likeallfires

[likeallfires]

haymitch missed burdock in so many ways, but he had been long dead now just like sid, ma, and lenore dove, maysilee donner, wyatt, louella, lou loud, ampert, and wellie. he remembered all of their names, he would never be able to forget him because they so often visited him in his dreams. he hates that on some days he misses burdock the most, his first best friend, he misses teasing him about asterid, but misses the camaraderie the most. misses just having a friend that knew him growing up, that knew him before all of this and the monster that he had became. seeing katniss reminded him always of burdock but it wasn't exactly fair. he knew what it was like seeing ghosts but he missed him anyway and loved katniss because of who she was, no ghosts attached to her, just a girl that loved people but felt like she could never save them, just another victor because of their one strike of disobediance to the capitol had paid off in the end. she was the closest thing that he had to a family. he always had wondered when he was young if he would ever have one, if him and lenore dove had gotten the timeline where they could have children together, what they would have turned out like. but haymitch wasn't naive to believe that he would've had that after the games. he killed his own girlfriend, ruined anything that he loved because of who he was. maybe he wasn't meant to have a happy life. maybe no one in twelve was. his life did not mean much when it came to katniss and peeta, he saw the fire sparked underneath them and hoped that it would follow them through, haymitch was older now and didn't value his life as much, but he valued theirs. "peeta, while kind and convincing, will never make me do anything that i don't want to do." he says, more as a kindness to her, and even to peeta. when haymitch made his mind up about something he always followed through. peeta was younger and believed in more things than haymitch ever could and wanted to protect him from his own cruelness. "it'll be fine, sweetheart." he says eventually. leave peeta to me, he thinks. i'm trying to keep you safe. what was it like for you? she asks, and haymitch goes quiet. there's the edited games of how it began, how he won, how it all ended. he's not ready to tell the truth yet. maybe not in years. and maybe he is selfish in thinking it, but it was just too much. "awful," he says, with a smile. "but survivable." haymitch almost wants to apologise to katniss that it's all he get from him for now. he wasn't ready to tell his story yet. maybe when this was all over he will, but not now, the wound even all these years still felt fresh. "they're always survivable if you have the strong frame of mind."

the  games  have  taken  so  much  from  katniss,  but  in  so  many  ways  it  gave  her  this  —  him.  her  father  is  dead  and  buried,  but  something  of  him  is  alive  in  haymitch,  she  feels  it  when  they  sit  quietly  together  at  night,  when  his  proximity  is  enough  to  comfort  her.  she  doesn’t  feel  that  all  consuming  need  to  protect  when  she  is  with  him,  and  instead  feels  the  warm  weight  of  safety,  even  if  they  do  find  themselves  at  each  other’s  throats  more  often  than  not.  he  is  one  of  those  people  closest  to  her,  someone  who  knows  her  more  than  she  knows  herself  at  times,  something  she  begrudgingly  accepts.  and  so  it  kills  her  to  ask  this  of  him.  it  kills  her,  but  it  doesn’t  stop  her.  whatever  is  happening  between  she  and  peeta,  she  knows  that  she  does  love  him  to  some  extent.  how  could  she  not,  after  everything  that  they’ve  been  through  together?  man  and  wife,  survivors,  allies,  friends.  there  are  too  many  definitions  to  put  on  their  relationship,  but  in  this  moment,  she  is  choosing  him.  how  wretched  a  person  she  is;  but  haymitch  knows  her,  he  knows  she  is  nothing  resembling  a  good  person,  and  she  thinks  that  they  both  silently  agree  that  peeta  is  the  best  of  them.  this  time,  they  need  to  choose  him.  “you  do.”  she  agrees,  quietly  staring  into  that  tumbler  of  amber,  she  can  feel  one  sip  of  it  sloshing  in  her  stomach,  burning  her  from  the  inside  out.  one  way  or  another,  katniss  is  always  on  fire.  she  looks  to  him,  his  hand  clasped  around  that  glass.  she  doesn’t  even  know,  really,  how  he  isn’t  in  worse  health.  maybe  it’s  her  mother  keeping  him  alive,  if  it’s  her  work  that  keeps  haymitch  standing,  she  thinks  she  might  love  her  more.  “if  you’re  going  in  there,  he’ll  be  mentoring  you.  he’ll  try  to  make  you  stop.”  she  points  out,  nodding  to  the  glass  in  his  hand.  at  least  here,  it  isn’t  quite  as  destructive  as  the  white  liquor  he  drinks  back  home.  home,  that  trio  of  houses  in  victor’s  village  which  she  hates  as  equally  as  she  loves.  she  lets  out  a  breath,  shaking  and  stinging  with  the  alcohol  she  can’t  quite  stomach.  “thank  you.”  it’s  quiet,  and  again  she  wants  to  lean  into  him,  give  him  some  comfort  as  much  as  she  craves  it,  herself.  but  because  it’s  the  pair  of  them,  they  sit  quietly  together,  barely  moving.  “what  was  it  like  for  you?  you  never  talk  about  it.”  the  arena,  the  games;  she  never  asks  him  out  of  respect,  but  she’s  achingly  devastated,  and  curiosity  wins  her  over.

[likeallfires]

haymitch always enjoyed people that could take the bite that haymitch freely gived to people. he was honest in a way that didn't sit right with people, he had been in the games for so many years now he didn't have much of a filter and had to appreciate victors that didn't either. but he never believed the propaganda, how could he when his own games was rigged? it made him meaner and like a cruel dog looking for a bone to sink his teeth in. he felt bad for the tributes that he did have to mentor, they didn't deserve his anger or his drunkness, but district twelve was always set up to fail and he was just fucking tired by the end of it all. "i didn't know you were allowed to think too." haymitch says with a smirk. from his own games he knows it was unfair, he had even felt bad how people made the first districts out to be when they were only trying to survive the very same that he was. yes, they had more advantages but children still had to kill other children it just wasn't fair. "well don't be afraid to take a bite," he says with another smirk. "my bones might not mean much but there's still meat to 'em." he says with a laughter shaking his head. haymitch wasn't the perfect victor, he would he surprised if there ever was one, but he was right, haymitch was a lot to swallow for people. he always spoke his mind, the worst the snow could do he had already done. he cared for nothing. there wasn't anything new to that. "well, i always have a flask on me," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eye, not that he would touch it until the end of the day. "but i have no words for you that i wouldn't say to my own tributes: don't die. and if you do, at least make it worth something." he thinks of katniss and peeta, there was some truth to it, he would be crushed and devasted if they did die, there would be no point to continue on, but he had made a promise to lenore dove that he would try anyway, and he was going to try and keep it.

Gloss let out a soft laugh, the kind that curled at the edges like smoke. Not loud, not joyful, but indulgent in a way that said he appreciated the bite. He didn’t turn to face Haymitch right away, just tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, watching one of the gauntlet’s swinging clubs pass with all the menace of a toddler having a tantrum.

“Oh, come on, Abernathy,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “you know better than to believe District One’s press kit. I’ve got brains and biceps. We’re allowed to multitask.”

He finally turned to look at him, something dry and wicked flickering behind his eyes. “And sprite? Really? That’s what we’re going with now? You do know that’s Capitol-speak for ‘he still has all his teeth,’ right?”

There was no venom behind it, just the usual acid-glazed camaraderie. Gloss had known Haymitch too long to be offended. He’d admired him from a distance once, not for the rebellion or the politics or even the sharp tongue, but because he’d somehow survived without polishing himself up for Capitol consumption. That was a rare skill. One he hadn’t mastered.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he added with a shrug. “You’re not the worst victor. Just the least palatable. There’s a difference.”

Then, with a glance back at the gauntlet and a slow, theatrical eye-roll: “Anyway, you’re not the one getting shoved back into the meat grinder this year. So, unless you’re planning to lecture me with a flask and a pep talk about trauma, feel free to enjoy the air-conditioning and moral high ground.”

[likeallfires]

haymitch was too tired to give a performance. he didn't have it in him anymore. he could have the sharpest mind when it came to the games, but these moments, he didn't have it in him to care. he knew that he should, he knew that most of these tributes and victors were fired up but he simply couldn't be. when you're as old as he is the act of rebellion came weaker and weaker and haymitch had already lost everything he loved. "is it not?" he says, his smirk still prevalent as he brings the glass up to his lips. i just don't care anymore about the words i say, he didn't want to be taken out, but there was nothing left for him really at the end of it all. "i think you're more functional than i am, congrats." he says, raising his glass again, taking another drink. "i'm sure there's merit in it, but i don't think they really care. why would they care if some lonely tribute stole something from them? they can always get something more upgraded. hell, you probably gave them an excuse." he laughs, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "i hope so," he eventually says, otherwise lenore dove's gift would have meant for nothing and that's something that he cannot swallow.

