Prompt: Postwar: isolated Katniss did not sit frozen in that quiet tomb of a house, suffocating! She ran madly into the woods. It’s years before anyone sees her again. What’s become of 12, Gale, Haymitch, mom…of Peeta? [Submitted by @567inpanem]
AN: This is for the lovely @567inpanem who submitted the prompt. I hope you like what I’ve done with it. I know I’ve only addressed half of the prompt here, but the story was getting too long, so I decided to break it into three different parts. Part 2 will be ready soon.
I want to thank the wonderful @xerxia31 for helping me with this one. Believe me, this story is a LOT better because of her. And finally, I want to thank the always incredible @akai-echo for making such a beautiful banner for me.
Facing twelve weeks of summer without her best friend, Posy knows she needs a project. At first, hunting with Katniss seems like enough, but when she realizes just how lonely her new friend really is, Posy is determined to find a more permanent companion for Katniss. She’s even got the man picked out – Peeta Mellark. Now, all that remains is convincing them they need each other.
It seemed wrong that summer, the time of year where there were the fewest things to do, also had the longest days. At seven and eight, and for most of her ninth year, Posy had not thought much of it. Now that she was ten, however, that observation grated at her. Yes, she could have filled her days in the same way she had in past summers, with pick-up kickball in the town square or playing pretend in the meadow with Paige and Senna, but she felt too big to play kickball with the five-year-olds and she and Senna had gotten into a fight the last day of school that neither of them had yet apologized for. Considering that she hadn’t been the one who told Mrs. Clearney about the insect case, Posy had no intention of saying sorry first. Paige and Senna didn’t agree. Being right felt nice, but it was also boring when nobody else felt like being right with you.
It has been so long since
the last time I watched Peeta bake. Honestly, for awhile I thought I
would have never seen this again.
Until recently, he had
some problems remembering his father’s recipes correctly. His hands
hadn’t been as steady as they were before the war, before the
hijacking. He couldn’t measure the exact amount of the ingredients
and even if he managed to get something even remotely similar to the
dough he had been making for all his life, it never were how he
wanted it to be. In the end he would throw it in the garbage, or
against a wall in a fit caused by a new episode. Sometimes he would
just curl up in a corner, crying silently because his family is gone
forever. Because, had the world been fair, he would have been in the
bakery working alongside them, not in the victors’ village of a
district destroyed by the Capitol’s bombs.
That’s why I’m so
surprised to see him at work this morning as I get back from one of
my first hunting trips. Apparently we are both getting a bit better.
Peeta looks up at me when
he hears me putting down my bag and smiles, a smudge of flour under
his left eye. Actually, there’s flour everywhere, on the
counter, on his clothes and apron, all over the kitchen floor. I
don’t remember him being this messy. But it doesn’t matter right now.
I sit silently on the
chair across the counter from him, prop my chin on my open palm, and
look at him work.
He dusts a handful of
flour on the dough in front of him and goes back at kneading. By the
look of it, he is making raisins and nuts bread.
It doesn’t take long for
me to space out looking at his hands. Those hands that used to held
the signs of a lifetime spent in a bakery, now marred by the scars of
a very different fire. But still the same hands. Big and strong, with
long, talented fingers. Hands that could create worlds, both on paper
and with food. If he can bake again, maybe soon he’ll start painting,
I focus on smaller
details. His nails are short. Not as cured as they would be under the
care of a specialized prep team, but very functional. His left pinkie
finger is a bit crooked. Perhaps he broke it some time after the
Quarter Quell and it didn’t heal properly. The smattering of blond
hair on the back of his hands and on his forearms is covered in small
residuals of flour and dough.
