#while peeta is still kind of adjusting to the new person he is and coming to terms with what he's done in that process

[diddlesnap]

I think there were some serious growing pains when katniss and peeta were starting to "grow close" again.

[everlarkficexchange]

The Hope that gave me hope

Written by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt 156 - Toastbaby’s perspective from the womb throughout pregnancy. Bonus points from post-birth moments. [submitted by @lovely-to the-bone/ @peetamewllark​ ]

Thank you @lovely-tothe-bone for this amazing prompt!

Word Count: 5137

Rated: K-T

Unbeta’d, edited by me

SPOILER ALERT: Anyone reading my stories, “Changing the Game” or “Another Way Out” this story DOES contain spoilers for events yet to come.

Okay, so I tweaked this prompt just a little… Instead of post MJ, this story will coincide with my Hunger Games rewrite (Changing the Game, Another Way Out, and TBA) Toastbaby’s perspective from inside the womb as Katniss goes through the arena and her time in 13.  I hope you guys like it and if you are interested in some of the things “Little One” hears/experiences, then you should check out my stories.  You can find them on A03 and FFN.

***I tried to stay true to the facts of a fetus growing (what they are doing and when) in utero, but some things may have been adjusted***

Also, as I was writing this story, a memory resurfaced from when my kids were little, and I would take them to Temple on Friday nights for Tot Shabbat.  Before I give you my story, here is a little background on Leilah, the Angel of Conception.

You know that little indentation above your lips, and (under your nose? Okay, well, keep that in mind) So, the story goes that the Angel Leilah chooses which souls inhabit which seeds and accompanies them in the womb, teaching them all the knowledge of the Torah (Hebrew Bible, ((I think)).  So, while the “baby” is in the womb, it has all the knowledge and answers in the world and when you are born, your lungs fill with air, which results in crying and Leilah tells the baby to “Ssshhh” and presses her finger to their lips, which is what causes that little indentation and thus, wiping their memory…and they have to learn everything all over again.  (At least that’s how I think it goes) Anyway, I really wanted to incorporate that story into this one, so here goes.

The Hope that gave me hope

“Listen closely child, your next journey will not be an easy one.  The world has taken a turn for the worst; war and famine has devastated much of what remains, ruled by a callous tyrant.  However, you will be conceived to a pair of great importance.  Together, they will change the world for the better, but not before enduring many hardships.  There will be pain, heartache, and deep suffering, but the end result will be well worth the struggle.”

Little One, squirmed in place as the Creator described her next assignment.

“A-are you certain they are the right ones for me?” Little One asked the Creator uncertainly, although she knew the answer.

“I am certain, Child,” his voice boomed, “Do you doubt me?  Have I ever led you astray?”

“No Sir,” Little One faltered.

“Have faith, Child,” the Creator continued, his voice much softer.  “Now go on.  Off you go.”

“But … I am frightened Sir,” Little One stumbled, shrinking back with her fear.

“What is there to be frightened of, my Child?”

“I do not enjoy the solitude, perhaps you could accompany me on my journey?”

The Creator laughed at Little One, his voice rattling the ground, “You will not be alone Child, Leilah will be with you the entire way.  She will not leave your side in the womb, not for a single moment.  She will spend her time teaching you all the knowledge of the world—”

“So that I may share it with my … what are they called again— parents?”

The Creator shook the earth again with his laughter, “Yes, they are called parents.  And no, you may not share it with them.  Leilah will be waiting for you on the outside just before your entrance into the world and the moment your lungs fill with air, your consciousness of her given knowledge will be erased.  You must rely on your parents for wisdom and guidance.”

“But Sir— what is the point?” Little One asked, her face contorting into a confused expression.

“No more questions, Little One, it is time for you to descend.  Time is of the essence; Leilah has chosen the perfect … ah … specimen for you to inhabit, but like I said, time is of the essence.”

“I have one more question Sir, if I may.”

“Yes Child?”

“What will be the names of my … parents?” Little One asked.

The Creator chuckled at her question, “Katniss and Peeta,” he said, patting her on the head just before he sent her on her way.

Gestation Period: Weeks 1-4

‘It’s dark.  But I’m warm.  I’m comfortable.  I think I like it in here.’  Little One thought to herself as she burrowed herself deep inside her mother’s womb, her cells multiplying at the perfect rate.

Gestation Period: Week 6-8

Although her ears are not developed just yet and she cannot hear a thing, Little One can sense that her mother is distraught and plagued with sadness.  ‘Why are you sad, Mother?’  Little One pondered.

“It is okay Little One, your mother is just frightened.  She and your father just became aware of your existence and face many challenges ahead,” Leilah’s voice bounced against the walls of Little One’s new home.

‘Oh,’ Little One thought to herself. ‘Do … do they not want me; will I make it to my day of birth?’ Little One communicated, fearful of Leilah’s answer.  Little One knew that sometimes certain essences were not compatible with certain pairings and their journeys came to an end before it even had the chance to begin. Little One hoped this was not the case for herself.

“No dear, it is not that.  They are frightened because the world they live in is a harsh and cruel world.  They never desired to have children of their own— they did not wish their circumstances onto another.  But Little One, they already love you dearly, so do not fret.  Everything will work out as it was meant to.”  Leilah soothed Little One and began her teachings of the world.

Gestation Period: Week 12-16

‘What was that?’ Little One interrupted Leilah during a particularly boring story.

“Do not be frightened Little One, you are just sensing the vibration of excitement surrounding your mother.“

‘What are they excited about— is their excitement geared toward me?  And … and why do I sense discomfort in Mother?’ Little One was enigmatically in tune with her mother’s feelings and emotions, even from this early in her life.

“That is not for you to worry yourself over.  Soon, within the next few weeks your ears will become more developed, and you will be able to hear so much more.”

‘But … how do I hear you if I cannot hear?’ Little One asked, plagued with confusion.

Little One continued to ask question after question, so curious she was.  And the kind, patient Angel that Leilah was did her best to answer them all— to the best of her ability.

‘Why do I bounce up and down?’ Little One asked several days later.

“Those are called hiccups,” Leilah informed her.

‘Well, I do not like them,’ Little One retorted with a scowl.  Though she did not know it, it very much resembled her mother’s signature expression.

Leilah chuckled, “No, not many people do.”  Leilah smirked and continued her teachings of the world with Little One as she tried to mask her concern over the voices she heard.

“Oh, Katniss darling; we have missed you so much!” Someone on the outside crooned.  Leilah feared the worst from the shrill voices shrieking on the outside.  Those voices only meant one thing; Katniss, and most likely Peeta had returned to the Capitol, which meant they were headed back into the Games.  It was just as the Creator predicted and she worried for Little One’s life.

“Oh Katniss, Peeta, we’re so-so, sorry!” The voices on the outside hiccupped as they sobbed.

“It’s a … you’re a … a bird, it’s a—” a loud voice boomed, which caused Little One to bounce from side to side.

“A mockingjay,” Leilah heard Katniss confirm to the loud voice.

‘What is a mockingjay?’ Little one piped up from her slumber.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks

“Hey there little nut—”

‘EEK!’ Little One internally gasped.  ‘What was that, OH! I am frightened!’ Little One called out in fear.

“Do not be alarmed Little One, it’s just your ears that are working.  It is your father’s voice that you hear.  Listen … he is speaking to you.” Leilah spoke softly, encouraging Little One to listen.

Little One sat as still as she could and listened intently as the deep melodic voice of her father reverberated off the walls of her perfect home.

“I’m going to call you Little Nut since we don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, I hope that’s okay.  This is your father; my name is Peeta.”

‘Peeta,’ Little One tried the name in her head and smiled, deciding that she liked the way it sounded. ‘Yes, it is okay for you to call me “Little Nut”,’ Little One longed to tell her father.  She extended her arm up and waved her hand, wishing her father could see her new trick.

“Listen Nut, I’m not sure how we’re going to make it out of the arena, but I am going to do everything in my power to get you and your mom out of there.  I … I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet you, but I just want you to know that … somehow, I WILL keep the two of you safe.  And … I just want you to know how much I love you and that you are so loved.  But don’t you worry, you will have so many people to love you and take care of you and … I just don’t want you to ever doubt my love for you.  You will have your mommy, and yes, she is scared right now, but she will be the best mommy you could ever ask for; ever hope for.  She is the strongest, bravest person I know, and she will teach you so much.  When you get bigger, she’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, and … and if you ever do something that upsets her, just bring her some cheese buns.  Your Grandpa Bing can teach you how to make them, or your Uncle Rye.  Cheese buns are her favorite; she won’t be able to stay mad at you for long if you bring her cheese buns.  Oh!  In case you were wondering, Bing is my dad, and Rye is my brother.”

‘Cheese buns, gee, I hope I will remember that.’ Little One knew she wouldn’t, but she continued to sit in silence, soaking up her father’s every word and finding solace in his soothing voice.

“Then there is your Aunt Prim.  That’s your mom’s sister.  Oh, she’s going to fall in love with you the moment she sees you.  Well, actually, she is probably already in love with you.  She is probably really mad at me though.  Well, me and your mom.  You see, I did something.  When we went on stage for our interviews with Caesar, I um … I told the world about you.  I hadn’t planned on doing it; it kind of just … came out.  So, everyone back at home is probably a little shocked right now, and they probably aren’t sure if I was telling the truth.  But your Aunt Prim, and your Grandma Lilly, they are healers, and I am almost certain that after my shocking announcement they’re putting the pieces together and they know you’re real.”

‘What is Father talking about?  I am so confused.  What is ‘interview’ and ‘Caesar’ and ‘arena’?  I just like the sound of Father’s voice, so I don’t really care right now. Please Father, please talk some more,’ Little One wanted to tell him.

“Oh, Little Nut, I don’t want to leave you, I really don’t.  I want to watch you grow, I want to meet you and know you.  It hurts so much thinking I will never get the chance to be your dad.  I want nothing more in this screwed up world than to hold you, hug you and kiss you— to rock you.  And … and when you get older, I would teach you how to paint—”

‘Yes, I think I would like that, too.’ Little One agreed with Peeta.

“But … things aren’t looking so good for me, so … I don’t even know if you can hear me, but, oh, I … I just love you so much, okay?”

Little One heard sniffles and she recalled her lesson with Leilah on emotions and crying.

‘Please Father, do not be sad.  We will see each other soon, I promise,’ Little One so badly wanted to comfort her father.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks and 4 Days

‘Why do I find comfort in this?’ Little One asked Leilah as she placed her thumb into her mouth and began sucking.

“It has to do—” Leilah was interrupted by Peeta’s voice once again as he spoke to his daughter.

“Hello again Little Nut, it’s me, your dad.”

‘T-that’s my father!’ Little One began bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I just … I just wanted to tell you I love you just in case this is the end.  You stay in there and you stay strong for your mama.  I hope … I hope I will get the chance to meet you, but if not, just know how much I love you Little Nut, okay?”

Little One felt something pressing against her, causing her to shift to the other side of the cozy womb.  Then, she heard her father’s voice once more, but this time it was further away, “I’ll see you at midnight.  Everything will go as planned, just like we talked about, okay?”

“Okay,” although her mother’s firm voice resonated strength, from deep inside her body, Little One could feel the trembling in her voice, which was undoubtedly filled with fear.  ‘Mother does not believe his words?’ Little One intuited.

‘Father’s voice is gone, and I so want him to speak to me again; I really like his voice.’ Little One whined.

Leilah knew what was happening on the outside and she didn’t want Little One to worry.

“Pay attention to me, Little One, do not concern yourself with the outside noises.  It is time for our next lesson.” Leilah said, hoping to distract Little One from the fight going on outside.

Outside, Katniss and Johanna were running, stringing Beetee’s wire from the lightning tree to the beach, and then Johanna blindsided Katniss, knocking her out with a giant log— all to cut her tracker out.

‘I do not feel so good, I wish to take a nap,’ Little One said as a result of Katniss losing so much blood.  Leilah sang Little One a song that offered comfort and nestled the growing baby in her heart while she pleaded with the Creator to watch over them all.

For a long time, there was silence and Little One wondered what was happening.  Sometimes she could hear voices from far away and she longed to know who they were.  Who they were to her, to her mother— her father?  Are they the family her father spoke so fondly of?

And then finally, one day out of the blue she finally heard her mother’s croaky voice echo off the walls of her warm home as Little One waved a hand in front of her face.  Though she could not see it anymore because her eyelids had become fused shut, she still knew that she was doing it.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks

“Peeta!  Where’s Peeta?  And … what about the baby?” Little One startled from a deep slumber to hear her mother shrieking, her voice tremulous with panic.

“My apologies Miss Everdeen, the fetus was unable to withstand the blast when the arena exploded.  You had a miscarriage,” an icy voice commanded the room, which resulted in Little One bobbing up and down as her mother started shaking.  Little One could hear her mother’s heart accelerating and her breathing quickening.

‘Wait, what?  No, no … do not believe them, Mother, I am still here!’ Little One tried to reach her mother— to no avail, who was crying so hard.

“No, no, no.  No, you’re wrong.  I— I would feel it if she— if the baby were gone.  Just like with Peeta, I would feel it, and I still feel her—” her mother tried to reason with the people surrounding her.

“I’m sorry Miss Everdeen—” The icy voice said, though she did not sound apologetic at all.

There was a loud bang, and then stillness.

‘I do not understand, why are they denying my existence?  I am still here, right?’ Little One reached out to Leilah for confirmation.  She was not ready for her journey to be at its end.

“Yes darling, you are still very much alive.  They are confused, that’s all.” Leilah assured Little One, though, she knew the truth.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks and 2 Days

“Katniss, if you have any intentions on keeping your baby alive, you need to stay calm and do exactly as I say,” a soft voice, not the icy one spoke to Little One’s mother.

“W-what?”

“If you can keep a secret, so can I, but I need you to stay calm,” and then Little One heard the nice voice saying words like pressure and elevation, but all she cared about was that her mother knew she was still alive and safely inside her.  Little One was counting on her to keep them okay.

‘I do not understand, why would that voice lie to my mother?  Why would she tell her I am no longer, when I AM?’ Little One pleaded to Leilah, overcome with confusion.

“People lie my dear.  Sometimes it is to shield others from pain, but oftentimes it is for vindictive reasons— for their own selfish gain.  But do not worry yourself over this matter, we have much to cover before our time is up.”

Gestation Period: 23-26 Weeks

The next few weeks, or perhaps it’s months, it’s difficult for Little One to tell time from inside her mother, but somehow— she can feel her father’s presence, yet she does not hear his voice.

‘Where did Father go?’

“He is away for now, but do not fret Little One, he will return very soon.” Leilah assured her and began to distract her with more of life’s lessons.  For days and days, weeks even, Leilah filled their time with the teachings of the world.  Leilah knew what was going on in the ‘outside’ and she did her best to keep Little One’s mind occupied.

“That THING isn’t Peeta,” Little One heard her mother shout over and over.  And then she heard many words she did not recognize, words Leilah had never explained to her.  Hijacking, enemy, snow, weapon.

“Don’t you worry Little Nut; we’ll bring Daddy home soon.  He’s finally awake, and him and your Grandma Effie are coming home soon; well, if you can actually call this place home,” Little One was reassured by her mother’s promise— her heart accelerated at the mention of her father’s return and she stretched her leg out in excitement.

“Unh!” Katniss exclaimed, “was that you, Little Nut?” Katniss asked Little One when she felt the fluttering in her abdomen.

Little One repeated this action in response to her mother’s racing heart.

“That’s right, baby.  We’ll get daddy back really soon, I promise.  That- that thing they brought back from the Capitol is NOT daddy— I don’t care what they say.  Peeta— your dad would never hurt me, no matter what.  We’re going to rescue him— him and Effie, and they’re going to do it soon, or … or I won’t be their stupid mockingjay.”

After that conversation, Katniss spoke to Little One often, filling her in and sharing many details about the world outside.  Little One would always try to stretch an arm or a leg to tell her mother she was listening.  That she believed in her.  That she trusted her.

Gestation Period: 26 Weeks and 5 Days

“K-Katniss?” Little One’s head twitched to the side when she heard the familiar voice.

‘Is … is that—’ Little One stuttered in excitement, yet she didn’t want to get her hopes up.  It had been SO long since she last heard her father’s voice.  Granted, this voice was croaky and sounded almost nothing like him, but something deep inside her knew it was him.

“Yes, Little One, it is your father.  He has finally returned.” Leilah answered her.

Little One thought that having her father back within arm’s reach would have given her mother some relief from all the tears she succumbed to each night, but instead, she cried even more.

‘Why is Mother still so sad?’ Little One asked Leilah during another particularly boring lesson.

Leilah didn’t want to burden the child with all the pain going on outside, so she just said, “Your father is just going through some adjustments.  Do not worry, they will find their way back to each other, it will just take some time.”

Gestation Period: 27 Weeks

‘W-what was that?’ Little One asked when she heard a new sound echoing off the walls of her perfect home.

“That is your mother.  She is singing to you.” Leilah informed Little One.

‘I … I like it … it’s beautiful,’ Little One crooned, swaying to the sound of her mother’s voice.

Little One tried to stretch her leg out to reassure her mother she was here for her, but it seemed her perfect home had shrunk.  Anxiety consumed her as she wondered what would happen when she no longer fit.

“Do you remember our discussion entailing your day of birth?” Leilah hummed to Little One.  “When this home no longer suits your needs, you will be welcomed into the world.  That is when your true life shall begin.  It will be cold, bright and scary, but your parents will love, nurture, and soothe you.  They will be your new home— they will provide you with all that you need to sustain your life.  Though, it is not safe for you to enter that world until you have used up every single big of space in this home.  Do you understand?”

‘Y-yes,’ Little One apprehensively answered Leilah, recalling a lesson from some time before.  She wasn’t sure if she was going to like this ‘New Home.’  The one that she was currently in was perfect and she loved it in here.  Why did that have to change?  Why did she have to keep growing?  What if she just … stopped.  Could she choose to stay in this perfect, warm, and cozy home forever?

“Stop thinking so hard, and you know the answer to that.” Leilah interrupted Little One’s thoughts.  “Everything grows, just as everything dies.  It is the circle of life.  One day, it will be you who grows a person inside of your body and then you will understand.”

Little One giggled and thought, ‘That’s so silly!’

Gestation Period: 29 Weeks

‘Leilah,’ Little One began; it was the first time she had ever addressed Angel Leilah by her name, and it made her squirm uncomfortably.

“Yes, dear?”

‘What is the point?  Why do you teach me all the knowledge of the world before I am born, only to distinguish it from my mind at birth?  It just … it seems … pointless.’

“Yes, I can see how you would see it that way, but I promise you, my child, there is a reason.  There is a reason for everything.  Do you remember our lesson about the tangible things in the world, like ‘paper’ and ‘pencils’, and things like ‘writing’?”

‘Yes, I think so.’

“If you write your feelings down on a piece of paper and then erase it, so that it is no longer visible to the naked eye, does that mean it is gone forever?  My child, the knowledge will always be within you, and as certain things in your life come to pass, you will get a glimmer of a feeling … as if a moment is familiar.  That is how you will know the path you are on is the right path for you at that time.  Just because I erase the memories of all your knowledge, that does not mean it is gone forever.”

‘Okay,’ Little One listened intently and agreed.

Gestation Period: 32 Weeks

As her time in the womb was growing shorter and shorter, Little One grew more nervous and anxious with each day that passed.  She could still hear voices on the outside, but the rumbling and gurgling coming from inside her mother drowned most everything out.  The space in her home was getting tighter and tighter— she could barely move at this point.  The walls around her home kept squeezing her for a moment, but they would relax almost immediately.

‘I’m not sure that I like that,’ Little One frowned.

“It is just your mother’s body practicing for your birth.  It is natural.  Now, we must focus, it is almost time.”

The squeezing got worse.  Instead of squeezing her for a few seconds here and there, it lasted for minutes and minutes.  Not only did the squeezing last longer, but it became harder and tighter.

Gestation Period: 35 Weeks and 6 days

“My dear child, it is time.” Leilah announced one night.

‘But … NO!’ Little One cried.  ‘I … I still have room, it- it can’t be time yet, I’m not ready!’

“No one is ever ready for change, but I fear our time is up.  It is indeed early, quite early actually, but it will all work out as it was meant to, just as I told you many months ago.”

Little One was frightened, because her entry into the world was not happening in the exact way Leilah had described.  Instead of being squeezed down by the walls of her home, where she would be pushed down, down, and eventually squeeze through a narrow canal to enter the world, a slit of light was breaking through the walls of her home.

‘What is happening, I am scared!’

“I will meet you on the other side, sweet girl, and all will be well.” Leilah assured Little One.

The slit grew bigger and bigger and creatures that looked too foreign to be human— they had bland, grey suits on, and masks over their faces, pulled Little One out.  They stuck something up each of her nostrils and then inside of her mouth, which made Little One gasp for air.

Little One opened her eyes and for the first time, she saw Leilah.  She was beautiful and glowing— radiating a brilliant light.

“Shhh,” Leilah comforted her, pressing her finger to Little One’s lips to calm her— and then she was gone.

Little One’s lungs filled with air and she cried.  She cried and she wailed.  She shrieked and she shrilled.  She wanted to tell these strange creatures, ‘Put me back!’

She was so scared, there were so many people, none that she recognized … until him.  She didn’t recognize him, but his voice; it was her father.  Peeta.  He walked over to where she was lying and looked down at her.  The moment she met his sparkling blue eyes— she knew she was home.

Little One gasped and paused her shrill crying to stare at the  man looking down at her.

“Hello Hope, I’m your daddy,” the beautiful, familiar-feeling, blue-eyed man spoke to Little One with tears in his eyes.  “Dylan Hope Mellark— that’s your name, beautiful girl.  Dylan was your grandpa’s name— your mommy’s daddy, but we both agreed it could work whether you were a boy or a girl.  But I think we’re just going to call you Hope.  Because that’s what you are to all of us.  Welcome to the world, Hope.”

Everything was scary for Hope.  Everything was bright, cold, and unfamiliar.  There were giant creatures poking, prodding, and tossing her around.  She was afraid they would drop her.

’Where did the man go?  The “Daddy,” I want to see him again.' Hope thought to herself as she cried and cried.  Nothing was familiar and she didn’t like it.  She wanted to go back inside her perfect home where it was dark and warm— and snug.  And … and there was someone in there with her, but who was it?  She couldn’t remember.  But she did know that she didn’t like all the lights, the giant creatures and all the strange noises.

“Katniss, Katniss sweetie, wake up.  They’re bringing her back.” Hope was feeling a little better now, someone had swaddled her in warm blankets, and she almost felt like she was back inside her perfect home.  She wiggled, turning her head in the direction of the familiar voice— the one she recognized from earlier.  It was the man.  The daddy.  Someone picked her up and she felt as if she was flying in the air.  She was frightened for a moment until she realized they were giving her to the daddy.

When the daddy held her in his arms, Hope did not question if he would drop her— unlike the others, he held her gently and she felt safe.  When she opened her eyes, everything was fuzzy.  Even still, she could make out the blue of his eyes and wondered if her eyes looked like his.  She hoped so.

“Do you want to hold her?” The daddy asked.

“I-is she okay?” A softer— timid voice asked and Hope immediately recognized it as the voice— although clearer, without the whooshing and gurgling sounds from her previous home— but it was, without a doubt, the same voice she heard from deep inside her perfect home.

“She’s perfect,” the daddy beamed, his eyes sparkling with tears.  The daddy gently passed Hope to the woman, and Hope prepared herself to feel that feeling again— that flying-in-the air— afraid-to-fall, feeling, but it did not happen.  The daddy slowly and gently placed Hope in the woman’s arms and scooted into the bed next to her.  Hope squirmed and gasped, filling her lungs with air as she prepared to cry— not wanting the daddy to let her go, but then she froze when a familiar scent wafted up her nostrils.

‘Hey, I know that smell!’ Hope thought, excited from the familiarity and opened her eyes again to meet the blurry face of the owner of her perfect home.  But— like with the daddy— the moment the mommy cradled her in her arms, Hope knew she was safe in her new home.

“Hello, my beautiful girl, I’m your mama.  It’s nice to finally meet you,” the woman— “Mama” said to Hope, her chin quivering and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” the mama turned her head to the daddy.  The daddy leaned over and stroked Hope’s cheek with his finger.  Hope liked the way his finger felt, and she relaxed a little more.

“Yes she is— just like her mother,” the daddy gleamed with pride, staring in awe at Hope.

“I can’t believe we made this beautiful girl,” the mommy said to the daddy with more tears in her eyes.

The daddy snuggled closer to the mommy, wrapping his arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, but not before kissing the mommy’s cheek.  “I love you Katniss.”

Hope let out a little wail and squirmed from side to side.

“Hey, hey,” the daddy said in a soft voice, “Of course, I love you too, my sweet girl.  The Hope that gave me hope.”

The mommy lifted Hope up, so that her head rested against the mommy’s chest.  Hope could feel a soft pounding against her cheek— and it was familiar.  So familiar.

Swaddled in her warm blankets, nestled safely in her mother’s arms and her father just inches away, Hope got a glimmer of a feeling— that she was exactly where she was meant to be.  In that instant she knew, that burrowed cozily between the mama and the daddy— she was home.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The World is Better Now

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Words: 2503

Summary: Nearly a year since the fall of the Capitol, the reader and Peeta have lived happily together in peace. They have helped each other through the darkest nights and the worst nightmares. Now, the reader feels a new kind of fear. 

Notes: I rewatched the Hunger games series and I forgot how adorable Peeta is. So here goes nothing. As always, let me know what you think! (So this is an AU where the reader was in the Quarter Quell, just in case anyone was confused. Katniss is just a friend in this one.)