Hani scoffed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table like she was settling in for a performance she’d already seen too many times. Her glass hung from her fingers, untouched, the liquid inside catching the light like it might mean something. It didn’t.

“God, Haymitch, you really know how to make survival sound like a eulogy,” she said, tone bone-dry. “Still breathing,” she echoed, mocking the toast with a lift of her glass and not a drop of reverence. “Congrats to us, the two most functional corpses in the Capitol.”

She tossed back the drink and set the glass down with a soft clink, more annoyed than satisfied.

“Poetic? Please. I stole it because I was bored and it was stupidly expensive. That’s the whole game, isn’t it? They parade us around like pets, so I take something just to remind them they don’t own all of me. And if that pisses off a few Capitolites with too much money and not enough spine? Even better.”

Her eyes flicked to him; bloodshot, calculating, the same look she’d had in the arena right before she’d slit someone’s throat.

"Do you think pretty things stay pretty after they've served their purpose?" There was no bite behind those words. Just curiosity.

[likeallfires]

maybe tobias wasn’t as good of a person as he thought, it seemed that every decision he made hurt someone, all out of love, never of hate. but even love could burn, especially when you meant it. he knows that he had made mistakes, he wasn’t perfect, he had blood on his hands that he would never get to clean off of him, but he was still trying to do the right thing over and over again but it would always never be enough. when they had become friends it was like finding a part of him that was missing. he had never had a real true friend before when they had met. their goals were the same – that was the problem – they believed the same thing but their ways of going about the same goals would always be different. perhaps she understood him when he had said it. perhaps he was just beyond useless to the revolution, at least livia plinth would go somewhere and maybe tobias would always be behind hoping that it would fall. he didn’t know what was the truth anymore but it had still hurt, that after all of these years of friendship it wouldn’t be enough to make her believe. 

he does think of sejanus plinth and what little legacy he had, maybe he wasn’t gullible, maybe he had just loved too deeply, cared too much, and maybe that was the reason why there’s hardly ever record of him existing, and the only record of him being alive was in the name that livia had worn as a last name. names are a funny thing, when you name someone you give them meaning. when his parents had named him it would always reflect of the great family that they had come from. tobias platyrhodon snow was a strong name, each name having a meaning of where he came from. it wasn’t either tobias or livia’s fault that their names were so intertwined that it became tragic. the weight of their names didn’t have to make them who they are but it did. “i’m not asking you to.” he says with a sigh. “i would never ask that of you. i know who i am and where i come from.” he doesn’t say how hard it is to get people from the other side to trust him, they see the name snow and look at him in a way that he knows that he deserves but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. it’s why he’s tried so hard for years and years to try and atone from all the damage his grandfather and family has caused. 

“isn’t that not the point?” he asks, “we may not always understand each other but we have the same goal. i may not understand the pain and grief like you do, but i understand what it means to want the same things. it’s meeting each other where we are. isn’t that just the basis of friendship in general? though you may not understand the other you love each other enough to try?” livia would always speak more radically, her views more black and white than tobias’ but they grew up differently and it was to be expected. he often wished that he could think more like her and less like him. he wished that he was able to do the things that she did, where she was all fire he was all ice in his approach to things. he had to be cunning and sly to make things work the way that he did. he had to work in secrecy or everything that he had done the past twelve years would have been for nothing. he thought she understood that. he didn’t like it either but that’s why they worked, she could do things from the outside that he couldn’t while he worked on things from the inside – it’s what made them a team. 

“you don’t disappoint me livia.” but i fear that i always some way disappoint you. “i understand why you work the way you do. i just am unable to work like you. my resilience is in silent and in secret, but there are so many people in this revolution that do the same as me that must work in silence. it takes years to take down a government–” because he had read it in all the books that plutarch had given him. “when it comes to taking down tyranny it can never be fast, otherwise it makes it more dangerous than it is.” more people would die if they didn’t keep some of their secrets. there were some things that needed to be kept in the dark. 

“i’m not searching for comfort.” he knows that no one will give it to him, he would never expect livia to give it to him either. not after all she’s been through. but he does feel the guilt. of the one that she loved that he couldn’t save. maybe he had been selfish in wanting to save livia. but that was the price of war, save one over the many and he had chosen to save her. maybe that did make him selfish, but tobias couldn’t be altruistic all the time. if he had lost livia he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. and he has to live everyday with the thought of the what if. he couldn’t save everybody. he knew that. 

“yes.” he says, because there’s no other way around it. he was cruel because he was a gamemaker, he was cruel because he was a snow, he was cruel because his family was cruel. but he still tried, and tried, and tried. it would never be enough. 

his life was built on lies, that was the truth, she wasn’t wrong in that. but he never tried to lie to the tributes that he had helped. he wouldn’t lie to the victors either. it always came back to the small strings of hope that maybe something good could come of this, maybe this would finally be the time the games would end, maybe they could end it all. hope is the only thing stronger than fear. “i lie to my family, but i try and not lie to the tributes, nor the victors. that does make me naive thinking that maybe it will all end, but the lies are never on purpose." he stops for a moment. “but you’re right, it is cruel.” my mistake. 

you’re going to end up all alone. hit after hit, he had prepared for the blows. he knew that it would happen at some point or another. tobias snow would end up alone, not because of alienating people, but simply because of loving them too much. he knows that it’s hard to believe that his parents will ever be what they are, but there are people like lavinia that believed in the same things as him, his role was just so much more riskier given where he was in the games. tobias sometimes believed it was the ending that he deserved – ending up alone. after all the pain and suffering he had caused he deserved to die in a way that was satisfying to the tributes and victors putting them year after year into a games that was caused by a mad-man that he shared blood with. it would be poetic justice for tobias snow to end up alone. 

people are capable of change, he wants to tell her. but they would spend all night going in circles about that particular conversation and frankly tobias was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed. but that was a luxury many couldn’t afford. he wants to say, he can’t help but love his family, they raised him and loved him, and maybe put too much expectations on him growing up, yes, but they still had loved him regardless of the outer choices he made. from the outside he was the perfect heir, he did so many things for them and made sure of their security and they would never be embarrassed to have tobias snow as an embarrassment of a son. 

tobias also hears the words that she’s not saying, the one question she’s too afraid to ask but the answer that he would willingly give her if she were brave enough: he would pick her over his family. he had already been doing it time and time again. it’s just heartbreaking to know that perhaps at the end of it all she doesn’t feel or see the ways that he’s done it. livia plinth was more family to him than his own. his heart wasn’t a small capacity to love because he had so much love to give. he aches knowing that she doesn’t see that, and why her accusation of him not knowing how to live rots inside of him. because she was right, loving people in secret isn’t love, it’s cruelty. but he didn’t know how else to love people. 

“if you asked, i would tell you.” he says, alluding to the question she doesn’t want to ask. “it would be easy.” he says again, the most sure thing that he knows. “but you don’t ask. and i’m tired of being questioned on my actions. when you’re ready to hear the answer i will tell it to you.” that yes, i would pick you over my family, because you’re my family, because family doesn’t always mean blood, because it matters to me, because despite everything, love is the only thing i know stronger than fear. 

he doesn’t know where they can go from here. she’s given him many blows tonight and little of his own back, but he doesn’t see the point of hurting her where he knows that it will hurt, because he knows that hurt people, hurt people. and he was tired of hurting the ones that he loved. and livia was hurt, and tobias was hurt, and they couldn’t handle any more losses and tobias wasn’t wired to go for the jugular like that. it had never been in him to be intentionally cruel when it wasn’t called for. it was something that he had to learn, growing up, not going for the jugular when so many of their classmates had. he had been taught patience, and that sometimes people when they were angry didn’t say what they really mean. 

but god tobias was so lonely. he had grown up a lonely boy knowing that there was something about him that felt different from the rest. he felt lonely in his own family and walking the many mansions that the snow’s had but never earned because it was always taken from someone else. he wasn’t perfect, not by any means, but he was lonely and he never knew how to share that part of him, the loneliness that had stayed with him so many years. he didn’t know how to let people in because he could never trust people’s intentions other than livia’s. when he would look at kids each new year and when they heard what his last name was their eyes widening and thinking it was a death sentence and him trying to explain to him that he would help them but it ending up as death sentence anyway, because it was true, he couldn’t save everyone, but he still tried to be good. but maybe he just wasn’t. 

