we are so excited to announce the members of squad 451 net!! we’re starting with 15 members but we will probably open up submissions pretty soon! thank you to all that applied; we can’t wait to start this network!
members
@bcllatrix
@catching-dandelions
@deadallisonargent
@herfathersbow
@hijacked-victor
@loiusaclark
@mellarrk
@notsamclaflin
@oodair
@pcctamellark
@tellshimreal
@themockingjaystardis
@tonightsleep
@victorsvillage
@volldemorts
next steps
submit to abigail an icon (at least 200 x 200), a short description, and your name for the network page
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follow some of the other members!
put the network link somewhere on your blog!
track the network tag #squad451net to see what other members post!
So, I'm starting a writing series. It's going to be a series of one shots based on Katniss' memories for the memory book. Basically, each one shot will be a different memory on a different page of the book. Each one will be written for and or dedicated to a different person who's had an effect on her life. For instance, the first one will be addressed initially, to Finnick. It's going to be a series of entries into the memory book. Each one shot will be a different memory and in the end it'll be sealed in salt water to preserve the memories that she didn't trust to memory. The first one, which I'm going to be titling A Drop in the Ocean, is: Her and her family in D4 with her 2 kids, and Peeta. This one in particular will be written to Finnick about how Annie and their son are and then go on to reflect upon their time in his district. Each one shot will be written in past tense as if she's reflecting upon the memories. And as I go in with each different entry, it'll go from dedications to Finnick, Prim, Rue, so so on and so forth. Some will even be of her reflecting as their children grow up, and in the end, the final one shot will be in their oldest child's point of view. And at this point, with all that I'm thinking about it including, is making me want to fling myself off a cliff. Tell me what you think of this idea! @thatonemellark has been helping me throw ideas back and forth. I'd say we he a pretty good thing going so far.
Would Katniss and Peeta losing their child (before or after its born) be emotional enough?
I’m going to have to actually be a self promotional slut for a moment.
I actually have a multi-chapter story going on right now that covers this exact topic. And even though it only has one chapter, I have a good bit of the second written. I’m going to use this, I suppose, as the opportunity to preview it.
You can find chapter 1 on my AO3, FF.net, or here, my blog.
I’ve been working on this second chapter for a while now, struggling to catch the exact right emotion. I had it open a few nights ago just staring at it, afraid to go on. But perhaps after seeing people’s reactions to what I have so far, it’ll give me the push to keep writing.
So, without further ado, here’s a preview of In the Quiet Morning, chapter 2.
Heavy, heavy trigger warning for this chapter. At the very beginning, to be more specific. This little tidbit below isn’t it, but it will be below the cut. The beginning of this chapter has some blood, so please be aware of that. I’m going to be depicting the scene of a pretty graphic car accident, along with some other very heavy subject matter regarding a miscarriage later on in the chapter as well. (not included in preview). Be careful reading if any of this makes you uncomfortable. (it was not fun writing this)
She jolts upright, her chest heaving with each quick breath that passes through her. Darkness— it’s the only thing she sees as she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes before prying them away.
It’s still in her mind, forever haunting her memories. Blood— all the blood.
The bile rises in her throat as she throws back the covers, stumbling over her own feet as she wretches the door to their bedroom open and staggering into the hallway. Her eyes just barely adjust to the darkness as her feet lead her to the front door before ripping it open. It’s as if her body moves itself, throwing herself down into the middle of the street, her knees hitting the rough pavement.
The rain pouring from the night sky doesn’t even register in her brain, her face rising to the sky as hot, angry tears fall down her cheeks, intermingling with the rivulets of rain. Blood pounds throughout her head, so much that the guttural scream that rips through her doesn’t even reach her own ears.
She slams her fists repeatedly against the ground, the screams continuing to leak from her. Forget anyone hearing her— that’s the last concern on her mind. The pain…that’s what hurts the most. With the vivid nightmare still fresh in her mind— it won’t seem to escape her. Her sister— her own sister… her own child.
{PAGE BREAK- TO BEGINNING OF CHAPTER}
The immediate impact sends her hurtling against the right side of the car, her skull shattering the glass. She’s lost for a moment, the world a seemingly endless pit of darkness as the shards penetrate her skin. The sounds of leaking fluid and the heaviness of smoke threatens to gag her as she struggles against the car as it flips, multiple times, before stopping tilted on it’s side— her side— leaving her completely and utterly trapped as she fights to stay conscious.
