Dreaming of Dandelions

This is some wild backstory to get in a single paragraph that never comes up again, lol. Yeah, Katniss accidentally acquired a pet bobcat for a brief time until she killed it. No big deal.

Yes, I am about to bring up the pearl symbolism in this series again and nobody will ever be able to muzzle me. And it is something given a foundation several chapters before Peeta actually gifts Katniss the most well-known pearl.

Her wedding dress that she wore at the final interviews was adorned with pearls all over, and we know that dress symbolized the Capitol stripping her of her agency more than anything. Most centrally in that moment, this took form in them continuing to insist that she maintain a relationship with Peeta on their terms, the very pressure that blurred and was the cause of her finding it difficult to gauge her genuine feelings for him. But when it burned and was replaced by Cinna’s Mockingjay dress, the pearls didn’t burn with it but scattered freely across the stage.

And whose heart, lips, and entire being did Katniss come to associate with her pearl? Who became the pearl that knocked in her pocket against the key to his handcuffs and therefore symbolically his heart, soul, and temporarily ravaged mind, too? Well, the giver of it himself, of course! And what was the one thing her true desires and the Capitol plans for her had in common? Peeta Fucking Mellark. The problem was never him, so he did not become ash like the rest of it. She retrieved that singular morsel of the dress from where it had sprung away to - retrieving the boy with the bread who had already unwittingly stolen her heart long ago - and could finally be in love with him on her terms now. And oh were her terms infinitely more fulfilling and all-encompassing.

One of the key pieces to Katniss’s survival and victory in the Games was Peeta’s tactic to reveal his true feelings for Katniss on a live stage. 

“He made you look desirable! And let’s face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You’re all they’re talking about. The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve!” says Haymitch.

“But we’re not star-crossed lovers!” I say.

Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall. “Who cares? It’s all a big show. It’s all how you’re perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you’re a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?”

But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers. And if the audience really thinks we’re in love…I remember how strongly they responded to his confession.

After dinner, we watch the replay in the sitting room. I seem frilly and shallow, twirling and giggling in my dress, although the others assure me I am charming. Peeta actually is charming and then utterly winning as the boy in love. And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstances and by all accounts, unforgettable.

I believe this one act changed the course of the Games for both of them. He purposefully and thoughtfully chose the time to reveal that information in the most impactful way. He laid the foundation for Katniss and himself to receive the Capitol’s favor. The Capitol’s favor meant sponsorship—food and medicine that literally saved them—and it meant there was no way they were going to allow their now favorite OTP to die.

One of the greatest ways they complement each other is in how he crafts his words. His words cut when they need to and bolster when necessary. A prime example is in Catching Fire when Katniss is mulling over why it would be better for Peeta to make it home than for her to live.

…Peeta can do much better than the rest of us. He can use words. He obliterated the rest of the field at both interviews. And maybe it’s because of that underlying goodness that he can move a crowd – no, a country – to his side with the turn of a simple sentence.

Then, of course, the baby bomb:

There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits.

We see him repeatedly doing all he can to save Katniss throughout The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. Every move, every thought, every decision, every word is dependent on how he can better Katniss’s chance of surviving and living. That’s why his hijacking is the most painful and most converse thing that SC could do to their relationship. Instead of his goal being her survival, it was her death that he himself tries to inflict.

The way I see it, there are two parts to the Mockingjay, the actual bird and the wind that helps it to fly. Yes, the wind beneath its wings. The analogy is cheesy and horrible, but it’s perfect. Although most of the world sees Katniss as being the hero, which she definitely is. She could not be who she is without him. She could not achieve what she did without him. She would not be the Mockingjay.

