#like she isn’t fighting the capitol all by herself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jahayla-parker · 8 months

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FINNICKKKKK🥰

okay what about... r and fin both being victors from district 4 and sent into the quarter qwell? and r being really shy and quite and fin is super protective of her. maybe an established relationship?

The Timid Tribute : Finnick Odair x Reader

(Finnick Odair x Victor!Reader / Finnick Odair x Tribute!Reader / Finnick Odair x District4!Reader / Finnick Odair x Gf!Reader / Finnick Odair x fem!reader)

Descr: 6k wc, Finnick and his timid girlfriend find themselves in the arena for a second time thanks to the 75th Hunger Games being the 3rd Quarter Quell. Despite the odds and their allegiance to protect Katniss Everdeen, Finnick will do whatever it takes to protect y/n.

Warnings: Hunger Games type warnings, violence, trauma, blood and injuries, fighting, death(s) [not main characters], and related. Please let me know if I missed anything!

The News

“Honey?” Finnick frowned. He watched as y/n continued to sit in complete silence, just staring at the now-black screen. “Please talk to me,” he encouraged softly while he scooted closer to her on the couch. “Come on,” he pleaded as he cautiously pulled her to him, hoping to avoid startling her. Finnick knew they were both already drowning in emotions over having heard the announcement from the Capitol just moments ago. Yet, the anguish in his heart amplified when y/n’s timid eyes flickered over to him as she visibly tried to maintain her composure. The second he saw the wobbling of her bottom lip, Finnick nodded emphatically and rubbed her back. “I know, I know,” he cooed.

“Finn…,” y/n attempted, her voice cracking. She tried to swallow the tight lump in her throat. “F-F-Finn, I… can’t, I can’t,” she whimpered, still staring at the blank television screen despite the way Finnick had her head resting on his chest.

“You won’t, okay?” Finnick vowed, his heart beating rapidly. “Chances are, you won’t get reaped,” he argued. He wasn’t sure if that was necessary statistically true. But, it was what y/n needed to hear. And what Finnick needed to be true.

“Finnick,” y/n sighed, leaning back to look at her boyfriend’s face. “M-Mags can’t,” she pointed out as she shook her head. Mags was District 4’s oldest surviving victor and far too sweet for her own good. “Annie, she… still isn’t herself yet,” y/n added, explaining why the only other surviving female victor apart from herself was not a viable option to be reaped for the Quarter Quell.

“What are you saying?” Finnick croaked, his normally honey-coated voice coming out gruff from fear.

“Finn..,” y/n whined softly. She didn’t want to have to say it. Hell, she didn’t want to even think it. But, realistically, she couldn’t let Mags or Annie be reaped. While understandably none of them would want to return to the deadly arena they once won, y/n was the only one who stood a chance. As victors of their own games, none of them were supposed to have to fight in the Games ever again. But, unsurprisingly, Snow and the Capitol changed the rules. As terrifying as it was to think about having to endure that trauma all over again, y/n knew she couldn’t stand by if Annie or Mags had their names drawn for the reaping. It was between the three of them. And while she loved them both, y/n had no faith in either of their survivals should they be chosen.

“No,” Finnick stated firmly. He sharply angled his body towards y/n. He shook his head. “Y/n, you’re not-,” he begged.

“It’s not like I want to,” y/n whispered. She felt horrible about it herself. And even more so when it came to what she was asking Finnick to be okay with. She sniffled as her guilt over worsening his predicament brought tears cascading down her face.

Finnick sighed deeply. He reached over and gently pulled y/n back towards him. “It could be Shaynee,” he argued weekly. No one had heard from the last remaining female victor in nearly two years. No one in District Four really knew if she was even still alive. But, Finnick had to hold onto the small chance that it wouldn’t be the love of his life going into the Quarter Quell. He didn’t want Shaynee to have to either. But, he’d easily admit he preferred it to be her rather than y/n.

Y/n nodded wordlessly against Finnick’s chest. She opted to sit their in silence for a moment, just enjoying his presence. As the overwhelming worry she’d had since hearing the news continued to alarm inside her head, she gripped onto Finnick tightly. “I can’t lose you, Fin,” she cried.

Finnick closed his eyes and tucked y/n’s head under his chin. “You won’t, honey,” he whispered, “okay?” His calloused and sea salt-dried hands caressed her back. “You’re always going to have me, angel”.

Y/n failed to keep her composure. She clung onto Finnick’s shirt as she sobbed. Leaning back, she gazed up at him, giving him a knowing frown.

Finnick read y/n’s unspoken argument and took a deep breath. “There are two other male victors, we’ll both be fine”. He was done having this conversation, done with this being their reality. He was done with everything that wasn’t just holding her and savoring her presence. So that’s what he did. Finnick lifted y/n into his lap and hooked his legs and arms around her as he lightly swayed side to side.

Reaping Day

Y/n timidly gazed over at Finnick from the female victors’ side of the stage. She was struggling to keep her eyes clear after having heard Mags be reaped for this year’s Quarter Quell. She knew Finnick didn’t want her to volunteer to take anyone’s place. But, when saw his evident anguish over their beloved Mags having been chosen, there really wasn’t much thought that had to go into her next move. Mags had been like a mother to him over the years. Mags was one of the only other people Finnick let himself get close to. He couldn’t lose her, and if Mags went into the arena, she wouldn’t come out. Y/n on the other hand, might actually stand a chance. “I volunteer,” y/n’s voice creaked out.

Y/n had spoken the words Finnick feared so quietly that the person drawing the victors’ names barely even heard her. Yet, Finnick’s ears had long ago been trained to pick up on y/n’s timidly soft voice. And this time, her words felt devastatingly loud. Finnick fought to move closer to y/n in order to stop her, but the peacekeepers promptly held him back.

As Y/n stood at the front of the reaping stage, she kept her eyes faced out at the crowd. She couldn’t bear to see Finnick’s anger, sense of betrayal, fear, and pain. She also couldn’t stand to see Mags’s reaction to y/n offering to take her place. Nor could she handle seeing Annie’s -while understandable- tears of relief in having escaped being reaped a second time.

Yet, when Finnick’s name was called out as the male victor headed back into the arena, her head whipped back to face him. Her knees shook as she struggled to keep standing. Her eyes were wide and already drowning in tears. All of her breath left her lungs, making her choked sobs silent.

Finnick of course hadn’t ever wanted to go back into the arena again. But, hearing his name called today didn’t phase him the way he had expected. To be fair, he’d expected that hearing it would’ve meant he’d be leaving y/n’s side. That it would’ve meant leaving her to the riots taking place lately in District 4. That he’d be forced to leave her to fend for herself while he was gone fighting for the ability to be to return to her. Only now, in reality, hearing his name read aloud from the reaping podium meant he could go with y/n. It meant he’d be able to protect her and see to it that she remain unharmed during this year’s games, at least to the furthest extent possible. Nevertheless, his heart broke as he witnessed y/n’s despair over him having been chosen.

The Capitol

Finnick glared pointedly at the female tribute from District 2. He was beyond furious with the tributes, mostly the careers, looking at y/n like she was prey as she wandered around the training facility. He knew that she came across as an easy target. And while he never judged her timidity, he knew he needed to put an end to it. She had to show that she was capable of holding her own against the other tributes. Which she was. They just hadn’t seen that yet. While he was not planning on separating from her at any point in the arena, he needed to make them understand the consequences of trying to harm her should it happen against his wishes.

Finnick smiled proudly at y/n as she cluelessly sipped on the water bottle he’d given her. She just finished unknowingly showing off her skills to a room full of leering competitors. He knew she never felt confident in her abilities, so instructing her to show them off wouldn’t have worked well for the two of them. So, instead, he simply encouraged her to train and freshen up on skills she hadn’t had to use in awhile.

“You look hot,” Finnick grinned, his hands on y/n’s waist.

“Still?” Y/n questioned, trying to figure out why the water hadn’t cooled her face. “Oh,” she giggled, catching on to Finnick’s flirtatious meaning. She playfully hit his chest, smiling as he took hold of her hands and pulled her to his chest.

Finnick chuckled and pressed a light kiss to the top of y/n’s head. He knew he was being rather forward with such an act, but he didn’t care. They were both headed to their potential deaths and he was going to cherish any time he had left with her. Plus, he knew it would act as a warning to the others that his alliance was with y/n. And as such, he figured it would help protect her even further.

Finnick’s nostrils flared as he fought to keep his protectiveness in check. He was backstage with y/n as she nervously waited for her turn to do her interview with Caesar. He knew that several of the male victors-turned-tributes around them were ogling at the lack of coverage from the gown y/n’s stylist had dressed her in for the evening. Finnick could read the impure thoughts and temptations in their eyes way too easily; having recognized those looks far too well. He used his torso to shield as much of her exposed body as possible as he held her gaze.

“Hey, angel,” Finnick cooed, tenderly guiding y/n’s head back towards him instead of on the screen playing back his interview and the message he had intended for her. “Just breathe,” he guided as he watched her try to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. “You’ll get through this and then I’ll make sure our mentors have y/f/f ice-cream ready when we get back to the dorms, okay?” He smiled at the faint grin that formed on her lip. “I’ll be right here, pretend like you’re just talking to me if it helps you connect with Caesar and the audience more, yeah?”

The Games

Finnick had agreed to Heavensbee’s proposed plan to help Katniss the instant they’d offered to get y/n and himself out of there alive. That had been Finnick’s only mission since the moment she volunteered in place of Mags. Now, he finally had a realistic way to make that happen.

Yet, that didn’t stop Finnick from panicking when he saw how far away y/n was when they rose on their pedestals into the arena. He was just glad she had agreed to listen to his guidance to stay away from the cornucopia. He knew she’d be upset that he himself went into that certain bloodbath, but he needed to get their supplies and to inform Katniss of their alliance.

Y/n scanned the arena, hoping to get an idea of the landscape before total chaos erupted. She had located Finnick’s pedestal the moment her eyes adjusted to the fake sun glaring down at them. So, while waiting for the countdown to end, she let her eyes search for any other information that might come in handy later on in the games.

When the game commenced, y/n ran along the stone path to reach the meeting place she and Finnick had discussed. They’d established they would meet at whatever the tallest item was between wherever their two pedestals rose. As she skillfully ran along the wet stones, she glanced over to see much distance Finnick had made so she could adjust her speed accordingly. Only, she caught sight of him making his way to the cornucopia.

Y/n huffed loudly and cursed Finnick under her breath. While they technically hadn’t explicitly agreed that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like heading for the cornucopia on his own, before meeting up with her, she was livid. She knew why he’d done it, wanting to get himself a trident, and surely (a) y/f/w for her. But he couldn’t be doing that alone!

Y/n whipped her head around to check her left and right for any threats as she skidded to a halt on the stone path. She took a mental measurement of the distance from her location to the cornucopia at the center of the tribute pedestals and sucked in a breath deep enough to hold her through until she crossed that distance. She promptly dove straight into the water. She felt the drastic temperature change the moment she was under the freezing water. But, thankfully her time in District 4 had accustomed her to such.

Y/n peeled her eyes open and frantically swam towards the cornucopia, her fear for Finnick’s wellbeing driving her already impressive speed. Her body relaxed ever so slightly when she saw the refracted image of him above her on the shore. He was safe and not noticeably harmed. As she reached the edge of the cornucopia, she cautiously scanned the surface before pulling herself ashore.

“Y/n?!” Finnick panicked as he protectively pulled y/n’s wet body to her feet and placed her behind him. He quickly cornered her in the back area of the dome at the center of the cornucopia. That way she was shielded from any potential impending harm. “What are you doing?!” He scolded quietly, his eyes searching her for any visible signs of injury. “You agreed to-,” he began to remind her, stopping as his head whipped forward upon hearing someone scream.

When there were two simultaneous splashes and the screaming stopped, y/n let out a sigh of relief. “I panicked,” she explained, gripping Finnick’s wrist. “I'm sorry...I shouldn't have done that, you can look after yourself...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."

Finnick sighed, and sensing there was no immediate threat, he turned around to face y/n. “No, no,” he whispered guiltily, her sorrow over having come to his defense evident in her eyes and shaky apologies. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he cooed, turning his wrist in y/n’s hand so he could hold hers. “I was just worried about you, angel,” Finnick explained, “it’s okay. Just stay here.”

“I can help,” y/n whispered, squeezing Finnick’s hand.

Finnick smiled lovingly down at y/n. “I know, I know you can,” he nodded. “Right now though, I need you to help by staying put, I just need to find Katniss, and then we’re getting off of this death trap,” he proposed. He kissed her forehead and placed a y/f/w in her hand before he turned around and headed to the entrance of the dome.

“You’re the girl who volunteered for the old lady that was reaped,” Katniss observed. “Right?” She asked, squinting at y/n.

Y/n bit her lip shyly and nodded. Her eyes flickered from Katniss’s gaze to Finnick’s uncertainly. When he smiled and nodded at her reassuringly, she let out a relieved sigh.

“Katniss,” Katniss introduced, holding her hand out towards y/n in symbolic gesture. “That was really brave of you,” she commented kindly.

Y/n sucked her lips in as she glanced at her ally’s extended hand. After getting nonverbal approval from Finnick, she accepted the girl’s hand and shook it. She noticed the expectant but nevertheless considerate look on Katniss’s face. “Oh,” she whispered bashfully. “Y/n,” she answered, offering a shy smile.

Finnick had taken any measures possible to keep y/n in his sights at all times. When their group ventured through the foreign terrain, he’d established y/n’s place as being between Katniss and himself. He elected to remain at the back of the group to ensure he always had eyes on her. By having her stay behind Katniss, he felt reassured that she wouldn’t be risking walking into a trap. He knew the deal they’d made with Heavensbee. But, that didn’t mean he was going to let y/n be put in danger along the way.

Finnick’s measures hadn’t accounted for y/n offering herself up to find Johanna though. As such, he was taken by surprise when she proposed the idea to Katniss as their group made a game plan. He’d tried to shut the notion down immediately, but it seemed y/n was holding her ground.

“I can find her, Fin,” y/n promised. Her fingers timidly picked at her cuticles as she waited for his response.

“We really shouldn’t split up,” Finnick argued, making his way back to her from where he’d been at helping Peeta sit back up after preforming CPR on their ally.

“One of us has to watch them,” y/n reminded him, nodding towards Katniss as she protectively knelt beside Peeta. “But, we also need to find Johanna,” she defended. Johanna was in on the alliance and the sooner their group was together in the arena, the better. They would be less of a target and more of a threat as a unit. Not to mention, y/n wanted to help the girl as she had become friends with Johanna over the years after winning her games.

Finnick hated the idea of y/n parting from his side. Not because he feared she couldn’t defend herself. But because he wanted to be there should she need backup. And because he simply despised the notion of being away from her for any length of time. Yet, Finnick wouldn’t risk making her more timid. Y/n was right about them needing to split up. And she needed to believe in herself in order to handle this. Regardless of if she stayed with the latest victors or if she went to find Johanna.

Finnick scanned y/n’s body once more as he yet again checked to ensure she was fully prepared to venture out on her own. He ensured she had proper attire for any situation she may encounter, a full array of weapons on her, her shoes and hair tied tightly, etc. Only after he’d established an agreed-upon time for her to return, or at least for her to make an audible signal that she was fine if she couldn’t return yet, did he let her leave to find their friend.

Finnick groaned as he hobbled over to the sandy shore to rest his body. He knew his troubled mind wouldn’t be able to rest, not with y/n still not back yet. But his body desperately needed it after what he and the District 12 victors had endured from the poisonous fog and fighting off the monkey mutts.

As Finnick carelessly plopped himself onto the sand, he stared out at the waves. Despite the water being extremely choppy due to the wind, it was nothing in comparison to the turmoil inside of him. Hours had passed. It had been not only hours since the time y/n had parted from his side, but also several hours since the time she was to return or at least alert him to her safety. Yet, she’d not returned to him yet. He realized it might be in part of them having to leave their original location due to the poisonous fog. But, that didn’t explain why he hadn’t heard or seen anything that signaled she was trying to communicate with him.

Y/n walked blindly as Johanna guided her to the water. Her vision was completely obscured from the surge of blood that had poured down on them. The gamemakers had decided to trap them in a rainstorm of blood. Where they’d got the blood in the first place wasn’t even something y/n had the capacity to question. The simple fact that she was soaked in blood that had been pouring on them for an hour straight was torturous enough.

Finnick tossed aside the seafood he’d caught for himself and their District 12 allies when he caught sight of y/n. She was covered in some dark yet shimmering substance, her right hand clasped in Johanna’s as they waded into the water roughly a mile down the shore. Finnick dashed across the sand towards them. His pace tripled when he was close enough to realize the substance coating y/n was blood.

“Y/n? Y/n!” Finnick screamed. “Are you okay?! Where have you been?!” He questioned after she timidly whispered his name in a relieved tone as he neared them.

“Not now Finnick,” Johanna greeted, shaking her head warningly at him as she continued to guide y/n further into the water.

“I found Johanna,” y/n murmured shyly, coughing when the blood still dripping down her head entered her parted lips.

Finnick frowned and rushed into the water. “Hey, hey, hey,” he soothed, cupping y/n’s cheeks in his palms. He squinted worryingly when she flinched briefly at his touch, as if she didn’t know it was him. “Honey, tell me what happened,” he requested.

“Y/n got us out,” Johanna answered, squeezing y/n’s shoulder before heading towards the others. “But that’s when the rain started,” she explained, shaking her head in annoyance. She scooped up water and poured it over Wiress’s head. “We thought it was water… It turned out to be blood. Hot thick blood that was coming down”.

“It was choking us,” y/n spoke up, reaching out and feeling around until she was able to clutch onto Finnick’s forearms. “We were stumbling around…gagging on it…blind,” she whimpered.

Finnick heard Johanna continue to explain the events, but he’d heard what he needed to know already. He rubbed y/n’s cheek with his thumb, frowning sympathetically at the amount of blood that came off with his touch. “You’re safe now,” he promised. “Let’s get you cleaned up, love,” he offered, taking her hands in his.

“You’re okay, keep your eyes closed, honey,” Finnick instructed as he guided her to her knees in the water. He whispered various soothing sentiments as he tended to her, being sure to get all of the blood off of her. She didn’t need any lingering visual reminder of what she’d just gone through.

Finnick watched y/n’s chest closely as he tried to gauge her breathing. She was balled up between him and Johanna. Her head was resting on the edge of his shoulder as her hands were hooked around her knees. Finnick caught Johnna staring at him questioningly and he shook his head.

“Do you want me to make the others leave?” Finnick asked, worried by y/n’s shallow and quick breathing. “Or we could go for a walk, get some fresh air,” he offered. He figured Katniss trying to decipher Wiress’ rambling wasn’t helping y/n clear her mind.

Y/n shook her head. She could do this. She had to do this. She couldn’t fall apart now, they still had so long to go. She tried to take a deep breath, the intensity of its choppy sound making her panic worsen.

“Hey, just breathe,” Finnick guided, spinning around on the sand until he was seated in front of y/n. “Sugar, look at me, look at me,” he whispered, tilting her head up. When her eyes met his, he smiled supportively. “In and out, okay? Copy me”.

Y/n smiled tiredly as Finnick returned to her side. “Thank you,” she hummed shyly. She felt her already stabilizing heart rate relax further as his arms wrapped securely around her.

“I’m never letting you leave my side again,” Finnick vowed. “I was so worried,” he confessed as he rested his head on y/n’s.

Katniss had informed their group that the arena was set up like a clock, and they agreed to head to the Cornucopia to gather weapons, as well as to scan the area and verify her theory. The whole way there, Finnick was being overly protective of y/n. He knew she was already bouncing back from the blood rain, but still wished she could have more time to recover from the mental impacts of it before they had to head to such a risky location in the arena. As such, it wasn’t until Johanna had scanned the back of the cornucopia for threats that he let go of her hand so she could move freely.

Their group huddled over a diagram of the arena Peeta had drawn in the sand as they reviewed the different threats in each sector. Y/n felt eyes on her when Katniss asked if she’d seen anything during her time away from their group. She smiled faintly in appreciation to Johanna when she answered for y/n that all they’d seen was blood.

“It doesn't matter,” Peeta reassured y/n, sensing her remorse over not having known more information about the arena. “If we know which sector is active, we’ll be safe,” he concluded, standing up from his kneeling position in the sand.

“Yeah, relatively speaking,” Finnick remarked, unable to be as optimistic as Peeta given the hourly threats weren’t their only trouble.

Y/n’s eyes snapped away from Finnick at the sound of Wiress’ gasp. She pulled a knife out of her pocket and threw it at Gloss as he stood behind Wiress. She frowned as she noticed that despite her knife and Katniss’s arrow having struck Gloss flawlessly, the man had already taken Wiress’ life.