Her vision blurs as she shifts her head back and forth, trying to make sense of the damage. Everything seems to be muddling together, the pain in her abdomen growing stronger and stronger by the second. The roughness of the blacktop scrapes the skin of her elbow as she attempts to push herself up onto her side. She can feel the glass searing the skin of her face as the saltiness from her tears leaks through the open wounds.
She looks up, then, watching as her sister dangles limp from her seat— the only thing keeping her from crushing her being the seatbelt that holds her to the seat. Her head lolls back, the blonde curls almost tickling the tip of Katniss’ nose as she stares up at her— helpless. Thick rivulets of blood trickle down Prim’s pale face, landing on the skin of Katniss’ shoulder. She tries not to vomit as the world begins spinning.
She tries again once more to push herself up, but comes up unsuccessful as the pain in her lower abdomen increases, white spots beginning to flood her vision. She screams out, then, loud sobs escaping her mouth as she bites back against the horrid pain.
It’s unclear how long it is before the sirens fill her ears— what a sweet sound they were. Though they send her into a fit of hysteria as the noises get closer and closer. She can just make out the red and blue flashes of color if she stares up at the sky— her only source of light at the moment— the rain from before picking up in intensity.
She chokes against the smoke billowing from the engine, making it’s way into the car. It’s deflated by the rain, but still evidently there— flooding her senses, dizzying her to the point of nausea. Her free hand— the one not holding herself up— makes purchase on her face, picking at the shards of glass impaled into her skin. Biting her lip does little to nothing as the blood trickles down her face, from her hairline, into her mouth. She gags, the coppery taste of her own blood lathering her lips before spitting it out onto the pavement below her.
She can hear voices in the distance, followed by the increasingly deafening wails of more sirens approaching. Her world begins to fade as the car begins shaking, vibrating to the point she can feel it in her bones.
One of her hands sinks down to make purchase on her rounded stomach, any and every possibility filtering throughout her mind as she feels around for movement. When she’s met with stagnant silence, she knows. The entirety of her being quakes with fear as the world around her swallows her whole; the last thing registering in her mind being the sound of tearing metal.
She jolts upright, her chest heaving with each quick breath that passes through her. Darkness— it’s the only thing she sees as she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes before prying them away.
It’s still in her mind, forever haunting her memories. Blood— all the blood. The bile rises in her throat as she throws back the covers, stumbling over her own feet as she wretches the door to their bedroom open and staggering into the hallway. Her eyes just barely adjust to the darkness as her feet lead her to the front door before ripping it open. It’s as if her body moves itself, throwing herself down into the middle of the street, her knees hitting the rough pavement.
The rain pouring from the night sky doesn’t even register in her brain, her face rising to the sky as hot, angry tears fall down her cheeks, intermingling with the rivulets of rain. Blood pounds throughout her head, so much that the guttural scream that rips through her doesn’t even reach her own ears.
She slams her fists repeatedly against the ground, the screams continuing to leak from her. Forget anyone hearing her— that’s the last concern on her mind. The pain…that’s what hurts the most. With the vivd nightmare still fresh in her mind— it won’t seem to escape her. Her sister— her own sister… her own child.
She buries her face into the ground, her pleaful sobs echoing into the quiet night, the only other sound being the rapid beating of her own heart, and the rain in which pounds around her. And with each heavy breath she takes, the harder it is not to choke with the water leaking into her mouth.
It’s almost as if she’s drowning. And it’s almost a soothing thought— to think that she could just die right here, right now. To be released from this wretched world would be too easy, though. She didn’t deserve such sweet justice.
“Katniss!” A voice in the distance calls out for her, barely audible over her own screams ripping through her. “Katniss!”
Strong, warm arms wrap around her cold, fragile body as she feels herself being lifted. She tries to fight them off, writhing and kicking and screaming. But it’s pointless to fight, for whomever holds her keeps a solid grip. She’s still barely aware of her surroundings as chilly, wet air becomes warmth, and comfort.
She doesn’t dare open her eyes until she feels herself being released. Moments later, with the pads of her feet hitting the familiarity of hard wood floors, her eyes lift to meet those of her husbands. His eyes hold so much anguish, and sorrow, it’s a wonder he’s still whole. Though she supposes a solid exterior can be withholding a broken interior.
“Katniss…” his hands move, gently, to grip her face in his hands. Slowly, they travel from her face, to her hair, tangling themselves in the stringy, wet tendrils that frame her hollow cheeks. “Come on, let’s get you out of these.”