They see a time skip of any length and go

katniss never had autonomy. in the entire trilogy, the last major decision she made was to volunteer for prim (was that even a choice, though? watch your 12-year-old sister die or play the games yourself. one could argue there was very little room for what she wanted.) or maybe it was the choice to protect her family after her father's death. but, then again, it was either starve or go hunting.

everything after that was dictated by someone else: how she looked before the games, how she played the games, her relationship with peeta, healing her body, her behavior afterwards, her identity as the mockingjay, her role as a symbol of the rebellion, her ability to fight in the war, whose life she took, where she lived.

so, of course, when she's given a genuine choice over her life, it takes her a while to decide. of course it takes her years to figure out whether or not she wants to willingly give her body over to someone else. she relishes the time she has, she chews it over, she toys with the idea for 15 years, letting the fact that her person is finally her own settle in.

When Peeta and I finish breakfast, he takes both of our dishes and deposits them in the sink. I stand next to him while he waits for the water to warm up, leaning my head against his shoulder. Me in my hunting clothes, him in his pajamas. He insists on washing the dishes himself, so I stand with him, running my nails lightly along his back. Maybe I'm biased, but I think his dark green pajama shirt is a very good look on him.

We talk about our plans for the day. My hunting, his baking. Maybe some painting. When the dishes are clean and his hands are dry, I know I ought to go. My mornings have gotten later and later every day this week. Very coincidentally timed with our increasing comfort with kissing each other again.

Quite the coincidence indeed.

"I'll probably be back sometime between lunch and dinner." I pause to give Peeta a quick peck on the lips. "I'll see you later."

I turn to leave, but Peeta catches me by the arm. His grip is firm but not forceful. He pulls me back to him and his lips crash against mine.

It's one of those kisses. One that I know will come back to me days, weeks, maybe even years from now. Just the memory will cloud my senses, like it does now. I feel like I'm stuck in a dream—a wonderful dream, being kissed like this—where all I can do is stand here. One hand tangled in the back of his hair, the other resting on his chest. Completely mesmerized.

Peeta, on the other hand, seems like he doesn't know what to do with himself. His hands moving out of sync with each other and rapidly all over my body, like they can't keep up with his brain. They're everywhere. My hair. My waist. My face. My hips. Eventually one arm locks around my lower back, pulling me taut against him as he deepens the kiss. The other arm slides up my back and between my shoulder blades, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his fingers tangle into my hair.

How long do we stay like this, locked together? I can't think straight. There's nothing in the world but this. Peeta's hands on my body, his scent enveloping me, his lips on mine.

He comes up for air, if just for a moment. But he can't stop kissing me, peppering little kisses on my lips once, twice, three times. I stand there in the haze of whatever the hell is happening, kissing him back whenever his lips find mine again.

He tilts his head to the side as he goes in for a longer kiss again. This time it's less frantic. Just slow and gentle. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his eyelashes flutter against my cheek.

When our lips separate again, I think he's done. But still I wait, eyes closed, lips parted. Have I ever been so hungry and so satisfied at the same time?

"Katniss," he whispers. I feel his forehead press against mine. Feel one soft kiss on the tip of my nose.

"What was that for?" I whisper back, finally opening my eyes.

He grins from ear to ear. "Just remembered that I could."

This time, I'm the one who leans in. I kiss him slowly, fighting my own grin. What a luxury it is, to kiss him like this.

"I'll see you soon?" I try again. I want him to tell me to stay, to pull me on top of him on the couch, to kiss me until my lips are numb.

But I know my boy. He'll insist that I get some fresh air and fresh game. He'll let me go, because he knows I won't be gone long.

katniss and her cheese buns 😭

First chapter posted!

On October 12th 1986 I received a letter informing me of my godfather, Haymitch Abernathy’s, untimely death.

Along with the letter was a confusing mess of legal documents. There was the deed to that giant decrepit house he owned. Then another one was a birth certificate for his daughter, Nellie Abernathy.

Behind the birth certificate was a paper that notified me that I was now the one-year-old's legal guardian.

Only… there was another name next to mine. A co-guardian.

And – oh no. Not him.

Suddenly, I found every instance of Peeta Mellark’s name within the papers.

He had equal share of the house, and the pink Cadillac that Haymitch loved, and the child.

The prettiest songbird in all the lands 🕊️🌈😻

Book Lucy gray is so colorful and fun I love her 💖💖