#mckingjy

[hisvictory]

↪    𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  : morbid curiosities.    currently accepting, expect slow to post.

" how long have you been standing there ? " — from @mckngjy

KATNISS' SUSPICIONS ARE NOT UNWARRANTED. with the announcement of 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝, it meant that the capitol's game was anything but ordinary and that this year, was also unusually cruel. everyone here was a victor- they had all "won" before- only now to be brought back again, and their anger? was palpable in the training sector. even bran was quietly enraged.

" a few minutes. "

he thinks of edle when he looks at katniss, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚝. it was in a room built for the same purpose as this one, and poppy had drug him by the arm to meet her. back then he had been less than prepared for the games; he was fifteen and timid. but that didn't matter to her. it didn't matter to her fellow tribute either; noel.

the 67th was unique only in two factors: the arena was huge, massive truly. and that 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑 in the initial release of tributes; as of the first day? only two canons went off that night... though the second? a litany of them.

for the 75th? bran has no idea what's in mind, just as he had no idea back then either. he feels like a teenager again, and while that wasn't that long ago— he doesn't like that helpless feeling, nor the female tribute beside him 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜, he will have to see die like he'd seen poppy.

" do you mind? " he gestures to the rack of weapons katniss had been searching through; a sickle hung right beside a bow.

[onetokill]

     this is the awkward part,  because the last time they’d sat together in an idling car,  she’d kissed him.  kissed him and then  flew  out the door,  and he’d said it to johanna later that night:  had a great time,  probably won’t hear from her again.  finnick’s brows go up and he fights the pull of a grin.   “   you want me to turn on the radio?  might help drown out some of that internal screaming.   ”   @mckingjys

[onetokill]

❛ patch. @mckingjys

     the cut is deep enough to need restitching,  but he opts out of anything for the pain,  anything to numb the area,  because they ought to to keep the medicine for people whose tolerance is a lot lower than his.  people who are injured in the field,  for the cause.  not people who open their own skin in a fit of fugue that’s only remembered halfway,  if that.  (  he had been mindlessly picking at the place where he’d sliced his tracker free,  plucking at scabs and raw tissue not yet scarred.  then,  red.  just red.  )

     at a glance,  primrose everdeen doesn’t look like her sister.  fair where katniss is dark,  soft - spoken where katniss is hardened.  but it’s within the dichotomy that finnick sees their resemblance — like two halves,  prim is the light her sister holds onto.  it makes his chest ache.

     “   doesn’t it hurt?   ”

     he blinks,  not quite processing the question.  she’s dressing the stitched wound in fresh bandages,  her hands small and careful,  gentle,  utterly steady.   “   what?   ”

     “   your arm.  everybody always asks for morphling.   ”

     a capitol favorite,  expensive and difficult to come by.  district 13′s stockpile is limited.  he thinks of johanna.  brutally tortured,  skin and bones,  chasing the respite of a needle in her arm because her reality is too fragile to be trusted.  he would have traded places with her if he could have — then again,  his reality isn’t much better.

     “   they need it more than i do,   ”   he says,  and offers her a tired smile when her glance flickers briefly to meet his.  bluer than her sister’s.   “   it’s okay.  really.  ”

     prim nods and focuses on his arm again.  katniss appears in the infirmary doorway,  silent,  arms folded.  she looks at her sister for a long time before she looks at finnick.  like she wants badly to say something.  to scold him,  maybe,  reprimand him for doing something so careless,  but she says nothing in front of prim.

     “   don’t take off the bandage and don’t get it wet,   ”   prim says,  the little girl’s lilt in her voice not quite matching how adult her tone is.   “   i’ll check the wound in a few days.  if it starts to hurt worse than normal,  or if the skin feels hot,  come back and see me.   ”

     from the doorway,  katniss almost smiles.  almost.  it would be easy to miss if he hadn’t looked for it.

     “   thank you,   ”   he tells prim,  and she nods again as she stands up.  she’s barely taller than he is sitting down.

     once she’s gathered her kit and moved off,  katniss crosses the room and sits down next to him with a quietly agitated exhale.   “   you shouldn’t have done that.   ”

     “   i know.   ”

     “   don’t do it again.   ”

     she leans against his shoulder.  finnick turns his head to brush a kiss against her temple.   “   i won’t,   ”   he says.

