her boots off at the door, she almost always forgets. and of course, because she hates him being mad at her, she always comes up with an excuse to deflect. “but peeta, i was in a hurry to feed the cat! that’s why i forgot to take ‘em off.” murmured as she tries to situate herself across his lap, quite contrite. she will do it again the next day and he knows this. (other times, she takes a harder stance. “maybe you ought to be home earlier to remind me.” said in a very serves-you-right manner).

the idea of them having a big metal wash tub is pretty inspired though, especially if you personally headcanon that they go live off-grid in a cabin in the woods. warming the water for each other in kettles above the hearth. would you even need to draw the curtains closed, out there in the middle of nowhere? he’s a little too tall for the tub so it’s not as comfortable for him as it is for katniss, who can fully stretch her legs out and lay there to soak.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

��I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar. 

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" 

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead. 

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept. 

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her. 

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However,  nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body. 

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature. 

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience. 

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day. 

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured : 

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

[clatoera]

What are your thoughts about the epilogue? Specifically this sentence :

It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly.

How do you interpret it?

Disclaimer : this question is for textual analysis, it's not meant to incite fandom war. please DNI if you don't like this topic.

Thank you so much.

@curiousnonny

BUCKLE IN BESTIES

So

I personally have always been a huge fan of the epilogue. Back when I was little (I say little, I was 11 when it came out) and read it I was like omg yay babies, but as I’ve grown and reflected on it I genuinely have come to love it for the depth of what it represents. 

Katniss makes it clear in The Hunger Games that the reason she does not want children is because it is not safe. It is not because Katniss inherently dislikes children or doesn’t want them because she’s tired of raising kids, it’s because the world is literally unsafe. She can’t guarantee them a roof over their heads, or food to keep them alive, and especially she cannot protect them from the games.  Katniss actually demonstrates a lot of maternal instinct towards her sister and Rue, so I would venture to say she has the instinct if she chose to pursue it. If i’m not mistaken I also think there's a piece of CF where Katniss considers what a good father Peeta would make. Katniss is afraid of having children because of the world she lives in.

The growth to the epilogue is none to be ashamed of. I think it’s actually a natural progression sometimes, as you get older, too. For example when I was Katniss’ age, I certainly was adamant that I didn’t want children. And now, I’m twenty five, and while I'm not itching to be a mother, I am far less opposed to the idea of it. I am by no means saying that people should be told they’ll change their minds or be ignored when they insist they don’t want kids, but again, Katniss was more afraid than she was against it. The world was not safe for her children. The world was not safe for the children in twelve NOR the children of Victors. I think Katniss, after 5,10, 15 years saying yeah. I think I could have a kid. Is a HUGE testament to the world she lived in after the war.  She felt safe enough, finally, after all that time to make the step forward and have children. 

The fact that 15 years later Katniss felt secure enough to have children means the world changed in the way she wanted it to. Everything she did, everything she gave, everything she sacrificed, was finally worth it 15 years when the world she came to live in was one where she could have kids.  This is a sign of a safe world. Of a world where there are no more games. A world where she doesn’t have to be the mockingjay anymore. A world where she can be mom/mama/mommy, instead. This is the world she fought for, where Peeta Mellark’s kids could be safe. 

I also think it’s imperative to say I do not think “it took 5, 10, 15 years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly” is ANY indicator that he manipulated her or anything of the sort. We know Peeta is the master of the scene, he could manipulate the audience of the capitol, but he never once manipulates Katniss. I don’t think that changes post war. Do I think it’s a conversation that could have come up naturally after..all that time together? Yes. Of course. But a conversation is not manipulation, in fact it’s healthy to check in with your partner where you stand on these sort of things. It could be as simple as a quick off handed comment after seeing kids leave the bakery. Conversing about your future is not inherently manipulation. It’s normal and really should happen in any long term healthy relationship.  In that same vein, I don’t think saying “Peeta wanted them so badly” is saying he’s begging for them. If someone wants kids…you can tell. In the way they smile at babies at restaurants. The way they wave back at them when they pass them on the street. The way they smile and shake their heads when they do something that a parent may find embarrassing but you’re trying to make it clear that they’re kids and you know that and its okay. It is obvious, when someone with a big heart, who wears it on his sleeve, wants children. I don’t think Katniss needed Peeta to say “i want them” for fifteen years. She knew. She saw him interact with them at the bakery. She saw the way he talked about Finnick and Annie’s son. Katniss knew because she loved Peeta, not because Peeta was harassing her about it. Baby fever is absolutely written on some people’s faces, and seeing how Peeta holds his son in the epilogue in the film, there is no doubt that Katniss knew, from loving him for 15 years, that he wanted them. 

 I also think, for Katniss, this was something she could control in her life. Her life in Twelve was really not her own. The lives of ANYONE in Panem were not their own. I have a long long essay here about the illusion of reproductive choice in Panem, so I won’t repeat myself too much. But I think exercising her control over not having children is a way for her to take control of her life and say “I won’t give them my children to slaughter. I won’t give them my children to starve.”

I also think Katniss’ age shouldn’t be overlooked. She turns 18 at the end of Mockingjay. Eighteen years old. That is SO incredibly young. Do I think people in Panem tended to have children starting around 18/19? Yes. But that wasn’t going to be Katniss, who is in mourning. And then okay five years later…23. So young, thats the age you graduate college. 10 years later? 28. Okay understandable, normal. 15 years? 33 years old. When I was younger I thought omg that is SO late in life to have kids that is SO old. No. That’s..a very normal, very healthy, very adult age to have kids. If I had them i’d be 32/33. Thirty Three is such a normal age to have kids, she’s still young, but she’s an adult. With life experience. And years to process her trauma. I think fifteen years makes SENSE when you are eighteen. Live. Figure out what your life is like in this new world, this world without games, or mentoring, or peacekeepers and district lines. She learned had time to grow, she had time to adjust to life. Fifteen years..it makes sense that after that time she’d be like you know what? I have proof the world is safe. I have faith. I feel comfortable and confident and ready to take this next step. 

This part I am treading lightly because I don’t want to get controversial. However, I think a lot of the rejection of the epilogue and the idea that Katniss would choose to be a mother comes from the idea that motherhood and things that may be considered ‘traditionally feminine’ are a weakness, and I think there's some deep societal misogyny at play. The beauty in life  as a woman is having the choice. THAT is feminism. The choice to have kids or not. The choice when to have them. Accepting and loving and embracing your fellow woman whether she has chosen to make a career as a homemaker or as a politician. That is what it’s all about. Having the choice and supporting each other. Having Children does not make you weak. It does not mean you settled into the patriarchy. You can be the mockingjay. You can be a mother. You can be a doctor. You can be a chef. You can be a teacher. You can be a nurse. You can be a writer. These things are not separate. You can make the choice to do these things, and that's what is so important that Katniss CHOOSES this life. She Chooses to have children.  We are not shaming women for that choice, just like we don't shame them if they choose NOT to have children.

She chooses to become a mother in a far more authentic, genuine way than katniss chose to be the mockingjay.

Leading a rebellion. Being the mockingjay. That was not really her choice. She didn’t really have the choice to not be the mockingjay, did she? There wasn’t really an option.

But Katniss CHOSE to have children. She CHOSE to become a mother fifteen years later after the war that stole the person she loved most.. By her own accord. Katniss finally got to choose and direct her own life's path. And Katniss chose to have babies with Peeta Mellark and more power to her for it. 

 Katniss led a revolution and it can all be traced down to the love she had for her little sister, who she raised. I don’t think having children is particularly out of character for a woman who changed the world out of love for a young girl.

For Katniss to go from the mockingjay to mom is probably the most peaceful and well deserved transition of her life.

And most importantly of all, it was clearly her choice.

thank you!

@curiousnonny

[fatefought]

katniss is poking and prodding. katniss wants a definite, he can tell. she's suspect of something. survival instinct is so engrained in her. it's a biproduct of being so seam. it was probably strengthened by her time as a huntsman. there's one variance in the two when it came to the arena. the girl on fire decided she has to get out. the objective was to get home to primrose. not even her mother, haymitch has come to the conclusion. haymitch had people back home, but there was not a single victor from twelve at the time. ( they talked about a lucy when he was young, but she's a pointless, urban legend. ) the realist in himself meant he saw twice the tributes, and he saw his death being twice as fast. it only seemed possible after haymitch and maysilee found the forcefield.

" nobody ever leaves the arena, " haymitch retorts with an eye roll. it's old news that he's told katniss time and time again. the narrative hasn't changed. had haymitch not acknowledged it as the woman had her meltdown about snow during the tour ? in fact, he'd pushed it even. the whole exchange had felt like needles pricking him all over. it was like the unease he had felt the day everyone went missing. a quick flash of red before his eyes: lilian, primrose, probably the hawthornes, who would have known who else ?

as infuriating as katniss everdeen can be, she had no shortage of loved ones. the light is always on at her victor village home, signifying someone always there. it has a warmth that both his and peeta's houses did not have. he didn't mind ; the latter seemed lonely though ... at least until he moved in with his newlywed wife. " but fine jesus, i promise. does that make ya happy ? ya make it sound like i want somethin' bad to happen to 'im. " though in truth, it's not hard to promise peeta's best interest. both of his former tributes are gonna be fine in district thirteen in a week. ( except they're not, but he doesn't know that yet. )

it's just easy to get his nerves plucked by katniss, and probably vice versa. it's the damn mirror thing, but also the fact that you just suck up what your loved ones gave you. they can be two gruff billy goats but they'll still show up. effie trinket and peeta mellark aren't like that. they spend all their time trying to keep the world in one piece. sounds equal parts exhausting and sad. selfishly, haymitch would rather let the world burn and see who would walk the fire with him. the two are better people than him though.

" of course i did, " though these words have less of the earlier bite. he says it matter-of-factly. district twelve is so small. everyone knows everybody, at least in whatever little community you grew up in. seam knows seam. he'd known gale's daddy too. haymitch had known a lot of those lost in that tragic day. and even in his reclusive nature, a lot of the community still showed up for him. ( even before katniss, but he's too tired to mention that. ) when she apologies, he shrugs. " me too, " though he's not apologizing back to katniss for his behavior. he's just sorry for those he'd lost. he's too tired. he does want to apologize for what happened to her father, but he's not sure how that would play out so thought goes unspoken. " ya ought to get peeta. the games start soon. y'all should start headin' up to the lounge. wouldn't want to miss anythin'. "

she lets out a snort, well - accompanied by a roll of her eyes. "yes, haymitch. i'm aware you're a cockroach. just like i am. ain't easy survivin' being deep in the shit like we did at home, but it's harder to forget how to do it." she means the seam, the starvation, the mines. it's something that had chewed on them and spit them out, made them resilient not by some whimsical wish, but by necessity; going in the arena, those skills to just keep surviving were an advantage for the two of them — so she had thought when it had been her turn, so she had seen on the screen last night -- but that doesn't mean it's a good thing. she certainly doesn't think they achieved that in a good way. and she's sure he thinks it would have been better to just fucking die, if only they could. but they can't. katniss, because she has her family to take care of and haymitch, well, she assumes it is just for spite. though since last year things have changed, even if he won't admit it. she gets it, she ain't happy to admit she's gotten used to haymitch, that she checks out of the window every night to see if his light is on and she can still see his shadow on his chair. "you sayin' no and wishin' we didn't feel sorry for ya ain't gonna stop us. even when i wish it did." it would be less of a hassle. she already has too much on her plate. he certainly doesn't like having people to look after either.

i like him more, it should maybe urge a reaction from her. jealousy, anger, sadness. she feels none of that. instead, she feels tickled to let out a laugh, bittersweet in a way that is amused. "'course you do. 'would have called ya crazy if you didn't." it's hard to dislike peeta mellark's unfading kindness, after all. and she can see haymitch doesn't loathe to spend time with their neighbor as much as he does with her; she supposes the free food helps, the gentleness, the friendly games katniss never has truly the patience for. "i can't let go. if it hadn't worked out, i'd have gotten his blood in my hands. the bread story —" she stops herself short, feeling that sting that always comes; it warns to shut your mouth, stop sharing your weakness. but she doesn't obey it this time. "it ain't just a story. i wouldn't have come out right if he hadn't come back with me." not that she is right now, but haymitch gets it. none of them are ever going to be what they were before — isn't that the fucking point? neither of us are trying to hurt him, well, now that brings some relief. not because she cares about how haymitch sees her, that he thinks her wicked for playing her husband like that, but it's just because she doesn't want to be awful, even when she is. a sigh slips out of her mouth and she bites her bottom lip to stop any more from coming out, lifting her hand to give the end of her braid a tug. "'s why i can't really lose him. if we ain't out of the arena, your job ain't done. you gotta promise me, haymitch." if she presses enough, he will. he has to. hasn't he just admitted he likes peeta best? it would be in everyone's best interest now — it's not like last year, when if she died everything would fall apart back home. mother and prim can cope, they can even continue bugging haymitch like they do now.

she isn't expecting what comes next, though. "my da- what? you knew my daddy?" it shouldn't come to as a surprise, but as much as katniss can see that haymitch is seam, that at some point he had been a boy brought from the mines to be scrubbed at at the capitol, it's hard to imagine him brushing shoulders with the others at the hob, dancing at toasting parties, being a part of the community that heath had fostered, even when there were more important things. it's why she knows haymitch is not lying, nor just trying to pull at her heartstrings. when he speaks, she can see her father as he had been: kind, generous, the true caretaker who had taught her everything she knew, had tried to harbor all the good things she eventually killed, as if that could stop things from hurting. it didn't, not permanently. haymitch's pain is going to be long lasting too, she thinks. he doesn't give her names, but she's shocked when he gives her something: a girlfriend, a father. the people he fought so hard to come back to, and were taken from him anyways. she lowers her eyes, the same eyes her mentor says are her daddy's, and she keeps chewing on her lip, like she's still fourteen, and trying so hard not to break apart at the mere mention of her father, forever gone in those mines. "i'm sorry, haymitch." she means it now, it's clear by her voice, all water, no real fire.

[endlessnightlock]

I’d love to see your take on the fluff prompt 27 if it interests you. :)

27. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you sleep on the couch."

40 fluff prompts

Previous drabbles in the series: 

Why Are You Upside Down 

You Got Me Flowers

There’s Animal In Your Sweater, Isn’t There

An In-Panem, Alternate Universe series

Summer before 11th Grade

"Your family is going to wonder where you are when you don’t show up tonight,” Peeta says, unlocking the door above the bakery and ushering Katniss inside. He shuts it behind them, and with a barrier between them and the outside world the shouting and occasional gunfire in the Square mutes some. Peeta is aware of his own frantic heartbeat, the blood rushing through his ears. He sags against the kitchen counter, the strength seeping from his limbs. They made it. They’re safe. Better yet, they're alone, he realizes. He's not sure he could deal with his family now.

His mother and father and Rye are at the Cartwright’s, finalizing toasting plans with his brother’s future in-laws. Curfew is soon, and they'll be stranded until sunrise.

While his father and brothers like Katniss, Mrs. Mellark still hasn't given in. He’s too tired to play moderator.

“I didn’t tell anyone we were watching from the square,” Katniss admits, following Peeta through the quiet apartment to the front room. She moves to the window facing the square, pushing the curtain back.

Peeta stands behind her and leans over her shoulder, peering out into the street below. The Peacekeepers seem to have the crowd subdued once again. Dozens of people, including a few of his Town neighbors, are led away, guns drawn as motivation to walk. A dull ache settles in his chest.

“Kind of feels like a waste,” Katniss says, pushing the curtain to cover the window and stepping back. Her expression is pinched. “Fighting the Capitol will change anything.”

“I’m not sure if I agree with that,” Peeta says as Katniss sits on the couch. She unlaces her boots and he watches her routine that’s become so familiar to him. Funny how he never thought that would happen. “I think they’re brave,” he adds.

She tugs one boot off. “I think it’s idiotic.”

The situation isn’t funny, but he laughs anyway. “Of course you do. Starting something you can’t finish isn’t logical."

Katniss tugs the other boot off her foot and frowns at him as she stretches out on the couch. “We can’t all be Mr. Do-Good, like you.”

“Probably not,” Peeta says. “What would become of us? Standing up for what we believe in.”

“It would get us killed,” she murmurs, eyes falling closed. 

Peeta ignores that comment. “What are you doing?”

She looks up at him. “I’m so tired. Do you have a blanket I can use to sleep out here?”

Katniss gives a very un-Katniss-like squeak when Peeta bends over and scoops her off the couch. She forgets how strong he is sometimes. Her heart flutters inside her chest, and when he smiles crookedly at her that warmth she feels around him lately spreads through her belly. Their gazes lock, and she’s oddly breathless.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you sleep on the couch,” Peeta says after clearing his throat

Katniss doesn’t know what to say as he quickly sets her on the floor again. His cheeks are red. She’s looking everywhere in the room but at him. 

“If that’s cool with you-” he begins.

“Yeah,” she says quickly. Embarrassed for some reason, Katniss follows Peeta to his room. They remain quiet as they lay side by side on his bed, but now that they’re here, she can’t fall asleep. Her mind whirs, and she doesn’t want to close her eyes because every time she does, scenes from the square flash across her mind.

Shouting erupts from outside once again, followed by short bursts of gunfire. Peeta has his arms around her, pulling her close before the first sob has fully crossed her lips.

[awhiskeyriver]

le cirque monstre

This is the prologue to an old but newly updated story I idea I’ve had for years, sort of forgot about and recently remembered and became interested in again. I honestly don’t know when I will transfer this over to ao3 (probably at least the prologue, soon) or when I will add more. My inspiration for things is very fleeting right now, but I wanted to get your thoughts here in tumblrland on whether or not I should bother continuing!

Unedited and some things might end up changing in the future, but enjoy!

                                                            +++

Prologue: 1918, Coney Island 

     She used to think the cotton-spun candy that tasted like melted sugar was just like a dream; too good to be true. She was younger then, and everything about life was shiny and vibrant. Her nose crinkled with distaste as her boney knee stuck to the floor of the bleachers.  Not anymore, though. Now, the popular fair treats were only a nuisance, making her job of cleaning between shows all the more difficult.

      “Applesauce,” she muttered, twisting to sit on her butt as she peeled a piece of gum from her skin.

       “What are you complaining about now, Katniss?” Gale asked, poking up from the row behind her with a devilish grin. Katniss rolled her eyes when he reached out to poke her nose, wondering how someone three years older than her could still be so immature. Gale and her had been best friends since the time she was small, bonded through unfortunate circumstances of life. 

        “I’m tired of cleaning these seats,” she pouted, sweating and absolutely exhausted. It had been their fourth show of the day, with five more to get through before calling it an evening. Katniss felt the sharp pangs of hunger vibrate through her stomach and moaned.

        “If you quit being such a dewdropper this could’ve been done by now and we’d be off eating lu—“ he cut off, ears perking at the sound of distant voices growing closer. Katniss turned to face Gale before he pushed the top of her head in signal to crouch, doing the same for himself.

        Female voices billowed through the auditorium, followed by that of her father, whose voice was authoritative and all business. He cleared his throat loudly a couple of times before joining in their quiet laughter with a hardy one of his own that reverberated off the bleachers.  Katniss shrunk further into the ground with the sound. Father had always been a vocal man. Vocal when he was happy, even more so when he was angry. He talked, and Katniss listened. Katniss was always listening.

       “The children all loved the performance today.”

       “Simply loved it!” another high-pitched voice agreed. Katniss twisted her head uncomfortably in hopes of seeing beneath the bleachers and caught sight of two women dressed in long black robes with matching white-lined headdresses.

       Nuns from the orphanage.

      Gale had sold them tickets earlier before the last showing, and Katniss had hoped she would’ve finished her chores in time to see the children. Because despite living within her father’s circus (what he advertised to be the happiest place in America) there was a surprisingly low number of people who were willing to keep her boredom occupied.

     “Children, what must you say now to Mr. Snow?” A chorus of cheerful thank you’s sounded, and underfed children whose clothing didn’t exactly fit wore bright grins. Perhaps the advertising hadn’t been entirely false. They all sure seemed to think so.

     The children lined up behind the tallest sister like toy soldiers, marching towards the opening flap of the tent. All, except for one.

     “Not you, young man.”

     Katniss had practically turned herself upside down in effort to keep the woman in her line of sight, and caught the faintest glimpse of the child. He wasn’t facing her, but his hair was ash-blonde and unattended. Although he wore the same uniform as the other boys, it was sloppy with his shirt un-tucked and it’s color slightly off-white.

     “You are not going anywhere,” she spoke dismissively as the other sister came to stand beside her.

     “…But, have I done something wrong?”

     His voice surprised her. Strong for a child, despite the same unavoidable squeakiness Gale experienced sometimes, being almost fourteen. 

     “Part of becoming a man,” he’d said proudly when her and her baby sister Prim giggled. “It’s called puberty.”

     “Puber-what?” Prim asked, nose wrinkled.

     “Awe, forget it.”

     “Peeta...” The one reached out, as if to touch him but recoiled before her hand could land on his shoulder, and drew back. “Our home has no place for you, anymore. There is nothing we can do for you.”

     He remained quiet as the softer one peered up at her stone-faced sister, who only nodded with agreement.

     “You belong here. There is simply nowhere else for you to go.”

     “There is not a soul in New York who cares to take in a crippled boy.”

       Father took a step in closer to the nuns, who stood a fair distance from the wilting boy. Katniss watched on, her heart beating explosively inside of her chest in a way that made her breaths almost ragged. She’d witnessed cruelty tenfold and was not blind to its existence. But the reality of what the young man was crashed down on her heavily, and she realized perhaps they were not being heartless afterall.

    The boy was grotesque. Evidence of the fact made clear as he turned on a crutch made of wood and exposed his profile. It took a hand covering her mouth to keep from making any audible sound. 

    So, they were simply right, then. There wasn’t a soul in New York, or most likely any state, that would willingly take him into their care. Nobody but a circus.

    He resisted as her father’s thick hand clutched his arm, but surprisingly enough did not scream. He did not say a single word as he finally spun around fully into Katniss’s view. Watching with a mixture of fear and dread as the two nuns who had escorted him in left without him. 

                                                          +++

     “Quit trying to bug him, Kat,” Gale snapped, catching her arm outside of the tent where all of the circus freaks were busy preparing for their shows.

       Three weeks had passed since the boy joined her father’s circus, parading around with clowns on stilts and the small people that waddled around in shoes five times too big and circular red noses. Three weeks and any time she tried to catch a glimpse of him outside of the show, Gale caught her.

       “Aren’t you at all curious?” she huffed, twisting out of his embrace with a thoughtful rub to her elbow. “Haymitch says he is only thirteen. The youngest carnie we’ve ever had.”