“i do think you’re good in the same way that i know that you can be cruel.” he would never sugarcoat his feelings. “i know that on paper, our friendship doesn’t make sense but it’s one the truest things i know.” he knew her favourite colour, her favourite things, how not as close as her family she wished to be, how she missed her tribute, he knew that she had all that fire inside of her but there was a part of her that ached, too, how she bit like a dog when she was hurt, and how often he was on the other side of it, because tobias never bit back, but he tried to heal, and he tried to listen. people needed other people to balance them out. he thought that’s what they were. 

“you say how i would pick my family over you but you still haven’t asked the question. so i don’t know what to tell you.” he says quietly. you’ve accused a lot of things of me tonight, how am i to answer all of them if you have the preconceived idea about me? how do we do this to each other time and time again? “they’re not empty promises.” he sighs, “they’re not if we try and keep them. and i’m always trying to keep mine.” he knows that it must be harder for her to keep hers, and he doesn’t blame her for it. in fact, he understands it better than anyone what it means to try and keep the promise anyway. 

“i’ll always be on your side.” he says, “maybe just not in the way that you want.” he hopes that she knows this to be true.

anger  laid  bare,  cold,  unclothed.  livia  was  still  angry,  she  always  would  be,  but  beneath  it  she  was  just  sad  now,  and  it  flickered  through  her  like  a  dying  flame.  once  she  allowed  herself  to  believe  there  was  at  least  one  person  out  there,  who  would  get  her  in  the  way  no  one  in  the  capitol  ever  could.  once  she  allowed  herself  to  believe  that  it  was  tobias.  he  didn’t  avoid  her  like  others  did,  he  didn’t  see  her  as  a  part  of  the  litter.  she  was  simply  livia  plinth  and  he  was  tobias  snow.  but  a  simple  world  did  not  exist  for  people  like  them.  it  would  continue  spinning  the  same  direction,  and  in  some  way  they  would  face  their  fates,  or  it  would  sneak  up  on  them  from  behind.  the  same  outcome.           “  i  don’t  know  if  i  believe  you  anymore.”  she  said,  her  voice  surprisingly  controlled.  perhaps  her  anger  has  shaken  it  too  much  before.  perhaps  her  sadness  was  simply something steady.  “  i’m  tired  of  trying  to  believe  in  you.”  maybe  it  was  better  this  way.  “  i  don’t  know  if  i  can  do  this  anymore.  trying  to  convince  others  to  do  the  same.”  maybe  sejanus  plinth  wouldn’t  be  dead  if  he  were  less  gullible.  livia  didn’t  know  how  it  came  to  his  end.  just  that  someone,  he  believed  to  be  close,  must’ve  betrayed  him. 

      “  you’re  right,  and  i’m  realizing  it  now.  we  really  are  different.”  all  the  time,  she’d  thought  if  she  could  love  tobias,  believe  that  he  was  a  good  person,  she  could  hate  herself  a  little  bit  less.  it  was  a  selfish  thought,  one  meant  to  fall  apart  at  some  point,  but  if  they  were  the  same,  and  if  she  could  love  him,  someone  could  love  her.  in  the  end,  tobias  was  right,  they  were  different  and  it  didn’t  matter  if  she  loved  him  or  not.  “  but  you  are  wrong  about  one  thing,  they  do  define  us  and  there’s  no  way  out  of  this.  ”  right  now,  she  didn’t  even  know  if  they  were  arguing  or  simply  laying  their  true  feelings  bare.  their  play  of  pretend  had  come  to  an  unexpected  end.  “  what’s  the  point  of  this  ?  if  we  don’t  even  understand  each  other.   really,  what  is  the  point  ?  i’m  gonna  keep  disappointing  you  and  you’re  gonna  keep  disappointing  me.  it’s  just  the  way  it  is.  we’re  too  different.”  her  eyes  met  his.  familiarity  peeling  away  from  the  shade  of  blue,  revealing  something  cold.  she  saw  his  grandfather  again.  “  you  do  nourish  them,  and  i  don’t  have  any  words  left  to  comfort  you.  i  just  hope  your  guilt  does.”  it  had  been  twelve  years  but  grief  clung  to  her  and  became  a  second  skin.  she  still  remembered  the  tribute  she’d  fallen  in  love  with,  the  one  she  couldn’t  save,  the  one they couldn’t  save.  it  wasn’t  fair  to  blame  him  for  it  but  when  he  said  something  like  that,  she  couldn’t  gather  a  love  strong  enough  to  blind  her  from  facts.  tobias  could’ve  saved  her.  he  could’ve  saved  so  many,  but  his  hesitation  would  always  lead  to  something  worse  than  nothing  .it  led  to  loss.  and  eventually,  it  led  here.

      “  that’s  funny.”  a  bitter  laugh  was  shaking  her  already  tired  body.  “  you’re  a  gamemaker,  tobias.  isn’t  that  the  definition  of  cruelty  ?”  she  knew  that  his  intention  wasn’t  to  make  the  lives  of  the  tributes  miserable,  she  knew  her  best  friend  well  enough,  that  he  didn’t  take  a  sick  kind  of  enjoyment  in  their  suffering.  yet,  good  intentions  didn’t  save  tributes.  they  never  had.  goodness  didn’t  come  with  games  like  these.          “  you  still  are,  even  if  you  don’t  see  it,  even  if  you’re  not  trying  to  be.  what  does  it  feel  like  ?  giving  them  that  empty  hope  that  maybe  they  won’t  die  ?  are  you  going  to  keep  tellin the  victors  the  same  lie  again  ?  will  you  tell  them,  you’ll  help  them,  and  then  turn  to  the  next  person  and  tell  them  the  same  ?  how  many  people  can  you  save  ?   even  if  you  mean  it.  it’s  still  a  lie.  a  pretty  one.   ”  he  was  doing  the  same  thing  she  did.  she  wrapped  them  in  pretty  clothes,  and  tobias  in  pretty  lies.  none  of  these  would  help  them  either  way.  “  so  tell  me,  isn’t  that  cruel  ?  giving  them  the  illusion  of  hope  ?  isn’t  that  exactly  what  snow  is  doing  ?”

       “  and  look  where  your  hesitation  has  brought  you.  you’re  going  to  end  up  all  alone,  everyone  you  believe  matters  to  you,  they’ll  be  gone  by  the  time  you  realise  it.  ”  his  hands  could  only  hold  so  much,  until  everyone  would  slip  through  the  cracks.  livia  had  learned  it.  that’s  why  she  only  held  onto  few,  but  looking  at  tobias  now,  she  doubted  her  own  choice.  she'd  held  onto  him  too  much,  she  feared  she’d  crushed  him  instead.       “  but  what  ?”  are you  going  to  keep  choosing  them  over  me  ? but  livia  didn’t  dare  to  ask  him  that.  the  answer  scared  her  too  much.  blood  was  thicker  than  water,  she  couldn’t  even  thin  it  a  little  bit.  she  wasn’t  even  in  the  same  stream  like  them.       “  i  can’t  follow  you  there,  i  can’t  pretend  redemption  is  owed  to  everyone  when  it’s  not.  it’s  them  or  the  cause.  you  can’t  have  both,  you  can’t  be  greedy  like  that.”   she  furrowed  her  brows,  no  answer  he  could  offer  would  satisfy  her  anyway.  she’d  accused  him  of  not  understanding  her,  and  yet  they  were  two  sides  of  the  same  coin,  trying  to  land  face-up,  so  the  other  could  see  them.  failing  to  realize  they’d  blind   each  other.  “  but  you  did  change.  they  won’t.”  her  words  carried  a  heavy  finality.  there  wasn’t  any  space  for  them,  they  were  the  line  that  separated  them,  but  tobias  simply  couldn’t  move  past  it,  as  if  that  small  grave  they’d  dug  had  become  too  vast  to  conquer. 

