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#given to you‚ in front of the cameras and off. because you are a tribute and you are always being watched and snow's presence looms and

spatialwave · 4 months

Note

Okay not to keep bugging you about the hunger games au I'm just obsessed but how do you think the reaction for the 75th games announcement went for them? Because God imagine the fear? Like katniss was already so scared not only for herself but for peeta and she didn't know she was in love with him, so for a situation where they are both Victor's are aware of their feelings?????

limoreau hunger games in book 2 — the quarter quell announcement.

the quarter quell announcement. a twist in the games every 25 years to keep the games exciting. would it be a twist on the reaping? would the arena be a challenge for even the careers?

what was going to be the winner of what makes the games “refreshing”?

those who enjoyed watching the games were in for a treat — the rest of panem would suffer.

neither marie or jordan were pleased with the upcoming games, mentoring felt like an easy way to relive trauma. they both finally understood the truth of what butcher had told them — do you ever actually win the games?

it was like an infestation. the pest was growing and they would soon be forced to succumb to it. to live with it.

marie sat in her home in the victor’s village, her little sister annabeth cuddled against her as they watched the televised projection on their wall. it was time for the announcement and for some odd reason marie couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terrible was looming overhead. she often felt that way these days.

jordan was watching from their own home where their parents had moved in, standing behind the sofa in which they sat. arms crossed heavy over their chest as they watched the president appear on the screen, smugly smiling at the camera as he introduced what the quarter quell meant to the capitol.

the two tributes, in their houses across the courtyard, watched as the card was pulled from the ornate wooden box. cards that were supposedly written years prior — lies.

that was jordan’s first thought when snow read the words on the card.

“as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

lies, lies, lies.

this was no coincidence.

this wasn’t as simple as a card being pulled from a box.

this was marie and jordan’s punishment for the games.

this was how the capitol was going to step in and destroy the ‘life of fortune’ they were promised… all because those handfuls of berries brought the idea of hope.

jordan breathed out shakily, eyes dropping down when they saw how their mother wept as she curled forward on the sofa. it couldn’t be easy knowing your child might be thrown into the arena for a second time. her reaction settled fear into jordan’s core, their teeth chattered together as they began to tremble.

jordan’s father was still and stoic — even in a time of desperation he couldn’t be bothered to show an ounce of remorse. not even pity. dead eyes straight ahead at the projection.

why couldn’t he be thrown into the games?

clarity hit.

“marie!” their voice was loud and fierce as they nearly slammed through the front door, brown eyes wide and shaky when they saw her stepping out from her home carefully and shakily like a newborn doe. she looked like she was moments away from collapsing as she looked ahead, gazes meeting each other as a choked sob gurgled from her throat.

her eyes were red from tears, cheeks stained with wet streaks as her entire body trembled and could hardly stay upright.

jordan had never seen her so terrified. not even in the arena.

“i don’t want to die—“ marie pleaded as she stepped into the courtyard and fell to her knees just a few feet away from her doorsteps, annabeth standing within the door frame with teary eyes. she was still young, unable to comprehend the depth of what her elder sister was experiencing.

marie was given a second chance at living. promised a life of luxury from the capitol.

most importantly, she finally had given annabeth a safe place to live and food to fill her belly — and if she didn’t survive the 75th hunger games, the young girl would be sent back off to the community home to live the rest of her childhood years cowering in fear from abusive guardians. likely putting her name in countless times just so the home could have tesserae to feed their own selfish mouths. at eighteen she wouldn’t be thrust into adulthood without any familial supports to guide her.

it was playing through marie’s head over and over as panic filled her body and her fingers clutched at her chest as she gasped for air.

reality was caving in.

where was the life she was promised?

lies. lies. lies.

“marie,” a feminine voice echoed through her head as she looked up, vision blurred from tears but she didn’t need sight to know who was at her side.

jordan knelt next her, lifting her from the melting snow that coated the ground and onto their warm lap. a hand delicately wiped at tears that coated her cheeks, staining the skin.

“i can’t go back,” marie’s voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper, “i can’t do it again.”

“i know. i’m sorry.” jordan’s voice cracked as they helped their lover sit upright, a hand soothingly rubbing her back as they leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her temple, “i’m so sorry.”

all jordan could do was kneel in the wet snow, their arms holding marie tight against their chest as they hummed a quiet, sweet song. a gentle melody that marie had showed them during their time in the games — a tune their father often whistled to the mockingjays.

they knew then and there that they weren’t going to watch marie be thrown back into the arena without a fight.

“please.” marie’s voice croaked as a new flooding of tears spilled down the sides of her face and neck. jordan’s heart was breaking at the vulnerability she was showing and how annabeth was watching with shaky, doe brown eyes.

this couldn’t be it. not like this.

though their promised life of fortune and safety may not have been all sugar and sunshine, or true, having marie next to them was what made it bearable. to finally know what love felt like, to experience, to live and breathe it.

without marie, they were certain that happiness would never find them again.

so — they knew then and there they would be going back into the arena, too. if that was the last thing they’d ever do.