       “Then going in there will only make him feel like more of a freak,” he scolded and Katniss wilted, realizing the truth to his words. They both jumped as father’s booming voice sounded from a distance, calling Gale’s name.

       “I need to go start selling tickets,” he sighed, turning to leave with suspicion in his eye. “Promise me, Kat.”

       “…Oh, alright.”

       “Promise me.”

       Katniss sighed, smoothing out the fluffy material of her dress as something to keep her hands busy. “Yes Gale, I promise to stay out of trouble. Now go, or you’ll have to answer to the whip.”

       He left and Katniss paced the length of the carnie tent. There was music playing inside, the soft blare of a saxophone and some sticks against metal pots. Katniss enjoyed spending time with the performers when allowed. Chaff, the deep-skinned muscle man that could lift four hundred pounds despite missing a hand, made her laugh. And Haymitch, a magician, let her play  with some of his props when he was drunk enough. 

       So, really, her going inside of the tent wasn’t completely for the new boy. She had been keeping her fingers crossed during the promise to Gale, anyways.

       Katniss glanced around the abandoned backlot, where dark puddles of mud created divots in the green grass she was forced to hop over to keep her shoes clean. Then, she slipped past the thin curtain, which closed off the strange world of fantasy from harsh reality.

       Katniss went unnoticed, weaving her way through lounging performers and billowing clouds of smoke. It was always louder in the back tents – deep laughter and saxophone practices, occasional drunken arguments and the escaped moans from two closer carnies. She winced when the volume grew unexpectedly, and bowed her head as if to provide a thin veil of privacy to a group of outlandish people who didn’t know the meaning of it.

       She waved at Haymitch, who only raised up his eyebrows in her direction before blowing up a shining red balloon and twisting it with his skilled hands. The other clowns seemed to be hanging close by; some sleeping, others smoking. The new boy most likely wasn’t far. She bit the inside of her cheek, silently debating with herself whether or not to ask of his whereabouts before she caught a glimpse of something that captured her attention.

       There it is again, she thought, following the thin trail of light that bounced off the draped edge of the tent, which was otherwise dark. She bent over in half, silently pushing past it with curiosity in her expression. The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw him, sitting perched on the clear opposite end near one of the long poles, which held the tent in place. With a thin, melting candle for light, he kept a novel perched in his one bent knee, his eyes scrolling the pages like a typewriter.

       “Hello,” she offered, jumping in surprise when the boy dropped the book and shot up on one wobbly leg.

       “Oh…” she bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep from giggling at his startled expression.  His overgrown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes despite his best efforts to push it back.

       “Did I scare you?” She asked, reaching out to hand him his cane. He didn’t reply, but accepted the crutch quickly before bending over for the book, which he tucked behind his back away from her view.

       “It’s alright, I’m not gonna take it,” she promised. He glanced down at her, bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was just curious.”

            He huffed in silence, falling back to the ground silently as he dusted the dirty pages. Katniss frowned, shifting on her feet as she watched the boy flip through his story.  She hadn’t thought past the initial finding him, and now that she had, the silence was deafening.

       “Can you speak?”

        The tips of his ears turned red as he kept his gaze focused at the ground, running his hands over the dirty cloth of his pants.

        “Of course.”

        “I know,” she smiled slyly, inching closer to him the way one might approach a nervous animal. “I just wanted to hear you say something.”

        She sat down, pushing her butt closer when he didn’t protest and leaned over his shoulder to glance down at his lap. She’d never seen a book so close in real life, only in the hands of strangers or in pictures. Father had never bothered teaching her how to read more than a few simple words, claiming it was pointless for girls to fill their heads with nonsense like knowledge. Certainly, as a circus girl, it wasn’t Katniss’s place to argue. But, it hadn’t helped her curiosity.  She sat in silence, wondering if the boy could actually read the words on the pages, or if he was pretending. It was just as ridiculous for the time to be spent teaching him such a skill as it would be for herself.

        “What is your novel about?”

        “You can borrow it, if you would like,” he offered, dog-earing one of the pages before handing it over to her waiting hands. Her lips pursed sourly as her eyebrows furrowed, pushing the book back into his hands with a sting of betrayal in her chest.

        “Well, you don’t need to make fun of me.” she mumbled, rising up to her feet. How humiliating, to be made fun of by this boy she’d only hoped to make feel more comfortable.

        “Wait.” He grabbed hold of her arm, the first physical contact he’d offered to her since she’d approached. Her body stiffened and the warmth of his fingertips was gone in a flash as his hand twitched back down to his side. He pushed a long lock of hair back behind his ear, eyes boring into her despite her back being turned.

      And it was then, under the candlelight that she saw the gnashes and hideous scarring that ripped apart more than half of his face up close. Quickly, she looked away. 

        “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he promised lowly, sounding almost sincere. “I wouldn’t.”

         “I can’t read. You should know that,” she sniffed, chin tilted up in the air as her eyes shifted back to his forlorn face. “I��m a lady.”

        “My apologies. Someone I kne—” he stopped himself short with a shake of his head before cocking his chin back in the direction of the book. He ghosted a hand over its impressive script before opening it back up to the page he’d previously closed. “Perhaps, I could teach you. If you wanted to learn, then you could borrow it sometime.”

        Katniss took a moment to truly ponder the idea. Plenty of carnie’s had taught her things over the years. Octavia, the lady with facial hair as long as that which grew on Katniss’s head, had taught her how to properly buckle her shoes when she was younger. And to that day, Haymitch took credit for teaching the girl her first words. She didn’t suppose accepting such a proposition from this boy was much different.

        “What would you like in return?” she wondered aloud, confused by the boys humorless laughter, sounding through the dark space.

        “Your company shall be payment enough.”

        She imagined the boy, all by himself in the dark confines of the carnie tent with only the book as company, and pitied him. She knew well that it took more than being surrounded by a sea of people to not feel alone. Gale and Prim would like her new friend though, she was sure of it, and together they would all keep him fine company until he found a solid place within the odd circus family. 

        “Alright,” Katniss agreed, dusting the dirt from the bottom of her old dress. She needed to be going soon, or Gale would grow suspicious. The last thing she needed was father out searching for her when he had a show to run. “Friends, then.”

        “Sure,” he agreed slowly, as if mulling over the word. “Friends.”

        “But we can hardly be friends if I don’t know your name,” she argued, waiting patiently with her hands twisted together. Her tightly spun sausage curls bounced with every step she took in the direction of the main tent before stopping just outside of it. “Mine is Katniss.”

       “It’s nice to meet you, Katniss,” he spoke, so eloquently for someone of his status. “I’m Peeta.”

[triassictriserratops]

"This pay phone is horribly placed, he thinks with a frown"

I just have to say I absolutely love the way you include little things like this in your writing. Little life annoyances that make the world around the characters so real and natural!

"But he’s paid attention to the new drivers in Tribute League every year and still hasn’t seen her name. Not as Katniss Everdeen, and not as Katniss Hawthorne."

HE WAS LOOKING FOR HERRRRRRRR. KEEPING AN EYE OUT FOR HERRRRRRRR. AHHHHHH

"Eventually, he just stops listening and bows his head, hoping his body language can pass for contemplative rather than annoyed as fuck."

He's so real for this, honestly. I getchu, my guy.

"He doesn’t want to consider what it means that almost everything he grabs works for a Chevy."

I wonder why that would be. 😏

"he kneads the steering wheel and tries to calm the nervous butterflies crashing around his gut. He has no way of knowing if she’ll even be there."

I kind of thought this was the case, obviously, but the confirmed idea of him going out of his way to hopefully see her, being nervous to see her, bringing gifts - I'm a MESS about this.

"And if she is there, what is he going to do about it? She’s married. He’ll probably wind up just watching her and feeling like a schmuck who lost out. Although there is a part of Peeta that’s morbidly curious to see her with Gale. To see what exactly he lost out to."

HNNNNNNG. THIS IS SO DELICIOUSLY PAINFUL. God, I am SO glad he didn't have to live that.

"Because Katniss was the first person he met when he ran away from home. And she was the first person who made him feel significant, valuable, wanted, even loved, if only for a night."

I knew that night was so special for Katniss, and I had some ideas that it was really special for Peeta too. (Especially when I read your kink post about 9000 RPM Peeta and it looks like half of his kinks originated from his experience that night with Katniss. So it REALLY left a huge impact on him.) But it isn't until reading this that I genuinely understood just how special it was for him. I imagine he called Katniss actually really wanting to make something work, despite the contract and the distance.

"Still looks the same except more beat up and worn a little more. In desperate need of a paint job."

Crying because this makes me think of Katniss a bit. Not that she "looked beat up" or anything. But that she was getting tired, worn, beaten down, sad. She'd been hurt. She was shouldering too many burdens alone. And she'd loved through several years without "care" or "maintenance" and she needed someone to come in willing to do the work. What Peeta does with Alimony, he also does for her. 😭😭😭

"Everdeen?"

"Peeta’s still mulling over the name. Then again, maybe Katniss chose not to change her name, he reminds himself. It’d be seen as odd around here, but it’s not impossible."

Oh, he THIRSTY, thirsty. Mans was checking the fences for ANY entry point like a raptor.

"Finally, he caves. Grabs his bag from the truck, tossing in a few spare parts he thinks she might need based on the way the car looked and sounded to be handling on the track."

Look, when I sent you that ask, I knew what I was about. I was CERTAIN that the yearning had to have been PRIMO. I JUST NEEDED TO KNOW.

"She’s still driving her dad’s truck. That’s another sign in his favor, Peeta thinks as he approaches."

This man was truly HOPING AND PRAYING.

"She’s still so beautiful it makes his heart ache over what could have been. If he hadn’t been running from his father. If he hadn’t been desperate to get away. If he hadn’t already signed a contract in Levi’s name with the baja team. If if if what if."

You didn't have to go for my throat like this but you did. And, honestly? Thank you.

"In that moment, he knows. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be tonight. Even if she’s married still. He’ll be able to take this one perfect moment home with him tonight and live off the memory of her like this for another five years."

THE YEARNING???? THE ADORATION??? This man is just here like, "This woman shit-talks her car and races like a queen and I am going to spend the next 5 years on my knees for her."

"But his father was probably right about how dumb Peeta is, he thinks, because he still opens his mouth and keeps talking."

Listen, I know that man is in the ground but give me a shovel and a necromancer because I have some words to say to that man. The words will be printed in a brick, but it's still sharing words.

"If he were her husband, he’d kick his own ass for the things he’s already done to her. The things he’s imagined doing to her."

"But he can’t leave, so he moves to stand next to her, keeping his eyes on her and greedily searching for any kind of sign that she might still want him around or be interested in him. For a moment, for forever."

Are you kidding me???? This is how far gone he was for her???? I can't function. 😭😭😭 He was done for after that first night, wasn't he??? Oh my GOD.

"Maybe she’s afraid of what will happen if Gale shows up, it occurs to him. Although that thought enrages him, he tries for a light tone as he pries."

Peeta Bodyguard Mellark - ready to protect his Not Wife in any universe.

"He whistles and sets his bag down, trying not to break into a celebratory dance. It’s probably awful of him, being glad she’s divorced, but on the same token, she’s still a kickass driver and a gorgeous woman. Any sane man would be crawling on hands and knees for a chance with her."

This is absolutely fucking correct and honestly Peeta is the smartest man alive for knowing this since he was 16 years old. HANDS AND KNEES.

"She smiles at him and his heart starts doing cartwheels. Coming here tonight, he decides, was the best decision he’s ever made."

This was absolutely precious and everything I never knew I dreamed about. Peeta POVs just hit me differently and you absolutely did him justice. I'm going to be thinking about this for like a week and I need to scream to someone about this! Brb, telling my dogs about it just so I can get this squealing out of my chest. Thank you for this, truly.

💚🧡

🌼🍞

🏎️👨🏼‍🔧

Since you're on a 9000 RPM answer kick right now, I'm so curious...

Peeta, knowing that Katniss was married, showed up to the race with parts for Katniss' car.

Was he hoping she was divorced? (Possibly having heard her name announced at the track as 'Everdeen'?) Or was my mans just so unbelievably still thirsting over her that he was willing to risk it all?

This is a question I prefer to answer with a few scenes from Peeta's pov rather than trying to explain it. Hope you enjoy!

<3 kdnfb

“You’re shitting me, right?” Peeta asks and glances to his left, pushing his body closer to the wall and the pay phone he’s using so an old man can get past him to the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t shit you. You’re my favorite turd,” Levi retorts. Peeta would laugh at the joke, since he walked right into it, if what his brother just told him weren’t so fucking ridiculous. “It’s the best we could do. Mom and I don’t have time to sit around Capitol, waiting on a bus, and I’m not asking Leah to do it. She’s got enough on her plate with the kids. This was the best we could do.”

“I get that,” Peeta says and shifts his frame again as yet another person excuses themselves to get by him. This pay phone is horribly placed, he thinks with a frown. “It’s just… really?”

“Think of it like you parked it at the bus station and just left it there… without stealing it.”

“Does it at least have gas in it?”

“Didn’t look,” his brother says and Peeta bites back a curse. “Keys are in the glove box.”

Peeta opens his mouth to ask what the fuck he’s supposed to do if someone realizes between now and then that the truck is unlocked and steals it, but there’s a loud crash and the sound of a child screaming.

“Fuck. I gotta go. Call us when you get to Capitol.”

The line disconnects and Peeta snaps his mouth shut. Then hangs up the phone with a little too much force. He listens to his change dropping down into the reservoir and clenches his jaw, breathing deeply a few times before he turns back around and returns to where he left his bag by the diner counter. His burger has arrived and he sits down to eat, keeping one eye on the bus terminal across the way to make sure he hasn’t misjudged the timing and gets left here without enough cash to buy another ticket home.

He swallows and rinses the food down with a coke. Barely flicking a smile and a “Thanks” at the waitress when she brings the check. When he’s done eating, he feels like a dick for leaving the tip almost all in change, but at this point, it’s better to assume that he’s going to need the bills he has left to put gas in the truck. It’s highly unlikely Levi thought to leave their dad’s old truck at the bus terminal with enough gas for Peeta to get home.

He doesn’t miss his bus, and even though the seats are still as uncomfortable as they were on the first leg of this trip, he manages to get some sleep. Probably because he’s just so damn tired at this point.

The bus driving over a speed bump and jostling violently enough to make a few of the passengers cry out is what wakes him. Peeta rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks through the tinted windows at the eerily familiar bus terminal in Capitol City. It’s like he never left. He’s pretty sure he recognizes some of the graffiti on the wall and there’s still trash caught in the grass and weeds growing up against the chain link fence. 

Thankfully though, there are no flat tires on the truck. It hasn’t been stolen, and his brother left half a tank of gas. It’s enough, barely, to at least get him in the right county. He’ll probably still have to stop for gas somewhere around Seam.

The thought makes him pause, mid action while he’s pulling on the seatbelt. Maybe he should stop here for gas, he decides. Not that he thinks Katniss will still be in Seam, Alabama. But he’s paid attention to the new drivers in Tribute League every year and still hasn’t seen her name. Not as Katniss Everdeen, and not as Katniss Hawthorne.

He finishes buckling and drives off the lot, finding a gas station before heading towards the interstate. The drive goes by faster than he’d expect or want, dreading his return home. And that goes much as he’d expect, too. His mother gives him a perfunctory hug before telling him supper will be ready in a few minutes and she left clean sheets on for him on a bed upstairs but she didn’t have a chance to make it. 

He drops his bags in the old room he used to share with his brother and stares at the makeshift cot his mother set up for him, shoved against the wall. A set of clean, folded sheets sitting on top with a lumpy, stained pillow. Most of the room is taken up with several tables covered in craft projects at various stages of completion. Macrame, ceramics, mosaics set in stepping stones, jewelry and wind chimes. 

Well if he’s staying, he’s going to need his own place, he thinks with a wry twist of his lips.

The next few days are about as bad as he expected them to be. His last Baja check arrives, less than he was hoping for because he had to bow out before the season was over. He discovers just how fucking uncomfortable sleeping on a rickety old cot can be.

And he has to be present at his father’s funeral. Which he has nothing appropriate to wear to and has to borrow clothes from Levi, including a tie he has no idea how to tie. In the end, his brother ties it for Peeta, in brusque movements while they stand outside the church and his brother berates him for everything from his shoes looking scuffed to the fact that he never learned how to tie a necktie.

Somehow, he manages not to laugh or snort or scoff when anyone talks about what a great man his father was. A devoted husband and father. Eventually, he just stops listening and bows his head, hoping his body language can pass for contemplative rather than annoyed as fuck.

But eventually, the old bastard is in the ground and Peeta is somehow the one his mother holds onto as they walk back to the cars. Her heels keep sinking into the grass, so they have to walk slowly. By the time they make it to the house, his brothers are already hosting the guests, accepting casseroles and other assorted food. More condolences and thoughts on how much Bobby Mellark will be missed.

Unable to handle it a second longer, Peeta makes sure his mother is established on the sofa with a drink and then retreats upstairs. He shrugs out of the borrowed sports coat and yanks off the borrowed tie. Kicks off the thrift store dress shoes and flops onto the cursed cot to stare at the wall and ignore the murmur of voices and weeping from downstairs.

Eventually, he falls asleep and wakes up with a crick in his neck. He stretches and changes into jeans, surprised to see that it’s still light outside before heading downstairs.

“Oh good. You can help me get all this mess in the fridge,” his mother says and Peeta falls in, covering the dishes with foil or plastic wrap according to her dictates and finding places for everything in the fridge, all while his mother sits at the counter talking to her good friend, Francesca Cartwright, and sipping on cheap wine.

When he’s done with that, he finds Donald Cartwright in the living room, kicked back in his dad’s old recliner and watching a baseball game. Without a word, Peeta slips past him, out to the garage where he yanks on his boots and grabs his tool bag, tossing it in the truck before driving off.

He has no set plan except away. He’s been aimlessly driving around town for almost an hour when it occurs to him what he really wants to do. It somehow feels fitting. The only right thing to do after burying his father.

Stopping at an auto parts store, Peeta grabs an assortment of parts. He doesn’t want to consider what it means that almost everything he grabs works for a Chevy. He blows the last bit of his cash on the stockpile and throws up a silent thanks that Donald agreed to hire him on full time, starting Monday next week. At least he’ll make this wad back.

As he drives to the track just outside of Seam, he kneads the steering wheel and tries to calm the nervous butterflies crashing around his gut. He has no way of knowing if she’ll even be there. If she’s even driving tonight or if Gale is. Or maybe he’s missed her rise entirely. 

And if she is there, what is he going to do about it? She’s married. He’ll probably wind up just watching her and feeling like a schmuck who lost out. Although there is a part of Peeta that’s morbidly curious to see her with Gale. To see what exactly he lost out to.

By the time he makes it to the track, he’s convinced himself that this is a form of closure. A full circle stop on his journey of escaping his father’s fists and his drunken diatribes against Peeta’s worthlessness. Because Katniss was the first person he met when he ran away from home. And she was the first person who made him feel significant, valuable, wanted, even loved, if only for a night.

He parks in the grass field and leaves his tool bag in the truck. Pays for a ticket and finds a seat just as they’re announcing the lineup of drivers. He spots her car within seconds. Still looks the same except more beat up and worn a little more. In desperate need of a paint job. He waits as the names go down the list.

“And number twelve, Katniss Everdeen!”

Everdeen?

He claps, but he’s one of the few in the stands who does. By the time they finish, Peeta’s still mulling over the name. Then again, maybe Katniss chose not to change her name, he reminds himself. It’d be seen as odd around here, but it’s not impossible. He rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward to watch the start. Within a few laps, he’s smiling to himself. Damn, she’s good. 

Not quite as improved as he would’ve expected after five years, but it’s a thing of beauty, watching her maneuver her car around the track, into tight spaces most would flinch away from to pass the other drivers. 

She does take a few hard hits, and when the race ends with her in fifth place, Peeta spends a few minutes debating. After all, she did say that she and Gale take turns driving the car. If it’s her night to drive, Gale would likely still be here as her pit crew.

Unless he’s not. He wasn’t here the night Peeta first saw Katniss drive.

Finally, he caves. Grabs his bag from the truck, tossing in a few spare parts he thinks she might need based on the way the car looked and sounded to be handling on the track. He heads towards the pasture that serves as a pit area and finds her pretty fast. She’s still driving her dad’s truck. That’s another sign in his favor, Peeta thinks as he approaches.

She’s got the hood of the car propped up and is staring into the engine bay with annoyance. She’s still so beautiful it makes his heart ache over what could have been. If he hadn’t been running from his father. If he hadn’t been desperate to get away. If he hadn’t already signed a contract in Levi’s name with the baja team. If if if what if.

She doesn’t look that different. More filled out in places. Her hips definitely look wider and curvier and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a few x-rated thoughts when he notices. Her hair is braided back again, a few wisps escaping in the humid air, a few sticking to her face and neck with perspiration. The tank top she’s wearing is old and worn enough that he can see the outline of her bra and the ring of sweat stains under her arms.

As he gets closer, he can hear her muttering.

“Obstinate no good hunk of junk. You just remember that Rodney got replaced by Rhonda the pitbull and she just had puppies. I can sell you to the junkyard and the whole litter will piss on you.”

In that moment, he knows. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be tonight. Even if she’s married still. He’ll be able to take this one perfect moment home with him tonight and live off the memory of her like this for another five years.

“Still bad mouthing your baby,” he says and her entire frame goes completely rigid. Does she remember him? He pokes to see if she does. “She’ll never purr for you if you threaten her.”

Katniss whirls around, a dark glare on her face. His smile wavers and he hesitates at the naked fury… and fear? That he sees in her eyes. But his father was probably right about how dumb Peeta is, he thinks, because he still opens his mouth and keeps talking.

“I half expected you and Gale to be on the NASCAR circuit by now as a kickass husband-wife duo.”

“Life didn’t turn out that way. Yet,” she says and he nods. He can understand dreams taking longer to achieve than you expected, after all. “How was baja?”

So she does remember. He works hard not to grin at her for it. “Great.”

“So why’re you here?”

“Missed home after all.” She stares at him, her piercingly gray eyes making it clear she doesn’t believe him.  So he shrugs. “And my dad died, so I was expected at the funeral.”

“Well, sorry for your loss,” she says and turns back to the car.

“Don’t be.”

He can’t leave, although he probably should. Before her husband shows up and kicks his ass. If he were her husband, he’d kick his own ass for the things he’s already done to her. The things he’s imagined doing to her. Just for having the audacity to approach her five years after making love to her followed by five years of nothing. But he can’t leave, so he moves to stand next to her, keeping his eyes on her and greedily searching for any kind of sign that she might still want him around or be interested in him. For a moment, for forever.

She crosses her arms over her belly and seems to shrink in on herself. The motion is so unlike the girl he remembers that it catches him off guard. Maybe she’s afraid of what will happen if Gale shows up, it occurs to him. Although that thought enrages him, he tries for a light tone as he pries.