      thinking  those  words  was  easy,  but  speaking  them  out  loud  was  difficult.  she  watched  him  brace  for  the  blow  but  instead  of  fighting  back,  he  allowed  her  to  say  it.  perhaps  there  was  hope  in  him,  making  him  belive  that  she  wouldn’t  do  it  ,  perhaps  he  still  believed  in  her  enough  that  she  wouldn’t  say  those  words.  perhaps,  he  simply  knew  what  she  was  about  to  do.  but  right  now  she  hated  herself  more  than  she  could  love  tobias,  and  whatever  he  was  preparing  for,  she  had  stopped  believing  in  anything  at  all.  not  in  him.  not  in  herself.  when  the  words  aimed  at  him,  she  could hear  the  world  shattering,  but  tobias  didn’t  react.  no  fire,  no  ice.  she  stared  at  him  and  found  her  gaze  mirrored.  terror  in  her  eyes  meeting  something  she  couldn’t  decipher  .  she  released  a  trembling  breath,  pieces  of  unspoken  betrayal  falling.  telling  him  something  like  that,  she  painted  him  into  a  monster,  robbed  him  off  the  most  humane  emotion.  she’d  stripped  him  of  the  one  thing  that  had  always  made  him  different  from  the  world  that  raised  them:  his  capacity  to  love.  to  care.  she  didn’t  need  to  kill  his  family  as  an  act  of  betrayal,  not  when  she  just  deliberately  tried  to  kill  a  part  of  him  that  made  him  human. 

 i’m  sorry.  but  the  apology  remained  buried  in  her  heart.  it’d  have  to  to  break  through  ribs,  for  it  to  come  out.  she  needed  to  hurt  the  same  way  he  did,  or  more,  so  it’d  mean  anything.  if  he  accused  her  of  the  same  thing,  maybe  she  could  then  apologize  to  him,  they’d  stand  at  the  same  ground  again  and  try  to  fix  it  from  the  same  place.  yet,  the  space  between  them  had  widened  so  much,  all  she  felt  she  could  do  was  to  yell  and  scream.  only  that  she  was  too  tired  to  do  that. okay.  the  word  felt  unbearably   insignificant  for  this  moment,  it  shrank  in  the  shadows  of  her  cruelty,  making  her  words  seem  so  much  bigger,  so  much  worse  than  anything  he  could  say.  not  as  if  he  would  do  that  anyway.  he’d  never  hurt  her  like  that. 

 he  said  more  but  the  silence  that  came  with  it  and  the  way  he  was  avoiding  to  look  at  her,  cut  deep.  when  she  bit  and  barked  and  he  simply  took  it,  she  could  only  retreat.  before  she’d  said  those  words,  he  wasn’t  a  target,  simply  someone  who  was  supposed  to  listen  to  that  anger.  somewhere,  she  thought  he’d  understand.  that  he’d  know  her  well  enough  to  see  it  for  what  it  was:  pain,  not  truth.  but  then  she  allowed  her  anger  to  burn  him,  and  the  worst  thing  was  that  she  was  aware  of  what  she  was  about  to  do.  she  wanted  him  to  hurt,  ruin  something  and  match  their  bruises.          “  i  am.  i  don’t  want  to  be  but  i  am.  i’m  not  pretending  to  be  a  good  person,  not  anymore.”  her  words  thinned,  as  if  she’d  put  all  her  energy  in  telling  him  he  didn’t  know  how  to  love  anyone.  “  i  thought  you  knew  that  about  me,  but  i  guess  you  couldn’t  even  see  that.”  she  blinked,  but  no  tears  came.  she  didn’t  have  the  right  to  hurt  over  this.  not  after  what  she’d  done.

  her  earlier  words  had  begun  to  settle  ,  she  could  see  how  they  were  starting  to  infect  him.  she’d  planted  a  seed  she  now  didn’t  know  how  to  unearth  didn’t  know  where  to  dig  to  find  it,  to  pull  its  roots,   before  it  bloomed  into  something  poisonous.  he  believed  her.  not  the  way  she  wanted,  not  the  way  she  simply  wanted  him  to  trust  her.  no,  he  believed  the  version  of  her,  she  hated  the  most.  all  she  could  hope  for   was  that  she  would  turn  out  to  be  insignificant.  that  he  could  shrug  off  the  words  spoken  from  someone  like  her.  but  could  he  ?  even  if  she  was  a  bad  person,  time  had  tied  them  together  and  it  was  hard  to  severe  those  threads,  like  sinew  from  bone.  it  wouldn’t  break  cleanly.

 i  don't  think  it's  ever  too  late  to  realize  you  were  wrong.  he  wasn’t  talking  about  what  she  said  to  him,  but  somehow  she  refused  to  believe  it.  it  was  too  late  to  realize  it,  if  the  damage  was  beyond  any  repair.  this  time,  it  was  her  that  simply  stood  there  without  saying  anything.  they  didn’t  need  to  learn,  all  they  had  to  notice  was  how  vile  they  were.  if  they  couldn’t  even  gather  that  little  compassion,  there  was  no  point  in  feeding  them  any  information.  a  tainted  heart  couldn’t  be  cleaned  by  knowledge  alone. 

      “  so  what  are  we  going  to  do  now  ?”  this  wasn’t  the  quarrels  they  used  to  have.  she  remembered  those  days,   she  was  sulking  that  tobias’s  favourite  colour  wasn’t  the  same  as  hers,  that  she  couldn’t  convince  him  that  the  shade  of  bluebells  was  the  prettiest  colour.  she  remembered  how  he  looked  at  her  when  she  continued  teasing  him  with  the  rumours  about  them  dating,  how  she’d  bring  it  up  just  out  of  boredom,  because  they  were  children,  and  this  was  their  kind  of  love.  simple,  with  cracks  easily  mended.  no,  they  had  never  been  cracks  in  it.  this  was  about  their  beliefs,  about  who  they  stood  with,  and  neither  was  willing  to  take  that  small  step  to  stand  beside  the  other.  still,  they  were  pretending  that  they  could  fix  this.  that  they  could  look  past  it,  as  easily  as  lying  and  saying  that  blue  bell  was  indeed  the  prettiest  shade.  but  one  of  them  would  end  up  betraying  the  other.  not  once,  not  twice   but  again  and  again.  it  all  began  here       “  because  i  don’t  know  if  we  can  ever  get  past  this,  toby.  this  simply  isn’t  realistic.  you’re  choosing  them  over  me.”  this  time  she  didn’t  ask.  she  just  said  what  she  was  thinking.  “  i’m  only  a  friend  to  you,  i’ll  never  be  your  family,  and  as  much  as  it  hurts,  it’s  easier  to  abandon  me  over  them,  so  just  do  it  now.”  her  expression  flickered,  softening  just  slightly.  “  we  need  to  forget  these  empty  promises  we’ve  made  to  each  other.  we’ve  grown  out  of  it.”  their  lives  didn’t  begin  back  then.  they  were  still  stuck  in  the  same  cycle  and  only  tried  to  find  hope  in  promises.  it  was  simply  a  memory  she’d  replayed  too  many  times,  that  she  thought  of  it  to  become  real  again.  “  and  don’t  make  promises  now,  if  you   can’t  keep  them,  i’ve  told  you  that.  i  know  you  mean  it  but  meaning  something  doesn’t  always  make  it  enough.  they  don’t  mean  anything  to  me  anymore.  i  didn’t  want  you  to  keep  me  safe,  i  only  wanted  us  to  be  on  the  same  side.”

[likeallfires]

"hm, well if the time ever comes make sure you get it on camera," he smirks, before shaking his head. the day that tobias died would probably be a relief to the family considering all the secrets that he harboured. but he still had hope that he was see the revolution end in his lifetime. considering everything that was going on now, it would never happen. but he still had hope. he knows that it must be hard to trust someone like him, even though he had been in the underground so long and visited district thirteen frequently it made him feel like an outsider never fully having people trust his motives. "no, i think i got it. you're more than welcome to join me though and we can all go over it together." he trusted plutarch and respected him a lot more, especially growing up as a teen and being revolutionised. he spent many of his free summers in plutarch's home reading his books and learning all that he could. "and we all appreciate you for your effort," he says and he means it. "walk with me?"

“Your death in my presence would also likely lead to my own under mysterious circumstances so I think I’ll pass.” She knew that the president had the ability to be rid of those who betrayed him or did anything he didn’t like, and Miray wasn’t about to end up on the chopping block. She had worked too hard and come too far to die now.

“How interesting. A proposal for what elements of the games? You can always hand it to be and I’ll be sure Plutarch gets it as soon as possible.” And she would be sure he got it, after taking a look herself of course. “I’m just running errands, ensuring everything is perfect before game time.”