“together… we’ll go together.” jordan breathed.

—

(thanks for your patience in my limoreau content. life has been busy and i hope you’re all surviving during the busy holidays… also - who can correctly guess who the president is in my au? hehe.)

#limoreau #gen v au #the hunger games au #jordan li #marie moreau #yes jordan gender shifted…. no i won’t explain how just yet 😏#gen v #the hunger games #jordan li x marie moreau #spatialanswers #spatial hunger games au #wordsbyspatial

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hungergamesheadcanons · 5 months

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I Volunteer!

@wylldebee you have started a fire in my mind that cannot be put out! Lucy Gray volunteers for Katniss in the Quarter Quell. it's a little naff because I haven't got Lucy Gray's characterisation down and I didn't want this to be crazy long but eh. May rework it later or do a more in depth one, we'll see.

"Katniss Everdeen."

The words everyone knew would sound echoed in the still air, even as Effie seemed to hold back tears. Katniss had her eyes closed on the podium, even as she started walking in front.

Suddenly, from the back of the neat rows of people, came a loud cry.

"I volunteer!"

Katniss froze in place, everyone's eyes turning to the person in the crowd who yelled. A brightly coloured dress, every colour of the rainbow, adorned her body, curly white hair falling past her shoulders. Her wrinkled skin still held a bit of a tan as she walked forward, looking around 80 years old. Despite her visible age, she had a spring in her step, as she quickly made her way down the aisle.

Effie looked like she was about to speak, to say that unfortunately she couldn't do that, when the old lady made a mocking bow to the camera.

"My name is Lucy Gray Baird," she smirked, "Victor of the 10th Hunger Games. I volunteer as tribute!"

The mayor was scrambling for records, the crowd in an uproar. Katniss herself was frozen to the podium, one foot prepared to step up next to Effie as she looked at Peeta and Haymitch, equally as dumbfounded as her.

Sure enough, the mayor came back, confirming Lucy Gray Baird had been a victor and that she was eligible for the Quarter Quell. The male reaping happened in a flash, Haymitch accepting his position as tribute and everyone being ushered to the cart. Lucy Gray seemed almost happy to be there, looking around the train car with excitement.

"Oh this is much nicer than my train," she grinned, plopping down on the couch. "We were shoved into cattle trucks. Do we still get shoved in the zoo? I haven't watched in a while. Makes me feel sick."

"I - no?" Katniss stuttered, tentatively sitting next to her. She still had to attend as a mentor, not as a tribute, and she was so confused that she just didn't know what to do. "The zoo?"

"Oh yeah." Lucy Gray nodded, face serious. "I was in the first games where we had mentors you know. Ours were Capitol students, trying to find ways to make the Games more viewable. I remember my mentor ran into the van they shoved us in, travelled with us all the way to the zoo. Of course, he ended up being shoved out by peacekeepers, but only after he introduced me to the cameras. Lucky Flickerman - god I hated him - tried to pretend like sticking us in the monkey exhibit was a good thing. We weren't given food or shelter or anything, poor Jessup developed rabies if I remember correctly. Nearly killed me in that arena if that water hadn't been sent."

"You do, realise that this is gonna be completely different to your games right?" Haymitch asked, almost sounding scared. "This is a lot more high tech and it's not in that gladiator arena anymore."

"Oh I know, and I expect to die." Lucy Gray shrugged it off, "After all, I only won my games because my mentor cheated."

"Cheated?"

"Oh yeah, apparently there was never supposed to be a victor. He managed to get my scent into the snakes so they wouldn't attack - they were the first mutts, you know. He was supposed to be exiled, but he managed to come back and work his way up to a high position. I wonder how he's gonna react to seeing me again." She chuckled bitterly.

"And who was your mentor?" Effie asked quietly, watching Lucy Gray break out into a wicked grin.

"Oh, you don't know? My mentor was Coriolanus Snow."

The rest of their time passed in a blur. What Lucy didn't know was that by volunteering, she had prevented the need for a rebellion. When he confirmed that it was Lucy Gray, President Snow had summoned her to a meeting, where he accidentally ingested rat poison that had been mixed into water. Lucy Gray had drunk from the same pitcher, dying in the medical wing after the interviews where she revealed the truth behind the 10th Hunger Games and sang the song she claimed saved her life. Everyone seemed to be wandering around in a daze as the Quarter Quell was cancelled, the Capitol in an uproar after Finnick Odair took the opportunity to reveal the secrets he knew.

District 13 took their opportunity, seizing control of the central government. There were a few riots here and there, but they were quickly suppressed, and The Hunger Games went down in history as a horrible punishment that was intended to be a drunken assignment save for the actions of the Snow family.