When my eyes are on his
forearms, they travel back following the line of muscles and tendons
straining against his skin. I see a particularly fluid flexing
whenever he presses the heels of his hands against the dough, another
as his fingers reshape it into its original form. It’s a mechanical,
hypnotizing movement. He does it so effortlessly and with such a
grace that it looks way more easier that it is. But I know, even
without looking, that there’s a thin coat of perspiration under his
It’s so good to see his
hands not betraying him. It reminds me of a time before the Quarter
Quell, when his hands were one of the parts of him that I used to be
fixated on. Because of how they could knead the perfect loaf of
bread, just like now. Because of how they could flow over a page and
bring to life the plants and berries my father described in his
plants book. Because of how they could bring me back from the
horrifying nightmares of the arena, drive away the images of death
and sorrow, lull me back to sleep. Give me the serenity that I so
I wonder, would his hands
have the same effect on me? Those hands that not so long ago wrapped
around my throat in a feverish attempt to kill the mutt, that still
could smother me if an especially bad episode reared its ugly head?
I think they might. I know
things have gotten worse for both of us after a second time in the
arena and a war. He was captured and tortured to the point of almost
destroying every shred of the strong, beautiful boy with the bread,
and that is something that I will never understand. The number of
people showing up in our nightmares is much bigger now, and they’re
not just dead children in the woods that we had to kill to survive.
Now they’re also innocent bystanders, people caught in the crossfire,
rebels, allies, friends, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters. But I
think it will work. Perhaps it won’t be enough at first, there may be
a lot of crying and fighting and yelling, but eventually it could be
good. We could be good.
“What’re you thinking?”
I’m suddenly pulled back
from my reverie by Peeta’s question. I don’t know for how long I was
lost in it, but I’m sure that I was staring at Peeta’s hands all the
time. The little smile on his lips tells me that he finds it somehow
There’s no stopping the
blushing that I feel spreading all over my cheeks. I try to dismiss
it. “Nothing. I can’t wait to taste your bread.”
“You know,” he says as
he leans forward. “You can taste my bread whenever you want.”
Is this some kind of joke?
If it is, I don’t get it. But Peeta is biting his bottom lip to stop
himself from laughing, and a huge smile is threatening to split his
I can’t help but smile
back at him. My heart flutters. He is happy, I am happy.
“Shut up and keep
kneading, or we’ll never taste that bread.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He
salutes me, leaving a new line of flour above his right eyebrow.
I shake my head as I get
up to get back at my haul from hunting this morning.
Maybe tonight, when my
screams will wake us both and he’ll rush to my room to help me, I
should ask him to stay with me.
Paring: Cato x Reader (AU-ish) Reader Gender: Female Requested: Yes Warnings: Brief violence (?) A/N: I don’t know if this is what the anon wanted but this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy
The people of District Two stood around the platform of the victors train waiting for Cato to emerge from the train. Everyone in the district was so proud of the new victor; all the children now looked up to him and wanted to be just like him when they grew up, the adults couldn’t ask for a better victor, and the elders could see themselves in him when they were younger. The district couldn’t ask for a better victor, and Cato knew it. Although the district was known for having the most tributes return victorious from the games, Cato was their shiny new toy and he was going to let them show him off.
Now among the crowd of people was Y/N. She like the rest of the district watched Cato in the Games. But she didn’t see him like they did. She didn’t see him as a hero or a victor, but as a victim of the capitol. They’d molded him into this perfect warrior before he even knew what was happening to him. It was clear to Y/N that the Cato standing on the platform wasn’t the Cato she knew before the games.
“District 2, welcome your new victor.” As his escort finished introducing him as the victor the crowd erupted. The sound was deafening, the yells and the whistles and the people screaming his name; he was a celebrity and was going to be treated like one.
ZAYN LOOKS SO BEAUTIFUL HE LOOKS LIKE HE JUST WON THE HUNGER GAMES. SO BMFUCKING AMAZING.
LOL, in light of zayn dropping his amazing book Z, (go buy that at a store near you) this beautiful picture came out and so I made this,hope you all enjoy!
Zayn Malik, winner of the 76th annual hunger games. He is now in president snows office discussing his winnings. Although he cheated the game, killing everyone with the help of his district partner, Liam Payne, he won’t be getting all of the winning that were promised to him.