-

You thought you knew what life was like. You thought that you would die in the Games and be just another fallen Tribute. When you won, you thought you were safe. When President Snow announced that the Quarter Quell would select from a pool of Victors, your hope for a better life was gone. But then he happened. Even after everything he had been through, he still had this light. A light that you thought you had lost forever. Somehow, he brought it back. So yeah, you thought you knew what life was like. But this was so much more than that. 

“Y/N!” Peeta called from your little house on the hill as you seemingly searched the meadow for something. His voice was like a distant murmur. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you could feel it. Before you could think too much on it, you felt arms wrap around your middle and a puff of breath against your neck, blowing through the few strands of hair that had fallen from the hairpins you had put in that morning. You couldn’t help but jump, flinching away from the sudden contact. You turned to see your husband, clearly trying to hide the hurt in this eyes. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling the shame turn your face slightly pink. Now he felt bad. You hated it when you made him feel guilty. He deserved the sun, if you only had the power to give it to him. 

“Hey,” He just smiled, quickly putting your mind at ease as he took your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me calling. I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he wasn’t in any way upset before taking your hand. “Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

With the exception of Katniss and Haymitch, the two of you were alone out here. You weren’t part of the new society after the fall of the Capitol. Instead, you sought refuge in the rolling fields outside what was once District 12. Due to your isolation, there was technically no legality to your marriage. In fact, the only ones there to witness your vows were Katniss, Haymitch, and even Effie, who insisted on bringing endless yards of fabric with her to help you make a dress. You exchanged rings and vows, promising to love each other through everything and to never forget what you’d been through together. You didn’t need anything official. You were his and he was yours and that’s all you could have ever hoped for.

He, of course, was far better at cooking than you were so he often made dinner. Tonight, he made fresh bread and some seared fish from the lake nearby. You hardly touched any of it, feeling your stomach twist and turn, suddenly feeling ill. Your face had grown pale and Peeta’s expression morphed with concern. 

“Are you okay?” He stood from his seat across the table to move closer, examining the sweat that now glistened across your forehead. You nodded, but you quickly pushed away from him, burying your head in the sink and losing what little you had eaten. You felt Peeta’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down your skin trying to comfort you. When you slid down against the cabinet, he sat with you, grabbing a towel to wipe your lips. 

“Sorry.” You muttered through heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know where that came from.” You stood on shaky legs, but after a moment, you felt fine again. Strange, but fine. There was nothing in the meal that would have made you sick and you hadn’t been feeling ill at all that day. Deep in your gut, you started to worry. 

-

You spent the morning wandering the woods with Katniss. It was a weekly ritual for the two of you. Some time away from the guys. You liked to think that she opened up a little more when it was just the two of you. As if you had been friends since you were little girls. Growing up in District 5, you had a much cushier life than both her and Peeta, but you’d grown accustomed to the quieter, simpler life outside the New Panem. 

“Peeta said that you were sick last night.” Katniss started, looking up into the trees. You grimaced. Of course he did. There were few secrets between the four of you since you all lived out here by yourselves. 

“Yeah, but I feel fine.” You debated whether or not you should share your fears. That your illness was anything but random. That it meant something far more frightening than an upset stomach. Katniss noticed your uneasy expression and put a hand on your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” You took a deep breath. You needed to tell somebody.

“I’m worried that I might be…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, but she understood. Her hand slipped off your shoulder and she crossed her arms, trying to process. 

“Oh.” She just stared at you for a moment, barely even blinking. Katniss was never really one with words. You exhaled deeply and explained to her your suspicions. This wasn’t the first time you had been sick. This wasn’t even the third. On top of that, every time you looked into the meadow, you felt like something was coming. You could search and search, but you never figured out what. When you finished talking, Katniss sighed. “Follow me.” 

She took you back to her house and found a small box she had hidden in the back of her kitchen cabinet. Handing you the box, she gave you a very uncomfortable smile. You dumped a small bottle into the palm of your hand. 

“What are these?” You shook the bottle gently, hearing pills rattle around inside. 

“Effie made me promise to give them to you when you and Peeta started thinking about... you know.” She rocked back on her heels. “It’s some kind of test from the Capitol.” You gave her a look. 

“Why’d she give them to you?” 

“She didn’t want you guys to think she was pressuring you or something.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like she could give them to Haymitch.” You both chuckled, breaking up some of the awkwardness. 

“Thanks.” You stuffed the bottle into your pocket, the small item somehow making your hand feel heavy. You started to leave, but you paused. “Don’t tell him about this, okay?” Katniss gave you a crooked smile and nodded. And just like that, everything changed. 

-

A day passed and you didn’t tell a soul. The test was positive. You were pregnant. In just a few short months you would be bringing life into a world that had taken so many lives from you. And that never seemed clearer than when you got letters from Annie. Sweet, loving Annie whose son would never meet his father. As Peeta read her encouraging words, all you could hear was Finnick. His laugh, his smug little jokes to cheer you up. Even though you’d only been a Victor for two years longer than Katniss and Peeta, Finnick was the one to help you adjust to the new lifestyle. He was really the closest thing you had to a brother. You winced, his laugh replaced by his dying screams in your head. 

“Love, Annie.” Peeta finished reading with a small smile and tucked the letter into the picnic basket beside him. “I’m glad she’s been able to somewhat adjust.” You nodded in agreement. You had barely said two words to him since you found out. Maybe you were afraid that you’d let it slip. Peeta had noticed your silence, but he chose not to press you. He knew that sometimes you would just let your thoughts wander without saying a word. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. 

“Peeta,” You said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. You took his hand in yours, bringing it slowly up to your lips to place gentle kisses on his fingertips. You didn’t want anything to change. Peeta held your hand in between his own, his eyes shining with both admiration and concern. You had to tell him. 

“Y/N, are you sure that everything is- what, what is it?” He noticed your eyes grow wide, staring at his hand. His gaze followed yours and his breathing quickened with panic. A wasp crawled across the back of his hand, it’s bright yellow exterior providing little comfort. It wasn’t a tracker jacker, but it didn’t matter. 

“Peeta, it’s just a wasp.” You assured him, hoping he would look at you and not the insect. 

“I-I know.” He said, but his voice was shaky and his hands started to tremble slightly as he strained to keep still. You’d never actually had to encounter the mutt insects, but you knew that he had in his games. Tracker jacker venom was also what they used on him to try and distort his memories to turn him against the rebels and even you. His hand jerked away, but he only aggravated it more. He yelped as it stung him, flying away to safety. Though the pain was brief and minimal, it was the memories you feared more. 

Peeta tried to hold it back, but his mind swirled between the present and the past, mixing with all the horrors he had seen. You took his face in your hands, urging those beautiful hazel eyes to focus on you.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay.” You pulled him close to you, his head resting on your chest, hoping that the sound of your heartbeat would calm him. It usually did, despite how rapidly it was beating now. You ran one hand up and down his back while you gently stroked his blonde hair with the other. “It’s okay.” Sitting there, holding him, you knew more than ever that you couldn’t do it. How could you bring a child into a world that had done such cruel things to such a kind person? A world that had broken him in ways you would never understand. It had broken you. 

-

After his episode, Peeta decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing inside. He settled in front of his easel, using a mix of blacks and greys to replicate the storm clouds gathering overhead. In contrast, he painted the yellow flowers beneath them, their brightness only slightly dulled by the gloomy atmosphere. He looked out the window, watching you walk slowly through the patches of primrose. 

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss said from behind him. He turned and gave her a small smile. 

“I want it to remind her that there’s brightness growing out of the dark.” He’d noticed that you had had a hard time adjusting to a life of peace after the horrors that you’d all been through. Sometimes, he was sure you were still trying to escape the games in your mind. 

“She should probably get inside.” Katniss noted, looking out to the flowers, but you weren’t there anymore. “It looks like it’s going to storm.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder. There was another sound; a faint cry muffled by the closed window. 

“What was that?” Peeta slid the window up and listened closer. Another boom was followed by another scream. “Y/N.” Your names left his lips in a panic as he ran down the stairs and out into the rain. 

“Y/N!” Katniss shouted, the rain starting to pour down, pounding against the pavement. She might have been more scared than Peeta. She knew the truth. It wasn’t just you in danger anymore. Peeta’s eyes swept the trees while Katniss checked around the houses. After the loudest crash of thunder yet, the screams became words. 

“No! Finnick!” You were running through the trees, looking up at the sky where you saw the faces flash in your head. Each boom of thunder was another canon, another death. Haymitch, Annie, Katniss… Peeta. “Peeta!” You shrieked, falling to your knees in the mud. “Peeta!” 

“Y/N!” He knew those cries. You often screamed like that when you had a nightmare, clawing up at the air as if he was flying away from you. 

You curled up on the forest floor, not caring that mud covered your cheek or that the rain pelted against your back. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, wishing that you could make it go away. You knew that the next canon was for your baby. 

“No!” You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t raise a child in this never ending storm. 

“Y/N! I found her!” Peeta’s voice was barely audible over your own screaming and the rain. You flinched away from his touch as another canon sounded in your head. You felt his strong arms wrap around you and lift you up, holding you close to his chest. 

“Peeta…” You whimpered, weakly tugging at his shirt. “T-the canons.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.” Katniss found him and he quickly took you back to the house, rain still pounding against your skin. You looked up at the sky one last time, seeing Finnick’s face once again flashing against the clouds. Peeta put you down on the sofa and wrapped as many blankets as he could around you while Katniss went to grab some dry clothes. 

“I can’t do this.” You cried, trembling violently from the cold. “Everything is so dark and cold and cruel. I can’t curse someone else to live through what we did.” 

“What do you mean?” Peeta pushed your wet hair out of your face. 

“The… baby.” He froze. 

“What?” 

“Peeta, I’m pregnant.” You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach. “And I don’t want to bring a child into this place.” Despite your distress, Peeta could barely contain his smile. 

“We’re going to have a baby?” 

“Peeta… what about everything we’ve been through? Can we really condemn another person to that, let alone our child?” He put his hand on top of yours, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“Y/N, the world is better now.” He gave you a comforting smile. “We can raise our children in peace knowing that they will have a better life.” Your smile was still unsure so he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will never, ever let anything happen to them.” You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek. 

“You’re going to be a great dad.” His face lit up and he scooped you up in his arms, causing both of you to laugh. 

“And you are going to be the best mother.” He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his words sink in. Cradled in his arms you felt like nothing would ever harm you. Maybe it was possible, after all this time and through all of the fears, to be truly happy.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination

[girlobsessed21]

My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side.  Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone.  Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

[ellanainthetardis]

Twelve, its landscapes, its graveyards and its victors... Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 51 :  Lifeline

Haymitch wasn’t really aware of shaking off Effie’s arm but he was alone when he advanced in the narrow path between the freshly new dug graves. There were always new graves in the graveyard, that was the thing. Twelve wasn’t a huge District and lifespan wasn’t long. He had often wondered if there would come a point when the balance would tilt and there would be more dead people than newborns, if they would go extinct. Not that the Capitol would let that happen. They would move people from other Districts, the coal mines were too precious to be abandoned.

The graveyard was closer to the woods than to the town, almost overlooking the Seam, and it was more difficult to ignore the memories of the arena there. He licked his lips and buried his trembling hands in the pockets of his brand new coat, trying hard not to think that that coat was probably warmer than any blanket a family in the Seam could afford

Tombs were pretty simple in Twelve. The only fancy ones were the victors graves and he carefully didn’t look in that direction for now. Stone was too expensive, even for people from town, and most of the time, families made do with a simple wooden cross or a huge boulder, coffins were already an extravagance. With snow covering everything it was hard to keep track on what – or who – he was stepping on.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, though.

The grave was unassuming, lost between two others just as insignificant in appearance. There was a wooden cross that was dangerously tilting to the left and that he straightened by the force of habits. It had been a while since he had come there. The carvings on the wood were nearly faded.

He was hyper aware of Effie standing two feet behind him and he felt stupidly self-conscious. He didn’t even know what he was doing there truth be told. He had come a lot at first, in the months following his first victory, then he had stopped coming because there was nothing for him there. The grave was just a grave. They were dead and nothing could change that.

He hadn’t even been there to bury them.

Space was always a problem in the graveyard. There had been talks of starting another one on the other side of the District but they had never gotten the green light from the Capitol or something. It seemed so surreal to have to secure permission from bureaucrats at the other end of the country to bury their dead… If he had died as planned… If Effie had managed to get in touch with Undersee… They would have put him in there with them. They would have dug up the grave and tossed his coffin in there and added his name on the cross and they would finally have been reunited and…

And he had survived them.

Again.

It was jarring to realize he had spent more time alone than with them. It was jarring to realize in a few years he would be older than his mother had been when she had died.

He outstretched his arm behind him, reaching for he didn’t know what.

At least until a hand slipped in his and he felt her come to rest against his side, warm and alive.

“Hello.” she said brightly, because of course she was that sort of people who talked to graves. Of course. It made him smile despite it all. She was just so… Effie. She must have caught his amusement because she frowned. “What is it?”

He shook his head and pressed a kiss against her forehead just because he could. “Never change, sweetheart.”

She seemed a  bit puzzled by that but dismissed it, leaning heavily against his side. “Do you think they would have liked me?”

His instinctive answer was no because he hadn’t even liked her at first and she was an escort. They might have grown to be alright with it but he doubted it would have been a love at first sight kind of thing.

“You’re an acquired taste.” he deadpanned and got his arm whacked for his trouble. She immediately winced in pain and glared at her injured hand as if it had personally insulted her. They needed to take care of it, wrap it before it could swell. He gave a last glance at the grave, not feeling much of anything. He missed them, that was the thing, but it was a pain he carried around everywhere and all the time, not something he felt specifically when he was standing in front of their last resting place. It was hard to say what his family would have thought of his life choices. He hoped they would  have understood. He wasn’t foolish enough to think they would have been proud but he hoped they would have understood. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated. “Do you mind if… I would like to visit the victors patch.”

He shrugged, a bit reluctant but unwilling to refuse her that much. He led the way.

Katniss’ grave would have been hard to miss even without him as a guide.

The victors patch was nothing more than a somehow empty spot at the left end of the graveyard where tombs actually looked like mausoleums. Twelve’s only victor before him hadn’t lasted long, he wasn’t sure what the man had died of but his grave had been there for as long as Haymitch could remember and was starting to crumble because nobody cared enough to take care of it. Katniss’ was brand new and clearly regularly seen to.

The snow had been cleared from the white marble and it was hard to miss her name in golden letters, the dates or the proudly displayed Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. That was standard, he figured. There were two marble slabs placed on top that had clearly been exported from the city and he wondered how much of that had been Effie’s doing. One of them was engraved with a sober ‘Beloved Daughter, Beloved Sister’, the other had a picture and a single ‘Beloved’. It was so obviously from Peeta that Haymitch’s heart clenched. Someone had also placed a bow and an arrow on top of the grave – that was most likely the Hawthorne boy.

He hung back while Effie approached, not quite sure he had any right to be there at all. The corpse in that tomb was only there because he had fucked up. He should have gotten from under that tree more quickly. He should have protected Katniss better. He should have been the one getting his head split in two. He should have…

“Hello, dear.” Effie whispered, placing her hand at the edge of the grave. Her fingers were quivering and Haymitch averted his eyes, staring at a bird hopping around a few feet away. “I miss you very much.” Effie’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath. “I am so very sorry.”

He knew she was crying and it was too much for him.

He turned on his heels and stalked out of there, only breathing again once he had passed the graveyard gates. He had always found it very ironical that they were so similar to the Village’s. He leaned his back against the stone wall and felt around his pockets by reflex, looking for the packet of cigarettes he always seemed to carry around nowadays because he was apparently unable to live without poisoning himself. They were empty. He kicked the wall with a curse and rubbed his eyes.

Fuck but he missed the girl. He missed her so fucking much.

He had been clinging to his guilt for so long that it was all he had let himself feel. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. He hadn’t realized how much…

His eyes were red when Effie finally walked out of the graveyard but if she noticed, she didn’t comment. Perhaps because her mascara was a bit smudged.

“We should go to the Village.” she suggested as if nothing at all had happened, sounding cheerful and just as bubbly as that new escort except it sounded extremely fake to his ears. “Or did you want to look around the Seam?”

“The Village’s good.” he muttered.

They walked fast and in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

The Victors’ Village was the same as ever and he felt the same dread walking past the gates as he always had before. It had been a prison for a long time. A self-appointed one, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

The fountain was still there, still broken.

The same stray tabby cat disappeared behind the corner of a house at their approach.

The grey sky still looked as if it was about to come down and swallow them whole and he still wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a good thing.

The streets were deserted and empty and depressing.

“Haymitch!”

The voice was too young and too girly to belong to Peeta. It took him aback and he turned around just in time to see Prim drop her school bag and rush toward him.

He braced himself for the attack, certain little fists would soon barrel into him and harsh words would be shouted – and he wouldn’t deny her, he had no right to deny her.

He braced himself but he was unprepared for the collision and he stumbled back, almost falling down on his ass. He caught her because he didn’t want her to hurt herself even if she was bent on hurting him. He thought that was what she was trying to do at first, strangle him. It took him a couple of minutes to realize she was actually hugging him.

And when he understood that…

He hugged back. Too hard probably but she didn’t protest, she simply buried her face in his neck, he could feel her cold nose against his skin. He thought she might have been crying a little too but he was too stunned to do more than hold her.

He met Effie’s eyes over the girl’s shoulder, adjusting his grip on her so she wouldn’t fall because her feet were dangling a few inches over the ground. His escort didn’t look particularly surprised but she was teary and she hastily looked away.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Prim asked after a moment.

“I…” he hesitated.  “It’s complicated, sweetheart.”

“Peeta says you thought we would hate you.” the girl insisted, letting go of his neck. He made sure her feet were back on the ground before letting go, pulling a little on one of her braids by reflex. She batted his hand away just like old times and it was so… odd.

“Don’t you?” he cringed, confused.

Maysilee’s family, his old friends… Nobody had wanted anything to do with him after his Games.

Prim studied him with eyes that were far too old and wise for her age. She looked sad and tired. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Effie had said it on countless occasions.

Peeta had said it a couple of times.

Alina had tried to make him understand.

But it wasn’t until he heard it from Katniss’ sister’s lips that he thought he might eventually believe it.

And damn it if his eyes weren’t burning again.

“I missed you.” Prim declared, sneaking her arms around his waist and hugging him once more. “Don’t disappear like that again. You’re family. She would never have wanted… You’re family, Haymitch.”

He hugged her tight again, feeling more humbled and grateful than he had ever felt before in his long life. That girl… She was something. He understood only too well why Katniss had been ready to give her life for her.

After a few minutes, Effie discreetly cleared her throat.

Prim startled and moved away from him, wiping her cheeks to greet the Capitol properly. It was a lot more subdued but the girl seemed happy enough to see her – what he got from the conversation was that Effie had been sending a lot of care packages to Twelve in the last few months and that the care packages involved clothes and girly stuff nobody really needed.

But that was Effie’s attempts at comforting a young girl, he supposed.

“Let’s go home.” Prim declared, grabbing his sleeve and not leaving him much of a choice in the matter.

“You still live here?” he frowned. He hadn’t thought they would have been allowed. In fact, he had been fairly sure Thread would have showed up as soon as Katniss died to chase them out of the Village.

“Prim and Mrs Everdeen live with Peeta now.” Effie informed him, sounding a bit put out. “Do you even listen to me when I talk?”

To be honest, he tended not to when she talked about Twelve. She called Peeta regularly, he knew that much, but since it upset him, she tried not to do it when he was around. And when she talked about it… He didn’t always pay attention.

He wasn’t that surprised though. Peeta was a good boy. He wouldn’t have let Katniss’ family starve in the Seam.

“Mom’s sick again.” Prim informed him. “She might act as if you’re not there. Don’t mind her.”

Sick was a nice euphemism for depressed, he was sure. He wasn’t certain he was ready to find himself face to face with Aster Everdeen. He had planned on avoiding it if he could help it.

It might have been the coward’s way out but he stopped dead in the middle of the street. The girl was looking at him expectantly, as if she didn’t really understand why the delay. Haymitch’s grey eyes darted around…

“I… I want to check my house first, yeah?” he said, jumping on the first excuse he could find. “You go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.” He saw Effie pursing her lips but he wasn’t in the mood for her lectures so he waved her off. “You too. I’m just gonna…”

“I will go with you.” she cut him off. “You said you would tend to my hand anyway.”

“The kid can do that.” he countered, looking at Prim. “She hurt her hand, you can take care of it, yeah?”

“I would rather you do it.” Effie insisted before the girl could agree.

Prim’s gaze traveled from the escort to the victor and then she forced a smile. “I have to go home or Peeta is going to worry. I’ll tell him you’re here. Don’t be too long. We can have tea! I think he baked some lemon cakes this morning.”

“Lemon cakes, how lovely!” the escort exclaimed, gently ushering the girl in the direction of Peeta’s house. “We won’t be a tick.”

They were more than a tick and he was annoyed with her. He glowered all the way to his house and scowled when he realized he didn’t have his keys – not that he should have cared about that because the front door was open, just like he had left it when he had left on the day of the Reaping.

It had been six months. He expected his house to be dusty and smelly.

It had never been as clean or fresh. It felt a little like walking into it for the first time when everything had been so impersonal and cold.

“Peeta pays your housekeeper so she keeps coming. He employs her too now, I believe.” Effie explained without needing his prompting. “I think he was trying to do something nice for Katniss’ friend.”

He couldn’t really protest that, now, could he? Hazelle sure needed the money.

The living-room, the kitchen… Even his bedroom… Every room he walked in felt foreign. The stuff was his but it was too clean, too tidy. He liked his chaos. He liked that he had managed to make Effie’s apartment a little more disorganized.

This house he had never really managed to call home was not even his house anymore.

He would grab his books, he told himself, because they were the only things of value he had left and then he would never put a foot back in there.

The first aid kit was in the bathroom where he had left it the last time. He found a salve of something that should do well enough for her bruised hand and grabbed her wrist without much care. He wasn’t gentle either when he rubbed it in.

She didn’t complain.

It irked him up all the more.

Her behavior had been stupid in the first place and he was still furious about that. She was reckless like she never used to be. It was dangerous. They couldn’t afford reckless moves anymore.

He wrapped her hand in gauze, making sure her thumb was secured, and then he glared at it instead of letting go. He had known coming back to Twelve would be difficult but it was worse than he had thought. He longed for the city and its pretences, the easy distractions and the loathing he could bathe in because those people were ridiculous and it was easier to judge. But was he so different from them when he had left his home behind for…

Effie was suddenly in his space, her mouth brutally crashing on his… It didn’t take much more than that for him to give a shape to his anger. The kisses were violent. He bit down on her bottom lip hard enough that he tasted blood and she reciprocated by digging her teeth in the soft flesh under his jaw. The pain was sharp, almost too thrilling.

He shoved her against the wall.

She grabbed the coat he had never taken off and tugged him closer but he didn’t want to play by her rules. It only took him a second to clasp her wrists high above her head, pinning her in place with his hips while he unbuttoned her coat so he felt less like he was about to fuck a polar bear.

Fucking Capitols.

“I hate you.” he snarled and she drew in a sharp breath. When was the last time he had told her that? Months. A year. More? The words hurt but that was good. She should hurt. He had survived for her. He had branded himself a traitor for her. He had given up on everything he was, everything he stood for. He…

He kissed her hard, tightened his grip on her wrists, slipped a leg between hers… He groaned when she sucked on his tongue, getting lost in the way she was grinding against his thigh, searching for friction, searching for… He brought his leg up, propping his knee against the wall, pressing his thigh against her core to the point it must have been uncomfortable, preventing her from rubbing herself on him, keeping her in place.

He liked that she never simply surrendered. He liked that he had to earn that. He liked that sometimes she just refused to give in until he had thoroughly fucked her and even then she wanted to be in charge because she was just that bossy. There were days when he humored her, let her play with him like she wanted. Today wasn’t one of those days.    

He searched her eyes, looked for any hint that she didn’t want this because he was wary of hurting her, always wary… But she didn’t look afraid or reluctant. She was always game, that was the thing with Effie, she always wanted to please him. Sometimes, he thought she would never protest, not even if he took it too far.

“I want your lipstick on my dick.” he stated.

She shivered, either aroused by his crudeness or by the prospect of him walking around all afternoon with that ugly shade of peach on his privates. He let go of her wrists, stepped back, and watched her sink to her knees without a second of hesitation.

She struggled with his pants and he undid them for her, not gone enough to risk her hurting her hand further. Then her mouth was there, warm and wet, and he closed his eyes, stumbled back until he could lean against the sink, forcing her to crawl forward to follow him.

He had planned on fucking her mouth mercilessly so he surprised himself when he didn’t grab her wig. Clearly, it surprised her too.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” she hummed, giving him a teasing lick from base to head.

He told her. And every time he asked for something, she did it without question.

“Good girl.” he whispered from time to time, because that was what he always said when they were playing it rough and she was that submissive. He was fooling himself into thinking he was in charge at that moment though. She could have easily had him flat on his back and he would have let her ride him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know… “Swallow.” he demanded, knowing she wouldn’t mind, knowing also that if she didn’t want to she would simply move back. She didn’t though. She took him whole in her mouth, almost choking when he finally came.

She coughed when he pulled out, quickly wiping her mouth on the back of her good hand, because there was one thing she hated and it was him seeing her drooling. Not sexy at all, she had claimed once. It was in a way, though. There had been a time when he had loved to make her drool around his dick, to fuck her mouth so hard tears would come to her eyes… It had made him feel powerful to fuck the Capitol. It still did to some extent and… It troubled him how violent and cruel his urges toward her sometimes got.

He pulled her up to her feet and embraced her tight.

Why was he still using her like that?