“So should I scram before your husband welcomes me with a shotgun?” She snorts and looks over at him with a scowl. Only it’s less fierce this time.

“I could use a mechanic. But I might not be able to pay you,” she says, and they’re the best words he’s heard in a long time. His smile feels inevitable. Uncontainable. But he still doesn’t know about Gale.

“Same deal? And maybe watch my back so I don’t get shot.”

“Gale won’t be here,” she tells him and then waves towards the race car. “Alimony, you remember Peeta. Peeta, this is Alimony.”

He whistles and sets his bag down, trying not to break into a celebratory dance. It’s probably awful of him, being glad she’s divorced, but on the same token, she’s still a kickass driver and a gorgeous woman. Any sane man would be crawling on hands and knees for a chance with her. “No offense, but you got screwed.”

“In more than one way,” she mutters. He doesn’t comment on that, because how her marriage ended is none of his business… yet. But he grins as he digs the spare fuel line he bought tonight out of his bag.

“I brought something with me. Just for you.”

“A brand new fuel line. Got a radiator hose in that bag of tricks, too?”

“Glad you asked,” he says and produces that too. She smiles at him and his heart starts doing cartwheels. Coming here tonight, he decides, was the best decision he’s ever made.

“You sure know how to spoil a girl.”

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter Four: Flames

Here it is! The last chapter of ‘The Heartrender’!

In which I finally post the Everlark smut, lmao.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Happy reading💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter Four: Flames

He was shivering on the front stoop when she brought him a cup of nettle tea. The smell was similar to that of the tea he’d had back home, though in his mother’s house they made sure to only steep birch bark and angelica root. Giving a guest nettle tea was a sign of poverty and god forbid the Mellarks confirm what the entire town already knew to be true. He sloshed the steaming gray-green liquid around, eyeing it warily. The ceramic felt rough against his palm. The heat was welcome after so long outside, but instead of accepting her peace offering, he set it down on the stone step.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said sharply. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He scratched at his beard, a bitter laugh bubbled out of his throat. The perfect picture of forced nonchalance. “But you’d burst my heart. So much for that truce.” He had tried to avoid looking at her but couldn’t help but glance up when she didn’t respond. 

Her eyes were rimmed with red and she had changed out of her nightgown. She now wore a simple white and blue frock. It was the kind that milkmaids wore in the Sjorkden countrysides during the summertime, though this one lacked the swirling embroidery and was made of a warmer, thicker cloth. The sleeves shone white against her deep skin and her hair floated loosely about her face, the inky color of obsidian pulled from the depths of the very earth. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. 

“You have no idea…” she started but then trailed off. 

“No idea of what?” he pressed.

“You have no idea how much you scare me.” She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and then turned away from him, looking out into the mountainous distance. He was struck with how young she looked in that moment. Just a girl really. Frightened and cold and half a world away from home. 

“At first I was scared of…” Her eyes darted back to his. “Well, look at you. You’re massive. But also the fact that you despise me without even knowing me. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Peeta didn’t respond. From infancy, he had been taught to fear her kind. Witches were monsters. Demons. Barely even human. First instilled in him by his mother and after he ran away from home, the masters. Those fears were settled as deep as his very bone marrow and wouldn’t be so easily uprooted. But as he watched the breeze play with her hair and the subtle movement of her skirts as she shifted from foot to foot, the hateful voices of his kin quieted ever so slightly. 

“Say something,” she said weakly. 

“You could have killed me…but you stopped yourself… ” He was trying to make sense of it all, and once again, the only conclusion he came to was that he owed her. He had owed her the moment she pulled him from the sea and perhaps he would never stop. She was always sparing his life. What had he done in return?

She stared down at her feet and Peeta realized with a start that he was admiring the slender curve of her neck, the same soft stretch of skin he made a habit of caressing at night when she wasn’t aware of him. This wasn’t right. He bit the inside of his cheek, summoning his anger back up. It wasn’t as readily equipped as it had once been. 

“If you had drawn a sword on me a few days ago, I think I would have killed you. But now I… I don’t want you to…” She swallowed, the words were as thick as a paste in her mouth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her confession made him uncomfortable. It was like she had rolled over and was showing him her soft underbelly. It wasn’t like her. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want us to trust each other.”

“That might prove to be a mistake,” he pointed out. “We haven’t had the best track record.”

“I know,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “But I’m tired of being afraid.”

She had spared him, more than once, even when it could prove dangerous for her to do so. She had kept his heart beating and his blood warm even when it would have been easy to let him freeze to death. She said she was tired, Peeta realized that he was too, and without him even meaning for it, the iron chains of his preconceptions shifted. 

“No matter what you paint me to be, I’m no monster,” she said as she bent down to pick up the tea. Her hair brushed the stone step. 

“Then what are you?” Peeta asked. 

“A survivor. Just like you.” At that moment, her face was unreadable, stone-like, as if she carried a whole uncharted world inside herself that Peeta would never touch. But there, if you looked closely as she placed a gentle hand to his shoulder and pressed the tea back into his palm, there was a chink in the armor. Like when she had allowed him to listen to her heartbeat, something so intimate and out of place between the bickering and long stretches of wary silence between them. 

It was a softening of sorts, a slivered glimpse through branches and into the clearing beyond, as if all other encounters he had witnessed before were of shifting leaves, ripples in a lake, half versions of a girl, and this was the first time Peeta had the courage to look closely and really see her. 

He wondered what she saw in him. 

There was a tenderness in her eyes, and in response to the pressure of her hand, a blooming warmth opened in Peeta’s chest the same way a door opens on rusted, unused hinges. Slowly and with great difficulty, as if out of practice, but open all the same. 

That was until her eyes narrowed, her lips twisted unpleasantly, and she said: “Don’t ever point your sword at me again, or I swear to god I’ll make you piss yourself.”

X

They followed the coastline, sleeping in abandoned whaling lodges some nights and huddled together behind boulders on others. The times when they had no lodge were the toughest on the witch since she felt it her duty to stay up to keep them warm. She’d be drained and sleep-deprived the next day and their speed would be greatly diminished. 

Peeta offered to carry her. It was the least he could do in exchange for all she had done for him, and she was so light it’d be no burden at all, but her pride was a delicate thing and she refused every time. That was until they hadn’t set foot in a lodge in three days and she was on the verge of collapsing. Peeta didn’t ask this time, he just scooped her up and let her sleep with her face pressed into his chest. 

“You’ve started smiling in your sleep. Did you know that?” she mumbled groggily one day as Peeta walked with her in his arms. 

He chuckled, the crystallized mist of his breath swirling around his head. “How would I know that? I’m the one sleeping.” 

She laughed lightly and curled her hand in the wolf’s fur of his cloak. He could hear a smile tinging her voice when she responded. “What do you dream about?” 

He lied. “Home. Sjorkden.” 

“Do you have a family, lieutenant?” 

“I do,” Peeta said solemnly. “Or I did.” He wasn’t thinking of his blood. Older brothers with a taste for cruelty. A timid father who retreated into a mixing bowl whenever trouble brewed. A mother with a short temper and an even shorter supply of love for her youngest son. She had called him ‘runt’ before he worked up the courage to run away and enroll in the academy. 

Whoever first said “blood is thicker than water” was a fool. Peeta had seen barrels worth of blood wash away in water. He had seen his home town swallowed up by mists from the deck of a ship. He had seen his mother weeping over another lost child running down her legs and then turn to beat her living, breathing sons the same day. Blood meant nothing.

No, he did not think of his blood. He was thinking instead of his brothers in arms, the men he’d known as boys, the sparring circles and the holiday feasts, the proud slaps on the back, the dirty inside jokes, and the secret drunken parties held when the masters went to bed. He felt a hollow ache deep in his chest when he remembered most of his friends were dead, lost in a never-ending crusade that had been handed down to them like a dusty, blood-soaked artifact of another time. 

And then he thought of her and with no magic involved, his heartbeat quickened. 

She was all he had left. 

“I had a family too,” she whispered and Peeta heard the words she wouldn’t say out loud. 

A raid.

“When?” he pressed cautiously, afraid of pushing her to open up to him again. It happened so rarely that she would let a scrap of her life from before The Bloody Rose loose. He knew she had lived in Ellsworth for a few years, the merchant town where the commander had found her, working off a steep indenture in a pleasure house. But she was a Heartrender, originally from the southeastern country of Krell, a land thick with forest and swamp. She was a girl of humid summers and wooden houses, not the chilled stone harbors of a trading port. 

“I was eleven when they took my father, thirteen when my mother disappeared, and-” her voice trembled, though she tried to hide it. “They burned Primrose last year.” 

The witch said they but all Peeta could hear was you. He wanted to console her but what could he say when he and his people were the cause of her suffering? Peeta had turned in plenty of young women to the council. What if one of them had been her sister? Guilt gripped his throat, his stomach, his lungs. He felt heavy with self-loathing. 

Perhaps it wasn’t her that was the monster. Perhaps it was him. 

Perhaps it had been him all along.

With words stuck in his throat, he walked with just the wind and the crunching of his own steps to break up the silence. 

“It’s nice that you’ll have somewhere to go if we get out of this,” she said in an attempt to change the subject. 

Peeta had flashed her a small smile, but his insides withered like flowers in a frost. 

He didn’t really. Not anymore. 

At least, not in Sjorkden. 

X

The witch walked near the cliffside, peering down at the black sand beach every once in a while. Peeta knew she stepped lightly and was careful with her footing, but still, he didn’t like her so close to the edge. He pulled her away. 

“Stop,” she grumbled, twisting her arm out of his grasp. 

Peeta clenched his jaw but didn’t try touching her again. 

She narrowed her eyes at his sour expression. “I’m being careful, I swear.”

“What are you looking for?” he demanded. 

“A way down. I’m sick of this cliffside,” she said as she returned to the edge. 

“We don’t have time for a stroll on the beach.”

She scowled. “The last time I checked, we have all the time in the world.”

“We need to stay on course or we’ll never get to Fjordhingă.”

“About that…” The witch pursed her lips, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I’m not going.” 

“What?” he sputtered. When had she decided this?

“There’s nothing for me there. It’s just another merchant town and I’ve had my fill of those.”

Peeta scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers grazed the thick stubble on his jaw. “We’re not going to be staying there.”

“Then where will we be going?”

His lips started forming the word Sjorkden, but that wasn’t right. His homeland was no place for her. So what was he going to do when they arrived in Fjordhingă? He couldn’t bring her back to Sjorkden and turn her in. She’d be imprisoned, tried, and then burned. That was no longer an option. But if he let her go… 

He couldn’t bear the thought. Not being with her. If he watched her board a ship and stowaway to her homeland, a raid ravaged country she didn’t even seem to want to return to, he knew a piece of himself would be carried off with her. A piece he’d never get back. But what choice did he have? 

A small part of him missed when she had just been ‘the witch’ and not something more. He missed when things were black and white, not muddled shades of gray. Nothing made sense now. Not the golden warmth that passed through him when she smiled. Not the sickening, vengeful bottoming out of his heart when she cried. He found himself hating the men that had touched her, used her body for their own lustful releases. He daydreamed of hunting each and every one of them down and cutting off their fingers, one by one. But why stop at the fingers? Why not make a brilliant bloodbath out of it? A final crusade. 

Perhaps that’s what they would do. 

But just as Peeta opened his mouth to answer, unsure of what exactly was going to come out, the rock gave and the witch plummeted down the cliffside. 

X

The masters had taught Peeta not to give in to panic, to take danger in both hands and bend it to his will, until what he had wasn’t a dangerous situation, but a controlled one, preferably in his favor. 

All those lessons went out the window as he watched her scrabbling to find purchase on the cliff face. 

Instead of eerily calm, he felt the world tilting in and out of focus. A fiery rush of adrenaline alighted his nerves as if he were made of oil-soaked paper and someone had thrown a match at him. 

He wrenched his pack off and dove, just barely managing to grab onto her wrists before she lost her grip on a loose root, but not before he cut the inside of his forearm on a jutting rock ledge. The rock sliced through fabric and flesh, the hot, tearing pain erupting up his arm as the weight of the witch and her pack pulled him down. His screams echoed out across the sea. 

“Don’t let go,” she whimpered. Below her dangling body was a six-hundred-foot drop, more than enough to shatter her bones and dash her brains from her skull if she slipped. He thought she had been cut as well when he saw dark red seeping into her skirts, but as his vision blurred and blackened around the edges he realized it was his own blood running down her body. His hand and her wrist were slickened with it and soon she only clung to him by one arm. Peeta braced himself and slowly lifted her up the cliff, digging the tops of his feet into the ground to keep himself anchored. 

She was shaking like a leaf, her heart beating so hard Peeta could feel it under his palms as he hauled her onto stable ground. When her legs cleared the edge, she crawled on hands and knees to vomit into a dead bush while Peeta rolled onto his back to cradle the throbbing, torn flesh of his arm against his chest. Perhaps it was only a minute or perhaps it had been many when the witch finally crawled to his side, her face swimming above him. She lifted shaking hands to his wound, her fingers slipping over muscle and blood as she began chanting lowly in Krellian. 

There was a tingling warmth, an emerald green light, the feeling of flesh slowly knitting itself back together, fiber by fiber. He lifted his good hand to caress her cheek, wiping the tears away. He hated when she cried.

“Stay still,” she ordered tremulously. “Please, just stay still.” As the edges of his vision blackened and he was pulled down into unconsciousness, only one thought registered. 

What a terrible hunter he must be to have fallen in love with his prey. 

X

Before the shipwreck and the nights spent pressed against the witch, Peeta rarely had good dreams. He had nightmares or he had nothing, so when he dreamed of the sound of her footsteps at the door after a long day, the thrumming heat of her body in a moonlight bathed bed, or of the fluttering of two heartbeats underneath his palms, he thought perhaps he had died and this vision was his reward for one good act in a lifetime drenched in blood. 

He had saved her. They were even. 

He could die with that. 

But all too soon the dream ended and he sank into a shallow realm between sleep and consciousness. 

Animal skin walls. Ashwood beams. The fragrant smoke of a cooking fire. The press of warm lips to a cool forehead. 

The passing of time blurred. The only constant he was aware of were hands. Gentle caresses to his brow, his cheeks, the pad of a thumb caught on his chapped bottom lip, knuckles against his jaw, a single fingertip running along the slope of his nose. She sang Krellian lullabies in husky tones, whispered prayers against his throat, traced cool runes into his skin with water, rubbed the warmth back into his numb feet. 

Trӕvani ᶌala ką.

Stay with me.

“Always,” he mumbled in his mother tongue. 

X

“You need a haircut,” she said accusingly as she lifted the knife above his head. Her silver eyes flashed dangerously, a warning, that if he didn’t cooperate, she’d make him. 

The shipwreck had been nearly two months ago, his injury about a week, and in that time his hair had grown in waves well past his ears. He’d had close shaves when he was in training, a clean face too, but he liked the feel of shagginess on his neck and a thickening beard. Though apparently, the witch liked when his hair was more manageable. 

“You need a bath too,” she grumbled as she swatted his hands away and carefully started trimming.

“You offering?” he quipped.

The witch snorted, undeterred from her task. “You wash my back, I wash yours. That’s how it works around here.” 

Peeta wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. 

They sat together by the fire. She was perched upon her knees, a ring of blond forming soundlessly on the hard-packed dirt. As she worked, Peeta traced a finger over the jagged, pink scar on his forearm. 

The witch had saved his life. Again. If it wasn’t for her and that spell, Peeta would have bled out. The cut was deep, almost to the bone, and had severed many nerves and arteries. The muscle tissue would normally be beyond repair, but now, besides the scar which the Heartrender had sheepishly admitted she wasn’t skilled enough to erase, there was no trace of injury. No pain when he circled his wrist, no twinge when he flexed his fingers. Almost as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. He felt the shift almost as soon as he was conscious enough to sit up and drink on his own. 

This was no longer a game of survival, a cease-fire between warring parties. They had come to cross some invisible threshold. The first truce had been borne through words alone, the second through her restraint, but this partnership was borne through Peeta’s actions, the risk he took in that dive, almost dying in her stead.

She wouldn’t forget that. 

The witch came to kneel in front of him and set the knife down, brushing the remaining strands of hair from his shoulders. Peeta watched her thoughtfully. Her lashes were as dark as dried ink on parchment paper and her face looked fuller than it had on the ship, her cheeks glowing like polished bronze medallions in the firelight. Peeta admired her lips the most. Pink, full, and slightly parted. Plump as a dew crusted rose in spring. Her tongue danced behind her teeth when she opened her mouth to speak. 

“You should kiss me.”

Peeta’s mind went blank. “What?”

“Or don’t. It’s up to you.” She had shrugged then, a small smile curling her lips as if she knew a secret he didn’t. “I’m a very good kisser though.”

Peeta had never kissed a woman before, and she had worked in a pleasure house. Surely she was used to men with more experience than him. Though that had been a job to her, a means to get by, an indenture she had been forced to agree to. 

This was something entirely different. 

His cheeks flushed as his body responded, his mind going fuzzy with desire. He wasn’t just thinking of kissing when he said: “I don’t know how.” 

“I’m a good teacher. Besides, I like that you’ve never known another woman. That means I have no competition,” she said lowly as she leaned into him. 

“You wouldn’t have competition even if I had,” he breathed, and then she closed the scrap of space between their bodies. 

If he was back in Sjorkden, if he had completed his blood cull and turned in fifty witches, if he had been granted his talisman, a polished stone artifact that would symbolize his ascent from soldier to honored veteran, he would be spending the winter in fruition. He would have chosen a noblewoman to court, dined with her family, brought her gifts of ice wine and shimmery sapphire cloth, and only after their intertwined hands had been bound by silken Siyana ribbons, only after her golden bridal plaits were undone and left to fall loosely across her shrouded shoulders, only after they burned a winter rose and let the fragrant smoke settle upon their skin, would he be permitted to kiss her for the first time, under the eyes of god and before the eyes of her father. As was proper.

This was not that kiss. 

It was better. 

The witch’s lips were soft and tasted of salt, though something deeper lay beneath the remains of their last meal. Drops of amber honey, the bittersweet juice of frukkala berries, the earthy notes of pine bark. 

Her mouth guided his as she twined her arms around his neck. Slowly at first, and then something snapped and she pressed her tongue into his mouth with a desperation bordering on hunger. 

Peeta trembled where he held her, running his fingers down the soft fabrics of her dress, circling the dip of her hips and then climbing up the even bumps of her rib cage. He didn’t want to break the kiss but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush his lips against the hollow of her collarbone. She sighed in appreciation when he did just that. 

Her skin was flawless, smooth, pliable. Heat radiated from her like coals, the silky steadiness licking at his flesh as he undid the ties of her dress. The fabric fell away and Peeta’s eyes slowly raked over her nakedness. She was small but she was stunning, her body lean and sinewy like a willow nymph from a fairytale. Her breasts were pert and Peeta watched firelight dance over her pebbling nipples. The sight sent heat straight to his groin until the building pressure was almost painful. 

“Your turn,” she said as she lifted his tunic over his head, lightly tracing silvery white scars across his collarbones, chasing them down his chest, his navel, until she reached the line of dark blond hair that disappeared past his trousers. Her fingers stilled, her gaze flickered up to his, and Peeta took the opportunity to wind his hand into her hair and pull her down for another kiss. 

He remembered the press of her naked body the first night they’d slept against one another. His desire then had been shameful, sprung up from some twisted part of him he had tried to hide behind hatred and mistrust. But this. This desire roared unchecked through his body, burning infinitely hotter now that he knew she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. 

“Maybe we should move away from the fire,” Peeta suggested breathlessly in between kisses. 

“No,” she murmured huskily. “I’m going to take you right here.” She pushed him down onto his back into their nest of furs and lifted her legs to straddle him, grinning when she felt the press of his hardened erection under her hips. She pinned his wrists up by his ears as she lay her body on top of his, rubbing her core against him in slow, even circles. His cock throbbed, straining to get out from the confines of his pants. 

“You’re such a tease,” he groaned. 

“It’s more fun that way,” she whispered cheekily, and then she released his wrists and clasped his face between her palms, kissing him ever so slowly, worrying his bottom lip between her teeth. The sensation made him dizzy. 

“Have you ever felt this good before?” she asked in a sigh.

“Only in dreams,” he responded as he chased her lips and pressed his palms into the small of her back. 

She pulled away, an intense curiosity alighting her eyes. “What do you really dream about?”

“You,” he whispered. “And me.”

Her lips curled into a sultry grin as she softened and leaned down to press her mouth to the hollow below his ear. He turned his head to give her more room. “And what do we do together in these dreams?” she purred as she sucked on his neck. 

“Everything.”

She laughed against his skin. “You’re being cheesy.”

“It’s the truth,” he said defensively, but the smile threatening to crack his face open seeped into his voice and made him sound as if he were joking.

She moved away again and Peeta was about to object, pull her back, crash those beautiful lips against his own once more, but there was no need as she ran a gentle hand down the line of his abdomen and then slowly, inch by inch, pulled his pants down his thighs. He hissed when his cock sprang free and bounced onto his stomach. She was so close he could feel the wet heat of her breath fanning over his skin.

The witch raised a brow, admiring his size. Peeta knew from spending nearly a decade at the academy and then a number of years on witching vessels that he was… well endowed. You don’t spend that much time among men without seeing something, and to compare one’s self to others was human nature. 

He pulsed in her soft hand as she pulled his foreskin down, revealing the glistening pink head. She ran a gentle thumb along the ridge. Then she leaned down and slowly took him into her mouth.

Peeta had never felt so vulnerable. 

It was like she commanded full control of him. She simply had to twirl her tongue around the head and he would groan and buck his hips without even meaning to. She worked the base with her hands and hollowed out her cheeks, flicking the ridge with her tongue, caressing the slit, tasting him as no woman had before. 

Peeta moaned loudly and clenched his abdomen. His thighs trembled. Suddenly, she stalled, squeezed the base in her hands, and then lewdly popped his length out from between her lips. 

“Eager aren’t we?” she purred. 

Another moan escaped him as she began pumping, using her saliva as a lubricant. The delicious feeling of her hands rucking up his skin was almost enough to make him unravel. The wet sounds of her attentions filled the lodge as his nerves kindled, blazing like a wick burning from both ends.

“Slow down,” he begged, embarrassed by how ragged and breathy his voice had become. He felt weakened from being wrapped in her hands but he realized he didn’t mind. It was a good weakness, the kind that left you warm and a little watery in the knees. The tight pleasure coiling in his body was mounting past anything he had ever reached on his own. It was agony when he stalled her hands and his pleasure plummeted.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he panted, lifting his head to look at her. She still grasped him in her hands. His rounded tip was blush red where her tongue had been. It was perhaps the most deliciously erotic sight he had ever witnessed. 