Once a year, the people of Panem now meet up to mourn the loss of those forced to participate in the Hunger Games, a large memorial in each district commemorating those lost. Photos of each tribute lost were placed behind clear resin to protect them from erosion, and songs would be sung in every district and the Capitol itself to mourn their loss. The arenas were preserved - no longer as a tourist destination, but as a stern reminder of what had come to pass. The arena for the 75th Hunger Games, that had never been used, was used to show children the depravity of their government and the senseless cruelty inflicted on those the Capitol deemed beneath them.

Many Victors came out with memoirs. Finnick Odair's book became a bestseller, compiling information he had learned from Lucy Gray in their short time together in training, information from those he had slept with, and his own experiences as a victor who was sold. Johanna and Haymitch weren't far behind, their recollections of their own games and how their families were murdered making a grisly addition to every bookshelf.

And the truth of the games lived on, until it was naught but a distant memory.

Sometimes freedom didn't have to be acquired through fighting.

Sometimes freedom is poisoning yourself and your old lover to exact vengeance upon him.

#the hunger games #the hunger games fanfic #lucy gray baird #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #finnick odair #johanna mason #coriolanus snow

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gudvina · 3 months

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Pre-canon hayeffie… like they hate eachother but not yk?

Sour Comments

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Genre: Hurt/Comfort? idk

you can also read this on AO3! <3

The penthouse was eerily silent. Tulsia and Tallia, the new stylists, were asleep on the couch and he was reclining on one of the armchairs, holding a half-empty glass of whiskey, his eyes trained on the screens in front of him. Of his two tributes only the boy was left, currently hiding behind a hedge.

They had no chance of winning. It was late now, and he almost wished he could succumb to his fatigue. It would have certainly been easier, and yet something was gnawing him from the inside, a nasty feeling that resembled guilt.

If the year before someone had told him he’d find a way to make Effie Trinket shut up, he wouldn’t have believed them. Or maybe, he would have paid them to know how to.

And yet, to his dismay, he achieved it. After one of her usual nagging sessions on what he must do- or mustn’t do, because propriety and duty- and a bickering fight, he’d taken it too far. He’d snapped at her and told her that no one cared about what she had to say, that he would have given anything to be rid of her. He’d said it in front of the stylists who, being two airheads, had giggled at his words.

He’d expected her to ignore his words, continue her nagging, maybe storm off in a flurry of lace and colours, as usual. But her skin had suddenly lost what little colour transpired through the powders, her purple lips had started quivering. Before fully realizing what he’d done, she had retreated and left him to his peace.

On the first day, he’d drank himself into a stupor, undisturbed. He was used to being found by Effie, who would tuck him to sleep onto the nearest soft surface she could find and would leave a damp fresh cloth on his forehead. Instead, Venia was the one to find him sprawled on the floor, tasked with reminding him of a meeting with a sponsor.

It hadn’t been fun, and his back was still complaining.

He didn’t believe she’d stick to her resolve for long, but he hadn’t seen or heard from her (not counting Venia’s messenger duties) in five days. She’d even left the penthouse. And the cherry on top, no one seemed inclined to tell him where she was, not even Octavia, who was usually the more talkative one of the bunch.

Chaff and Brutus cheered him on for finally getting rid of his escort, because when there is no one to do damage control “gossip flies”, but Finnick’s disapproving gaze dampened what little respite he could find.

He kept his eyes trained on the screens, trying to spot his tribute behind the bushes, but the kid was well hidden from the camera’s angle and that was a small victory.

Then it happened.

One moment his tribute was eating wild fruit from the damn hedge, the next the visual started to shake. A deafening noise filled the room and then waves in the arena. Sweeping off everything they met.

“It seems that an earthquake in the arena has broken a dam!”

Ceasar Flickerman’s voice explained, not that it was needed. The floods kept going, quickly turning the arena into a bath of dirt and pieces of debris floating in the water. He didn’t know why he was surprised, he should have expected a bold move from the Gamemakers. That year was boring even for the Careers, who seemed lazy in their takeover.

Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. What was his name? He couldn’t recall. Effie was the one who always remembered, the one who usually filled the forms and prepared everything necessary. By the time he was allowed to go back home, the children’s graves he’d have to bring with him were already sealed and ready for the ride.

Who did he have to call, now, that Effie seemed to have vanished into thin air? If she was handling the schedules and the meetings, maybe she was also going to deal with the homecoming procedures. And then… and then he’d be free for a year.

Would he still have his escort? Would they find him another one? Did she already fill out the resignation forms?

As Ceasar announced the winner of the 70th Hunger Games, the sly girl from four who’d spent the entire time undetected by the other contestants, he realized he couldn’t stand being there. For the first time in ten years, he was alone.