Raising her arms above her head, she allows him to rid her of the soaked clothes in which cling to her body. She’s left standing alone in her underwear as he goes to retrieve something dry. And when he returns with one of his own, much larger t—shirts, she accepts, slipping it onto her frail body slowly. She’s barely able to meet his sorrowful stare, anger flaring up inside of her at the sight of pity. But, she’s far too drained to reciprocate in any kind of emotion, tearing her eyes away from his before moving to push passed him. Though, she’s met with resistance as a firm hand wraps around her forearm.
“Katniss— don’t walk away from this.” She stands in place, her back pressed against his chest as he pulls her into him. The warmth radiating off of his chest sends waves of nausea throughout her, but as she tries to peel away, he keeps his hold firm as his arm goes to wrap around her waist. He spins her around in his arms, her face met with his chest. One of his hands goes to grasp below her chin, forcing her eyes to his, though she closes them.
“Look at me, Katniss.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, pushing the threatening tears aside. She refuses to allow him to watch her shed anymore unwanted tears. “Look at me.”
Her eyelashes, now coated in a fresh string of tears, bat against her cheeks as her eyes finally rise to meet his own, downcast ones. The pain etched across his face is a sight to see, as his eyebrows pulled in, knitted together as if he’s about to burst at the seams. Perhaps he will— for it would be the first time she’s seen him show any real, raw emotion towards her following the accident.
“Are we ever going to talk about this?” he asks, his voice barely audible. She shakes her head as the numbness overtakes her once again. And if it weren’t for his arms surrounding her, she’d have fallen to the floor right then, her entire body giving way. His head falls on top of hers, audibly inhaling the crown of her head before backing away slowly. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
“No,” she croaks, he eyes widening. “I’m not going back to sleep.”
Peeta sighs deeply, running a hand through his already mussed hair before holding out an arm to her. “Come, then. I’ll stay up with you in the den.”
She nods her head slowly, accepting his arm as it finds purchase on her lower back, leading her into the living room. He pulls a knitted blanket out of their tiny coat closet before walking over and wrapping it around her shoulders. He urges her down onto the couch, where she curls up her knees and stares blankly at the unlit fireplace. That is, until Peeta moves around her, pulling a lighter from the mantel and striking a flame. The logs catch fire immediately, the flames casting dark shadows across the room.
He’s back to her in seconds, pulling her to him and allowing her head to rest in the space between his shoulder and his chin. She doesn’t sleep— not immediately— but listens to each breath that falls past her husbands lips. Her head moves with every rise and fall of his chest, and eventually, wrapped in the safety of the moment, allows the steady beat of his heart to lull her into a restless slumber.
—
There’s muddled commotion from the outside world that eventually brings her out of a restless slumber. A voice here, footsteps there. A clatter of something against the floor as a waft of something cinnamony fills her nose. A high pitched laugh that could only belong to a lively six year old fills the air. It’s a nice sound, actually, and is the driving force to get her to finally allow her eyes to flutter open.
The sun is brutal, despite the current pitter patter of rain from behind the foggy window. Her eyes water as they sting with fresh light flooding her vision— though as they become more focused, notices the crack of the sill. Peeta’s left the window open, once again, allowing unwarranted rain to spill onto the floor. It drip, drip, drips into a puddle already formed, for however long, it’s tendrils leaking into the cracks of the hardwood. She wonders, then, just how long she’s been asleep. It couldn’t be too late into the morning, for the clouds still hang heavy, and dusky in the sky.
The clock ticks 7:03 on the nightstand. Her back aches as she decides to sit up, partially remembering the reasoning behind it. It’s then that she’s reminded just of what actually happened a few short hours before, and she feels the dark cloud return to her.
Don’t, she thinks. Don’t do this to yourself.
It’s with a heavy heart, and an empty soul that she drags herself from the confines of their bedroom and out into the hall. Each step creaks beneath her feet as she descends the stairs and rounds her way into the kitchen, jovial voices melding into her ears.
“Daddy, gross!” Levin squeals, shielding her eyes from her father who happens to show her his open mouth of food. “Stop it!” Her giggles make her stomach churn, her head full of hair thrown back against the chair. “You’re gross.”
He chuckles beside her, a hearty, deep laugh form the back of his throat. The one where his eyes squeeze shut and his nose crinkles while slapping his knee. “Oh, honey, I—“ he stops though, then, his eyes finally connecting with her own from across the room. “Katniss,” he breathes.
Levin turns in her chair, her eyes wide. “Mommy?” She’s hesitant, not sounding anything more than curious as her eyes search her face.
She doesn’t respond, yet, fisting the robe in her hand just a little tighter with her fists shaking as she approaches the table, stopping short of their daughters’ chair. Levin looks up at her, then, bright eyes batting rapidly. She reaches down and runs a thumb along her face where her lashes meet her cheek.