Finnick moved forward to keep y/n from running to Wiress as the woman collapsed to the ground.

Y/n tactically shoved Finnick aside, spinning to strike Cashmere with her newly obtained trident as the District 1 victor charged towards him. She knocked the tribute to the ground and they promptly wrestled against each other.

Finnick went to help y/n after having realized why she’d pushed him aside. Only, he found himself having to fight off Brutus instead. He growled as he attempted to finish the battle quickly.

Finnick had barely rose back up from his knees after a blade seemingly tossed by y/n scraped Brutus’s shoulder and scared him away when Peeta was running after the monster of a victor. He stopped Peeta’s offensive move, knowing he’d easily be outmatched by the District 2 tribute. He shoved Peeta’s resisting frame back as his eyes searched the cornucopia for y/n. Just as his eyes found y/n’s tousled hair, he was knocked down as the ground underneath him began to spin.

Y/n gasped as she was suddenly thrown off of Cashmere as the cornucopia rotated. Her fingers frantically searched the damp rocks for a place to hold onto. Just when she thought she’d found one, a slab of metal flung off the dome and knocked her hands off of the thin grasp she had on the structure of the cornucopia. She let out an uncharacteristic scream as her body tumbled down the wet foundation towards the water. It wasn’t the water that worried her, it was how fast the surface was spinning above the water that was the problem. If she were to hit the side of it on her way down, she’d suffer the same fate she just watched Cashmere endure.

“Y/n!” Finnick shouted upon hearing her scream. He held tightly onto the surface as he mentally pleaded for y/n to be okay. He instinctively caught Peeta when his body slid down the rocks beside him, keeping him afloat without having to shift his mind off of thoughts about y/n’s wellbeing. His blood ran cold as he heard his love let out another scream.

“Y/n! No!” Johanna screamed, futilely reaching towards the surging water below her. She and Katniss were both still struggling to stay on shore, but y/n had been flung off despite three victors’ best efforts.

Finnick found himself unable to breathe when the cornucopia stopped spinning. But it wasn’t from the surge of adrenaline, nor from the speed of the spinning motion. Instead, his fear and concern for y/n had rendered him breathless. He scrambled to his feet the second the surface stopped moving. The trident in his hand shook nervously as he frantically searched the island for her.

“Finnick!” Johanna shouted, waving him over.

“She fell in,” Katniss explained breathily, giving Finnick a remorseful look.

“F-Fi-,” y/n forced out, choking on the freezing water as she breached the shore. She hadn’t seen what happened to him after she’d thrown the blade at Brutus awhile ago. Long before the very ground they were on literally turned against them. She needed to know he was okay.

Finnick once again picked up on y/n’s quiet exclamation. His eyes snapped in the direction of her voice and he sighed in slight relief upon seeing her alive and breathing. He tossed his trident aside as he ran down the stone trail that lead to where she was. He helped her pull herself ashore, holding her to him immediately. “I thought I lost you,” he whimpered, tightening his grip on her frail and trembling body.

Finnick pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching y/n’s face. “Say something,” he begged. Her timidity was too concerning right now. “Are you hurt?!”

Y/n grabbed Finnick’s bicep as she staggered backwards to show him her leg. During her fight with Cashmere, she’d been stabbed in the thigh. Having been dragged down the rough surface of the cornucopia surely hadn’t done much to help the wound. She swallowed as she took note of just how much worse the injury now was.

“N…no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Finnick rambled, his eyes watering. He dropped to his knees, his hands pressing firmly against y/n’s wound. “Y/n?” He questioned when he didn’t hear her whimper even slightly at the pressure. His eyes gazed up at her as he sucked in short choppy breaths. “Hey, I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay,” he promised, seeing the defeated look in y/n’s eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Finnick instructed, adjusting his hand placement when Johanna ran up to him with a small first aid kit from the cornucopia. “O-okay? Honey,” he whispered, trying to prevent his voice from showing the fear that was surging inside him, “just focus on me… We’re going to be okay!”

As Katniss discussed the plan with Peeta, y/n walked over to Finnick. She tried to hide her limp, not wanting to worry him further. “Do you need anything Finn?” She asked softly as she set her hand on his shoulder.

Finnick quickly turned his head upwards, not knowing she was going with Katniss on the supply run. “No, love, where are you going?” He asked rhetorically. He knew where y/n was planning on going based off her question and the plan they’d all formed. But, he was hoping by asking she’d reconsider.

“She needs help,” y/n whispered shyly.

Finnick smiled lovingly at y/n but shook his head. “I’ll go with,” he proposed, knowing y/n wasn’t going to relent on her helping Katniss.

“Finny,” y/n sighed. “You don’t have t-“.

“I know,” Finnick said. He picked his trident up off the ground and took her hand in his other. “Ready?” He asked.

Y/n’s eyes shot open as she heard Finnick screaming her name. She whipped her head back and forth in search of her boyfriend. She silently ran after him as he bolted into the gathering of trees. She froze when she heard her own voice screaming for Finnick’s help. Jabberjays. “It’s not real!” She yelled, resuming her running. Only, the Jabberjays playback of her voice was far louder and Finnick had run too far for her to reach him.

“He can’t see you, stop!” Johanna explained, motioning towards the clear barrier between the hourly sectors as she held y/n back.

Katniss was on her knees, pressed up against the invisible divider between her and the others as the Jabberjays mimicked her sister Prim’s voice. The District 12 victor had been fortunate enough to see the others through on the opposite side of the divide before she was overtaken by the screaming. So at least she knew it wasn’t real.

Finnick wasn’t that lucky. He’d left Johanna watching over y/n as she and Peeta slept. Meanwhile he was only a few hundred feet away, teaching Katniss how to form some knots for the next step in their plan. That’s when the Jabberjays attacked. He hadn’t even thought to look back to where he’d last seen y/n when he heard her voice crying for him to help her. Instead, he instinctively rushed towards the sound. As such, he’d ventured further into the Jabberjay sector than Katniss and didn’t have the chance to see the others were safe, to see y/n was actually safe. Sure Katniss tried to remind him that they were just Jabberjays. But, he knew Jabberjays copied things they’d heard. Meaning y/n could very well be hurt somewhere in the arena somehow right now, begging for him to come to her rescue.

Tears streamed down Finnick’s face as he knelt on the damp grass. His hands were shaking as they covered his ears, his heart racing out of control. This had to be fake. The screams coming from the Jabberjays were excruciating. If y/n were truly screaming at that volume instead of the Jabberjays increasing it for the purpose of his torture, she had to be in a near-death state. He’d never heard her this loud before. It had to be fake. He couldn’t live without her. It had to be fake. It had to be.

“I know, I know,” y/n cooed as she embraced Finnick. She had wrapped herself around his crumpled frame the second the invisible barrier between them had absolved. “I’m here, handsome, I’m here,” she promised, gasping as he clung onto her.

“You’re sure you’re okay?!” Finnick repeated frantically, leaning back to see y/n. His eyes analyzed her several-hour-old wound on her thigh despite her nodding her head. He pulled her back into his embrace, pressing kisses all over her face.

Y/n gasped as Finnick jumped in front of her, intentionally trapping her between him and the tree behind her so she couldn’t take the arrow that Katniss had pointed at them instead of him.

“Katniss, remember who the real enemy is,” Finnick spoke calmly. He slid his foot backwards to signal for y/n to stop trying to wordlessly squirm her way out from behind him. He wasn’t going to let her try and block the arrow him hitting him. If one of them had to go down like this, it was going to be him.

Finnick didn’t need to see y/n’s expression to know she was too timid to say anything, her fear silencing her. Nor did he need words to know she was angry that he was making this decision for the both of them. But he had to.

Finnick let out a sigh when he watched Katniss move her bow away from him and point it towards the artificial sky above them. He felt y/n move to his side, his hand finding her hip and tugging her closer while his gaze cautiously stayed on Katniss.

As the girl from District 12 released her bow, Finnick moved y/n back. He guided them both to the ground before the impact could knock them down. Finnick saw y/n’s worried stare and he stroked her cheek before he covered her with his body. “Stay down honey, we’re getting out of this together,” he murmured lovingly.

Finnick Odair Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r

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nickeverdeen · 1 year

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The Hunger Games characters getting jealous

Includes: Katniss, Peeta, Gale, Finnick, Cato, Clove

Katniss Everdeen

She’s more insecure than jealous

But if so…

She’d definetly give the person “the stare”

Katniss has a self-doubting kind of jealousy

She’s comparing herself with the other person in some ways

Katniss would indeed need a reassurance from you when the person is gone

Even though she wonn’t admit it

She would just try to bottle her feelings in very unhealthy way

She’ll 100% deny that she’s jealous

“I was not jealous Y/N, I just didn’t really like them”

Peeta Mellark

Tries to act polite

He’s smart and rational enough not to throw hands

Peeta would be really uncomfortable

He is aware that you’re loyal to him, but he can’t help it

He hates being jealous

Peeta would walk up to your side and put his hand around your waist trying to give the person hint

Passive-agressive behaivor

He’d talk with you about it after the person left

Or he just wouldn’t want to “bother” you with it and would try to bottle it up

One of you would at the end bring it up at some point

“So.. you and them? Yeah, right. Sorry”

Gale Hawerthrone

Gale is a very jealous person

He has some insecurities and gets all defensive with the person

Death stares

If the person would flirt with you, man would NOT let that slide

Gale can be rational, but if the person won’t drop it then he can and will throw hands

He’s bittter and snicker more during the interaction

Will deny for his entire life that he got jealous

He wouldn’t even try to cover his jealousy up when being near the person

He’s not gonna talk about it

Just kiss will be pretty much enough to reassure him

“I wasn’t jealous. They were flirting with you! It was enough of a reason for me to act that way!”

Finnick Odair

Even though he doesn’t really have a reason to be jealous he indeed does get slightly at times

Finnick is the most famous guy in whole Capitol, but that doesn’t mean that jealousy can’t get the best of him

Just like Peeta he’d try to act polite

Really, he tries not to be jealous, but he can’t help it

Finnick, feels kinda dumb for being jealous ‘cause he trusts you

He isn’t one to really show it

He’s constantly just bottling it up inside of him

Finnick is prepared for being teased about it later by you, but he doesn’t really mind

Walks up to you and the person and puts his hand on your waist

If the person still wouldn’t get the hint he’d kiss your cheek and call you “love” or “sweetheart”

His sassy side kicks in while talking woth the person

Finnick would let you tease him about it later and he’d probably laugh it off

“Yeah, okay *chuckles* I get your point”

Cato Hadley

Definetly the hard stare or some glances

Cato is the type of a person “punch first, ask second”

He isn’t really insecure, but it does bother him when other people are hitting on you

But if the person isn’t bothering you, he wouldn’t pick a fight with them

He’s more bitter and sassy towards the person

Cato doesn’t really shy away from PDA

So he’s not afraid to wrap his strong arms around you protectively or kiss you

He wants the person to get the hint

If the person is your friend he’d be much calmer ‘cause he doesn’t want to ruin yours and their friendship

Cato can and will flex just to prove the person that they ain’t good enough for you

If the person would dare to touch you in uncomfortable way, Cato would be quick to give them piece of their mind

He ain’t losing you to some jerk from a bar

Extremely affectionate with you during the interigation with the person

“Hey love, who’s that? I see… *hard stare at the person*”

Clove Kentwell

Pretty much like Cate “punch first, ask second”

Clove definetly has some jealousy issues

She very quickly loses her cool when someone starts flirting with you

If you weren’t there, she’d most definetly punch the person

Agressively conforts them

She’s indeed intimidating when she wants to be so the person would probably back off

But if not, things could escalate to the point where she throws hands

You’re pretty much the only person who can calm her down at that point

Death stares

Clove isn’t really into PDA, but at that point she would put her arm around your shoulders or rest her hand on your waist

She doesn’t even hide her jealousy

Will deny her jealousy later at all cost

Clove will talk absolute shit about the person after they leave (unless it’s your friend)

Is very clingy afterwards

If it’s your friend, she’ll get slightly bitter with them, but would calm down

After all, she doesn’t wanna ruin your and the person’s friendship

She’ll start playing with her knifes next to you only to intimidate the person silently

“Hey dickhead! Y/N has a girlfriend!”

#headcanons #the hunger games #thg peeta #thg katniss #thg finnick #thg cato #thg clove #katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x reader #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #cato hadley #cato hadley x reader #clove #clove kentwell #clove kentwell x reader

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ilguna · 1 year

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☼ drowning in love (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; you promised Johanna you'd support her with anything she needed when she came back from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, they shower together, torture mention.

wc; 1.6k

–

“I’ve changed my mind.” Johanna says, you tilt your head at her, unamused.

The two of you are currently inside of, what must be, the smallest bathroom you’ve ever seen. You thought that when the medical team of Thirteen said they had a private bathroom, they meant something bigger. You weren’t expecting it to be the same size as the bathrooms in the Capitol, but at least half that. It isn’t, though. Everything in here has been crammed to ensure that every inch of space is used.

Johanna’s sitting on the toilet lid, hunched over in her towel, arms wrapped around her abdomen to make herself smaller. You’re standing directly in front of her, your kneecaps touching hers because there is nowhere else to stand in here. You’re lucky that there’s even enough room for the two of you to shower together in the first place.

“Babe, that’s what you said ten minutes ago, you can’t keep changing your mind.”

She shakes her head, staring at the floor, “I’m not ready.”

“You’re going to have to do it either way.” You tell her, “If you don’t do it with me, then the nurses will do it, and they don’t really care about your feelings.”

She meets your eyes, “They’ll sedate me.”

“And then you miss out on an opportunity to start the process of healing. You can’t keep pushing it back. What will you do when the rebellion’s over and we’re no longer in Thirteen? There won’t be anyone to sedate you.” You raise your eyebrows.

“You will, if I put up a big enough fight.” She says, you think you can see a smile hinting at the corners of her lips. She’s not entirely joking, though. She knows that you don’t like seeing her in pain.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll be right here.”

“Except, I don’t want to go in there alone. What if—what if I have an episode?” She asks, you watch her shudder.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” You ask, “You know I will.”

“What if I attack you? Like Peeta did to Katniss?”

“You won’t. They didn’t use tracker jacker venom on you.” You say, “And the doctors would’ve caught it by now.”

Johanna begins to bite on her bottom lip, face contorting while she thinks. She knows you’re right, but she doesn’t want to admit it. She just wants to find a way out to avoid having to face the water. And you understand why, the issue is that you won’t be putting up with sponge baths for the rest of your life.

Her eyes dart to the door momentarily, possibly planning an escape. She won’t make it far, not with you standing in front of it. She wouldn’t be able to pull it open before you have her on her ass again.

“Johanna, the water can’t hurt you.” You slide down the wall, taking her hands in yours, “You know you’ll have control in there. You’ll be able to move the shower head off to the side if you can’t handle it, and change the temperature if it’s too close to what they used in the Capitol.”

She presses her lips together, “I don’t want to freak out, (Y/n).”

“You won’t. I’ll get in there with you. You’ll be safe with me in there, you know I would never let anything happen to you, not when I’m right there.” You squeeze her hands.

She nods.

“It’s only a few minutes, we’re just getting your body washed. You’ll feel so much better once the grime is gone, and you’re washing away their touch.”

“Okay.” Johanna breathes.

“Okay.” You echo, letting go of her hands as you get back to your feet.

You slide the glass door open, leaning in to turn the shower on. You can feel her hands grip around your wrist when the water starts. And without you even saying anything, she begins to take deep breaths in through her nose, and exhales through her mouth. A technique she was taught by the head doctor, it looks like she’s paying attention after all.

You guide her hand to the water slowly so she can feel the temperature, adjusting it the way she tells you to. She goes on the hotter side, staying away from the warm to cold range. You’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.

“Alright,” You hold your hand out to her.

“Can you go in first?” She asks.

“Johanna, if you run out of the bathroom, I’m going to be pissed.” You tell her.

“I won’t. You’ll be closer to the water.” She says, “Please?”

You watch her for a couple of seconds, gauging whether or not she’s telling the truth, and find that she is. You pull your hair up, figuring that you’d rather accidentally get the ends wet than your whole head. You then take off District Thirteen’s jumpsuit, and the underwear underneath.

You keep a hand on Johanna when you open the glass door, backing inside a few steps. This forces her to her feet, where she uses a shaky hand to release the towel, letting it fall to the floor.

“It’s only a couple of minutes.” You remind her, “One step at a time.”

“I know.” She breathes, “I don’t think I can get my face wet.”

“How about we do your collarbones and down?” You ask, “Does that sound okay?”

She hums in agreement, coming into the shower. She slides the door shut behind her, and you watch her begin to take deeper breaths. You reach back to feel how close the water is, and find it only an inch further back.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask her, “You have to face the water.”

“Just my back right now.” She closes her eyes.

You move her around, slowly backing her into the water, watching as her face twists at the anticipation. When it begins to rain down on her back, she jumps slightly, a shudder running through her body. You can see the goosebumps rise on her arms.

You step closer, placing your hands on her hips, watching her face. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to focus on not freaking out. She moves slightly to allow the water on her shoulders and down her sides.

“Do you think I’ll be better by the end of the rebellion?” She asks.

“If we keep working on it, it’ll be a step in the right direction.” You tell her, “It won’t happen overnight Johanna, as much as I know you wish it would.”

“I wish he’d chosen something else.” She mutters, eyebrows drawing in, “The District borders will finally be down and we won’t even be able to see the ocean. Finnick makes me so jealous when he talks about how beautiful the beach is. And all we’ve got are fuckin’ trees.”

“That’ll be our goal, then.” You say, she opens her eyes, “To go visit Annie and Finnick on the beach.”

“That could take years, (Y/n).” She says.

“Good thing we’re gonna live for a while.” You smile, she lets out a laugh, “Ready to turn around?”

She nods, you let go of her hips, allowing her to turn around to face the water. She lets out a breath, hesitating.

“I didn’t take you as a beach person.” You say, hoping it’ll take her mind off of the shower water, and instead put her somewhere else. She doesn’t move for a second, before stepping forward. You place your hands on her hips again.

“Yeah, well, neither did I. Finnick talks about the summers there, how he and his family would jump off the docks as kids. The water is cold and refreshing. The sand is warm, and sometimes too hot to walk on with bare feet.” She murmurs, reaching over to grab the bar of soap on the shelf, you smile slightly. “They build sandcastles and play games. It’s like a picnic we have at home, but on the beach. And the best part is the sunsets apparently.”

“I think Finnick just wants us to move there.” You laugh.

“Probably.” She agrees, “I wouldn’t mind, Annie and Finnick are our best friends. It’d be nice to be close to torture them often.”

“I’m sure it’s an option.” You say, “Even if you’re not ready to see the water, I’m sure they have houses away from the water.”

She pauses, “You’d move there with me?”

“Where else would I go?” You laugh, “Do you think I’d stay in Seven?”

“Well, no.” She says, carefully rubbing the soap over her skin. It’s still tender from the scabs that have recently fallen off. “I just thought you’d be more against it.”

“We’ve lived in Seven our whole lives, I’m sure it’ll be okay if we move somewhere new for a while.” You tell her.

“That’s true.”

You lather her back in soap, so it’s less effort for her. She rinses the scentless bubbles down the drain, and then steps out to dry herself off. You get rid of the soap that she’d accidentally gotten on you, before shutting the water off.

When you step out, you’re able to see Johanna wiping her eyes, sniffing. She looks at your briefly, eyes already turning red.

“Hey,” You pull the spare towel around your body, before pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms around you, letting out a sob. “It was so easy, you didn’t even think about it.”

“I know.” She places her forehead on your shoulder, “I know, I’m afraid it won’t be like this every time.”

“It can be, though.” You press a kiss to her cheek, squeezing her tighter, “And I’ll be here with you the entire time, I promise.”

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kait-bait8 · 10 months

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The thing I love the most about the Hunger Games is Katniss’ character arc.

Katniss Everdeen in book 1 is like Harry Potter in book 7. That is to say, the Katniss we follow in THG is the strong and resilient fighter. She is brave and selfless and tough and she digs deep despite tremendous pain. She has already overcome the loss of her father and the dire circumstances of her youth. And the 74th Hunger Games should have been her boss fight.

The end of THG shows us a Katniss who is a champion, a winner, a Victor. It feels like we are at the triumphant end of a story. Until she is told that the Capitol is not happy.

In Catching Fire we learn about Katniss’ nightmares. We learn that she sometimes can’t look at Prim without seeing Rue. We see her relationships begin to strain and change.