Liviana Albus, the escort who’d reaped him, escorted Twelve until the ripe age of 58. It wasn’t usual, and she didn’t show more than forty due to all the expected surgeries, but finding an escort for District Twelve was an endeavour. At first, she’d seemed happy with him. She’d basked in the glory of being the winning District’s escort for the first time in years, favouring his company over his mentor’s. When his family was killed and his drinking had become a problem she’d already become disillusioned with him, resorting to mean remarks and mocking.

And if it wasn’t that it was the cold shoulders.

She’d stayed so long only because she was begged by the Gamemakers, who were trying to postpone as much as possible the search for a District that seemed to be doomed from the start.

Then came Effie Trinket. A pretty little thing, clad in ridiculous dresses that contrasted with Liviana’s stern fashion sense, her Capitol accent accompanied by flamboyant mannerisms.

He’d wanted to crush her from the start, make the ambitious glint in her eyes disappear. He’d tried everything, and yet the woman seemed indestructible, bestowed by nature with unnatural strength and determination. A hell of a woman.

He discovered a lot about her, during all those years; she adored the taste of strawberry wine, her natural hair was the shade of the yellow sun when it set over the meadow, and her nanny could never raise a hand on her because her skinned marked so easily. But most of all, down the line, he realized she cared.

She cared about the children and cared about their survival enough to do things no other escort would. She’d cry. Each time one of their- she called them that- children died, he would always find her sniffling in a corner, muttering something about promotions and other nonsense while smiling through the tears. He learned to read her, find meaning in her words.

Most terrifyingly, she cared about him too. It showed in the protective touch on his shoulder or arm while confronting Peacekeepers when she had to take care of some mess he’d created. It showed when she’d stroke his hair while he was half-unconscious on her lap, or when she’d kiss him after a particularly hard day. When she’d caress him softly when he rutted inside her, making him angrier with her and himself.

But there is only so much patience one can hold, and Effie, without the heels, was quite tiny. He humiliated her in front of the staff members once again, and she was done.

Done with him.

He hated himself for that feeling that kept turning into his gut, making even the booze unwelcome. She was supposed to be a release against the Capitol, her insides the nice place to dump his hatred for her kind and for everything he and the reaped children had to live. But he cared.

He’d been callous with her, so much that she’d become… something for him. Something he’d never felt before, something he relied on even despite common sense. When she was there he wasn’t a waste. He just was.

He settled the glass on the table in front of him, thinking that maybe it was right. He shouldn’t have cared, but now he did and it was better if she stayed far away from him. Safe from him. At least she’d live, fulfilling her family’s wishes, finding joy in the silly things she liked, finding love in someone who wasn’t dangerous to love. He would numb that pain too eventually.

It took him a moment to register the soft clicking of heels against the polished floors of the penthouse. It could have been Venia, Octavia, or literally anyone, but he could feel it was her and he cursed the relief that rushed through him the moment he turned to meet her eyes.

She froze on her steps, but then moved closer and sat on the arm of his chair, sighing.

“I thought Jaxton would have survived” she whispered, her voice cracking just a bit.

“Told you to never raise your hopes, sweetheart”.

Silence followed this exchange, and he looked up at her, finding her enthralled by whatever was going on in the screens.

“So, when is it that I will meet my new escort? Please, tell her I’m done with ties” he joked, but it fell flat. He was fishing for answers, and she knew him enough to detect the worry in his voice.

“New escort? Ha, Haymitch, you will be sorry to know it will take more than a few days of absence for me to leave unless I get a promotion, which by the way has been suggested. Finnick wanted to move a few strings, but now that Four has won no one will be able to touch it, so rest assured I’m staying and will be even more assertive”.

“Don’t care what you do or don’t do sweetheart, just remember the bit about the ties” he snorted, trying to ignore the thrill he felt when her hand rested on his thigh.

Tullia stirred slightly, and Effie’s hand rose in case she’d wake up, but she snuggled close to her sister and went back to sleep right away.

Effie leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“I’ll ask for a change of stylists next year. If you have any… sour comments to make, I’d rather you voice them in private next time. I don’t take kindly to ridicule”.

“Impressive, given the costumes you insist on wearing”.

Point taken.

They stayed in companionable silence for a while, watching the uproar on the screens. And when his hand moved to cover hers, neither of them commented on it.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #the hunger games #thg series #thg fanfiction

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faebriel · 5 months

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hgs brainrot has returned due to tbosas .. speaking of hgs here’s an ask abt the hgs au: if things were totally different, and Wilbur were to be a 12 victor, what do you think a possible mentor-tribute dynamic would look like between him & Niki? I feel like it would be similar to Snow & Lucy in the way that he’s just going out of his way to cheat n help her

anon u have in fact struck jackpot because this is a concept i was spinning some thoughts abt before bee mentioned avoxes and we went OOOOH at that!!! so yes i have considered rainduo as a mentor-tribute dynamic and would love to talk about that concept too :]

so for this concept i think wilbur and niki would be close friends throughout childhood from 12, and then in their teens wilbur is reaped and, well, no one has particularly high hopes (he's a writer and a musician at heart, not a fighter) but through sheer trickery and dumb luck, he makes it to the end of the games. wilbur pulled some pretty fucked up tricks to win - when you can't use brute force, you have to use your brain - and partly due to the trauma of the games, partly due to his shame and survivor's guilt, he sinks into the capitol and relishes a new life there as a socialite. to him, the old wilbur died in the games and the new one has taken his place - to niki, and to his other friends in 12, whatever the games did to him made him into every vapid heartless capitol victor there is.