She meant so much to him. She meant everything. And yet there he was, using her to pass his frustration on… If his mother had still been alive, if she had known how he was treating his wife…

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She wasn’t just his escort anymore, hadn’t been for a long time, and he had put a ring on her finger and… You simply didn’t treat your wife like that. Not in Twelve. In the Capitol maybe but he wasn’t Capitol. Unless he was. Unless they had changed him so much that…

“It’s alright, darling.” she hummed, her good hand combing through his hair. “I enjoyed it.”

He didn’t think she was lying but he wondered how she could enjoy it. She deserved better. More.

“Tell me what you want.” he mumbled in her neck.

“Nothing.” She frowned, he heard it in her voice. “We really should…”

“No.” he cut her off. “Tell me what you want. Please.”

He would have dropped to his knees if she had ordered. He would have eaten her out or fingered her or anything she asked for. He didn’t like it when she got him to submit but maybe at that moment he needed it, needed her to take control, needed to make this even because…

He really didn’t want to be the brute who took and never gave.

He was dysfunctional but he didn’t want to be an asshole.

She relaxed in his arms and he tightened his embrace, planting soft kisses along the side of her neck.

“Tell me you love me.” she requested softly.

Here, in that house, those words were more difficult to utter. He hadn’t quite become used to saying them but they came out now and then when they were in her apartment. She said them so liberally, so freely… He had slowly grown comfortable with offering them back. They came out on their own volition sometimes.

They weren’t as frightening as before because they were a pact between them.

He loved her and so he stayed alive.

She loved him and so she stayed alive.

But there, in that house where everything was loneliness, pain and death…

He closed his eyes and breathed her perfume, let her presence soothe the fears he couldn’t quite suppress… He pretended they were elsewhere. At home. And it wasn’t until he had thought the word that he realized that it was what her apartment – their apartment now, he supposed – had become. Home.

“I love you.” he mumbled at long last. “I’m sorry.”

For being a jerk, for being so weak or for taking without giving he wasn’t sure. She could take her pick.

“Do not be.” she chided. “I told you a hundred times already… If I weren’t willing, I would let you know.”

He kissed her hard but not as brutally as before.

“I don’t deserve you.” he muttered awkwardly against her lips, a bit too genuine.

She must have picked up on it but she chose to laugh it off. “And don’t you forget it. Now… Try to make yourself presentable again. We really should go.”

She tried to salvage her smudged make-up while he tucked everything back inside his pants, making sure nobody could tell what they had been up to.

He was a little more relaxed, at least. And yet he remained jumpy even when they left his house to go to Peeta’s. He had prepared himself to see the boy again but the moment the kid opened the door, everything came rushing back.

Promising Peeta he would get Katniss back to him. The axe in Katniss’ head. The blood on his hands.

He hugged the boy back after a second too long, his mind flashing back to the present with a stomach churning speed. Effie was loud and at the top of her flamboyant self, commandeering attention. She was doing it on purpose, he figured, so he could blend a little more in the background, let her handle the situation.

He was grateful for it, even if her high-pitched bubbly act gave him a headache.

Prim appeared around five minutes after Peeta had ushered them to his living-room – so similar to before, it caused Haymitch to lapse again, it made him panic quietly in his corner not to be able to tell when he was, before the Quell, after the Quell… It all blurred together until the teenager put a stop to the ringing in his ears by declaring regretfully that her mother was too tired to come down. Peeta and Prim exchanged a long look but neither of them elaborated on what that meant.

Someone, he suspected the girl, placed a cup of tea in his right hand and a lemon cake in his left. His mind was riveted to the painting that was hanging over the fireplace. It was Katniss in front of a sunset with the woods as a background and Haymitch wondered why Peeta was torturing himself like that, making himself look at her every day, making himself remember when…

His hands were shaking too badly and he spilled some tea on his thigh. It was hot but he didn’t feel the pain, not really.

He did feel it when Effie’s hand casually fell on his leg and rubbed the tension away as if she knew perfectly well what he was thinking. Maybe she did.

He felt remote.

It wasn’t long before the conversation circled back to Katniss.

From small talk to the heavy subjects.

Was six months really enough for the boy and her sister to talk about her so casually? To reminisce about her without feeling that heart crushing pain?

Haymitch couldn’t.

He couldn’t even think about her without wanting to scream.

He woke up at night with her name on his lips, a despair too huge to be borne and a pain in his chest so sharp he often collapsed in Effie’s arms and let her pretend she couldn’t feel his tears burning through her nightgown.

He closed himself off to their voices, refused to listen, refused to laugh with them at how stubborn Katniss had been, refused to share memories, refused to do that thing they called mourning. He didn’t want to mourn her. Once you mourned people, they were in the past. Forgotten. He couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t stop seeing her face. He couldn’t stop…

“And how are you doing, Haymitch?” The question came from Peeta and the boy sounded guarded, almost too formal as if he was talking to a stranger and not to… him. That was his fault, Haymitch supposed, he should make more of an effort. Things between them were… weird.

He realized belatedly that it was the first time he had been addressed directly since he had stepped inside the house. Effie’s hand was still on his thigh and he covered it with his, clinging to her like to a lifeline. That was what she was anyway. His lifeline.

“I’m good.” he forced himself to answer, to lie.

“Are you back on the booze?” the boy asked casually.

“Peeta!” both Effie and Prim snapped at the same time.

“What?” the kid shrugged. “It seems like something I should know. I’m still his mentor, right?”

“That’s enough, I think.” Effie said, a bit cold.

“I ain’t.” he answered, studying the boy, trying to figure out why he was so obviously angry at him. “Took up smoking though.”

“That’s a very Capitol poison to pick up.” Peeta commented, not bothering to hide his resentment anymore. “How are you enjoying living there?”

“It’s not that bad.” he replied defensively. “And it’s far from this shit hole, which is always a plus.” That was harsher than he had intended and he regretted it because Prim looked down, clearly a little hurt by that remark. He squeezed Effie’s hand, grateful when she got the message loud and clear. She got them out of there with a lot of flair and air kisses, making Peeta promise to be ready at seven sharp the next morning for the prep team she would send. Haymitch fumed but kept his peace until they had reached the Village’s gates. “What’s his problem?”

Effie pursed her lips, clearly irritated, but he wasn’t sure it was the boy’s behavior that had annoyed her. “I do not wish to be pulled in the middle. I would rather you work out your problems on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed and then he shook his head. “It’s all about the girl, anyway. He hates me because…”

“No.” she cut him off firmly. “It has nothing to do with Katniss. Not for him anyway.”

That was all she consented to say on the subject. He was tense and furious once more by the time they reached the train but this time sex didn’t seem like an appealing way of solving the situation. He let her run along to entertain the stylist and the future escort or to make sure everything was ready for dinner because god forbade her schedules went through the window, preferring to retreat to their room – her room, technically.

He needed a shower.

His skin was crawling.

[freedom-shamrock]

An Unexpected Outcome

Also on AO3. This is a direct sequel to Walk the Walk, and it will definitely make more sense if you’ve read that one (and the other two that come before it) first.  It is also the @miraculousfluffmonth  Aug 27 prompt, profound confession.

Adrien was waiting for her when she got to school the next day.  She'd long since learned to keep on top of her schedule, with the added Ladybug duties, which meant she was no longer habitually tardy.

"Hey Mari," he said, waving a little as he came down the steps to meet her.  "Could we do lunch together today?  There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Oh, sure."  She smiled brightly at him.  So this was actually a thing, and it was really happening.  A part of her found the whole thing just surreal.  "Is everything okay?"  He did look nervous, and she knew how that felt, having had to lead this conversation twice, now.

He nodded.  "Yeah.  Everything's… great actually."  He was adorable when he blushed.  It was totally unfair.  "Want to head to class?" he asked.  "Nino and Alya went ahead… though to be fair, I think they're in the janitor's closet."

Marinette let out a laugh.  "First bell hasn't rung yet.  They're totally in the janitor's closet."  Her breath caught a little when he looped his arm through hers, though she couldn't see anything new or different in his grin.  Well other than the fact that it vaguely reminded her of another blond young man's grin.

"Who's up for lunch?" Alya asked, looking at Marinette and Adrien when the breaktime bell rang.

"Uhm, sorry, Alya.  Adrien and I have plans," Marinette said, trying to catch her friend's eye.

"Sure we can't tag along?" Nino asked.  "You guys pick the best restaurants."

Marinette gawked as Adrien shot his best friend the first real glare she'd ever seen on his face.

"We're even fine if it's one of those geeky cat cafes you guys are so weirdly into," Alya offered, stuffing the last of her things away.  While it was nice that she'd stopped constantly trying to throw Marinette and Adrien together, she knew her bestie still carried a torch for the blond model, and it would have been nice for her to get a clue on this.

"Sorry," Adrien said.  "It's a lunch date.  For two," he said, pointedly.  "You guys are just going to have to find your own food."

Nino's face went surprised before he shot Adrien double finger-guns.  "Sure dude.   No problem."  He gestured for them to go ahead without him and Alya.  "You guys enjoy yourselves now.  Don't be in a rush to get back here."

"Text me if you need an excuse," Alya leaned over to whisper, positively radiating glee.

Adrien stood up and held a hand out to Marinette, smiling shyly.  "C'mon Mari.  Our ride's here."

Marinette took his hand, a little surprised that she was still breathing.  Holding hands was not something she and Adrien did.  Yes they hugged, sometimes wrestled, and even had tickle fights (he was impressively ticklish), but they didn't hold hands.  Though it was something she and Chat Noir had recently started doing, and it left her just as giddy, because she was still trying to believe that he'd agreed to this.  That he liked both sides of her, and now Adrien did, too.

"Sorry," he said quietly as he led her out of the building.  "I hope it's okay that I called this a date.  I didn't really tell you in advance that I was thinking in those terms."

She squeezed his hand.  "It's okay.  I still would've said yes."

"Really?"  His pretty green eyes went wide and his smile somehow got brighter.  "Okay.  Um.  I was really hoping you might feel that way, I kind of thought you might, but I wasn't sure."  He rambled when he was nervous.  She could relate.  "Because I definitely like you Mari, way more than as a friend.  But…"  He faltered.

"There's a complication," she said knowingly.

He nodded.  "Let's wait 'til we get to the cafe, okay?  I don't want anyone to overhear this.  It could… reflect wrong on either of us."

"Yeah."

The ride to the cafe was silent.  Marinette wasn't certain what to talk about in front of Adrien's driver and bodyguard, and Adrien himself was silent.  He continued to hold her hand, but he bounced his knee nervously.

"Hey Adrien," she said quietly.  "I think I already know what this is about, so… you can relax, yeah?"

He let out a long slow sigh.  "Yeah.  Okay."

She spent the rest of the silent ride pushing away the worry that she was ultimately going to be an enormous disappointment to both Adrien and Chat.  She liked herself just fine, but she was definitely not as shiny and cool as Ladybug when she wasn't magically enhanced.  She should probably have a talk with Chat to remind him that she was a clumsy mess out of the suit.  She doubted she was refined enough for Adrien's father's social circle, but they could cross that bridge, or avoid it, when they came to it, right?

At the cafe, they ordered their lunch and found a small corner table to talk at.   "All right, what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh man, this is harder than I thought it would be."  He looked down at their joined hands in the middle of the little round table.  "So I've been hanging out with Ladybug for months, and I'm sure you can understand why I haven't told anyone about this."

She nodded.  "I've been doing the same.  With Chat Noir."

"Yeah, so I've heard.  Anyway, a couple nights ago, Ladybug told me that she's dating Chat and she also wants to date me… does this sound familiar?"

Marinette giggled.  "Yeah."  She was sure she was blushing now.  "I'm dating Chat, too."  She shook her free hand in the air.  "And it's not some sleazy thing.  It's…"

"You guys are poly," he interjected.

She nodded.  "Yeah.  I mean, I'm currently dating only Chat because the other guy I want to date… uh, I haven't asked yet.  But, it's just going to be the two.  It's not like a open relationship where we're all just dating a bunch of people with no commitments."  She shut her mouth, realizing she was babbling.

He chuckled.  "I know.  And I get it."  He brought her hand up to his lips.  "Because as much as I love Ladybug, I also want to be with you.  And it's just the two of you for me."  He shrugged.  "So I was wondering…"

"Yes," Marinette blurted, wanting to make it easier for him.  She giggled when he stared at her in surprise.  "I mean, I want to date you, too.  You and Chat.  Though probably not at the same time, at least not right away.  So… uh, if that's what you wanted to ask, my answer's yes."

She saw the tension melt out of his shoulders.  "So… you want to be my girlfriend in addition to being Chat's?" he confirmed.

"Yeah."  She stared at him a moment.  "I mean, as long as you want to be my boyfriend in addition to being Ladybug's."

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

Marinette nodded.  For all that she now had all this dating going on now, she'd only gotten a proper kiss from Chat, and that was last night when she was Ladybug.  She'd kissed both boys on the face as Marinette or Ladybug, but she was ready for some real kisses.  "That would be nice."  She stood partway and nudged her chair to the right, closer to him.

Smiling, he cupped her chin and bent to kiss her.

His lips were warm, soft, and impossibly familiar.  She reached up and caught the collar of his shirt, where she half-expected a bell to be, pulling him closer.  His resultant gasp was also very familiar.  She leaned back just enough to break the kiss.  "Chaton?" she whispered.

"My Lady?"  He straightened up to look at her better.  "Oh.  It is you."  His fingers slid up to caress her cheek.  He wasn't smiling, yet he somehow looked incredibly happy all the same.

She stared at him, a bit stunned.  She'd agonized over both sides of him.  She'd researched and redefined herself because of it.  Only to find out he was both of the guys she loved.  "How did I not see it?"

"No wonder I can't beat Ladybug at video games."  He shook his head chuckling.

"You're ticklish in all the same places."

"Yeah."

"I guess this explains why I had the same twitterpated feeling when I was with either of you.  What with you being the same person and all."  She looked down at their hands, still joined on the table.  "So… uhm, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment, but you should know that I'm happy about this.  I mean, it's going to require a minor adjustment of mindset and expectations, but this is a good thing."  She giggled.  She was definitely going to have to shelve some of the more steamy fantasies she'd been entertaining.

Adrien snorted.  "I guess this makes our day-to-day relationship management a bit more straight-forward.  And I can just call you to go out with either of you."  He shook his head.  "This is not how I imagined this conversation going… or ending."

"We're okay, though, right?" she asked, her grip on his hand tightening with nervousness.

"Yeah.  More than okay, I think."  He drew her hand closer, then pressed it flat to his chest.  "Honestly, all the poly stuff I've been reading about communication, it still applies.  We know, now, that we can talk to each other about how we're feeling and other complicated things."

It was a really good point.  

"So I guess our poly circle, square, whatever has collapsed, and we're starting with a clean slate, just the two of us," he said, his hand gently rubbing hers.  "Would you be interested in dating me, Marinette?  I'm totally smitten by you."

She laughed.  "Yes, Adrien.  I would love to date you.  Apparently all versions of you."

This is final story in the OT3 OT4 OT Oops series.

While this ended up not being a poly relationship after all, I think it was important to have the characters approach it this way, because at the outset, from all appearances it was a relationship involving multiple people.  Too often fanfiction (and mainstream media) creates an either/or love triangle, and it's essential to note that this binary focus on relationships is not the only option.  Katniss could have been with both Peeta and Gale.  Alanna could have been with both George and Jonathan.  I know too many people who spent too much of their lives unhappy because they didn't know that the mainstream/normative option wasn't the only one.  There are also a lot of harmful misconceptions about these relationships that I would like to see dismantled.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday animekpopxx!

Happy Birthday @animekpopxx! We hope you enjoy this special Everlark story written just for you by @booksrockmyface! 

Title: Fake Happy

Rated: E

Author’s note: Happiest of days!! Prepare yourself for some of the best smut I can provide!! Title is the same as a Paramore song that I love a lot right now.

Katniss promised Peeta that she would be fine moving with him wherever he was stationed after his basic training was done. She promised, but she didn’t feel it. She had her own dreams and she was worried she’d have to give them up.

But as soon as she was able to move with him, she withdrew from her last year of college. She’d find a way to get her final credits somewhere else. Peeta needed her support as he adjusted to his new life.

And she really did her best to adjust to the life of an army wife. She signed up for all the organizations she could and met all the other spouses. They were all so kind to her, but she could see the cracks they had that matched her own.

It had been almost constant fighting behind closed doors since they moved in. Katniss wasn’t adjusting well to life on an army base. And she quickly discovered that the closest college didn’t offer the courses she needed. The online schools didn’t have the complete catalogue either. The only one that she could finish out her degree in was on the other side of the state.

“Then move back home.” Peeta grumbled when she brought it up. “We did long distance before.”

“You were distracted with basic training.” She dropped the dirty dinner plates in the sink. “And I was trying to pass my biology class.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Katniss. I said you didn’t have to come until you were done with college.” He plopped down on the couch and picked up the remote.

“Like you even really made it a choice.” She mumbled as she went to washing the dishes.

They both fumed about it for a while. Katniss used the anger to fuel the scrubbing of the skillet. She was still getting used to the electric burners after a lifetime of gas stoves. The smell of burnt chicken still hung in the air.

She heard Peeta turn off the TV. Then he stepped up behind her. Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he said, “I’m sorry, Katniss.”

She relaxed a little. “No, I am.” She leaned back against his chest. “I’m just a little crazy these days. I…” She turned in his arms and spread her hands out on his chest. “I took a pregnancy test today and it was positive.”

His grip tightened on her shoulders and she could see the color drain from his face. “What? You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, feeling the stinging in her eyes that signaled the tears she’d been holding back all day.

He pulled her close and kissed her hard. Tears were streaming down his face when he pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, it all matches up. My period is late and I’m moody and I’ve had all these weird food cravings. It’s unlikely it was a false positive.” She reached up and swiped at his tears. “I’m sorry I’ve been picking at you.”

Peeta shook his head. He dropped his arms behind Katniss’s knees and swept her up. “Let’s celebrate this, Mrs. Mellark.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “We’re going to be spread pretty thin.”

He kissed her and then turned to carry her into the bedroom. “We’ll discuss all that later. For now, I’m just so happy that we’re going to be parents.” He sat her down on her feet and took his shirt off. “I want to worship every inch of you.”

She laughed and pulled her shirt over her head. “I guess I’ll allow it.”

He pulled her close, their mouths crashing together. His hands made a hot trail from her hips up her back to the clasp of her bra. When he pulled it off, he dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

Katniss combed her fingers through Peeta’s hair. “I’m so scared.” She whispered.

He looked up, his eyes glistening with more tears. “I am too.” He stood, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her again. “But we’ll figure it all out.”

She nodded and hooked her hands into the waistband of his sweat pants. “I love you, Peeta.”

“I love you, Katniss.” He reached behind her and pulled down the comforter as she pushed his pants off his hips. “Hey, slow down there, girl on fire.” He grinned. “I’m off tomorrow. We can take all night.”

“We can.” She dropped her pants to the floor and crawled across the bed. She sat down on her heels and glanced over her shoulder. With a wink, she said, “But I don’t wanna.”

Peeta growled and stepped out of his pants before crawling in behind Katniss. He grabbed her hips and kissed her shoulder. “You’re so hot.”

She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Well, thank you.”

He laughed in her ear and pressed a series of kisses down her neck. “God, it’s going to be like looking into the sun now.” His hands roamed over her body slowly, concentrating on her stomach.

She groaned and pressed her hips back to grind against his erection. “You don’t need to flatter me anymore, Peeta. I married you already.” She reached down and squeezed his thigh. “And I’m having your baby.”

Peeta let out a giggle. “A baby.”

Katniss felt a relieved smile spread across her lips. “I’m so happy that you’re okay with this.”

“I’ve always seen myself as a father.” He cupped her breasts, twirling her erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “And even though this is the last thing I ever expected now, it’s going to be a great blessing.”

She dug her fingers into his skin. “You’re making it really difficult not to throw you down on this bed and ride you so hard you come in less than five minutes.”

“Is that a challenge?” He nipped at her shoulder.

She gave a throaty laugh and let go of him. Leaning forward, she pressed herself against his hard length. “Take me.”

Needing no more prompting than that, Peeta slid inside her. He gripped Katniss’s hips and set up a quick, hard pace. He grunted like an animal with each stroke.

Katniss gripped the bed sheets and let her head fall down. “You’re so good.” She moaned.

“Yeah?” He panted.

“Oh, yeah.” She lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. “Not even breaking a sweat.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “You said five minutes. I don’t have time for sweat.”

She laughed and let her head drop again. She could feel the pressure building within her that signaled a climax was on its way. She reached to start rubbing at her clit when he gave one hard thrust and let out a string of unintelligible curses as he came.

Katniss dropped her hand back onto the mattress and let out a sigh.

“Well, I guess you deserve something for all that time on your knees.” Peeta panted as he removed himself.

“I can tell you what I want.” She stretched out on her back and spread her legs wide. “Or you can just do what you should know I want.”

His eyes roamed over her body and came to rest between her thighs. He licked his lips hungrily. “Oh, I know.” He knelt between her legs and rubbed slow circles over her clit. “This should get the taste of burnt chicken out of my mouth.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry about the chicken.” Her eyes slowly closed as he changed direction with his fingers. “I’ll do better.”

“You never had to eat cold MREs in the dark. It was perfect.” Peeta leaned down and pressed a kiss to her stomach. He whispered, “Sorry, Baby.”

Katniss combed her fingers through his hair. “Baby will get used to being shaken around in there, I’m sure.”

He chuckled, sending a shockwave through her body. He flattened his tongue and lapped slowly at her clit.

She continued to comb her fingers through his hair as his mouth worked lazily over her. It was how she liked it best. She could be a bit of a hard person, but the best way to get to her was by being soft like with a skittish animal.

Katniss gripped Peeta’s hair and let out a low moan. And then a gasp. Then she cried out as she met her orgasm, rocking against his mouth.

He kissed his way back up her glistening body and pressed his eyes into her neck. He spread his hand out on her stomach. “We can figure out your college courses, Katniss. You deserve to finish out your dream.”

She trailed her fingers down his arm. “Thank you, Peeta.” She swallowed. “Maybe I can live part-time at the college across the state. Surely I can get some sort of financial aid for housing and tuition.”

“Maybe you can.” Peeta propped his head on his hand. “See if maybe there are online courses and you can stay here most of the time.”

“I’ll call Monday.” Katniss said around a yawn. “I sure married an understanding guy.”

“And I sure married a smart woman.” He rested his head on the pillow close to hers. “Goodnight.”