Katniss finding out that she will be going back into the games is one of my all time favorite scenes. Because in THG Katniss is in Survival Mode from the second she steps onto the platform. She holds back her tears and tries to look indifferent for the sponsors. But in CF she shatters. She flees. She cries and drinks and screams. She isn’t strong or resilient or even a little brave. And you just don’t see heroes react like that in other stories. But you can’t tell me it’s possible to read that scene and not feel your own stomach twist at the thought of that reality.

When Peeta hits the barrier and his heart stops Katniss loses it. It’s clear she knows about CPR from watching her mother, the same way she knew about blood poisoning and tourniquets in the last games, but it doesn’t even occur to her until after Finnick starts kissing Peeta. She isn’t sharp and quick and able to think on her feet. She is desperate to keep Peeta and the rebellion alive and that is it. People say that the victors keep Peeta alive because “if they didn’t Katniss would kill everyone and then herself” but Katniss knew her fate. She knew she wasn’t going to survive the arena. And she knew a life without Peeta was pointless. She would have “stopped living” like her mother.

When Katniss is rescued and Peeta is not, there was no “what is the plan? How are we going to get Peeta back? How are we going to save him?” There was only enough energy and emotion to try to claw Haymitch’s eyes out.

And then we get to Mockingjay. I’ve heard people complain that they couldn’t get through the book because it was just Katniss sleeping all the time. But of course she is sleeping all the time. Of course she can hardly qualify to be a soldier. Of course she finds solace in Finnick and his rope tying.

She doesn’t assassinate President Snow on her rogue mission. She gets her friends killed. She can’t even save Prim. Katniss gets knocked out and wakes up with the War already won. She secures the safety of Panem for a time by killing Coin but even that is the act of someone who no longer cares for her own safety and well-being.

I’m not saying she doesn’t do anything, she does an incredible amount for her mental/emotional state. But she isn’t Strong or Brave or Resilient. She doesn’t dig deep because even if she did there wouldn’t be anything left. She is completely broken.

That is what makes her epilogue so beautiful. Because at the end of her story she isn’t a Victor. She isn’t The Hero. She just, learns to be okay. She falls in love and finds peace and happiness and safety. I don’t know if I would say that she ever becomes unbroken but she picks up the pieces she can salvage and does her best with them.

Katniss Everdeen’s character arc is not one of Strength. There are many strong characters. It is a study of weakness and the beauty and love and community that comes from weakness.

#Katniss Everdeen #the girl who WAS on fire #what a beautiful character #what a beautiful story of falling apart #of being a victim of your circumstances at every turn #and still being kind #and still finding love #figuring out that okay is enough #the hunger games #thg #Suzanne Collins

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moreespressoformydepresso · 2 months

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I promise I’m still alive and writing but I’ve been working a lot, I’m planning a vacation and I’m still not over the person that showed me how shitty people can be who I recently realized may have actually been cyberstalking me so it’s taking me longer than usual to do anything.

It did give me this AU tho:

The tributes are saved because they’ve been through so much shit it made them become expert therapists.

It all started when Lysistrata confided in Jessup about a bad friendship breakup she had and he not only reassured her that she dodged a massive bullet, but he ended up giving her some pretty good advice. When she told Coriolanus about this, he hesitantly opens up to Lucy Gray about his struggles and her compassion and good suggestions snowball (ha) into him getting his ass hauled to actual therapy. All hail his therapist, who works overtime to fix the mess that is Coriolanus Snow and is tipped generously once Tigris gets her fashion business off the ground.

Livia complains about the general mean girl/boy-ness of her friend group and Facet hesitantly but kindly informs her that she’s been gossiping about them behind their backs too and maybe she should try to work on herself so the better friend groups will want to hang out with her. Lo and behold once she shows her real self she gains a less toxic circle of people around her. Not even she knows when she started considering Facet part of it, but damn it all if she won’t use her mom’s bank connections to make sure she won’t lose the person who singlehandedly managed to change her life for the better.

Palmyra doesn’t think she’s mean, but Velvereen opens her eyes to the idea of passive meanness. Actions can be bad, but sometimes inaction is worse. Not telling her friends to stop insulting some poor kid isn’t being ‘neutral’, because silence is taking the side of the agressor. Velvereen only said it in regards to Palmyra’s social life, but it doesn’t take the mentor long to take a step back and apply that logic to the games. She doesn’t like them, but she sure as heck never did anything to stop them, did she? Maybe it was time to change that, and maybe it was time to share her newfound wisdom with her classmates.

Marcus doesn’t like Sejanus. Not at all. But he deserves better than this. So he points out all the ways in which Sejanus’s friends… kinda suck? Because they’re not as mean to him as other Capitol people but that doesn’t make them good. So he suggests owning the title of District Scum more than he already does and no longer doing anything for them so they realize how much he’s done for them despite their snotty attitudes. Sejanus tries it, and several people’s weeks are ruined because of how many nice guy things Sejanus was doing. He gains a lot more respect, and his voice suddenly has a whole lot more impact. Marcus didn’t foresee a sudden pushback to the games thanks to his little comment, but he’s not complaining. Not in the slightest.

Festus saw himself as a good individual. He had some less “savory” tastes like dog fighting, sure, but that didn’t make him a bad person. He was even feeding his tribute, because not doing so would be heartless. He’s a good person! Well, Coral rips that fantasy apart and enjoys his resulting metaphorical tears for breakfast when she breaks it to him after he asks her why she hates him so much: feeding her is less than the bare minimum, and he’s doing it with massive ulterior motives too. She lays out all the shitty things he’s done and wow does that force him to reflect. She may not have intended it, she was merely blowing off steam, but… that truly changes him. Because he suggested executing any District citizen that doesn’t watch the games… the games where their children are being murdered. Then he starts seeing, actually seeing the tributes instead of looking at them like circus animals, and he realizes they’re not being murdered by each other because none of them have a choice. They’re being murdered by the Capitol and everyone in it who only see the barbaric death and ignore the cause of it. Then he sees how close the tributes from 7 are, the kids from the district that brings his family money. The reason for his own wealth and status… maybe there’s more that Festus had been unable or unwilling to see, and while he’s working on figuring out how to end the games, maybe it’s worth asking about the conditions of the people who suffer for his comfort.

Pup Harrington knows about war. His dad’s a general, how could he not? But talking to Lamina gives him some insights he’d never had before. From the other side. War’s cruel, but he’d never wanted to realize it’s cruel for all sides. Even the one he doesn’t like. And when he sees her crying, he sees his own friends and family all those years ago. At first it annoyed him, but then when he confided in her in a moment of frustration, she opened up to him and showed her she understood him. Then he realized her tears annoyed him because they made it harder to distance himself from her. They made it harder to see her as an animal. From that moment on, he vows to get her out of these games. It only takes one more conversation with her for him to realize that if the most surefire way of achieving that goal is getting all the tributes out and stopping the games as a whole just to make her happy and ensure her safety, then the consequences be damned he’s gonna make it happen!

Arachne was happy with her tribute. She’s big and muscular and has a pretty good chance of winning. Not as good as Livia or Lysistrata or Clemensia, maybe, but good enough. But Brandy is district, so of course she’s gonna tease a little. At first the girl steals a knife and lunges for her throat, but she stops. For some reason, she has mercy. And then she talks. About home, about her troubles, her insecurities, all the things Arachne had never even thought district people would have because they weren’t human. When she’s done, Brandy turns to Arachne and sits down cross legged. “So, which one of these made you think bullying a starving child with food would make you better? How did you think this was a good idea in any way?” And Arachne has no answer because she hadn’t thought about it. She was Capitol and this girl was District, they both deserved what they’d gotten right? Arachne just did these things to people below her because… because why? Because that’s all she’s ever been taught to do. It’s how things were. And in a way it felt good to remind others (and herself) of her status. But this girl shared so many problems that Arachne could relate to… maybe it was worth asking a few more questions. And maybe it’s time for her to use her Crane status for a selfless goal for once.

Vipsania is competitive. Very competitive. Since a big part of her victory is going to be performance, she tries to figure out a way to exploit her tribute’s clear affinity for entertainment. It starts by forcing him go perform for food in the zoo, and things go according to plan for a while. That is until she gets into another fight with her parents about her plans for the future. They just don’t get it! When she rants about it to her classmates in the zoo, her tribute overhears and calls her over. She wasn’t here for him, she was just going along with her friends since they had plans for after this, and she hasn’t talked to her tribute since the interviews where he’d been chained to the table. Vipsania doesn’t know what made her decide to waste her time on this, but she does. He asks her why she’s so against the career paths her parents want for her, and it’s so stupid because isn’t it obvious?! She’s not them! But the boy, Treech, isn’t satisfied. He looks at her with stupidly soft sympathetic eyes as he asks her why she’d think going into those careers isn’t “her”. It’s stupid and it’s none of his business and he’s just a tool for her victory and she knows he knows that so why does he care? But she indulges him, if only to get it off her chest, and he listens. He listens to her rant and rave just quietly enough to not disturb anyone and by the end of it he’s far more understanding than anyone else she’s ever talked to. He doesn’t belittle her or try to get her to “see her parents’ perspective” like others have done, he validates her feelings instead. He tells her what she wanted to hear: she’s right to feel this way. But then he tells her what she needs to hear: “have you ever told them this? Have you explained to them why you feel this way instead of just stating that you do?” She hasn’t. Treech suggests she try, so she humors him. It works. Once she sits down with her parents and lays it all out the way Treech helped her figure out, they actually listen and change their minds. The whole situation gets her thinking about her view of her tribute. She hadn’t been subtle about how she views him, and still he went out of his way to help her. To be kind and supportive and helpful to someone who treated him badly. What did that say about what she’d been taught? What did that say about her? It doesn’t take her long to realize what she has to do. Vipsania is competitive, and she refused to lose Treech’s life to the Capitol’s (and her own) cruelty. She would repay his kindness no matter what.

And the list goes on. I’ll type out the other possible problems and give more depth at some point in the future but I need to go to bed lmao (also the tag limit is 30). Either way, the mentors get free therapy and a conscience for the lowly price of staging a coup. They sabotage the pre-game program to buy time and when Gaul orders the games to start her lab is suspiciously bombed, giving Felix the time to drop trying to convince the president to withdraw his support for the games and go full blackmail instead. The president is annoyed until he’s forced to meet Dill and starts making arrangements to get the tributes checked over in the hospital before sending them home with communicuffs to stay in contact with their mentors if they wish.

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blues-valentine · 1 year

Note

the Alina debate going on reminds me of the Katniss debate even years later. there’s people that in this date and age think Gale was a better choice …..some people hate to see girls that went through imaginable levels of trauma find themselves a calm and quiet life with a man that brings them safety and peace.

These two cases are pretty similar and with THG renaissance on social media lately the discussions about this subject are getting wildly inaccurate and lacking media literacy.

Alina and Katniss are similar in how they were just kids that had to grow up in a mess up world and take care of themselves alone. They both were thrown into a role way bigger than them. Deemed as holy and untouchable. Prayed as the sole savior of a nation, painted as a symbol. A role they’ve never felt prepared for and during all of that trauma and grief they just hoped for some normalcy beyond that chaos. Mal and Peeta represent comfort and security for each of them but still the choice to seek that peace creates controversy. I saw this amazing post (X) about how thinking Gale and Katniss should’ve ended up together is simply incorrect and a terrible interpretation of what the books and movies are telling you and similarly goes with Alina’s ending being sadly misunderstood.

People don’t get that Gale became everything he was fighting against. The thing Katniss was trying to run from. In his search to destroy the Capitol and eradicate the games he became too blinded by hatred and started justifying all that violence with the idea of revenge. He would easily switch off his humanity to justify the means in which he achieved those goals. He would’ve never been able to provide Katniss with the peace, safety and the healing she was searching. Peeta and Katniss both understood the trauma lived in the games and ultimately wanted the same thing: peace, get a hold to their humanity, move on from the pain. I still cannot comprended how people think Peeta is “boring” because he is by far one of the most complex characters but also, doesn’t Katniss deserve a mundane or “boring” life? One that isn’t pledge by chaos and trials? One that feels like a routine in the most full-filling way? Katniss getting that plus allowing herself to have kids — because she never said she didn’t want kids, she just didn’t want them to exist in a world in which the games existed, and she fought so it won’t ever happen again. Katniss deserves to have a peaceful life instead of feeling the burden of a role she has to play.

THG is still one of the most complex trilogies I’ve ever read. Katniss and Peeta’s love story isn’t typical but it’s true in its essence. Both were thrown into circumstances that only them would be able to understand and managed to find peace within each other. Their love was born from being able to give each other mutual understanding and comfort. Katniss is able to share her real feelings with Peeta, who sees her as Katniss and not as the symbol of rebellion. That guy, a kid himself too, who’s been used as a weapon to torment Katniss would give his life for her in a heart beat. His love for her is pure.

For Alina, her powers while they made her feel powerful at times, they were also a burden. They made her feel lost, confused, scared of herself and suicidal. Alina’s powers didn’t develop normally because she wasn’t raised as a normal Grisha. There’s a reason why the amplifiers are called a fetter and a collar. They were never meant to be seem as a positive thing. Alina’s whole journey has been filled with trauma and with the imposition of a role she had to play that went against her own freedom. Her powers made her a pawn. The title of the savior, the sun summoner, the queen, the Saint; those all were titles she did not ask for and she found a tremendous burden to perform. She said it herself multiple times. She felt like a fraud and people worshipping her made her feel like she was bigger than herself. Alina would’ve never been able to achieve her peace if she still had those powers and therefore would’ve never been truly free. I’m sorry, no one will ever convince me that Alina making the choice to remove herself from a world that has brought her so much trauma in exchange for a peaceful, mundane life in which she’s able to provide orphan kids just like her the love and security she didn’t get for herself (or for Mal) is not empowering. Her choice IS empowerment.

Mal, who was also a kid himself, had to deal with trauma, with the idea of being disposable and insignificant in a world that only valued those with powers or status. He was used as a weapon against Alina so he swears himself to be a weapon for Alina, because ultimately she is the only person he’ll fight and give his life for.

A thing that it’s similar to Katniss and Alina is that people are so convinced they should’ve healed from their trauma alone to be deemed more empowering. Why should they not be in the company of someone that brings them peace? Someone that makes them feel loved and comforted? Women are allowed to have character developed while also being with a love interest. Not all women have to stick to Hollywood’s propaganda of empowerment.

If you don’t understand why Alina and Katniss endings and the fundamental nature of their choices being about healing, and for Alina about the promise that her power lies in herself, on her own value, then you simply didn’t get it.

And no one can convince me this wasn’t a good, bittersweet but fulfilling ending for Alina:

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #the hunger games #alina starkov #katniss everdeen #malina #mal oretsev #peeta mellark #everlark #the grisha trilogy #the hunger games trilogy #grishaverse #asks

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muted-like-sunset · 1 year

Text

Spark| Chapter 7

peeta mellark x fem! reader

masterlist

word count: 7.1k

trigger warnings: nightmares/nighterrors, drowning, implied abuse, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, mild argument, animal death (minor), fire, bears and bear attacks (nongraphic), canon typical violence, weapons (knives, swords, etc.), sort of sexual harassment? (mild), mentions of death.

(mostly) unedited, all mistakes are my own

She thrashes through the night, haunted by a familiar voice. She fights against long fingers grasping clumps of her hair, fighting to reach the surface of their bathtub as hands hold her under, trying to scream for Asher and instead getting lungfuls of water. She wakes with a start, kicking at the blankets wrapped around her until she can free herself. She draws back to the head of the bed until the blankets fall entirely from her body.

There, she shivers. Her hands press firmly into her eyes willing the feeling of water in her lungs to leave her. She casts a glance to the window in her room, eyes drifting out over the still sleeping city. The sun has just started to rise, casting a warm glow through the streets of the Capitol. She breathes in the sounds of the early morning, the sound of the city sleeping in after last night’s festivities. There is no birdsong, no soft rustle of trees like at home. She longs, for a moment, to hear her parents talking in the other room. To hear Asher pushing his blanket down the scratchy sheets.

She drags herself out of bed, making her way carefully to the bathroom. Hesitating at the shower for a minute, she gathers her thoughts before turning it on. She plunges in quickly, thankful for whatever Capitol technology makes the water warm as soon as she turns it on. Her teeth chatter with the force of her shivering, forcing her face under the spray just to come out gasping and running her hands over her face to orient herself. A quick press of a random option in the selection in her shower has her doused in a sickly sweet, almost fruity scent. The bubbles are a bright pink, brighter than even Effie Trinket’s hair, but she’s thankful for the visual stimuli. Theres nothing like this at home.

She works a bit to find the matching lotion, wondering if it will match its predecessor’s hue. After testing a criminally large collection of lotions, she settles on one that smells the same. This time, its assaulting shade brings a smile to her face. Once she’s moisturized and dried, she makes her way to the closet. Towards the front hangs a full outfit. Her skin prickles, wondering when it had been placed there. A chill runs up her spine as she pulls it from its place, dressing quickly to keep her mind from wandering too much. Tight black pants, a burgundy top with long sleeves, and plain black shoes. She stares at herself in the mirror for a second, studying her body. For the first time since leaving Twelve, she looks somewhat like herself. Her face is clear of makeup, clothing plain enough. She tilts her head, imagining a few snags in the clothing, more tearing on the arms and around the hem.

Her eyes prick and she takes a deep breath, eyes darting from her reflection. She isn’t home, she might never be home again. If she wants to go home she needs to focus on getting through the next few weeks, not moping over whats passed. Instead, she rolls her shoulders back, casting a quick glance to make sure her face is steeled back in a calm manner. Then, she remembers the pin. Where had she left it?

She trails back in her mind, picturing all of the clothing she’d worn since the reaping and realizing when it had gotten lost. The last time she’d seen it was yesterday morning, before the tribute parade. Perhaps Cinna still had it.

Its early enough that no one has come to collect her, so she waders aimlessly out into the main room of the apartment. By a long table in the dining room, a man with dark hair and an all white outfit stands silently. Another avox. Where has the girl from last night gone?

The table is covered in food of all kinds, so she takes a plate from one end and piles it high with a little it of everything she can fit. Eggs, sausage, hotcakes, and pretty purple fruit make their way onto the plate. She finds a jar of honey and drizzles it on top of the hotcakes, smiling. This is a familiar treat. She settles at the table with her plate and a glass of orange juice, tucking in to her meal. The purple fruit turns out to be some kind of melon, the juice of it pooling on her plate. She returns to the table and fills a plate with rolls and some fruit spread that smells strongly like oranges.

She moves to the window, setting her plate on the ground and picking a roll to pull apart in her hands. There, she watches the city streets slowly begin to come to life. She thinks of her parents getting ready for work, of Mama combing her Papa’s hear with a practiced hand. She wonders how the morning is in Twelve. If the streets are foggy yet or if the morning is dry. Katniss and Gale will already be in the woods, working to feed more than just their own families. She hopes Asher has started to go with them, that he isn’t moping alone at home. Knowing him though, the call of the mines has gotten more of his attention than she would like. The mines offer somewhat security where the woods rely on his skills. She knows that the mines are what he would choose, but she holds out hope that her friends can bring him along anyway. If for nothing else than a place to release his frustrations.

He and Gale might just be a match.

Had they seen them last night? How did they feel about their debut, had it given them hope that she could make it home? She hopes they’d slept a little sounder, that she’d looked confident enough to ease their worries for the night.

Haymitch and Peeta come into the room together, she wonders briefly if she has woken them.

“Comfy?” Haymitch asks, his face pulled down with sleep. She smiles sheepishly, pulling herself out of her seat. She collects her plate and joins them at the table, tucking herself towards the end and across from Peeta. He’s wearing an identical burgundy top with loose black pants. She tugs the fabric against her thighs and wishes hers were loose as well.

She’s anxious to start training. They’ll have three days to practice their skills before showing them off to the gamemakers. Three days is not nearly the time she’ll need to hone her skills, but she’ll have to make it work. There will be other tributes, like Marvel, who have spent their lives preparing for this moment. She can’t be caught unprepared.

The table is quiet as Haymitch and Peeta eat, she’s lost her appetite. After a while, Haymitch pushes back from the table with a small sigh, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a swig. Leaning heavily against the table as though already drained by the day, he speaks. “So, training. If you’d like, I can coach you both separately. It’s up to you.”

She furrows her brow, glancing to Peeta to find much the same confusion. She leans forward. “Why would we ask to be coached separately?”

Haymitch smiles a teasing smile, looking up at her from where he rests his chin on his hands. His smile drops as soon as he finishes speaking, settling back into a slight grimace. “You can’t hold hands through the arena. Say you have a skill that Peeta doesn’t know about. You might be able to use it to your advantage.”

