#brdeverdeen

THINGS   MOVED   QUICKLY   ,   though   it   felt   like   each   day   was   a   full   season   .   maysilee   was   gone   ,   no   amount   of   begging   was   likely   to   bring   her   back   home   .   she   searches   for   hope   but   comes   up   empty   over   and   over   -   why   does   no   one   remember   that   hoping   for   one   to   come   home   means   asking   for   the   death   of   the   rest   ?

it   wasn't   that   life   or   death   was   a   concept   that   asterid   was   unfamiliar   with   it   .   she   faced   it   more   and   more   now   ,   slipping   away   to   the   seam   to   stitch   up   the   wounds   from   a   whipping   while   whispering   sweet   stories   in   their   ear   ,   something   to   focus   on   other   than   the   pain   .   a   friendly   face   ,   one   that   always   meant   it   when   she   promised   that   it   would   be   okay   .

but   with   her   best   friend   ...   how   could   she   hope   for   her   return   without   in   turn   wishing   death   on   @brdeverdeen's   ?   she   can't   ,   so   she   must   abandon   all   hope   instead   ,   focusing   only   on   what   was   in   front   of   her   .

the   gray   eyes   in   the   dim   light   of   her   bedroom   shine   like   beacons   ,   though   that   may   have   just   been   her   imagination   .   she   can't   bring   herself   to   enjoy   the   excitement   of   their   illicit   rendezvous   ,   not   with   the   weight   of   the   world   atop   them   ,   but   she   can   enjoy   his   steady   presence  .

he   shouldn't   be   here   ,   but   she   can't   fathom   the   thought   of   him   leaving   .   nothing   is   more   natural   than   their   easy   whispered   back   and   forth   ,   even   though   her   eyes   flit   to   the   door   at   every   creak   of   the   aging   house   .

when   he   speaks   ,   it   takes   her   a   moment   to   respond   ,   lips   pouted   in   thought   .   ❝   you   mean   somethin'   to   me   ,   too   ,   ❞   asterid   says   ,   if   only   because   it's   the   easiest   truth   to   get   out   .

❝   i   just   ,   ❞   her   lower   lip   trembles   ,   quickly   pulled   back   in   line   to   swallow   her   emotion   .   ❝   i   don't   do   enough   ,   i   can't   .   people   keep   dyin'   and   it   feels   like   all   i   do   is   sit   up   in   my   room   and   cry   about   it   .   ❞   his   hand   is   squeezed   tight   in   hers   ,   an   anchor   to   this   plane   of   life   .   ❝   book   smarts   don't   mean   nothin'   if   i'm   not   brave   enough   to   use   'em   .   ❞

@brdeverdeen

The first time Katniss went into the woods with her father, it wasn’t to hunt. Not really. It was more about following in his footsteps, learning the sounds of the forest, the language of leaves underfoot and birdsong above and those of the old. She’d been so eager to prove she could keep up, barely taller than the bow she carried. But the slope near the creek was slick with moss, and she hadn’t seen the root jutting out until it was too late. Her knee hit the earth hard, and a sharp stone tore through her pant leg, slicing into the skin beneath. The pain was instant and white-hot, but it wasn’t until her father crouched beside her that the tears started to come.

Maysilee Donner hadn't had time to change out of her typical Capitol fare; she'd come straight to Burdock's door the second she arrived back in District 12. Her head was already spinning, what with the blood of two more dead tributes on her hands, but she needed to set the record straight. She sort of owed Burdock, anyway -- his cousin had died three or so years ago thanks to her. If the Capitol had any information on this past Victor, a Covey girl, she wanted to give it to him. And maybe she wanted to learn a little more in return.

Barb Azure's boy is as sharp as his mother.

Burdock might be an Everdeen by name, but Clerk Carmine knows a Baird when he sees one, and Burdock is as much one as anyone else who's ever held the name. He can see Barb Azure in the boy's wit, Maude Ivory in the way he sings, Lucy Gray in the devotion he has to his friends. He might not be as close to Barb Azure as he had once been, but she's still family, even if neither Baird and Clade, nor Everdeen and Clade have any blood roots. They've never needed that, the Covey. So regardless, Burdock is family. He's a good boy.

He hadn't expected to find company tonight. The district is quiet, most keeping to themselves. Tam Amber is still working, and Lenore Dove has disappeared off with Haymitch much to his chagrin, and he's been in somewhat of a desolate mood, so his feet had taken him to the graveyard. Finding the little stone came naturally, even though it was barely a marker, but after all, he'd only been twelve when he'd put it there. Burdock's voice had come as a surprise, but that he'd noticed is less so. He's the observant sort, and Clerk Carmine looks at him for a moment before letting his eyes trail back to the stone, to the crudely carved BTC that has weathered and nearly faded.

It had been weeks since Peeta spoke with Katniss. The terse way in which they left things weighed heavy in his chest and sink hard in his stomach, setting his insides in knots. A part of him had hope she would fall into his arms again, tell him she was sorry for being so confused, that what they had was more than just the context of the arena. But as the weeks went by he would have settled just for some kind of clarity. Anything would be better than this. Even if she told him outright she felt nothing for him, it would be better than this weird silence, this uncertainty.

Peeta's routine after moving to Victor's Village became his only solace. He'd wake up before dawn, set his prosthetic on his leg and head downstairs to preheat the oven and start working the dough. By the time the sun peaked through the curtains he'd have dozens of loaves ready to go for the day.

He stepped outside, bouncing on his leg to make sure it was fit well for the journey of the day. He started at the edge of the Seam, knocking on doors of the families he knew needed the bread the most. The first few times he showed up on their door steps he could feel the surprise. It was a shock to see a merchant's kid in the Seam, even more to see a Victor. But Peeta couldn't shake the feeling of coin in his pocket, couldn't convince himself to leave people alone to starve and suffer when he had the means and the skill to fill their bellies. It might not have been much, but it was something.

He had given away a few loaves before he saw the man with game slung over his shoulder and a satchel bulging with roots and other plants gathered.

A bit of heat bloomed into Peeta's cheeks. They had talk once, after his mother wrote him off, Burdock showed up in the waiting room. Soft words of encouragement, even though his daughter's life was on the line. It was an odd encounter, but even worse after the events of the game.

How would Burdock feel about the strategy? About watching his daughter fight for her life while having to flirt. He wondered if she talked to her dad about the events, about how she felt. And now they were face to face. Peeta's stomach dropped. His mother was right, it would have been easier if he had just died.

"I can’t stop this feeling." From @brdeverdeen

He’d taken her to the forest on a warm, sun-drenched day that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Asterid knelt in the grass, glancing up from her book as she studied a plant she was attempting to categorize. The morning had passed in a quiet, lazy rhythm, just the two of them—until she finally stumbled upon the greenery she’d been searching for. Her mother had insisted on curling her hair that morning, and now golden coils tumbled down her back, held in place by a delicate white lace ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.