“Mmm.” Was all she was able to manage before sleep overtook he

[readbookywooks]

24 A chill runs through me. Am I really that cold and calculating? Gale didn't say, "Katniss will pick whoever it will break her heart to give up," or even "whoever she can't live without." Those would have implied I was motivated by a kind of passion. But my best friend predicts I will choose the person who I think I "can't survive without." There's not the least indication that love, or desire, or even compatibility will sway me. I'll just conduct an unfeeling assessment of what my potential mates can offer me. As if in the end, it will be the question of whether a baker or a hunter will extend my longevity the most. It's a horrible thing for Gale to say, for Peeta not to refute. Especially when every emotion I have has been taken and exploited by the Capitol or the rebels. At the moment, the choice would be simple. I can survive just fine without either of them. In the morning, I have no time or energy to nurse wounded feelings. During a predawn breakfast of liver pate and fig cookies, we gather around Tigris's television for one of Beetee's break-ins. There's been a new development in the war. Apparently inspired by the black wave, some enterprising rebel commander came up with the idea of confiscating people's abandoned automobiles and sending them unmanned down the streets. The cars don't trigger every pod, but they certainly get the majority. At around four in the morning, the rebels began carving three separate paths - simply referred to as the A, B, and C lines - to the Capitol's heart. As a result, they've secured block after block with very few casualties. "This can't last," says Gale. "In fact I'm surprised they've kept it going so long. The Capitol will adjust by deactivating specific pods and then manually triggering them when their targets come in range." Almost within minutes of his prediction, we see this very thing happen on-screen. A squad sends a car down a block, setting off four pods. All seems well. Three scouts follow and make it safely to the end of the street. But when a group of twenty rebel soldiers follow them, they're blown to bits by a row of potted rosebushes in front of a flower shop. "I bet it's killing Plutarch not to be in the control room on this one," says Peeta. Beetee gives the broadcast back to the Capitol, where a grim-faced reporter announces the blocks that civilians are to evacuate. Between her update and the previous story, I am able to mark my paper map to show the relative positions of the opposing armies. I hear scuffling out on the street, move to the windows, and peek out a crack in the shutters. In the early morning light, I see a bizarre spectacle. Refugees from the now occupied blocks are streaming toward the Capitol's center. The most panicked are wearing nothing but nightgowns and slippers, while the more prepared are heavily bundled in layers of clothes. They carry everything from lapdogs to jewelry boxes to potted plants. One man in a fluffy robe holds only an overripe banana. Confused, sleepy children stumble along after their parents, most either too stunned or too baffled to cry. Bits of them flash by my line of vision. A pair of wide brown eyes. An arm clutching a favorite doll. A pair of bare feet, bluish in the cold, catching on the uneven paving stones of the alley. Seeing them reminds me of the children of 12 who died fleeing the firebombs. I leave the window. Tigris offers to be our spy for the day since she's the only one of us without a bounty on her head. After securing us downstairs, she goes out into the Capitol to pick up any helpful information. Down in the cellar I pace back and forth, driving the others crazy. Something tells me that not taking advantage of the flood of refugees is a mistake. What better cover could we have? On the other hand, every displaced person milling about on the streets means another pair of eyes looking for the five rebels on the loose. Then again, what do we gain by staying here? All we're really doing is depleting our small cache of food and waiting for...what? The rebels to take the Capitol? It could be weeks before that happens, and I'm not so sure what I'd do if they did. Not run out and greet them. Coin would have me whisked back to 13 before I could say "nightlock, nightlock, nightlock." I did not come all this way, and lose all those people, to turn myself over to that woman.I kill Snow. Besides, there would be an awful lot of things I couldn't easily explain about the last few days. Several of which, if they came to light, would probably blow my deal for the victors' immunity right out of the water. And forget about me, I've got a feeling some of the others are going to need it. Like Peeta. Who, no matter how you spin it, can be seen on tape tossing Mitchell into that net pod. I can imagine what Coin's war tribunal will do with that. By late afternoon, we're beginning to get uneasy about Tigris's long absence. Talk turns to the possibilities that she has been apprehended and arrested, turned us in voluntarily, or simply been injured in the wave of refugees. But around six o'clock we hear her return. There's some shuffling around upstairs, then she opens the panel. The wonderful smell of frying meat fills the air. Tigris has prepared us a hash of chopped ham and potatoes. It's the first hot food we've had in days, and as I wait for her to fill my plate, I'm in danger of actually drooling. As I chew, I try to pay attention to Tigris telling us how she acquired it, but the main thing I absorb is that fur underwear is a valuable trading item at the moment. Especially for people who left their homes underdressed. Many are still out on the street, trying to find shelter for the night. Those who live in the choice apartments of the inner city have not flung open their doors to house the displaced. On the contrary, most of them bolted their locks, drew their shutters, and pretended to be out. Now the City Circle's packed with refugees, and the Peacekeepers are going door to door, breaking into places if they have to, to assign houseguests. On the television, we watch a terse Head Peacekeeper lay out specific rules regarding how many people per square foot each resident will be expected to take in. He reminds the citizens of the Capitol that temperatures will drop well below freezing tonight and warns them that their president expects them to be not only willing but enthusiastic hosts in this time of crisis. Then they show some very staged-looking shots of concerned citizens welcoming grateful refugees into their homes. The Head Peacekeeper says the president himself has ordered part of his mansion readied to receive citizens tomorrow. He adds that shopkeepers should also be prepared to lend their floor space if requested. "Tigris, that could be you," says Peeta. I realize he's right. That even this narrow hallway of a shop could be appropriated as the numbers swell. Then we'll be truly trapped in the cellar, in constant danger of discovery. How many days do we have? One? Maybe two? The Head Peacekeeper comes back with more instructions for the population. It seems that this evening there was an unfortunate incident where a crowd beat to death a young man who resembled Peeta. Henceforth, all rebel sightings are to be reported immediately to authorities, who will deal with the identification and arrest of the suspect. They show a photo of the victim. Apart from some obviously bleached curls, he looks about as much like Peeta as I do. "People have gone wild," Cressida murmurs. We watch a brief rebel update in which we learn that several more blocks have been taken today. I make note of the intersections on my map and study it. "Line C is only four blocks from here," I announce. Somehow that fills me with more anxiety than the idea of Peacekeepers looking for housing. I become very helpful. "Let me wash the dishes." "I'll give you a hand." Gale collects the plates. I feel Peeta's eyes follow us out of the room. In the cramped kitchen at the back of Tigris's shop, I fill the sink with hot water and suds. "Do you think it's true?" I ask. "That Snow will let refugees into the mansion?" "I think he has to now, at least for the cameras," says Gale. "I'm leaving in the morning," I say. "I'm going with you," Gale says. "What should we do with the others?" "Pollux and Cressida could be useful. They're good guides," I say. Pollux and Cressida aren't actually the problem. "But Peeta's too..." "Unpredictable," finishes Gale. "Do you think he'd still let us leave him behind?" "We can make the argument that he'll endanger us," I say. "He might stay here, if we're convincing." Peeta's fairly rational about our suggestion. He readily agrees that his company could put the other four of us at risk. I'm thinking this may all work out, that he can just sit out the war in Tigris's cellar, when he announces he's going out on his own. "To do what?" asks Cressida. "I'm not sure exactly. The one thing that I might still be useful at is causing a diversion. You saw what happened to that man who looked like me," he says. "What if you...lose control?" I say. "You mean...go mutt? Well, if I feel that coming on, I'll try to get back here," he assures me. "And if Snow gets you again?" asks Gale. "You don't even have a gun." "I'll just have to take my chances," says Peeta. "Like the rest of you." The two exchange a long look, and then Gale reaches into his breast pocket. He places his nightlock tablet in Peeta's hand. Peeta lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. "What about you?" "Don't worry. Beetee showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. If that fails, I've got my knife. And I'll have Katniss," says Gale with a smile. "She won't give them the satisfaction of taking me alive." The thought of Peacekeepers dragging Gale away starts the tune playing in my head again.... Are you, are you Coming to the tree "Take it, Peeta," I say in a strained voice. I reach out and close his fingers over the pill. "No one will be there to help you." We spend a fitful night, woken by one another's nightmares, minds buzzing with the next day's plans. I'm relieved when five o'clock rolls around and we can begin whatever this day holds for us. We eat a mishmash of our remaining food - canned peaches, crackers, and snails - leaving one can of salmon for Tigris as meager thanks for all she's done. The gesture seems to touch her in some way. Her face contorts in an odd expression and she flies into action. She spends the next hour remaking the five of us. She redresses us so regular clothes hide our uniforms before we even don our coats and cloaks. Covers our military boots with some sort of furry slippers. Secures our wigs with pins. Cleans off the garish remains of the paint we so hastily applied to our faces and makes us up again. Drapes our outerwear to conceal our weapons. Then gives us handbags and bundles of knickknacks to carry. In the end, we look exactly like the refugees fleeing the rebels. "Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist," says Peeta. It's hard to tell, but I think Tigris might actually blush under her stripes. There are no helpful updates on the television, but the alley seems as thick with refugees as the previous morning. Our plan is to slip into the crowd in three groups. First Cressida and Pollux, who will act as guides while keeping a safe lead on us. Then Gale and myself, who intend to position ourselves among the refugees assigned to the mansion today. Then Peeta, who will trail behind us, ready to create a disturbance as needed. Tigris watches through the shutters for the right moment, unbolts the door, and nods to Cressida and Pollux. "Take care," Cressida says, and they are gone. We'll be following in a minute. I get out the key, unlock Peeta's cuffs, and stuff them in my pocket. He rubs his wrists. Flexes them. I feel a kind of desperation rising up in me. It's like I'm back in the Quarter Quell, with Beetee giving Johanna and me that coil of wire. "Listen," I say. "Don't do anything foolish." "No. It's last-resort stuff. Completely," he says. I wrap my arms around his neck, feel his arms hesitate before they embrace me. Not as steady as they once were, but still warm and strong. A thousand moments surge through me. All the times these arms were my only refuge from the world. Perhaps not fully appreciated then, but so sweet in my memory, and now gone forever. "All right, then." I release him. "It's time," says Tigris. I kiss her cheek, fasten my red hooded cloak, pull my scarf up over my nose, and follow Gale out into the frigid air. Sharp, icy snowflakes bite my exposed skin. The rising sun's trying to break through the gloom without much success. There's enough light to see the bundled forms closest to you and little more. Perfect conditions, really, except that I can't locate Cressida and Pollux. Gale and I drop our heads and shuffle along with the refugees. I can hear what I missed peeking through the shutters yesterday. Crying, moaning, labored breathing. And, not too far away, gunfire. "Where are we going, Uncle?" a shivering little boy asks a man weighed down with a small safe. "To the president's mansion. They'll assign us a new place to live," puffs the man. We turn off the alley and spill out onto one of the main avenues. "Stay to the right!" a voice orders, and I see the Peacekeepers interspersed throughout the crowd, directing the flow of human traffic. Scared faces peer out of the plate-glass windows of the shops, which are already becoming overrun with refugees. At this rate, Tigris may have new houseguests by lunch. It was good for everybody that we got out when we did. It's brighter now, even with the snow picking up. I catch sight of Cressida and Pollux about thirty yards ahead of us, plodding along with the crowd. I crane my head around to see if I can locate Peeta. I can't, but I've caught the eye of an inquisitive-looking little girl in a lemon yellow coat. I nudge Gale and slow my pace ever so slightly, to allow a wall of people to form between us. "We might need to split up," I say under my breath. "There's a girl - " Gunfire rips through the crowd, and several people near me slump to the ground. Screams pierce the air as a second round mows down another group behind us. Gale and I drop to the street, scuttle the ten yards to the shops, and take cover behind a display of spike-heeled boots outside a shoe seller's. A row of feathery footwear blocks Gale's view. "Who is it? Can you see?" he asks me. What I can see, between alternating pairs of lavender and mint green leather boots, is a street full of bodies. The little girl who was watching me kneels beside a motionless woman, screeching and trying to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the chest of her yellow coat, staining it with red, knocking the girl onto her back. For a moment, looking at her tiny crumpled form, I lose my ability to form words. Gale prods me with his elbow. "Katniss?" "They're shooting from the roof above us," I tell Gale. I watch a few more rounds, see the white uniforms dropping into the snowy streets. "Trying to take out the Peacekeepers, but they're not exactly crack shots. It must be the rebels." I don't feel a rush of joy, although theoretically my allies have broken through. I am transfixed by that lemon yellow coat. "If we start shooting, that's it," Gale says. "The whole world will know it's us." It's true. We're armed only with our fabulous bows. To release an arrow would be like announcing to both sides that we're here. "No," I say forcefully. "We've got to get to Snow." "Then we better start moving before the whole block goes up," says Gale. Hugging the wall, we continue along the street. Only the wall is mostly shopwindows. A pattern of sweaty palms and gaping faces presses against the glass. I yank my scarf up higher over my cheekbones as we dart between outdoor displays. Behind a rack of framed photos of Snow, we encounter a wounded Peacekeeper propped against a strip of brick wall. He asks us for help. Gale knees him in the side of the head and takes his gun. At the intersection, he shoots a second Peacekeeper and we both have firearms. "So who are we supposed to be now?" I ask. "Desperate citizens of the Capitol," says Gale. "The Peacekeepers will think we're on their side, and hopefully the rebels have more interesting targets." I'm mulling over the wisdom of this latest role as we sprint across the intersection, but by the time we reach the next block, it no longer matters who we are. Who anyone is. Because no one is looking at faces. The rebels are here, all right. Pouring onto the avenue, taking cover in doorways, behind vehicles, guns blazing, hoarse voices shouting commands as they prepare to meet an army of Peacekeepers marching toward us. Caught in the cross fire are the refugees, unarmed, disoriented, many wounded. A pod's activated ahead of us, releasing a gush of steam that parboils everyone in its path, leaving the victims intestine-pink and very dead. After that, what little sense of order there was unravels. As the remaining curlicues of steam intertwine with the snow, visibility extends just to the end of my barrel. Peacekeeper, rebel, citizen, who knows? Everything that moves is a target. People shoot reflexively, and I'm no exception. Heart pounding, adrenaline burning through me, everyone is my enemy. Except Gale. My hunting partner, the one person who has my back. There's nothing to do but move forward, killing whoever comes into our path. Screaming people, bleeding people, dead people everywhere. As we reach the next corner, the entire block ahead of us lights up with a rich purple glow. We backpedal, hunker down in a stairwell, and squint into the light. Something's happening to those illuminated by it.They're assaulted by...what? A sound? A wave? A laser? Weapons fall from their hands, fingers clutch their faces, as blood sprays from all visible orifices - eyes, noses, mouths, ears. In less than a minute, everyone's dead and the glow vanishes. I grit my teeth and run, leaping over the bodies, feet slipping in the gore. The wind whips the snow into blinding swirls but doesn't block out the sound of another wave of boots headed our way. "Get down!" I hiss at Gale. We drop where we are. My face lands in a still-warm pool of someone's blood, but I play dead, remain motionless as the boots march over us. Some avoid the bodies. Others grind into my hand, my back, kick my head in passing. As the boots recede, I open my eyes and nod to Gale. On the next block, we encounter more terrified refugees, but few soldiers. Just when it seems we might have caught a break, there's a cracking sound, like an egg hitting the side of a bowl but magnified a thousand times. We stop, look around for the pod. There's nothing. Then I feel the tips of my boots beginning to tilt ever so slightly. "Run!" I cry to Gale. There's no time to explain, but in a few seconds the nature of the pod becomes clear to everyone. A seam has opened up down the center of the block. The two sides of the tiled street are folding down like flaps, slowly emptying the people into whatever lies beneath. I'm torn between making a beeline for the next intersection and trying to get to the doors that line the street and break my way into a building. As a result, I end up moving at a slight diagonal. As the flap continues to drop, I find my feet scrambling, harder and harder, to find purchase on the slippery tiles. It's like running along the side of an icy hill that gets steeper at every step. Both of my destinations - the intersection and the buildings - are a few feet away when I feel the flap going. There's nothing to do but use my last seconds of connection to the tiles to push off for the intersection. As my hands latch on to the side, I realize the flaps have swung straight down. My feet dangle in the air, no foothold anywhere. From fifty feet below, a vile stench hits my nose, like rotted corpses in the summer heat. Black forms crawl around in the shadows, silencing whoever survives the fall. A strangled cry comes from my throat. No one is coming to help me. I'm losing my grip on the icy ledge, when I see I'm only about six feet from the corner of the pod. I inch my hands along the ledge, trying to block out the terrifying sounds from below. When my hands straddle the corner, I swing my right boot up over the side. It catches on something and I painstakingly drag myself up to street level. Panting, trembling, I crawl out and wrap my arm around a lamppost for an anchor, although the ground's perfectly flat. "Gale?" I call into the abyss, heedless of being recognized. "Gale?" "Over here!" I look in bewilderment to my left. The flap held up everything to the very base of the buildings. A dozen or so people made it that far and now hang from whatever provides a handhold. Doorknobs, knockers, mail slots. Three doors down from me, Gale clings to the decorative iron grating around an apartment door. He could easily get inside if it was open. But despite repeated kicks to the door, no one comes to his aid. "Cover yourself!" I lift my gun. He turns away and I drill the lock until the door flies inward. Gale swings into the doorway, landing in a heap on the floor. For a moment, I experience the elation of his rescue. Then the white-gloved hands clamp down on him. Gale meets my eyes, mouths something at me I can't make out. I don't know what to do. I can't leave him, but I can't reach him either. His lips move again. I shake my head to indicate my confusion. At any minute, they'll realize who they've captured. The Peacekeepers are hauling him inside now. "Go!" I hear him yell. I turn and run away from the pod. All alone now. Gale a prisoner. Cressida and Pollux could be dead ten times over. And Peeta? I haven't laid eyes on him since we left Tigris's. I hold on to the idea that he may have gone back. Felt an attack coming and retreated to the cellar while he still had control. Realized there was no need for a diversion when the Capitol has provided so many. No need to be bait and have to take the nightlock - the nightlock! Gale doesn't have any. And as for all that talk of detonating his arrows by hand, he'll never get the chance. The first thing the Peacekeepers will do is to strip him of his weapons. I fall into a doorway, tears stinging my eyes.Shoot me. That's what he was mouthing. I was supposed to shoot him! That was my job. That was our unspoken promise, all of us, to one another. And I didn't do it and now the Capitol will kill him or torture him or hijack him or - the cracks begin opening inside me, threatening to break me into pieces. I have only one hope. That the Capitol falls, lays down its arms, and gives up its prisoners before they hurt Gale. But I can't see that happening while Snow's alive. A pair of Peacekeepers runs by, barely glancing at the whimpering Capitol girl huddled in a doorway. I choke down my tears, wipe the existing ones off my face before they can freeze, and pull myself back together. Okay, I'm still an anonymous refugee. Or did the Peacekeepers who caught Gale get a glimpse of me as I fled? I remove my cloak and turn it inside out, letting the black lining show instead of the red exterior. Arrange the hood so it conceals my face. Grasping my gun close to my chest, I survey the block. There's only a handful of dazed-looking stragglers. I trail close behind a pair of old men who take no notice of me. No one will expect me to be with old men. When we reach the end of the next intersection, they stop and I almost bump into them. It's the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president's mansion. The Circle's full of people milling around, wailing, or just sitting and letting the snow pile up around them. I fit right in. I begin to weave my way across to the mansion, tripping over abandoned treasures and snow-frosted limbs. About halfway there, I become aware of the concrete barricade. It's about four feet high and extends in a large rectangle in front of the mansion. You would think it would be empty, but it's packed with refugees. Maybe this is the group that's been chosen to be sheltered at the mansion? But as I draw closer, I notice something else. Everyone inside the barricade is a child. Toddlers to teenagers. Scared and frostbitten. Huddled in groups or rocking numbly on the ground. They aren't being led into the mansion. They're penned in, guarded on all sides by Peacekeepers. I know immediately it's not for their protection. If the Capitol wanted to safeguard them, they'd be down in a bunker somewhere. This is for Snow's protection. The children form his human shield. There's a commotion and the crowd surges to the left. I'm caught up by larger bodies, borne sideways, carried off course. I hear shouts of "The rebels! The rebels!" and know they must've broken through. The momentum slams me into a flagpole and I cling to it. Using the rope that hangs from the top, I pull myself up out of the crush of bodies. Yes, I can see the rebel army pouring into the Circle, driving the refugees back onto the avenues. I scan the area for the pods that will surely be detonating. But that doesn't happen. This is what happens: A hovercraft marked with the Capitol's seal materializes directly over the barricaded children. Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food. Medicine. Gifts. They eagerly scoop them up, frozen fingers struggling with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes, five seconds pass, and then about twenty parachutes simultaneously explode. A wail rises from the crowd. The snow's red and littered with undersized body parts. Many of the children die immediately, but others lie in agony on the ground. Some stagger around mutely, staring at the remaining silver parachutes in their hands, as if they still might have something precious inside. I can tell the Peacekeepers didn't know this was coming by the way they are yanking away the barricades, making a path to the children. Another flock of white uniforms sweeps into the opening. But these aren't Peacekeepers. They're medics. Rebel medics. I'd know the uniforms anywhere. They swarm in among the children, wielding medical kits. First I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt. I have the same reaction I did the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping. At least, I must go limp, because I find myself at the base of the flagpole, unable to account for the last few seconds. Then I am pushing through the crowd, just as I did before. Trying to shout her name above the roar. I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when I think she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. And that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.

[everlarkficexchange]

The Proper Response

Written by: @madetofly

Prompt 29: Post-MJ, Growing Together. Peeta is finally showing his affection and love for Katniss as they heal and reconnect. Katniss, being Katniss, seems to act like she doesn’t appreciate this, and is less than enthused. Peeta, taking this like an adult, stops showing her with the affection and tries to show her his love in other ways. Katniss, however, does not appreciate him stopping those things and set out to try and get him to continue it again because she misses it. [submitted by @albinokittens300]

Summary: After the war, Katniss and Peeta go back home. But when Peeta begins gifting Katniss with bread, she’s not sure what the proper response is.

Warnings: past character death, alcoholism (Haymitch), and references to events in the books.

Katniss threw her empty game bag over one shoulder, followed quickly by her sheath of arrows. Each step of the familiar routine helped her feel a deeper sense of ease, but she didn’t really feel like herself until her bow was in her hands. She gripped it tightly as she left the house.

*

She meant to make a beeline for the woods. With the fence around District 12 now little more than a suggestion, she could enter the woods from a spot right outside her front door, but the flowers in her front garden made her pause, just as they had every morning since they were planted.

  They were thriving despite Katniss not touching them since Peeta had planted them. She’d caught him tending to them a few times, but he did most of it discreetly while she was in the woods or selling her catches in town.

  The way Peeta appeared to be ignoring her made her uneasy. Not that she could blame him for it.

  She understood because she didn’t have a clue how to act around him either. Everything was different, not even talking to Greasy Sae was the same as before the war. Returning to normalcy would have felt even weirder than the state they were in, but Katniss wished she knew how to better bridge the gap she still felt between her and Peeta.

  Glancing at his house, she noticed lights in the kitchen that indicated he was awake.

  With a sigh, she turned away from him and from the flowers and headed into the woods.

  *

  The last thing she expected when she returned home was Peeta sitting on her porch with a plate of cheese buns in his hands. 

  He’d been tending to the flowers he’d planted for months, yet she hadn’t needed to face him directly in nearly as long.

  There was a moment when she hesitated. Her bag was packed with several rabbits. She’d been planning to keep them to herself, but upon getting a glance of Peeta, she started formulating a new plan to take them into town and sell them before he caught sight of her.

  Her indecision lasted long enough that Peeta happened to glance in her direction, his senses better honed after two games and a war. He offered her a smile and a short wave.

  Katniss did her best to return it, but she could feel the embarrassment twisting her features into something more like a grimace. Peeta’s smile fell with his hand.

  She couldn’t run, but she approached him with the same caution she used when she stalked deer. Peeta looked more nervous than the deer often did.

  “What are you doing here?” Katniss snapped, her voice coming out hostile out of her fear.

  She hated that Peeta had that effect on her. He wasn’t anything like Snow or the gamemakers or anyone Katniss felt justified being frightened of, yet he made her tense up every time she was around him. It had only gotten worse since the war ended. And Katniss knew it wasn’t because of the Hijacking.

  Peeta held up the plate of cheese buns. Plastic was wrapped over the surface to keep them fresh, but their smell still wafted towards Katniss and warmed her.

  “I wanted to bring you these,” Peeta said.

  Katniss stared at the bread, trying to ignore the way her mouth had begun to water.

  He had baked for her family between the games, but he had almost always presented the bread to Prim or her mother. Katniss has mostly been able to pretend it was for them, not her. She couldn’t do that anymore.

  They both had the same income, so she knew this wasn’t some gesture of sympathy. She wasn’t the starving girl he’d once tossed burnt bread to. That would have been far easier to accept.

  She slid her game bag off her shoulder and pulled out one of the rabbits she’d killed. With the new laws, she hadn’t bothered to skin it in the forest, and its dead eyes stared back at Peeta as she held it up.

  “Take this,” she said, holding it out to him.

  Peeta eyed the rabbit with uncertainty.

  “Katniss,” he said slowly, “I really don’t want—“

  “If I take the cheese buns, you should take the rabbit.

  Peeta sighed and sat the plate of bread on a small table on the porch, one that hadn’t been sat in since her mother and Prim had fled during the bombing.

  “The bread’s supposed to be a gift, Katniss. I didn’t want it to feel like a transaction.”

  Katniss’ hand that held the rabbit fell to her side. Was that what she had been doing?

  She stared at the bread, which was much easier than looking at Peeta.

  “Okay,” she said, further words failing her.

  Her mind raced as she tried to work out what the appropriate next move was. It seemed polite to invite Peeta in and ask him to share the bread with her, but the idea was so terrifying that it kept her frozen in place instead.

  She took too long to do anything.

  Peeta ran a hand over his face and brushed past her to leave, her heart racing at his momentary proximity.

  Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, keeping her back to him as he hurried back home. She was left with nothing more than the cheese buns and a plate that she’d have to return.

  *

  In the months that followed, various baked goods showed up on Katniss’ porch while she was hunting. Half the time it was cheese buns; the other half of the time it was something else. But Peeta was never with them when Katniss returned.

  Each time, Katniss returned the platter to Peeta’s doorstep in the early morning when she set out for the woods. She didn’t knock. Instead, she scurried away, frightened he might open the door before she escaped, though he never did.

  Sometimes, she left things for him along with the dishes: wild strawberries like this family had always bought, rabbits, the occasional cut of deer meat. He took them all without reaching out to her, and at first, she was grateful.

  As time passed with little more than glimpses of Peeta as he came to and from town, Katniss began to long for any sort of contact she could make with him. 

  She thought long and hard about what she might say if she were brave enough to knock on his door, yet she never worked up the courage to find out.

  Her nerves didn’t turn into fear until the gifts stopped coming all together.

  There had been no baked goods on her doorstep for nearly a month; the realization made her stomach churn and her chest tighten.

  Peeta had gotten tired of baking for her. It wasn’t like she could blame him.

  Even then, she didn’t work up the courage to knock on his door.

  Knocking on Haymitch’s door was something else entirely. She couldn’t leave any of what she gathered in the woods on his doorstep because they’d rot without him knowing they were there, stinking up all of Victor’s Village.

  Instead, Katniss brought him food at least once a week, supplementing the supplies from town that Greasy Sae always brought by.

  He was half-cognizant of Katniss during one of her usual visits, watching her with a dazed look as she wandered around the kitchen to put everything where it belonged.

  She was just gathering her empty bag when Haymitch spoke in words that were more than lazy grunts.

  “How’s Peeta? He didn’t stop by this week.”

  Katniss hesitated, her hands tightening around the straps of her bag. Though it was empty, she took her time adjusting it before she answered.

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him that yourself. I haven’t talked to him, and I don’t think he wants to speak to me anymore either.”

  Haymitch let out a loud, undignified snort that made Katniss glare at him. He was unaffected as he slumped back in his chair and regarded her with lidded eyes.

  “I see the two of you are being as ridiculous as always,” he said, tilting his drink in her direction. “Especially you.”

  Even with the slurred words, Katniss was offended. At least she was functional. Haymitch spent his days drunk in his house with others taking care of him. What right did he have to judge her for anything?

  “He’s stopped leaving bread by my door,” she shot back. “That was him, not me. It’s clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  But her defense didn’t get rid of the knowing grin on Haymitch’s face. He pointed in the general direction of his kitchen window, nearly sliding off his chair as he did so.

  “Sometimes I bother to look out the window. Don’t think I’ve missed that perfectly tended garden outside your house. I know you’re not the one doing that.”

  Katniss froze, images of the flowers flashing through her mind.

  Of course she had noted that the garden was still as well taken care of as Peeta’s own, but she’d assumed that was more about the flowers than her. Peeta wasn’t the kind of person to let any creature, even flowers, die pointlessly. Of course he would continue tending to them.