[likeallfires]

as a gamemaker he had never killed someone with his hands, but he had killed so many children. the blood never making it on his fingers but it was still there and it sickened him. he's been on the ground in the training room knowing that it was dangerous. people were angry, but he knew that despite all of that, he still had protection because of his name. he didn't like it. in some ways he wished people were brave enough to try something but the fate of their family would never be worth the gain. he looks at one of the tributes and notices the way that she held onto the knife and he walks up to her quietly, no need to scare someone that looked like a deer in the headlights. "i apologize." he says, his eyes still on the knife. he remembers her games. he remembered every single one of them. "it's alright." i mean no harm, but who would believe him? he takes a deep breath and looks around at the other gamemakers sat in their box staring at the tributes. they never understood why tobias came down here but he couldn't help it. "are you alright?"

open starter !! - training centre

she couldn't remember the last time she'd held a knife. no, wait, that wasn't true. of course it wasn't true. she'd held a knife at dinner yesterday, even at her sheer lack of appetite. she'd held a knife because her hands were too shaky to not grip onto something, to leave teeth marks in anything dragged away from her at this point. she already had so little left now.

well then, she couldn't remember the last time she'd held a knife this big. with this kind of intent. she'd tried it when she went into the arena the first time ( how sickening, that the times were now numbered ), and she'd thrown it to the other side of the room while praying it wouldn't hit anyone on the way. iris stood in a bare spot of the training centre now, vulnerable under the lights, knife in her hand. she still couldn't do it. she wanted to think she couldn't do it. she desperately wanted to be unable to do it.

when a noise startled her, she was pulled from her illusion. so quickly, so brutally. she held out her knife with no hesitation before realising there was no threat. she still couldn't bring herself to drop her weapon entirely. her hand shook. her shoulders shook.

"oh-- oh, god. oh jeez, you scared me a little there," she simply noted to the newcomer, knife still aimed at them. she looked like she was about to flee, eyes wide, quivering lip --- but the knife. the knife betrayed her. her shaking shoulders still allowed her a solid stance. she still wasn't dropping the knife. "i'm-- i'm sorry," she said. she held the knife tighter. she looked like she was about to cry.

[likeallfires]

"heavy is the one that wears the crown," he says looking at it, knowing all too well what it felt like. he feels something curl inside of him with how they dress the tributes up, trying to make them into the likeness of panem for just one night with the costumes. he isn't naive to believe that fashion can be political, he knows it all too well, which is why he never wears shades or red or white. it's always a mourning black. he looks over at them for a moment before looking around. "if you walk with me i can get you out of here hassle free." he promises, knowing the perks of being a snow, and eldest one at that. "we just have to talk about something very interesting and no one will bat an eye." he tries for a smile, but there's nothing to really smile about.

open     to     —     everyone

her  anger  is  a  buzzing  thing,  a  thrumming  beneath  her  skin.  lavender  can  feel  a  heavy  hatred  for  this  place  thrown  over  her,  warm  and  comforting  as  a  shawl.  it  is  something  to  hold  onto,  or  so  she  tells  herself  as  she  pushes  from  the  chariot  following  the  tribute  parade.  how  foolish  she  feels,  ridding  the  life  she  has  earned  to  be  thrown  back  into  the  arena,  into  the  maw  of  the  wolf  awaiting  her  delicate  flesh  with  hungry  familiarity.  they've  decked  her  out  in  gold,  having  taken  inspiration  from  some  deity  of  olden  times  for  her  costume,  long  before  panem  was  even  a  glimmer  in  the  future.  a  crown  resembling  grain  sits  upon  her  temples  and  she  feels  it  knocked  askew  as  she  pushes  past  the  journalists  desperately  trying  to  grab  her  for  a  comment.  but  then  she's  stumbling  into  another,  watching  curiously  as  they  adjust  the  crown  atop  her  curls.  “you  don't  have  to  do  that,”  she  states,  her  voice  a  thing  made  of  steel.  “honestly,  i'm  desperate  to  get  this  thing  off  me.”

[likeallfires]

tobias was horrified. he had felt like he hadn't had rest since the announcement and the reaping. there were many things plaguing his mind right now. he didn't understand how he was even here, to move so freely in the capitol as freely as he did was a luxury most couldn't afford. it was a stark difference from talking with lavinia, sitting here with valeria. he had grabbed the shot from the bartender and had taken it quick, using his backhand to swipe the remaining liquids. perhaps not the most elegant of the family, but he was the oldest of them all and the son which gave him more freedom. he felt disgusted with everything going on. "yes, celebrations." he says in a monotone, he can't help but think of selin, can't help but think of himself and the games that he would have to create for what was to come. he had drafts already in hand, it just didn't feel right. he knows that the games will never be forgotten, how could they be? his grandfather ripped children from their families and promised a life of luxury but what was the cost of that luxury if you won? "how fitting." he says, wanting to roll his eyes but he doesn't. he orders another drink.

Valeria Snow swirled the clear liquid in her glass, watching it shine pink from the light of the bar overhead. She looked into the glass like it might hold the answers to everything she was questioning. Of course, it did. Nothing in her life seemed to make much sense anymore, everything had been so much simpler when she was a child and believed everything her grandfather told her. The Capitol was a buzz with the excitement of getting to see all of their favourites back on tv once again but she didn’t feel like celebrating. Not really. On the outside, she smiled. She gave the occasional quip about how these games would be spectacular viewing but she didn’t mean any of it.

She felt a presence sit on the stool next to her. “Come on,” she said without turning her head, her voice bubbly and upbeat. “If you’re going to sit there at least have a drink with me. We’re celebrating, a games never to be forgotten.”

[likeallfires]

it always does seem that snow lands on top, and it's in his name and his blood. it makes him just feel guilt. there were people he loved that were reaped, and even more people he respected. he had fucked up on his orders, perhaps livnia was right that he should have done better. and he'll have to live with that standing so close to his grandfather and not realizing what had happened. it's something that has been playing over and over in his head since it happened. he had to live with that guilt now. with his cousin here he could be himself, there was no one to pretend to in between these walls. "i fucked up." he says, running a hand through his hair. "i should have seen it coming," but i didn't. i was too focused on the cameras and all the lights, there were so many that night. he can't help but think of livia's words that were said in the very apartment, and how their friendship was forever damaged because of it. he wanted to tear his hair out. "i know that we'll try again," he says, already believing it, what is hope if not built on resistance? but tobias thinks he can't take another loss but he doesn't say that. he should have been better. "it's not fair to them," he sighs, especially the newer victors, that spanned the twelve plus years he had been in the underground, so many of them he had talked to, so many he had given hints to when it came to arena. all of them failed, not because of the mission, but maybe because of him. "i refuse to let people cook for me or come into my house, so i hope it's okay," he says with a shrug, he would be sickened by the thought of anyone cooking or cleaning for him, much less avoxes, he could never live with himself. most of the food he made came from the districts he visited, they had so much more to offer. "i don't know anything yet," he sighs, "everything is happening all at once, my connections to district thirteen have been cut as of now, probably until tomorrow. i do know i have a meeting with the gamemakers to figure out the newest arena," because that was a given, of course, as a gamemaker. he hated his job, but he knew it was prevalent job to have as a snow and as someone that worked in the rebellion. it didn't matter how much blood on his hands that there was, he still had to do the job. "how are you?" he asks as he sits down at the table. he could only really think about his own family, livia and selin at the moment. but he loved lavinia, his sister, sometimes the only person he could rely on when it came to living a double life.

snow  always  falls  on  top  and  lavinia  resents  her  grandfather  for  proving  that  saying  right,  yet  again.  the  snow  sat  like  a  statue  as  she  watched  the  televised  reaping,  picking  at  the  skin  of  her  fingers  each  time  someone's  name  was  called  ━━  names  that  were  both  too  familiar  and  too  cutting  inside  lavinia's  own  mind.  a  plan  foiled,  a  reaping  of  those  that  deserve  better  and  earned  the  peace  that  they  were  meant  to  have  until  the  end  of  their  days...  coriolanus  snow  keeps  taking  and  taking  and  taking  and  no  loss  seems  to  come  his  way.

lavinia  intends  to  change  that.

the  snow  takes  a  seat  at  the  table  after  lending  a  hand  with  the  setting.  fingers  tap  rhythmically  with  tobias'  words  and  they  sink  in.  slowly  but  surely,  they  etch  themselves  inside  the  rock  wall  of  her  mind.  what  do  we  do  now?  "we  try  again."  there  is  nothing  else  they  could  do,  not  yet.  not  while  their  grandfather's  roots  are  still  so  strong  between  districts,  between  the  people  of  panem,  between  the  victors.  "we  have  victors  to  help  now  since  they  were,  once  again,  pulled  into  our  grandfather's  sick  games."  a  scoff,  head  shaking  at  the  realization  that  there  are  far  too  many  wins  on  their  grandfather's  side.