She drew her eyebrows together, revealing that cute little brow crease.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he said, brushing the hair off her shoulder. 

“What do you have in mind?” she challenged before running the tip of her tongue up along a bulging vein of his shaft. It was wholly distracting. 

“You… you’re going to have to stop that first.” He lifted his eyes upwards.

“Are you praying?”

“Maybe.”

She picked up on his nervousness, folding her tongue back into her mouth. “Look, if you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” she said, but that wasn’t it at all. He was ready, he was just hesitant. He didn’t know the workings of a woman’s body. He knew only his own, the strength he possessed and the burdens he could bear, the battles he could wage and the soaring pleasures he could summon using his own two hands. He knew her, he just didn’t know how she was put together, and therefore, he didn’t know how to make her fall apart. But that would all change if he could just swallow his insecurities. 

“Come here,” he beckoned, wetting his lips nervously. 

He had grown up surrounded by boys of all ages, and though they were never permitted to indulge in the union of flesh, both because there were no girls at the academy and because it was forbidden for witch hunters to do so, he had still heard raunchy tales of all the things men and women could do in bed together.

And he had one particular act in mind. 

She softly tapped the head of his cock against her lips as if deep in thought. Each brush sent sparks traveling down his shaft. “That’s a tad ambitious for your first time,” she murmured, but Peeta could tell she was happily surprised at his offer. He had fingers and lips and tongue. Peeta was unpracticed, but he knew with her guidance he could satisfy her. 

“You said you were a good teacher,” he reminded her, the timbre of his voice taking on a gravelly deepness. “Teach me how to please you.” 

She set him down and then slowly, with back arched and eyes hooded, climbed over his body. Her long black hair fell from her shoulders like a spill of water.

“Higher,” he instructed, allowing the pads of his fingertips to stroke the springy flesh of her breasts and then the planes of her bare stomach as she continued climbing. She settled her thighs on either side of his head allowing Peeta a good view. He looped his arms under her legs to anchor her in place and splayed his hands over her lower back. Underneath a thick tuft of hair was her core, pink, swollen, and blooming like a flower in spring. Peeta’s cock jumped at the sight. 

“If you want to please me you’re going to have to do more than stare at me, lieutenant,” she laughed. 

Peeta steeled himself and swept a finger along her folds. It was a shallow caress, a tentative touch, but his fingertips came away glistening with her essence. 

He exhaled slowly, watching as the witch’s slit leaked her arousal. There was a heavy moment, the air pregnant with the crackle of potential, until eventually, Peeta gathered the courage to flatten his tongue and taste her. 

She tasted sweet. Musky. 

She tasted human. 

Her body tensed, responding to his touch. “Right here,” she breathed as she pressed a set of fingers to a small bud at the apex of her entrance. He lifted a thumb to the spot, thankful when she guided him in slow circles. With her instruction, he used his tongue to gently caress her lips and his thumb to circle her clit, humming appreciatively whenever he felt her flutter. 

“Your beard tickles,” she laughed when she determined he had gotten the hang of it. She leaned back to rest her hands on the corded muscles of his thighs, thrusting her chest up to the ceiling and bucking her hips slowly along with his rhythm. He was moving more on instinct than anything else when he dipped his tongue inside of her. 

It took time and he knew he was being clumsy, but the witch wouldn’t let him stop. His tongue was heavy and jaw sore when she replaced his fingers with her own, increasing the pressure and riding his mouth to release. 

Her spine snapped, her eyes slid closed, curses fell from her lips, and something primal within Peeta awakened. He found himself desperately pulling her closer, lapping at her entrance, milking her release, and swallowing her arousal. 

When it was over her core pulsed faintly and she opened her eyes to smile languidly down at him. Peeta’s tongue slowed. “You have something…” She broke into giggles and then brushed at his lips with her fingers, managing to smear even more of herself on him. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled, lips tingling. He liked this view. Her dewy skin seemed to glow like the very embers smoldering not three feet away. 

“Before we do this,” she said, unhooking her legs from around his head and coming to once again grasp him firmly in her hands, “I need you to promise you won’t finish inside of me.”

His breath caught as he imagined it. 

Being inside of her. 

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” she pressed, pumping him idly. 

It was an absurd situation. Surely a man would promise anything to a vixen grasping his very manhood in her hands. But to Peeta, it was more than that. He had her trust and here was a chance to prove he deserved it.

“I promise.” 

With their deal struck, the witch mounted him. Peeta admired her figure in the gilded firelight once more, brushing his fingers against her peaked nipples and kneading the comely flesh as he watched the shadows dance and pool in the dip of her navel. This was a sight he would never be sick of. 

She positioned the head of his shaft at her entrance and slid the tip along her slit to gather slickness, earning a few strangled sounds from Peeta. Her folds were soaked after her orgasm and he slid his hands down her body, gripping the backs of her knees in anticipation. 

“I want you to watch my face as I take you in,” she whispered. “Every last inch.” 

There was a tight, building pressure that suddenly broke into a slide. He slid past her folds, embedded within her. The feeling of the witch’s hot, silky heat molding around him, squeezing his shaft and cradling the head, was unlike anything he had ever experienced. 

Her core fluttered. So did her eyelids.

“Watch me, lieutenant,” she reminded him as she raised her hips to slam down on him. The wet slap of skin on skin rang through the air.

“Peeta,” he grunted. 

“What?”

“My name. It’s Peeta.”

“Peeta.” She sighed his name like a prayer, letting the vowels roll off her tongue as if she were tasting them, and Peeta thought he had never heard it spoken so sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Peeta.”

His laugh melted into a groan as she clenched around him. He looked down between her legs at where their bodies overlapped. He was embedded to the hilt. She was taking it all. 

Her breasts bounced with her body, and as she pressed down on him, Peeta raised his hips to meet her. 

“Harder,” she begged. 

Peeta slid his hands up her thighs, squeezing the flesh through his fingers like clay and rolling his hips sharply upwards. The head of his cock bumped her cervix. “Like that?”

The witch gasped, her body clenching with his thrust, and let out a little giggle. “Yes,” she moaned, allowing Peeta to take control of their rhythm. She leaned down to kiss him as he palmed her ass, spreading her open so he could set a faster tempo. 

The small lodge filled with the lewd sounds of slapping skin and heavy grunts. It was ecstasy, being inside of her, and with each thrust Peeta felt warmer. His skin burned against hers. 

Peeta wanted it to last longer, but as his thrusts stuttered and he felt that familiar tingle in his balls, he knew he couldn’t hold on. The witch started grinding on top of him, tuned into his body’s tells; the increasing cadence of his breath, the tremors in his hands, the intensity of his thrusts. It was time to keep his promise. 

With a toe-curling shudder and a string of unintelligible curses in his mother tongue, Peeta pulled out and finished onto his own stomach, his hot seed quickly cooling on his skin. The witch panted above him, one hand splayed over his chest, another by his head, supporting her weight. Her skin shone with sweat and the loose hairs on her nape were damp. 

“Let me clean you up,” the witch purred and Peeta watched in disbelief as she unhooked her legs from around him and shifted down. Her pink tongue darted out to lick the spend off his skin, and then she slowly traced up the ridges of his cock to capture the last pearlescent dribbles off the hypersensitive head, licking that clean too as if she were finishing something delicious. She stuck out her tongue to show him. 

She had swallowed it all. 

“You are something else,” he laughed giddily. He had never felt so satisfied and tired at the same time. He laid his head back on the pelts as the witch gently toyed with him softening in her hand. Her palm glided slowly, slickened by her arousal.

“I knew you were a virgin but I didn’t know you were a virgin,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Peeta asked, suddenly embarrassed. Had he done something wrong?

“You never got a blow job when you were younger? Not even a handy?”

He wasn’t sure how she could possibly have known that, but perhaps he had been too loud. Was that possible? His face flushed with heat. “No. I… I was never really around girls. Not until now at least.” 

She smiled softly, carefully placed him down, and then crawled up his body to rest her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, tugging gently on her scalp. The strands were slightly knotted, but after Peeta had run his fingers through the tresses a few times, they felt as soft as silk. A spill of ebony satin. Any fabric that wasn’t the rough spun texture of his tunics.

“That was rather good for your first time,” she said. “I thought you’d be more… instantaneous.”

He chuckled. “I’m a soldier, not a priest.”

She smiled into his chest hair. “So you’ve satiated your urges all on your own?”

“You sound surprised.” 

“I am. I thought all Sjorkden witch hunters were pious and pleasure starved.”

“Perhaps not pleasure starved but pleasure...hungry. It’s not as fulfilling when you’re alone.” 

There was a pause as they listened to the soft crackling of the fire, felt it’s comforting heat on their skin, and watched it’s muted light dance across the walls. 

“Is it bad that I’m happy? That I’m your first, I mean,” she mumbled softly. “I know we don’t owe each other anything, but I’ve wanted this. At least once.”

“Only once?” he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

He could never go back. Not to his country. Not to his old ways. Not to a life without her. Did she think after they made it back to civilization that he would abandon her? After everything they had been through? After everything she had made him feel? And what was this about him not owing her? He didn’t even know her name but he owed her everything. 

Absolutely everything. 

She lifted her head off his chest and met his eyes. She was searching for something in his expression and the raw intensity of her gaze made him gulp. 

“I don’t want this to have just been once,” he whispered, coming to cup her cheek in his palm and running a calloused thumb over the delicate skin under her eye. 

“Any sane woman of my talent would be afraid of you, valkrӕlla,” she said lowly, her lips parting delicately with her words. She raised her hand to hold his palm against her cheek. “Instead, I find myself unable to let you go.” 

A fierce rush of affection crashed through Peeta’s body. He understood because he felt the same way. 

She was his. 

He was hers. 

Anything else was unthinkable. 

He traced his fingers down the dip of her spine, catching small droplets of sweat. “You must know you have nothing to fear from me,” he insisted, pleading with his eyes, trying to make her understand that he felt it too. That he had been wrong before. That perhaps he didn’t deserve her forgiveness for the way he had let himself despise her, for the way he had treated her.  Perhaps he didn’t deserve her at all. But maybe… 

Maybe she would still have him. 

“I’m sorry I was so cruel to you, valjakka.”

Beloved. 

Her breath hitched. “I know,” she whispered, and then she drew closer, tipping her mouth to his. 

He tasted himself on her tongue.

Peeta gathered her up and pressed her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her slender body atop his chest. The other kisses had been lustful, desperate in the same way a flame sucks the oxygen from a room. But this one kindled hope. Life. 

It was as if she was air, and he, a drowning man. 

When they had exhausted themselves their lips broke apart and they lay on top of the furs, lapsing into a comfortable silence as Peeta grabbed one to cover their naked bodies. The fire was nearby but the bitter air from outside still managed to creep through the walls, slowly cooling their sweat-slicked skin. 

“Peeta,” she breathed, a small sound of happiness escaping her lips. “Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.”

“Don’t wear it out,” he joked, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue and languishing past her lips was like a shot of pure energy. He was keenly aware of how it affected his body, reawakening his lust as he shifted uncomfortably on the floor beneath her. 

“My name is Katniss,” she offered shyly. 

Katniss. 

He let the name caress the inside of his skull. The syllables fell from his lips and tangled in her hair. It suited her, hard and soft at the same time. Just like the way she made love. 

He told her so and she laughed. 

X

Epilogue

Peeta’s old hatreds finally died as he looked into her eyes and saw humanity reflected back at him. He thought of her as precious and wondered how he had never seen it before. She was a blizzard, an earthquake, a monsoon, all at once. What a beautiful thing it would be to succumb to her power. 

She may have looked all hard planes and edges, but when she made love, she didn’t act like it. Her body was soft, flexible, willing to bend to any shape Peeta pushed her into. In the accompanying weeks, they trekked further north and found shelter not only within lodges but within each other. She had particular tastes and wasn’t afraid to tell him so, and she always claimed ultimate control of what was done to her. 

She was quivering beneath him, legs spread, clawing at his body for dear life when he uttered the ultimate promise against her skin:

When they arrived in Fjordhingă, he would find honest work as a laborer to pay for their passage onto a ship. They’d sail south past the Narubi Canal, away from the waters of the Undersea and to Xenen or Prӕna Gaul or Caɦn, someplace hot and out of Sjorkden’s reach. They’d make a living off the land and build a house with their own two hands, with walls of salt-aged wood and pink marbled stone, not animal skin and ash. They’d thatch the roof with golden grasses, paint the wooden slats orange or yellow, something bright, and fill the deep window boxes with heavily scented wisteria blossoms and honeysuckle. The garden would be overridden with dragon fruit and mangoes and persimmons which they’d slice and eat for breakfast. They’d dry the salt from seawater and keep a pen full of pigs. Wear the light cotton clothes best suited for heat and humidity and tear them off each other to make love on the beach. Every night, they’d watch the sky catch fire, a brilliant dying world of smoldering citrine and blood blush clouds. They’d carve out a new life away from the titles of ‘witch’ and ‘witch hunter’. A fresh start without the black shadow of Sjorkden or the bleak memories of Krell to hang over the domestic and companionable goings-on of each day. 

And when she allowed it, any child they created together, any seed of his that sprung from the wet earth of her womb and wailed itself into existence, he promised, just like her, would wield dominion over his heart for as long as he lived, and perhaps even after that.

THE END

[holidaywishes]

not all monsters do monstrous things...

Part 1: The Victor

  Summary of Series: Delly Cartwright lost her best friend, Peeta, to the games. Now, the one that took him seems to have a soft spot for her.

  Summary of Chapter: Cato wins the 74th Hunger Games but during his Victory Tour, he comes face to face with his actions. As well as a young girl who he can’t seem to get off his mind

  Warning: Some fluff, some angst, some violence

  Author’s Note: No, this was not requested but who cares. It’s my blog and I’ll write what I want 😂. I reblogged this post like a year ago about writing for Cato and Delly after reading something on FanFiction.net with them as a pairing but it didn’t conclude/continue and I wanted more. Thus, I’m writing my own take on Tumblr. I’m going to do my best to keep it has original as possible but there’s a chance I’ll use things from the story I read. So, any similarities to plot go to the original author of They Caught Fire from fanfic.net (go check it out, it’s pretty good!) Also, for some reason, there aren’t really any Cato/Hunger Games GIFs in the search bar so I found this on Google. Don’t @ me. I tried to find the owner but it wouldn’t bring me to the page. I’m not claiming it, just using it for this until I pick a graphic.

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Cato’s P.O.V.

  Seeing the look on the Mellark boy’s face as you pushed Katniss off the steel Cornucopia was supposed to make you happy. It meant you were the victor after all. Yet, as he stood in front of you, you could see the pain in his face. No trace of fear, just pain. He lost the girl he loved and you knew the feeling all too well. You took one step toward Peeta and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say I won’t fight you, before he jumped after The Girl On Fire.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen!” The voice of Claudius Templesmith boomed through the arena as the mutts disappeared and you were left alone, “I am proud to present to you, your newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Cato Berenger -- the tribute from District 2!” You watch as a hovercraft appears overhead and begins to descend into the arena, dropping a ladder for you to clutch onto and take you back to the Capitol. Whoever is there -- doctors, aids, Capitol attendants -- swarm you in preparation for the interview you’ll soon be having with Caesar Flickerman. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life, it was a priority at your parents Training Centre

  “You win the games by sheer force and brute strength, fine. But it means nothing, nothing, if you can’t connect with the audience in those interviews. They have to love you. They have to respect you. You are their victor.” Your mothers words rung through your ears and you took a deep breath before your mentor found you and explained what was happening; you didn’t pay attention for most of it though, considering you already knew.

  “Cato!” Wade, the former victor and your mentor, yelled to you, “are you listening to me?”

  “I know what to do, Wade, I’ll be fine.” you sneered

  “There’s something that you need to understand, boy,” he snaps back, forcing himself to block your path as you try to walk away, “the interview is one part of a thousand things that will happen within the next few months. The interview is easy, it’s fun even, it’s a celebration of you and your strength. That’s easy for us in Two, but the Victory Tour is where your world changes. Where you’ll realize what a monster you’ve become”

  “I did what I had to, to survive!” you yelled

  “WE ALL DID!” He shouted back, “but I’ve never quite seen someone as callous, as monstrous, as you. And neither has anyone in the districts you visit. They’ll stare blankly as you speak to them, cheering only when they fear their lives may be in danger, but they won’t appreciate your words. You killed their children, their families, their friends. You won’t deserve their kindness and they won’t show it to you. Especially not in the outer districts -- 11 and 12. Not after what you did to that little girl in 11 and 12′s precious ‘Girl on Fire.’ And after the tour is over, what comes of you? Nothing. Until you get to be in my position. A mentor for the next soldier who volunteers to sacrifice himself for President Snow.“ His words were venomous, you couldn’t deny that, but you didn’t understand why. Being a victor is all that we’d trained for in District Two, so why has he not been more grateful for his survival, you wondered. He notices the confusion on your face before continuing his ‘lesson,’ “You think being a victor is this wonderful life, right? Fancy houses and clothes, attention from the most beautiful girls in the District and glamourous parties in the Capitol; that’s what you imagine right?”

  “I--”

  “It’s like that for a while,” Wade interrupted you before you could finish your thought, “it is. And then you realize, you’re lonely. You’re completely alone. The shine of being the victor wears off quickly, especially when there’s a new batch of tributes lining up to fill your shoes. What made you special to them soon becomes a distant memory but what never fades, no matter how hard you try, are the screams from the people you killed. The blood you spilt. The faces of the families you had to look into and say ‘we thank you for your sacrifice.’”

  “So what do you suppose I do?” you said through bared teeth

  “Unfortunately,” he scoffed, “there’s not much you can do. You have to be who the Capitol wants you to be. Who you’ve trained to be. I just wanted to prepare for what’s to come.” You absorbed his words as you made your way to the waiting area before you entered the stage for your interview, hearing the booming music for Caesar’s introduction as he excitedly greeted the audience, before allowing for cheers for your team. When the plate rising you up, you adjust your suit jacket and put on a cocky smile, the one that the Capitol audience was so used to seeing, so you could charm the faces in the audience as soon as they could see you.

  “CATO BERENGER! Our newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaimed, outstretching one arm to showcase you as you walked on the stage, ��Welcome Cato!”

  “Hi Caesar” you smile

  “So, how are you feeling?” he asks, listening intently

  “I feel good. I feel like a victor!” The audience cheered and Caesar let out a congratulatory chuckle

  “Well that’s good!” he said, “isn’t it?” directing the question to the audience before turning back to you, “I must ask about your District Partner, Clove. You seemed quite upset about her death.”

  “Clove was... a dear friend. We grew up together,” you fought the urge to say you’d trained together, as it was technically illegal and the Capitol officials would be furious, “she was a talented competitor and I will miss her.”

  “Did you... love her?” he pries, leaning forward in his chair and you think about his answer for a moment. If you answer truthfully, that you loved Clove with your entire heart, then the audience might find you monstrous for letting her die when she called out to you. If you lie, and say that she was like a sister to you, they might question your authenticity

  “I did,” you admitted, “but not in the way you may be implying. We were not the Star Crossed Lovers as those two from District 12 tried to portray themselves as. I loved her like a sister, as family.” The conversation shifted quickly and Caesar made jokes, keeping the atmosphere light-hearted before the inevitable death toll was displayed on screen and the murder of 23 children was broadcast. Three hours of footage from the past 18 days. From the pre-arena events to the bloodbath that saw so many die so suddenly. They showed your death count, as well as Clove’s, before taking a moment to share the small girl from 11′s death and Katniss’ song. You weren’t sure why, as it wasn’t in keeping with your story, but nevertheless, there it was; every note of the solemn song she sang to the dying child. Soon enough, they show your win on the Cornucopia, how you easily flung Katniss from the top and how Peeta jumped after her; An act they portrayed as cowardly. The anthem plays again and the seal appears on screen as President Snow is introduced, taking the stage with a young girl who carries the crown on a red cushion. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the same space as Snow and you can smell a hint of blood, covered by a thick layer of roses. He gives you a maniacal grin, as if he has something planned for you, before he congratulates you on your triumph.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, this years victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaims once more and you wave to the crowd before being led off the stage, onto the train to take you back to District Two. Home. It feels so distant now. So much so, that you hardly recognize it. Wade was right, the first month or so was parties and affection from nearly everyone you came in contact with, but then you’d get tired of it and lock yourself in your mansion in the Victor’s Village. Preparing yourself for the Victory Tour and what ordeals would await you there. When it was finally time for you to leave, to make your way to District 12, Wade told you to prepare yourself for absolute silence.

  “When I went to District 12, even though their tributes deaths weren’t by my hand, they treated me as if they were. As if I’d directly starved them or butchered them. They treated me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even worth their breath, and I didn’t kill the only volunteer their district has had in years, so imagine how they’ll treat you.” He sneered his words before buttering a piece of bread

  “Maybe they won’t be silent. Maybe they’ll cause a commotion” you scoffed

  “You don’t want that” Wade replied sharply

  “Why not?”

  “Any trouble caused with you around won’t look good. Whether you cause it or not. You should still try to act as though each district is important, because they are.”

  “Who says I wouldn’t?”

  “If you want commotion, you’re saying you don’t care about their lives.” You nodded in understanding at Wade’s words just as the train pulled up to District 12. A dirty, grimy, colourless place that was as quiet as a ghost town. Nothing like your home district. You looked to Wade who shrugged at you, as if to say ‘this is it,’ earning a sigh from you before continuing on your way to the square. You were able to watch as the citizens of the coal district filed into the square, noticing the worn faces from those who had to work every day of their lives to the fresh faces of the children who had been more fortunate than their older counterparts. Your eyes found their way to the front of the crowd, just below the stage, where the families and friends of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen stood. Immediately, you recognized Primrose Everdeen, the sister that Katniss had volunteered for; she looked so frail and innocent, no wonder the district and the Capitol was invested in Katniss’ story. There was a face that you didn’t recognize, however, on Peeta’s side

  “Who’s that?” you asked Wade as you pointed to a small blonde girl with pale skin who stood beside Peeta’s brothers, “Peeta didn’t have a sister did he?”

  “No,” Wade said simply, smirking at your sudden interest in a District 12 girl, “that’s Delly Cartwright. She was Peeta’s best friend. She was his Clove.” You didn’t quite register the words at first but when you did, you could only scoff at his words, refusing to reply. You’d, of course, been prepped on what to say to the crowd but when you stepped on stage, you became tongue-tied.