  She turned her face towards Haymitch’s window. The early afternoon sun streamed through the crack in Haymitch’s curtains and warmed her face. She could get the blurriest of views of her own garden through the dusty glass.

  “Stop being ridiculous, sweetheart,” Haymitch said, raising his drink to take a swig. “Go talk to the boy.”

  She didn’t say anything to Haymitch as she turned to go, frowning at the drunken laughter she heard behind her.

  The sun was bright, and it hit her with full force the second she was outside of Haymitch’s darkened house. She had to squint to see Peeta’s house. The sunlight reflected off the white siding, stinging at her eyes.

  She glanced over at her own house, eyes scanning the flowers of various colors that lined the outside of it. The garden had only expanded since Peeta had last spoken to her. Maybe Haymitch was right and the garden was about more than just keeping existing flowers alive. Katniss glanced down at Haymitch’s own flower beds of nothing but dirt and weeds.

  Without allowing herself time to second guess the move, Katniss headed straight for Peeta’s door and knocked. 

  It took him mere seconds to answer, his gaze widening when he found Katniss on the other side.

  “Katniss?”

  His shirt was speckled with every color of paint imaginable. Some of it was old and dried, but some of it was undoubtedly new, shining in the afternoon light. There was even a bit of blue across his cheek. It was smeared as if he had tried to wipe it away only to fail. It took all of her willpower not to focus on it as she spoke.

  “Why did you stop bringing me bread?”

  If she was going to do this, there was no sense in beating around the bush about it. Peeta’s mouth opened and closed several times as he looked at her. Eventually, he motioned for her to come inside and closed the door behind her.

  Katniss’ eyes scanned the space. She hadn’t had many opportunities to see the inside of Peeta’s house, but the layout was the same as that of every other house in Victor’s Village. The decor, however, was entirely different. Katniss’ house was clean but plain. Haymitch’s was a mess. Peeta’s was something akin to an art studio, with paintings all over the walls, some hung with nails and others propped against it on the floor.

  “I didn’t think you wanted me around,” Peeta said from behind her.

  Katniss’ eyes kept scanning the paintings. It was easier to have this conversation if she didn’t look at him. One painting in particular caught her attention. To most, it would look like nothing more than an interesting design of various shades of gray. To Katniss, it was a wall of the cave they’d hidden in together during their first games.

  “Of course I wanted you around,” Katniss continued. It was much easier to blurt things out once she’d started. “I just didn’t know how to act or what to do.”

  Peeta sighed. She listened as he took several loud footsteps forward until he’d come to stand at her side. She didn’t look away from the painting.

  “There’s no one way you have to act, Katniss, but I can understand if you’re uncomfortable around me.”

  It took Katniss a second to realize that he was thinking about the highjacking. In all of her worries over Peeta not being around, that had been the farthest thing from her mind.

  She turned to look at him straight on. He was close, much closer than he’d been in a long time.

  “Sometimes I do get uncomfortable,” Katniss said quietly, “but it’s not because of that.”

  No, she’d forgiven him for that before he’d even arrived back in District 12, but that was a detail she couldn’t yet bring herself to reveal.

  “I’ve never—” she started to say before cutting herself off. There was no easy way to voice what was on her mind. “I don’t know exactly what we are, but whatever it is, it’s new to me. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

  The confession hung heavy in the air until Peeta smiled in a way that made her heart skip a beat. That was something new too. She hated the way it made her want to flee again, but she fought against the urge, staying rooted in place.

  Slowly, Peeta held out his hand, watching Katniss through long lashes. Katniss held her breath as she took it and let him link their fingers together. Both of them stared at their interlocked fingers, neither daring to make another move at first.

  It was the most physical Katniss had been with anyone in a long, long time. Even when her mother and sister had been around, she’d always felt uncomfortable about it unless it was from Prim, but Peeta’s hand around hers felt good. It almost made her want to cry.

  “I don’t expect anything,” Peeta said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But maybe we should be more open with each other. That might solve at least half of our problems.”

  He offered her a small smile that Katniss hesitantly returned along with a slow nod of her head.

  “And you can have space whenever you need space,” Peeta stressed, his brow furrowing suddenly.

  Katniss’ smile widened.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She didn’t know what other words should be said. She felt like she should promise him something in return, but what that should be eluded her.

  It was silent for a moment, both of them lost in their own thoughts as their hands continued to dangle between them.

  “Actually,” Peeta said slowly, “I haven’t had much time for baking recently. I’ve been more focused on painting. There’s something kind of…large that I’ve been working on.”

  When Katniss only blinked at him in response, he continued.

  “Something for you. Even though I wasn’t sure I’d work up the courage to give it to you.”

  Katniss’ eyes widened, and her stomach fluttered in an unfamiliar way. She felt light-headed as Peeta led her by the hand to one of the rooms off the main hallway. It was the one he used as an art studio. Various canvases in half-finished states were scattered around the room, all of them abandoned for the particularly large canvas placed in the middle of the room. Peeta’s paints were laid out carefully around it.

  Katniss gasped the second she saw what was on the canvas. Though it was nowhere near finished, the figure was undoubtedly Prim.

  A smiling, happy Prim as opposed to the one who had been hardened by the rebellion and life in Thirteen. This was the Prim Katniss wanted to remember, and apparently, Peeta did too.

  Katniss hadn’t dared look at any false representation of Prim since she’d died, frightened that it would be too much for her, but seeing a reminder that someone else was thinking of Prim like she was—not just thinking of her but viewing her in such a way—left Katniss with a sense of comfort she hadn’t been expecting.

  Without thinking, Katniss surged forward and wrapped Peeta in a tight hug. He gripped her back just as tightly. She pressed her face against his t-shirt, able to feel places where the paint staining it hadn’t dried. It didn’t bother her. In a way, it was comforting.

  They had hugged before, of course, even when they weren’t faking it for the cameras. But they hadn’t really hugged in anything like real privacy. For once, they had something that was just for the two of them, and Katniss hadn’t expected how much comfort she gained from that.

  There was no telling how long they stayed locked in their embrace. Neither of them bothered to check the time. But eventually, they did pull away, smiling stupidly at each other as they did so.

  “And, Katniss,” Peeta said as he led her towards the kitchen, “I don’t need any meat in exchange for this one.”

  He motioned at the painting over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. Katniss paused in her step, watching the spot where he’d disappeared for a minute as she debated the proper response.

  She shook her head. There was no proper response. She would have to stop worrying about things like that. Instead, she smiled and followed.

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Twenty-Seven

Written by: ~M~

Prompt #88, Spring 2019 Edition

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain, consensual sexual situations; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non-consensual sexual situations; minor character death.

Dear Readers,

I thank you for your patience in waiting for this, the twenty-seventh chapter of Unmasked. As there would be no “Previously on…” during the time frame of this fic, I will do my best to conduct a brief summary. When last we left our lovers, they had recently suffered through a rather unpleasant to the home of Peeta’s father – the Marquis de Vale, survived an encounter with a highwayman, tangled with a few brief bouts of jealousy over a former flame, and battled over legalities with Mistress Alma Coin, culminating in the adoption of Peeta’s half-sister – Miranda. We now rejoin them as they attempt to adjust to their new family dynamic. I hope you enjoy the chapter and that the wait for the next will not be near as long. Previous chapters can be found HERE.

Regards,

~M~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 27 ~~

Miranda is greeted with much fanfare at Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Effie’s house. We of course explain to her that this is not our home, but the home of family, and that in two days, we will begin our journey to Everdeen. She clings to my hand and hides her face behind her rag doll as we enter.

There is a flurry of activity and Miranda is whisked from my grasp to be bathed and dressed for dinner in the dress I ordered from Cinna. My fingers clench in the air. I long to follow her, to be with her. Haymitch claims Peeta’s attention, the pair of them retreating to the study, and he does not notice my distress. Effie trills and drags me to the chambers I share with Peeta, a maid already waiting for us. In a worried daze, I retrieve the fire poker and jab at the pitiful flames in the grate. Effie’s words a buzzing behind me as I am solely concerned with Miranda. What she must be facing at this moment. It is only a bath, I remind myself and take a deep breath. The hand over my middle does nothing to calm the churning within. Only a bath, and yet…it is with strangers.

“Darling…will you not dress for dinner?” Effie asks and I turn slightly to face her quizzical expression. Then, the screeching begins. High pitched and wretched, accompanied by shouts.

Unthinking, I race next door and burst into Miranda’s rooms, wielding a fire poker and expecting a murderer or a monster…not two maids tussling with a child.

“Mrs. Abernathy says you are to wash! Come child!”

“Off with the dress!” They shout at her and Miranda thrashes, wriggling free and toppling a chair as she hides beneath the bed.

“Cease!” I shout and the maids stare aghast at me and my improvised weapon.

“What is all this racket?” Effie asks as she careens to a halt in the doorway. I fling aside the fire poker and the maids both jump at the clattering noise. Effie shrieks.

I shake my skirts out and pull my shoulders back. Clearing my throat, I manage to control my breathing but not my racing pulse. 

“A bit of adjustment is all. Miranda is not used to fancy baths, I imagine. Nor to strangers handling her person. She comes to us from an orphanage,” I stress to the maids and they share nervous glances.

“Oh,” Effie says. “Should she not be excited for this improvement in her fortunes then? This is a great opportunity for her.”

“It depends on how you view the changes in her fortunes,” I say and turn to face my Aunt. More biting words ferment on my tongue, but they will do no good. My temper riles and chafes. Peeta would know how to diffuse the situation. I lift my eyes to avoid chastising my aunt needlessly in front of her own staff. Then miracle of miracles! I am then struck with an idea as I stare at her hair, a slow smile overtaking my face. 

“Aunt Effie…your hair is quite lovely today.”

“Oh…well, I suppose it is.” She pats the coifed mass of ringlets and blushes slightly.

“However do you manage to keep those tantalizing curls from tangling horribly?”

“What? Oh darling, your mother makes a divine oil for me. Something from a rather exotic nut tree, I believe she said it was. Works wonders…why?”

“Might I borrow some? For Miranda,” I say. “She has such beautiful curls and I am certain the orphanage staff hadn’t the means, the knowledge, nor the luxury of managing them well. The prospect of having them brushed after so much neglect likely terrifies her.”

“Oh indeed,” Effie assures. “I would be happy to help, darling.”

She disappears to fetch it and I turn back to the two maids.

“Now. Lydia, if you would be so kind as to retrieve my dress and undergarments, my dressing robe and hairbrush, bring everything I shall need to prepare for dinner. I shall bathe and dress in here.”

“Here, ma’am?”

“Yes,” I say and motion for the two maids to get to work. Then I lower myself to the floor and stare beneath the bed. “I seem to have lost a kitten under here. Have you seen it?”

Miranda shakes her head with great vehemence.

“Hm. No matter. Cats despise getting baths anyways. I simply did not wish to frighten him when I begin splashing in mine.” This seems to garner her interest. When the maids return, I ask their assistance as far as my stays. Once those are off, I dismiss them. They exchange a strange look but do as asked.

As soon as the door is shut, I finish removing my clothes and carefully step into the warm water, sighing in relief as I sink into the depths and begin to sing. A carved wooden boat sits beside the tub and I finger it with a smile. It looks to be Haymitch’s work and his inclusion of Miranda warms my heart. Piling my hair atop my head, I then wash my body, stretching my arms and luxuriating in the feel of it. When I am clean save for my hair, I lean back and stretch my arms along the lip of the tub. 

With my eyes closed, I am more attuned to the sounds in the room. The rub of fabric over wooden floors. The scrape of a shoe. A sniffle. I can feel the small hairs on my arm stand on end and am able to remain still when Miranda touches my shoulder. I open one eye and smile at her.

“It is a lovely bath, my darling. Care to partake?” She shakes her head but traces shapes on my shoulder and arm, when I look down at them, I sober. My scars. I wait for her to meet my eyes before I speak again. “Do they frighten you?”

She shakes her head again.

“Good. I do not want you to be frightened of me. One day I shall tell you how I came by them. And Peeta his as well. We are family, Miranda. Family should not fear one another, but be able to trust one another. You must tell me if anything we do breaks your trust in us, yes?” 

I splash the water in front of me and she startles but smiles. It is the first true smile I have seen from her. I lift one brow and splash at her. She squeals and jumps back. Then with a wicked smile, she leans over the edge of the tub and splashes water right back at me. I scream with faux indignation and lift my hands to protect myself from further attacks as she continues to splash. The sleeve of her dress is soon soaked and wisps of her hair escape her turban.

Then, with little warning, Miranda strips her clothing and scrambles into the tub, her knee knocking the toy boat into the now churning waters. A great splash and waves crest over the sides onto the floor. I laugh as she surfaces, bedraggled wet hair hanging in strings in front of her face. She smiles at me, a toothy grin and then takes a deep breath before plunging beneath the water, her fingers wriggling like tentacles, slippery eels through the waves. She surfaces with a growl and swamps the boat.

“Oh no! A kraken!” I shout and laugh at her antics. She splashes about the tub for a moment and then grasps the soap. It flies from her hand and into the water. Her eyes widen and we stare silently at one another a moment. “It escaped! Quick, catch it!”

She splashes about to search for it, loud enough that I miss the entrance of my aunt.

“Is she not a bit old for such…baths?” Effie asks as she returns with the oil and I shake my head.

“Nonsense. You are never too old to make bath time fun!” I say and tickle Miranda’s tummy before handing her the soap.

“Very well,” Effie says with doubt, setting the oil on the small table beside the tub. “Your husband wonders at your whereabouts, Katniss.”

“Tell him the truth, and that we shall see him for dinner. Shiny and clean,” I say with a smile and Effies huffs again leaving us alone, although she mumbles protests at being treated as a messenger.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper to Miranda and she nods eagerly. “Your Aunt Effie was once a pirate.”

Miranda stares at the door, her expression skeptical and I laugh.

“I know she does not seem it, but I promise you, she was once a fearsome pirate princess. Which means…she must be afraid of such a terrifying kraken! You will promise not to frighten her too much, won’t you? After all, she is our hostess.”

Miranda smiles and nods. The soap makes several escapes and I must help Miranda fish it back from the murky water. When she’s clean, we wash our hair. Miranda first scrubs mine under my guidance.

“See there, my darling. Nothing to fear,” I say as I squeeze water from my hair and smile at her. “Now your turn.”

She nods then allows me to scrub hers. A rinse and I stand from the tub, drying myself swiftly and donning my robe before assisting her. With Miranda wrapped in drying cloths, we settle before the fire. I sing softly as I work the oil into her hair and brush through it to remove the tangles. Then I use a cloth to squeeze excess water from it, leave it damp for the fire to do the rest of the drying while I take the brush to mine. I assist her into her dress and she smiles at the colour, gleefully spreads the skirts and spins, clapping her hands and smiling.

I then call for the maids and Miranda sits on the counterpane, kicking her slippered feet as she watches my dressing. At last, we are ready and make our appearance downstairs.

“Now. To dinner,” I say and turn towards the door. Miranda releases a sound of distress and grasps my hand, shaking her head vehemently and clutching at her curls. “What is it, darling?”

I am only given whimpers and send the maids along as I kneel before her, searching her terrified blue eyes for the words she cannot seem to say.

“I do wish you would speak to me, Miranda,” I whisper and her mouth gapes and shuts in a frantic pantomime. “But…I shall be patient. Your voice is worth waiting to hear. For now, I shall make the best guess I can. Is it your hair?” A frantic nod. “You wish it covered?” Another nod. “Oh darling, you needn’t ever hide your hair with us. But…” I search about the room until I find the blue turban, neatly laid out on the chest where the maids unpacked it. Carefully, I wrap it around her hair and pin it in place, plucking a few curls free to frame her face. “Until you are ready to go without it. There. All better?”

She examines herself in the mirror a moment and then takes my hand again. Snatching it back almost immediately and gazing up at me with horror in her eyes.

“Have I a toad hiding in my hand? Warts perhaps?” I ask and flip it over to examine. “Hm… no toad. No warts.” The faintest smile cracks her lips apart and I extend my hand to her. “Shall we?”

Hand in hand, we descend towards the dining room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you care to explain what that was all about tonight?” Peeta asks with a lift of his eyebrow as he slides his cravat from his neck and drapes it over the corner of the mirror. I smile slightly and drop my gaze back to Miranda. She sleeps soundly, tucked in our bed, her rag doll clutched to her breast, her thumb tucked in her mouth, and her blue turban still wrapped around her curls. Several more strands have worked their way free and frame her face in a fiery halo that appears luminous in the firelight.

I have been so wary of flames since I was burned at the age of sixteen. Yet this tiny little flame of a girl has already crept into my heart. Tears threaten to spill as I smile at her and brush back a few strands of hair. It frightens me, how quickly she worked her way into my heart and yet, as I lift my gaze up to find Peeta watching me, I cannot regret a moment of my life since he and Jo pulled me from the mud.

“I am merely attempting to make her feel welcome in our family.”

He grins and I stifle a laugh. “Poor Effie.”

“Poor Effie, indeed,” I say. “Who knew she could so convincingly play the part of a Pirate Queen on a secret mission, even unaware of her role?”

Peeta’s laugh warms me, as did his willingness to play right along with our game at dinner, despite not having any warning before hand. And even though my head is tilted down, seemingly watching my own hand soothing our newly adopted daughter as she sleeps in our bed, my gaze is in fact focused on my husband as he removes his remaining clothes in preparation for bed. My pulse flutters in my breast and I smile to myself. Secret and loving.

My husband. My daughter, for she is my daughter. There is no one and nothing in this world that can convince me otherwise. Although a fledgling fear does flutter in my breast. Something Mistress Coin said, about her birth parents coming after her. At the time, I dismissed the fear, as it is unlikely the sire is aware of Miranda’s existence, and her birth mother… I glance back up at Peeta, my heart torn in two. A simple flick of a sentence and pain throbs dully in my breast. I know how dearly he wishes to find her, to see her again. But I cannot help wondering if finding her would mean losing Miranda, especially since Peeta wants to tell Miranda the truth one day, after she begins speaking again so that she might ask questions and have them answered fully. 

We’ve still no idea where Nancy is and so I know that I am simply borrowing trouble by worrying. I can do nothing for it tonight. Tonight, Miranda is my daughter, newly brought home to us, and so I lean down and kiss her brow.

“Sweet dreams, precious Miranda,” I whisper, adding a silent such wish for the child growing inside me as well. My family. Such a blessing I never thought to have when I was left marked and scarred. 

I am unsurprised when I sit back up and find Peeta standing beside the bed, watching me.

“Come on then. Now your turn, my love,” he says and I smile as I take his hand and slide from the bed, my skirts rustling across the coverlet. We elected not to use the services of Effie and Haymitch’s staff to prepare for bed this evening, preferring a quiet night, just the three of us. Especially after Peeta suggested that Miranda might not do well alone in the large, strange room next door. I agreed and so we offered her the choice, unsurprised when she chose to share a bed with us for the night.

I stand still while Peeta helps me disrobe, dropping soft as rose petal kisses on my skin as he works. I close my eyes and hum with content. “I think, dear husband, that I shall dismiss my lady’s maid when we return to Everdeen.”

“Why would you do that to poor Mary?” he asks, his touch faltering.

“Because she has much to deal with already with Mother and Prim, and now Madge, Miranda, Maysilee. The poor girl is overworked,” I say lightly. “Besides, I am rather fond of the manner in which you perform her duties,” I tease and find myself backed against the bedpost, heated blue eyes gazing down at me. I cannot resist one more taunt. “So efficient and skilled at undressing me.”

His slow smile heats me more than a roaring fire could ever hope to do. Did I say that I dislike flames? Perhaps I was mistaken, I think as Peeta slowly lowers his head. I close my eyes in anticipation of his kiss, gasping when his mouth caresses along my neck instead of my lips. Again as the suction of the kisses turns my knees to a quivering mess.

“Do you think you can be quiet, my love? You will wake Miranda,” Peeta chastises and I groan, the sound cut off as his words sink in.

“Miranda…Peeta you must stop. We will wake her,” I say frantically although he continues to kiss me, his hands grasping my buttocks and pulling me against him.

“I can draw the drapes around the bed so she will see nothing. As long as you promise to keep quiet,” he whispers and then laughs when I release a tormented moan, my desires split between the need to join with my love and the need to be a truly great adopted mother to Miranda.

“I am not sure I can, husband.” He steps away from me then, a devilish smile on his face.

“Very well. Another night then, when Miranda is used to us and her new sleeping arrangements.”

“Yes,” I sigh in relief and also in disappointment. There is no telling how long it will be, although we believe that she will sleep well sharing a room with Maysilee, being used to multiple children sharing a room at the orphanage.

“At least permit me to finish undressing you,” Peeta says and slowly lowers himself to the floor before I can deny the request, carefully positioning his leg as he goes, his broad hands dragging over the fabric of my chemise then up my legs, beneath the fabric. I would not have denied him even if he’d given me the chance to answer.

I stare down at him and watch his eyes, still shaking and holding tight to the bedpost behind me, feeling each soft touch and stray caress as he removes my garters, unseen beneath the garment I still wear, but acutely felt. My stocking follows shortly after.

“Would you call this efficient?” He whispers. My legs quake with the caress of the words. I can barely answer, the dratted man, and he grins knowingly at my breathy response.

“In its own way.” Quite efficient at arousing me. Another eternity passes before the stockings are both off my feet and the chill of the air is nothing compared to the flames of desire licking up my body.

“Peeta,” I whisper, on the verge of changing my mind and drawing the drapes shut around the bed myself, and he grins up at me.

“Time for sleep,” he says and helps me beneath the covers where I stew in my own arousal, barely tampered by the presence of our child in the room. Peeta takes his time removing his false leg and finishing his preparations for bed. He extinguishes the candles, plunging us into darkness and then sliding beneath the covers with us. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, only the glow of embers in the grate to provide light, I smile and wrap Miranda into an embrace.

Sleep is swift, and I only just register Peeta’s hand covering mine, protecting us both as sleep claims me for the night.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quiet sounds awaken me. I blink sleep from my eyes and stare through the darkness. Whimpering and whispers are all I register for a moment.

“Have you need to relieve yourself?” Quiet rustling in answer. “And the dark frightens you? …Something else then?” 

A flame strikes and I squint at the sudden light. 

“Better?” I hear Peeta whisper and the silence of Miranda’s answer. My eyes have not adjusted yet and I blink a few more times before the room comes into focus.

Peeta helps Miranda scramble over him to the floor and turns his head to allow her some privacy. He finds me watching him and smiles slightly. Waits for her to see to her needs then helps her back into the bed. Her cheeks are brightly flushed and she stares at Peeta a moment before rolling over and wriggling close to me. I wrap one arm around her and close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of her small body cocooned with mine and her fingers grasping at my nightgown. A heavier arm wraps us both and I shift my legs, smiling widely as my bare foot finds Peeta’s leg. I then open my eyes once more to see his warm gaze over Miranda’s hair as I caress his strong calf with my toes. It is a small caress, a miniscule connection, and yet I feel so much in the soft stroke of my skin over his, the tickle of course hair and the indelible warmth of his body, the small pocket of warmth from Miranda wedged between us.

As Miranda drifts back into sleep, neither of us mentions that her turban has come loose, lost somewhere amongst the bed clothes. And if I were not already madly in love with him, my heart would near burst with it when Peeta presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Miranda’s head, right in the middle of her flaming mop of hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our remaining days with Effie and Haymitch are a flurry of activity. A patchwork of images in my mind as I sweep down the hall with Miranda at my side. The room where Miranda barely stayed save for her bath, pretending to be a kraken. Down the stairs past the drawing room where she and Peeta could be found of an afternoon, hunched over paper with pencil marking smeared across their fingers or down the bridge of her nose where she itched. Past the study where she would brace her arms on the table and silently watch Haymitch and Peeta at chess. The library where she would curl up on the settee next to me and lay her head in my lap while I read to her. The dining room where our innocent games of pretend subterfuge made learning the rules of etiquette less frightening.

Our luggage is already packed and sent ahead in a cart, covered in a dirty canvas tarp this time, a concession made to alleviate lingering fears of another highwayman on the roads. The cargo this time is slightly battered from its last journey, but much more valuable with the new additions. The painting supplies and gifts I purchased for Peeta and Miranda. Nearly an entire trunk of borrowed or purchased books for Peeta to begin his studies. Frederick is now mended enough to make the journey, although since we are borrowing one of Haymitch’s carriages, his coachman will drive. 

Effie embraces us both and expresses a wish for a return visit. I smile and turn to follow Miranda, who has already raced down the steps towards Peeta and Haymitch. The brightness of her dress, or the swiftness of her movements, startles the horses waiting. They shift nervously and stamp. Miranda slips on the icy pavement and falls. The hooves begin to lift.

A terrifying scream and the bite of frigid air cuts through me.

Peeta’s hand thrusts out and yanks her back out of danger. He has her wrapped up in his arms and turns towards the stairs. Both of them look up at me with widened eyes and I nearly collapse as I hurry down the steps.

“Miranda! Are you all right?” I ask and quickly check her over. “A scraped knee only. Oh!”

“Are you alright, Katniss?” Peeta whispers and lifts one shaking, gloved hand to caress my cheek. It is only when I notice the leather is damp as he withdraws his touch to shift Miranda in his hold that I realize I am weeping.

“Fine. Fine!” I insist and swipe at the damnable tears. Peeta pulls me closer and I fling my arms around Miranda as best I can while he still holds her.

It takes a moment of calming one another and a brief trip back inside the house for me to tend to her scrapes before we are ready to climb aboard the carriage. After I have carefully cleaned the cuts and applied a healing balm to them, I press a soft kiss just above the wound. Only then am I able to climb into the carriage, although I immediately pull her into my lap as we sway with the first motion.