"it  doesn't  smell  terrible  and  i  don't  expect  us  to  sleep  anytime  soon.  it  will  be  good  to  have  something."  lavinia  leans  back,  eyes  her  cousin  for  a  moment  before  she  speaks  again.  "have  you  learned  about  any  plans?"

[likeallfires]

a golden cage is still a cage: a tobias snow & lavinia snow web weaving, snow lands on top. ft. @rebelience .

we were opposites at birth, i was steady as a hammer, and no one worried 'cause they knew just where i’d be. no one worried 'cause they knew just where i’d be, and they said you were the crooked kind and that you'd never have no worth, but you were always gold to me.

[likeallfires]

tobias was tired. but that wasn't exactly anything new when it came to this time of year. they were to create a new arena and despite his roots underground tobias had to show for it, so he had spent many nights in his own apartment with meticulous plans with the new arena, the ways that it could be broken, but of course they would be thoroughly be executed by people higher up. he has his graphs with him running through the center when he bumps into someone. he smiles at miray for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "well i hope the next time you give into your wrath get a camera on it." he says with a smirk. "my death would be worth more than gold." his smile broadens. he was also another person with plutarch in his ear, he had hoped that the other would trust him enough to know that being in the underground for so long, but perhaps his last name wasn't enough. "i have a proposal for the games in my hands. i'm hoping to run it by plutarch," he says pausing for a moment, "and other gamemakers to see if it's good." he gives them some distance. "what about you?"

the gamemakers stations - @likeallfires

She's running around like a headless chicken as she always did when it came to time for the games. Every other gamemaker knew it was best to stay out of her way when she got like this from fear of her snapping their head off. Part of her always hated being such a big part of the games but she did what she had to do. They would continue with or without her, it was best she had Plutarch's ear and got to pull some of the strings. Not looking where she was walking Miray managed to walk directly into someone. She's getting ready to yell when she sees who she bumped into. She sighed. "Your last name has saved you from my wrath this time Snow. What are you working on?"

[likeallfires]

"i'm just trying to think of this realistically," that would always be the problem, wasn't it? tobias often felt like the bad guy because he knew how the system worked, it was the reason why he was kept underground for the most part. he knew how everything came to be and perhaps it was because of his name as a snow, or perhaps it was because of what he had read, either way he was trying to preserve something. he wished that it wasn't like this, there were so many people that he loved and cared for that were at the potential of going back in, he didn't know how to handle it. there was a reason he was a gamemaker, like plutarch he had tried and tried again to break the arena, but when it came to selin it was different, because he loved her. he didn't know how not to. she was everything that he wished to be. after his conversation with livia, he thought that maybe she was right, maybe tobias didn't know how to love people in the right way, maybe he should set selin free, especially now. he was just as bad as his grandfather, loving a tribute but never in public. it was tearing away at his insides. "what if what?" he asks, his voice quiet. he often thought of how they didn't make sense. he often thought of how much he thought of selin when she wasn't here, it was a miracle she was now, it felt like a gift. he wanted to do so much more but his head was so often in the clouds because of revolution. maybe livia was right, he didn't deserve to love and be loved, maybe all he was, his entire being, was a soldier. she deserved the chance to understand what it felt like to be loved without no precaution. maybe he was just caging her like a bird that deserved to be set free. "i'd help you no matter what." he says, as if it were final. he'd die helping her, that was the cost he was willing to bear. "you're worth it to me." it just didn't seem fair. he wants to say i don't care about the rebellion but it wasn't true, he cared so much he felt like it was going to break him. but he cared so much about selin too. it gave weight to his decisions, what he was willing to go through, all of what it would cost. all that he had to lose. and he'd lose everything if it meant she had a chance. "you are going to be okay." he says with a small smile, he sits next to her and he grabs her hand this time unafraid. maybe love was small moments that you could reach, maybe it was just this. but tobias didn't want to be selfish anymore. her next question stumps him. he doesn't know what to say, but he has no other choice. "i can." he says with a heavy heart. his grandfather and his descendants before him helped create this system, the least he could do was tear it down. he had to. maybe it would come with the cost of being alone. "i don't think i'm good for you. i've been selfish. loving you is a privilege but it comes with a cost that i don't want you to bear." he says quietly. "what happens next won't be pretty. i know that just because i know who my grandfather is." he sighs, feeling his heartbreaking. i'm not worth the cost, he wants to say. "i'll do everything i can for you," he barely whispers, "but it might be best if we weren't like this." whatever strings tied them together, he didn't want it, but he wanted to keep her safe and livia had even told him so how it wasn't exactly fair to love someone quietly. selin deserved so much better than someone like tobias. "it's not what i want," he says quickly after. "but it's safer."

 selin  wasn’t  supposed  to  be  here.  not  in  that  state  of  mind.  and  if  she  were  honest.  never.  everything  about  this  didn’t  make  sense.  a  victor  and  a  gamemaker,  not  meant  to  cross  paths  again  once  her  games  had  ended.  the  strange  sense  of  warmth  she  was  so  aware  of,  and  around  them  the  cold  pressed  in.  white  and  red,  blood  on  snow,  a  meeting  that  was  stained  by  the  past. 

  perched  at  the  edge  of  the  couch,  she  sat  still,  only  denial  holding  the  pieces  together.  so  she  wouldn’t  fall  apart.  and  yet,  she  dared  to  look,  put  on  a  bandaid  that  came  as  a  smile  on  that  pile  of  shreds  that  could  break  any  minute.  she’d  hoped  that  he’d  say  it  was  a  mistake.  but  the  only  mistake  was  hers,  for  hoping.  for  being  a  fool,  for  cracking  a  little  when  she  heard  his  voice.  hoarse  and  honest.  he  didn’t  even  put  on  an  act.  no  lie  between  them  that  would  allow  her  to  sleep  tonight.  she  simply  sat  in  front  of  the  person  she  loved,  telling  her  a  truth  that  shattered  her.  she  could  be  reaped,  he  could  help  her.  the  rest  would  come  down  to  luck.  “  you’re  acting  as  if  i’m  going  to  be  reaped.”  a  laugh  ,  pitching  upward  like  she’s  repeating  a  cruel  joke,   breaking  somewhere  in  the  middle,   hollow  and  forced.

  “  but  what  if  …”  she  caught  her  breath.  silence  rose  in  her  throat,   like  water  climbing  and  threatening  to  spill.  what  if  we ran  ?  leave. they  could  get  away  if  they  were  lucky,  it  would  maybe  save  them.  they’d  get  away  before  the  capitol  could  close  it  jaw.  before  the  teeth  would  sink  in.   but  then  her  gaze  captured  him.  she  could  try  to  save  herself  , but  never  him,  not  like  that.  not  by  asking  him  to  leave  with  her.  it’d  be  selfish  to  take  this  away  from  him.  the  rebellion  he’d  helped  building  brick  by  fragile  brick.  every  single  one  of  them,  containing  a  fragment  of  his  life,  hope  (  and  she  wondered  if  it  was  guilt  as  well  ).  stealing  this  away  from  him,  would  be  selfish.  she’d  be  no  better  than  president  snow,  asking  him  to  abandon  his  beliefs  for  her.  he  deserved  to  finish  this.  get  at  least  that  redemption  that  his  name  denied  him. 