  “I would first like to thank you for coming out today,” you knew they had no choice, but the words were scripted and you had to say them, “this is not an easy speech to make. The lives you’ve lost will be, uhm, will be felt by--” you looked up at the audience once, clearing your throat to force yourself to continue, “will be felt by the Capitol. Your sacrifices are -- will be missed.” You tried but stopped when you heard a small sob escape the audience, connecting it to Prim, who buried her face in the chest of a tall, dark haired boy. You were told to keep things distant, clean, and not mention the tributes by name but you couldn’t help it. Seeing the families faces changed things. Like Wade said it would, “Katniss was incredibly smart and, with the way she treated Rue, I could tell she had a big heart. Peeta had remarkable strength,” you turned to Peeta’s family, catching the stare of the blonde you’d seen before, “but for all his strength, he was kind, truly.”

  “You’re a murderer!” The dark haired boy yelled out

  “Gale stop,” clutching onto him, pleading him to stop, “please”

  “You don’t care about them. You don’t care about us!” You couldn’t apologize, the tour would be ruined and the Capitol would think their victor was weak, but what could he say to this boy shouting at you from the audience, pushing away the young girl Katniss had volunteered for. How could you stop this from becoming the commotion Wade warned you would mean you didn’t care about their lives

  “The Captiol thanks you for your sacrifices. Peeta and Katniss will be mourned.” Suddenly, the boy lunged at you, the one you heard was called Gale, a name that sounded familiar to you but you couldn’t quite place it. You knew you couldn’t be on the stage for much longer, so you turned to walk away but heard the sound of heavy footsteps sprint toward you

  “GALE!” a voice screamed out. At first you thought it was Prim, due to the high pitched tone of it but there was a different cadence to it, “GALE DON’T!” the voice repeated, causing you to turn around just in time for a fist to fly towards your face. You managed to miss it but when you pulled your arm back to return the fist, you caught sight of Wade telling you not to.

  “Don’t!” he shouted just as a fist connected with the side of your face. There was frantic movement as the Peacekeepers rushed to take Gale away and his family, as well as Katniss’, ran after him while you were pulled behind the curtain.

  “LET ME GO!” You shouted as pairs of arms surrounded you, dragging you back to the square, “I have to stop them!”

  “There’s nothing you can do!” Wade yelled

  “They could kill him!”

  “That’s his problem. He’s the one who tried to fight a victor.” You sighed and did your best to convince them that you were calm but once they let you go, you heard the sounds of a leather whip slashing through skin and you knew exactly what was happening. You ran quickly out to the square, where a whipping post had been set up and the Hawthorne boy was tied up by his wrists as Prim and Delly fought to get to his side

  “STOP!” they yelled, watching as their friend bled from the marks inflicted on him

  “ENOUGH!” you roared and the square went silent, the Peacekeeper who was laying the whip to Gale’s back stopping in his tracks while the guards restraining Prim and Delly dropped their hold. Delly was the first to run to Gale and Prim followed shortly after, the two of them frantically untying Gale wrists from the post; his body dropping onto Delly heavily that she almost crumpled under his weight. She and Prim took Gale out of the square, to safety, while you confronted the Peacekeepers

  “Mr. Berenger...” the one who had given the lashings whimpered, “sir, I--”

  “Why would you whip this boy?” you questioned, a harshness to your tone that this district had probably become all too familiar with, “because he mourns his friends? Because he is in pain?”

  “Because he attacked you, sir!”

  “I don’t need your protection, sir!” you countered, making yourself big enough that you were peering down at him, “I release him of any and all charges. And you are not to hurt him again. Is that understood?”

  “Yessir--” they mumbled

  “I SAID IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

  “YES SIR!” they repeated, now with more urgency. You left the square not sure how to feel. President Snow was probably not going to like this very much and your parents wouldn’t be too pleased about it either. But it was her that you were worried about. Her opinion that you cared about. You felt like you searched for hours but the screams coming from the apothecary let you know that Gale was there and Delly likely was as well. When you found them, he had already passed out from the pain and Delly was clutching his hand as tears streamed down his face, gasping suddenly when she felt your presence

  “Please,” she pleaded, standing up to block your path to him, “he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t have gone further than a punch, he was just upset..”

  “It’s okay,” you assured, holding up your hands to try to ease her mind, “I’m not going to hurt him or take him away. I just wanted to see how you-- how he was doing...” She furrowed her brow at your confession, unsure of how to proceed, but took her seat next to Gale.

  “The lashes have exhausted him and he lost a lot of blood” she said, rubbing his hand with her thumb. You examined more now that you were closer to her. Her blonde hair looked almost yellow in the square, but the lighting in the apothecary made it appear golden. Her pale skin translucent in the unforgiving light of the district but here it was dewy, a radiance that you wouldn’t expect from a coal-mining district. She must be a merchant’s daughter.

  “I’m sorry” you said quietly and she looked at you hastily, shocked at your apology. Her blue eyes beaming from across the room. They were close in colour to Peeta’s, but also to yours, only hers were deeper. Like an ocean you could get lost in, surrounded by dark rings that you feared you’d never escape. They were beautiful. Enticing. Enchanting. But you could feel that she was holding back pain. Pain from the loss of her best friend. Pain from the toll the Hunger Games had taken on her district. A pain you desperately wanted to take from her, “you must think I’m a monster...” you said after a period of silence had overtaken the two of you

  “Because of this?” she questioned, “this was the Peacekeepers, not you.”

  “Because of the games,” you corrected, “I’ve watched those deaths more times than I care to admit. I saw how they portrayed me. How everyone else must have seen me.”

  “I don’t envy you at all,” she said, turning her body a sliver to face you, “having to train your whole life to be taught to kill other children. Many your own age or younger. I’ve never understood why death, and the deaths of so many children, was the price the Capitol wanted to collect. You had to do awful things to bring pride to your district and I am very very very...” you prepared yourself for the viscous words she would hurl your way, surprised with what came “sorry.”

  “Sorry?” you questioned

  “Yes.” she replied, “to have your life mapped out for you, without your say, couldn’t have been easy. I’m so very sorry that this is the life you were led to believe was all you could have”

  “You’re so kind...” you said, scrunching your eyebrows together, “no one has shown me this much kindness in my life.”

  “I don’t think you’re a monster, Mr. Berenger, I think you’re lost. Trying to fit an image that the Capitol and your own District has created for you.” Just then, Wade stormed through the door

  “CATO!” he barked, “you can’t be here. We have to go. Now!”

  “Take this,” you said to Delly, taking out a small silver box from your jacket, “it’s not much but it should help with his healing.”

  “Thank you” she smiled at you as you were torn from the room and back to the train.

  “With what’s happened here, we’ve been forced to move up our timeline. You’ll be going to District 11 now. Staying for two days more than we’d planned.” Wade said

  “Can I see her again?” was all you said, unable to remove Delly from your mind

  “Focus, Mr. victor,” Wade snapped, “are you hearing what I’m saying to you? You will be staying in the District of the tribute who killed Clove for two days.”

  “Fine. I’ll say a nice speech, enjoy their festivities and then keep to myself on the train”

  “What if something happens, as it did here in 12.”

  “Then I stay back. I don’t get involved”

  “Easier said than done apparently,” he sighed, “that’s what you were supposed to do in 12 as well. But we see how that worked, now, don’t we?”

  “That was different”

  “Because of some girl?”

  “She’s not just some girl...”

  “You don’t know her. You cannot get involved with her, with anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated... you’ll understand once you make it back home.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “You’re not free to do as you please, Cato, none of the Victors are. Why do you think we’re all miserable?” Wade replied, pushing you aside so you would pay attention, “it is better to keep a distance from anyone we could possibly hurt than be selfish and risk their lives.”

  “Risk their lives?” you questioned

  “Just trust me!”

  “How can I trust you when you’re not telling me anything?”

  “I have been there! Trust my experience, boy, or you will slowly go mad.” You inhaled sharply, wanting to argue, but trusting that Wade knew what he was talking about; he was a former victor after all. But it still didn’t make sense. You still wanted to find comfort in the kindness of Delly again and you couldn’t understand that, if you could have everything, why couldn’t you have her?

[jlalafics]

“Stand by Me”-an Everlark one-shot

This prompt was requested by @all-consuming and my prereader @keelaree. 

I’m sure that this wasn’t what you expected, but I was vey inspired by a subplot in a K-drama that I watched recently and just went with it.

Prompt request: “You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting very suspicious” 

Trigger warnings: child abuse, kidnapping, reference to suicide

Summary: Peeta Mellark returns home to find himself mysteriously drawn to his little sister’s best friend. Mature themes.

~~~~~

“When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we see

No I won't be afraid

No I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand, stand by me…”

—Ben E. King “Stand By Me

 ~~~~~~

“Move faster!”

He clutches her hand tightly as they run out of the forest.

It’s well after midnight, too late for children their age to be out and about. Katniss’ two braids have become unraveled and her flowered nightgown is dirty and torn at its bottom. He isn’t any better with torn jeans and his ankles burning, each step agony.

But he presses on, he needs to make sure she is safe.

“Peeta, I’m scared,” Katniss tells him in her tiny voice. Everything about her is tiny. Except for her eyes. They are big pools of silver surrounded by dark lashes; each lash wet with tears. “I want to go home.”

“That’s where I’m taking you,” he grumbles. “We just have to get out of here.”

They walk and walk and walk…Peeta feels himself beginning to cramp up. Katniss is starting to falter. What did he expect from a child of five?

He looks up at the sky—a full moon. It feels like forever since he’s seen the sky.

Tears gather in his eyes. What if his family has given up on him?

By some miracle, they find themselves on the main street of the town next to their own. There are people everywhere and Peeta tightens his hold on Katniss’ small hand.

“Stay close to me,” he tells her.

Katniss squeezes his hand. “I won’t let go.”

A group of people stumble out of a bar as its jukebox plays ‘Only You’ by the Platters, and Katniss presses herself to him, seeing a man fall to the ground and vomit on the concrete. Protectively, Peeta puts an arm around her as they move away from the rush of people.

It is nearly sunrise when Peeta reaches her house; no one is probably even aware that Katniss has been gone.

“Go right to bed,” he tells her sternly. “And, don’t go walking out of your house in the middle of the night again!”

Her gaze is solemn. “I promise, Peeta.” She holds out her little finger. “Pinkie swear?”

He indulges her and hooks their pinkies together, a tired smile of relief gracing his lips. “Go now.”

“Thank you for protecting me,” Katniss tells him, her cheeks perked by her sunny smile. “I’m going to marry you.”

“That’s stupid,” he responds. “You’re only five!”

However, even at the tender age of nine, Peeta is flattered at her declaration.

This little wisp of a girl is so sure that her heart belongs to him.

“When you’re older, you’ll find someone else to love and marry,” he says to appease her.

“I will be older, but I will still love and marry you!” she declares, chin up defiantly.

Peeta nods. “Okay, when we are older.”

++++++

Peeta opens his eyes as the train cart jolts. He looks around, finding his entire compartment empty. His back aches; exhausted from the plane ride back to the States followed by the four-hour train ride back to his hometown.

It’s been years since he’s been home. His family would usually visit his boarding school in England for the holiday. Eventually after school was over, his wanderlust took him away to the different sides of the world.

He chases for peace of mind—but it never comes.

Nightmares plague him even in the most beautiful of places. He found himself crouched and shaking on the balcony of his hotel in Mykonos before finally deciding to come home.

Peeta decides to walk home; the Mellark Home is just a scant ten minutes away from the train station. He wants to get back into the rhythm of small-town life before he’s bombarded by his family. They are wonderful people, loving and supportive, but he often feels as if they walk on eggshells around him.

Everyone but his little sister, sunny girl that she is.

As he reaches the block where his home is, Peeta feels like he’s going back in time. Everything has remained the same; the street sign still has a sticker that Rye, his older brother, placed as a dare by one of the Hawthorne boys.

The large trailer that Haymitch Abernathy and his wife Effie use for camping trips is still parked in front of their house.

His home looms over him, a perfect two-story colonial with flower boxes at its windows and a white picket fence. His mother is an avid gardener and it shows in the perfect flower beds at the front of the house. He recognizes his sister’s namesake immediately, right by the door, and finds his mouth perking into a semblance of a smile.

A flash of white suddenly catches his peripheral vision.

Looking to the building next door, Peeta suddenly freezes.

Dark hair and grey eyes catch him. She is wearing a thin, white nightgown and the morning light catches the outline of a feminine figure. Her tanned legs hang from the porch fence she has perched herself on and her hands reach into a bucket sitting next to her.

She pulls her hands out—her fingers, delicate and graceful—before she touches them together to make a circle. Her rose-colored lips rise and she exhales as bubble forms and flies out into the air.

Her gaze follows the bubble and a grin forms on her mouth as she watches it fly off—

“Peeta!”

Prim is running towards him, golden hair flying with her, and he catches her easily in his arms.

“You’re home!” she cries happily and Peeta smiles fondly at her. “Did you walk from the train station?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Peeta replies, his voice raspy. “The town is nice and quiet at this time.”

“It’s always quiet around here,” Prim explains, taking his hand and leading him up the stone pathway. “Mom and Dad aren’t awake yet, but they’ll be so happy you’re back…Rye and Cashmere are coming for dinner…you’ll get to meet Baby Sarah…”

He listens dutifully but can’t help but look next door.

She is staring at him, still as tiny as ever, her hands clasped together.

He is awestruck by her innocence and happy to know that there is no darkness reflected in those lovely grey eyes.

There is only hope.

Her mouth rises in a small smile.

Before Peeta knows it, she is gone, disappearing into her home but leaving him with an unknowing ache inside.

++++++

Dinner is a happy affair.

His parents are thrilled that he is home. His mother is still the picture of elegance, her blonde hair in a perfect chignon and her smile is brings such youth to her face that it’s almost hard to believe that she is the mother of three grown children. His father, ruthless businessman that the newspapers report him to be, is actually a kind, caring person whose greatest treasure is his family.

They did everything under the sky to make sure that he was alright and Peeta is grateful; he loves them for it, but he can’t help but feel like he’s missing that part in his mind that makes him able to convey it. Prim and Rye are boisterous and loud, unable to not pull him into their arms for hugs. Upon his arrival, Rye cried just seeing his baby brother on their couch.

They’re at the tail end of dinner when there’s a knock on the front door.

Katniss enters their dining room and Peeta immediately stands up at the sight of her. Her hair is down, raven waves framing her pretty face, and she wears a simple green dress that makes her look like a woodland pixie.

Everyone stares at his motion; his parents amused while his siblings look to him curiously.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he sits back down, his eyes darting up just to see the wisp of a smile on her mouth.

“Katniss!” Prim rushes over, giving her a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Rue and I made pies,” she explains shyly. “I know how much you like peach, so I brought it over.”

His mother, gracious hostess she is, goes to Katniss to take the pie pan from her.

“Thank you, Katniss! Go ahead and have a seat, sweetheart.”

His father grabs a spare chair, putting it between himself and Prim. He stands, so used to doing it during events at boarding school, as she sits and doesn’t hesitate to help push her seat for her. He almost grins seeing that her feet are just a little bit off the ground before sitting down.

Katniss looks to him. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” he tells her quietly, his throat tight at the sight of her.

He learns that they moved into the house next door when she was ten after her father passed away. Also, that Katniss’ mother remarried three years ago, and Katniss has a stepsister, Rue, who is eight years old. By the way she talks about the young girl, it’s obvious they are close.

“I’m taking her to that carnival that just opened this weekend,” she tells his family as they eat dessert.

“I want to go!” Prim cries out excitedly. She is nineteen, but there is still that youthful excitement in her eyes. “May I please tag along?”

“Of course, Prim,” Katniss tells her. She looks around, before her eyes go to him. “All of you are invited.”

His parents decline, but Rye and Cashmere agreed, and his parents offer to babysit Sarah, his cherub looking niece, so they can have an actual date night.

“How about you, Peeta?” His father asks.

He nods immediately, his eyes going to the girl next to him. “Sounds like fun.”

++++++

As Peeta gets ready for bed, there’s a knock on his door and he is surprised to find his parents on the other side. He widens the door and they enter, his father sitting at the chair next to his desk and his mother at the end of his bed.

“We just wanted to check on you,” his father starts. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been home—almost fourteen years, actually.”

“I know,” Peeta replies and looks around. “Looks like you never changed the place. If I open my bedside drawer, am I going to find those mini chocolates I used to carry around?”

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” his mother says with a smile. “How are you, Peeta?”

“Some days are hard,” he admits. “But I can’t keep running anymore.”

“We’ve missed you,” his father tells him, his voice on the verge of weeping.

His father’s voice had only sounded like that once before; the day that Peeta woke up in a hospital bed screaming bloody murder, begging them to get that woman away from him.

“No matter what, she’s going to be part of me,” Peeta explains. “Part of my nightmares.”

His mother hurriedly brushes away her tears. “Oh sweetheart, we failed to protect you—”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You are our son,” his father intones. “We will always worry about you and want to take care of you.”

Peeta nods; his chest filling with that familiar heaviness that comes with the night.

“I’m tired,” he tells them, suddenly listless.

Both stand, his mother kissing his forehead and his father patting his shoulder before bidding him goodnight.

Sleep does not come.

++++++

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Prim tells him as they walked into the entryway of the carnival. “It’s been ages, really.”

“I’m happy that I’m back,” Peeta replies. “Why does this place look so familiar?”

“It’s part of the old camping grounds, remember?” Prim skips down the path towards the carousel. “Look! There’s Katniss!” She jogs ahead to go greet her friend, just he sees an image in his mind of two children running out of the camping grounds to escape a madwoman.

Peeta makes his way his over, his eyes on Katniss, her hair in a long braid. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, with white sneakers on her tiny feet. Next to her is a young girl, mocha-skinned with wide almond eyes.

“Hello,” Katniss greets him with a friendly smile. “I’m glad you came.”

His mouth raises slightly. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Katniss puts a hand to the young girl’s shoulder. “Rue, this is Peeta. He’s Prim’s older brother.”

The girl stares up at him shyly. “Hello, Peeta. It’s nice to meet you.”

Kneeling before the girl, he holds out his hand. “Hello, Rue. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His eyes go quickly to Katniss, who flushes as their eyes met.

Rue shakes his hand and then turns to her sister. “He’s cute.”

“Rue!” Katniss takes the young girl’s hand, avoiding his eyes.

“Well, he is!” Rue insists.

It was starting to get crowded; Prim had disappeared, and his eyes search anxiously for her.

“She went to get food,” Katniss informs him, seeing his concern. “Your sister has an ever-stretching stomach, skinny thing she is.” Her eyes go down to her own figure. “I look like I’ve obviously had too many desserts.”

Peeta looks her over quickly; she is definitely curvy, her waist small and her hips full—a true Botticelli, which he finds overwhelmingly appealing.

“You look perfect,” he finds himself saying. His hand suddenly reaches for hers and Katniss starts. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

They head towards the concession stands in search of Prim; Katniss in the middle, her hands held by both Rue and Peeta.

“You’re only saying that because you’re Prim’s brother,” Katniss says, her gaze avoiding his.

“I shouldn’t be saying that because I’m Prim’s brother.”

++++++

“You have to be quiet!” he demands under his breath. “You’ll make her angry.”

Her wrists and ankles hurt, and Katniss is getting tired of sitting up against the wall of the smelly, dusty house. Why did the lady never clean?

Her eyes wander to the teddy bear, sitting in the corner of the room, caked with dirt and its eye missing. Did that mean that there were other children here?

“I want to go home!” she wails.

“Please Katniss…if you’re quiet, I’ll give you something to eat,” Peeta tells her. She quiets immediately and he offers her a smile. Though his hands are bound, he manages to reach into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a wrapped piece of chocolate. “Here you go.”

She unwraps it quickly before stuffing it into her mouth. “Thank you, Peeta.”

Katniss fails to notice that his own stomach grumbles with hunger.

++++++

Katniss sits up in bed, breathing heavily, as the remnants of the dream swim in her mind.

What was that?

She looks to her wrists and ankles—no marks.

It wasn’t real…the lady with the dark eyes and long, black hair…not real…

Laying back, she tries to close her eyes, but the faint taste of chocolate lingers in her mouth.

++++++

The night is humid and Peeta struggles to keep his body cool underneath the dress shirt he wears.

“Peeta, you should’ve borrowed something from Rye,” Prim tells him good-naturedly as they walk towards the stage. Around them, groups are setting up their picnic blankets for the summer concert that is an annual event in their town. “I’m taking you shopping tomorrow.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he assures her amusedly. “Am I cramping your style?”

“Of course not!” She entwines their arms. “You’re my very international older brother who my friends are dying to meet.” Her other hand shoots up. “There they are!”

His eyes go to the group of six; the two dark-haired men are obviously the Hawthorne brothers, beside them are two blondes, one tall and statuesque while the other is about Prim’s height with soft waves on her shoulders.

Then there is Katniss; tiny but breathtaking, in a blue knee-length dress.

“Hey guys!” Prim greets the group. “This is my brother Peeta, he just got back home a week ago.” She turns to the Hawthornes. “You know Gale and Vick.”

He shakes their hands and Gale gives him a friendly smile. “It’s been awhile, Peeta.”

Briefly, he remembers that he was in the same grade as Gale before he left. Were they friends before?

“Too long,” Peeta replies before shaking Vick’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Prim told us that you just left Mykonos before heading back,” Vick says in admiration. “You have to tell us all about it and all your other trips!”

“Yes, it can get a little stifling here,” the tall blonde adds, her deep blue eyes set on him. “Madge Undersee.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replies with an easy smile. Then, he goes to the shorter blonde. “Nice to meet you—”

“Delly Cartwright.” She is much more soft-spoken than Madge, her eyes less predatory than Madge’s as well. “Please make yourself comfortable.” She waves her hand to the array of food on their blanket. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“This looks great,” he tells her as he settles down next to Katniss and Prim who are chatting. “Do you cook all of this?”

“I own a café in town with my grandmother,” Delly explains. “I didn’t make the pie, though.” She smiles brightly at the dark-haired sprite next to him. “That was Katniss’ doing.”

Peeta turns to Katniss and she beams at him.

Finally, he can breathe again, the sight of her calming him. “What flavor is it this time?”

“Chocolate.”

She can’t quite meet his eyes after that.

++++++

The concert is a selection of popular 50’s songs covered by a popular local band.

Prim knows Thresh, one of the singers; he is the reason they scored such a great spot by the stage. As the night progresses, Peeta feels himself relax around the group. He tells them about the places he’s visited and finds himself realizing how fond he had been of cobbled stone streets in the small sector of Paris that he lived in for six months.

“What did you do there?” Madge asks. She has moved closer to him while he subtly scoots closer to his sister and Katniss.

“Walked along the Seine…sat at cafes and people-watched…got lost in the Louvre…pretended I was an artist and attempted to sketch…” Madge and Vick look wistful, losing themselves in the romanticism of it all. Delly is amused when he mentioned people watching; she seems to be an intuitive one, someone who would, like himself, find interest in human behavior.

“We all can’t wander around the world,” Gale remarks, his tone slightly envious.