A skill Peeta doesn’t know about? To her, she has no unknown skills. Everything she’s learned is seen by the population of Twelve every day. She glances over to Peeta, watching for his reaction. He shakes his head so subtly she wonders if he even meant to, his eyes moving to find hers. “No, nothing. I’ve eaten enough to know yours, too, I think.”

She’d considered that he’d know about her hunting. Everyone in Twelve did, most likely. Still, its kind of nice to know that he’d reliably eaten something she provided. It makes her face heat a bit. She nods to Haymitch. “We’ll train together.”

“Alright,” Haymitch leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What can you do?”

“Nothing, unless you count baking bread.” Peeta says dryly, she smiles. It’s harrowing to think it might be his only skill, but she knows that isn’t true. He’s strong, she’s seen it herself. She shakes her head, smiling at him like this is their own little joke.

“I don’t.” Haymitch says, turning to look at her. “I know you can use a knife, got anything else?”

She considers this, turning her days in the woods over in her head with a keen eye. She can use a bow, just not as well as Katniss or Gale, and she sets the groups traps, a skill also dwarfed in comparison to Gale. “I’m okay with a knife, that’s sort of it.”

Peeta scoffs a laugh, sitting forwards and shaking his head. He speaks to Haymitch, but his eyes are on her. “She’s better than okay, she’s excellent. She sets traps,” He looks to Haymitch, flexing his hands almost like he could feel the wire between is fingers. “My father buys her squirrels, sometimes rabbits. He says the way they’re caught must be quick, its so clean they barely have time to struggle.”

“If we’re correcting one another,” She begins, crossing her arms. “Peeta’s strong. I’ve seen him lift hundred pound bags of flour in the market, carries them two at a time if not more. Tell him that, it’s not nothing.”

“It’s not the same.” Peeta shoots back, his blue eyes locked onto her. It’s intense, she has to steel herself from looking away. “Lifting flour isn’t the same as using a weapon, you know that. Besides, I’m sure every tribute in the arena will just stand still for me to, what, carry them?” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. She looks away from him, face flushing.

“He’s a wrestler.” She tells Haymitch. “He always wins unless he’s pitted against his brother, but even then its close. There’s always hand-to-hand in the arena, he’s making himself sound worse than he is.”

“Well, so are you. I’m not going to wrestle anyone to death in the arena. You’ll be off in a tree somewhere picking the rest of us off with traps.” He almost spits, moved to anger. She can see the way his hands tighten around nothing, curling themselves into fists before relaxing and splaying out large.

“It won’t matter if I can’t get any sponsors.” She mumbles, pushing her plate away from herself and slumping down in her seat, arms crossed in front of herself. “You do that kind of stuff naturally, I have to actually try to make people like me. People are going to fall all over themselves trying to sponsor you.”

He scoffs, but she doesn’t turn to look at him, too busy fighting off defeated tears. “She has no idea, the effect she can have.” He says quietly, like she might not hear him.

The effect she can have, what does he mean? That people will pity her, or that they’d have some reason not to? She forces herself to think. Surely, she has something to gain sponsors attention. She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, listening as Haymitch and Peeta shift.

“Well then, you two make a good show, don’t you?” Haymitch says, smirking. “We’ll work with that. Y/N, theres no guarantee you’ll have any supplies to set any snares in the arena, make sure you save that for your private session. Show them what you can do, it’d make an interesting games. Until then, steer clear of any trapping, do you hear?”

She nods, not meeting his eyes.

“Peeta,” Haymitch begins again. “She’s right. Don’t underestimate physical strength in the arena, it tilts the advantage to you in a confrontation. They’ll have weights in the training center, you can use them, just don’t go all out. The plan for both of you is to learn things you might not already know. Throw a spear, swing a mace, learn to tie knots. Save your skills for your private showings, are we clear?”

They both nod, she doesn’t have to look to know it. Haymitch leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“In public, you two stay by each other’s side every minute. You’ll figure it out, you always seem to.” This peaks her attention, sitting up and meeting his eyes. Seam gray, like everyone she grew up with. “Now go on, meet Effie at the elevator at ten to head down.”

She pushes back from the table, making a quick exit back to her room. His footsteps follow her down the hall and she pauses inside of her door, listening intently for him to show up to talk. It wasn’t so much a fight as it felt to her, but she’d still like to see him. Her shame cements her feet to the floor, listening instead for some sign he wants to talk. His footsteps pause just in front of her door, only for a moment, and her breath hitches. Then, she hears him continue, his door opening and shutting quietly.

She freezes for a long while, waiting at the door for him even though he isn’t coming. She shakes herself from her stupor, moving instead to her bathroom to get ready. She brushes through her hair, securing it the same way she always does before brushing her teeth. It’s almost ten, so she slips back into the hall to meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator.

Peeta’s already there when she gets there, talking quietly with Effie. She dips her head, following them into the elevator. Her nerves, temporarily stayed by a flash of anger at him at breakfast, return in full force at the idea of meeting the other tributes. Marvel will be there, and his district partner. The tall one with golden hair. She wonders if she might be spiteful of the attention her district partner is paying her.

“Hey,” Peeta whispers, bumping her gently with his arm. “You okay?”

If Peeta made friends with her, would she be angry? She tries to imagine her laughing at something he said, smoothing over her golden hair with an elegant hand, giving him a bold and flirty smile. Her stomach knots, would she be angry?

She nods, letting him stay close “Nervous.” She admits with a watery smile, looking to meet his eyes. The ride is quick, probably less than a minute before they’re coming to a stop. The doors open to a large gymnasium, and despite it not being ten yet it seems they are the last to arrive. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high as they enter. She lets herself study the other tributes, they’re all dressed athletically. Still, she and Peeta are the only pair that are dressed alike.

Her eyes find Marvel already looking at her, a grin on his face. The blonde girl is near him, glaring daggers at her. She fights the urge to tuck herself close to Peeta, to seek his protection from the girl. She’ll be on her own if this girl decides to take it out on her, she won’t always have Peeta at her side in the arena.

She and Peeta join the others in their tense circle, standing still as someone pins a cloth square with a 12 to the back of their shirts. A tall woman stands in the center of the circle with a name tag that says ‘Atala’, she begins to explain the training center. The rules go in one of her ears and out of the other, thankful that Peeta seems to be listening attentively enough for the both of them. She lets herself study the tributes she hasn’t seen closely before, trying to make herself useful.

Almost all of the male tributes are larger than her, and even some of the girls seem to dwarf her. Marvel’s district partner is one of them, tall and athletic looking up close. Her hair is pulled back into a braid that runs down her back and her eyes are trained on Y/N. She looks away, the other girls seem more manageable. Though, even the smaller one from District One looks frightening. The other tributes not from career districts look more like herself. It’s easy to tell that many of them come from backgrounds like her own, if the hollowness of their cheeks and eyes is anything to go by.

Soon, the group splits. She feels Peeta’s hand move to take her own, trailing down her arm before locking their hands together and tugging her alongside himself. She tries to shake off her thoughts, following closely behind even as she feels eyes on them. Was this what Haymitch meant as “in public”?

“So, what do we do first?” Peeta asks quietly, leaning down to talk almost into her ear. She bounces on the balls of her feet for a moment, looking around. The eyes of the other tributes flutter away as she surveys the room, all but Marvel’s. He holds her gaze until she looks away, looking instead to find an empty station.

“Feel like trying firestarting?” She asks, pulling him beside herself as she moves towards the station. They detach as they come up on the station, straightening themselves to begin training. She wipes the sweat from her hands.

Fire, as she has always been taught, is dangerous. One stray spark could bring down almost all of Twelve, so their fire had always been her Papa’s job. After the accident, that fell to Asher.

Still, she had built up kindling before. In her house, Papa had always scraped the coal dust off of every surface. The bottoms of their shoes were often caked in it in the right weather conditions. After collecting it, he pressed it into small discs to use as an accelerant.

She takes the lead, curious to try her own hand at what she’d seen done endless times. First, she tries with dry materials - grasses, ark, and leaves - and finds easy success. She flinches back each time the spark takes and bursts into flame, but quickly becomes accustomed to the flash of heat. The way it flickers mesmerizes her, she almost feels remorse when it dies out. Her next tries are in a damper environment. The woman running the station gives her pointers and she sets quickly to scouring the materials laid before her. Some are meant to make it easier, like puffs of cotton o a tarp, but she’s intent on learning.

She’d seen Katniss do a trick a couple of times when they’d been caught in weather they shouldn’t have, one that required a specific type of wood.

“These trees,” She begins looking over to see how Peeta is doing. He’s more focused on her than his fire, eyes darting up when he should be working on getting his flint to spark. “Can we use them? For the fires, I mean.” She asks. When the trainer nods, she slips into the fake woods created in the station. There are only a couple of trees, likely not even planted and instead just propped up below the damp soil.

What had she said? Y/N stoops low beneath a pine, pinching a fistful of dry needles from underneath. She moves back to her materials, taking the training knife and moving back to the tree. She scrapes off some bark, happy with the sticky feeling of the sap against her fingers. Yes, this will spark. She brings her spoils back to Peeta with a smile, offering the small chunk of wood and bark in her hands.

“Here,” She begins, settling down beside him to show him what she hopes will work. “See how its sticky? It’s pine, the sap is flammable.” The moment she’s gotten the wood into his small attempt at a fire, she holds a hand out for his flint. He passes it over wordlessly and she strikes it. It only takes one, the moment the spark touches the sap it bursts into a small flame, quickly taking over his pile of tinder and sticks.

They work together for the rest of the hour before Peeta suggests that they move on to another skill. They move down the line, stopping at the camouflage station, which makes Peet light up. She focuses on trying to mix colors to match the ones Peeta creates easily from mud or berries or clay. Meanwhile, he easily creates a scene on his own skin. She looks up from his arm as he steps away, backing himself against a mossy rock and checking his work. His arm practically disappears when he holds still and she can’t help the gasp that leaves her. “Peeta, that’s amazing.”

“I used to do the cakes at the bakery.” He flushes, looking to her with his chin down. The cakes he’s referring to are up in the window of the bakery, decorated in flowers and other pretty things painted in frosting. She had been by with Primrose many times, both enraptured by the sight of anything pretty.

This is how they pass the time until lunch. When time is called, they stand from their station (knots, much to Peeta’s dismay) and move to join the other tributes. They follow behind as the tributes are guided to a room off of the gym where the walls are lined with carts filled with food. She and Peeta find a cart that isn’t surrounded and pile their plates with a meat that reminds her of grouse or chicken, green beans, butter beans, and bread. She can’t help but grin when they come across a dish of small potatoes and piles some onto her plate before helping Peeta add them to his own. They find an empty table, sitting across from one another. Conversation should come easily, they certainly have plenty to talk about, but their conversation this morning with Haymitch makes any words that might come out stop, sticky in her throat.

She eats quietly, trying to avoid looking up in case Peeta is looking at her. Its only after she’s finished half of her plate that she sits back, wiping her mouth and looking to him. He’s looking at her, his own plate mostly finished. “Well,” He practically whispers, leaning forwards over the table. “Haymitch will want us to look friendly. Laugh, like I’ve said something funny.”

She covers her mouth, trying to make her nervous laugh sound more like a friendly one. He smiles at her, leaning back on his seat. “Now, your turn.” He directs quietly, settling his hand on the table, intertwined with one another. On impulse, she reaches across the table to smooth the tenseness from his fingers.

“Have I told you about the time we got chased by a bear?” She asks softly, still smiling nervously. Where they had melted the callouses from her hands, they left his rough. She runs smooth fingertips over his hands, feeling every crack and ridge, every burn that scarred his pale skin. He shakes his head, turning his hand over and taking hers in his hold. She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter.

She tells the story, trying to mimic Asher’s animated storytelling but falling flatter. They’d been young and foolish enough to not back down from a bear that was in a hive. Honey, when they can collect it, is a valuable trade in the Hob. She’d been hoping for a new pair of boots for Asher, who’d outgrown his months before. Normally, black bears are easy enough to scare off if they’re alone. The issue is, bears can be hard to identify. Black bears aren’t just black, and grizzlies come in all shades. This particular grizzly seemed small, with a coat so dark it had looked black. That was, until it turned and the sun caught it’s coat differently. She’d been the one to spot the color, taking several steps back and throwing her arm out to her friends. It stood on its hind legs, threatening a bear often makes them show their true size, and it had been large. She’d cursed herself for not paying closer attention to the rounded shape of its ears, or the large hump of its shoulders. They’d had to climb high to avoid it, the bear too heavy to get to the branches they could at their size.

Peeta, better at this whole thing than she is, laughs and prompts her for more information at just the right times. ‘Wait, they’re not just brown? No, they come in lots of colors. That’s terrifying, how big was it? Maybe six and a half, seven feet.’ They laugh at her misfortune, garnering the attention of several other tributes. Facing them, she has a clear view as they turn to see the pair. Peeta notices her looking away, turning over his shoulder only long enough to see the others looking before he turns his gaze back on her. “Hey, why don’t we get some water and see if we can head back in.”

She looks past him again, catching sight of the careers. Some, like Marvel, are already looking. The massive tribute from Two is watching, smirking side by side with his district partner. She meets Marvel’s cool gaze and looks away, nodding. She sticks close to his side as they stand and move away from the table.

They stick by the drinks for the remainder of their hour lunch, only a handful of minutes, talking quietly. This is how their days pass, breakfast with Haymitch and Effie in the apartment, training, lunch, training, dinner in the apartment, bed. Rinse and repeat.

On the second day of training, they split in the mid morning to practice different skills. She’s no use in weight training, and even though she’s been instructed to avoid her skills, she’s hardly got any skill with a bow and arrow. It doesn’t count, not really.

She spots Thresh, the massive tribute from Eleven, wielding a knife of some kind in hand to hand training with one of the trainers. His dark skin beaded with sweat as he and the trainer trade mock blows, resetting periodically with a small nod and a tensing of his massive shoulders. She creeps closer, positioning herself just to the side of their session in order to get a closer look. Thresh seems to notice her, finishing out a round with the trainer before backing off, grabbing a hand towel from the trainer’s hand and wiping it down his face before stepping off of the platform.

“It’s all yours.” He offers, eyes trailing over the room as though to find his next stop. His low register startles her, but only for a moment.

“Oh, no. I just,” she gestures wordlessly to the platform and waiting trainer, eyes locked onto Thresh. “Just wanted to watch. You looked like you knew what you were doing, I guess.”

He eyes her warily, setting the massive blade and his towel down on the nearest table. His voice is honey sweet, a low comforting bass that rumbles low in his chest. “Not my first fight.”

“Guess you’ve got the advantage.” she smiles, hoping to keep him from running off. She wants him to like her, even just a little bit. Hopefully, that small acquaintance will keep him from killing her. “You’re Thresh, right?”

He nods, humming.

“Y/N.” She introduces. “What is that?”

He lifts the blade again, its curved blade glinting in the light of the room as he turns it over in his palms. “This is a hand sickle.”

He stretches out a hand, offering her the blade. She accepts it, surprised to find it lightweight. “Is this something y’all have in Eleven?”

“Sort of.” He answers, readjusting her grip on the handle with his own hands. He spins the blade so the interior of the curve faces outward, curving away from her body. “Just smaller, better made.”

She nods, watching as he chokes her hand up the handle. Once he seems satisfied, he backs away and grabs a matching blade. He swings it a bit, like he’s getting used to it. Then, he swings it in a powerful arch. She watches, mimicking the swing to the best of her ability.

He laughs a bit and it catches her off guard. For someone so serious, he’s got a wonderfully contagious laugh. She grins at entertaining him, cocking a brow. “Was it that bad?”

He shakes his head, smiling still. “Not bad, just clumsy. You ever used a blade before?”

She smirks, sinking her weight onto one hip. “Don’t have much reason, the coal doesn’t bite.”

He laughs again, tilting his head down and giving a single shake. His shoulders shake with his laughter and her grin grows impossibly larger.

They settle into a small routine. Thresh shows her a move, she tries to replicate it, he adjusts her, and she tries again. They exchange small conversation. By the time lunch rolls around, they’re joking around regularly. Thresh has settled back into his imposing look, but she keeps smiling.

She follows behind him as he collects a plate and moves to sit at an empty table. His tiny district partner joins shortly, sitting silently next to him and eating her food. She can’t help but eye her, its startling to see her here. Of course, there have been young tributes in the past, it isn’t even uncommon. Still, seeing her here, in person, is considerably more alarming than it would be to see it on television.

“What’s your name?” She asks, eyeing the little girl. Her head pops up, chin down and eyes finding Y/N’s gaze shyly. Her dark curls, somewhere between dark brown and black, are pulled back into two small buns at the base of her skull. She looks almost like a lamb with peacefully lowered ears.

She chews a moment, swallowing her food before she speaks. “Rue.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rue. I’m Y/N.” Y/N smiles, trying to keep her face calm and happy. Her chest aches with the thought that this would have been Primrose. She wonders for a moment if they’d have gotten along before quickly correcting herself, everyone likes Prim.

Rue giggles, pulling a roll apart between her finger tips. “I know.”

The older girl laughs, finding talking to the girl easier than she imagined. They pass the first part of lunch easily before she stands, taking her tray in hand. The careers have been staring since yesterday, even now Marvel’s eyes are locked onto her. She can’t hep but be curious, but even so, she won’t attach herself to the tributes from Eleven. She excuses herself, looking for Peeta. He’s sat at a table with a couple of other tributes but none of them seem to be talking. She moves to a mostly empty table, save for the boy from Disrict Three.

Not wanting to intrude, she sits down the table from him. Its nice, to have a somewhat secluded meal. In the apartment she’s at a packed table, here she can distance herself. It’s not technically being in public, she and Peeta don’t have to always be attached.

Behind her, someone clears their throat. She suppresses a startled jump, turning over her shoulder to see what the fuss is about. The careers have abandoned their table in favor of hers, but it isn’t her that’s being accosted.

“Move.” The massive tribute from Two commands, setting his tray down firmly on the table. The boy from Three, the real target, gets the message quickly enough. He’s smart to not aggravate such a massive adversary so early, not when theres still so much to get through. She’s starting to collect her things when Marvel sets his tray beside hers, sitting a bit closer than she expected.

He’s giving her an odd look, something she can’t quite put a finger on. She hears sound in front of her and turns to see the tributes from Two taking the seats across from her, Marvel’s own district partner hovering behind them venomously. .

“Got a name, Twelve?” The boy from Two asks, a smirk on his face. She hesitates, wiping her hands down her pants.

“Its Y/N,” Marvel hisses at him, giving him an agitated look. He looks to her, bumpng her playfully with his shoulder. “Don’t mind Cato, the muscles dont let all of the blood reach his brain.”

Across the table, Cato huffs. She knows better than to laugh, instead looking to the two girls for a reaction. Cato’s district partner is tense but smiling, Marvel’s seems absolutely tickled at his jab tough her eyes remain hard on her. Cato laughs at this, glancing back and forth between the two. Giving in to the curiosity, she looks between the careers before settling to ask Marvel.

“Okay, what’s this?” She asks harshly, causing silence among the group. Cato laughs lowly, mumbling.

“Ooh, kitty’s got claws!” He laughs, leaning over to his partner. Y/N gives him a look before she can think better of it and the girl from One bristles behind them.

“We just think you’re interesting, Y/N.” Marvel almost purrs, leaning in closer to her. She chances a look away from the group, eyes searching for Peeta. He stands across the room, speaking quietly to Rue. He’s showing her something, but Y/N can’t see it.

“Aw, no need to call in your bodyguard.” The girl from One whines, leaning against Cato’s massive shoulder as though bored. “We just want to talk.”

“He’s not my bodyguard.” She says flatly. Theres no need to drag Peeta into this, not when she isn’t sure what they want. Leaning forward on the table, she looks into Cato’s eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning towards her with a smirk. “we were wondering if you wanted someone to have your back in there.” Her eyes move to study each career, looking for some hint of their plans for her. Cato is smirking, oozing arrogance, and she knows that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. None of the careers would, but after seeing Cato train she feels especially in danger around him. His partner as well, even though she looks completely bored. She’s seen her throw her knives, she’s not one to be messed with. Marvel’s partner glares at her, obviously upset at the idea of her entering the group.

She leans back a bit, brows furrowing as she takes in the situation. “You want me to join you?”

Marvel laughs quietly, the sound makes her hair stand on end. A shiver runs up her spine and she fights down the blush at his proximity, clearing her throat. He reaches over to her, patting her thigh with a grin. “We do.”

She jumps at the contact, pulling her leg tighter to her body as the careers laugh. She splutters a bit, her words caught in her mouth as she scrambles to get them out. “I don’t understand. I’m not-“ She trails off, gesticulating nervously with her hands.

Cato shakes his head, his smile dropping. He leans back in his seat, framed on either side by the girls, and crosses heavy arms over his chest. It makes him look all the broader. “Doesn’t matter. If people like you, they like you.”