her  eyes  found  his  face,  and  they  softened  this  time,  more  than  the  capitol  would  allow  her.  she’d  lie  two  lies,  and  only  one  needed  to  become  true.  “  i’m  not  going  to  be  reaped.”  the  first  lie.  “you  don’t   need  to  help  me.  i-.”  she  felt  her  back  pushed  against  the  couch.  another  crack.  for  one  heartbeat,  the  mask  slipped  and  her  gaze  fell.  she  wanted  to  take  his  hand,  feel  something  real  at  least  once  today.  but  she  couldn’t  look  at  him.  if  she  did,  she  might’ve  begged,  let  the  fear  show,  and  she’d  sworn  she  wouldn’t.  put  him  in  danger,  only  so  she  can  live.  “ no.  don’t  help  me.”  she  shifted.  “  if  he  finds  out  …”  she  swallowed,  the  thought  of  it  alone,  making  her  sicker  than  the  earlier  announcement.   “   your  name  alone  is  enough  to  get  you  watched.  if  they  even  suspect  anything  …  it’s  not  worth  it.”  she  swallowed.  “  i  don’t  want  you  to  get  hurt  because  of  me.  all  the  work  you  put  into  the  rebellion,  it’d  go  to  waste.  the  rebellion  …   they  need  you. ”  and  i  need  you.  but  she  wouldn’t  say  that.     she  shook  her  head  again  “  i’m  not  going  to  be  reaped…”  she  repeated.  “  i’m  not  going  to  die  in  the  arena.”  the  second  lie.   how  long  could  she  deny  it  ?  how  long  could  she  still  hold  onto  that  hope  until  it’d  be  drop  ?  “  i’m  going  to  be  okay.”  that  didn’t  even  count  as  a  lie  anymore.  she’d  said  it  so  many  times,  it  had  worn  down  into  a  prayer.  hollow  and  habitual.  “  but  what  about  you  ? ”  this,  this  was  the  reason  why  she  came,  to  make  sure  he  was  okay.  that  nothing  happened  to  him.  the  mockingjay  lives. but  what  did  that  matter  if  tobias  didn’t.  “  they’ll  expect  you  to  be  there.  help  to  design  the  arena  …watch  people  you  know  be  thrown  in  again  …”  her  gaze  flicked  up.  “  you’ll  have  to  act  like  it  doesn’t  affect  you.”  again,  every  year.  at  least  she  had  the  privilege  to  show  that  she  cared.  “  can  you  do  that  ?”  will  it  destroy  you  ?

[likeallfires]

a gamemaker with a heart, what were the odds of that? one that read at least, it was his only true awakening. he would never be plutarch, he cared too much about people, saw them as living things other than a species that could break an arena. when the announcement happens and the plan failed he didn't know where to go, but he saw one of the tributes come into this hall, one of his tributes that he had grown to love and care for. seven. an odd number, but wasn't that the point? he thinks to himself, to love the odd ones, they didn't make sense, but tobias had a heart that felt like it grew each and every year of the hunger games. he couldn't help it. he hears her rambling and lets her finish before standing next to the young woman who was just a girl when her games happened, and he had been young himself, freshly new to the games but still trying to carve his way in, to let others know that he was serious about the cause, but he had lost so many. but seven, she's a miracle, and he loves her he can't help but not. "none of this is fair," he says rather quietly. he knows that in someway his grandfather's presence is always there, always watching. it's amazing that he's had so many years underground without him noticing, tobias should be thankful of his own performance of being a good son and grandson, but it all made him sick really. he didn't like lying. he didn't like the secrecy, but that's what this all was now being underground and he had gotten good at it, but it didn't make it any less painful. he looks at seven now and remembers when she was just a girl in her games, he feels so many overwhelming feelings just looking at her, he almost chokes on it. "i know," he says, as if acknowledging her feelings does something. he knows that it won't. "i'll help you anyway that i can," like the first time, he thinks, but he was gamemaker that would always be the difference, at least he had an advantage. he wants to ask, are you okay? but he knows the answer. he feels defeated. "i'm going to do anything i can." so you don't die, he thinks, but even tobias snow can't promise that. "you won't go through this alone."

CLOSED STARTER FOR: @likeallfires ! LOCATION: the victor's exhibition !

" PERHAPS THIS IS TO EVEN THE SCALES ." even as the words fall from seven's lips they're not entirely sure of them . the news of whom the tributes would include , who they would be pulled from was enough for seven to know ; to know that whatever it was that had let her live was coming to make good on the debt . that the extra years that she had had were very likely coming to an end . there was no panic in the notion , truly . just the slow settling of understanding . perhaps there was some disappointment . all these years before death had come back for her and she had not even enjoyed them . she'd barely even made an impact . perhaps this was why this was happening . her god was disappointed in her . seven couldn't entirely disagree . " for all the blood that's been spilt ." there's a furrow of seven's brows at the words , their eyes still settled on the little hologram of a figure that they barely recognized . they knew rationally that it was them . and yet there was a difference between knowing such a thing and being able to understand it . they remember none of it . not a second . between one blink and the next a body is cut down swiftness , mercilessly . a girl who seven just vaguely remembers from the centre . they barely spoke at the time , but she speaks now . a plea that is cut off by another strike of the scalpel chain . the pleas stop . seven's nails dig into the pits of their palms under their long sleeves , her knees up to her chest as she sits in the exhibition building in hiding . " ... perhaps this is fair to them ." she came here for reprieve thinking that the place would be empty . and she thought it was . but now it wasn't . seven is lucky that it's tobias . she is not sure what she would do if it was his grandfather . she's not entirely sure she's in a state to pretend . the thought provokes a blink , and it is with the slightest of pinches of her brow that seven admits , " i don't think i can do it again , tobias ." her expression twists with the admission , brief as she bluntly says , " i'll die , i think ."

[likeallfires]

once a snow, always a snow. he thinks, with the way react around him. he knows that it cannot be helped if you're not underground like he was, but there is an ache to know that people will never fully trust you. he had been living with it for years but it still hurt despite it all. he knows what kind of suffering his family, his grandfather had caused after all. he knows what he himself contributed, but his career choice wasn't because he wanted to enjoy people's suffering it was to help the inside, but nothing had helped he felt like. he was in a constant state of loss over and over again, he was just glad that he wasn't driven to insanity. "okay," he says with a small smile, leading her to the backdoor that didn't lead to any cameras and then up to his room where he had so many things kept hidden. he had grabbed the self aid bag and looked over at her injuries. nothing too deep but he had grabbed them anyway, "this might sting." he says gently, pouring the liquid on her injuries before grabbing the wrap to make sure it didn't bleed anymore. "my grandfather isn't a kind man," he says quietly, his room wasn't safe, no room in the mansion was safe but still, he had grown up here, "this should be okay now until you're able to receive proper help." he says gently a small smile on his face. "i know people that can help if you need it." he didn't know where her allegiance lied, but he knew people in district 13 that could be more helpful than him. "i can escort you back downstairs and wherever you need to go." if it was tobias, no one would blink an eye where he meant if it wasn't too suspicous, after all, his last name still held some weight but nothing in comparison to his grandfather. "up to you."

guinevere had met tobias snow before, one of a parade of capitol citizens commissioning jewellery for their mothers and sisters and wives. it chafed at something within her to have him meet her like this when she had worked so hard to control how the capitol saw her. she did not want them to know her suffering or be privy to her fear. certainly not this man, so deeply embedded in the very games that had broken something deep within her.

and yet there was honesty in his eyes and sincerity in his voice. guinevere took his offered hand, allowed him to pull her to stand, allowed her to begin guiding her away from the roses she had injured in her panic, the roses that had injured her in return.

“yes, i think that would be best,” she responded, watching blood well up from the dozens of scratches in her skin. tobias snow’s apologies meant little to her, but she would not needlessly turn away from his help.

[likeallfires]

he never liked the training center. always too many bad memories when coming here, from his own games it looks so much different. it was much grittier when he was in them, everything was different now, new programming, all hi-tech it made him feel uncomfortable. but he was checking on his mentors, but he hasn't spotted katniss and peeta yet. he feels the weight of everything, reminded again as he does every year after his birthday and the reaping, of all his little doves. and all the doves that came after them, he thinks of how he should have nourished them more, but haymitch had been long bitter after his games. he was so young. a seventeen year old after their first games should have never been a mentor, it was too young, but he knows how so many of them in here have been mentors too, now reaped once again. he feels like vomiting but he holds a strong front, incredibly sober, he always gave himself the time to be more sharper, and these games felt different. he didn't know why. maybe because their president was one foot in the grave already, but still so ever sharp, still so cruel. "well look at you and being observant." haymitch says with a dangerous smile. "and here i thought you were just a meat-head." haymitch actually never thought that, he thinks of panache, how the world mocked and made fun of him, simply from being from district one. deep down he knew that even panache was just a boy that didn't know any different. it's true the first couple of districts are better fighters but there's no real other option for them, is there? the empathy he feels could go on for miles, but on the outside he is like a dog yearning for a bite, and often, he gives it. haymitch doesn't say that his weakness, his worse instinct is love. how gentle, how frail, he thinks, and in his mind he can see coriolanus snow saying it to him. "well, i don't have much of ego," haymitch smiles, looking at the malfunctioned equipment. gloss was right, all that money and for what? "the only real ego i have is being the worst victor out of you lot." he laughs, but he doesn't mean it. haymitch is smart and cunning in a lot of ways, he knows that the current face he's putting on is for the capitol, but he would never let them in on the ounce of genuine love and kindness that he does have. they don't deserve it. if the whole of panem was an arena, he would never give them the satisfaction. "you're look sprite in your old age, gloss."

who: gloss dupont & closed ( @burntgcds & @likeallfires & @silknshadows & @vanishing-acts & @rebelience *(5/5 slots taken) ) where: the training center, the gauntlet

Gloss stood at the edge of the gauntlet like he’d been personally insulted by it. The Capitol’s idea of training ( all flashing lights, swinging weapons, collapsing floors ) looked less like preparation and more like a glorified game show. As usual, spectacle over substance. The platforms were polished like runway props, the balance beams so narrow they might as well have been metaphors. He’d seen Capitol parties more dangerous than this.