or. niki has her doubts. they all saw how horrible the games were, but surely there is some part of him left, some part that's hurting, even if it's buried deep?

anyway.

like og spin of the au, niki is reaped and this sucks - this time she does expect wilbur as her mentor on the train, and she expects some kind of warm welcome (maybe even an apology for leaving them so suddenly and silently? an explanation?) but she gets jack shit. wilbur is jaded and cruel and unrecognisable and niki entirely hates it. this is the part where i REALLY WISH we got some time of those two beefing with each other directly in canon (or at least interactions while niki was So Mad at him) but it's okay we fly blind. niki feels abandoned, lonely, thrown off of her kilter - she expected an ally in this place, but she doesn't recognise the person wilbur has become. she doesn't recognise his shallowness (...much), his ruthless advice for the arena, the way he doesn't seem to care for anything. she's scared and now she's lonely and it pisses her off - their mentorship is fraught. here are some thoughts from discord on that:

i tend to think of niki as a bit naïve before l'manberg or even doomsday - i think this is an au where this streak would come out real strong, and niki is stubborn that she can get through the games without losing herself. stubborn that she can stop things, that she can protect people. i don't think wilbur is cold enough (or, really, can bear to say aloud) to say that her odds in the arena are slim enough as it is, but he definitely tells her that she's making enemies and that her odds of survival dwindle with the more trouble she causes.

beyond that... hm. niki's trust in wilbur is almost unshakeable until nov 16, even when she outright says she doesn't recognise him anymore. i think she'd reluctantly listen re: don't burn down any buildings, but she would grow bolder each day she had to stay in the capitol. she gets more honest in front of the cameras. she makes more friends in training, and not the ones wilbur recommends. she throws barbs at him every time he makes one of those callous, cold-hearted comments about other tributes and rankings and odds. and besides, she's going in the arena this time, not him. she needs to practice her bravery.

it's like... she hasn't given up on him. she thinks the old wilbur is in there somewhere. (she is wrong. that is not how trauma works.) but she won't hold her tongue just because she

for extra angst points could definitely play up the whole 'feeling abandoned' angle between them as niki goes into the arena - probably due to how fraught their friendship gets leading up to the games. niki wants to focus on them and their friendship, wilbur has stringently cut off (almost) everything from 12 and refuses to let her in; he tells her to behave for the cameras, she tells him she never will. i think the last point in that screenshot would also make for a super tasty argument where niki feels wilbur has gone astray, that he's abandoned 12, and that he'll probably do nothing but sit on his ass and watch her die and he can't even bring himself to care about her anymore, can he? just more fodder for the arena. and honestly, i think wilbur would passively agree with most of that - he values niki's opinion, after all, even now, and if she says he's rapidly descending into a lost cause then she must be right. and it's niki, so she will be fine, and he goes to his bedroom that night and tries to pretend he is sleeping perfectly fine instead of feeling paralysed with fear.

okay now onto the games - YES HE SO WOULD. or at least i think he would go out of his way to help. as for cheating - he's a recent victor for 12 and i think he would value tommy (no doubt a link to him... i think they'd be in touch in this au also) too much to risk the punishment falling onto him as well. i get the vibes this is a games closer to 74th than 10th, so there are far fewer opportunities to cheat and the consequences of getting caught are higher. but schmoozing up sponsors? making stupid ass radio interviews or whatever to talk up niki's odds? sharing anecdotes from their childhood - some real, some entirely fabricated - across capitol airwaves to stoke their sympathy? 100%. with less to lose in this au, i think niki would be far less inclined to play nice for the cameras - i hope you starve, she spits at one of them, and wilbur appears on a talkshow two days later as she scrambles for survival in the arena to talk up how she always saved loaves from the bakery for the poorest mothers and children in 12. he borrows and begs and swindles to the point where it feels like cheating. but hey, this new wilbur is capitol-branded. he knows how to play the game.

if anything he probably sinks into the game a little too much. self-preservation is not his forte. probably wracks up a few heavy debts and favours to owe, but those are not priority until niki is out of the arena, alive. as long as she wins, and as long as the family he has isn't in danger, he will manage. wow it would suck if at some point those two goals became impossible to co-achieve. anyway

i kind of see niki's victory in the arena being similar to the one in the main au - if only because planning out an entire games is hard for meee >-< . she walks in bolder and braver for sure, and with a less strategic pick of allies, but they all get picked off and she spends a few weeks so terrified she can barely sleep and then she ruptures some fuel line and sets the arena alight with a fire that burns brighter and more ravenously than it should. but she wins, and she's airlifted out of a filthy, muddy creek she had resigned herself to die in, and wilbur barges his way through as many peacekeepers so that he can actually see her with her burnt skin and hair and unfocused eyes and trust that what was on the screens wasn't a fluke, and that they made it. and then it's just a matter of surviving the after.

i'm sure there are some other random quirks or tidbits i can think of re: this take on a c!rainduo hunger games au but these are my base thoughts!!