“If you want to join us, hang around.” The smaller girl says, her dark hair shiny under the lights. “We’ll know if you fit after the interviews, then we’ll send word to your mentor.”

She studies them, but finding any tell that they’re lying or baiting her would require her to know more about them. Perhaps the way the blonde twirls her hair around her finger is a nervous habit, or maybe Cato only seems dry and stoic because he’s hiding something.

Then again, perhaps that's nothing. Sighing, she nods. After all, what is there to lose? With Peeta’s strength, they’ll be an easy choice for careers. “Alright, I’ll let Peeta know.”

“No.” Marvel interjects, quick to reach a hand out for her arm. His hold is gentler this time, but still a bit too tight. “We just want you.”

—

The third day, part way through lunch, is when the private sessions begin. She’d spent the remainder of yesterday and the entirety of the morning following behind the careers as they moved stations. They focused heavily on showing off their skills. Clove, the girl from Two, was a master with knives. Cato favored a sword, Marvel was good with a spear. Glimmer, Marvel’s district partner, was decent with a bow.

Glimmer was something to see, she could see her succeeding in the games. Long, lean, and muscled, Glimmer looked like something off of a Capitol magazine. What she lacked in skills she made up for with her beauty and silver tongue. More than once, Cato had fetched her weapon from the rack or gotten up to get her something she asked for. All it took from her was a smile and the touch of her hand. Clove seemed upset about it, but even she said nothing.

Glimmer is the second person to be called for her private session, right after Marvel. As the female tribute for Twelve, Y/N has a long wait. At first the room seems to buzz with conversations, though all talking ceases the moment Cato leaves for his session. Clove has no interest in talking to her and, knowing she isn’t wanted, she stands and moves to find Peeta instead.

They sit in a tense silence as the other tributes are called and exit, waiting for their own names. When Thresh is called, Rue moves to sit closer to them. She talks quietly with Peeta, sparing Y/N glances every now and again though she doesn’t speak. When Rue is called, they’re left alone. The silence returns until Peeta is called. He sighs, standing and heading towards the door.

“Peeta,” She calls, startled by her own voice. He turns easily, brows raised as he waits for her to speak. “Just, remember what Haymitch said. Be sure to remember the weights.”

He nods, giving her a small smile. Her tense shoulders relax a bit as she prepares herself to be alone in the room. Continuing towards the door, Peeta calls back to her. His voice echos in the quiet room. “Thanks. Good luck, Y/N.”

She nods back. If she can’t win, she wants Peeta to. Its better for her family,for their district. If Twelve has a victor they’ll be given food for an entire year, which in turn gives next year’s tributes a better shot. For career districts, maybe this doesn’t matter.

When her name is called after what feels like an eternity, she stans and moves to the door. On the other side, the gamemakers sit up in their viewpoint, looking down on the training room floor. She moves to stand in front of them. Many seem to have enjoyed too much wine, talking and laughing loudly to one another as she approaches. They’ve been through twelve districts, plenty of time to finish at least a bottle a piece.

Still, there is nothing to do but enact Haymitch’s plan. Of her skills, only two could be worth showing. There is nothing to snare here but herself, or perhaps a training dummy if she could lug it across the floor. Off to the side, there is a rack of bows. Theyre made of a variety of materials and sit by matching quiversof arrows. She plucks a silver one from the rack, shouldering the quiver and taking a stance before the gamemakers. There are basic targets down range from the rack, but across the gym are move lifelike dummies, like the ones Clove used during training. They’re farther, but she’s shot smaller game at a greater distance.

The moment she pulls back the string she knows something is amiss. Unlike her bow back home, this one feels tight. She takes aim nonetheless, trying to avoid psyching herself out and insead taking a steadying breath in. Breathe, aim, let loose.

The arrow misses the dummy by several inches and she knows that she’s lost any attention they may have been paying her. She glances up, only managing to confirm her fears.

Instead of looking at her, all eyes are turned on a table behind them. A large pig has made an appearance, skin perfectly roasted a golden brown color. She forces herself to take a deep breath, turning back to her target. She nocks another arrow, steadying herself and adjusting her aim for this bow. When the arrow flies, its immediately clear to her that it’ll land. It sinks deep into the dummy’s head, nocking it’s head back in a graphically intense manner. The arrow sinks deep, surely protruding from the other side of it’s head. Right between the eyes, she smiles proudly. She turns back, excited to see the gamemakers reactions.

Still, the gamemakers are absorbed in their meal. They’re laughing, clapping one another on the back with huge smiles.

Frustrated and bordering on furious, she rips an arrow from her quiver, nocking it and pulling the bowstring taut. In the roast pig’s mouth rests a perfect red apple. She takes aim and lets go.

The arrow strikes the apple, flying a few feet further before pinning it to the wall. The gamemakers turn, and her stomach leaps into her throat. Why had she done that? She had never been an incredible shot, she’s lucky no one is horrifically injured or dead. Still, she curtsies low to them, hanging on to her confident air. “Thank you for your time.”

She rights herself, forcing her muscles to move slowly, to not shake. The bow is set back in its place. Her feet carry her quickly to the door to the elevator, slamming her hand onto the button to her floor without waiting for dismissal. Some mix of horror at herself and the motion of the elevator makes her stomach sink to her feet and the rise quickly into her throat. Why, why shoot an arrow at the people solely capable of making the next few weeks of her life hell? It was that pig, that damned pig. She’s facing her final days and they hadn’t even had the decency to pay attention to her.

More than that, it was her own temper. For the second time in the last week, she’d signed her own death certificate. She sinks against the back wall of the elevator, imagining the glass breaking and her plummeting to a quick death at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

#Peeta #Peeta Mellark #the hunger games peeta #THG Peeta #peeta mellark x reader #spark #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games rewrite

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evita-shelby · 5 months

Text

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 8

Cw: ageism, mentions of the Dark Days

Rose and Aveline belong to @justrainandcoffee

Tagging: @justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @call-sign-shark

Eva puts herself to good use, using her talent for horticulture as an excuse to visit the farm and spend time there ---she did run out of space at the victor village at least that part wasn’t a lie. She plants, hires workers to raise the animals and till the fields and makes it known that all the things produced there were free to all.

Her aunt had joked and said she should try to run for office, as if they weren’t all rigged anyways. Eva could do it, if victors were allowed to use their influence for anything less ornamental, but the Capitol fears what a victor could do.

She needs a way to chart how far this trail went into Two and Eleven. There were enough ruins to provide a good enough cover, but Eva feared the beasts ---both natural and the mutts--- that roamed these borders. Even worse, what sort of hell the President would punish her with.

Eva does not risk going past the first sign of danger, especially armed with only a walking stick and small pack.

Districts were carved out in ways where you’d be in the wilds for a few stretches to deter any type of travel not sanctioned by the Capitol after the Dark Days. Her grandma remembered how towns used to be here and when the borders weren’t fenced off like that. Even the desert had towns and cities that hosted capitol and district alike.

But then the Capitol started hoarding the things the districts had and began leaving them out of the government. 13, being the more powerful district with great cities and nuclear weapons, retaliated and losing more than just the war. All dead, everything ruined and a cruel punishment to keep it from happening again.

10 had been amongst the last to rebel, their usual caution and fears of repercussions had them wait until they felt victory in their bones. If they’d known Two’s mountains were impregnable, they would’ve never rebelled.

But they had and now they’re all being punished for it 68 years later.

Eva makes her way back to the farm cautiously, careful to avoid leaving tracks that would incriminate her. She is not prepared for what she finds waiting for her on the porch.

“How?” Eva asked, fearing they’d be caught in minutes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if you knew, kid.” Tall, blonde and dressed in simple but sturdy clothing, sitting in her rocking chair to boot. Lyme, Jack’s fellow victor and mentor, had come.

“She could be our symbol.” Clemens suggests as they chat over dinner with their strange new guest.

So many traitors sitting at this table. If Shelby wanted to, he could have them all killed, but he won’t. He wasn’t Snow’s lackey like his predecessor was, he has a secret goodness he cannot hide.

Why else would he fight over Cashmere to keep her off the roster? Why else would he cover up Eva’s fling with Jack? Why else would he have the woman who took Finnick’s innocence murdered in broad daylight?

This man was one of them. She’d known it from the day she saw him.

“No, she lacks the marketability.” Plutarch Heavensbee shook his head. “She’s charming and good looking, but her story isn’t very inspiring. For fucks sake no one even bet for her, nor did she have a single sponsor.”

And while she cared for Eva, not many saw what she saw in her. Not many remember Lucy Gray Baird, especially her own district.

“Her affair with Nelson could help.” Fulvia comments only to be shot down by her boss.

“Districts hate 2, besides she killed his brother and that makes the whole thing unpalatable to everyone even us.”

Unpalatable.

Same thing Tigris was called when they fired her.

Her modifications were seen as stunning and beautiful when she was young, but when age began to take its course, she was mocked and greeted with disgusted looks even from the Capitol who once embraced her.

Coriolanus had gleefully told her why she was being fired, claimed he had received complaints from both the districts and her own protégé, Eva. The last had been a lie, Eva drunk out of her mind at the second stop of her tour had told her to her face that she loathed her for making her kill Laurie.

“She’s not your symbol because the time isn’t right yet, Heavensbee.” Shelby narrows his eyes at the word ‘unpalatable’ as well, his entire life he has been branded with that. His marriage to Grace had proved he would never be able to remove the label, not while the old families still rule. “We will worry about that later, for now we need to find ways to recruit more victors to our cause. They have sway with their own districts, most of them. So far, we have Lyme in 2, Solomons in 9 and if Lyme’s mission is a success, we may have 10 on our side.”

His idea had merit. To use the mentors and other victors to build a network of spies and agents for the rebellion they are building up, to use their influence and hatred for the system to gain followers.

An uphill battle for those in districts loyal to the capitol and a walk in the park for those who aren’t. 10 needed more pushing than its counterparts given how close they are to here, but it was not as impossible as Lyme getting her people to listen.

Jack and his mother had some standing, Atia Nelson worked inside the mountain and flirted with treason. He would join them if Eva got him to, just like Rose, the stylist for 9, convinced Alfie to meet with them despite the risks.

Aveline trusted Seeder and Chaff and the restrictions 11 had didn’t need much pushing to join them. They’d be the first to rebel just as they had done 67 years ago.

The time was coming, Tigris could feel it in her bones.

“How far does it go into your district?” Eva asks the blonde mentor who has yet to convince her to join her.

“Can’t tell until you give me your answer, Smith.” Lyme takes no shit from anyone, made her a force to be reckoned with. That combined with her training made her unmovable.

“Its not just me who dies if this fails, ma’am. I don’t follow blindly, I need to know everything and see if its worth the risk I’m taking.” Eva knows they need a better future with the games gone and Snow dead, but it’s too much of a risk.

They didn’t win the first time, what makes them think they can win on the second try?

“The dinner Mr. Shelby had you get Clemens to organize, it wasn’t just for gambling purposes. They’re all like us.” Lyme gives no hint at her patience wearing thin as she answers Eva’s questions.

“Cardew is Snow’s great-niece.” The dark haired victor points out.

“By marriage, no blood relation and whatever she’s seen behind closed doors was enough for her to join. Shelby is not like Luca, Tigris is his cousin and you don’t seem to have a problem with that.” The blonde points out.

Touché.

“Does Jack know?” Eva finally asks the question that’s burning in her mind since Lyme arrived.

“Not yet.” Maybe not ever, not if you aren’t there. Lyme doesn’t say it, but Eva can hear it just the same.

Jack may hate the games, but he has his family to think of. To join you must accept you and your family could die in the process and even that those deaths will be in vain.

The cemetery was full of brave and drunks, her grandma was fond of saying, said so when Alan volunteered in Gabriel’s place and the train took him to his death.

But Eva’s been dead since that train took her to the glittering slaughterhouse beyond the mountains, Eva’s cousins consider having children something unthinkable thanks to the games and Tigris did manage to have a winning strategy, as loath as she is to admit it.

“I agree to join you on one condition. You must bring Jack next time you visit.”

#evacore #they didn't know we were seeds #jack nelson x eva smith #hunger games au #peaky blinders fanfiction

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maidstew · 4 months

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Ok hello I have a Persephone question for you, sorry if you’ve talked about this before and I missed it lol. So you’ve mentioned that Pippa did care for Mizzen and I’m wondering how that impacts her perception of the games/tributes going forward.

How involved is she in the games/Capitol society as an adult? Does her experience with the 10th games influence her feelings or actions in later years? And if she survives until the war, what is her place in it?

You don’t have to answer all these questions if you don’t want to lol, it’s just some stuff I was wondering about!

a persephone question?? omg i love you for this!! i feel like i don’t get to talk about her enough!

yes, i absolutely believe that persephone did care for mizzen. of course, i may be projecting but who cares.

so part of the reason i think it impacted her is her reaction after mizzen dies.

“You made the top five!” Lepidus beamed at her. “No one can ever take that away from you.”

“No,” she said somewhat dubiously. “No, that’s the kind of thing that sticks.”

and i think it really does stick with her- not the fact that she was so close to winning, but the fact that she was so close to saving this little boy.

i imagine that they did get along pretty well. mizzen gave her a little shell that he had in his pocket and she listened as he told her about all the sea creatures that he loved. so when she watched him fall from the beam, it hurt. bad. like, worse then she could have imagined.

and she did blame herself for how it ended and sort of argue with herself about all the things she could have done differently. she should have warned him the drones were dangerous (how on earth could she possibly have known?). she should have gotten festus to convince coral how dangerous smart people can be (how could she have guessed those kids could turn drones into weapons?). she should have told him not to climb (but what about the snakes? and the fact that climbing is one of his skills?).

moving forward through the rest of the games, she thinks of mizzen every single year. i have become so attached to the mags & mizzen as siblings headcanon- so she couldn’t forget mizzen if she wanted to. mags is always around during the games and it’s a constant reminder that mizzen’s not.

i think her involvement comes from festus’s involvement. i picture festus staying close to snow and is in his inner circle- and as a result pippa is expected at all the important social events, many of which are hunger games related.

and she hates it. she absolutely hates the games. she hates that every year she looks at the district 4 tributes and tries to find a part of mizzen in them.

i think she even sees mizzen in her own sons and tries to share with them the love of the ocean because that’s what mizzen would want his legacy to be.

i’ve been toying around with her being involved in the rebellion, even if it’s a little self-serving, because i just love it.

i love the idea of her secretly passing on information to finnick and that’s how she aids the rebellion. i think she does eventually have to go to district 13 when things are getting really bad- plutarch is the one who makes sure she gets there. she isn’t much help at that point, because she’s already given them all the information she has and she’s much too old to fight.

so she becomes someone that the people who are fighting the war can talk to. she listens to finnick’s stories about 4, she braids annie’s hair and lets her talk about finnick, she reassures cressida that she’s done the right thing by leaving the capitol behind.

#omg i cannot thank you enough for sending this i LOVE talking about it!!!!#persphone price #asks #mizzen

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llliiinnnaaa · 10 months

Text

Reprisal | Chapter Nine | Part One

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!

Blue eyes deliberately meet brown in the slew of the crowd, everyone sitting around the finely clothed table.

“I’ll be back in just a moment.” Tawny says to her husband, not even bothering sitting down beside him before she’s darting toward the back of the restaurant, the blonde Snow on her heels.

Tawny’s fingers hurriedly pluck the emerald cut diamond from her ring finger, the dim lighting of the women’s powder room lending enough privacy in the corner that her exchange with Tigris isn’t noticed by either of the two strangers talking to one another across the room.

Her own wedding ring is replaced, Tigris tucking Livia’s into her small clutch.

“Thank you.” Tawny can’t say it enough, embarrassed to even have to do this, but Tigris is kind, and very good at minding her own business – keeping a neutral stance as best as she can as she softly smiles and nods, whispering, “Just please be more careful.”

She despises the thought of Tawny and her cousin being caught up in a scandal, the citizens of the Capitol oh so good at sinking their teeth into garbage and chattering on about it to no end.

“We are.” Tawny assures her in the same tone, though the words in itself is a contradiction as the two women step back into the lavish dining room of the restaurant, Dyess drunkenly outstretching his arms, piping, “There she is!”

Smoke curls from Strabo Plinth's cigar, Ma and Minerva in their continued conversation from the drive over, giving Tawny’s father the opportunity to finally chat Coriolanus up.

The string of tiny diamonds that cascade from Tawny’s earlobes catch the light, she and Tigris both in deep red colors, holding Coriolanus’ attention as she sits down next to her husband, who presses a kiss to her cheek, hugging at her shoulder.

He’d started drinking two hours before they’d even left.

“ . . . All of our boys ended up in four different districts,” Tiberius continues his conversation with Snow, the two having been speaking about the military, Snow’s father, Tiberius’ time, and his sons. “Cyrus, Cicero, and Consus were the eldests – triplets. Cyrus was in Six, Cicero was in Nine, Consus had gone to Eight. And then Magnus, the baby brother, was in Three.” He explains. “Me and your father were shipped off to Twelve – worst one there is in my opinion. If I’d heard correctly, that’s where you went, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir, I did some of basic in Twelve.” Snow informs him, sharing the sentiment for the scummy, impoverished district completely. “For a few months, at least. Dr. Gaul fished me out almost as soon as I got in.”

“You served?” Minerva questions, furrowing her brows as she eyes him where he sits next to her husband.

“Peacekeeper. Never saw any real combat, however. Just bar fights.” He replies, his words sending a chuckle through the table.

“Is there a uniform somewhere . . . ?” Minerva asks, next, slightly suggestively.

His eyes flicker to Tawny, who's trying not to stare at him, unable to scold her mother for the question, because she herself is also thinking it.

“ . . . And if so, might I see you in it?” Boldly suggestively.

“Mother!” Tawny tries to scold her, but she can't do it too badly because she laughs , having drank more than usual herself before leaving, as well.

“What?” Minerva asks, innocently. “He wouldn’t have to keep it on for long.”

Tiberius rubs his forehead, finding some humor in his wife’s blatant request, but doesn’t want to entertain it, while Strabo and Ma laugh as Tawny reaches across the table and plucks her mother’s drink from in front of her, half-jokingly stating, “You’ve had too much of this!” only for her mother to swat her hand and take it back.

Coriolanus studies the interaction, having not seen Tawny act this way before – not around her own family.

Granted, he had only met them within the past couple weeks, and she had been too stressed and high-strung the first time.

But now she’s relaxed much more, beaming with joy that her case had been successful and chosen for the Games, on a high she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

His genius idea to get her to redo Livia’s case had worked.

Truth be told, he could watch her bathe in his success – their success – all night if it wouldn’t be too obvious, the sight of her doing so building his ego bit by bit.

“I’m going to have to call them to collect you.” Dyess adds it toward his mother-in-law, despite still trying not to show amusement by her brazenness.

“Oh, like no other woman would have thought of it!” Minerva pipes.

Tigris quietly drinks on her water.

“As flattered as I am, Mrs. Gaul, I am a married man.” Snow says back to her, chuckling, charming as ever as he plays along with Minerva’s flirtations as respectfully as he can in regards to Mr. Gaul. “I’m not sure Livia would appreciate me modeling my uniform or removing it for anyone else.”

Dyess finishes his own drink.

“Where is your wife , Mr. Snow?” He asks, curiously.

“She’s visiting her mother, taking advantage of the time off she’s gotten since she won’t be participating in the Games.” He replies, casually.

“That’s awfully convenient.” Dyess states, Tawny glancing at him.

He had practically all but confirmed his suspicion upon seeing Livia’s ring on Tawny’s finger.

“ It was a mishap, Dyess. Livia and I shared the lab and accidentally got one another’s rings .” She had told a bold-faced lie whilst the breath-taking, toe-curling, mind-numbing events of the night had rolled through her mind.

“I think all of you need a vacation. I can’t imagine the stress.” Ma says, next. “How you all cope with it is beyond me.” It’s meant as a compliment, admiration and pride dripping from each word from Mrs. Plinth’s mouth, but it causes a bitterness to arise in Dyess’ throat while he studies Snow, catching the fast flicker of his eyes to Tawny who shifts in her seat, rubbing her thighs together a moment to try to readjust and discard the filth running through her tipsy mind while Coriolanus imagines her bent over the table, forcing her to stare her husband in the eye while he takes her, coping with his stress the best way he knows how.

Tawny knows he’s thinking no good just by the way his chest rises under his crisp, white dress shirt, the breath evading the both of them the longer they stare.

“Which district do you think will win this year, Mr. Snow?” Minerva asks, interrupting their eye-fucking, unbeknownst to her.

“I say kill them all.” Dyess hisses, rolling his jaw.