President snow had forbidden a homosexual love in the games, but that didn’t stop zayn and Liam.
Zayn was promised food for life for himself, and his family, food for his district for 1 year, a nice big home in Victors Village, but lastly, and the best thing to happen, he doesn’t have to be in the games anymore.
President snow is in front of him, bowl of berries and handkerchief in front of him. Zayn, a small smirk and deadly look in his eyes for he has pure hatred for the man in front of him. Pure hated that only he could understand.
“So Mr. Malik,” Snow starts. “You know the rules to the games, you technically won, but you’ve cheated the system.”
“Well Mr. Snow, with all do respect, without me there would be no victor- well, victors, to the games, Liam and I could’ve easily eaten those berries and killed ourselves, and then your little game would’ve ended with no victors.” Zayn replied tracing his finger over the ring that Liam gifted him with once they won. A ring that symbolized their love in no way other.
Snow laughed dryly, standing up and circling the table. There was a berry in his hand. A deadly berry that could send either endless pain to your body, or even worse, death. “I thought that I’d specifically told you to have a romance with gigi, and then kill her off. your alliance with Perrie obviously was ruined when you cut that wasp nest down and it fell on top of her head, and then you go and chop gigis headclean off, right to the bone.” Snow sighs, rubbing a hand down his face before placing the berry in Zayns hand, enclosing it.
“Life will not be easy for you both. The little stunt you played is not okay with us at the capital. Especially not me.” Snow leaned down to whisper the last chilling words in zayns ear. “You, your friends, and your family are not safe anymore. You will ne able to keep your winnins, you won’t be in the next years games,” his final words shocked zayn, sending a breathtaking chill down his spine. “but your one love Liam will”
I HOPE THIS WAS AS GOOD FOR YOU ALL TO READ AS IT WAS GOOD FOR ME TO WRITE HOPE YOU LIKED IT :)
First Happy Birthday! I hope you had that cup of coffee & 5 minutes to reflect just how blessed you are. (Pt 1 of maybe 4 fir Everlarked in love week) ***
“Katniss we found this in the ruins of the bakery,” Thom said handing Katniss the box.
Katniss frowned looking at the small box. No one but Thom went into the site where the bakery once existed after the bodies were exhumed and buried. Katniss wondered why Thom had gone to the bakery site. Peeta had yet to decide what to do with it. She looked to Thom for clarification, “What is this stuff?”
Thom swallowed. “I chased my dog to the bakery site. She was sitting on this stuff. I realized it belonged to Peeta.”
The dog helped Thom manage his anxiety. Thom had fought in the Capital and was forever changed. He experienced some of what it was like to be in the Games. Then after burying the bodies he nearly broke down. Katniss understood anxiety she swallowed slowly, nodding as she spoke, “Okay.”
“I think you should read the book on the top it’s cover is slightly charred but the pages are in good condition.” Thom swallowed his dog sat by his side; it put its head underneath Thom’s palm.
“Thank you,” Katniss said looking at the small leather bound volume. It was part of his past. She nodded then took the box and walked away. She paused to put the box on her hip to hitch her game back over her shoulder. Katniss was genuinely curious as to what was in the book. She hurried her pace back to the Victors Village.
“Peeta,” Katniss called out but he did not answer. Katniss slipped out of her boots, hung up her coat and padded across the floor. Peeta hated when she tracked dirt across the floors. Moving in with him was a large adjustment for them but the fact was it made the most sense since she did not want to live in her house. She wanted to live in a house where Snow had never been to. Katniss set the box on the coffee table momentarily she put her game on the counter. It was filled with groceries that wouldn’t spoil. She then walked back to the living room and flopped on the couch. She picked up the small book and plopped on the couch. She flipped through the book and stopped dead. This was Peeta’s journal from the time he was a child. One of the entries was labeled ‘My First Date,’ it was written with his sloppy childish hand.