“Morning,” she whispers, sifting her nimble fingers through her daughters thick curls.
“Good mornin’ mommy,” Levin smiles.
“Katniss—“ Peeta says. “—I made some breakfast, if you’re up for it.” There’s a pregnant silence throughout the room as she stands, quiet, rubbing the ball of her foot against the floor to ease her nerves.
“I think I’m just going to…take a shower for now— If you don’t mind taking Levin to school before you leave for work.” His face falls slightly at the denying of food, though doesn’t fight it.
“I’m not opening today.” His eyes tell her there’s more he wants to say, however, before scooting his chair out from under the table and standing before her. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He whispers, just out of earshot of their daughter.
Confused, she nods, giving Levin one last meager smile before stepping out into the hall. Peeta’s heavy footed tread could be heard from a mile away, yet he’s just a foot behind her as they push into the den.
She stops short of the fireplace, unlit, though the embers from the night before still glow dark when she feels a strong hand wrap around her fragile frame. His hand turns her at the waist to face him before drifting up her arm, his thumb tracing the underneath of her jawline. Their eyes meet, but only briefly, her eyes flitting back down to the floor. He doesn’t accept that, though, and forces her to look up at him.
“I called and scheduled you an appointment this morning,” he says. Biting her lip, she pushes his hand away and steps back.
“You what?”
He puts his hands out in front of himself in defense. “Now, don’t fight me on it just yet. Please, hear me out.”
She shakes her head violently, wrapping her arms around her waist as tightly as possible. The pain of her fingers digging into her own skin keeps her grounded, momentarily, as the fire inside her grows significantly.
“Why…Why should I listen to you if you won’t listen to me?” she whispers, biting back the bile that threatens her throat. “I—I told you—I told you I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to some stupid doctor, Peeta.”
“I know, I know. I just…I just think it would be good to you to talk to someone. And it’s not just anyone, Katniss. Gale suggested we—“
“Gale? You’re going to let…”Doctor Hawthorne” decide who I should or should not see?” She throws her hands up in emphasis.
Peeta stands before her, his gentle eyes turned pleading. “Listen— he says Levin is actually getting a lot of help by talking to him. He just suggested that, since he’s not in the practice for…this kind of thing, that we see someone who is.”
“So…what you’re telling me is…is that—“ her voice grows quieter, though angrier as a fresh string of tears coast her lashes. “—is that since he doesn’t work with people who…who’ve…who’s child has just…died…that we should— that I should— talk to someone?” Her fists clench together so hard that she’s sure she’s drawing blood. “And you can say it, you know,” she whispers, their eyes finally connecting. Even if it seems they’re a million miles away, in this moment, they’re drifting constellations. “This “kind of thing”, Peeta? Just say it…Just say it already.”
He drags his bottom lip into his mouth before exhaling deeply, letting out a breath she didn’t even know he was holding. His jaw trembles in the slightest as he reaches out and cups her face in both his hands. She can feel it, what he’s going to say. She’s been preparing for it for weeks. His lips meet her feverish forehead before pulling back to speak in a hushed whisper.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’ve really been trying to protect you, you know.” He pauses, faltering on his words is not something she’s used to witnessing. “And I’m sorry for not being able to hold it together, now, while you’re falling apart. Because Katniss— you weren’t the only one affected by losing. this. baby.”
That’s it, she thinks. The moment he finally cracks. His forehead falls against her own, his hand still shadowing her face as she feels the tears finally leak down her cheeks. Or if they’re Peeta’s tears, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that now, in this moment, she must not think of only herself, but of her husband, who’s done nothing but stay strong for her. Now, it’s her turn to take care of him.
He never did have time to mourn. At least, not that she can remember clearly, anyways. She can only blame herself, though pity won’t get anyone anywhere.
“Come on,” she whispers, stroking underneath his cheeks with her thumbs. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
Together, they climb the stairs, hand in hand until they’re able to push into their bedroom, and finally, their bathroom. His breathing builds rapidly, his attempts to make his coughing fit quiet severely failing as he continues to choke on his breathes.
She deposits him onto the edge of the tub as he leans with his elbows on the tops of his knees. His chest heaves heavy as she steps around him to grab a plastic cup, filling it to the top with water in the sink before gently handing it to him.
“Here…drink this. I’ll be right back okay?” He only nods once before she stands and heads through the doorway, chancing one last glance behind her before shuffling into their bedroom.