She seems more confused than anything else, and I am eventually able to relinquish my grasp on her. Not entirely, only enough for her to curl up on the seat, her head resting in my lap as she dozes off, rag doll clutched in her embrace.

“Are you truly alright?” Peeta asks when Miranda is well asleep.

“No,” I say in a choked gasp and Peeta leans across the carriage to place one hand over mine, the one that has continuously stroked Miranda’s hair since she laid her head so trustingly in my lap. “Peeta…we have assumed responsibility for her. What if something should happen to her? I could never live with myself.”

“Would you rather take her back to the orphanage?”

“Would you like your tongue removed, husband?” I snap and he smiles, glances down at Miranda then back up at me.

“Katniss, my love. You are going to make the most extraordinary mother.” I blink at him, confused by this turn in the conversation. “You have such love. Such passion in your heart. And the deep instinct to protect all that you care about.”

“What are you getting at?”

“We cannot keep her safe from all danger,” he says, sadness in his eyes. “We will attempt to keep our children safe from as much as we can, and the rest… we can help them to be brave enough to face the rest.”

I swallow and gaze out the window at the passing buildings. Silence reigns in the carriage as I caress Miranda’s hair and Peeta caresses my hand. Eventually, I smile.

“The last time I drove past this block of buildings, I was quite angry with you.”

“Oh?” He asks and I turn my smile on him.

“We were newly betrothed.”

“How horrifying,” he says and I laugh. It seems a lifetime has passed since that day and yet it has not even been a full year.

My fears and worries do not disappear, but they are easier to bear as Peeta shifts us all so that he and I are sitting side by side, Miranda carefully protected between us, our hands joined on her shoulder. I absently rub my middle as Peeta and I converse quietly. Whispered words of the future and plans, mundane communications of everyday life. It is comforting in its own way, yet somehow not enough to keep the fears at bay.

The journey is slow and several days long. At each stop, Miranda clings to us. Her blue eyes dart about and she shrinks into her cloak, making herself as small a figure as possible. I wonder at it, frustrated at her continued silence as it hampers my abilities to alleviate her fears.

It would of course help if, every time we must climb into the carriage, I did not have a brief attack of panic. My heart spasming and my hands shaking until Miranda is safely aboard. Even when we are underway, I startle at every foreign noise outside our conveyance. Unable to sleep or fully relax. At night, I am haunted. My dreams overrun with shattering glass, menacing figures wielding pistols, fiery tombs, the vacant stare of a bloody and violent death lingering in Peeta’s blue eyes, empty starless nights, and the woman from the orphanage silently watching from the shadows. 

I wake with my heart palpitating and my palms damp with sweat, unable to calm myself until I lay my hands upon both my husband and my daughter. It takes long minutes of listening to them breathing to assure myself that they are alive and well before I am able to slip back into slumber.

I am haunted… until we pass through the gates of Everdeen.

Then, at last, I am able to breathe easy and lean over Miranda’s sleeping form to wake her.

“Miranda, my dove. Wake up. We are home.” She lifts her head and looks about, rather sleepily and then scoots away from me to look out of the window. The closer we get, the more relaxed I become. I hear the shouts of greeting before the carriage even stops and the footman is hard pressed to get the carriage door opened before we are inundated by a flurry of green dress and blonde hair.

“Maysilee! Your cloak!” I hear Madge shout.

“Her manners!” Johanna adds and I laugh as Maysilee climbs into my husband’s lap.

“Mister Peeta! Miss Katniss! I thought you’d never get back!”

“Well hello, Maisy Daisy. Have we been absent some time?” Peeta asks and she scowls at him. Then she states quite seriously, as though it is the worst thing in the world:

“Mr. Jo is no good at adventures.”

“What lies is that moppett telling you about me?” Johanna asks.

“At least let them out of the carriage, everyone,” my father’s voice rises up over the din of horses and luggage and excited young girl, amusement in his tone.

Peeta laughs at this and turns in his seat to gesture towards Miranda. “Perhaps Jo is not, but I believe the newest member of our family will be quite good at adventures.”

Maysilee gasps and launches herself across the carriage, oblivious to the way Miranda shrinks back and clutches her cloak around her tiny frame as if it will protect her from Maysilee’s exuberance. I think to intervene, as does Peeta, to keep Miranda from being overwhelmed. Before I can manage, Maysilee has her cornered in an embrace.

“Oh I am so happy you are here! We will be the best of friends! Sisters, really! Mother says I must share with you, but I am ever so excited to do so!”

“Maysilee,” I caution, but she will not hear it and drags a hapless Miranda out of the carriage and into the view of everyone else. In the tussle, her turban is knocked off and a riot of red curls escapes. Peeta attempts to follow her, but the cramped space hampers his movements.

“Oh my!” I hear a few gasps.

“What is it?” Maysilee asks and finally falls silent as Peeta hands me down and she turns to face Miranda. She gasps as well. “You have witch’s hair!”

“Maysilee!” Madge scolds harshly and the girl stutters, then starts crying. 

Miranda yanks the hood of her cloak up and glances around at all the unfamiliar faces, shock and fear evident in her features. SHe bends down and scoops up the now muddied turban, her lip quivering. I too, glance around at what looks like a welcoming party to me, but to her, it must seem much like a tribunal. The fear is quickly slipping away to make room for that same vacant expression she wore at the orphanage. 

Miranda whirls to escape and collides with Peeta’s legs. He scoops her up and she struggles in his arms, even as he speaks softly to her.

“I didn’t mean to inult!” Maysilee cries.

“Of course not!” My mother soothes her.

Out of the chaos, Prim steps forward and cranes her neck to peer at Miranda’s face, half hidden in Peeta’s coat.

“Miranda? My name is Primrose. I am so happy to meet you. I am Katniss’ sister, which makes me your aunt, so you must call me Aunt Prim. Can you do that?”

Miranda shakes her head violently and I quickly remind Prim that Miranda isn’t speaking. I know I warned her and everyone else of that in a letter home, although the red hair completely escaped my writings.

“No matter. We will get along splendidly, anyways,” Prim says and then smiles with mischief in her eyes. “Do you like kittens, Miranda?” Miranda perks up at this, helped by the fact that Maysilee has stopped crying.

“Come with me to the stables and I have a surprise for you, a welcome home present,” Prim says and extends her arms. Miranda glances up at Peeta for approval.

“Go ahead, if you wish to.” Miranda shifts and slides and Peeta sets her on her feet. Prim takes her hand and I smile at the lack of hesitation this time.

“You too, Maysilee,” Prim says and Madge mouths an apology to me before following with her daughter in her arms.

“Well, that was exciting,” Jo says and my father snorts. “I’ll just see to the horses and make sure that lot doesn’t wreck my stables.”

“My stables?” I ask after she departs and now it is my mother who snorts. 

“She has rather taken them over in your absence.”

“Yes, well Jo can be formidable in that way,” Peeta says. “I apologize if he has overstepped.”

“Not in the least. Giles is near retirement anyways and Charles is far too young yet to assume the responsibilities of stable master,” Father remarks as he moves towards me and embraces me. “Jo is a happy addition to Everdeen. And you, are a sight for aging hearts, my dear. Welcome home, Firecracker.”

I sink into his embrace and inhale his familiar, comforting scent.

“The journey was uneventful, I trust?” Mother asks as Peeta offers her his arm and the four of us make our way inside the home.

“Your Miranda…” my father says and I stiffen against his side. “She will be quite a bit of work.”

“She needs us,” I say and his eyes soften.

“Katniss, you cannot continue to take in every stray that wanders across our borders.”

“Miranda hardly wandered here.”

“And the two servants you hired from de Vale? I am not sure I can afford the additional wages, at least not to the level they would expect, coming from the household of a marquis.”

“They were not..being treated well,” I say and look away, unable to account for my actions taking them in.

“Will you then throw funds at every person not being treated well? You’ll have nothing left to feed yourselves. And with a child on the way–”

“In a way it was my fault they were treated so poorly, Papa. I couldn’t leave them in misery!”

“Admirable as that may be, I am concerned. Two new servants, one injured, a coach destroyed and the horses only barely recovered. You were fortunate they were safely returned and not stolen on the return journey to Everdeen.” I purse my lips and look away. I’d forgotten completely about the horses and the funds we were forced to use to stable them until someone from Everdeen could retrieve them. My guilt only increases with every word Father speaks. 

“As it is, we are now short a carriage. I will have to replace it. With three additional mouths to feed and another on the way.” I attempt to protest, to justify my actions, but he continues before I can utter a word. “I am only concerned because when I die–”

“Papa!”

“It will happen, Katniss. We cannot ignore the certainty of it. I will die some day, and when I do, I want you and your mother and your sister to be prepared, taken care of. I worry less about you now that you have Peeta, but… the more people whom you feel responsible for, the greater burden you will have to shoulder when the inevitable happens. There is a chance, should your child be a boy. I could name him my heir and leave Everdeen to you and Peeta in trust for him, but if the child is a girl…”

“Are you planning on dying soon, Father?” I ask cruelly, upset at the reminders that my daughter will be no better looked upon in terms of inheritance than I have been. He gives me a wistful smile, as though reading my thoughts as clearly as printed words on a page.

“Hardly, my dear. But neither was I planning on falling off my horse last winter.” I glance down at the ground in shame as we ascend the stairs behind my mother and Peeta, deep in confidence with one another about something. Mother is nodding and her face softening into a fond smile.

“I am still attempting to arrange things to see to your needs, in case there is no son in your future. To that end, I have asked Mr. Gale Hawthorne to visit at his earliest convenience. Your husband and Uncle Haymitch have come up with a plan… an idea… a possibility at least, and I am eager to see if it would work. The roads are treacherous now, so I would not expect him before spring, as he planned previously, however, we must be prepared for short notice visits and…” His eyes dart towards the windows, and I follow, just able to make out the stables.

“And we have a strange, growing menagerie of lost souls at Everdeen.”

“Which may or may not cause difficulties with Mr. Hawthorne. He may find something to take offense at and be eager to see Everdeen rid of us.”

“Then we must hope for now that Mr. Hawthorne is a man of great compassion,” I say, although my heart feels far too heavy for hope.

“We shall. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you would consult with me before you and your husband take in anymore strays. Your sister has managed to adopt another cat in your absence and well…” he sighs and I cannot help but laugh at his beleaguered expression. “The damn thing has had kittens!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kittens. I watch as Miranda scurries from the bed to check the small box beneath, arrange the straw bedding and pet behind the ears of the tiny black kitten within.

“Up you go,” I say and smile as she takes one more moment to check the cat before climbing in bed. I am almost certain that morning will find Miranda with the kitten curled up beside her. Already the rag doll has been resigned to the box as bedding for the cat.

“Mama, one more kiss,” Maysilee says and Madge gives me a knowing smile as she presents the tiny, caramel colored kitten that Maysilee chose for herself. “Good night, Mud.”

She kisses the kitten and Madge places the thing back in its box as Maysilee wriggles deeper into the covers. She seems thrilled to be sharing the large bed with her new sister and I bend over to give both girls quick, loud kisses and receive giggles and smiles for the silly gestures.

Then I perch on the edge of the bed and smooth back some of Miranda’s wild red hair, already making an escape from the braid she demanded I give her tonight, although at least she did not request her turban for bedtime.

“Do you remember where Peeta and I will be tonight?” She nods and grasps at the covers, pulling them up to her chin. “Come find us if you need anything, alright?” I smile as she nods again and bend down to give her another kiss. A soft knock alerts me to Peeta’s presence in the door and I sit up to welcome him.

“Are there any girls wishing a bedtime story?” he asks and Maysilee claps with glee at this new development in our strange family arrangement. Madge and I settle near the fireplace, her to work on some needlepoint and me to pretend that I am reading my book as Peeta sits at the foot of their bed and begins to weave a fantastical story of a witch and a princess locked in a tower. Miranda’s eyes grow wide as he continues the story and Maysilee interjects with frequent questions. I give up on my book and rest my chin in my hand, listening shamelessly as I learn of yet another talent my husband has been hiding.

The girls listen, enraptured by the tale of doom and disaster, the many narrow escapes of the princess, the assumptions of the village the the witch must be behind the mischief. They squeal when Peeta reveals the true villain in the land was not in fact the witch, but the cruel queen of a neighboring kingdom who would see both the princess and the witch hurt.

“And so the princess’ secret protector revealed herself, striking down the evil queen with a mighty spell! And who do you think it was?” Peeta asks.

“The witch!” Maysilee exclaims around a massive yawn. I smile and duck my head as he taps her on the nose.

“Quite right, Maisy Daisy. The two were secretly sisters. Are you certain you’ve not heard this story before?” Maysilee giggles and Peeta continues, although my attention is now drawn to Miranda and her wide, glassy blue eyes. Something heavy in them, even as they droop. 

I cannot place my finger on it until the girls have each been given another round of good night kisses and the adults have crept quietly from the room. I still cannot say a word of it as I am quickly caught up in sharing the tales of our trip and receiving the news of Everdeen over sherry and quiet firelight. It is not until Peeta and I are safely tucked in our room that I finally broach the subject.

“Are we certain it is wise to continue this comparison of Miranda to a witch?” I ask as Peeta works his cravat loose. On top of all else that has happened, Jeffries the valet from de Vale has come down ill and is currently confined to his bed. No matter. I feel far less guilt watching Peeta disrobe himself with no witnesses. “Those drawings she made of herself burning at the stake…” I shudder and shut the book I was attempting to read, conceding defeat on finishing the chapter.

“You think it unwise?”

“Why do you not?” I ask and he sighs for a moment before sitting on the sofa beside me.

“Do you know how often the word ‘bastard’ has been used as an insult against me?” I flush with great heat, knowing that I myself have flung that insult at him on multiple occasions. “Or ‘cripple.’ At some point, it began to lose its sting. I don’t recall when or even how. Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that I simply decided to no longer let it hurt me and that was that. The truth was likely far more messy. I spent a great many years in anger over who I was, who the world saw and expected me to be, but it was pointless. Such anger, over something I could not control.”

“What has this to do with Miranda?” I ask testily and he lifts my hand from the folds of my skirt to bring it to his lips.

“There are people in this world who will judge her and assume things based solely on her hair color. I witnessed it with my mother, and you yourself saw it at the orphanage, with that young girl at the masquerade, the one with red hair and lips. This afternoon, even.”

“What can we do about it?” I ask, suddenly understanding the vein of his thinking. “Make her think herself a good witch?”

“For a start. Teach her to smirk when someone calls her that. Stand taller and know that they do so out of ignorance. Help her find confidence in who she is.”

“By allowing her to raise a black cat?”

“With kindness and love,” he asserts and I catch on to the plan.

“Or telling her bedtime stories where the witch is not the villain, but one of the heroes.”

“It is possible, to teach her that people are not always what they seem at first brush without frightening her or conditioning her to forever cut herself off from the world. Also by allowing Maysilee’s fascination with the fantastic and magical seep into her life and let her know that not everyone is afraid of witch’s hair.”

“And my mother,” I accuse with narrow eyes. “I somehow sense that you’ve already enlisted her help in this as well.”

“Tomorrow, as you and I already agreed, Miranda begins lessons, something she’s never truly had to do at the orphanage. Reading, writing, mathematics, music and drawing, although she already excels at that, and… the fine art of herbalism and healing beside her adopted grandmother. She’ll be concocting her own witch’s brews within a fortnight.”

“You devious, brilliant bastard,” I say and he laughs as I pull him towards me, kissing his laughter right off his lips.

I meant only to claim a swift kiss, to solidify in his mind that I do not use the word as an insult at all, and yet… I am quickly lost in the heat of his mouth on mine, in the possessive pull of his hands on my hips, turning me so that he might kiss me better, more deeply.

My book slides from my lap and lands on the carpet with a dull thud. I slide my hands down his chest and hurriedly undo the row of buttons on his waistcoat. Once the garment is discarded, Peeta pulls me closer, onto his lap with my skirts tangled about my legs as I straddle him. As I move over him, I yank his shirt free and splay my hands over his heated skin beneath. He groans and thrusts one hand into my hair, tilting my head so that he might kiss me more deeply. The flames of desire quickly lick over me, tickling awake the feelings I have been required to tamp down this past week, with Miranda sleeping in the same room.

But now…

“Oh,” I sigh as his mouth shifts across my cheek to my ear where he nibbles as though I am a delectable treat. Then harsh suction just below the lobe has me gripping tight to his shoulders. “Oh! Peeta! The bed…now.”

He loops his arms about me and stands, walking swiftly across the room as I return the heated kisses to his neck. I am dropped on the bed and then flipped over, my feet on the floor and my body on the mattress as his hands make quick work of my dress and then loosen my stays. I whimper, begging him to hurry as fabric continues to leave my body. Peeta sweeps aside my hair and lays atop me, his lips kissing and sucking, branding his love for me into the back of my neck. I can feel the hard proof of his arousal against my backside, even through the layers of clothing still separating us.

With a mighty pull, he tears my corset free and I exhale as he throws it across the room, leaving me in naught but my chemise, stockings, and garters. 

“There, see? Efficient,” I gasp as Peeta stands and flips me once more so that I am sitting perched on the edge of the bed. I reach out to caress his chest, a narrow bare strip revealed to me through his gaping shirt. After a few minutes of the touch, he takes my hand in his, kisses it and then carefully lowers himself to the floor before me, his broad hands caressing my body over the soft fabric of my chemise, all the way to my ankles and then…

My lips part on a sigh as much like a few nights ago, he caresses back up my legs, only this time with the hem of my chemise caught on his thumbs, lifting the garment and exposing my stockings to the heat of both the fire behind him and his gaze.

His skin and hair glow in the firelight and I admire my husband as he bends his head to kiss over my stockings. His breath through the silk fibers soon has me arching, spreading my knees wide, silently begging for him. The playful glint in his eyes as he glances up at me and continues kissing me tells me that he knows precisely what he is doing, the dratted man.

Wonderful, dratted man, I think as his lips skim along the tops of my garters, the kiss split between silk and skin.

“Please,” I whisper, scarcely able to say what it is that I desire.

“If you would hold this, my love,” he whispers and I take the fabric from him, inhaling sharply as he bends forward and, watching my expressions the entire time, kisses my thighs. Slow and painstaking and oh so delicious. Then he captures the end of one garter in his teeth. He takes an eternity pulling back, the ribbon unravelling and falling free from my leg.

I am a quivering pack of nerves, my chest heaving for air and my hands aching with their grip on my chemise. Peeta carefully sets aside the garter before rolling my stocking down my leg.

He does so slowly. Slowly enough that I nearly scream with impatience.

“Am I being efficient now, love?” he whispers to the side of my knee and I groan, unable to watch as his lips follow the garter down my leg. When it is finally free of my toes and set aside, I can wait no longer. I grasp his shirt and tear it from his body. I’m given no chance, none at all to claim what I desire, as Peeta lifts my thighs, throwing me off balance. My hands slap onto the coverlet and my fingers clench as he nuzzles into my folds, holds my legs aloft so that I am spread for him, immodest and wanton, unable to so much as move without disrupting his loving. He has me at his mercy.

I attempt to muffle my desire, but cannot. It feels far too good to contain and I am lost within moments, begging him without shame, gripping his hair with one hand and thrusting my hips up into his mouth.

It feels as though I am falling apart and coming together at once. My arm buckles beneath me and I fall back on the bed, overcome and overwhelmed.

“I love you,” I manage to gasp out as he stands and watches me recover, his hands busy removing his pants and then his false leg. 

“And I you, Katniss. More than anything.” He climbs onto the bed, arms braced on either side of my bed as he finds purchase with one knee and one truncated leg. I bring him down to me, to kiss him. To taste my own pleasure on his lips. Wanton and shameless as he caresses my side, my breast, down between my still quivering thighs.

“Then love me,” I demand. His hand leaves me and I sigh as I feel the tip of him brushing through my folds, back and forth. Like a paint brush spreading the sky across the canvas. I attempt to lift my hips into his, to take him into me, but have no success.

He laughs softly against my lips. “Is there something you desire, wife of mine.”

“You are cruel, husband,” I chastise, although my hands grasping at him and my lips along his jaw would suggest otherwise. “You know what I want.”

“No, Katniss. Not cruel. Strategic. Devious. Madly in love with you and in a constant state of desire for you. To hear your moans of pleasure and know that I am the cause of them.” He rises up slightly and stares down at me, grinning as the tip of him just enters me. Only the tip. Then his hand is on my hip, holding me down. Immobile.

“Damn you, Peeta!” I mutter to no avail. He rocks his hips, an infinitesimal motion that teases me, dangling what I want as bait. “You know what I want!”

“Then say it, my love. Say it and it shall be yours.”

He hasn’t enough hands to truly subdue me like this. I barely manage to hide my smirk as I grasp his buttocks and instead of thrusting up, pull him down into me. A string of profanity leaves his lips as we’re finally brought together and I smile triumphantly up into his lust hazed eyes.

“I want you, Peeta. Inside me. I want the seed of your love,” I whisper against his lips. 

“You already have that,” he teases and I shake my head.

“I want you anyways.”

He groans and then releases my hip to caress my thigh, to hold it tighter about his hips as he begins to move in earnest.

“Hold me close, darling. This may be a little desperate and hasty.”

“I like it when you are desperate…for me,” I say and embrace him with my legs. He rocks his body against mine in gentle thrusts at first, our gazes as joined as our flesh. I attempt to muffle my desire, but Peeta’s thrusts do quickly turn desperate. And deep… and I am unable to stifle the sounds he plucks from my chest with each rejoining of our bodies. A hand slides over my leg and he lifts it, until my knee rests on my own shoulder, opening my body as I nearly scream at the pleasure the shift causes. I claw at his chest then his back as he holds my leg aloft, his fingers slipping on the silk stocking and his eyes burning with love. I clench my bare leg about him as my crest arrives and I am overcome.

“Yes. Yes, my love. Come again for me. Katniss!” He groans with his release and rotates his hips, pressing me deep into the bed, my entire body shaking with the waves of it.

When the feelings of bliss pass, leaving me limp and satisfied, I become aware of his lips on my ankle. His fingers caressing as he shifts us, separates our bodies and then adjusts our position in bed.

He manages to deal with the fire and candles, and I think don some sort of shirt for sleep before collapsing beside me and pulling me close. It is only as my leg drags through the covers that I realise I am still wearing one stocking. I lift my tired leg and tease his with my silk covered toes.

“You seem to have forgotten something, husband.” His hand caresses over my leg and I squeal as he pulls me flush against him so that my leg is once more embracing him, my toes now caressing the back of his knee.

“I did not, wife,” he murmurs with a lazy grin. It sends the frissons of desire through me, implanting this memory firmly in my mind. It would not surprise me if some day soon, I find on my pillow a drawing of myself with only one stocking. Dratted, wonderful man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The screams wake me and I fly upright with a gasp on my lips. Peeta is up and tearing across the room before I can even register the direction of the sound, but I am quick to follow him, dragging a dressing robe onto my body as I go.

“What is it?” Madge and I nearly collide in the hall outside the room our daughters now share, the door already flung wide. We grasp onto one another for support as we step through the doors and Madge averts her eyes with a gasp at the sight that greets us.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Madge. Now is not the time for modesty,” I say and drag her across the room, nearly flinging her towards the wall where Maysilee stands, holding Mud the kitten and crying as she stares aghast at Miranda. Miranda sitting in Peeta’s embrace and sobbing.

He soothes over her hair, his voice calm and gentle, at such odds with the expression of agony on his face and his state of undress. Near enough to nude to shock a widow. His shirt gapes open, revealing his throat, one shoulder, and the better part of his left side. His scars. 

I pick up his cane, which he must have dropped on the floor near the bed and set it to rest near his hand before joining them on the bed. The wordless sobs continue, even as Peeta pleads with her to tell us what frightened her so.

Maysilee spills explanations to Madge, but none of them are helpful. She woke to the screaming as well.

“Do you wish to sleep with Katniss and I tonight? At least until the new room becomes familiar?” Peeta asks and Miranda nods. Our eyes meet over her head and we share a deep look. I feel as though we speak a thousand words in such a look, an understanding that transcends words. I cannot help but wonder if Peeta woke screaming or frightened or confused those first nights he spent under the Marquis’ roof, and if he did… did anyone respond to his cries?

I reach for her, gathering Miranda in my arms as Peeta retrieves his cane and uses it as a second leg. I manage an apology to Madge, who brushes my concern aside, insisting that Miranda’s well being is paramount. 

We are an odd parade down the hall back to our room, and it is several hours before Miranda is able to sleep again, tucked in between our bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued….

[everlarkficexchange]

Prompt 41

Written by: @wendywobbles

Prompt 41: Everlark based off the Hallmark Christmas Movies Meme:  I still going to watch them and act surprised when she falls in love with the small town baker who only wears sweaters instead of falling for the big city CEO? Yes! Does not need to be Christmas time, but definitely end game Everlark                                              

Thanks for the prompt, @historywriter2007!

AN: I hope I do some justice to this for you and put a smile on your face….I’m not sure it’s Hallmark Christmas Movie enough so maybe make some hot chocolate and put on the Michael Buble Christmas playlist to help set the scene!

Peeta Mellark had moved to District 12 to take over his Nana Sae’s bakery.  Running the place had been his dream since he was kid. He remembered how Sae had introduced him to the wonders of baking from a very young age.  She lit a fire in him that time had never diminished. 

His dad, William was an only child and while he loved his mother dearly the life of a provincial baker was not for him so he left at 18 for a Capital college and studied Law graduating top of his class. He worked hard for the firm he started with and was made partner before he was thirty.  He met and married Isabella and together they had the picture perfect life-or at least it appeared that way.  They had three boys Jackson, Davis and Peeta.  Peeta has been a surprise addition and when Isabella had found out she was expecting she was convinced that this was her much longed for daughter.  So when her third son was born she was devastated. She took to her bed and refused to leave.  She showed no interest in the child not even choosing a name for him, but while William fretted he actually did little to help his wife to deal with this situation. Instead he continued going to work and hired a nanny to take care of his youngest child.