“Awe,” Katniss found herself exclaiming as she read:
“My brother’s said I’d never have a date with Katniss, but I said no. I told them I would take her to the playground and we would play on the swings. I would make her the best cake ever and she would hold my hand and we’d be happy. Then we would watch a puppet show then color before we went had our slumber party where we ate cool stuff and laughed then get to sleep. That would be my first date with Katniss Everdeen. My brothers laugh but what do they know their feet stink like rotten cheese.”
Katniss’s heart melted and she decided she would give to Peeta she would give him his perfect date. He had given her so much already, this indulgence was nothing. But first she realized she was going to need help. There was only one person she knew who could help Katniss with this. She got up and called Delly and made plans.
I finally have an answer for this.
Fall Asleep, by Jars of Clay.
I was just listening to it and it made me think of them. Whether you're team Peeta or Gale, how the story ends is she ends up with Peeta. So I think of her and Peeta with this song. Honestly though, now that I think about it, it could be from both Peeta’s perspective and Gales, if you interpret it differently (my interpretation for Gales perspective is way, way different from what I think of Peeta’s. If you want to hear my thoughts on that, ask me, and I’ll try. I’ll probably just sound jaded because Gale is definitely not my favorite. Far from it).
It made me think of Peeta first, so I’ll elaborate on that: I think that after all the games and the wars are over, and Peeta and Katniss are living in the Victor’s Village… There would be so much darkness in Katniss. Peeta, Peeta can channel it better I think. He can express it in his paintings and in his baking, and he can let it out. I feel like Katniss would bottle it in. So, in the song, it seems like the original singer is talking about his lovers dissatisfaction with him and the life they’ve built together, and this intense obsession with this “city”, this “grass is greener on the other side” kind of thing. I see it as Katniss becoming so involved, so fixated on all this darkness, that the “city” that she longs for is death. To be done. Who wouldn’t, after you’ve been through that? I think this is Peeta singing to her, begging her to not give in to the “city”, to give in to suicide. Maybe it wouldn’t be suicide, maybe it would be more like what happened in Catching Fire after they found out about the Games and how the Victors we’re supposed to come in, she just lost it. Maybe it would be more like that. But whatever it is, it’s dark and it’s not living, and Peeta’s singing, trying to keep her from that.
Hello! Is there a US state you think makes the most sense for the Everdeens' home/Victors Village part of District 12 (at least) to take place in terms of culture/geography/etc?
I think north Carolina in Appalachia is the common thought, and I’m pretty sure it’s canon. I’m totally too lazy to find my book. @randomnoteforfuturereference had a fantastic post about it last week talking about the geography of the book. Check out #rethg.
You’d thought that after the games, happily ever after
You’d thought about how you could return to District
Four with Ashton beside you and the two of you could live in Victors Village.
You’d thought about how you’d now be safe from the games and the leering eyes
of the capital. You’d thought about how you could live safe in the arms of the
Golden Boy and never have to worry about your future again.
You’d thought wrong.
Because you’d forgotten about the tour. You’d forgotten
that you were expected to parade around the districts to celebrate your victory;
that you had to be shown off like a trophy. In the relief of realising you’d
won and were free to be with Ashton you’d forgotten that you were going to be
forced to face the families of those you’d killed.
But you’d also forgotten you weren’t doing it alone.
Because Ashton had already been through this, and he had done it by himself. Ashton knew what
you were thinking, he knew the guilt you felt when you looked into the eyes of
the mother of a tribute whose life you’d taken. Ashton knew what it was like to
go from the adoration of the capital to the hatred of the districts. He knew
what it was like to be a murderer.
And he held your hand through it all.
You should have known he would. You should have known
he’d never let you down, he’d promised you he wouldn’t. You should have known
that Ashton would be there at the very worst moments because that was what he’d
sworn to you, that he’d never let you feel the pain without trying to make you
won’t hurt forever.” He murmured against your hair, arms wrapped strongly
around you as you’d finished facing yet another crowd who hated you. “You’ll
never forget, but the hurt starts to dull. You get so used to the pain you don’t
think about it. You find something that makes you not think about it.”
made you not think about it?” You’d whispered, turning to look up at him. He’d
smiled softly, wiping the tears from your eyes and pulling you closer. “What
could make you not think about this?”