[onetokill]

❛ console. @mckingjys

     everyone inside those bunkers had to have heard the screaming.  it’s a terrible sound,  wordless and anguished,  and it carries on without pause for a long time before it’s finally contained.  even then,  silence doesn’t follow.

     liberated.  that was the word that coin had used.  the victors had been  ‘ liberated ’  from the capitol.  johanna is a shell.  peeta is barely human.

     “   what about annie?   ”

     something weighed in the pause behind finnick’s question,  choked it,  like the air itself had a mouth and someone had shoved a gag inside.  his mind reels.  what about annie.  why hadn’t she been with the others,  why wasn’t she here now,  why had they left her there,  what had snow done to her,  she didn’t know anything,  he’d never told her any of their secrets,  that was supposed to keep her safe,  she’s supposed to be safe,  i wish she was dead,  i wish they were all dead and we were too —

     “   she used the sheets,  we think.  bed was stripped down.  she must’ve knotted them together,  got them tied to —   ”

     “   gale,   ”   katniss says,  low and sharp.  like a warning.

     “   what?  look,  if it were me,  i’d wanna know.   ”

     “   but it  isn’t.   ”

     “   she went out on her own terms,  which is more than we can say for —   ”

     “   okay,   ”   boggs cuts in,  lifting a hand,   “   that’s enough.  i’m sorry,  finnick.  sorry we couldn’t get there sooner.   ”

     he’d stopped listening before then,  so he doesn’t hear his name or whatever else they might have called out after him,  ricocheting off colorless walls.  rooms,  hallways.  tile flies up to meet him and he lands hard on his knees.  that’s when the screaming starts.  that first rupture comes out of him and doesn’t stop until his throat tastes metallic,  scraped and raw.  then comes the second.  on and on,  pulling him apart with tearing fingers and pounding fists,  like he doesn’t know who he is,  doesn’t know where he is,  has no awareness of anything except pain.  they sedate him eventually and get him into his bed,  where the screams quieten and grow hoarse from overuse,  and dissolve into weeping instead.

     the knots.  he knows those knots.  they’d practiced them together,  guiding each other’s hands.  i wish she was dead.  and was that him,  too?  had he taught her nothing more than how to tie her own noose?  he’d tie his own right now if he had the strength to move.

     somebody comes into the room,  and it’s not until he hears katniss say his name,  very quietly,  that he realizes who it is.

     “   i wished she was dead.   ”   his voice doesn’t sound right,  off key and broken.   “   so i got what i wanted,  didn’t i?   ”

     katniss winces.   “   you didn’t want this.   ”

     “   but i should be grateful,  right?  we should celebrate.   ”

     “   stop it,  finnick.   ”

     that quickly,  he runs out of steam again and his expression collapses.  he’s sobbing again as he turns to bury his face disconsolately into the pillow,  wanting it to suffocate him.  he feels the mattress shift and the warm weight of her body behind him,  the wrap of her arms,  the press of her cheek between his shoulder blades.  they didn’t start out like this.  she’d wanted to kill him in the arena,  and his trust in her had been about the same.  but a lot happened in those three days.  a lot has happened since.  hardly any time passes in the bunkers of district 13 where they aren’t within arm’s reach of each other,  except when she’s been summoned by coin,  or filming propos,  or doing whatever it is a rebel leader does.  he’d paid little if any mind to much of it;  people would speak to him,  have to repeat themselves before he took anything in.  he was inside district 13 but his mind was in the capitol.  his mind was in the arena.  his mind was tying knots.

     and katniss understood.  katniss is the only one who understood. 

     finnick’s hand moves,  finds hers where it’s tucked against his chest,  her arms around him;  back to chest,  a role reversal of how they’d stood that night in the trees.  he finds her hand and clutches it and sinks back against her,  and she holds him,  and neither of them say a word.  the tears don’t stop for what seems like hours but once they do,  she doesn’t go anywhere.  they lie there like that for miles and miles of time.

     when he falls asleep,  she’s still there when he jolts awake again.  when somebody tries to come into the room,  to administer more sedative,  she snaps at them to leave.

     and she doesn’t go anywhere.  she doesn’t go anywhere.