During his time with Prim’s friends, he notices how the older Hawthorne gazes at Katniss longingly. However, Katniss seems focused on Prim, and sometimes, on him.

“True,” he agrees. “Boarding school was great when I was child. I needed the structure but, as I got older, it seemed that I needed to see what was beyond. I was lucky that my parents understood, but they wanted me to find some sort of work. So, I didn’t exactly ask them to help me get around, so I worked where I could.”

“What did you do?” Katniss suddenly asks.

Peeta turns to Katniss, giving her his full attention.

“I did what you do. I baked.” Her mouth widens in surprise and it thrills him to see how her eyes light up at his words. “In Paris, I worked at a boulangerie and baked the whole night. In Amsterdam, I learned how to make stroopwafels and in Spain, it was churros.”

“Then, how the fuck do you have abs?” Madge demands to know, and the group laughs. “Seriously, I can’t eat a piece of cake without my ass jiggling!”

“It’s the Mellark metabolism,” Katniss suggests. “I mean, look at Prim! She can eat and eat and look at her!”

“But the Mellark metabolism doesn’t seem work in my favor when it comes to alcohol,” Prim tells them, her eyes hazy. “I need some water.” She tries to get up but fails spectacularly. “Just give me a second…”

Katniss stands. “I’ll go grab some bottles.”

“Let me help,” he offers. Katniss doesn’t say a word, only nodding to the group before heading to the concession stands towards the back of their field. She is silent as they walk through the congested space, and he finds himself taking her hand once again. “The pie was really good.”

Katniss doesn’t pull away, though her eyes remain ahead. “Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You should do it professionally,” he says.

Katniss finally turns to him.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking that I’d like to learn other baking techniques.” She smiles softly. “It’s a bit of a dream of mine to open a bakery here.”

“Oh yeah?” She nods bashfully. “I think you’d be great at it.”

“I don’t have much experience with other baked goods, so that might be an issue,” Katniss says as they reach the concession stand. “Seven waters, please.”

Peeta goes to his back pocket, pulling out a ten and handing it to the cashier.

“How about going to culinary school?” he suggests.

The cashier has been nice enough to given carriers for the bottles. Katniss insists on taking one, so he grabs the other, not letting go of her hand. As they move towards the stage, he finds his senses heightened as the crowd closes in.

He lets go of her hand, winding his arm around her shoulders instead and pulling her to his side.

“To answer your question; school requires money, which I don’t have,” Katniss replies as they move closer to the group.

“I can give it to you,” he offers suddenly.

Katniss stops just short of Prim and the others, her eyes curious. The group watches their exchange in apt interest.

“Why would you do that?”

Peeta shrugs. “Because…”

Because I want to take care of you.

He didn’t know where the errant thought came from.

However, his mind travels to a dusty room…a young girl with two dark braids…and his last piece of chocolate…

“Do you want to dance?” Katniss abruptly offers.

“What?”

She takes the carrier from his grasp and puts it on the ground along with hers, before holding out her hand.

“I don’t know how,” he admits anxiously.

“I’ll teach you.” Katniss reaches for his arm to wrap it around her waist before taking his other hand in hers. “There.” She smiles encouragingly. “All you have to do is move.”

 “Only you can make all this world seem right

Only you can make the darkness bright

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do…”

 Katniss is a tiny one, her head just hitting his chest. He longs for her to rest it against him so that he can wrap his arms around her…protect her.

From what, he doesn’t know.

All Peeta knows is that this is where she was meant to be—in his arms, safe and sound.

His eyes spare a glance at the group’s reactions; Prim watches them through her buzzed eyes, a grin on her beer-laced lips, Delly with a gentle understanding, Vick with amusement at Katniss’ impromptu suggestion, Madge with envy, and Gale with resentment.

What they think means nothing to him, especially when Katniss rests her head against him.

 “When you hold my hand, I understand the magic that you do

You're my dream come true, my one and only you…”

 ++++++

She tells him to call her Mother.

Katniss lays on his lap, exhaustion taking over as it gets closer to sunrise, and his nth day in this dilapidated room. Peeled yellow wallpaper hangs down the stained walls. There id no furniture, but there are cobwebs…so many cobwebs.

“Wake her up,” the woman commands. “We’re going soon.”

She smiles at him, revealing perfect white teeth. The woman is beautiful; creamy white skin and perfectly made up with her lined eyes and ruby red lips.

The look in her eyes, however, is unhinged.

“Is Father coming soon?” he asks.

She often speaks of “Father” who is supposed to be coming home from a business trip. Father who expected nothing but beautiful, obedient children.

Silent children who never spoke if they heard people walk by the house.

The woman’s eyes blaze, and she makes a grab for his chin, squeezing it between her index finger and thumb painfully.

“He’s not coming!” She screams at him. “Are you a fool? He did not want me! He made me kill my baby!”

Peeta whimpers as she reaches behind with her free hand to reveal a rope.

She places it to Katniss’ neck, and he prays that Katniss doesn’t wake—her cries would only agitate the woman.

“Such a pretty girl with such lovely hair,” the woman whispers. “Do you think her family would miss her? Would they cry for her? Would they mourn her?” She touches Katniss’ braid so softly before reaching into the pocket of her coat to take out a pair of scissors. “Or do you think that they would just forget her? Like I was forgotten…”

“DON’T! PLEASE!” he sobs. “I promise we won’t say anything! I will be quiet forever! No one will ever know! I promise! Please mother! PLEASE!”

Please God…someone…anyone…please keep Katniss from waking…keep her safe…

“Don’t cry.” The woman’s voice is suddenly gentle, and her hand reaches to touch his head tenderly. He looks up, eyes full of tears and snot dripping from his nose. Her gaze is resigned and sad, the hand holding the rope against Katniss pulling back. “There now. You’re a good boy, Peeta. You stayed with me till the end.”

She leans forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he can see her tears against the dust of the floor.

Peeta stares at the ground, his eyes focusing on her red heels as she stands to walk out of the room—rope in her grasp.

“Goodbye Peeta.”

His eyes shoot up.

“Don’t go! Please don’t do this! Don’t leave us…MOTHER!”

++++++

Peeta rushed out to the back porch, breaths heaving as his whole body shakes.

He walks down to the grass of his backyard, vomiting his dinner all over his mother’s green grass before falling to his knees, sobbing hysterically and lost in the dazed memory of the woman’s final goodbye.

There is the bang of the back door and Peeta suddenly feels his father’s strong arms encircling him.

He rocks Peeta against him. “You’re home now. You’re safe…”

Peeta’s mother joins them, the scent of freesias solidifying her warm presence and his breathing begins to level.

“Go ahead and cry, love,” she urges “Get it out…”

They sit there in that vomit-wet grass until his legs feel strong enough to stand. Prim is at the open doorway, her blue eyes damp as their parents walk him up the steps.

His eyes suddenly drift to the porch next door.

Her grey eyes are deep with worry.

His dream-laden mind calls out to her:

Please Katniss…please stay asleep…

++++++

“Who really likes to go hiking?” Madge asks as they stand outside of the archway that leads them into the park.

“I don’t mind,” Delly says as she puts her backpack on.

“It’s good for you,” Gale cajoles Madge. “Separates the weak from the strong.”

“I’m self-admittedly weak,” Madge retorts.

“You’re so fit,” Katniss tells her admirably. She stands next to Peeta and Prim in a pair of leggings and a green hunting jacket. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re too sweet, Katniss.” Madge puts an arm around her shoulders as they all walk underneath the archway and towards the trail. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

“Hey!” Vick calls out to her. “What about me?”

Madge goes to him, batting her lashes. “You’re my favorite boy.”

Peeta and Prim follow behind, his sister’s concerned gaze on him.

He finally turns to her. “I’m alright, Prim.”

“Are you?”

“These things happen,” Peeta assures her. “I’m having them much less than I used to.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all,” his sister retorts. “How do I know that you’re not going to up and leave again?”

“Because no matter where I go, whatever this is will always be in me,” he tells her bluntly. “At least here, I’m not alone.”

Prim bites her lip and he knows that she wants to say something.

Instead, she nods and Peeta draws her into a hug.

“Go on and join your friends,” he tells her. “I prefer a slower walk.”

She squeezes his hand before heading to their group.

“I prefer a slower walk, too.”

Katniss is at his side.

Peeta takes her hand, lacing their fingers together.

She stares up at him, chest rising rapidly, and cheeks pink.

“There’s no crowd for me to get lost in.”

“I know.”

++++++

“Do you want to tell me what last week was about?”

Peeta turns to the woman curled up next to him on the bench. “We’re going to get right to it?”

“Yes,” Katniss replies bluntly. “I remember you when we were children—”

He looks to her in surprise. “You do?”

“You used to come into our class to pick up Prim,” she explains. “And, you always looked larger than life to me.”

He brushes his finger against her cheek affectionately. “I think everyone is larger than life to you, little.”

“Maybe it’s because your family is so rich and you live in this beautiful house,” she explains. “And, I lived in low-income housing where there were no backyards or flowers or even working locks on our doors.”

It explains how Katniss had found herself trapped with him. Did the woman take her from her bed? Or somehow persuade Katniss to come with her?

“That night, you looked so small,” Katniss tells him, her voice soft. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“I have nightmares,” he tells her and she seems to recoil into herself. “A long time ago, something very bad happened to me.”

“What?” Katniss inches closer, her hand reaching to touch his wrist. He hisses instinctively. “Did I hurt you?” She pulls back the sleeve of his shirt and gasps. “Peeta, what is this?”

The scars from the cable ties are nothing but an inch of pink skin, but against his tanned skin, they stand out starkly. Katniss traces her finger along the scar, and he forces himself to breathe, to quell the feeling of sickness down as the memories rise to the surface.

“An accident,” he forces out.

“Is this why you left?” Peeta nods. “It must have been a bad accident if no one in your family will talk about it.”

“Do you remember anything about me—beside what you’ve told me?” he asks nervously.

“Not really.” Katniss gives him a smile. “Should I?”

“No, not really.” Peeta is relieved at her words. Standing up, he offers his hand and Katniss takes it willingly, almost eagerly. “We better go find everyone.”

He hates to leave their bench with its little wooden thatch roof.

“You ready?”

Gathering her backpack, Katniss stands to join him. “Ye—AHH!”

She turns, falling against him, and gasping as if something is choking the life out of her.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” His eyes go to where she sat, and he finds a web along at the corner of the thatch. He quickly swipes it away before turning to the cowering girl, rocking back and forth on the ground. “You’re afraid of spiders.”

It isn’t a question.

She is afraid of spiders because of him.

++++++

It has been quiet too long.

There had been only one sound—a chair dropping. He remembers seeing the small wooden stool as the woman brought him into the house. Guiding Katniss off his lap, Peeta rolls onto his belly. The cable ties keep him from getting to his feet or pushing himself up, so he decides to slither into the other room.

Peeta knows what he was likely to find, and he doesn’t want to see. Slithering towards the room, he breathes a sigh of relief seeing the scissors on the floor, next to the woman’s shoes.

“Don’t look up…” He can hear the creaks of the beam. “Don’t look up—”

“Peeta, what are you doing?” Katniss cries out.

“Don’t look in here!” he screams; he knows he sounds mean, but he can’t let her see.

So close…Peeta stretches with all might, taking the scissors with his pinky finger—

“Peeta, what’s in there?” Peeta looks over his shoulder to see Katniss twisting to look through the open doorway.

“A SPIDER!” He pushes back, trying not to think about the dangling feet above him. “Just don’t look, Katniss!”

“I hate spiders!” she wails, bursting into sobs as he makes his way back towards the room on his belly. “I want to go home…”

“We’re going home.” He takes the scissors in his grasp, using it to free his bloodied ankles before cutting her wrist binds free. “Help cut these ties Katniss.”

Katniss frees him easily and he goes to work on the cable ties on her ankles.

Carefully, he stands, slightly dizzy from having been in the same position for God knows how long.

“Take my hand,” Peeta tells the young girl. “We need to get out of here.”

++++++

“Is something going between you and my brother?” Prim asks as they walk into the auditorium.

Katniss turns to her best friend uneasily. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Because you two hold hands,” her best friend replies with a sly grin. “Not like I’m against you two getting together. I love you both like crazy.”

“He worries about me getting lost in crowds,” Katniss reasons. “I’m so short and all.”

“Peeta is just trying to be chivalrous,” Prim tells her. “You’re part of the family. Not surprised that he’d want to protect you.”

Her chest warms at the thought.

As much as Katniss tries to deny it, she is very much attracted to Peeta. She loses herself often in his ocean eyes and the need to hold him…protect him overwhelms her senses.

It is so not like her to act like this around a boy.

However, that treacherous voice inside tells her that Peeta is not a boy, but a man—and maybe that’s what she needs.

“Here are our seats,” Prim calls out, pulling her away from thoughts of how Peeta’s hair always looks so soft to touch. “I can’t believe Madge is in a fashion show.”

It is a local show for a department store two towns away. Madge has invited them as well as Delly to come check it out.

“I can,” Katniss replies as they sit down. “She has legs for days!”

The show begins promptly five minutes later, just as Delly slips into her seat. “What did I miss?”

“Madge hasn’t come out,” Prim tells her. “So far, so good. What do you think Katniss?”

Katniss isn’t listening, her eyes on the model heading down the runway.

Long dark hair…red lips…trench coast…strutting towards her.

She was coming to take her back!

Her face grows cold and she can hear the sound of blood rushing down her head.

Then, everything fades to black.

++++++

Mommy says that Daddy is too sick to come home.

Katniss went to bed angry. She would see Daddy; it had been so many days since they’ve played outside at the park. Her favorite is when Daddy pushes her on the swings, and she just pumps her legs to go higher as the sun shines in her face and the wind plays with her…

She would go see Daddy in the big building and help him get better.

Walking past Mommy’s bedroom, she looks in and finds her in deep sleep. It is easy to get out of the house. Sometimes the lock doesn’t work, and they would put a chair against the knob.

Tonight, Mommy forgot to do that.

Outside it is quiet, but the moon is bright and big. She looks around trying to remember which way to the hospital.

“What are you doing out?”

Katniss turns to see a beautiful woman with long black hair and dark eyes like her. She wears red lipstick like her Mommy used to when her and Daddy went on dates. Her long coat even looked like the one her Mommy wore during those dates!

“I’m going to the hospital to visit my Daddy,” she tells the lady. “What’s your name?”

The woman doesn’t tell her. “I’m going to the hospital, too. Would you like to come?”

She holds her hand out to Katniss and the light of the moon shows scars against her wrist.

Katniss is happy. Maybe it won’t take all night to see Daddy!

So, she takes the woman’s hand.

When they arrive at the broken house and her eyes go to the boy sitting in the corner, Katniss knows that she will be in so much trouble with Mommy.

++++++

Peeta rushes down the long corridor, his family hurrying behind him. He had been with his parents at Rye and Cashmere’s house when they got the phone call from a sobbing Prim telling them that Katniss was in the hospital.

Rye volunteered to drive him along with their parents to the hospital, fearing that Peeta was not in the right state of mind to get himself there in one piece. The whole time, his anxious mind goes from one scenario to another and he could feel his scars begins to itch and burn.

His brother stopped him from breaking skin, one hand on the wheel and the other on his hand.

“She will be alright,” Rye assured him, sadness in his blue eyes.

Now they were all looking for the right hallway, making another turn and relieved to see Prim leaning against the wall.

“Prim!” he calls out and his sister run straight into his arms.

“It was horrible! One minute she was sitting there and the next she was sinking to the floor…” Prim pulls away, her face streaked with tears. “They think she went into some sort of shock.”

“What are they doing for her?” Peeta asks. “Should we call her parents?”

“They’re already with her,” Prim informs them before looking to him. “She’s asking for you. It was the first thing she said as soon as she opened her eyes.”

Peeta is already opening the door.

In the room, a woman with golden hair and man with Rue’s dark eyes sit by the bed. Their eyes widen as he bursts into the room.

However, his eyes are focused on the woman sitting up in the bed, face grey and her eyes haunted.

“Peeta…” Katniss turns to him, anguish in her gaze. “I remember.”

He immediately goes to her, moving the siderail then wrapping his arms around her waist.

His head falls to her chest, feeling her heartbeat steady and strong, and her hand goes to his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be.” Katniss caresses his locks tenderly. “I wasn’t afraid…because you were with me.”

++++++

“How long were you there?” she asks when they are finally alone.

His parents and Rye have taken Katniss’ parents as well as Prim out to lunch. Katniss’ doctor assures them that she is not in any imminent danger, but they are running some customary tests before releasing her.

“A few days. At least, I think. I lost count at some point, and I never really wanted to ask my parents about what was on the official police reports.” He takes her hand sandwiching it between his own. “I don’t even know her name or anything about her. I don’t want to.”

Katniss nods in agreement.

“I understand.” Their eyes meet. “What I don’t understand is—how could I forget all of this?”

“You were five.” He caresses her face gently, trying to remove the distress off it. “You were in that house for a few hours. A child could easily mistake what happened as a dream.”

“Or a nightmare,” Katniss replies quietly. “For you, it was.” She whimpers suddenly, her eyes growing wet. “The spider—”

“It was her,” he admits quietly. “I couldn’t let you see. You told me about your Dad; how he was sick in the hospital and I knew he was probably going to die. I couldn’t let what she did be your first experience with death. You wouldn’t have understood. At least with your father, his death would be mourned and eventually the pain would be healed. You would have never healed if you saw her.”

“But you saw her.”

“Only for a little bit,” Peeta says as he closes his eyes. “I could still hear the creak of the beams…feel the brush of air as her feet dangled—” He breathes out shakily. “For years, nightmares plagued me of that day. I couldn’t function; I couldn’t focus in fear that she would somehow come back. I knew she was dead, but when I closed my eyes, she was still standing before me.”

“Oh Peeta…” She looks so desperately sad for him. “You were only a boy and you took it all on yourself.”

“I wanted to keep you innocent.” Peeta’s thumb moves along her cheek, swiping away an escaped tear. “You reminded me that there was hope and good out there. I focused on you and you alone, promising myself that you would get out of there—even if I didn’t.”

“Don’t say that,” she cries. “I would have stayed with you. No one would’ve taken care of me the way you did.”

“I’m always going to protect you.” He reaches for her and Katniss falls into his arms. She belongs there. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to find you again.”

“You’re mine now,” she says against his chest. “You told me that I had to get older to find someone to love and marry.”

Peeta chuckles. “And, you told me that you would get older, but you would still love me and marry me.”

He knows that her promise stands true, strong and resilient.

Like them.

++++++

Time passes.

Katniss is released from the hospital and she returns home. Peeta remains at his parents, planning on eventually finding his own place in town. The fact that Katniss lives next door is the contributing factor for him choosing to stay in his childhood bedroom.

Eventually, he and Katniss gather their family together and tell them about their time with the woman; how the woman lured him away by asking him to help her with her luggage and offered him a drink which he had foolishly accepted. How he awoke to find himself bound. How she insisted that he and Katniss refer to her as Mother.

Their own mothers wept at the admission.

Katniss explains how she discovered a way out of her childhood home; how the woman told her that she would take her to see her father in the hospital. She described her first memory of Peeta, how he had offered her his last piece of food—he didn’t tell her until then that it had been days since he ate.

They feel horrible when Prim gets physically sick when they tell them of that dark day.

How the woman yelled over being heart broken and killing her baby, how she placed the rope against a sleeping Katniss, how Peeta begged her…promised to keep silent…

“I kept that promise until now,” he tells their families. “But, I can’t anymore. Not if I want to move forward…if we want to move forward.”

His eyes go to Katniss, beautiful and pure, her grey eyes shining at him.

He continues, explaining how something had broken the woman. How, in those last minutes, she was kind and gentle to Peeta. How she had thanked him for being there till the end.

Prim runs out of the room at that point; Katniss follows to make sure she is alright as she retches in the downstairs bathroom.

When they return, Prim is pale and her eyes blood-shot, but she asks them to continue.

Katniss talks about waking up to see Peeta crawling on his belly into the other room—and how he had told her to not look. How there was a spider in the room and how she cried in fear—the arachnophobia still exists, though she knows now that she associates spiders with the woman.

Peeta tells them of crawling into the room to get the scissors, how he told himself to not look up at the woman—Rye had wept at his words. He speaks of cutting them out of their bounds—cable ties still bring him to a state of panic—and how he instructed Katniss to close her eyes tightly as they walked out of the house.

“He brought me home,” she tells her parents. Rue had been left with a sitter. She is still too young to understand. In time, Katniss and Peeta will sit her down and tell her their story. “I don’t know how I managed to remember my address, but I did.”

“I went to the police station,” Peeta continues. “I barely made it passed the entrance before fainting.”

The story of the Mellark kidnapping had been kept under wraps by high-powered lawyers threatening to sue anyone who leaked the story.

Peeta recovered but suffered from PTSD and anxiety, barely able to make through school. Eventually seeing how it had put such a strain on his family, he asked to leave—as far away as possible.

“We never wanted you to leave,” his mother tells him. “Your father and I argued over whether it was the best thing, but your psychiatrist agreed that maybe you needed time away—a more structured environment where there were no abrupt changes to your daily life.”

“It was for the best,” Peeta insists before looking to his parents. “I want to tell you how grateful I am to have you as my parents. You never pushed me to just get better, and you were patient when I was hard to love. You let me go even though I know it was the hardest thing in the world and you let me find my way back home.”

“We love you,” his father tells him gruffly. “We wouldn’t change a thing about you—not a single hair on your head—and we’ve felt that way since the day you were born to now.”

When it is over, emotionally drained, they all stand to leave.

Katniss’ mother Iris goes to him.

“Thank you for saving Katniss.” Her eyes are filled with tears. “From her father and I, we are eternally grateful.”

“No need to be thank me,” Peeta replies. “Katniss, in so many ways, saved me.”

+++++++

Six months later, Peeta moves into his own place.

It is a modest apartment above a pizza parlor in the main part of their town. His mother overzealously decorates his one bedroom, one bathroom abode with calming blues and greens. His father shows up a week after he moves in with two flatscreen televisions for his bedroom and living room while Rye, who is a technician, sets-up his internet for the new laptop that he gives Peeta as a housewarming gift.

Prim often comes to visit with their friends. Fridays eventually become ‘Dinners at Peeta’s house’ nights and the group invades his home; Delly takes over his kitchen while Katniss brings over whatever dessert she is experimenting with.

And at the end, once the food is eaten and the dishes washed, one person remains—Katniss.

They watch television in his living room and then eventually on his bed until they fall asleep.

Peeta still experiences nightmares at times. However, it is better when he wakes from them with Katniss in his arms.

She never pushes him, and he does the same. They know eventually they will talk about whatever they are going through. It is not in their nature to not share with each other; they know too much about one another already.

++++++

It takes them three times to actually kiss.