“You could Baby.” He’d smiled. “You.”
So you did what Ashton told you too, just as you always
had. You focused on everything else, anything else, to distract you from the
pain. And when the time came for the next games, for you to mentor, you carried
on focusing on not thinking about it.
And of course, it was him that helped you stop.
He was much better with the new tributes than you. The
pain was still a little too raw, the memories a little too sharp. But you tried
your best and helped as much as you could, even filling in some gaps you’d thought
Ashton missed. You knew the second you’d seen them they’d never win, they were
both too young, too naïve. And when they entered the arena Ashton wrapped his
arms around you, reassuring you that this time, the deaths weren’t on you. You’d
done all could, but the Capital took too much glee in the killing of children.
He was right of course, he always was.
Over the years, you got more than used to the new you,
and the expectations of you. You tried hard with the tributes but never took
their deaths too seriously. You became accustomed to the sad glances from their
parents as you passed them. But you had Ashton at your side through it all,
holding your hand, telling you what to do when you lost yourself. The two of
you had become the golden couple in the Capital’s eyes, and sometimes you
enjoyed the way they glorified your relationship with Ashton.
Ashton, your soulmate. Ashton, your mentor. Ashton, the
District Four winner. Ashton, the boy with golden eyes.
Ashton. The boy with the golden heart.
You should have known that your wedding would never be simple.
The second President Snow had caught word, it became a bigger
production than even Michael had wanted. It was to be televised, broadcast to
the whole of Panem because no tribute had ever married their stylist, no tribute had ever married
someone from the Capital. It wasn’t
just going to be a wedding, it was going to be the wedding of the century.
And of course, your input was minimal.
The only say you really did get was what your dress looked like.
True to his word, Michael had designed and created your dress for you, putting
his foot down when anyone tried to protest. He repeatedly stressed that he was your stylist so he would sort the dress; no arguments.
Eventually, Snow and his servants agreed, being placated with the idea that the
rest of the Capital’s civilians would find joy in Michael’s insistence.
However the very worst part of the wedding, was the date they
want us to get married the day before the Games?” You choked, Michael’s grip on
your hand tightening as Felicity, your original Capital representative, gave
you the news. “Why would he do that?”
want the new tributes from Seven as the wedding party.” She’d sighed. Felicity,
like Michael, was a little saner than the other Capital residents, and she knew
the toll the Games took from the winners. “That’s what their outfits are to be.
Their wedding outfits.”
I better get sketching then.” Michael muttered darkly, dropping a kiss to the
top of your head. “Sometimes, I wonder what kind of world it is we’re living
You knew the answer to that of course, but you didn’t think he’d
want to hear it.
So you let the Capital dictate your life, just as they always had.
You listen to their demands and you follow their orders. And when the time
comes, you travel back to Seven and stand beside Felicity as she draws the
names of the newest tributes, the names of your wedding party. You smile
encouragingly and you answer their questions, and they know what they have to do
before they enter the arena. But you can’t help the pain that comes with it
because the poor girl is only twelve. You knew the boy, who was only a year
younger than you at seventeen, stood a better chance.
And when the day comes, they look beautiful.
Michael would never let them look anything less than perfect, you
should have known that. They’re dressed in the palest shade of green that
didn’t look too white, Michael insisting that your wedding bore some relevance
to District Seven. The little girl floated down the aisle ahead of you whilst
the boy stood at Michael’s side with a small smile.