“I won’t make any money if all of them die, Dyess.” She explains, a long swig of champagne leaving the crystal flute.

“District One or Two are usually the strongest.” Coriolanus reminds her, and she nods as if making up her mind that her money will certainly be on them.

“You shouldn’t place a bet based on who is from what district.” Tawny shakes her head.

Snow takes it as a challenge, blue eyes burning into her as he asks, “And why is that?”

“It’s based on the skill one possesses. Not the District they come from.” She shrugs. “We wouldn’t have any winners from any of the other districts if that were the case.”

“I never said that we don’t have any victors from other districts, Dr. Crane. She asked me my opinion, and I told her that typically district One or Two is where past victors have come from.” He evenly retorts. “It’s a fact you can go back and see the statistics for yourself if you’re uneducated on it.”

“ Uneducated ?” She’s amused by him, finding their banter amusing, enjoying watching him take everything so serious, getting under his skin. “I’m six years more educated on them than you are.” She adds it, raising her brows.

“Age doesn’t have anything to do with it.” He shakes his head, having a sip of his own drink. “There are plenty of things some people at twenty-eight know far better than people at thirty-four.” It’s added innocently, but she knows exactly what he’s referring to, knowing he takes great pride in doing things to her that her own husband can’t.

It makes her ache .

“No offense, friend .” He looks to Dyess, next, her husband rolling his jaw with an amused smirk.

“None taken, Mr. Snow.” Dyess replies. “You’ll be old one day, too.” It’s added, the table chuckling at the sarcastic notion that thirty-four is old – but in the Capitol, in their profession, it is considered just that.

“Just go ahead and retire while you’re all ahead.” Minerva shrugs. “Tawny would finally have the room to have more flexibility with her schedule and have us some more grandchildren.” She nudges Tiberius with her elbow.

“She’s already plenty flexible – that’s not the problem.” Dyess comments it smugly, Tawny’s face burning as she hits at his arm, Strabo nearly choking on his whiskey while her father pretends to not have heard it whilst her mother replies, “Okay, now, Dyess, I’m going to have to call them to come collect you ,” while Dyess laughs.

Coriolanus takes another swallow of his posca, forcing a sneer to hide behind his lips as Tawny looks to her father, “Dad, do you have my cigarettes?”

“Mr. Snow, what about you and your wife? Any babies in the near future?” Minerva asks, next as Tiberius fishes into the pocket of his suit jacket, plucking the cigarette compact from it and handing it to her.

It’s now Tawny who has to hide a sneer at the thought, even more repulsed by the fact she’s jealous of Livia.

As if she is entitled to more of him than his own wife is.

Snow’s tempted to intercept the exchange of the cigarette compact and chain smoke the whole thing to ease his ill-tempered nerves whilst he replies, “Not quite yet, Mrs. Gaul. She and I both have a few more professional accomplishments we wish to achieve before bringing children into the matter.”

The posca is helping so very little to relax him, and he’s weary of getting a stronger drink, not wanting to dumb his mind and actions.

Dyess acts as if he doesn’t take notice of his wife fishing two cigarettes out, holding them both between her fingers, extending them to Strabo and sweetly asking, “Mr. Plinth, can you lend me a light?”

“Of course, Dr. Crane.” He lights it, tucking the silver lighter back into his pocket.

“Thank you,” She states, taking in a deep, simultaneous breath from the two cigarettes before releasing it, smattering the air between her and her husband with smoke.

“Darling, must you do so?” Dyess asks her, taking one from her fingers, situating it between his lips before grabbing the other and tossing it into the glass of iced water.

Snow curls his lip at the sight of the barely-used lipstick stained cigarette floating in the brand new glass of water.

Classless .

Wasteful .

Entirely Dyess Crane.

She raises a brow and goes to reach for another cigarette out of spite, only for her husband to grasp at her side, causing her to jump and let out a giggle that she tries to keep quiet.

It’s infuriating seeing Dyess’ hand disappear from the table as he touches her waist, innocently or not, and when he goes to do it again, amused with her laughter, Snow stands up, silencing the table as they look at him.

Dyess stops, Tawny takes in shaky breaths, and Tigris prepares herself to tug her cousin from his mistress's husband.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Coriolanus politely tells them, pushing his seat back in to head to the restroom.

When he’s out of sight, his fist is curling and uncurling, irritated – no, infuriated – at Dyess’ exchange with Tawny.

She was his, was she not? Yet she paraded herself to Dyess as if she weren’t crying out Snow’s name less than two days ago.

The more rational side of his psyche begin to soothe him, reminding him that this is what he wants.

He wants someone who will be good at hiding what they’re doing behind closed doors, and Tawny does just that when she kisses Dyess’ cheek and dotes on him, only to crawl on her knees and beg at Coriolanus’ feet when they’ve time together.

His mind shifts back to Livia.

He hates to admit it, but he does miss her.

He misses her snarky remarks under her breath when they go out together about who's wearing what, what someone’s makeup looks like, whose still carrying the weight of their pregnancy two years after giving birth.

Her shallow, meaningless rambles did entertain him, especially on nights such as this when alcohol was his friend and he needed a break from stressful topics such as the Games, his time as a Peacekeeper, and when he’s going to have children.

It’s when he gets to the restroom, takes a breath and examines his own bitter gaze in the mirror that he forces himself to calm down.

The room stays empty, quiet, the only sound is that of his heart hounding in his own ears at his spiked blood pressure.

The celebratory dinner was a punishment, he had decided, surrounded and provoked by nuisances of all degrees, from the drunk Minerva Gaul, to Dyess Crane’s smug smile, even Strabo had been grating his nerves earlier in the night by suggesting he go visit Livia instead of tagging along with them to dinner.

He missed his wife.

But he didn’t want his wife, not at the moment, not tonight.

No, what he wants is seated across from his spot at the table, and had been continuously staring at him with those brown “fuck me” eyes that have had his heel digging into the floor and his cock twitching in his pants.

He huffs out a deep breath, beginning to grasp a hold of himself, reeling his reckless thoughts back in.

The door is opening after a few minutes, Coriolanus immediately washing his hands as if pretending he had actually been relieving himself.

He continues his facade, even as Dyess leans against the wall behind him, staring at him in the mirror.

“I appreciate you helping my wife finally have a successful case after months of failure.” He pipes.

The water cuts off, Snow grasping at a thick and gold printed paper cloth, drying his hands.

“I assigned a case to her, she’s earned her credit, where her credit is due.” He replies as cordially as he can.

“So . . . uncharacteristically generous of you.” Dyess mutters, drunk eyes narrowing at Snow, cobalt setting a flame to ice.

“Regardless of what you may hear of me, Dr. Crane, I’m not a cruel man. I can be gracious, patient . . . and generous .” Snow retorts calmly, the last word pulling his own eyes to narrow for a split second, trying to pin-point Dyess’ game and beat him at it.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt.” Dyess replies, nodding his head. “Just as I’m sure she returns that generosity .”

The suggestive tone shifts the air around them, the enemies forced to play nice are now merely enemies, any shred of hospitality is disregarded.

“I’ve never found myself questioning exactly how appreciative she is for my assistance – or anyone else’s for that matter.” He’s nearly smug – nearly – as he tells the truth. “Dr. Crane is a very gracious woman. Fortunately for you.”

“Lucky me.” Dyess grits out nearly, eyes following Snow as he steps to the door. “You know . . .” He starts once more, stopping Snow in his tracks, the lingering smell of whiskey and cigarettes, the way his words hang in the air, the roll of his jaw and grind of his teeth let’s Coriolanus know exactly why he’d followed him before he ever continues with, “ . . . I never would have thought, all those years ago, that the scrawny kid singing the anthem at my baby sister’s funeral would be screwing my wife just ten years later.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x gaul oc #young!coriolanus snow

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

Text

Balloon omen

Tattoo is dreaming about the end of the world.

Like most of her dreams, this one is in a tiny little fragment of a dream-setting whose broader horizon is forever out of sight. The fragment has two major features: a door, and balloons.

The first time Tattoo dreamed this dream, the balloons were red, white and blue. The door was part of a side of a building whose sides were unnumbered and whose middle lay out of sight. (This makes the door's surface area smaller than the areas of the building's other surfaces, which are seen.) The building has been marked with the stripes of a flag whose colors are too dark to tell apart. (In this dream Tattoo thinks of this as the American flag, but she isn't completely sure. She has no memory of ever seeing the actual flag, though of course she has seen other flags: the stars and stripes are a common choice, after all.)

Tattoo knows that this building is the capitol of a kingdom. She doesn't know whether it's from the dream where the colors of the balloons represent the stripes of the flag of the United States, or from one of the many dreams she's had where she lives in this fragment of her dreams. At least one of the dreams was set in a fictional realm: a world divided between three factions, a palladium belonging to the lawful faction, mages serving a darker faction, and a special kind of warrior fighting for a third, so-called side. (Tattoo is the special kind of warrior, and her weapon is a recurve bow with a shortened string.)

In this dream, however, she can see the capitol city's stripes from a distance. They stand out from the roof of the building. There are three stripes, but Tattoo can only see two. She can see a long vertical stripe at the center and a smaller horizontal stripe at the very top. The bottom stripe is covered up by the other building's sides, so that it looks like the top of the building is simply the bottom stripe, flipped.

Tattoo knows that this is the city of The Fountain, which is a spiritual entity. She can see The Fountain's colors, too. Tattoo only has a picture of The Fountain etched into the blade of her bow. She tries to use it to guide herself in the dream-journey, but it fails her.

The dream begins with Tattoo staring through the blunt end of her arrow, searching for a distant target. The door at the end of the building stands open. It leads to the surface of the rock beneath the building, where The Fountain is waiting. From a great distance, she can see a barrel in the center of The Fountain, and a crack running along the barrel's side.

The crack grows in the dream-journey. As it does, the door's red stripes start to blink a message. Tattoo can't read the blinking, and she doesn't quite know what to make of it.

The door's blinking grows until it is a steady twinkling. Tattoo doesn't move forward. She stays still, bow at her shoulder, arrow at the ready. Some distant life knows that she is watching. It doesn't like what she sees. It screams a warning in the language of lights.

An alarm bell.

Tattoo doesn't know the language of lights, but she can see the shapes the alarm bell forms. She's still trying to figure out the message of the alarm bell when the thing that watches her screams again. Its sound is many sounds combined.

Tattoo closes her eyes and moves forward.

She's dreaming again. The dreamer is Tattoo. She's dreaming of a world where the city's three stripes are down, and The Fountain waits just outside the building. Tattoo knows what she's waiting for.

She's dreaming of a time when things will look different.

She's dreaming of the end of the world.

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dragonbanexxi · 1 year

Text

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

***Not Canon Compliant!!!***

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

Chapter 12: Helaena

The tunnels in the keep were dark. All she had was a brass candle lamp to light her way. The night was late, and she waited until she knew her mother was deep in sleep to sneak out her chambers. She hadn’t known these passageways existed until Aemond had taken her exploring a few years back.

These were the same tunnels Aegon used to escape into the city, to participate in his usual degeneracy. Though she supposes what she’s using the tunnels for also counts as degeneracy in the eyes of some. Though not at the same scale as Aegon.

This was an innocent late night visit, she just prays that she doesn’t get caught.

Rats are trailing down the hall, skimming her dress. Helaena isn’t afraid. Rats don’t scare her. Not like other pretentious ladies at court, rats and insects do not spear fear in her gentle heart. Weirdly she feels a sense of camaraderie to them. For they like she, are judged by others for simply being true to themselves and their nature. Rats can’t help being ugly the same way she can’t help being strange. Insects can’t help being unpleasant the same way she can’t help her prophetic rambles.

That’s why she prefers their company over her ladies in waiting.

Helaena finally makes it too her destination. She opens the little peep hole and sees that all the candle lights are turned off.

A sweet smile spreads on her lips. Rhaegar is asleep. Makes sense most of the keep is sleeping at this late hour.

She slides the brick wall door slowly, making her way inside. Trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. She glides the heavy door shut and treads through into her betrothed chamber.

Helaena finds him sleeping on his belly. The light of the moonlight illuminating the pale skin of his back. Rhaegar is hugging his pillow, snoring lightly. Helaena grabs a small cushion from a chair nearby and begins to nudge him gently.

“Rhaegar… wake up” he stirs but doesn’t wake. Helaena use a bit more force “Rhaegar” and gives an annoyed huff at the sleeping boy.

“Rhaegar!” She whacks him upside the head with the cushion.

“Aaahhh!” He jolts up frighten, scooting back into the the headboard with widen eyes filled with fear; clutching his blanket for dear life.

The princess couldn’t help but laugh.

“Gods you look hilarious” she teases.

Finally calming down a blush creeps onto his face. “Princess…” the nervous boy swallows his spit nervously.

“I would have dressed…”

Helaena lets out a snort “please I came unannounced to your quarters. I had a dream and I’m having trouble deciphering it.”

She says as she sits herself on the edge of his bed. He scoots to make room for her. This is perhaps the closest they’ve ever been by each other. His lavender eyes locking with her dreamy lilac ones. Her slender fingers softly flicks a strand of his hair to the side. Her touch barely ghosting his skin.

“I dreamt of a silver seahorse washed up on the shore… it looked gravely ill” she began solemnly. “It was heaving for water but suddenly it burst into flames. The poor thing was put out of its misery.”

Rhaegar gives a thoughtful hum. “I wonder what it means…” was all he said.

Making her heart soar. They haven’t been able to spend much time together due to her mother keeping her away. Aemond had been playing carrier raven between she and Rhaegar. It was the only way they could communicate, secretly of course. Seven forbid her grace the queen knew. She’d have Rhaegar take the black for sure. They should be courting publicly yet her grandfather is trying his best to end this arrangement.

Thankfully for her the king won’t budge on his decision. She has never felt more affection with the decaying man than these past few days. Rhaegar was the figure the voices in her mind kept murmuring on about. She knew it.

“I don’t know but something bad is going to happen.” Her lilac eyes cold with anxiousness “I can feel it.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves” he says levelheaded. He wraps the blanket once around his hand and places it atop of hers. She gives him a pretty smile. He understands. She feels butterflies fluttering about in her belly.

“Does anyone know you’re here Princess?”

She gives a sheepish smile and shakes her head no.

“Well I thought since I am to be your wife we could begin to have a few secrets… you and I.”

Rhaegar blushes once more. Still he gives her a charming smile. “Alright…”

She feels tighten his grip on her hand through the blanket.

“I know this match is beneath your station Princess Helaena, but I swear to you that I will protect you and provide for you. I would never ask anything of you that will bring dishonor. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New”

“I believe you Rhaegar. And I vow the same.”

Getting out of her comfort zone she slowly made her way to lay her head on his chest. Physical touch was something she did not enjoy yet the urge to embrace his warmth beat out her dislike. She feels his arms wrap around her protectively. The sound of his beating heart bring her comfort. For once in her life she felt a sense of belonging.

Somehow both Helaena and Rhaegar felt like they could run away and elope if Otto Hightower breaks their betrothal. Helaena isn’t going to let go Rhaegar that easily. Nor he her.

Cursed be those who dare stand in the way of what rightfully belongs to the Dragon Dreamer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for your patience! Here’s another chapter a Helaena POV! Our fav little Dragon Nymph! ❤️

Thank you guys for all the support and kind words! Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter.

Comments are always welcomed! ❤️

#helaena targaryen x oc #targaryen royce oc #original targaryen character #helaena targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhea royce

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onetokill · 1 year

Text

“ i just need to sit down for a minute. ” @ghirle

finnick hates being a mentor. the entire institution is as sick as the games themselves, but like the games, and so much else he’s already done for the capitol’s entertainment, being a mentor isn’t optional for past victors. victors. there’s the best part. ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the hunger games! congratulations! you survived the massacre, now you get to live with it.

ava is fifteen. the male tribute from four is eighteen, utterly disinterested in receiving any help — particularly from someone younger than he is — and as arrogant as any of the careers from one and two. he’ll probably die from exposure. infection. dehydration. things he can’t combat with a blade and hasn’t bothered to learn, like so many of the others. finnick’s presence is perfunctory, but disengaged — at least where the boy is concerned. he knows ava. he remembers a dark haired, bright eyed girl at a shoreline, knee - deep in the tide; he remembers her tying fishhooks with mags and boasting to the other kids about how many fish she’d caught. on reaping day for the 65th games, she’d found him by the water and told him, with a solemnity that shouldn’t have come to her so easily, that she would watch after mags if his name was pulled and hers wasn’t. until you get back, she’d said. confident, in a way that finnick’s fourteen-year-old self certainly hadn’t been, that he would win.

district four’s other female victors are all dead; by process of elimination, ava should be in mags’ charge.

should be, except for one detail. ava had asked for finnick.

no, not ‘ asked ’ — nothing phrased as dictum is a request. it’s atypical, completely against tradition, and the capitol isn’t lenient. but theirs is still, technically, a career district. and the capitol does love its careers.

besides, the male tribute wants nothing to do with him.

that’s why he stands in front of the female tribute, the girl from the shoreline who isn’t a little girl anymore but remains, in so many ways, just a child. ( you’re only a year older than she is, so what does that make you? ) she’d exerted herself to prove a point and drops now onto the edge of one of the mats, pushing dampened strands of hair from her forehead. finnick’s arms fold, his expression unreadable.

“ get up. ”

she looks at him, defensive and incredulous. he leans toward her, gestures with his eyes — a visual sweep of the training room floor and some of the glances they’ve collected in the last ten seconds.

“ when do you think the games actually start? ” he asks her, voice low. “ in the arena? no. we’ve been playing since before our names were drawn. do you remember what you told me, on the day of my reaping? ”

standing to mimic his crossed arms, petulant, she shrugs. “ that you’d win. ”

something distant and disconnected passes over him; for a moment, he isn’t there at all. then it's gone. “ no, that i’d come back. no one wins. you kill, and, if you’re lucky — or unlucky, depending on how you look at it — you don’t die. ”

trying to be unaffected, her brows go up as if to say so? what’s your point?

“ you know your audience. all they want is a good show. so give it to them. don’t try to show off in here, ” he jerks his head at the room at large, “ like these are the people you wanna impress. everyone else in this room wants you dead either way, it’s just a matter of when. and when that happens, it’s the sponsors that are gonna save you, not your pride. ”

there’s a purpose behind the speech, registering in a flicker of understanding. it passes behind features that are fighting desperately hard to stay aloof. the real meaning is this: he wants her to survive. the last two tributes he’d mentored hadn’t. she’s different from them because he knows her. because he remembers her. because he can look at her and imagine her making it through this.

they stare at each other for a minute, and she nods.

and, still, all he can hear is the reverberating sound of her cannon, her picture projected into the blackened arena sky.

#ans.#ghirle #verse tbt.#chilren...

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 2 years

Text

Scattered Screams (Part 7/12)

January 25, 2023

Notes - I really want to post the next part, but I have to write part 9 first and, to do that, I need my laptop, so just picture me screaming nonsensically at my currently dead laptop and you'll get the gist of how I'm feeling today lmao

The more you love, the more you suffer.

The lights of the Capitol will only highlight every tear that threatens to burn past my glittering eyelashes, so I try to take slow, deep breaths as I fight back the thoughts of my untimely demise and the sinking feeling that, even if I were to make it out of the arena with Riven and Royce, my love story with Royce could never work. I’m not from the Capitol where love can pass district lines. Mick and Butchy’s relationship is a prime example of that. Even before Mick’s supposed death in the arena, they couldn’t even talk to each other outside of radio broadcasts and the train deliveries Butchy made every week. Even if Royce did love me and even if we did make it out of the arena alive, a love like ours could never survive under the scrutinous eyes of the Capitol’s resident assholes. We would have eyes on us for as long as we live. I wouldn’t want that for him. He deserves far better than that.

Despite my inner turmoil, I have to sit patiently and politely through the rest of the tributes and their little falsehoods, watching them play one angle or another while I still desperately try to keep up appearances. I hardly pay attention as Lexi, our supposed ally from District 7, rambles on about some girl she likes, but I still try to pay attention since she’s potentially one of the few people who won’t be aiming for my head in the arena. As Lexi takes her seat and her twelve-year-old fellow tribute, Rigg, takes the stage, I spare a glance at Juliet, who smiles back at me before turning back to Carrie to say something. I squeeze Riven’s hand and send him a small grin that he answers by rubbing his thumb in circles on my hand and smiling back at me. Now and then, I distract myself by leaning forward just enough to see Royce past the tributes that separate us, but he only returns my glance once with a beaming smile. From what I can see, Royce isn’t wearing the earbuds from his brother, which I suppose is a good thing since the Gamemakers supposedly believe they’re noise-canceling, but his perfectly coiled curls could easily hide them if he wanted to wear them.