The first as they sit on his porch one month after her hospital release. It is raining and they sit out watching, enjoying the sound and the smell of wet grass. Katniss looks spectacularly beautiful, her grey eyes peaceful, and though it is cool, he can feel the low fire in his belly at the sight of her.

Their eyes meet and he pulls her close.

As he closes his eyes, the woman’s face flashes in his mind and he abruptly pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he pants out.

Katniss is, of course, hurt. She stands up and walks back into his house to collect her things to go home.

However, when the night comes, he finds himself awakened by Katniss slipping into his bed.

Her head goes to his chest and her hand to his heart. “I understand.”

They are still plagued by those irrational fears, Katniss still goes numb at spiders or cobwebs and sometimes the woman’s face pops up to remind them that there are horrors in life.

Katniss always reminds him that there is hope.

He covers her hand with his. “Thank you.”

++++++

The second time comes a month after he’s moved into his apartment.

He wakes up to Katniss thrashing in bed, sheets tangling in her struggle.

“Spider…go away! Cobwebs…cobwebs…too many…”

“Katniss—” She shoots up, scratching at the air and sobbing. “—what happened?”

“Peeta…” Her head falls against him and gathers her close, pulling her onto his lap. “I was trapped! She was the spider and you were on other side of the web—I couldn’t get to you! There were too many cobwebs.” Katniss meets his eyes, her own glittering with tears. “She killed you Peeta. She killed you and I couldn’t do anything but watch…”

“It was just a dream,” he reassures her, rocking her in his arms. “It isn’t real.”

“Sometimes I don’t know what is real and not real,” she whispers against him tiredly.

“We are real.” Katniss lifts her head to meet his eyes and he smiles tenderly at her. “You and me. We’re always going to be. I can’t offer anything else to you, Katniss, broken man that I am, except my promise to love you forever.”

Her hand reaches to cup his cheek.

“I love you, too.” The faint heat returns and Peeta feels the needy burn to kiss her. Katniss presses herself against him and he knows she feels it too—this hunger beginning to grow. “Please Peeta.”

The fire flares.

“Not now,” he tells her tightly…reluctantly. “Not after you’ve had this nightmare.”

Katniss understands, breathing out. “Then just stay here.”

Always.

++++++

A year later, they go to Paris.

They rent the small apartment that he used to live in. Peeta takes her to the boulangerie where he used to work so the owners, Monsieur Latier and his wife Wiress, can coo over his ‘petite amie’ and then teach her how to properly make baguettes and croissants to her heart’s content.

He begins to draw again; small sketches in a journal that he plans to give Katniss after their trip is over. His favorite drawings are of Katniss…smiling as she watches the sunset out of their window…walking the cobbled streets in her dark green hunting jacket…staring at him with those dark, hungry as she lays in their bed without a stitch on…

Their last night in Paris, Peeta presents her with the journal, complete with daily writings of his thoughts, photographs, recipes from Monsieur and Madame Latier, sketches of her. She wept seeing all the work that had gone into it.

“I want to make great memories with you,” he simply tells her.

They makes themselves a simple dinner, a bottle of red wine accompanying it. Then, they watch the sunset from their open window, Katniss perches between his legs and her head rests back on his chest. He weaves his arms around her, pulling her close, and she hums her contentment.

“This feels like home,” she says happily.

Peeta presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You are home.”

There is a sudden shift in the air, and he finds Katniss facing him, her fingers reaching to cradle his chin and his breath catches at the sensation. Her gaze goes to his lips and the hunger returns, desperate and calling out to her.

“Please Katniss,” he finds himself saying.

She smiles and leans forward, pressing her mouth to his.

Fire.

After as they lay together, sated after another kind of joining, Peeta gazes down at the Katniss, peppering kisses against her chin, savoring her taste, and thanking God for every moment they have now and whatever is beyond that.

“Marry me,” he whispers.

“Yes,” she replies, smiling up at him. “Even though I asked you first.”

And for the rest of the night, they are no words and there are no nightmares.

++++++

Now, there is another dark-haired girl with two long braids, and another blond boy. The girl’s eyes are his deep blues, while the boy, still learning to walk, has inherited his mother’s lovely greys.

Peeta watches them play in the backyard of the bakery that had once been a pipe dream of Katniss’. He bought the property below his old apartment as an anniversary present—enthusiasm in her thank you led to the conception of their daughter in its kitchen.

They are moderately wealthy, business is steady, and they are happy most of the time. Some days they struggle with nightmares or terrors, but in the end, they hold onto one another and it makes them stronger.

His wife joins him on the steps of their porch.

Immediately, his hand reaches for hers.

Peeta takes a deep breath and closes his eyes without fear, enjoying the sweet scent of Katniss and the sound of their children playing.

FIN. 

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Wedding Colors (Part 2)

(Hayffie ❤️🧡💛💚💙💖. An exploration of Effie’s evolving character as she faces past and present personal intensities while making preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding.)

9:00—mentoring. The buzz that Haymitch had been feeling was killed even before Peeta kicked him out of the hospital room.

The boy was angry. “What if I’d murdered the people who were trying to help us because I didn’t know they were trying to help us!!? Do you think anyone would be asking me to frost a cake for Finnick’s FUNERAL if I’d slit his throat!? I can’t even look at you right now. Just go.”

It didn’t help that Haymitch’s eyes looked so much like Katniss’s.

At least Peeta was becoming more lucid. Haymitch took the boy’s justifiable anger as a positive sign and respected his request to be alone.

At the other end of the hospital, he opened the girl’s door to find Johanna plugged into Katniss’s IV. They both looked up but neither moved an inch.

“Jealous?” Johanna sneered.

“Not my drug of choice, sweetheart,” though her comment was spot-on. To Katniss he asked, “Are you okay with this?”

“It’s fine.” She winced, and he glared at Johanna.

“What? She says she’s fine. Plutarch took her for a walk yesterday afternoon. He probably just held her leash too tight.”

“I can tell them I don’t need the morphling anymore...” Her threat wasn’t far from the truth, and Johanna knew it.

“It’s nothing personal. Plutarch has us all on leashes. Even your *mentor* there.” Johanna looked pointedly at the communicuff on Haymitch’s wrist.

Her mockery pissed him off.

“Plutarch talked to you yesterday?” he asked Katniss.

“Yeah. He’s planning a circus, and he gave me the job of looking happy.”

“You. Happy? I would’ve cast somebody else.”

“I can do it. Since the circus is Finnick and Annie’s wedding.”

“Right. ...I’m going to walk away now and pretend I didn’t see you two... bonding.” He motioned to the IV then said to Johanna, “If she’s screaming in pain later, I’ll be ripping that port out of your arm myself.”

Sarcasm dripped along with the morphling. “Sobriety has had such a calming effect on you.”

“Something for YOU to look forward to soon.”

Johanna’s expression was steady as stone. ...Almost. Nobody would have noticed the subtle flinch, except for an addict.

“Katniss, I’ll see YOU later.” Haymitch closed the door behind him.

So the kids knew about the wedding before he did. What’s the point of wearing this *shackle* on my arm if Plutarch doesn’t tell me anything?!

Haymitch made his way back to Peeta’s room and stood in the corridor looking in through the one-way mirror. The boy was sitting at the art table which orderlies had brought in days before. Delly Cartwright was by his side. They were painting with watercolors. Peeta’s brush stroked out an ocean scene with cresting waves and sea life. With the paintbrush in his hand, Peeta was calm. In that moment, he seemed almost like himself.

The damn communicuff buzzed, and a message from Plutarch appeared on the screen. “Change of schedule. Report for exercise at 10:00. Details await you there.”

Being outdoors sounded better than being shut out by the kids or seeing them in pain. They were still alive, but they were messed up. Like me... Or worse.

Mentor. Johanna’s ridicule settled in his bones.

***

10:00—exercise The staircase to the surface had been rebuilt quickly after the bombing. The tight control in 13 produced efficiency. He’d give Coin that much credit.

Climbing the stairs was more exercise than he’d get in the yard. By the time he got to the top, he was breathing hard.

“Now that’s a familiar sound.” Effie’s voice came from the shadows and lit him up.

He moved toward her. “Me out of breath? Typical.”

“Last night...”

“Not typical. ...And more fun than this.”

He was surprised to see her. She wore a heavy coat and carried a large canvas sack over her shoulder. Additional bags and a set of leaf scoops were on the floor near her feet. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going for a walk in the woods —with you. Plutarch’s orders.”

Haymitch was confused, but too amused to not play along.

“I see you’re bringing a weapon.” He tugged at the pruners which were hooked through a belt loop on her pants. “Are you gonna protect us from carnivorous trees?”

“Just me, sweetheart. You’re going to protect yourself.” She held out a second set of pruners.

As he took them, he lingered on the fabric covering her hand. “Is this the latest fashion?”

“Cloth is more practical than lace, but must EVERY stitch of fabric here be gray or white?!” She held out a pair of work gloves for him too.

“If I’m wearing these, then how am I supposed to touch you?”

“No touching, honey. We have a project to do. Coin is giving us two hours to gather enough foliage for the district to make wedding decorations.”

“I heard her announcement asking for volunteers. I just didn’t think she was talking about me.”

“You are here at MY request.”

He took a half-step toward her. “So you’re giving me orders to spend two hours in the woods with you without touching you?” He took another half-step and felt the buzz return as their clothing brushed.

“We aren’t in the woods yet,” she said, “You can touch me now...”

The hair on his chin grazed her temple. “Where?”

Warmth flooded her. “You choose.”

He stepped back. “Sorry, sweetheart. If you get to make me a gardener for two hours, then I get to make you wait at least that long.”

“Haymitch! Don’t bother turning me on if you’re just going to make me wait!”

“Well, aren’t YOU the pot calling the kettle black. ...Am I turning you on?”

“You KNOW you are—“

“I have your trackers.” They were interrupted by a security guard, armed with an automatic rifle equipped with a spotting scope.

“Lex, this is Haymitch. He’ll be the other person accompanying us.”

“Glad to meet you,” the guard said as he lifted Effie’s pant leg to fit the tracker on her ankle.

“Wait a minute. This guy’s coming with us, AND he gets to touch you?”

“No need for envy. ...He’ll be touching YOU too.” Effie smirked.

The guard proceeded to clamp the second tracker onto Haymitch’s ankle.”

“Just what I need, another shackle.” He was tired of being treated like a prisoner, and he was sick of sobriety. Even if he could take the tracker off and leave, where would he go? His house was still standing, far away in 12, but that place was just a shell. Nearly every person he cared about who was still alive was in 13. And his duty was here. He’d been waiting his whole life for this stand.

Haymitch scowled when Lex’s hands skimmed Effie’s hip as he clipped a communicator onto her belt loop.

“Look, man, this is just standard procedure. I’m not interested in touching your girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” “She’s not my girlfriend.” They spoke in unison, then looked at each other.

“Sorry. I just assumed... I’ll position myself in the center of the search area. Don’t wander more than 50 yards from me in any direction.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot us?” Haymitch asked.

“It’s not our policy in 13 to shoot civilians.”

“See there, even cave people can be civilized.” Effie muttered under her breath, talking mostly to herself.

“If you move too far out of range, I’ll message you through the communicator. Stay together.”

Haymitch pulled on the gloves then picked up two canvas sacks and the leaf scoops. Stay together. For a moment, it sounded better than ‘stay alive’

***

In the weeks since the bombing, the exit from 13 into the woods had been cleared and secured. Effie was grateful to not have to crawl through bent metal and broken blocks of cement.

As she stepped outside, a gust of wind whipped her in the face. It carried the fragrance of cedar, like a hope chest, and the smell of approaching rain. Dry ground indicated that none had fallen recently, and she wondered when it would come. Hopefully not before noon! She unzipped her coat just enough to reach inside and pull her sunglasses out from the pocket of her shirt. The lenses tinted the world rose. That view was more familiar.

The guard split off from them to stand watch at the top of the ridge.

“We have three sacks. Let’s fill each one with foliage of a warm color: red, orange, and yellow.” Wasting no time, Effie marched straight into the woods, following a narrow trail.

“The High Priestess of Nature is on a mission,” Haymitch teased from behind her.

Much of the vegetation around them was foreign to him. 13 was far north from the woods he’d forayed into as a boy, breaking laws in order to spend time at the lake. Other plants were the same.

“Uh, priestess... is there poison ivy in the Capitol?”

“Poison?” She stopped in her tracks, imagining a coiling plant about to sink its fangs into her. “I don’t know. What does it look like?”

He pointed to a vine near her feet, and she leaped back, nearly knocking him over. He steadied them both with a hand on her waist.

“THAT!?” she exclaimed, “Well, EVERYTHING here looks like that!”

“Because you’re taking us into a thicket of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“I AM telling you.”

“What will it do to me?” she whispered, fearing that talking too loudly might wake it up or something.

“If you don’t touch it, then nothing.”

“What if I touch it?”

“See how the leaves are shiny? That oil gets on your clothes and transfers to your skin. It gives some people a rash that itches like hell.”

“Maybe YOU should walk in front.”

“Why? So you can look at my ass?”

“Let’s call that a side benefit to the primary goal of not getting poisoned!”

He reluctantly let go of her waist, turned around, and led them out of the thicket.

They found a wider trail and followed it to a tree with large leaves, red as cranberries. Haymitch recognized it as the same variety growing behind his house. He didn’t pay much attention to that tree at home, except when it looked like this. It’s strange... a person can be around something so often but not think about how remarkable it is until it’s changing.

The wind whipped up again, and leaves were falling like rain. Effie was already scooping them up and filling the sack she’d been carrying.

“Wait,” he said, “Look...”

“What? More poison?”

He pointed to the sky, and she tilted her face up to a shower of red. She slid the sunglasses up to her forehead so she could see the true color. Thin beams of sunlight streamed through the branches. She squinted her eyes but didn’t close them.

“In the Capitol, nature is manicured — controlled. In Capitol Park, all the trees are planted the same distance apart. When leaves fall, a crew of Avoxes carts them away before the next morning. It’s nothing like this. This is wild.”

“...And familiar.” With a gloved fingertip, he touched her windburned cheeks then pulled a red leaf from the top knot of her kerchief. Over her coat he traced from her heart to the small of her back, following the path of the tattoo buried under her layers.

The memory of him holding her there the night before was a freight train barreling through her. “Ohh... this is why we agreed to not touch each other.”

“Yeah, about that... I lied.”

The leaf scoops dropped to the ground, and she interlaced her hands behind his neck. “Just for a minute, alright? Just give me a minute...” She kissed his cut lip, soft like she’d wanted to at breakfast. “Does this hurt?”

StoppIng this is what’s gonna hurt. He kissed her like when he was trying to get her out of his system. Only he knew better now, and he kissed her anyway, slow and certain.

She felt it like madness. “My hands were on my body this morning,” she murmured, “I pretended they were yours. In all the places you touched me. Haymitch... I came so fast.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m trying to control this. But...” I’ve wondered about it so long. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

In defiance of gravity, he pulled back from her. “Here’s what’s going to happen... We’ll collect the leaves, and we’ll figure out the rest later. Because if you say another word now about making yourself come, then I swear I’m going to lay you down right here—“

“And you’ll fuck me. ...Say it. Tell me you will.”

He could feel himself bending to her desires. It was unsettling, and erotic. “Yeah. I will. To hell with whoever’s watching! But it’s not just the guard. It’s probably Coin; it may be Snow; it could be anybody. I’ve already shown too much of my hand out here, and the clock is ticking.”

The reminder of Plutarch’s words and of the arena made her refocus. She caressed his neck as she let go.

They channeled the intensity into the work, meandering through the woods along animal trails. Scurrying sounds in the bushes made Effie’s heart race, but she avoided a heart attack like she evaded poison ivy.

“Scurrying things are mostly lizards, field mice, and foraging birds. The real threats are the things you DON’T hear coming.”

“WHY would you say that?! With all of the words you have to choose from in this situation, THAT is what you say to me!?!”

“I’m trying to ease your mind. Good ol’ Lex is up there watching from the ridge. We’re gonna be fine.”

They scooped and clipped foliage from a dozen trees. “Every leaf we collect must be freshly fallen or plucked from the branches. Nothing brown or decomposing is acceptable.”

“Nothing decomposing?! Who’s making these rules anyway?”

“I believe you called her ‘The High Priestess of Nature’.”

“What do you think is happening to leaves when the colors change? Poetry?”

“Maybe poetry. Why not?”

“This is a deciduous forest, sweetheart. These leaves are all dying. There’s nothing poetic about it. Death is a knife in somebody’s back or poison in her veins. And then nothing.”

“If that’s all it is, then why did you tell me to watch the leaves fall? And why did we feel so alive?”

He had no answer.

***

Returning to the fortress, Effie carried a sack across her back and the scoops in her hands. He slung the other full bags over his shoulders. Neither of them had much breath left to complain about their burdens, but they talked some.

“You’re stronger than you’ve let on.”

“I used to credit cycling classes at Capitol Spin. Now it’s endless staircase climbing in *the dungeon*.”

“What about the strength inside you? Where does that come from?”

“I... I don’t know. That’s not easy for me to feel.”

I feel it. “Thanks for getting me outside today.”

“Will you come to the dining hall this afternoon?”

“I’m all thumbs when it comes to making things like garlands. My parents’ craftiness skipped my generation.”

He seldom mentioned his family. There was so much pain there. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything. But if she pushed, he shut down. So she took in his comments whenever they came and tried to piece together a picture of the early life his Games destroyed. The more the images came together, the more protective she felt.

And the more she knew of anger.

She’d always folded anger up tightly and locked it in a box. The act was subconscious. Compartmentalization was happening less readily now, if for no other reason than the boxes she’d stuffed unwanted aspects of herself inside were getting full.

“You don’t have to make anything... I’d just like to see you there.” I’m anxious about facing people.

“After lunch I need to check on the kids, but I’ll try to stop by later.”

“I wish Peeta was recovered enough to participate.”

“He’s decorating in his own way.”

“Is he??”

The trail widened, and Haymitch walked alongside her. “It’s Plutarch’s big secret. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.” His smile was wide enough to show the gap between his teeth. “And that wouldn’t work because I want you alive.”

The wind rushed around them, and she thought again about how easy it would be to let it take her. “Keep those secrets for now. My world has suddenly become rather interesting. I think I’ll stay alive and find out what’s going to happen next.”

[javistg]

Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

  The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon. 

 Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose. 

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind. 

 The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line. 

 Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

 Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

 Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

 After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again. 

 Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her. 

 Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams. 

 The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away. 

 Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first. 

 The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt. 

 After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.  

 By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her. 

 After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes. 

 As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath. 

 The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind. 

 Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace. 

 Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full. 

 Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes. 

 Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

 Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth. 

 The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away. 

 Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time. 

 “You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements. 

 “Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

 Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. 

 He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust? 

 Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.  

 It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume. 

 She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

 “Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

 “Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

 Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

 A story? 

 The world outside was falling apart. 

 The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much. 

 Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.” 

 Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

 Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off. 

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth. 

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.  

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room. 

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate. 

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.  

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back. 

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room. 

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air. 

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers. 

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it. 

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door. 

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back. 

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her. 

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early. 

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up. 

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.  

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun. 

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs.��

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet. 

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week. 

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” 

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” 

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down. 

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work. 

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

 Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

 “How would you like to go for a swim?” 

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?” 

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. 

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared. 

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake. 

[ilguna]

OMG imagine if they pull a katniss and peeta but they actually do kill themselves and that’s what re-sparks the rebellion?? bc how would the capital feel about snow letting two soulmates die????!

OKAY BUT:

It’s only rosecelli and finnick left. They’re soulmates, it’s either one kills the other, they both die or they both live (furthering the rebellion because they’d both survive again).

Snow, having used both rosecelli and finnick’s bodies for prostituation, knowing that the Capitol citizens would go nuts for a second round with soulmates, genuinely considers letting them both live. Because how could it hurt, right?

However, rosecelli knows this, she’s clever. She already thought it through and new that volunteering for the games and winning would likely just put her right back to square one. Finnick, not so much.

Rosecelli killed katniss and peeta. She killed brutus and johanna. The only person left to kill is the one that matters the most. She stares down at him.

Finnick’s lips are curled, tears in his eyes as he watches her hand grip and regrip her sword. He knows that all she’d have to do is swing it and he’d be dead. There’s no question about it.

“You ruined it all.” He finally says, “We had a plan and you killed—“

“I know.” Her words are tired, the more he stares at her, the more he sees the bag beneath her eyes and how red they are, “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t want to go back. She’s changed her mind. She doesn’t want to go back home, because a month later she’ll find herself back, getting tattoos and being passed around like some sick disease, with no gaurantee of it going away. Of her living it down.

Finnick didn’t expect an apology, he expected a snarky comment. What are you waiting for? Don’t you want to win?

She raises her head, looking up at the branches of the trees overhead. If she doesn’t win, then that means Finnick will have it done to him instead. And even though she hates his guts, hates how he’s made her rethink something she desired so badly, she doesn’t want that to happen to him.

Just like how she doesn’t want to go back home alone. The blood will be on her hands. Another flower and coffin on her arms. Another symbol of loving someone and then losing them. Except, she’d never get a chance to love him.

She looks back to him. He has someone. She’s at home right now, delirious with fear and excitement, on the very edge of her seat. Watching and waiting like everyone back home. Will she kill him? Or will she let him kill her?

Finnick watches as she kicks his trident towards him.

“You’ve got a girlfriend. I don’t. It doesn’t matter if I go home. I’ll face the same thing I have for years.”

He understands. And then he realizes that he will too. Annie will be sad and disappointed with how often he will be gone. He doesn’t want that anymore. He just wants to life away from here.

“Who says there has to be a winner?” Finnick asks.

That didn’t take long for him to process.

The gamemakers are scrambling now. Originally going to send out mutts to kill one of them an hour early, they have to save them both. Just bring them home together on Plutarch’s order. He thinks that he’ll be able to revive it. A second round. A different face.

“I’ll go first.” Rosecelli says, reaching into her boot and pulling out a pocket knife, “Win or don’t, it’s not my problem.”

Finnick’s heart skips a beat, watching her turn her back. Two hands on the knife she brings it out, and then without hesitation, slams the blade through.

She stumbles, and falls. And Finnick is there to catch her. At the beginning of the games, he was sure he’d have to be the one to kill her. But she’s doing it for him.

He feels the tears gather in his eyes and he leans over her. He offers an open palm and she takes it, closing her eyes. She’s still alive, but it won’t be long. She’s bleeding all over the ground.

Finnick wonders how someone so mean, so terribly angry at the world can be so gentle at the same time. Holding his hand as she slowly dies in his arms.

He thought that he’d take the win willingly, but it’s not going to be like that.

I’m sorry, Annie, he thinks, I’m not going home.

Despite the outrage in the gamemakers center, a canon goes off. Now, they’re someone coming over the intercom, announcing his win. But it’s too late.