When Sae came to visit she could not believe that at three weeks old the child was still being referred to as Baby Mellark. She took her son aside and gave him what for, she visited her daughter in law and gave her what for and then she gave the child his name Peeta James Mellark.  Isabella scoffed but she said nothing else after all what did she care what the child was called really? 

Peeta grew up, aware that he was not like his brothers although he could not figure out why. His mother lavished attention on his older brothers while he was often ignored.  His father was away with work so didn’t see the cruel and spiteful ways Isabella would torment her youngest son, which included sending him out of the Capital to a Boarding School. 

Peeta loved District 12 and spent all his school holidays there with his Nana Sae, he rarely visited the Capital or his family there.  In 12 he learnt old family recipes, invented new ones. He told Sae of his hopes and fears, he told her about his first kiss, his first love (although looking back it was more like lust). It was Sae he told first that he was planning on going to culinary school and not following his brothers to law school.  It was Sae who encouraged him to keep going when his parents refused to pay his tuition and it was Sae who paid them. 

As she got older Sae sat him down and told him she wanted him to takeover the business but before he could he needed to go see the world. So he did. He travelled around Panem and then to Europe and Asia working in small family run  places and large upscale restaurants honing his skills and seeing this he had only ever dreamed about.  He met a girl he thought he’d marry. A formidable chef from London with a lively smile and they shared many of the same interests. They were the perfect couple according to their friends and despite a year of happiness he knew something was missing, the “spark” just wasn’t there, so it was with regret that he decided to part ways with Clove.  He kissed her one last time in Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve and knew after five years of travel and adventure he was ready to come home.

He headed first to District 12 to catch up with Nana Sae. He filled her in on all that had happened and plans were set that that he would go home and tie up lose ends before returning to take over the Bakery in 2 months.  Sae meanwhile would oversee the conversion of the floors above into an apartment for him to live.  But as with all the best plans it didn’t quite work out like that. 

Two days after he left William rang to tell his mother there had been a dreadful accident and Peeta was in hospital.  After coming to see his parents a row had broken out and Isabella had raged against her son telling him what a disappointment he had been, how she wished he had never been born. Her words cut Peeta deep, but he wasn’t surprised by them.  He turned to walk away when his mother in a fit of fury picked up a tray of glasses and bottles of alcohol and threw it against the wall. It smashed sending glass flying in all directions one  large piece caught Peeta in the leg and immediately he began to bleed and bleed badly. He heard his father cry out as he ran to his side.  Peeta’s last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness was that he had never experienced true love…….

He lost his leg.

They tried to save it they said.  

And so the move was delayed while Peeta attended rehab and adjusted to life with a prosthetic .

He dealt with feelings of rage and anger. Let them consume him. Eventually he realised that he couldn’t live like that, he sought help and worked through his demons.  Old Peeta was gone but new and improved bionic legged Peeta was ready to get back to his life.

He arrived into 12 on a crisp September morning.  He walked to the bakery and instantly he felt at home.

“Well old lady aren’t you going to give me a hug” he dropped his bag on the nearest table and opened his arms.

“Peeta! I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow” cried Sae as came out from behind the counter and gave her grandson a hug “Let me look at you. You look well. So very good compared to last time I saw you. Now your furniture and stuff arrived and is upstairs. The additional rails have been fitted on the stairs and the bathroom modified”

“Good. That’s good” Peeta was no longer embarrassed by his leg and the adjustments that needed to be made to allow him to live his best life. 

September passed in a blur. Learning the ropes and adjusting to his new schedule took time but by October Sae felt comfortable enough to head to District 4 to visit her old friend Mags and leave Peeta alone.  This amused Peeta no end, he was adult but Sae seemed to forget that sometimes.

Peeta had begun to look at making changes to the place. He added new things to the menu. More variety and choices, specialised one of a kind occasion cakes and the addition of decent coffee had meant that Mellark’s was enjoying something of a renaissance. He had started to get to grips with some of Sae’s quirkier habits and had begun to introduce his own.

This included new opening hours.

Nana Sae only opened the bakery from 8am until the bread ran out, she was a one woman show for most of the time so this was suited her.  With Peeta the hours were 7.30am to 4.30pm Monday to Saturday with 9.30am to 12.30pm Sunday.  He needed staff 2 full timers and maybe 2 part timers and although right now he could handle the baking, but he was considering taking on an apprentice.

He talked to Sae after Halloween, he found that she agreed and so they set to work looking for help and filled the full time positions. Sae suggested he get in touch with Katniss Everdeen out at Prim’s Roses to see if she knew anyone who might be worth considering.   He was vaguely aware of Prim’s Roses.  It was on the other side of town that was part drop in centre and part residential for local college kids. He actually wasn’t to sure what it was -a sorority maybe- but he trusted Sae so he called ahead, explained who he was and arranged to meet with the head of the place, a Ms Katniss Everdeen.

***********************

He arrived for their meeting a little earlier than he needed to be there and parked up in the drive way of a large two storey house with a porch.  The garden was small but well looked after. He looked around taking it in, it really was a lovely place and had a nice feel to it- welcoming and friendly.  He walked up to the two steps and knocked on the door. 

The door swung open and there stood a petite woman about his age he guessed, with long dark hair, currently pulled into a messy bun, she had eyes like liquid silver and lightly tanned skin and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.  “Yes?”

“Oh hey, my name is Peeta Mellark I’m here to see Ms Everdeen?”

“Oh right, right. Hi I’m Ms Everdeen  come in. I’ll just bring you into the office.  Johanna?”

A short spiky haired woman appeared and raised an eyebrow.

“This is Mr Mellark, I’m going to have a quick chat with him.  Can you keep an eye on things?”

They went into a small room which housed a number filing cabinets, a desk, some mismatched chairs, an old computer that had seen better days and walls that were covered in pictures and photographs of girls in their late teens early twenties, smiling, graduating, some with kids and partners even pictures of  =pets. Each picture was different but  the same, all had a happiness in them that just seeped.

“So what brings you here?” Katniss got straight to the point as she gestured at one of the chairs for him to sit into.

“Well I run the bakery, Sae is my grandmother and I’ve taken over, we are looking for staff some part-time workers and Sae suggested I get in touch.  I guess because you are a sorority-“

“Mr Mellark Prim’s Roses is not a sorority.  We help girls transition from being in the care system and into the  world.  . For some being in care is all they  have ever known and they are wholly unprepared to live in the real world as it were.  Some want to go to college, others go straight to work, some don’t know what lies ahead. Here they get time, guidance and learn life skills” she said back in her chair and looked at him.

“Oh…right…ok…. I take it Prim was a person? And the “Roses” bit of the name is because like a rose  these girls need a bit of extra time and attention to flourish, but sometimes they come across as hard and have an inbuilt natural defensiveness to keep people away, kind of like thorns?” Peeta stopped why on EARTH had he even said that!!!!

Katniss stared at him, he had gotten the point of the name immediately. Most people just thought it was a play on her sister’s name. “Yes well most people don’t think too much about the name, other then to comment on how pretty it is. My sister and I were place in one of Panem’s Community homes after our parents passed away. I was  twelve and Prim was eight. At eighteen I aged out and left the system and the home. I wanted to take my sister with me but a very wise man I met in the Homes sat me down and made me go through my options.  The reality was I couldn’t take responsibility for Prim at that point in time.  I adapted to life outside that routine well but when Prim turned eighteen  she struggled. I was able to help her to get herself organised. For Prim that meant deferring  Med School until she was more confident in making her own choices and decisions. We discussed how useful having a person to help you through the first few months like I had been able to do for her.  And here we are.”

“Prim is currently in her first year of residency at a hospital in District 8 and what started as a conversation over a glass of milk has turned into this place.  When you age out the system, particularly one as controlled as Panem’s even the act of opening your own bank account can seem like huge deal, not to mention the problems from childhood don’t just disappear overnight.  Along with practical skills, like budgeting,  small things learning to change a lightbulb, we help girls navigate the mountains of red tape that exists and can stop them from accessing birth records and passports or even applying for driving licences. We also help them to link in with counselling-for some it’s grief counselling, other may require more long term medical interventions.  We do what we can to help.  We have successes but we also have failures but an old mentor once told me that failures can be viewed as learning experiences, everyone fails at some point, just keep trying don’t let it defeat you.  Granted to an 18 year old this probably seems like an awful motto . So why are you here?”

“Your girls- I’m sorry what should I call them?” Peeta wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t here  to disrespect anyone.

“Girls is fine, for now” she smiled.

“Ok, would there be any interest in anyone applying for the jobs at the bakery?”

“I think so, part time positions?”

“Yes, initially although who knows what the future holds?” he smiled “I really admire what you are doing here. It’s fantastic really.  If there is anything else I can do to help you guys out please just give me a shout.  May I?” He indicated to a post-it pad and pen lying nearby and with Katniss agreement he wrote out his contact information.

“Mr Mellark, thank you so much for stopping by.  I’ll talk to everyone this evening and have anyone interested submit a CV?”

“It’s Peeta and yes that would be perfect” he stuck out his hand to shake hers, and when then touched he was jolted by something. She pulled back her hand clearly she had felt it too.

“Oww flaming static, I’m always the same” Katniss smirked “and Peeta you can call me Katniss”

They walked out to the front door just as Johanna appeared “Hey Kat, Gale Hawthorne of Hawthorne Electrics has just called. He saw you speak at a charity event and he wants to talk to you about funding”

“Wow Ms Everdeen- sorry Katniss you clearly have friends in high places.  I’ll leave you too it, and next time your in town drop in and say hi there’s a hot chocolate in it for you”

Before she could answer Johanna called out “Promise to Irish that hot chocolate up and I will definitely pop in Blondie”

And that was how Peeta met Katniss.  And Johanna.

********************

In the course of just a few week Katniss and Peeta became good friends, despite the fact that they were completely opposite in many ways:

He liked art. She didn’t see the point.

He was a morning person.  She was not.

She was hot headed. He was calm.

She could sit for hours quietly. He was a chatter box.

He had the patience to complete intricate cake designs creating masterpieces from just sugar, water and food colouring.  She was good at eating his cakes the decorating part no so much he let her once, never again.

He liked tea, she drank coffee.

Her childhood before her parents had passed away had been happy, Peeta’s had not.  Katniss hated that Peeta had had such a rough time but loved that he still say goodness in  the world.

She never wanted to get married. He did.

He wanted kids, she didn’t

She loved Halloween, he loved Christmas, and now that December was on the way he was getting down to the serious business of choosing Christmas sweaters for his staff.

She had the voice of an angel, he did not.

But for each difference they had many things is common.  They were hard workers, kind hearted, generous, giving, they enjoyed 1980’s movies of any kind and a love of Gordon Ramsey that bordered on obsessional.

******************************

Peeta had hired Rue and Glenda-or Glimmer- as she insisted on being called- from Prim’s Roses. Rue was attending college studying Computer Science. Glimmer didn’t know what she wanted to do and quite by accident they discovered that Glimmer has a knack for cooking, even old Sae was impressed. Glimmer had an incredible natural palate and talent that most chefs could only dream of.  Peeta and Katniss helped her to apply for culinary schools, and looked at the various options to fund this for her. She was accepted to school in District 2 but although she had received funding to cover the cost and had received  a small stipend when she has aged out of the system she still had to figure where she was going to live and then work so she should could look after rent and bills.

Peeta remembered an old buddy of his had a place in  2 and put in a call.  Cato immediately offered up a solution. He was short staffed so she could work at his bar/restaurant part time. Initially a waitress position but he could give her some kitchen work as well.  Katniss called Enobaria Lewis who she knew ran a similar project to hers in District 2 and explained the situation.  A couple of days later she had a room in a shared house to offer Glimmer.  The other tenants were of similar age and background. Sae paid for Glimmer to out to meet Enobaria and the other girls to see if they “clicked” after all she was moving so far away. Sae had a huge soft spot of Glimmer and she was worried “her baby girl” would get there and everyone would hate each other and Glimmer would be stuck. Luckily they all hit it off. College didn’t start until January but Glimmer decided to move to 2 more or less straight away she could start work full time, earn some cash, get to grips the with city and be completely settled in by start of the course.                                                                                      

*************************************************

Right now Peeta and Johanna were sitting in the living room of the Prim’s Roses house listening to Katniss practice the presentation she would be delivering in two days to the Board of Hawthorne Electronics. 

Gale Hawthorne had been in touch and then arrived into District 12 for a one to one meeting with Katniss three days after Peeta had met Katniss to discuss funding for Prim’s Roses.  Katniss was taken aback by the gorgeous man that stood in front of her.  He was tall, had dark hair, grey curious eyes and when  he smiled his face changed so much he looked younger more, carefree.

 They had quickly got down to business he told her the Hawthorne Electronics was interested in providing her and her organisation with funding to help her grow,  They needed new equipment, additional space and to increase the supports to the service users and  they would like to back them. Gale had a quick mind and asked all kinds of questions but Katniss was able to answer them. 

“Katniss, you present like this it the Board and I can’t see how they can refuse you. They will love you”

Katniss was beaming and then Gale has asked her out. She said yes.

Gale was the perfect partner for Katniss. He loved the outdoors and hunting so the house was well stocked with meat for the coming months. He had a drive to match her own. He loved his family and they were the main driving force for him to succeed.

Although sometimes he wasn’t the most observant  and didn’t really listen. Like the time he bought her a new jacket to replace the old leather one she wore. She thanked him but politely told him to take it back , explaining once more that her current jacket belonged to her father and she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

When he kissed her, Katniss first thought was “Well this is nice” her second was “Who describes their first kiss with her boyfriend as nice?” she brushed it aside.   Katniss relationship with Gale was easy she knew not every relationship was fireworks and drama. They lived so far apart and they weren’t  living in each other’s pockets that it suited Katniss. Sometimes their only contact was a few text message a few times a day, but that was normal right?

Now with days to go before the big presentation Katniss was a ball of nerves.

“Katniss you will be amazing. They will love you.  You speak from the heart but you have all the facts and figures, research results and testimonies to back up what you’re trying to do.  If they pass up an opportunity to partner with you then they are fools” Peeta stood up and pulled her into a hug, again they were blasted by static.

“Mellark! Will you take off that awful polyester Christmas jumper when you touch me me it’s like hugging an electric fence”

Johanna snorted “Ah leave him alone I happen to think he looks positively festivetastic in that”

A knock on the front door interrupted them.  Katniss answered it and there stood Gale a large bunch of roses in his arms. “Hey babe” he said as he leaned in to kiss her “I thought maybe you could come to the city with me a day early let me show you around before the meeting? Here these are for you. Roses being your favourite after all” he gestured round as he said this.

“Erm Gale I can’t just leave. I have things that need to do before I go. I’m sorry but this was a wasted trip for you”

“Can’t Jo look after things?” Gale dismissed her concerns.

“No. Absolutely not.  Gale if you have free time why don’t you stay in District 12 and then travel up with me tomorrow night?”

“Great idea babe, I’ll grab my stuff”

“Gale you can’t stay here.  Seriously, we’ve been through this, it isn’t appropriate while I live under the same roof as the girls. Book into the hotel in town I’ll swing by later if I get time if not I will meet you for breakfast” she leaned up and kissed him.

“Fine” Gale snapped and walked away.

Katniss looked at the roses and then at Johanna “Please get rid of these.  I absolutely hate the things”

Peeta laughed at her “Poor fella, he should have just brought you some dandelions they are your favourite after all. Right to the kitchen we have a cooking class to teach” Peeta had taken to giving lessons to anyone interested in learning to cook.  He was teaching them how to make nutritious meals but that were low cost. He was also showing them some no cook ideas.  They classes were proving a hit.  Even Katniss was learning something.

****************************************

The presentation went better than planned and plans were in motion for funding to start in the New Year. 

The night after celebrating Gale told Katniss he loved her.  She was stunned. Did she love him? She respected him, enjoyed his company, they had fun, kissing him was ok and the couple of times they had “made love” as he insisted on calling it had been nice-he didn’t make the earth move but so that stuff was overrated right(if she was being honest no man she has ever slept with had rocked her world) Maybe it was love? So she smiled and said “Ditto” he laughed and told her she was so cute.

****************************************

With a week to go to Christmas District 12 was blaze of festive colour. Peeta had gotten the local vendors to agree to contribute money toward new lights and  to put  a giant tree being up in the town square. Shop fronts were painted, there was Carollers singing  dressed in what she assumed was Dickens style clothing all bonnets and hats.  In Katniss opinion it looked like Christmas itself had vomited on the town.

Gale and her were walking along hand in hand stopping here and there to look at this and that, and Katniss was content.  Gale was the perfect boyfriend, everyone said so.  Prim who was in town for a few days was bowled over by the charming, educated, wealthy Mr Hawthorne and declared he was a vast improvement on Katniss last boyfriend Darius.  They were heading to Mellark’s to grab some hot chocolate before heading back to the house.   Gale was particularly keen to get back to the house. 

When then entered the bakery Katniss was overwhelmed by the scent of ginger and cinnamon.  It smelt just like Christmas should.  She waved to Rue and Diana, who had replaced Glimmer. Peeta had opened up the interior a bit more since taking over so people could sit and have coffee. He told Katniss he planned to do more as time went on but for now he was happy at the pace things were going. Peeta came through from the kitchen with fresh cookies and Stollen muffins, he nodded at Katniss and Gale. Gale returned his nod Katniss waved and asked him if he had a minute.

“Hey guys how are you?” Peeta walked towards them Katniss noticed he was limping slightly.

“We’re good but you by the looks of things haven’t been looking after yourself properly? Are you getting enough rest?  Did you fall asleep last night without taking your leg off? “Katniss asked.

Gale’s head swivelled to look at Peeta “You have one leg?!” he blurted out

Peeta snorted laughing “Yep, you didn’t know? I’m part bionic so don’t ever challenge me to a race I’ll easily beat you”

“Stop teasing him Peeta and let me introduce you to Primrose my sister” she waved to Prim would was currently shoving a muffin in her face.

“Oh my god Katniss…this stuff is amazing…”

“Thanks glad you like it. I’m Peeta the maker of those amazing muffins”

They chatted for a bit until Gale cleared his throat and told Katniss they needed to go.  As they turned to leave Rue whistled and pointed about Peeta’s head  where a piece of mistletoe was hanging.  “You know the rules” she giggled.

Gale laughed and kissed Peeta on the check, then Diana called out to Katniss “Come on you’re more under it then Gale give Peeta a kiss”

The was absurd thought Katniss but she leaned in and went to place a kiss on his cheek, Prim was laughing and pushed Katniss, she stumbled and her kiss landed closer to his lips then she intended.

And there it was that spark of static again but this time with the jolt images that shot through her head: a wedding, laying in a meadow with Peeta plaiting her hair, two children one dark, one blond, she pulled back from Peeta the confusion she felt was mirrored in his eyes.

“Ok, well bye” they both said at the same time.

Peeta practically ran back to the kitchen wondering what the hell had just happened?

Meanwhile Katniss walked out the door wondering exactly the same thing.

*****************************

When they got back to the Prim’s Roses house, Gale was giddy like a child and Katniss was distracted.  He sat her down and began a speech about although they had only known each other a short time, he was certain she was “the one” and he wanted to give her something.

“Hmmmm what sorry Gale? What’s one?”

“Aren’t you listening  I said you’re the one. The one for me. We are physically and emotionally compatible and well I don’t see the point in waiting I am a man who goes after what he wants. So Katniss Everdeen will you marry me?” Gale stood there with a yellow gold ring with a huge pear cut diamond.  It was beautiful but it wasn’t her. She looked Gale in the eye and shook her head.

“I’m sorry Gale no, I can’t if I accept I will be condemning us both to live half a life. You are wonderful, truly wonderful but you need to find someone who makes you spark. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes. I think I do” he sat down beside her “On paper we’re perfect but the reality is not so good. I think we might be better friends than life partners”

Katniss laughed “Gale, that exactly my point I don’t want to be a “life partner” it all sounds a bit businessy when you say it.  You deserve the world and you won’t get it with me. As your friend though can I give you one tip? They next time you propose to someone and you have to describe the two of you “as physically and emotionally compatible” stop and run away. They are not the one for you either”

He looked at her and the two of them burst out laughing.

A short time later Gale got ready to leave. He  told Katniss he would be in touch regarding the funding and he would like if possible to look at bringing the Prim’s Roses model to other areas to help young men and women adjust to life after care.

News of the break up spread, Katniss wasn’t too upset.  Peeta asked her about it.  She felt weird talking to him but she told him the truth that there just wasn’t enough between them to grow a relationship.

Things continued as they had always done Peeta helped out when he could, Katniss regularly visited for free hot chocolate. They didn’t mention the kiss at Christmas time . Rare night off together were spent watching Masterchef US and bad 80’s movies.  With the additional funding Katniss was able to hire some new staff one of her first hires was a young Social Worker called  Leevy who was one of the first girls to come through Prim’s Roses doors.  She was a great fit for the place.

Gale rang Katniss six weeks after the break up and told her he had met someone.  She laughed when he told her that when they kissed for the first time he would swear fireworks were going off.

On the night before Valentine’s Day Katniss sat on Peeta couch watching that most romantic of movies “The Goonies” and she realised how absolutely content she felt, she reached to grab some popcorn just as Peeta did and their hands touched, there was that jolt again only this time she didn’t pull away and neither did he.

 The never made it to the end of the movie.

But Katniss did discover that night that with the right person the earth really can move.

As for Peeta  well Peeta finally experienced true love firstly with Katniss and then three years later when their twins were born, a raven haired girl and a little boy with a mass of blond curls.

[everlarkficexchange]

LBJ

Author: @peetabreadgirl

Rating: M 

Prompt 12:, Anonymous, Katniss is trying to study in the library, but she can’t keep her eyes from wandering over to Peeta, who’s reading a comic book a few tables over. 

I took some liberties here. No comic book, but he’s still distracting her. And I included a bit of jealousy. Because that’s one of my favorite tropes and I just can’t help myself. ;) Enjoy the short read!

“Can we at least walk inside together?” Peeta asks as his girlfriend steps briskly ahead of him towards the library, her long dark braid swaying in time with her delicate hips. Hips that he was just buried inside thirty minutes ago.  

She turns her head to the side but doesn’t slow down. “What if they see us together and suspect something?”

He takes a few quick strides and catches up to her, grabbing her elbow so she can’t get too far away. She always does this. Gets nervous about them being found out and puts distance between them in public. So what if he’s Professor Abernathy’s aid and she’s a student in his class? They’re not doing anything wrong. Sure, it’s frowned upon for campus staff to date students, but he can handle the stares and judgement if it means he’ll be able to hold her hand in a crowd or put his arm around her. Especially in front of a few of the guys he knows have their eye on her.

“Then they’d be right?” he says, trying to keep his grief over the secret romance under wraps. “Katniss, let them suspect all they want.”

“I don’t want anyone saying I slept my way into an A, Peeta. We’ve talked about this.”

“If that were the case you’d have to sleep with Professor Abernathy,” Peeta says, and he sees Katniss shiver before shooting daggers at him from her silver eyes.

“Gross, Peeta.”

“I’m just saying I don’t give the grades so your reasoning doesn’t work.”

“But you have the ear of the one who does and the answers to all the tests. I don’t want the GPA I’ve worked hard for these last two years tainted by rumors of cheating.”

Peeta sighs in defeat and drops her arm. He’s so ready for the semester to be over. Six more weeks and they can stop pretending they just bump into each other around campus. It’s a small school and a lot of people know each other so he understands her concerns, and he would never force her to jeopardize her reputation or her grades, but he has a hard time caring as much as she does. Or at all, really.  

He lets her go ahead of him into the building and he waits a few minutes before going in himself. His eyes dart around the room until he finds her at a table with her study group. It doesn’t help that the most notorious campus flirt is sitting next to her.

Peeta knows there won’t be anything between them. Finnick Odair has already tried and Katniss gave him the rejection heard ‘round the campus. She’s famous for it. Finnick never gets turned down, and it’s one of the reasons it took Peeta so long to finally ask her out; fear of being rejected himself. He doesn’t have anywhere near the confidence that Finnick has.

He’d noticed Katniss as a freshman but it wasn’t until two years later that she walked into his classroom. The heavens opened up when she smiled shyly at him. His heart thudded wildly in his chest and he knew he’d have to try or live to regret it.

He sits at a table across the library from her and opens a book he’s been reading. A few pages into the new chapter, he glances up in her direction and finds her watching him from underneath her dark eyelashes, a pen tapping away at her bottom lip. She’s so beautiful it makes his chest hurt. She eclipses every other person in the room and the best part of it is she has no idea how she affects him. Or anyone, for that matter.

He stares back and raises one eyebrow in question. Her eyes flit to the others in the group before she looks back down at her book, hiding a smile. It relaxes him instantly and he forgets the frustration of their earlier exchange. He doesn’t look away, waiting for the next flick of her gaze in his direction. He doesn’t have to wait long before those long lashes flutter up and her dark gray irises find his. He gives her a sly wink that makes her lips curl up, and he almost laughs out loud at the comical way her mouth moves up and down with the force of trying to cover her smile.

Peeta notices one of the other students asks her a question and she looks over at the dark-haired boy, shakes her head, says something, then goes back to the book. Katniss doesn’t see it, but the guy looks in Peeta’s direction, so he drops his head back into his own book before eye contact can be made. He must have wondered what was distracting her.

“Hey, Peeta, whatcha doin’?” A female whisper pulls him from the words he wasn’t reading anyway. The chair next to him is drawn back and Delly Cartwright, Professor Trinket’s aid, settles herself into it.