#can i just say whatever the hell lucy grey n snow had going on in part 1 made me so berko btw. like congrats ur my means to an end youre my #symbol youre my buddy? should we kiss? i'll get you out of here / don't make me leave these people behind #BRIDGING OFF OF THE TBOSAS DISCUSSION. i think the thing with crainduo (or at least how i like to depict them) is that they care about each #other extremely deeply and value each other... without being each others number one priority at all times.#i don't think niki plays priority with people she cares for like that; see her relationships with like wilbur and eret in lmanberg #even her friendship with and offering ponk a place to stay in her city after manberg even tho manberg hurt her #as for wilbur: his priority is tommy. like always. if it was just him on the line he'd do anything to get niki thru but it's not #asks #hunger games au #they would truly be such a nightmare in this au like. wilbur's self loathing is SO HIGH due to survivors guilt and trauma and mental illnes #he thinks that niki is So Good and Has It Together meanwhile he is So Bad #and is a mess that she cannot possibly rely on him. she can't possibly need him. she can't possibly want him around #<- and this shit is INGRAINED like. it's not even an active thought pattern anymore it is carved into his brain like a groove #and so shes like. do you even care whether i live or die??#of course he does. but this is the capitol. he cant be vulnerable in a way that matters #and that alienates niki further and this rage and heartbreak is building in her with nowhere to go. and in the arena she thinks it erupts #nah uh. i think its AFTER the area when she has to face wilbur again that she would go full screaming meltdown #ANYWAY !! i really like aus where they have this friction esp because i think like.. idk i think sometimes our views of rainduo are too ros #wilbur kind of forgets about niki sometimes because his self hatred is that bad. niki doesnt get wilburs mental illness and takes it both a #a burden/blame AND a direct rejection of her and her friendship #and they hover just outside of each others spaces anxious and angry and almost self flagellating. GOOD FOR THEM !#anyway Yes this did unlock something within me. thanks anon feel free to add on if u had more thoughts esp re: tbosas and such bc i had suc #a good time watching that movie

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bill-y · 3 years

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INURE

Peeta Mellark x Reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part four: Click here, rooroorara shooty shooty vang vang

Part five: You're right here, silly!

Part six: Click here, war criminal of 1878!

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

The moment the anthem finished, we were taken into custody. It's not as if we were cuffed or anything; a group of Peacekeepers simply marched us through the front door of the Justice Building.

Each year, at least one of the tributes tries to escape; I've never seen one successfully do so.

Once inside, they put me in a room. It's the most prosperous place I've been to. With a thick carpet in the ground and a weird couch made of fabric, I've never seen before.

It was a strange texture, almost like the weird fuzzy stuff in deer's antlers. My father called them velvet; was this the same thing? If so, that's a bit gross.

Despite this, I still caressed the couch; it was oddly comforting. Almost like you're patting a nearly hairless kitten. It switched from smooth to rough each time I ran my hands through it.

Then I remembered that we only had an hour to say goodbye to our loved ones before leaving for the Capitol. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in. I didn't want to cry at all; the cameras were trained on me. I'm sure the Capitol would eat my tears up.

The first people who came in were my mother and my brother. Kunal let out a sob as he ran towards me, practically throwing himself onto me. I hugged him, staying silent as he buried his face into my neck, afraid that if he let go, I would disappear.

But I needed to break it one way or another. "Mother," I called, my voice detached. Her green eyes met mine, her lips quivering. I gulped down my spit, taking another deep breath in. "Do you. . . Have any idea on how you'll support yourselves. . ?" I asked.

Her eyes landed on the thick, red carpet. "Not as of now," she answered grimly, "But Katniss' mother offered me some work at the apothecary,"

My arms around my brother tightened. Maybe Gale and Katniss could bring them some of the game as well, though I wouldn't count on it. Why would they help us when they have other things to worry about? It's not as if I could teach Nal how to hunt either. The boy's frightened by his own shadow.

All he's good for right now for picking flowers as much as I love him. A sigh escaped my lips, my chest falling slowly as the reality sunk in.

