#oolwrites

Right so, I've been on my own potions room brewing this beauty right here! I still don't know how long this will be but hopefully it's right up you alley regardless the word count. I enjoyed coming up and writing the first parts of this one so I do hope you enjoy reading as well. Enjoy!! :)

It's A Date by oolhan

Summary: Peeta needs a muse. Katniss matches the criteria. Peeta negotiates, Katniss kicks him in the balls.

i have a lot of wips and I decided to add more! yes, yes i know i hope i don't abandon this one after I wrote a few chapters. This one is special to me because it's based on a film i always liked when I was little so I hope you'd find the spark in reading this the way i found mine when i watch the film :)

Rust and Reveries by oolhan

Summary: During his coronation circuit, Prince Peeta was eager to visit District 12 and find out if Rye is right. He shared a fleeting taste of what it’s like–could be like–with the struggling local writer.

sooo, halfway this year I've been working on another AU (yes, I've been sucked in by the writing gods) and held it until after the release of SOTR so as to align the stroyline with canon. I've been slightly inactive because of irl quests, but i'm planning on releasing this one this month as it is my birthmonth, so here's something off of it just for intrigue (and because it's haymitch's birthday!)

“Katniss! Just in time. Hay’s looking for you,” Leevy shoves mint tea on her hands and directs her to the familiar old door of district head writer Haymitch’s private lounge. As usual, his feet are propped up on the wooden table, toes tapping to soundless music, a glass of white liquor on his right hand, and Katniss’ scraps of paper at the other.  She scowls at the image. “... long live the sovereign—” Haymitch reads, “may their reign be as eternal as the surveillance drones humming sweet lullabies above our beds,” He reads her words with mirth, taking a sip of brandy then crumpling her paper. Katniss scowls deeper and snatches the wrinkled article, a ball of paper purely inked with her personal rage. Haymitch guffaws. “You should know, I thought I had to wheel Plutarch on a stretcher after he read that.”  “That’s unfortunate, he hasn't seen my new draft yet.” she rolls her eyes in mock concern. He sighs. “Look sweetheart, as much as I like your little fires, it’s Plutarch’s nod that will get you the money.” Her scowl turns to a rueful expression.  “Plutarch wants sugar, not fire. Anyone can build a fire. Sugar sells.” He points. Katniss stares him down. He’s the one who shoved her first scribbled words into print, back when she was seventeen and hungry. She has been working as a commissioned writer for ‘The Propaganda’ ever since she found out a small pen can feed her family.  Katniss has never been much for conversation, a fact she freely admits. So instead, she took to scribbling her thoughts down—at first, just something to do in the woods when game was scarce. It became a quiet habit, just like her father’s scribbles on their family book. In winter, when she was seventeen, the frost didn’t bite as hard when her first article earned her a few coins from Haymitch, then an amateur writer. Like hunting, writing became a small, unexpected joy—and a way to keep food on the table. Now at twenty-three, writing shaped her anger on the unfairness of politics and life itself into curvy scribbles. A rage that should be played, should be sweetened, or whatever Haymitch scolds her.

Another snippet from a wip I’ve been working on since Christmas. I need to stop giving deadlines with these ones because I’m terrible at reaching them lol. I don’t know when I’ll introduce this one, but my target is I’ll be posting regardless of word count by the end of the month. Enjoy this tidbit🧡

“Plutarch? The Plutarch Heavensbee?” It’s overwhelming all of a sudden.

Plutarch Heavensbee is just the man who pioneered the success of ONE PANEM magazine in the last decade. The OP man who’ve been at the helm, turning a niche publication into a must-read powerhouse that shapes trends—no bullshit.

“Fuck yes it’s The Plutarch Heavensbee. Get it together.”

He slaps his face with both hands, groaning in realization.

“I told you, Peeta! This is huge.”

Chuckling, he can’t help the next words running from his mouth, “that’s what she said.”