“Nothing really,” he whispers back, “just catching up on some reading. How are you, Delly?” She gives him a bright smile when he turns his attention to her.

“Never better!” Peeta can feel her exuberance even through her whispering. It’s one of the reasons it’s easy to like her - she’s always happy. Always nice to him.

They talk for a bit, exchanging what it’s like to work for the two most eccentric professors on  campus. Professor Abernathy is a gruff man who shows up to work smelling like cheap whiskey, but he’s a brilliant teacher. He’s taught Peeta a lot.

Professor Trinket is the exact opposite - refined to the point that there’s nothing natural left, at least on the outside. Her speech and mannerisms make her seem like she’s constantly awaiting an invitation from the Queen of England. She’s a nice enough lady, but Peeta’s glad he doesn’t have to work with her.

He’s trying not to ignore Delly, but he risks a few glances over at Katniss, prepared to give her some kind of expression to make her blush, but she’s focused on her notes, her pen scribbling furiously across her paper.

“I hear Professor Abernathy is retiring at the end of the semester,” Delly says, pulling his attention back to their conversation.

“Really?”

Delly nods her head enthusiastically. This is news to him.

“Effie told me,” she says with a knowing smile. Delly and Peeta have had many conversations about the nature of their professors’ relationship. They seem to be secretive, much like himself and Katniss, but they’re not really fooling anyone. It’s fun to sit around and compare the slip-ups they make. Like the time Professor A came out of Effie’s supply closet and told Delly he was in there looking for staples because he was out. But oddly, so were they. Delly swore they had some and she went to look, only to find Effie adjusting her blouse, her wig askew on the top of her head. It was the first time they had proof Effie’s hair wasn’t her own.

When Delly emerged with a box of staples in hand, Professor A was long gone and Effie was making excuses about why she needed to adjust her undergarments.

Delly lays her hand on Peeta’s arm and leans in close to tell him he should apply for the position. “You’re almost done with your masters and you’re the most logical choice, Peeta. Plus you’re amazing.” She winks at him.

Their faces are only inches apart as they huddle there, talking in hushed tones about the opportunity, Peeta giving his concerns while Delly encourages him to go for it. He glances over at Katniss a few times, noting her pinched brow and a scowl he only sees when she’s annoyed about something. He wonders if one of the guys in the study group has upset her.

Protectiveness rears its head inside him and he has to fight going over there and demanding to know what or whom has made her unhappy, but he can’t. Not without blowing their cover. He takes a deep breath and looks at his watch. There’s only five minutes left until she’ll be done. Then he can find out what happened, and if Odair made some slimey remark to her, he’s going to have a hard time controlling himself.

The next five minutes go by painfully slowly, and Peeta keeps shooting cautious looks Katniss’s way while trying to concentrate on what Delly is saying. At one point his bubbly companion laughs, he has no idea what about, but he laughs with her anyway. What feels like the hundredth glance in Katniss’s direction tells him her scowl may be meant for him rather than anyone in her group.

Her eyes are shooting flaming arrows directly at him. His heart freezes with fear and he wonders what he’s done. Then he realizes it’s not him she’s killing with her glare. It’s Delly. The sweet, blonde, blue-eyed girl that could pass as his sister. The girl who’s only ever been, and only ever will be, a good friend to him. The girl who currently has her hand around his bicep and her head thrown back in quiet laughter.

If looks could kill, Delly would be slumped over in her chair right this very minute with zero chance for resuscitation. Now, the five minutes can’t come slow enough as the protectiveness he felt for his girlfriend earlier switches over to Delly. He doesn’t want his friend to die, but the look on his girlfriend’s face as she packs up her things tells him it’s likely.

He also doesn’t want Katniss to do something she’ll regret. As much as he would love to drop the whole facade and let the cat out of the bag right this very minute, he knows how hard she’s worked for her GPA and that she hates to be gossipped about. And he can’t let her throw it all away because of a misunderstanding.

Peeta stands as she marches towards them and tells Delly goodbye, hoping she’ll leave quickly. No such luck. Katniss reaches them and stops, the anger clear on her face.

“Katniss, how are you?” He tries to act normal, like every other time they’ve ‘run into’ each other.

“I’ve had better days,” she bites out.

“Is…. everything okay?” Delly asks, but Peeta doesn’t take his eyes off Katniss, and neither does she remove hers from him. He wills her with his gaze not to do anything rash, like kiss him or slap him or mark her territory in some way. Not for him - he’d love it - but for her. He doesn’t want to be part of her regret when the emotions die down later.

“Great,” Katniss answers tightly. “I, um, just have some questions for Peeta. About an assignment.” She finally looks at Delly. “Do you mind if I steal him away?”

“No, go right ahead,” Delly says in her usual chipper tone. “We were just catching up. Can you meet me for dinner tonight, Peeta?”

If it’s possible, Katniss’s scowl deepens and her eyes blaze like wildfire before he looks over at Delly. “Actually, Del, I have plans tonight.”

“Oh?” Delly replies curiously, looking from Katniss to Peeta.

“Yeah. Maybe another time,” he offers, only to put an end to the conversation before Katniss blows up and takes them all out. “I’ll catch you later, alright?”

Thankfully, Delly says goodbye and practically bounces away from them seeming none the wiser. Peeta’s eyes dart around the large space, wondering if the few people left inside can sense the tension between him and Katniss. It certainly feels like it could suffocate everyone in the library to him.

“You had a question, Katniss?” he asks, a little relief mixed with a tone he tries to keep very professional when they’re out in public. He’s perfected it over the couple of months they’ve been together.

“She likes you,” Katniss says to him a little too loudly.

“She doesn’t,” he says quietly, watching as Katniss’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “But even if she did, I. Like. You.” He has to try not to tap her on the end of her nose or lean in and capture her lips with his because, while jealous Katniss is terrifying, she’s also damn adorable and a total turn on. He had no idea she could be so possessive. It pulls at his desire and the crotch of his pants begins to tighten.

Her eyes run the length of him and back up, meeting his stare with a heat that could thaw a block of ice. The wheels in her head are clearly turning.

She begins to walk away, throwing him a look over her shoulder that dares him not to follow her. When he sees she’s headed in the direction of the geology aisle, a field their small school doesn’t have anymore, he knows her intentions. There’s only one reason anyone goes to the back of the library, and while he’s never been one to take a girl back there, he can’t help the rush of excitement he feels.

He scans the room again to be sure no one is watching and waits until she disappears around a tall line of bookshelves, her braid swinging over her shoulder the last thing he sees before he casually sets off in the same direction. It’s a maze getting back there; the perfect spot for the indecency he’s anxious for, but before he can round the last corner, Katniss catches him by surprise, yanking him by the shirt to pull him up against her.

“You’re mine, Peeta,” she rasps against his tingling lips. Her silver eyes bore into his, glinting like the head of a sharp arrow piercing the sun’s rays headed straight for him. He wants to fly through the air, open his arms and expose his chest, meeting it halfway. Let it penetrate his heart and stay rooted there for eternity.

There is barely time for him to breathe, let alone agree thathe belongs only to her, before she crushes her mouth to his in the most intense kiss he’s ever felt. He stumbles backwards into a large bookshelf, pulling Katniss with him. They rattle a row of books, breaking their kiss just in time to see a few of them fall to the ground with a heavy thud. They still, breaths halted and ears perked, listening for anyone that might have overheard the commotion. Seconds tick by feeling like hours.

Peeta quirks an eyebrow at Katniss, and she arches one back. Her lips spread into a slow grin as her hands wander their way down his chest to the waistband of his jeans, popping the button through its hole. The metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down slices through the quiet of the back aisle and Peeta groans when her palm finds his hardening cock. She kisses him hard as she pumps him a few times before dropping to her knees.

He can feel his eyes almost pop out of his head as her wet, hot mouth slips over his swollen flesh. He watches, mesmerized, while she bobs her head, lips touching her hand where she holds the base of his shaft. His heart pulses in time with the short breaths that leave his chest and he reaches to palm the back of Katniss’s head, her hair soft on his skin, careful not to interrupt her perfect rhythm. This isn’t the first time she’s done this for him, and it seems like it’s her life’s mission to make it better every time.

His head drops back, thudding against the hard shelf, but he doesn’t feel it. All he registers is her tongue swirling around his cock and his body does a little shiver at the building of his orgasm. He anchors himself to the shelf behind him, needing the stability of the solid wood frame to keep him from crumbling to the ground when he comes.

“Katnisssss,” he moans her name softly, barely remembering where they are, and tilts his head down to watch her one last time before he finishes. His lids are heavy, vision cloudy with lust and pleasure. He knows she won’t back off, but he warns her just the same before his body tenses and he spills into her mouth. He tries to keep quiet, but feeling her swallowing his cum is too much and he lets out a guttural groan followed by a few curse words.

Peeta’s breathing is barely under control when Katniss stands after wiping her mouth, a crooked grin on her face. “And don’t you forget it,” she says, poking him softly in the chest. He catches her by the wrist, pulling her flush against him and gives her a Sunday afternoon kind of kiss, slow but thorough.

“I think I better take you back to my place so I can return the favor,” he whispers before nuzzling his lips beneath her ear. “You go out first and I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

She steps away when he tucks himself back into his jeans and begins to straighten his clothing. “No,” she says thoughtfully. Peeta pauses what he’s doing and looks at her, brows drawn together quizzically.

“No… you don’t want to go back to my place?”

Katniss shakes her head. “No. Not that. Of course I want to go back to your place. I mean no, I don’t want to walk out first.”

Peeta shrugs. It really doesn’t matter to him what order they leave the library so long as they end up back together. “Okay then, I’ll go first,” he concedes, and heads towards the exit after making sure he’s decent.

He rounds the corner when he’s startled with the feel of a hand sliding into his. He stops in his tracks as Katniss comes to stand next to him, a genuine smile plastered across thoroughly kissed lips.

“What are you-”

“No, I don’t want to walk out first or last, Peeta.” It dawns on him what Katniss is saying. Since they’ve been dating he’s learned to pick up on the subtle hints she gives, considering she’s not the best at expressing herself with words. He doesn’t mind, though, and finds it’s a great excuse to pay her all the attention she deserves anyway.

“Together?” he asks, hoping he’s reading her right.

It makes his heart swell with love when she nods and says,“Together.”

[readbookywooks]

23 Who the woman was calling to remains a mystery, because after searching the apartment, we find she was alone. Perhaps her cry was meant for a nearby neighbor, or was simply an expression of fear. At any rate, there's no one else to hear her. This apartment would be a classy place to hole up in for a while, but that's a luxury we can't afford. "How long do you think we have before they figure out some of us could've survived?" I ask. "I think they could be here anytime," Gale answers. "They knew we were heading for the streets. Probably the explosion will throw them for a few minutes, then they'll start looking for our exit point." I go to a window that overlooks the street, and when I peek through the blinds, I'm not faced with Peacekeepers but with a bundled crowd of people going about their business. During our underground journey, we have left the evacuated zones far behind and surfaced in a busy section of the Capitol. This crowd offers our only chance of escape. I don't have a Holo, but I have Cressida. She joins me at the window, confirms she knows our location, and gives me the good news that we aren't many blocks from the president's mansion. One glance at my companions tells me this is no time for a stealth attack on Snow. Gale's still losing blood from the neck wound, which we haven't even cleaned. Peeta's sitting on a velvet sofa with his teeth clamped down on a pillow, either fighting off madness or containing a scream. Pollux weeps against the mantel of an ornate fireplace. Cressida stands determinedly at my side, but she's so pale her lips are bloodless. I'm running on hate. When the energy for that ebbs, I'll be worthless. "Let's check her closets," I say. In one bedroom we find hundreds of the woman's outfits, coats, pairs of shoes, a rainbow of wigs, enough makeup to paint a house. In a bedroom across the hall, there's a similar selection for men. Perhaps they belong to her husband. Perhaps to a lover who had the good luck to be out this morning. I call the others to dress. At the sight of Peeta's bloody wrists, I dig in my pocket for the handcuff key, but he jerks away from me. "No," he says. "Don't. They help hold me together." "You might need your hands," says Gale. "When I feel myself slipping, I dig my wrists into them, and the pain helps me focus," says Peeta. I let them be. Fortunately, it's cold out, so we can conceal most of our uniforms and weapons under flowing coats and cloaks. We hang our boots around our necks by their laces and hide them, pull on silly shoes to replace them. The real challenge, of course, is our faces. Cressida and Pollux run the risk of being recognized by acquaintances, Gale could be familiar from the propos and news, and Peeta and I are known by every citizen of Panem. We hastily help one another apply thick layers of makeup, pull on wigs and sunglasses. Cressida wraps scarves over Peeta's and my mouths and noses. I can feel the clock ticking away, but stop for just a few moments to stuff pockets with food and first-aid supplies. "Stay together," I say at the front door. Then we march right into the street. Snow flurries have begun to fall. Agitated people swirl around us, speaking of rebels and hunger and me in their affected Capitol accents. We cross the street, pass a few more apartments. Just as we turn the corner, three dozen Peacekeepers sweep past us. We hop out of their way, as the real citizens do, wait until the crowd returns to its normal flow, and keep moving. "Cressida," I whisper. "Can you think of anywhere?" "I'm trying," she says. We cover another block, and the sirens begin. Through an apartment window, I see an emergency report and pictures of our faces flashing. They haven't identified who in our party died yet, because I see Castor and Finnick among the photos. Soon every passerby will be as dangerous as a Peacekeeper. "Cressida?" "There's one place. It's not ideal. But we can try it," she says. We follow her a few more blocks and turn through a gate into what looks like a private residence. It's some kind of shortcut, though, because after walking through a manicured garden, we come out of another gate onto a small back street that connects two main avenues. There are a few poky stores - one that buys used goods, another that sells fake jewelry. Only a couple of people are around, and they pay no attention to us. Cressida begins to babble in a high-pitched voice about fur undergarments, how essential they are during the cold months. "Wait until you see the prices! Believe me, it's half what you pay on the avenues!" We stop before a grimy storefront filled with mannequins in furry underwear. The place doesn't even look open, but Cressida pushes through the front door, setting off a dissonant chiming. Inside the dim, narrow shop lined with racks of merchandise, the smell of pelts fills my nose. Business must be slow, since we're the only customers. Cressida heads straight for a hunched figure sitting in the back. I follow, trailing my fingers through the soft garments as we go. Behind a counter sits the strangest person I've ever seen. She's an extreme example of surgical enhancement gone wrong, for surely not even in the Capitol could they find this face attractive. The skin has been pulled back tightly and tattooed with black and gold stripes. The nose has been flattened until it barely exists. I've seen cat whiskers on people in the Capitol before, but none so long. The result is a grotesque, semi-feline mask, which now squints at us distrustfully. Cressida takes off her wig, revealing her vines. "Tigris," she says. "We need help." Tigris. Deep in my brain, the name rings a bell. She was a fixture - a younger, less disturbing version of herself - in the earliest Hunger Games I can remember. A stylist, I think. I don't remember for which district. Not 12. Then she must have had one operation too many and crossed the line into repellence. So this is where stylists go when they've outlived their use. To sad theme underwear shops where they wait for death. Out of the public eye. I stare at her face, wondering if her parents actually named her Tigris, inspiring her mutilation, or if she chose the style and changed her name to match her stripes. "Plutarch said you could be trusted," adds Cressida. Great, she's one of Plutarch's people. So if her first move isn't to turn us in to the Capitol, it will be to notify Plutarch, and by extension Coin, of our whereabouts. No, Tigris's shop is not ideal, but it's all we have at the moment. If she'll even help us. She's peering between an old television on her counter and us, as if trying to place us. To help her, I pull down my scarf, remove my wig, and step closer so that the light of the screen falls on my face. Tigris gives a low growl, not unlike one Buttercup might greet me with. She slinks down off her stool and disappears behind a rack of fur-lined leggings. There's a sound of sliding, and then her hand emerges and waves us forward. Cressida looks at me, as if to askAre you sure? But what choice do we have? Returning to the streets under these conditions guarantees our capture or death. I push around the furs and find Tigris has slid back a panel at the base of the wall. Behind it seems to be the top of a steep stone stairway. She gestures for me to enter. Everything about the situation screamstrap . I have a moment of panic and find myself turning to Tigris, searching those tawny eyes. Why is she doing this? She's no Cinna, someone willing to sacrifice herself for others. This woman was the embodiment of Capitol shallowness. She was one of the stars of the Hunger Games until...until she wasn't. So is that it, then? Bitterness? Hatred? Revenge? Actually, I'm comforted by the idea. A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it. "Did Snow ban you from the Games?" I ask. She just stares back at me. Somewhere her tiger tail flicks with displeasure. "Because I'm going to kill him, you know." Her mouth spreads into what I take for a smile. Reassured that this isn't complete madness, I crawl through the space. About halfway down the steps, my face runs into a hanging chain and I pull it, illuminating the hideout with a flickering fluorescent bulb. It's a small cellar with no doors or windows. Shallow and wide. Probably just a strip between two real basements. A place whose existence could go unnoticed unless you had a very keen eye for dimensions. It's cold and dank, with piles of pelts that I'm guessing haven't seen the light of day in years. Unless Tigris gives us up, I don't believe anyone will find us here. By the time I reach the concrete floor, my companions are on the steps. The panel slides back in place. I hear the underwear rack being adjusted on squeaky wheels. Tigris padding back to her stool. We have been swallowed up by her store. Just in time, too, because Gale looks on the verge of collapse. We make a bed of pelts, strip off his layers of weapons, and help him onto his back. At the end of the cellar, there's a faucet about a foot from the floor with a drain under it. I turn the tap and, after much sputtering and a lot of rust, clear water begins to flow. We clean Gale's neck wound and I realize bandages won't be enough. He's going to need a few stitches. There's a needle and sterile thread in the first-aid supplies, but what we lack is a healer. It crosses my mind to enlist Tigris. As a stylist, she must know how to work a needle. But that would leave no one manning the shop, and she's doing enough already. I accept that I'm probably the most qualified for the job, grit my teeth, and put in a row of jagged sutures. It's not pretty but it's functional. I smear it with medicine and wrap it up. Give him some painkillers. "You can rest now. It's safe here," I tell him. He goes out like a light. While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta's wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs. "You've got to keep them clean, otherwise the infection could spread and - " "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it." "Was I?" The comment throws him into confusion. Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention, because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs. Then all the energy saps from his body. "I'm so tired, Katniss." "Go to sleep," I say. He won't until I've rearranged his handcuffs and shackled him to one of the stair supports. It can't be comfortable, lying there with his arms above his head. But in a few minutes, he drifts off, too. Cressida and Pollux have made beds for us, arranged our food and medical supplies, and now ask what I want to do about setting up a guard. I look at Gale's pallor, Peeta's restraints. Pollux hasn't slept for days, and Cressida and I only napped for a few hours. If a troop of Peacekeepers were to come through that door, we'd be trapped like rats. We are completely at the mercy of a decrepit tiger-woman with what I can only hope is an all-consuming passion for Snow's death. "I don't honestly think there's any point in setting up a guard. Let's just try to get some sleep," I say. They nod numbly, and we all burrow into our pelts. The fire inside me has flickered out, and with it my strength. I surrender to the soft, musty fur and oblivion. I have only one dream I remember. A long and wearying thing in which I'm trying to get to District 12. The home I'm seeking is intact, the people alive. Effie Trinket, conspicuous in a bright pink wig and tailored outfit, travels with me. I keep trying to ditch her in places, but she inexplicably reappears at my side, insisting that as my escort she's responsible for my staying on schedule. Only the schedule is constantly shifting, derailed by our lack of a stamp from an official or delayed when Effie breaks one of her high heels. We camp for days on a bench in a gray station in District 7, awaiting a train that never comes. When I wake, somehow I feel even more drained by this than my usual nighttime forays into blood and terror. Cressida, the only person awake, tells me it's late afternoon. I eat a can of beef stew and wash it down with a lot of water. Then I lean against the cellar wall, retracing the events of the last day. Moving death by death. Counting them up on my fingers. One, two - Mitchell and Boggs lost on the block. Three - Messalla melted by the pod. Four, five - Leeg 1 and Jackson sacrificing themselves at the Meat Grinder. Six, seven, eight - Castor, Homes, and Finnick being decapitated by the rose-scented lizard mutts. Eight dead in twenty-four hours. I know it happened, and yet it doesn't seem real. Surely, Castor is asleep under that pile of furs, Finnick will come bounding down the steps in a minute, Boggs will tell me his plan for our escape. To believe them dead is to accept I killed them. Okay, maybe not Mitchell and Boggs - they died on an actual assignment. But the others lost their lives defending me on a mission I fabricated. My plot to assassinate Snow seems so stupid now. So stupid as I sit shivering here in this cellar, tallying up our losses, fingering the tassels on the silver knee-high boots I stole from the woman's home. Oh, yeah - I forgot about that. I killed her, too. I'm taking out unarmed citizens now. I think it's time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There's a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, "Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow." "You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn't," I reply. "Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks. "Of course she didn't. But she trusted Boggs, and he'd clearly wanted you to go on." "I never even told Boggs what I planned to do," I say. "You told everyone in Command!" Gale says. "It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.'" Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. "But not like this," I say. "It's been a complete disaster." "I think it would be considered a highly successful mission," says Gale. "We've infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol's defenses can be breached. We've managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol's news. We've thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us." "Trust me, Plutarch's thrilled," Cressida adds. "That's because Plutarch doesn't care who dies," I say. "Not as long as his Games are a success." Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn't offer an opinion. "What do you think, Peeta?" I finally ask him. "I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have." He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. "None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow." I don't know why his voice reaches me when no one else's can. But if he's right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. "Where are we, Cressida?" Tigris's shop sits about five blocks from the City Circle and Snow's mansion. We're in easy walking distance through a zone in which the pods are deactivated for the residents' safety. We have disguises that, perhaps with some embellishments from Tigris's furry stock, could get us safely there. But then what? The mansion's sure to be heavily guarded, under round-the-clock camera surveillance, and laced with pods that could become live at the flick of a switch. "What we need is to get him out in the open," Gale says to me. "Then one of us could pick him off." "Does he ever appear in public anymore?" asks Peeta. "I don't think so," says Cressida. "At least in all the recent speeches I've seen, he's been in the mansion. Even before the rebels got here. I imagine he became more vigilant after Finnick aired his crimes." That's right. It's not just the Tigrises of the Capitol who hate Snow now, but a web of people who know what he did to their friends and families. It would have to be something bordering on miraculous to lure him out. Something like... "I bet he'd come out for me," I say. "If I were captured. He'd want that as public as possible. He'd want my execution on his front steps." I let this sink in. "Then Gale could shoot him from the audience." "No." Peeta shakes his head. "There are too many alternative endings to that plan. Snow might decide to keep you and torture information out of you. Or have you executed publicly without being present. Or kill you inside the mansion and display your body out front." "Gale?" I say. "It seems like an extreme solution to jump to immediately," he says. "Maybe if all else fails. Let's keep thinking." In the quiet that follows, we hear Tigris's soft footfall overhead. It must be closing time. She's locking up, fastening the shutters maybe. A few minutes later, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open. "Come up," says a gravelly voice. "I have some food for you." It's the first time she's talked since we arrived. Whether it's natural or from years of practice, I don't know, but there's something in her manner of speaking that suggests a cat's purr. As we climb the stairs, Cressida asks, "Did you contact Plutarch, Tigris?" "No way to." Tigris shrugs. "He'll figure out you're in a safe house. Don't worry." Worry? I feel immensely relieved by the news that I won't be given - and have to ignore - direct orders from 13. Or make up some viable defense for the decisions I've made over the last couple of days. In the shop, the counter holds some stale hunks of bread, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a bottle of mustard. It reminds me that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. I feel obliged to tell Tigris about our remaining food supplies, but she waves my objections away. "I eat next to nothing," she says. "And then, only raw meat." This seems a little too in character, but I don't question it. I just scrape the mold off the cheese and divide up the food among the rest of us. While we eat, we watch the latest Capitol news coverage. The government has the rebel survivors narrowed down to the five of us. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to our capture. They emphasize how dangerous we are. Show us exchanging gunfire with the Peacekeepers, although not the mutts ripping off their heads. Do a tragic tribute to the woman lying where we left her, with my arrow still in her heart. Someone has redone her makeup for the cameras. The rebels let the Capitol broadcast run on uninterrupted. "Have the rebels made a statement today?" I ask Tigris. She shakes her head. "I doubt Coin knows what to do with me now that I'm still alive." Tigris gives a throaty cackle. "No one knows what to do with you, girlie." Then she makes me take a pair of the fur leggings even though I can't pay her for them. It's the kind of gift you have to accept. And anyway, it's cold in that cellar. Downstairs after supper, we continue to rack our brains for a plan. Nothing good comes up, but we do agree that we can no longer go out as a group of five and that we should try to infiltrate the president's mansion before I turn myself into bait. I consent to that second point to avoid further argument. If I do decide to give myself up, it won't require anyone else's permission or participation. We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep. A few hours later, I slip back into consciousness and become aware of a quiet conversation. Peeta and Gale. I can't stop myself from eavesdropping. "Thanks for the water," Peeta says. "No problem," Gale replies. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." "To make sure Katniss is still here?" asks Peeta. "Something like that," Gale admits. There's a long pause before Peeta speaks again. "That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her." "Well,we never have," Gale says. They both laugh. It's so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they're not. Never have been. Although they're not exactly enemies. "She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice. "No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her." There's a long pause. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then." "You couldn't," says Peeta. "She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life." "Well, it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose." Gale yawns. "We should get some sleep." "Yeah." I hear Peeta's handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. "I wonder how she'll make up her mind." "Oh, that I do know." I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."