"Well, you must think of something," I told her, my brows furrowing. "I'm not going to come back; I won't be able to support you and—"

"No!" she barked, "No! You will come back, Y/n." she proclaimed, her eyes shaking. She clenched her, fists, "Swear that you will."

Bitterness rose within me. "Tell that to the Capitol, mother," I said coolly. "If I die, then I—." My words were cut short by the sobbing of my brother.

He sniffled, pulling away from my now wet neck. "You'll win, won't you?" he croaked, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his reaping clothes.

I felt my heart stop; what was I supposed to say to him? "No, Nal. I will surely die, don't count on it," a lump formed in my throat.

My eyes landed on my mother, who gave a stern look. It told me to lie, if not for her sake, then for my brother's. With shaky hands, I held my brother's shoulders. "I'll make it out; then we can— gather some flowers in Victor's village, yes?"

Nal nodded, hugging me once more. I took a deep breath before I started explaining what they should do. With mother possibly getting a job at the apothecary, perhaps they have a chance to survive, after all. Though I'm not sure, that's such a pleasant thought with the fact that I will die.

Soon enough, a Peacekeeper was at the door, telling them their time was up. I gave Nal a hard squeeze before pushing him off. My mother nodded at me; her strawberry blonde hair bounced as she did so. "I love you both,"

The words were stuck in my throat; I couldn't say them. Maybe it was because of my strained relationship with my mother or because I hated the fact that I had just given my brother a false sense of hope. I simply watched as they walked away, hand in hand.

Nal's watery blue eyes looked back at me one last time, a look of sadness. He knew I was lying. I sounded unconvinced when I told him. My posture slumped; I felt horrible. Our maker is siis merely, I suppose.

The next visitor was unexpected; Peeta's father, the baker. My gut churned; I was off to kill his son soon. Why has he come to visit me? Perhaps he has come to beg me not to kill his son? Not that I could either way, Peeta was stronger than me: it was clear as day.

He handed me a small piece of parchment. It was filled with warm cookies. A delicacy. He must've visited his son; after all, why would he just me cookies? I was about to die anyway; why feed a dead man?

I let out a huge breath, "How was the squirrel?" my voice pierced through the thick silence. He shrugged, "Alright," he answered. Then another wave of silence hit us. I sniffed awkwardly, the scent of fresh bread entering my lungs.

I couldn't think of anything to say. What was I supposed to do? ApoloApologisebe, but I never really liked apoloapologisingee no need to. If I'm sorry, then I'll show it. We sat in awkward silence before the Peacekeepers told him his time was up. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I'll keep an eye on the little boy, make sure he's eating," He stated before leaving. I felt the pressure lift from my chest. They may not like me much, but Nal was practically an angel to them. An angel born in a family of rebels, I'm guessing, is their thoughts.

The next guest then entered. Madge. Her expression wasn't weepy nor evasive, nor did she wear that bright smile she always had when she was around me. It looked urgent. She walked straight to me, the urgency in her tone quite surprising, "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home, will you wear this?" she holds out a circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier.

My brows furrowed, "Your pin?' I said. Does she really to die wearing rich-people-things? That hasn't even crossed my mind. . .

"I'll put it on your tunic, alright?" She said, not waiting for my answer as she leaned in and fixed the bird on my chest. "Promise me you'll wear it to the arena, Y/n. Promise me," She took my hand, her thumbs rubbing the back of my own.

Compared to Peeta's, hers was cold yet soft, almost as if she was nervous, worried. But why would she? I barely talk to her; she's the one who always strikes a conversation. All I do is nod and disagree at certain times.

She leaned closer to my face; I gave her an uncertain smile, pulling away. "Thank you, Madge," I muttered. She nodded, letting go of my hands. "Please, stay safe," her voice trembled as she rushed out of the room. I was left standing there, confused. What was that? Why did she visit me despite my rudeness earlier?

Next was Gale and Katniss. I didn't hesitate to hug both of them before pulling away with a sigh. "Hey, you'll be fine," Gale reassured, patting my shoulder. I stayed silent, only nodding. Katniss gave me a pity smile, "I'm sure it would be fairly easy to get knives, Y/n."

A sigh left my mouth, "I know— I just— Don't want to—" I stammered, making a stabbing motion with my hand. Gale gave me a pitied look, "It's just like hunting, Y/n. You're the best hunter we know," he said.

"They're not animals. They think; they're armed." I reasoned, my voice trembling. Why did I have to feel these emotions now? Maybe reality has finally settled in, the truth that I'll never see any of these faces again. On the off chance that I do, I'm sure they'll view me differently, a cold-blooded murderer.

"What's the difference, reale said grimly. Those words echoed in my head as they went away with the Peacekeepers. What is the difference? We're all just feral dogs forced to fight or cocks pit against each other.

I took a deep breath as I got called to ride a wagon to the train station. It was a relatively short ride. We never really had the luxury of these; we always had to travel by foot.