But when you think about that day, you’d only ever remember
The dress was beautiful, his best ever some said. The venue and the
food and the music was all extravagant and luxurious thanks to Snow. But it was
nothing compared to the love of your life. His hair was almost as white as your
dress, but still darker than his pale skin. The designs on his arms were hidden
by his jacket, but you could still see the smaller ones on his hands. And when
he smiled at you, it felt like the weight of the world was lifted off of your
shoulders and you remembered how to breathe again.
sorry it had to happen this way.” He murmured into your ear as you waltzed
around the reception room, full of faces you didn’t recognise. “I’m sorry it’s
not what you wanted.”
mind.” You’d smiled back, fingers tracing his lips. “We’re married now, that’s
all that matters.”
only get better from here, eh Princess?”
He couldn’t promise you that and you both knew it, but it didn’t
Because he always made everything better, no matter what.
You know what the outcomes are, that one of you has to die in order
for you to leave the arena. The two of you can’t live in this bubble forever,
and at some point somebody’s life has to come to an end so a victor can be
crowned. And you wanted to go home, you really did.
But you didn’t want to kill to do that.
“You can’t?” Luke asks, hand still wrapped around yours where he’d
placed his knife. “Of course you can, just push the knife into my-“
“I haven’t killed anyone.” You cut him off, Luke’s eyes widening.
“And I don’t plan to. If I leave here, it’s without blood on my hands. So stab
yourself or stab me, because I’m not doing it.”
“Well…seems we’re at a stalemate.” He grins, letting go of your
hand and leaning back into the grass again. “You can’t stab me, I don’t want to
stab you. What happens now?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“So are you.”
“Luke, just stab me and go home.”
“Y/N, just stab me and go
“Well then. How did you make that doll?”
You gape at him in shock, a smirk on his lips as he diverts his
attention to the small grass figure now lying on your knee. He moves over to
pick it up, studying it with interest as the arena moves around you, your eyes
still trained on his face.
“You know, I remember seeing you when they screened Eleven’s
reaping.” He breaks the silence, his eyes still on your creation in his hands.
“I remember thinking, ‘She’s too good for this crap’. I mean, I was trained for
this. I’m a pet. Since I was old enough to hold a knife I was trained how to
kill with it. But you? You were just a pretty girl who clearly cared about
those around her. You know you didn’t even look sad? You just looked relieved
it was you and not someone else. I decided then I wasn’t going to kill you. I’d
forgotten that until you spoke to me the other day.”
“I wish you hadn’t.” Your words are barely a whisper but Luke still
hears them; they’re still enough to drag his gaze back up to your face. “Then
at least this would all be over.”
“There are worse things I can think of than sitting in limbo
looking at you.”
“Now is not the time to charm my affections Luke.”
“Depends, is it working?”
You roll your eyes but a smile tugs at your lips, and Luke can’t
help but grin at you. You place the knife down in between you, and he does the
same with the grass doll. Both of you look at the items for a second before he
pushes himself up from the ground, holding his hand out to you.
It goes against everything they warned you about to take his hand,
but you do. Mainly because you want the games to end, and you know that this
way, no matter what the outcome, they certainly would end.
But also because a part of you really did trust Luke.
So you placed your hand in his and he pulled you to your feet,
before dragging you to the very front of the Cornucopia. Luke flashed you a
grin before holding your entwined hands in the air triumphantly.
“Crown us both, or we’ll die together!” He shouts, using his free
hand to pull out some berries from his pocket. “You know what these are. And
we’ll eat them at the same time unless we both win. Your choice.”
There’s a beat of silence where you think it hasn’t worked, and
Luke’s grip on your hand tightens. But then a voice rings out, congratulating
you both on your victory. And it hits you that you get to start your life
again, get to start living freely.
And potentially, judging by the grip he had on your hand and the
smile he flashes you, a life with Luke.
You were there when the train arrived back in District Six.
You’d been pushed to the front of the crowd, even Calum’s own
family holding you in front of them. As much as they loved him, they knew that
when he stepped off of the train, it would be you whose arms he wanted to run
In reality, you ran into his.
The door opened to reveal him standing there, a trained smile on
his lips they’d taught him to have when he first left for the games. And as he
stepped off of the train onto the platform, it was only seconds before you’d
flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and face pressed to his shoulder.