I hardly pay attention as the rest of the tributes go about their interviews since none of them are particularly noteworthy anyway, but I do note that Erica makes herself favored as the only girl from one of the lower-ranking districts to have a lot of confidence, showing that she isn’t afraid of anything the stronger, faster tributes could throw her way. She did earn herself an eight, after all, and I doubt they would have given her that for nothing. After the rest of the tributes finish playing up their assigned roles and the male tribute from District 12 returns to his seat, everyone on the stage and in the audience stands for Panem’s national anthem. I can’t help spotting a few screens that show either me and Riven or me and Royce. It isn’t hard to tell that we’ve become their newest fantasy; the young lovers and their faithful protector. The little love story Royce and I now share, no matter how unrequited it may be, is now all anybody will talk about, even after our untimely deaths in the arena. Once the anthem is finally over, the tributes file off the stage in the order of our districts and we flood the Training Center’s lobby.

Erica and Jade come over to me with identical smirks, applauding me on a job well done. While Jade stands aside with a proud grin, Erica cackles mischievously and teases me nearly as much as I suspect Riven will once he gets the chance, but her jokes subside as Lexi joins the group. She doesn’t say much other than mentioning how I even took her by surprise with my accidental confession, but she tells me she was glad my feelings were reciprocated so quickly. I don’t think quickly enough to tell her anything other than a quick thank you and, before I know it, she’s called over to the elevator by her escort.

“Sorry about her,” Jade sighs as the doors to the elevator close. “Lexi’s got a lot on her mind lately.”

A genuine look of confusion floods Erica’s face as she turns to Jade and asks, “Since when? She’s been like that since we met.”

Jade looks ready to answer, but chooses to shake her head and turn back to me and Riven with a sigh, “Good luck tomorrow, you two. I wish you all the best.”

“Same to you,” Riven nods.

“Yeah,” I tack on, “good luck.”

Jade nods and heads for the elevator after wishing Erica a good night, but Erica doesn’t follow. Instead, she turns to us and sighs, “I don’t know about her sometimes.”

“Which one?” I try to joke.

“Either, honestly,” Erica chuckles. “Lexi wants to be with us, yet she refuses to let us get close. Jade is hot as hell, but is far more people smart than she is book smart.”

“Guess that comes with the territory of being a Career,” Riven says with a shrug. “Most of the Careers this year aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed.”

“You can say that again,” Erica says with a smirk.

I slap a hand over Riven’s mouth before he gets the chance to literally repeat himself. Mischief blossoms in Riven’s eyes and, under my hand, I can feel his mouth tugging into a smile. “Don’t you dare,” I snarl. Riven’s hot breath hits the palm of my hand before the wetness of his tongue does, but his childish move is effective as I quickly pull away with a noise of disgust. “Ugh, you absolute ass!”

Riven and Erica laugh at me as I swipe my slobbered hand on Riven’s shirt. Riven taunts, “Well, you shouldn’t have dared me, you little shit.”

“That was such a dick move,” I huff. “I’ve never done anything bad to you.”

“Says the one who dyed my dog pink by bathing him in ketchup.”

“He was sprayed by a skunk, what else was I supposed to do?!” I ask incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Riven begins, mimicking my tone, “use the tomato juice like I told you to!”

Before I can fire back, Erica laughs at our petty argument. With a look in her eyes I find difficult to decipher, Erica smiles and says, “I’ll see you guys in the arena. Have a good night.” Confused by her sudden departure, Riven and I wish her goodnight and watch as she joins the rest of her team in the elevator. I glance around the lobby to see who is still lurking around and find that, as Serena from District 4 stomps her way into an elevator, we are just a couple of the handful of people still waiting around.

It isn’t long before Royce joins us, looking particularly exhausted. Riven chuckles, “What happened to you? Get mauled by the paparazzi or something?”

Royce shakes his head, sighing as we head toward the only elevator nobody has occupied yet, “Serena happened.”

I don’t bother disguising the eye roll that begs to be seen, “What did she want now?”

The smirk on Royce’s face is enough to tell me the redhead did something stupid, but the way he pitches his voice to mimic Serena’s high-pitched, whiny tone only makes the situation that much more hilarious. “To tell me I’m not in love with you and that I must be confused.”

Riven and I don’t bother hiding our laughter as the elevator begins to move. As the lobby below us begins to shrink, Riven asks, “You think she had a crush on you or something?”

“Most likely,” Royce shrugs. “She was always trying to hang around me and acted like she was the best in training whenever I was near her. I don’t see why she would pick me, of all people.”

My mouth works faster than my brain and I don’t stop myself before the words just start tumbling out, “Probably for the same reasons I like you.” Royce’s eyebrow raises and, deciding to just continue as though nothing happened, I shrug and add, “You’re smart, kind, you handled yourself really well in training, you’re connected to your mentors and the tributes from last year, and, to top it all off, you’re cute. She’s probably just mad she didn’t get to play her story around having a crush on you like I did.”

Riven is quick to mask the smirk on his face with a hum of agreement as the elevator slows to a stop and we reach our floor. He places a hand between my shoulder blades and gives me a gentle push toward the door as Royce and I just stand there like a pair of idiots, staring at each other wordlessly. “You’re probably right, Pip,” Riven says, guiding me out of the elevator with a smile before turning back to Royce. “We’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”

Royce seems to snap back to his senses as the elevator dings, forcing him to nod back at Riven. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Once the doors close and Royce is rocketed up another three floors, I allow my head to thump against Riven’s chest as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “That was so stupid.”

“It was,” Riven agrees with a soft chuckle, “but the way you said it could come off as something a friend would say. Don’t beat yourself up just yet.”

As Riven leads me to the living room, I sigh, “Easy for you to say. You didn’t just confess you liked someone before heading into a death match.”

“True,” he says with a smirk, “but I’ve done my fair share of stupid shit and stupid shit is almost always forgotten after a few days.”

With a scoff, I shake my head, “Well, one of us will probably be dead in a few days, so let’s hope you’re right.”

I feel Riven’s gaze on me and I don’t dare meet his eyes as he lets out a heavy sigh, “What happened to making it out together and getting some horses?”

“I’m still holding out hope,” I quietly tell him. “It just feels like our chances of the three of us getting out alive are getting slimmer as we get closer to going into the arena.”

Distantly, I hear the elevator ding as we sit on the couch, telling me the others have arrived in the corridor as Riven takes the opportunity to quickly kiss the top of my head. “We’ll make it out just fine. You just need to relax and trust that I’ll be there for you.”

Meeting Riven’s gaze is difficult since I’m so ready to prattle off about all the muddled thoughts that fill my head, but the confidence and sincerity in his hazel eyes seem to dull the tsunami that rages on in my head. He’s right and, as much as I hate to admit it, I know he is. I need to relax and trust that he can handle whatever comes our way. With Riven’s calm, collected eyes still locked on mine, I give him a nod and say, “I’ll always trust you, Riv.”

With a beaming smile, Riven squeezes me to his side and says, “That’s my Pip.”

We don’t get the chance to say anything else to each other as Halo enters from the other room with a smile so blindingly white that I’m sure her teeth must be fake. “There you two are!” she giggles, making her way to us and perching herself on the coffee table. “Dinner will be served in a little bit, are you going to change into something more comfortable before we eat?”

I peer up at Riven and we share a shrug before nodding to Halo who smiles as Riven says, “Wouldn’t want to get such fancy outfits all covered in food.”

“How right you are,” Halo chirps, clapping her hands together and offering us each a hand up as she rises from the small table. Once we’re on our feet, she all but shoves us toward the hallway and it isn’t long until I’m handing Riven the jacket I’ve had around my shoulders and disappearing into my room.

My shoes end up kicked aside by the end of the bed and my feet sing in relief once they’re gone. The hair is easy to untangle once Bissette’s stick is out of the way, but I’m surprised by just how many pins it took to hold together the ends of my braids. -Once my hair is down and I’ve shaken it loose, I move onto my dress which, sadly has no instruction manual to help me figure out how to take it off. It’s difficult to see what’s behind me on the dress and feeling around blindly does nothing to help me get the laces of the dress out, but once I settle in front of the mirror, I’m able to untie the bow that rests against the bottom of my spine. Thankfully, Juliet enters before I get too tangled in the strings that have held the gown together the entire night, taking the silky strands from my hands and loosening their hold on me with expertly quick fingers. In the mirror, I can see Juliet smile behind me as she says, “You were incredible tonight. From what I heard, you and Riven have earned a bunch of potential sponsors.”

“What about Royce?” I ask. “Did Carrie say anything about how he did?”

Juliet’s eyes find mine as her smile turns blinding. “He’s doing just as well as you two are. The way things seem to be going, your districts will have better odds than the Careers for the first time in a long time.”

The smile that blooms on my face doesn’t last long as my floundering thoughts get the better of me. “But there’s still no way to call off the Games, is there?”

I feel the need to apologize as Juliet’s expression falters, but she quickly brushes it off with a shake of her head and helps me out of the dress as silently as she helped me into it earlier. Once I’m free of the emerald fabric, Juliet sits on the end of my bed and allows me to change into a pair of shorts and a loose, flowing shirt as she says, “I don’t think there’s a way to stop the Games until you’re in the arena, but I have some ideas that could help you.”

As soon as I tug the shirt over my head and pull my hair free from under the collar, I make my way over to where Juliet has perched herself and say, “Any help is good help at this point.”

Juliet nods, pulling a thick elastic from her wrist and pulling her hair into a tight ponytail at the crown of her skull. “Well, the Gamemakers almost had to call off the Games last year after the incident with Kona’s tracker. They claim that they’re still investigating what happened, but we all know that isn’t true, so if you can find a way to trigger the cannons by either draining the battery or cutting it out of your arm, there’s no way for them to track your movements in the arena without broadcasting the fact that you’re still alive to all of Panem.”

“Do you really think something like that could work?”

With a shrug, Juliet asks, “Remember the guy from Six a few years ago who started eating the people he killed in the arena?” Of course, I do. I think everyone in Panem remembers him. His name was Titus and they had to electrically stun him a few times to get out the bodies of his victims before the Gamemakers eventually killed him in an avalanche. My parents made my siblings and I go to the other room to play a lot during his time in the arena, but it was impossible to not hear what was going on. With a shudder of disgust, I nod and Juliet continues, “Well, he supposedly killed one of the other tributes by slitting their wrist open, but the cannon went off when the tracker came out.”

“So, it just appeared that they were dead?”

“Exactly.”

The idea of anyone cutting my arm open just to remove my tracker makes my stomach clench and my skin run cold - I don’t handle blood well. “I could always drain it like Kona did, right?”

Juliet shrugs, “I suppose, but I figured that, in the event that there are no devices to drain it with, cutting it out wouldn’t be hard since it sits not far under the skin.”

She’s right, it would be easy. I just don’t want to keep thinking about it. “Makes sense,” I tell her. “Is there anything else?”

“Two more,” Juliet says. “One: if you get to the end with Royce and Riven, use the Capitol’s love for you three against them. The Gamemakers need a victor to keep the people happy, but if the Capitol loves all three of you to the point of protesting the Games, maybe the Gamemakers can make something happen. I’ll work my dad down as much as possible from the outside while you work on the Capitol’s heartstrings on the inside.”

She makes it sound easy. Three out of twenty-four making it out alive would be a slap in the face to the president and all the high-ranking officials that run the Games. The chances of the three of us being crowned are slim to none, but I desperately want it to come true, so I’ll take Juliet’s words at face value. “I can make that work,” I tell her.

Juliet takes my hand in hers and smiles as she says, “I know you can.”

After sharing a small smile with my stylist and friend, I ask, “What else was there?”

“Well,” she begins, “I overheard Mack and Brady talking with Riven about a plan to get you guys out when the time comes.”

That must have been what they got so quiet about when I came into the room. I hadn’t wanted to pry if they were going to tell me eventually, but I didn’t want to think it had anything to do with me. For once, I’m glad for the Capitol’s habit of promoting privileged, unbridled gossip. It’s helpful whether Juliet realizes it or not. Slowly, I bring myself to nod, take in a deep breath, and ask, “Do you have any idea what they were going to do?”

“Not really,” Juliet sheepishly admits. “They were pretty much done talking by the time I joined them, but I know for a fact that Riven said something about a tracker, and Mack and Brady promised him they were going to do whatever it takes, so take that as you will.”

If there’s one thing I know about Mack and Brady, it’s that they’re people of their word. If they promise you something, it’s as good as gold. If they told Riven they would help get us out of there, they’ll do it no matter what the cost. Mack and Brady are like another set of parents to me and Riven, and they have been for years now. I don’t doubt they’ll do whatever it takes to save me, Riven, and possibly Royce from the Capitol’s razor-sharp claws. For the first time in a while, it feels as though the elephant that had stepped on my chest at the reaping is finally lifting its foot. Relief floods through my veins, warming me from the inside like a cup of hot cider on a crisp autumn day and, finally, I feel like I can breathe again. As Riven knocks on the door and asks if we’re coming to dinner, I find the tension in my shoulders lessening and I call back that we’ll be there in a minute.

Turning to Juliet, I bring my arms around her shoulders and hug her tightly. The blonde’s shock doesn’t last long as her arms wind around my waist. We stay there for a while before I softly whisper, “Thank you, Juliet.”

“Of course,” she mutters back.

As I pull away enough to meet Juliet’s eyes, I make sure to get my point across by adding some seriousness to my tone as I repeat myself, “No, seriously. Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Even though she seems taken aback by how intense my expression is, Juliet smiles sincerely and tilts her head down before slowly bringing it back up. “You’re welcome, Vivien. I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m glad that could bring you some solace.”

“It did,” I tell her.

“Good,” she softly says before taking my face in her hands and placing a kiss on each of my cheeks - a Capitol gesture I’d seen in movies before. Once she releases my face with a soft smile, Juliet stands from the bed and holds out a hand for me to latch onto before saying, “Now, let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

I let out an all too girly giggle and lace my fingers with Juliet’s before allowing her to pull me out of my bedroom and down to the dining room where everyone else is gathered, preparing to eat some kind of fish meat that I quickly realize is lobster just by taking one look at Riven’s plate from across the table. Our district doesn’t get a lot of lobsters, especially not for the regular citizens like my family, but I’ve had some before with Mick’s family during a sleepover and it was alright, I guess. I just wasn’t fond of having the crustacean looking back at me while I was trying to eat it. This time, thankfully, someone else had gotten to my plate before I sat down, pulled the meat out of the creature, and set it on my plate so I wouldn’t have its beady little eyes staring up at me the whole time. I try to eat my way through the lobster as quickly as possible, but with Riven tossing the shells of his lobster onto my plate after he’s through emptying them of meat and me fighting to not chuck them back at him so the Avoxes don’t have to clean up after us, it takes a lot longer to get through our meal.

After dinner, we watch the replay of the interviews on the television, and Riven’s stylist, Topaz, mentions many times how in love Royce and I seem to be. Now that Riven can see how well he did in his interview, he seems to not only relax, but also puff up with confidence. I’m proud of him and how well he handled himself. His ease with it all makes me feel as though my interview was a stumbling, stuttering mess, but everyone assures me that I came across as innocent and charming. I feel as though I looked more like a little girl looking up to her big sister than anything, but as soon as Royce claims his reciprocation for my feelings, I turn into something extraordinary in the Capitol’s eyes. No longer am I the little girl looking up to a dead girl she saw as an older sister. Now, I am a girl who is faithfully protected by a longtime friend and has been made elegant by her stylist, desirable by a fellow tribute, tragically in love by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

Royce’s outcome will be similar. No matter how much his story relied on his bond with Miles, he will now be known as the boy from District 6 who tragically fell in love with a girl from another district before having to go into the arena where one, if not both, of them will eventually die. We have become their real-life Romeo and Juliet - a tragic love story playing out before their very eyes. Regardless of whether our feelings for each other are real or not, we certainly made ourselves memorable to the Capitol and it won’t be long before that all pays off in the arena. If they love us enough, maybe they’ll plead for our release and beg for us to be crowned victors together instead of watching us kill each other off.

When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, Halo stands from her seat, takes me and Riven by the hand, and, with tears in her eyes, wishes us well in the arena. She thanks us for being so kind-hearted and tells us we’ve been some of the best tributes she’s had in her time as an escort. Then in a flourish of Capitol theatrics, Halo wipes the tears from her eyes, kisses us both on the cheek, and scurries off to her room, most likely to cry in peace. We won’t be seeing her for the foreseeable future since Riven and I will have to be up at dawn to get ready for the Games, but her little goodbye was nice while it lasted.

Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to Mick’s parents as they stand from the couch and position themselves so that they’re blocking the television. Brady is the first to speak, a serious tone in his voice that I hardly ever hear, “Now, no more joking around. Is there anything you can think of that would help you in the arena? Weapons, clothing, food, anything?”

Riven is quick to ask, “How about a thermal camera?”

It’s a good idea. We use them back home to see what part of a computer is overheating, but sometimes kids in the district use them for fun, tracking each other around in hide and seek by following the traces of heat they leave behind. It could be useful in the arena since we could track the other tributes by their heat signatures. Mack nods, scribbling out Riven’s answer on a pad of paper as she mutters, “Good thinking.”

“How about some food or water?” I question. “If we’re stuck on a ship in the middle of the ocean, food isn’t going to come easily and I wouldn’t trust half of the stuff the Gamemakers leave for us.”

“Not even the water,” Riven agrees. “There’s nothing those assholes like more than some dead tributes.”

Mack writes down our suggestions as we go, adding some ideas from Juliet and Topaz as well so the list feels more complete. After a while of working on the list, Mack sets down the pad of paper and Brady places an arm around her waist as I ask, “Any last advice for us?”

Brady slowly nods, takes a deep breath, and firmly says, “Once the gong sounds, get something small and the hell out of there unless you can get something big and get out quick. Take what supplies you need while the Careers are off hunting down others later on. Most Career groups go hunting for other tributes on the second or third day in the arena once there are no more easy pickings to kill, but in such a huge arena, they’ll probably only stick it out for a night before they go on a hunting spree.”

“Cruise ships are like mazes,” Mack adds. “The Capitol sent us on one for our honeymoon years ago. It’s easy to get lost, so if you have someone chasing you, it should be easy to hide out or evade them.”

Juliet softly pipes up from the corner of the couch she’s been silently sitting in since we first sat down, “If it’s anything like the ships my dad has brought me on, there are hidden passageways meant for the crew to be able to get from one place to another without being seen by the passengers. If you can find something like that, you might be able to hide out for most of the Games.”

“There are also lifeboat pods on the deck below the last floor of cabins,” Topaz offers. “At least, that’s how it was on the cruise I took last year. Those capsules fit quite a few people in case the ship starts taking on water.”

Brady turns to Mack and the pair share a nod of agreement. “That could be very helpful.”

“Anything else?” Riven asks.

“Stay alive,” the couple replies. If we can escape the bloodbath quickly enough, their advice will be easy to follow. Riven and I can only find it in us to nod at their words, but Riven is the first to stand and accept the hug they offer him. This is the last time we’ll be seeing them until we leave the arena, so we make this time count. Mack’s arms find me first and she holds me even tighter than she had on the train after the reaping. It feels more like the day they came back home after last year’s Games where they both took turns holding me tight and assuring me that everything would be alright sooner or later. One of Brady’s arms encircles my shoulders while the other wraps around his wife, his grasp just as tight as his wife’s. Despite the time they’ve spent in the Capitol, they still feel like home. We stay like that for a while before they finally release me, pressing soft kisses to my forehead before telling me they love me and that they’ll keep an eye on us. I don’t know what else to say, so I thank them for everything they’ve done for me before retiring to my room.

I spend a lot of time in the shower, washing the paint, makeup, and delicately made lines from my skin. By the time I’m done, my skin is red from scrubbing so hard to get the glitter off and all that remains of the prep team’s efforts are the intricate, circuit-board-style lines they’ve painted on my nails. I decide to leave the artwork there as a show of pride for my district and the work I’ve done. Perhaps it will give me something to cling to, a reminder of who I am in the days to come. Once I’m done drying off, I slide into a pair of loose sweatpants and a baggy shirt before trying to get some sleep. To my dismay, it only takes a few minutes to realize I won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

My thoughts fly faster than the hovercraft that will be taking me to the arena, gliding from thoughts of the arena to thoughts of home. I bet my family is just as anxious as I am. Mom is probably trying to keep Dad sane so that he doesn’t make my siblings scared all while fighting fear herself. She’s been the backbone of the family for years, but now that I’m older, I know she just masks her emotions really well. Oliver and I are far more like our dad in that aspect - emotions on display for the world to see. Abby takes after Mom, for the most part, keeping her feelings hidden as best she can, but it hardly ever works out for her. I wonder how they’re doing having Mick in the house. Mick only talked with me while I was waiting during the interviews, but I can attribute that to the training she’s probably endured all day with Oliver and Abigail and the excitement of everything going on in the house once the interviews finished. She hasn’t said a word since then. I wouldn’t be surprised If she only ever talks to me once I’m in the arena or the catacombs under it, but I want nothing more than for her to wish me a good night’s sleep before I go into the arena. Maybe that would encourage my eyelids to grow heavy.

