Tips of Brushes, Blades of Arrows
In short, I dunno where I'm going to be going with this. I might go off on some weird tangent even. Uh, I plan on, for the most part, giving you a more realistic point of view from Peeta from the first book. Most ppl that write these can do some stupid outrageous things, or make the characters very out of character. But I plan on, for the most part, staying loyal. Also, so tired of these books avoiding funny things you never think of, bathroom breaks, masturbation, etc, XP Expect oddness and a more realistic pov. ^^ All from Peeta. This is rly just me having fun. and finding some way to spend my breaks at werk. XP So expect chapters to be frequent and not even chapter sized.
Give me yer opinion as I go on. I have a few ideas fer Hunger Game stories, so I might even meld those into this one, I think. But if I plan on doing something that completely spins the book, like say... Katnis and Peeta ACTUALLY falling in love at the end of Hunger Games, or... the Muts not happening at the end and something entirely different(I've had BOTH of those as ideas so far), I'll warn you in the Author's Note of that chapter, promise. But I'd rly like to hear from you guys, things that you think would be cool if they happened. I'm totally open. And I do requests.
But yeah, expect some mature content in this, because I get bored if it doesn't have some sexy parts. Lol.
I hope that all of you enjoy; sit back and have a nice steaming cup of yaoi!
Current Song Inspiration - Ryan Star-Start A Fire
Chapter 1: Boy With The Bread
That's who this whole story starts with and ends with.
The girl from the Seam.
The girl my mom can't stand.
The girl that sells squirrels to my dad.
The girl that I'm in love with.
That's Katniss Everdeen.
The rain falls heavy around me and I watch from behind my mom as she's scolded for going through our garbage. Her empty eyes go to me and I can only think one solid thing.
She's going to die.
Her hallowed cheeks, the loss of life in her eyes, the way she clutches the jacket to her small body. I can see that she is giving up.
Mom goes inside angrily and I hurry after. I have to help Katniss. It's the only thing I can think of and I watch as she walks out slowly to our fence and stares up at the sky.
"Peeta!" My mom is yelling, "You stupid child!" She's running to me, I see her throw her arm out and I'm hit with a wooden spoon that she's holding.
My cheek stings now, but I pick up the slightly burnt bread with my shaking hands, I've done it on purpose. Burnt them. This is some of the most expensive bread that we make at the bakery. It's full of nuts and grains.
This will be perfect for her. I don't care if I had to take a beating for it, if it helped her, then that's all that matters.
I'm only eleven, and this is already an expected thing from my mother, she's erratic, cold, and the hand raised is something I expect. It doesn't surprise me. What does surprise me is that she stopped there.
"Feed it to the pig," she says, "you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent is going to buy burnt bread."
I open the back door with the bread in my arms and step out into the rain.
I walk to the pins, to Katniss, and wait in silence for my mom to go back inside while I pretend to feed it to the large pig in the fence; she does finally and I feel that the rain has soaked into my shirt and is dripping from my wet hair.
I toss the breads to Katniss immediately and hurry back inside before she can say anything to me.
She'll be okay now, she can run home, she can feed herself now.
"Peeta," the yell is from just outside my bedroom door, "get up, or you'll be late!"
I'm up already though, drawing silently. But I get up as she says, and I'm pulling on my jean shorts, I'm grabbing up my backpack, and I'm out the door with a piece of toast in my mouth as the slender girl walks by.
"Hey, sorry," I back up onto the store's welcome mat, "oh." I stop, it's Katniss Everdeen. And I almost plowed right into her.
My face flushes over, but she's gone already around the corner, not looking back, probably not even noticing me. Katniss Everdeen. And I'm out of it from there. The walk to school is slow, and I think of only her.
One day, I tell myself, one day I'll have the strength to tell her how I feel.
School is slow and dragging by though. Teachers are giving us those looks, those sad looks, because they know what tomorrow is. And as classes finally end I'm outside with my friends, ignoring their banter, and watching Katniss wait for her sister; Primrose Everdeen.
I stare at her until she turns and her eyes meet mine finally. We stare together for a moment and then it's over. She walks away with her sister and I leave school as well.
This isn't a completely unusual thing. It happens at lease once a month. And every time it does, I get nervous, my hands feel sweaty, my heart skips a beat, or slows down, and I feel a knowing twitch in my groin.
Just looking at her is enough for me, really, but when she actually looks back to me, and the connect happens, I feel it instantly. The change.
Oh well, it doesn't matter anyways. Katniss would never come to me willingly. No, I had to be the one to make the first move. Though, technically, I already had. But, as far as she'd acknowledged, it was nothing.
I'm at the bakery and pulling on my apron when they walk in. I watch Prim as she presses her face to the glass and stares down in awe, wantingly, at the cakes that I'd designed.
Katniss smiles as she watches her sister as well, and I stare at the look. It's something unusual, the smile, but it makes her glow. She's beautiful, I can't stop from thinking, she's really beautiful when she smiles.