It’s got to be here somewhere… She whispers to herself. Her hands shake ever so slightly as she rummages through Peeta’s drawers, making it to the third before finding the bottle underneath rolled up t—shirts. She doesn’t miss his inhaler as she rushes back into the bathroom, thrusting the prescription bottle into his free hand. He watches her carefully, eyeing her as he twists the bottle open still fighting for breath.
He knocks the pill back before taking a large gulp of water along soon after, his glassy eyes meeting her own from where he sits. Still gasping for air, he reaches forward. She had almost all but forgotten the inhaler in her hand before realizing that that was what he was reaching for. She bites her lip, stepping forward and letting it fall into his outstretched hand. He closes his eyes and swallows once before lifting it to his mouth.
“Thank you,” he whispers, he ragged breathing returning to normal after a few silent moments.
“You’re welcome.” She swallows nervously as she watches him. The way his eyes flit from hers to the ground. The way his hands open and close at the heel. He’s struggling not to lose his composure in front of her, she’s sure of it.
“You know…I know…I know I’m not much help right now but…I’m trying, you know?” Her voice is hoarse as she crosses the threshold to him, setting herself beside him on the edge of the tub. “I just want to… to be able to help. But I’m finding it really hard to help you when I don’t even know how to help myself.”
His head turns to hers, then, their eyes meeting a few inches apart. His eyes hold a little something of pain, struggling to stay above himself. He’s searching her face before opening up to speak. Yet the words don’t come, but his head falling onto her shoulder throws her. The way his body seems to shudder as her arms go to wrap around him, then, holding him impossibly close to herself.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around that first chapter of North Star. So amazing, and I can't wait for more! Also, the banner kicks major ass. Kudos to your husband :)
Thank you, my dear! So glad that you liked the banner and that first chapter. I have a lot of plans for the Mellarks in the Capitol including meeting some old Victors and of course, Snow.
I was tagged by @peetasblueyes. If you don’t know her yet, go follow her!
Where do you publish your work?
Ao3, FF.net, and sometimes here on Tumblr. Check my NAVIGATION on my blog.
What medium/application/etc. do you write in or with?
Microsoft Word on my Mac.
Do you collaborate with others?
Oh boy, have I ever. I’ve partnered with Jodi, aka @starsmahogany with her story There Words Are A Lie (TWAAL). Also, She’s helped me with most of my multi-chapter stories. That and she’s at least been there for moral support.
@hysterical-for-joshifer; an also Jodi, again, have been a big part of helping with my secret project which should be out sometime within this next new year.
@jenniferandjoshua also partnered up with me for a two part shot, which you can find both parts here and here. (can’t actually remember the titles but will link once found lol @ me)
How much editing do you do before you publish?
It depends. If it’s a one shot or a drabble I may skim through it but now much. If it’s for one of my multi-chapters with 8k+ words I’ll read it a few times to make sure I get all the errors. Even then I still sometimes don’t catch everything oops.
Do you listen to music when you write?
Never anything with words. Either instrumental or heavy rain/thunderstorm sounds.
How do you decide what to write about?
The real question is, how do I NOT decide what to write about. I have a note saved on my phone with at least 100+ story ideas just collecting dust. I sriously have so many ideas I’ve still yet to write. I mean, I have what, at least 3, 4, 5 multi chapter stories going on right now? I’m a little insane. But when a good idea pops into my brain it sometimes snowballs into something big and I can’t help but write it.
When do you write?
Between 10pm-3am. Usually super late. It has to be dark out.
How often do you write?
I try and write some every day, but I’ve been really sick these last few months I haven’t been able to write much. Though I’ve been writing a lot these past few days. Though, when I DO write, it’s usually a lot all at once. Like a writing binge.
Do you take requests?
Yes! Request away. Though, I will warn you, my inbox looks like a graveyard right now full of untouched requests. I promise I’ll get to them soon though!
Is there any genre or type or story you want to write but are hesitant to?
Eh, not really. I write everything. I’m a lot better at writing dark stuff, though, but I do write basically every situation/genre/type.
Any inspirational quotes, videos, tricks, articles, etc. that help you stay motivated?
Not really. I have a folder on my phone and my laptop full of quotes I want to include in my stories that I’ll glance at occasionally to get me pumped. Like I’ll write out random scenes for a story I’ve yet to even publish and I’ll look at it like a month later and be like “oh my god I need to write this!”. Yeah, I’m kind of all over the place.
Anyways, I tag @hungergameshutch @jenniferandjoshua @starsmahogany @hysterical-for-joshifer @titania522 and anyone else who would like to do this tag!