An hour, maybe two passes with no sign of sleep coming. The more I try to chase sleep, the more it seems to elude me. It doesn’t take me too long to figure out that, regardless of how much I toss and turn in the soft blankets, sleep won’t come to a restless soul. It feels as though I’m running a mental marathon. I try getting out of bed and pacing the floor, but the fluffy carpet does nothing to stop the sharp breaths I suck in and helps little to still my racing heart. For the first time, my room begins to feel like a prison cell - a little box the Capitol has left one of its star prisoners in. The confinement gets too much for me to handle and I quietly twist the doorknob to leave, slinking down the hallways until I reach the door to the rooftop. The distance from the third floor to the rooftop is exhausting, but it gives me time to think until I reach the glass dome and pull the door open. Regardless of the energy field enclosing the roof and the metaphorical jail cell of a building I’m in, the air that breezes by has never felt so freeing. The city is loud tonight with raucous parties blaring their music as loud as it can go, car horns honking as they pass celebrations on the streets below, and people chatting at full volume on nearby balconies. Unlike the rest of the city, the Training Center roof isn’t normally lit at night unless someone wants to throw a little party for their district, but nobody is celebrating tonight. Tonight, the roof is only illuminated by the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol’s skyline, but on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side of the building, is a silhouette that I know all too well by the coiled curls alone.

He runs a hand through his hair and I find that I could sneak back inside unnoticed. He’s wearing his brother’s earbuds and talking to someone back home, if the wild hand gestures are anything to go by. But I don’t want to return to the stuffy cage I’ve been confined to, and, for all Royce knows, we’re just friends putting on a show. What does it matter if we talk in private like this? My bare feet move soundlessly across the tiled floor and, when I’m only a yard or so behind him, I teasingly ask, “Don’t you think you should be getting some sleep?”

Royce starts, turning to me with wide eyes before sighing in relief when he sees me, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You’re welcome,” I chuckle as I take up the empty space next to him.

Instead of saying something back to me, Royce mutters, “Don’t worry, Miles. It’s just Vivien.”

“Tell him I said hello,” I tell Royce.

I know he doesn’t have to relay the message, but Royce still does, returning with a hello from both of his brothers. When he finally relaxes, he asks, “Couldn’t sleep either?”

With a shake of my head, I tell him, “Kind of hard to sleep when we’ll be watching people die tomorrow.”

Royce hums in understanding as he pulls out his earbuds and sets them into a small case, “At least you have a chance at winning.”

“We have a chance at winning,” I correct him. His eyes look nearly black in the dark of the rooftop, but I find them nonetheless as he turns to me. “We’re in this together, Royce.”

“Until it gets to the final three,” he mutters. “Riven would do anything for you to make it out alive.”

“He wants to protect both of us, not just me,” I tell him firmly. “And I would do anything for you and Riven to make it out alive. You deserve to go home to your family.”

“You do too.”

“Then, I suppose we’ll just have to make it out together, no matter what the cost.”

Royce shakes his head minutely before staring out at the city with a sigh, “They’ll never take two victors, let alone three.”

“They’ll have to,” I say with a shrug. “Riven won’t kill either of us, he promised me that ages ago. You won’t kill Riven because-”

“Because he could snap me like a twig,” Royce laughs.

I join him with a soft chuckle, “You said it. I didn’t.”

Royce smiles at me - a real, genuine smile - before softly admitting, “And I won’t kill you because it would break every promise I’ve made myself.”

“You’re a true man of your word, huh?”

“My brothers and I take promises very seriously,” he tells me with a nod.

“I can appreciate that.” I let out a sigh, “Killing you would break a lot of my personal promises, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

With a nod, I clear my throat and say, “It would also go against everything I said in my interview.”

Royce’s gaze falls to his fingers as he picks at the corner of one of his nails. “I guess that’s important too. Gotta keep up appearances and all that.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion talking or the imminent death waiting around the corner, but I don’t bother to hold my tongue as I turn my gaze to the skyline and find myself admitting, “Yeah, but what I said wasn’t all for appearances.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Royce’s head slowly rise, his golden brown eyes locked on the side of my face as he softly questions, “What do you mean?”

A small, sad grin appears on my face as I slowly turn toward Royce and say, “When I said I fell in love in this city, I wasn’t just saying that to impress the crowd.”

Royce’s eyes widen as he softly breathes, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I say with a short nod, turning back to the city that, seemingly, never sleeps. “I didn’t realize it until the party after our scores were announced, but I think it started a long time ago.”

Once again, Royce lets out a very soft, “Oh.”

This time, however, he looks away and I feel my heart sink as his honey eyes scan the city as people cheer and party the night away. As much as I want so badly for my feelings to be reciprocated, I know I can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t. I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway. Even if we make it out of the arena alive, we’ll be living in separate districts and be unable to see each other apart from events like the Hunger Games or celebrations in the Capitol. Besides, the Capitol will have people throwing themselves at us for the rest of our lives. We won’t be able to have a simple, cute romance with all the nonsense around us at all times.

Royce turns back to me, looking poised to say something, but I brush him off with a wave of my hand and smile as I say, “You don’t have to say anything, Royce. It just feels good to get it off my chest before the Games begin.”

His mouth closes and I watch his eyes as the gears in his head whir to life, roaring louder than the computers back home when they overheat. I guess eyes really are the windows to the soul in Royce’s case. His thoughts race and I watch for a while before turning back toward the city and letting out a long breath. I try not to let my feelings get the better of me as silence clings to the air that flows by us, but it’s hard to hide my twitching fingers and the shuddering of my shoulders when I try to take in a breath. If Royce notices the minute details that give away how close I am to the verge of tears, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he leans his forehead against one of the railings and sighs heavily. I spare a glance his way and softly ask if he’s alright, but Royce is quick to shake his head.

“No,” Royce mutters as he slowly runs his hands through his once-perfect curls and rests his fingers at the base of his neck. “No, I’m not okay.”

Placing a hand on his back, I softly ask, “What’s wrong?”

Royce’s hands fall to the metal bar as his head lifts from it and he turns to me with a bewildered look in his eyes. “You just told me that you’re in love with me,” he tells me and I nod, not seeing where he’s going with this train of thought.

“It’s not the best circumstances, I know,” I shrug as my hand drops from his back to the floor by my thigh. “But I already said you don’t have to say anything about it, so if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I’ll get over it sooner or later.”

Royce’s curls flare in a ring around his head as he quickly, adamantly shakes his head. His eyes, a rich, chocolate brown in the darkness of the rooftop, lock with mine and I can almost feel the warmth and sincerity in them as he sends me a small smile. “That’s just it,” he begins, reaching for the hand I had just moved and taking it in his. His fingers are cold, mostly from being out here longer than I have, but also from the grip he had on the wind-chilled, metal bar. “I don’t want you to get over it, Vivien.”

“Why not?” I question, hoping he can’t feel the racing of my heart as his fingers rest against the pulse point on my wrist.

“Because I feel the same way,” he practically whispers. My skepticism must show as Royce turns toward me and takes my hand in both of his. “You can ask anyone - Butchy, Kona, Carrie, hell, even my brothers - they’ll all tell you the same thing. They’ve been pestering me about it since I ran into you at the Remake Center.”

Deciding I can trust him with my feelings, I slowly turn so that I’m no longer swinging my legs off the side of the building and sheepishly tell Royce, “My teasing began on the train.”

“Really?” he asks me. I nod and tell him about Mick pressing so much to find out my opinion of him, hoping that I’d like him as much as she hoped I would. We spend a while on the roof, talking about how things have unfolded for us and what our plans in the arena are until the door leading onto the roof opens and Royce’s mentor, Butchy, makes an appearance.

“There you are, gattino,” the burly mentor sighs, his hands placed on his hips in the same manner my dad would stand when he was ready to reprimand me or my siblings. “I go to check on you and you’re nowhere to be seen. I had a feeling you’d be up here with the piccola.”

Before I get the chance to question what he called me, Royce speaks, “We both needed to get some air. I was talking to Miles when she came up.”

Butchy eyes us, his gaze lingering on our intertwined fingers as a smirk tugs at his lips. “Sure,” he drawls. “Well, you two should get back inside. You need as much sleep as you can before you hit the arena. Exhaustion-”

“Is basically sending an invitation to death,” Royce grumbles, shoving the case for his earbuds into his pocket and releasing my hand long enough to push himself to his feet before offering me a hand up. It’s evident, to me at least, that he must have heard the phrase a lot since being here. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m just trying to help, gattino,” Butchy sighs, brushing some of Royce’s curls from his face once he has the curly-haired boy’s attention. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. And, as much as I’m sure you both love having this alone time, now is not the time for it.”

“I know,” Royce sighs, sounding far more sympathetic toward his mentor as the older man takes Royce’s free hand in his. Royce turns to me and softly apologizes before asking, “Are you going back inside too?”

“I am,” I tell him.

Almost instantly, Royce turns to Butchy and asks, “Can I at least walk her to her floor? You know, like you did for Mick?”

Butchy watches us for a brief moment before nodding. “Go ahead, bud, just come right back to Six, yeah?”

Royce quickly nods and allows Butchy to lead the way back into the building. He stops at his floor and wishes me a good night and good luck before disappearing into the hallway and leaving the door open just enough for Royce to sneak in through later. Royce walks with me until we reach my floor and we reluctantly release the grip we’ve held, but neither of us chooses to wipe the sweat from our hands as we both struggle to find the words to say. It’s a difficult situation to be in, but certainly not a completely uncharted one. Mick and Butchy were in a similar situation last year. In the awkward silence, I take a deep breath and sigh, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Royce chuckles, “I’ll be the one running from the Cornucopia.”

The smile that blossoms on my face is hard to fight as I say, “I probably won’t be far behind you.”

With a small smile aimed my way, Royce takes my hand and presses a quick kiss to my knuckles before releasing me and softly saying, “Good night, Vivien.”

“Good night, Royce.”

I push the door open behind me and watch as Royce begins the climb back to his floor before slinking inside the hallway and silently pressing the door closed. The thought of sleep is no longer appealing to me, even though I know I need it, so I make my way to the living room where I find I’m not the only one still pacing the third floor. My mentors get quiet as I enter the room, but Brady is quick to ask, “What are you still doing up, honey?”

“Can’t sleep,” I tell them as I worm my way onto the cushion between them. Just like we’re watching a movie back at their home in Victor’s Village, their arms are secure around me as we settle into place. “I was going to see if sleeping on the couch helped.”

“Sadly, it’s not nearly as cozy as it looks,” Brady whispers. “I’ve slept out here more than once.”

Mack’s hand rests on the side of my head and slots me into place under her arm as I bring a hand around her waist. “Maybe someone just doesn’t want to be alone tonight,” she suggests.

“Maybe,” I mutter.

I hear them both hum in understanding, but as my eyes slide closed, they don’t say more. I try to listen as they talk softly around me, almost as though I’m not there, yet I find it hard to focus as their words bounce from topic to topic as I drift in and out of consciousness. My eyelids slide shut and I take in a deep breath as I hear a deeper, slightly louder voice ask if I’m with Mack and Brady. Riven is awake too, it seems. It’s impossible to comprehend any of what is said around me, but I eventually register the feeling of floating as I’m lifted off the couch by a pair of arms that could easily toss me out of the nearest window if they wanted to. I try to peel my eyes open as my head lulls against the person’s shoulder, but Riven doesn’t seem to notice my eyes on him as he walks back through the halls of our apartment and opens the door to my room. Riven deposits me between the sheets before covering me with my blankets and pausing to push my hair away from my eyes.

In my daze, I find Riven’s hand and hold it as tightly as I can muster, locking him in place for a least a moment. “Sleep, Pip,” he gently orders, kneeling next to the bed and rubbing tiny circles into my hand as he smiles down at me.

“Will you stay with me?” I ask in a yawn.

“I’m not supposed to,” he whispers in the quiet of my room. “We aren’t allowed to stay with each other.”

“But you’re my brother,” is my poor attempt at an argument.

It appears to be effective enough as Riven sighs, showing me that his resolve is wearing thin, “We’re not supposed to see each other before the arena.”

“Then just stay until I fall asleep.” Peering up at Riven, I tighten my hold on his hand and put on my best, teary-eyed gaze before pleading in a soft, overtired voice, “I don’t want to be alone, Riv.”

This is Riven’s undoing and I watch as his head drops and he lets out a prolonged sigh, “You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you, pipsqueak?”

The giggle that leaves me makes me sound as though I’m no older than maybe six or seven, but in my exhausted haze, I can’t bring myself to care. It doesn’t matter, though, as Riven meets my gaze and I can tell he’ll stay with me for as long as I need him to. Normally, it’s Mick that has to deal with my whining pleas, but Riven dealt with me in this state a lot while Mick was missing in action. He carried me home from work more than once and had to deal with my clingy escapades for so long that it must no longer faze him. Riven runs a hand through his hair and yawns as he rounds the bed and slides into the empty space next to me, lifting an arm so I can find my resting place before relaxing into the mattress.

“Thank you,” I mutter, resting my head against Riven’s chest.

“It’s what family does,” he says, gently running his hand down my back as I curl into him. “Now, get some sleep before I knock you out myself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I yawn, allowing myself to finally slip into the grasp of sleep.

When my eyes peel open again, Juliet is lightly shaking my shoulders and the sun hasn’t even risen past the horizon. Her presence is warm and welcoming like a fresh cup of coffee on a cool morning and she takes her time with me, brushing my hair out and giving me something simple to wear until we get to the catacombs before ushering me to the roof. My legs are sore from all of the climbing I’ve done on those stairs on the many rooftop trips I’ve taken in the week I’ve been here, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem soon. As we reach the rooftop, a hovercraft appears out of thin air and a ladder drops down from it. Juliet gestures for me to go first and tells me something about not being afraid as I take hold of one of the rungs. My body freezes as I step onto another rung, a mild current of electricity gluing me in place. We have something similar back home for kids who are afraid of needles so that they don’t thrash around while getting shots, so I’m not too taken aback that they’re using similar technology to make sure the tributes can’t run away.

A man in a white coat holding a syringe comes near me once I’m inside, sliding my tracker into my right forearm as he explains that they need me to stay as still as possible for it to be placed correctly. The stinging in my arm from the injection disappears as the ladder releases me and goes back for Juliet, but I continue to rub my arm until my stylist has joined me. An Avox girl comes and directs me and Juliet to a room where breakfast has been laid out. The anxiety of the day has yet to sink in, so I wolf down as much as I can stomach, pounding back cups of coffee with Juliet until I decide I’ve had enough caffeine, and forces me to down some water. Juliet sits across from me as we watch the city below us turn into wilderness. The flight takes a while as we pass over a district - possibly District 1 or 4 - but Juliet keeps me entertained by helping me share stories of home. What she’ll do with the information, I may never know, but she seems keen on knowing everything about me and my family’s situation. In return, Juliet shares stories of her childhood and how different her life was growing up. At one point, she was the Head Gamemaker’s daughter and had grown up with her father teaching her the difference between what the Capitol schools taught and what he felt was right morally. Now, as the daughter to the president of the country, she felt it was her duty to help protect the people from the Capitol’s chaotic mess.

I’m unsure if Juliet’s storytelling is for my benefit or if she simply needs to get things off her chest, but I still listen to every word as though it’s the most important thing in my life. The conversation only lulls when the windows next to us black out after about an hour or so of flying, alerting us to the fact that we’re close to the arena. The hovercraft seems to only hover above the arena as Juliet and I are brought back to the ladder that now brings us into a tube leading into the catacombs. Juliet takes my hand as we follow the path leading us to my Launch Room, reminding me that I’m not alone in any of this. Although many districts call the preparation rooms the Stockyards, District 3 still calls it the Launch Room as a reminder of all the space explorations we helped create technology for. Granted, nobody in Panem thinks that stuff is important anymore, but we still care about it all the same.

Juliet busies herself with preparations for my hair and my token while I shower and brush my teeth, but she refuses to tell me what token Mack and Brady turned in for me until after my clothing arrives. I must emulate a statue by how still I sit while Juliet weaves my hair into braids, but once she shows me the four braids that connect into two ponytails on top of the rest of my loosened hair, I have to question her on it. “Wouldn’t it be better if my hair was all up?”

“Leaving your hair down makes it harder for people to grab you, but I wanted to keep some of it out of your way,” Juliet answers. “Besides, the four braids are for the people you love.”

“How?”

Juliet hovers a hand above each respective braid as she lists off, “One for your family, one for your friends, once for Riven, and one for Royce.”

The thought of something so simple meaning something so significant makes me smile, but it soon disappears as the clothing arrives and Juliet goes through the package with a hesitance that makes me nervous. Going into this, she has no clue what outfit I’ll be given which must suck as a stylist, but she plays off her surprise fairly well as she lays out the clothing on the only table in the room so we both can see it. My outfit consists of a black, one-piece swimsuit with long sleeves, a zipper up the front, and a leafy print on it that Juliet claims looks like the fronds of a palm tree, a pair of loose, emerald shorts to match the leafy pattern, a thick, adjustable belt, and a pair of sneakers that will come just above my ankle and are in the same emerald color as everything else.

Juliet helps me into the outfit, rattling off about how she could have done a much better job picking out the clothing as we go. I have no doubt that she could have, if given a chance. While the outfit suits the theme we went with for the interview, Juliet and I both feel the dark color scheme makes me a lot look paler than it would have if the outfit included more golden tones. Once everything is on and Juliet feels as though we can’t make it look any better, she heads over to where she’s left her small bag of things and digs around before returning with a small box and my glasses.

“The hair stick from your friend wouldn’t have passed because it could have been used as a weapon and I had to fight with the Gamemakers to let you keep these since I believe they’re a medical necessity,” Juliet sighs as she slides my glasses onto my face. “It wasn’t until my dad stepped in that they finally gave in and allowed them as well as your token.”

“You didn’t have to fight so hard for that,” I softly laugh. “I would’ve been fine with just the glasses.”

“I know you would’ve,” she insists, “but that doesn’t make it right.”

Knowing better than to argue with Juliet at this point, I simply smile and say, “Thanks, Juliet.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Juliet giggles. With a dramatic hand gesture, she presents the little box to me with a flourish and I find that my mom’s necklace with my parent’s wedding rings on it has been laid inside. “Ta-da!” Juliet sings as she sets the box in my hand.

She must have taken it from my nightstand back in the Training Center and gotten it approved when I was in training at some point. I pull the necklace from the box and allow Juliet to help me clasp it around my neck before slipping it under the neck of the swimsuit and zipping it up to my clavicle. I thank her too many times to count, pulling her into a tight hug as time ticks by. After a while, Juliet offers me some food and I make sure to eat enough to feed an army and drain at least a liter of water since there’s no telling when I’ll get more. My tracker sits not far under the skin and it doesn’t take long for Juliet and me to discover that I have a tendency to pick at things that don’t belong in my body since I keep poking at the hard little bump on my arm, almost willing it to poke back through my skin so I can be done with this whole thing. Eventually, Juliet gets tired of my constant fidgeting and takes my hands in hers, giving me words of encouragement until an all too calm female voice announces that it’s time to prepare for launch.

“I feel like I’m more afraid than you are right now,” Juliet tells me as we stand and she leads me to the circular metal plate in the corner of the room.

“I have Riven for protection and faith that our mentors will help us just as much as you will,” I tell Juliet as she brings me into the last squeeze we’ll share for the time being. “It’s also a shit-ton of caffeine and adrenaline.”

Juliet and I share a laugh as I step onto the metal plate, but her expression turns serious as she says, “I’m getting you three out of there one way or another.”

Giving her a solid nod, I say, “I know. I trust you.”

“Good,” Juliet smiles as a glass cylinder begins lowering around me. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“In a few days,” I echo.

Juliet nods back at me before rolling her shoulders back and tapping the back of her hand under her chin. Perfect your posture and hold your head high. As the cylinder begins to push me upward like a syringe full of medicine, I push my shoulders back and tip my head up slightly, hoping to look at least the littlest bit confident as the distinct smell of saltwater fills my nostrils and a breeze blows the scent of fresh paint in my direction as my eyes adjust to the light beaming down on us from above. Then, as I survey the area around us, I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice echoes through the area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-third annual Hunger Games begin!”

#Scattered Screams #Vivien #Royce #Riven

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