He hasn’t known this girl for long, spoken few words, none of them ever kind on her part. But once glance at the words in his arms, watching as they barely fade makes his heart wrench. He can’t stare at it for the rest of his life. Not with Annie by his side. She deserves better.

Finnick slides the knife out of his soulmate’s stomach, cradling the delicately carved knife in his hand.

I’m coming, he thinks.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, jroseley!

Today we wish @jroseley a Happy Birthday! We hope you’ve had a wonderful day so far, finished off with some wonderful cake! To keep your party going, the lovely @historywriter2007 has written a story just for you!

Happy Birthday @jroseley. I hope you like my take on singer Katniss.

Shallow

==============

Katniss looked out into the crowd, she was more nervous for this performance than the past six weeks. She’d made it to the top four in The Singing Games. The contest pitted one male and one female singer from each district against each other in the hopes of getting a record contract. Although it was voluntary to sign up she was only going it to try to make a better life for her sister. If she could she would’ve stayed hidden in their small district but this was her chance to make a change. Even though it wasn’t in the rules a lot of the people who made it to the top eight got contracts, but they couldn’t sign until they were done with the Victory Tour where they all performed in all the districts. She still remembered the tour a couple of years back when District 12 got their last winner, Peeta Mellark. That was when her sister gave her the idea to try.

She was the favorite to win, at least that’s what her escort, Effie, told her. Tonight would be make or break for her, but it wasn’t all in her control. It was duet night, the catch was you had no idea which of the former contestants, who were now mentors, you would be paired with. She’s seen current contestants go from the top spot to gone the next week off of a bad performance. She just had to hope the odds were in her favor and she was matched with someone that she could harmonize with and who wanted to help,  not hurt her chances.

She sat on the stage waiting for her song to start. Those at home were seeing both of the singers practicing on their own, only the mentor knew who they were with. Sometimes they’d hint at why they wanted to sing with the contestant, she’d see that later. Finally the host introduced her and the music started..

“Tell me somethin’ girl

Are you happy in this modern world?

Or do you need more?

Is there somethin' else you're searchin' for?”

After the first words she knew who it was, she spun around in disbelief. Peeta Mellark walked towards her as he sang the opening to Shallow.  His hair perfectly styled, blue eyes shining and body relaxed as he strummed his guitar. She couldn’t help but to wonder why he wanted to sing with her. If she won he would have competition for all the events in 12. She’d find out when they had to sing together if he was for her or against her.

Katniss looked at him just before she sang her part. He gave her a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushed through her. His eyes convey to her his intention. He wants to help her.

“Tell me something, boy

Aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?”

He faced her and nodded as the lines they sang together started. It was like they had a secret language, reading each other’s facial expressions. They sang together her in perfect harmony, leaving the judges speechless.

“In the shallow, shallow”

They rushed backstage where she pulled Peeta into his dressing room. “Why?”  Was all she could get out.

“Because you deserve it. You’re an amazing singer, the best I’ve ever seen. When you auditioned in the district I swear even the birds stopped to listen.” He took a step forward and took her hand. “And you deserve it. It will help you and Prim.”  

“But if I win you won’t be the only one in the district anymore.” Katniss reminded him.

“I’m fine with that. I guess in a way I hoped we could be allies, not enemies. We did sing well together.” Peeta answered.

Katniss looked into his eyes, he was telling her the truth. It was enough for her to jump into the deep end. “We did. Maybe we should start looking for more duets for the tour.”

[annikasafternoonread]

Oh, wow. I had absolutely forgotten this scene between Katniss and Gale, and it’s perhaps the most brutally honest and vulnerable they’ve been with each other. The most intimate, in multiple ways. 

Gale tells Katniss that he knows she’ll never get over Peeta if he stays this broken. Like how she kisses Gale when he’s in pain, she’d stay stuck on Peeta’s pain. She’d stay stuck on what might have been, wondering if it’s what she would have chosen. She’d stay stuck on her guilt for breaking him. She could never feel right with anyone else. 

And Katniss tell Gale that she never felt right being with Peeta either. That she was always thinking of Gale, worrying about what he’d think, comparing their times together and their comfort with each other, wondering what could have been in another world and another life. 

And it’s all true. And yet none of it matters, because they can’t change it. And yet for a moment, they want to forget, to lose themselves in a moment of imagining what could be different. 

But the thing is, even now, as she’s giving in, as she’s describing it -- it’s not romantic. It’s still empty, just heat and hurt. She doesn’t talk about kissing him because she loves him or because she wants him or anything to do with herself and her feelings and him. She kisses him because she’s lonely. Because she’s tired of hurting him. Because she wants to feel something, feel alive. Because she wants to forget, to let go of control.

Gale stops it. I’ll give him credit for that, at least, for recognizing that this isn’t really what they want and that she’s probably not in the best headspace for... a lot of things. For stopping before things went too far, even if he kind of wanted them to. For stepping back and giving her space and giving her an out, even if she doesn’t really want that. 

She needs time and space and healing. She needs friends and family and support and kindness. She may not want it, but it’s hard for her to want anything for herself. She still needs it. 

(also I still think she’s aro and/or ace af honeyyy it can not feel right for a LOT of reasons!!!)

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter.   Thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which you can read on AO3 and FanFiction. Chapter 27 The gates of Victor’s Village looms closer with every step.   I wish I could grab Marcus by the hand and run back into the woods.  To live in the concrete house by the lake, just the two of us, and live on wild greens, berries and katniss roots.   To make love long into the night, and then bring out our sleeping mats as we did last night, to lie beneath clear skies to watch for shooting stars.   Marcus would point out the constellations – big bear, little bear, lynx – and I’d say they look nothing like them, and then we’d take our sleeping mats back into the concrete house to sleep in each other’s arms until the morning light.  And we’d live it over, and over again, so I’d never have to face what lies beyond those gates. It’s not long to the wedding and I dread the thought of it, but I have to go.  If I don’t, there’ll be talk.  Flavius keeps me abreast of all the gossip. The relationship between Peeta and Lace isn’t popular, and this wedding is seen by many as the ultimate betrayal, so invested were people in our romance.  I don’t know if Peeta is aware of it; he seems to live in a fantasy world sometimes. But Lace surely would.   To protect him, I have to appear as if I’m fine with it.  And that means fronting up to the wedding, all smiles and best wishes for the happy couple.  But I’m far from confident that I can pull it off.   And there’s after.  Living across the road from them.  Knowing that Lace occupies his bed every night.  His happiness, her smugness.  The pain of interacting with him.  What are we now, anyway?  Not friends anymore, not really.  Acquaintances?  Fellow veterans?  And they intend having children too.  Five of them. It will likely be straight off, if Peeta has his way.  And when they’re old enough they’ll go to school.  The school I work at.  And be in my classroom.  I’ll never be free of them, even if I do move out of the Village.   Not only would I need to change houses.  I would need to change jobs.  Maybe even change Districts. As we pass through the gates, I can’t help but drag my feet.  Marcus turns his head to peer questioningly at my face.   I pick up my pace to catch up with him.  We’re nearly at my house. “I’m just tired,” I tell him.  “And hungry.” “You’re a woman of immense appetites, Katniss Everdeen,” he says, pulling me towards him to give me a quick, hard kiss.  “And whose fault is that?” I retort.  “If you weren’t so good at cooking and – “ “Fucking?” asks a disembodied voice.   A female shape emerges from the shadows of my porch. It’s Johanna.  She appears to have been waiting for us.   “You’re late,” she accuses.  “You said you’d be back around mid-afternoon.” I scowl at her.  I know what I said, but I don’t like her tone.  I’m not obliged to be back at a certain time to please her. Besides, what’s she even doing here? It’s not like I invited her over and wasn’t here when she arrived.   “We came back a different way.  It took longer,” I say curtly.  That’s all the explanation I want to give, but Marcus, perhaps to diffuse the tension, steps in to give Johanna a brief welcoming hug. “Katniss had something to show me.  Would you believe an oak with a circumference of over 23 feet?  At least three hundred years old.”   “That’s nothing,” says Johanna dismissively. “In 7 we have trees much bigger and older than that.” “Is there anything we can help you with?” I break in.  I’m not in the mood for a contest over which district has the biggest trees.   All I want is to offload this heavy pack, have a bite to eat and then go to bed.   “I need to speak with you.   That’s if you can spare the time,” she replies, her voice edged with sarcasm.  What is her problem?  She hasn’t been this hostile towards me since the Quell.   I turn to Marcus in exasperation.  He takes the hint and moves towards the door.  “Why don’t I see what I can scrounge up for supper? Will you be joining us, Jo?” I can see the struggle in her face.   This is food and Johanna will rarely pass on an invitation.  “No thanks,” she says, and I can see it’s hurting.  “I shouldn’t stay away for too long.” After Marcus closes the door behind him, I hoist my pack from my shoulders and drop it to the floor.  My feet are tired and I sit down on the top step, motioning for Johanna to do the same but she remains standing, arms crossed in front of her.   Before I can even open my mouth, she lets me have it. “Are you with Marcus now?” she demands. “None of –,” I begin, but then think better of it.  I don’t want to add fuel to whatever fire is bugging Johanna.  I start again.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.” And that’s the truth.  I’m not so naïve to believe that a weekend of sex makes us boyfriend and girlfriend.  Nothing’s been said about feelings, or our future. “But you’re fucking him?” Johanna persists.  It’s more a statement than a question. “We’ve had sex, if that’s any of your business,” I say stiffly. “Of course, it’s my business.  It became my business when you involved me in this whole sorry saga with Peeta.”  My irritation with her rises another notch.  It was her idea to get involved, not mine.   “Not that you shouldn’t fuck him,” she continues.  “Peeta’s had his fun, so why can’t you?  Heck, I’d even say fuck the entire district; you don’t owe him anything.   But it doesn’t help, you know.   Not when I’ve been working my arse off to get the two of you back together.  But today I really could have used your help.   With Peeta having flashbacks every five minutes and Haymitch next to useless.   Aurelius says it’s the stress but – “ “Wait!  Slow down.  I can’t make head or tail of what you’re on about.”  I shake my head in confusion.   “What stress? And why isn’t Lace taking care of him? It should be her responsibility, not yours.   I don’t –” “They broke up.” It takes a few seconds to sink in.  And when it does, all I can do is stare at Johanna thunderstruck.  “But why?” I eventually get out.  “Is it because she lied?” Johanna shrugs.  “I asked him that.  He said they both lied.”     She comes to sit down beside me on the porch step, having calmed down a little.  “When he came home last night, he didn’t seem too bad, just really flat, like he had nothing left.  But this morning, he started having those flashbacks he gets where he has to clutch the back of a chair or something.   I went to Haymitch for help but he chose last night, of all nights, to go on a bender. I couldn’t get one sensible word out of him.”   “Sometimes a jug of cold water thrown over him helps,” I say absently, still stunned over the news of Peeta and Lace’s breakup.  Despite myself, a kernel of hope takes root in my heart.  Could the breakup have been over me, even just a little bit?  But then just as quickly, I squash it down flat, stomp it back down into the earth, and bury it deep.  Fool!  When will you learn? My gaze settles on his house across the street, only a very short distance away, and I wish I could be there with him.   I feel bad that I wasn’t, but I know I wouldn’t have been wanted even if I had. He has enough to deal with without adding his current awkwardness with me to the mix.  How can you feel right accepting comfort for heartbreak, when the very person who’s doing the comforting is heartbroken over you?    I’m very grateful that Johanna is taking care of him, but I can’t help feeling jealous too. She gets to be the one to protect him, when it used to be me.   Johanna’s voice snaps me back to attention. “So, I got on the phone to Aurelius and told him what happened.  He said emotional stress exacerbates his condition and to increase his meds.  Which I did, but he still kept on having them. A couple of hours ago I slipped some sleep syrup into his tea, so he could get some rest, and he’s now sleeping it off.  I don’t want to be gone too long on the chance he wakes up.  Although I did give him a big dose.” If it was the same as I gave him in our first Games, he’ll be out until at least noon tomorrow.  “How did you get him to drink it?  He would have noticed the sweetness.  He doesn’t take sugar in his tea.”   “I think he wanted to be knocked out,” says Johanna.  “He was exhausted.” “Do you know who broke it off?” I ask. It seems to me that it must have been Lace since he’s taken it so hard.   “No.  I couldn’t get him to talk much.”  She lets out a breath and shakes her head.  “What a mess! The reception will have to be cancelled, though I doubt he’ll get his money back at such short notice.  And what he’s spent on clothes for himself and the wedding party.” That’s news to me.  Surely Peeta wasn’t paying to outfit the entire wedding party.  Who was to be in it, anyway?  And then it dawns on me.  Of course, friends and family of Lace.   “At least there’s one blessing, Lace’s relatives are still in 8 so he hadn’t yet paid for hotel rooms for them all.  He’d booked the best rooms for them too.”  Johanna rolls her eyes at this.   I narrow mine.  That bitch! And after I had warned her not to encourage Peeta’s extravagant spending on this wedding.   “Do you think he’ll be alright?” I ask.  “He’s already gone through so much.” “Yeah, I think so,” she answers.   “He’s had a lucky escape if you ask me, although it might take a while for him to see it that way.  That relationship always seemed off to me – like they were trying too hard.  I would have given it a year if they’d married.  Eighteen months, tops.” “Maybe,” I say uncommittedly.  I don’t know if I agree.  What I do know is that Peeta would have given it everything he had to make it work.  And if a mutual love of swimming pools and dining out at restaurants is a good foundation for a marriage, then they had it.  They both wanted kids too and that’s something I can’t promise him.  Peeta would be a wonderful father. If anyone is to be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta.   “So, is it serious between you and Marcus? Because you might have a shot with Peeta now,” says Johanna. “No!” I burst out, and Johanna’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the ferocity of my response.  “I don’t have any chance with Peeta, none at all, so you can give that game up right now.  He knows how I feel about him.  He guessed from something Haymitch told him and he’s been avoiding me since.  And I’m tired, Jo.  Tired of getting my hopes up and then having them dashed.  I’ve spent the past year trying to remind him what we were to each other, and failed.  But the simple truth is that, if he loved me, he wouldn’t have got with Lace in the first place. I’m not . . . I just don’t want to go there anymore.  I’ve had enough. ” “Wow! That was extreme,” Johanna says, shooting me an incredulous look.  “I thought the mission was to help Peeta find himself.  Which would also include regaining his attraction to you.  I assume then that you’ve given up?” “Not given up.  Faced reality.” I say.

“Humph!” snorts Johanna, unconvinced.  “Well, it’s your call but before I let it go for good, I want to tell you a theory I’ve been working on.  Just don’t say anything until I’ve finished.” “Alright, go ahead,” I say wearily, scrubbing at my forehead.  Johanna will do what she wants to anyway. “Well,” she starts, with the air of someone telling a story to a small child, “it involves this man – let’s call him Peeta – who had his mind shattered into a million pieces by an evil troll – we’ll call him Snow – and when his mind was put back together again, some of the pieces were in the wrong place.  And his love for his teenage crush – Katniss, we’ll call her – had gone AWOL and had been replaced with a conviction that she had never loved him, and never could.  And then along comes this other woman – known as Lace, although it’s not her real name – and even though she’s a giggling idiot, she knows how to pander to his ego - which is in the toilet, by the way - with lavish displays of admiration and affection.   “But then one day, he wakes up, and realizes that what he loved about Lace, was really his own needs reflected back at him. And also that she was a lying deceitful bitch.  At the same time, he’s come to realise that it’s Katniss he really loves, but he thinks that not only has he ruined any chance he might have had with her by being with Lace, she’s now with another man, who not only likes the things she likes, but has two legs, no burn scars and isn’t a mental mess.  So, to be fair to Lace, he breaks it off with her, and to be fair to Katniss, he leaves her alone to live her life.  But then, the whole situation becomes too much for him and it brings on flashbacks, one after another, in rapid succession.  It’s fortunate that a loyal, resourceful, amazingly intelligent friend is there to give aid.  She then tries to talk sense into Katniss, which, as usual, is a waste of time.  But she tries anyway, hopeful that one day, something might get through to that brainless head of hers.” “That last part was completely unnecessary,” I say.  There’s no gain in rising to Johanna’s barbs, any more than there is to Max’s teasing. They really are alike.  Maybe that’s why they fight.   As for her theory, it does have some plausibility, but it’s still mostly wild speculation. “Is there something you know that I don’t?” I ask.  “Or did you make that up?” Johanna shrugs.  “I made it up.  But you have to admit it makes sense.” I roll my eyes at her.  “For you, maybe.” We sit in silence for a few moments until Johanna slaps her thighs and gets to her feet.   “I should get going now, just in case.  I don’t want him waking up to an empty house.  Oh, and Katniss, if you’re going to fuck Marcus, you should do something about birth control.  Sex has consequences, you know.” “Yes, I do know that.  My mother is a healer, if you recall.  I know how to take care of myself.”  What I don’t tell her is that in 13, all female military recruits were given five-year contraceptive implants before they were sent into action.  Johanna wouldn’t know this because she failed the final test having succumbed to her phobia of water, a consequence of her torture in the Capitol. Something I’m sure Johanna wouldn’t like to be reminded of.   Before she leaves, she says, “I’ll keep you posted, and I think you should visit once things settle down a bit.  He needs to know he’s not alone.” I nod because it’s easier than arguing.   I’m pretty sure that Peeta won’t want to see me.  It might even bring on another flashback.   I watch Johanna walk over to Peeta’s house and close the door behind her.  And then I open the door of my own house to where Marcus is waiting.  He’s set out a platter of cheeses, pickles, carrot sticks, crackers and fruit.  And some kind of spread that he made from a can of chickpeas he found in the pantry. There’s also a plate of Peeta’s cookies and a pot of tea.   “Peeta again?” asks Marcus.  He pours out two mugs of tea and sets one in front of me. “How did you guess?”  I hope we weren’t speaking so loudly that it could heard from inside the house.  The dining table is not far from a window. My face reddens at the thought, especially since there was talk about Marcus and fucking.   “Because whenever you and Johanna have one of your private talks out there on the porch, it’s about him.  I hope everything’s alright.” He makes a plate of food for himself while he’s speaking, his expression unreadable.  I get the impression that he’s well and truly over Peeta Mellark.   I come straight out with it.  Word is going to get out anyway.   “Peeta and Lace have split up. The wedding’s off. Peeta is . . .” I pause here.  I don’t want to give too much of Peeta’s mental state away.  People, Marcus included, already think he’s unstable.  “Peeta’s very upset about it,” I end up saying. His hands still for a moment, poised as he cuts a slice of cheese to add to his plate.   “That’s . . . unfortunate.  I suppose it had something to do with the incident at the pub last week?” “I’m not sure.  Probably.”  I don’t really know, but Johanna said something about both of them lying, so I think it’s safe to assume.  “Johanna wasn’t very clear about it.” I take a cracker from the platter and nibble on it.  My appetite seems to have dried up for some inexplicable reason.   Something is wrong, and I don’t know what it is.  The air almost crackles with it.   “How do you feel about it?” he asks, eyes intent on mine. I don’t answer immediately, unsure of the motive behind his question.  Is he asking my opinion on the break-up – whether I think it was good thing, or a bad thing?  Or is he asking how it’s affected me emotionally?  I decide the first option is the safer of the two.

“It’s sad.  They seemed very compatible.  But I guess if you don’t have trust in a marriage, then it’s unlikely to work in the long run, so perhaps it’s for the best.”  I shrug my shoulders slightly to simulate indifference and sip my tea. “It’s hard for me to comment exactly, without knowing the details,” I add. “The devil’s in the details,” he says, almost distractedly. “But you’re right about trust.  No relationship can be successful without it.”   And then he returns to his food, and nothing more is said about it.  But something’s not quite right.  The only thing I can attribute it to is the news of Peeta and Lace’s cancelled wedding. Perhaps he thinks our relationship is at risk now, when nothing could be further from the truth.  There’s no chance that Peeta and I will get back together. Lace out of the picture won’t change that.   Later that night, after a quick shower, I pull from my closet a filmy negligee the colour of apricots.  It was part of the wardrobe Cinna designed for my wedding to Peeta.   I never got the chance to wear it, nor the matching nightgown, so light that it’s almost transparent.  I trail the gauzy fabric through my fingers, noting how fragile it is.  It would be so easy to rip from neckline to hem, that it makes me wonder if that’s its intended purpose.  My mind can’t help but imagine how Peeta would have reacted to seeing me in it.  Or how he would react if I showed up at his house right now, with only this sheer, flimsy garment to cover my naked body.  Probably it would send him into a flashback that he’d never come back from. I take a critical look at myself in the full-length mirror.  The soft orange complements my olive skin and my hair, freed from its braid, ripples down my back in silky waves.  My body is slender and small breasted, but still feminine, the waist curved and the hips rounded.  My nipples stand out in hard peaks against the gossamer thin fabric and the dark triangle of my pubic hair is clearly visible.  I turn my back to peer over my shoulder.  My best asset, my “derriere”, as Effie would call it, is high and round.  The burn scars, most prevalent on my back, are barely noticeable now, thanks to the skin treatments, except for a few spots where the skin looks slightly melted.   Not too bad, Everdeen.  Not too bad at all.   My feet are silent on the carpeted floor to the guest room.  I rap lightly on the door and he tells me to come in.    He’s toweling himself dry but he stops the instant he lays eyes on me.  And when the towel drops to the floor, forgotten, I see that I’ve achieved the exact response I was hoping for. The love-making this night is wild and uninhibited.  It dawns on me that Marcus had been holding back, perhaps in deference to my virgin status, but now that’s abandoned.  My theory about the nightgown proves correct.  Marcus rips it right down the middle and then slips it off my shoulders in one movement, taking the robe with it.    I didn’t know that humans could make love like animals, with the male thrusting from behind. I’d always assumed it was face to face like the illustration in the tattered text book we were provided with in the meagre sex education classes at school.  But I love it, so animalistic and exciting, the way he pounds into me, his hands holding my hips firmly in place.  The way I can’t help but arch my back to welcome him in with every thrust.   But after our passion is spent, my thoughts return again to Peeta.  How he’s feeling, how helpless I am to help.    I try hard to recreate the magic of the concrete house by the lake, where I could lie in Marcus’s arms, warm and snug and drift into a dreamless sleep.  Because I know instinctively, that the nightmares will return tonight, as bad as ever.  If only Peeta had never come back to 12.  He would have got the treatment he still desperately needed if he had stayed in the Capitol.  He wouldn’t have met Lace, and she him.  And as for me, I was resigned to the fact that I had lost him and I know now that I would have recovered from my depression eventually.   His return simply sparked a false hope that I’ve been battling ever since. So here I lie, in the arms of a man who is as close to perfect as you can get, and my head is full of Peeta Mellark.