You’d forgotten about the cameras and any duties Calum was supposed to have.
Because he was home.
“Hey there Angel.” He breathed, arms wrapping around your waist as
he pressed his face into your neck. “Miss me?”
“I love you.” You murmured, turning your face to look at him. His
smile had changed to the one you remembered, the one you loved, and you
couldn’t help the grin that took over your own features. “And I’m so proud of you.”
“What? For winning?” He asks, shrugging as much as he could in the
position you were in. “Piece of cake. Had to keep my promise to the girl I
“I didn’t mean winning.” You tease, Calum cocking an eyebrow. “I
meant for riding the trains.”
It was all he managed to say before he was being ushered in another
direction, being pulled by officials to finish his duty. But Calum was strong
and he kept his hand tightly around yours, toeing you beside him through the
filming and the photographs. The look he shot anyone who protested made his
statement pretty clear; he wasn’t letting you go. Not that you minded of
After all, you’d already lost him once.
So you dutifully stood by his side throughout everything he had to
do. They even permitted you to attend his tour with him, hidden out of sight of
the general public. You’re pretty sure they’d have let you stand by his side if
Calum had asked them too, the way they fawned over him.
And life wasn’t perfect when he returned.
Whilst you knew you were now both safe from the games, with Calum’s
win and you turning nineteen, he still had to face his demons. Just because the
two of you could live in a fancy house in Victors Village when he was finally
allow to stay for good didn’t mean all of the problems disappeared. Calum was
still plagued by nightmares, and there were the nights where he just didn’t
sleep in fear of seeing the images from the games again. And it pained you
knowing that you couldn’t stop them, that for the rest of his life Calum would
have things he couldn’t un-see, ghosts that haunted his dreams.
But Calum would always have you.
“In a twisted way, I think I owe the Games.” He smiles one night,
causing you to look up at him in surprise. “Well, without them I’d have never
told you I loved you. And you’d have probably married Dale Waters whilst I
“First of all, I’d have never married Dale Waters, he loves himself
far too much.” You rolled your eyes, causing Calum to snort at your description
of his old school bully. “And second, I was getting bored of waiting for you
anyway. I would have made a move soon enough.”
“Sure you would Angel.”
Calum wasn’t naïve enough to think he was going to get a perfect
life, and neither were you. You were both aware of what he was going to be
forced to face and deal with whilst he lived. You both knew that one day, your
children could be at risk. But you had each other, and you didn’t have to face
anything alone, not anymore.
Not even trains.
for Ashley, @starwarsmashton, because she got mad when I left part two how I did and would have never forgiven me if I didn’t do a part three
I offer you this warning: the Nature you bedevil me with is a lie. Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent…You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic Womb has birthed us both. I call upon you to investigate your nature as I have been compelled to confront mine…Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.
Susan Stryker, My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage
Colt didn’t have any choice in the matter of being at the President’s house for the new celebration of the Victor. It was the last thing on his list of things he wanted to do but of course, they didn’t have a choice. Not a lot of people saw him in the Victor’s Village to begin with, because if he could help it, he stayed inside unless a medical staff had to come in and save him from bleeding out or suffocating – dependent on the method of which he attempted to take his own life again. It was harder to do whatever he wanted with Audrina living with him.
Today, Colt simply didn’t think about anything. He came dressed in his ball outfit, his black cowboy hat covering his hair and shading his face as he looked on from the doorway at the bright lights and the dancing bodies. His fingers numbly played with the corner of a cigarette carton in his pants pocket. He was starting to get shaky, so he knew he’d have to grab a smoke eventually. The twenty-nine-year-old Victor stood watching in the shade of the hallway as he recognized some of his peers having a better time than he was. Not that any of them really did like what was going on here. It was easy to see on everyone’s faces. There were plenty of them who only came here because they had to, not because they wanted to. It was a damn shame.