Primrose is watching the cakes, Katniss is watching her, and me? I'm watching Katniss.
But they don't buy anything, they never do. Which is okay for me, I just like seeing her every now and then. They leave though, and I can work happily after that, sweeping the floor and whistling. I design more cakes, make a good few sales, and am off to home just before six.
That night my mom is working late, I'm doing my homework at the kitchen table, alone in the actual house part of the building. My brothers are down in the Bakery with mom.
Dad comes in with a package in his arms then; I brighten up even more.
"Squirrel?" I ask, even though I already know that it is.
He's smiling widely, "Yes, right through the eyes again. She is amazing."
I sit on the couch so he can cook it. Yes, yes she is, I think.
We eat it together and it's amazing. My two brothers aren't ever really a part of this ritual between me and dad. It's sort of our time together with the women that we love. I know how he felt for Katniss Everdeen's mother. And he's the only one that knows how I feel about Katniss.
That night I can't help but to think of her. Katniss, the girl from the Seam. Katniss, letting her sister look at all of the pretty things that I paint on the cakes, selling my father the squirrels she shoots.
I imagine her in my mind. Her in the tight boots, her hunter's jacket, aiming the bow and arrow. She's tense, her eyebrows are knit together, there's a small drop of sweat rolling down her temple. Maybe she's biting her lip in concentration.
I swallow, grip myself tight, and deal with the hardness in silence. Her steely gaze fills my mind. And I can't help the soft gasp that escapes my lips.
The tears threaten to spill and I let out a shaky breath finally. I'll tell her soon, in a few days, maybe after the reaping. That way her heart is easier, and she isn't as worried and stressed.
The next morning I'm down in the Bakery early, painting cakes with my tongue out in concentration. I try not to be worried; but I am. Not for myself, but for Katniss. I know she has one of the highest chances among the girls for her name to be drawn today at the reaping. And it terrifies me straight down to the bone, the thought of having to watch her die.
Well, I tell myself, if she's drawn, she's too good. She'll win. She'll be up in the trees, snaring, shooting, eating squirrels, and the big tributes won't be able to reach her.
I'm shaking now, so I stop painting. I walk out of the back to see Gale Hawthorn leaving the store with a loaf of bread in his arms.
Dad turns to me with a package in his hands.
"Squirrel?" I smile, not Katniss's shoot, so not in the eye, but I'll take it. I'll still think of her while I eat it.
And I do.
"Primrose Everdeen!" Effie Trinket announces.
My heart falls down deep into my stomach. Not Katniss, but it may as well have been.
She's, Prim's, walking to the stand. And I see Katniss falter. I move a few steps, as if I could get to her in time to stop her from falling to the ground. But she's okay. No, not okay, but she didn't fall. She's running forward.
My fingers twitch.
"Prim," she says weakly as she's running through the parting crowd before her, "Prim!"
I move to go after her again, but what can I do?
And then the bomb is dropped.
"I volunteer!" Katniss shouts, "I volunteer as Tribute!"
No! The shout catches in my throat and I'm gasping for air.
I'm watching the display on stage but I can't hear anything. It's like I've gone deaf. First, Effie is saying something, but I just stare at Katniss. Her beautiful blue dress, her wide, glassy gray eyes, her long black braided hair.
I see her bangs shake as Primrose fights behind her. Gale Hawthorn is pulling Prim back and then Katniss is walking up. No, I try to shout again, but it's just another gasp.
Haymitch is falling from the stage. Sound is returning back to my ears as Effie Trinket runs over to draw the boy's name. I stare at Katniss in shock as my fear for her becomes a nightmare for me.
My mind goes cold. What? No. No, no, no. No way is that possible.
Katniss turns to me, shock in her eyes as well, and I'm walking to the stage stiffly.
I'm looking at her, my mind keeps telling me that I'll tell her how I feel in a few days; when she's not as worried. I'll tell her how much I love her then, I'll get it off my chest finally, and we can watch the Hunger Games, knowing that we can relax for another year at least.
I take her soft, small hand in mine and stare into her eyes. Her hand is so tiny in my large paw, and I think only of the elegance they must have, holding her bow, holding the arrow perched against the string, cutting the skin from her rabbits and squirrels, running through her hair. Her hand is now my hand, with the extension of her arm coming out of it.
We're connected. We're the kind of one I've thought of for years, before another kind of one filled my mind and plagued me with endless, sleepless, nights.
I wonder if she can see all of this in my eyes.
How does she feel? Does she feel like my hand is so big that it's consuming her's, that I'll destroy her with them in the arena? That I could break her so easily? Or does she know the truth? That I'm a push over? That I'd never cause her any harm. I'd sooner die for her.
If that's what it comes down to, if she doesn't kill me first, I will kill all of them. I'll take as many of them down as I can, to give her a better chance of surviving. She deserves it.
I squeeze her hand tightly, wanting it to be some other time, some different occasion, a happy one, that I have experienced my first touch of her skin.
Reviews are the candy of my soul, and gets a faster update rate, review please? And I will love you forever-ez.