A platform dropped with a mechanical clang, spikes sliding into place with theatrical menace.

“Subtle,” he murmured, eyeing the rotating blades with something closer to disdain than fear. “All that money and still not a single original thought.”

He stepped forward slightly, just enough to feel the floor shift under his boot - a pressure plate, maybe. Predictable.

The gauntlet hissed, adjusted, waited.

So did he.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind him. Deliberate, steady, confident. Someone who wanted to be seen. He didn’t bother turning around immediately.

“They say it adapts to your worst instinct,” Gloss said, his voice light but laced with something venomous. “So, unless it develops abandonment issues or starts insulting everyone’s intelligence, I think I’ll be fine.”

He finally turned, glancing over his shoulder with a smile that was all edge with a little bit of warmth.

“If it starts malfunctioning, it’s probably just reacting to the ego in the room. Mine or yours - we’ll let it decide.”

And with that, he returned his gaze to the course, expression calm, hands relaxed, like he might walk straight into the chaos just to shut it up. "Come on, then."

[likeallfires]

once a victor now a mentor, always a mentor. this time his mentees were people that he didn't know how to live without. it would shatter him if they died. that first time he didn't think he could make it through but was able to survive years after until katniss and peeta. he feels something inside him breaking. his clear minded today, not a drop of anything but he hates it. he needed to be sharp. his birthday had just passed and he was another year older, another year of losing people. a constant reminder of how his games were rigged, and the fact that he was the only survivor. none of it was fair. he walks to the training center and when he enters he sees finnick. he was a boy then during his games, he remembers watching them, mentoring his own kids at the same time. his kids didn't make it but finnick did. and he knows what happened after. he recognizes that practiced smile, but he doesn't give one himself. they will never use haymitch again. he was going to always be himself when it came to the capitol. his arms are crossed as he watches people train, he looks at the victor now reaped again. "does it matter?" haymitch says with a monotone. everyone is going to suffer anyway. coriolanus snow was never fair, but he was honest. that's what made it scary. "you're here now." he says, his eyes try and find katniss and peeta. it's hard standing next to finnick, he didn't want him to die either. they were promised a life of victory, but he knew that could never be true because of what they took away from all of them. he wants to say something kinder, to let finnick know that he cares for him but he can't.

in the tribute centre - @likeallfires

Finnick found him once again in the tribute centre and this time it wasn't to mentor two new kids to their likely deaths, it was as a tribute himself. He'd been foolish enough to believe that if he played by the Captiol's rules that he'd be safe but he should have known better. It was almost comical but in a sick, horrific kind of way and for one of the first times in his life Finnick O’dair was at a loss for words. There was something bubbling inside him that he fought to keep down; rage, maybe? Or grief. Grief for himself, for Annie, for his friends that were also going back into the arena.

He turned to Haymitch with a practised smile. “You think it was random? Or do you think Snow already knew exactly who he was sending back in?”

[likeallfires]

haymitch misses his family like one would miss a limb if it was gone. but deep down he knows that the woman now sitting next to him and peeta were his. he just could never actually admit it to himself because the hurt was too great and knowing what they're all about to go through again knows that only one could make it out alive and he knew that deep down it would never be peeta. he knows that she'll ask. and he never said it to burdock's face when he was alive but he would do anything to protect his daughter that feels more like his now. he loves peeta too, and maybe it isn't fair, he knows that it isn't. but if he had to choose, he knew the answer. he doesn't want peeta to die, it's why he already knew why she was going to ask before she even came in. the least he could do was die for peeta. he knows that they both would. "because i know you." he says, lifting the drink to his lips again. he lets out a sigh. on the other end of it, he knows that peeta would ask him not to and he would be honest and say that it's not possible. there's no reality that haymitch doesn't volunteer. his love for the two of them was overwhelming sometimes, so much so that it made him angry. none of it was fair, and he had grown to live with it since the years from his games. he has watched brilliant people die in that arena all while standing back with a drink in his hand with only little shreds of hope that it would be the last games but it never is. "my liver has gone to shit let's hope if it happens they make my death tasteful." he smirks at katniss. when she orders the whiskey he watches her, the guilt is eating him alive it feels like. he wants to smack the drink out of her hands but he knows fully well what it feels like to be babied and he would never do that to katniss. he can tell that she wants comfort and haymitch wants to give it to her but he doesn't know how, doesn't know how to reach out without feeling like he's being burned. he places a hand on her shoulder. "i was already going to volunteer whether or not you asked me to." when the drink comes he watches it being slid to katniss and he looks away. sorry burdock. sorry asterid. everything i touch gets destroyed. my fault.

she  doesn’t  drink,  and  so  coming  to  the  bar  usually  means  she’s  on  the  hunt  for  haymitch.  it’s  his  greatest  influence  over  her,  a  sobriety  in  response  to  her  witnessing  exactly  how  that  white  liquor  from  district  12  has  affected  a  man  who,  begrudgingly,  means  a  whole  lot  to  her.  they  haven’t  said  it  to  one  another’s  faces,  she  doesn’t  think  that  they’ll  ever  find  the  words  to  tell  each  other  how  much  it  means  that  they’re  both  still  here,  still  a  team  —  but  haymitch  is  family.  he’s  a  pain  in  the  ass,  they  yell  at  one  another  a  great  deal  more  than  they  actually  sit  down  and  talk,  but  in  so  many  ways,  she  sometimes  feels  he  gets  her  more  than  peeta,  prim,  her  mother,  or  even  gale  does.  and  so  she  doesn’t  flinch  at  his  words,  the  gravel  in  his  voice.  he  can  be  so  much  more  hurtful  when  he  wants  to  be,  but  katniss  has  never  shied  away  from  the  meanness  in  haymitch’s  tone  when  he’s  drunk.  that  being  said,  there’s  an  ounce  of  kindness  in  how  he  beckons  her  closer,  a  mutual  understanding  of  what  she  wants  from  him,  and  how  terrible  she  is  for  coming  here  to  ask  it  of  him. “how  did  you  know?”  she  asks,  because  there’s  no  use  in  denying  it.  peeta  will  do  anything  in  his  power  to  be  in  that  arena  with  her,  would  never  force  her  to  face  it  all  over  again  without  him  at  her  side.  she  can’t  bear  it,  how  inherently  good  her  husband  is,  and  how  she  forces  herself  to  be  his  wife  every  single  day.  she’s  always  said  that  no  one  decent  ever  wins  the  games,  but  in  the  eighteen  years  that  have  passed,  katniss  has  grown  to  know  the  other  victors,  all  of  them  holding  quirks  and  differences  which  make  her  wonder  how  in  the  hell  she’s  going  to  get  peeta  out  of  that  arena  alive  if  it  comes  down  to  it.  no  one  decent  ever  wins  the  hunger  games,  and  yet  there’s  more  decency  in  half  of  their  baby  fingers  than  there  is  in  the  whole  of  katniss’s  body.  and  peeta,  if  anyone  deserves  better,  it’s  him.  “i’ll  have  a  whiskey.”  she  states  quietly,  sitting  herself  down  next  to  haymitch  and  watching  as  the  bartender  who  had  been  lingering  nearby  moves  to  pour  her  a  drink.  she  swallows  it  with  a  hiss,  her  face  scrunching  up  as  the  alcohol  sets  her  throat  on  fire.  “how  the  hell  do  you  drink  this  stuff?”  she  asks,  and  she  forces  herself  not  to  retreat  into  herself,  she  holds  in  her  tears  and  she  stops  herself  from  dropping  her  head  onto  haymitch’s  shoulders  like  she  so  desperately  wants  to.