However, as he stood there, he started to feel like someone was watching him, so he quickly dipped his head and slinked away from the doorway, hoping no one had noticed him standing there out of the way of the party. He walked out toward one of the many balconies in the giant manor, sliding his cigarette pack out just as he walked outside into the fresh air. He took a deep breath and leaned against the railing, plucking a white stick from the pack and slipping it between his lips as he heard the crickets chirping in the deep blue night. He sighed through his nose as he reached in to grab his lighter from his inside jacket pocket, flicked the stone and cupped the end of his cigarette to light it. Just as he could feel the smoke billowing into his lungs and out the corners of his mouth he heard soft clicking of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, his handsome blue eyes looking at the intruder with a deadpanned stare as he took a slow drag from the cigarette and took it out of his mouth to hold at his side, ashing it at his thigh with a flick of his thumb.
“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong, am I?” Colt asked, his voice soft as his thick southern accent dominated his words.
There were a couple of things he enjoyed about going back to district Four after a stay at the Capitol, however long ( normally ) or short ( this time ) it was. One of those things was seeing the other victors again. It reminded him why he was still doing this at all. It was so easy to forget about everything that went down at the Capitol because of them. He could joke around with Ron, tell Alicia the newest Capitol gossip and let Mags see to whatever injuries had been caused this time around. By the time the evening ended, everything would have gone back to normal in district Four’s Victors’ Village. Except that this time it wouldn’t necessarily be like that, because there was a new victor in their village. It was rather strange to see a fifth house occupied, but there was plenty of time for them to get used to it. And for Annie to get used to them, of course. This was the first time she would be joining them for dinner.
When he walked into Mags’ house through the back door, Alicia was the first one to notice him. He greeted her with a quick hug and scanned the room over her shoulder; he saw Ron bake some fish in Mags’ kitchen and Mags was talking to Annie. Alongside Alicia he walked over to Ron, who studied him as soon as he saw him. “What happened to your -” he started, but trailed off the moment he saw Alicia shoot him a warning gaze. “Never mind. Good to see you.” Yes, he was aware he had a black eye again and he was also aware that he was late because he promised Mags he would help out and now Ron was doing it. Luckily he had a good excuse this time around.
After putting the ice, that Ron gave him, on the bruise, he headed over to the dining room, where he found Mags and Annie. Mags left to see if Ron was burning the fish yet, leaving him with Annie. He sat down next to her. “Let me reassure you that the next time you’re having dinner here Mags will have a list of things for you to do to help out,” he joked. “Ron spend most of his days painting, so it’s good that he’s doing something else.” He felt the need to clarify why she was starting to learn how bruising looked at him. “If someone ever offers you a job at Four’s training center, don’t take it. Those aspiring tributes honestly have no control over their limbs and by extension the weapons they’re holding.” He gestured to his eye, undertone matter-of-fact. “How are you doing? Did Ron drag you to his house to see his paintings yet, or will that happen after dinner?”
Posting this because tomorrow evening, we’re finally going Christmas shopping for people! Eventually, I’ll post this on FFn and AO3…
Summary: Two women, unlucky in love, decide to swap homes and lives for the holiday season. What happens next is nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Based on the movie of the same name, “The Holiday”.
“Honestly, Annie,” he griped at the stoplight. “You’re
This is what she got for dating someone from District 1.
Gloss, beautiful and golden, couldn’t hide anything if his
life depended on it. He lived, lavishly and lasciviously, because of his
Romanesque features and the money provided to him by his acting career as well
as his doting parents—socialites of their opulent district.
When they first met, Annie realized that they would make a
great pair. She was driven; nothing but a PR intern for District 12’s local
businesses, but willing to go the extra mile to get an account. It had led her
to District 1 where she began working as a PR rep for District 1’s luxury
goods, producing ground-breaking commercials and beautiful advertisements to
elevate the already-rich.
It had been during one of those commercials that Annie
Cresta met the handsome Gloss Marshall, actor and socialite.