I silently thanked myself for not crying; there were insect-like cameras trained onto my face. Thankfully, I knew how to act, to bite my tongue. If I hadn't, I'd probably be screaming profanities. My eyes glanced onto the television screen; I look bored. Which, I surprisingly was.

It was as if my spirit left me already.

Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, had obviously been crying. However, he didn't even try to hide it, which was quite odd. Was this his strategy? To appear weak and vulnerable to assure the other tributes that he was no threat? This worked for a girl from district 7. Johanna Mason.

She seemed frightened, a cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until only a handful left. She then killed them all, with no problem whatsoever. I remember watching this game, quite shocked. She sold her act to me, but then again, maybe I'm just oblivious.

This worked for her because she looked frail, weak. Peeta applying this strategy was quite odd. Not only did he not look soft, but he was also jacked. He just looked like a big doofus. All those years having bread to eat and hauling trays made him physically capable.

Annoyance rose through me when we had to stand by the train's entrance while cameras gobbled out images up. I was sure I no longer looked bored but rather pissed. It wasn't like I was about to put on a pretty smile for them. These jester-dressed-worms should know how I feel.

Finally, we boarded, and the train began to move at once. The speed took my breath away. It was going faster than I could ever think of. The scenery around us just blurred—a mix of the neutral colour palette that made up District 12.

We were taught about coal in school. Some basic maths and reading before it circled back to coal again. Our district was used for coal mining, even hundreds of years ago.

Then there are the weekly lectures about the history of Panem, which never fails to annoy me. It's all blather about how we owe the Capitol because of the rebellion and whatnot.

I knew they're hiding something; we couldn't have lost that easily. I always think about this whenever I'm up in the trees, daydreaming, which is why I'm always the last one to arrive at the hill.

The tribute train was much fancier than the room at the Justice building. We were given our own rooms, a dressing area and private bathroom with cold and hot running water. We've never really had hot water readily available at home; we had to boil it.

Though I can't say, I like it, with all that effort I just end up not liking the bath. I much prefer the cold, flowing current of a river.

There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket told me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my father’s tunic and take a cold shower. I’ve never had a shower before. It’s like being in the rain, inky much tamer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants, trying my hair to the usual, small pa

At the last minute, I remember Madge’s little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It’s as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wingtips. I suddenly recognise it—a Mockingjay.

Funny little birds, my favourite creature in the forests, that's for sure. These were a slap to the Capitol's face. They genetically altered animals as weapons. Muttations as we call them, or Mutts for short. One particular kind was a bird they labelled Jabberjay, able to memorise and repeat whole human conversations.

Homing birds, exclusively male that were released into regions where the Capitol’s enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they’d fly back to centres to be recorded. It took people a while to realise what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centres were shut down, and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

But they didn't die; instead, they mated with the female mocking birds and produced this weird species that can replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They've lost the ability to enunciated words but could still mimic a range of human vocal cords.

My father used to sing them a lot. I guess he passed that habit down to me. Whenever I'm not doing anything, I find myself singing to the hummingbirds, who surprisingly listen and replicate my Father's song. It was a simple melody, made of 10 notes at least.

It warmed by heart, especially at times where I miss him. I smiled, fastening the pin to my shirt, the dark green as its background.

Effie came to collect me. I followed her through a narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. There waiting for us was Peeta Mellark, the chair beside him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" Asked Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him he said he was going to take a nap," said Peeta. "Well, it’s been an exhausting day," said Effie Trinket. I think she’s relieved by Haymitch’s absence, and who can blame her?

Food came in courses. Though I barely touched the carrot soup, the chocolate cake, lamb chops nor the mashed potatoes. I wasn't going to eat this, not from the Capitol.

My jaw clenched as Effie told me to eat up, smiling brightly at me. I gave her a pained smile, slowly taking a bite of the lamb on my plate before swallowing it roughly.

A swirl of guilt formed in my stomach, was I eating really this luxurious food whilst Nal and mother struggle? I sighed, digging my nails into my palms.

Peeta looked at me oddly as he stuffed his face, he nudged my side and nodded towards the food. I simply shook my head, pushing the plate away.

Effie put her lips together at my stubbornness. She was muttering something about having no manners.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that since none of them has to attend reapings themselves.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be in our competition. A few stand out in my mind.

A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she’s very like Nal in size and demeanour. Only when she mounts the stage and task for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There’s no one willing to take her place.

Last of all, District twelve. It showed Nal getting called and me volunteering. The commentators weren't sure about what to say regarding the silence. I only smirked at this, crossing my legs in amusement. Just in time, Haymitch fell from the stage, earning a comical groan from the commentators.

Peeta silently took his place on the stage; we shook hands and then just cut to the anthem.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour."

Unexpectedly, Peeta laughed. "He was drunk." He said. "He's drunk every year."

"Everyday," I added, finally breaking my silence streak with a smirk. Effie makes it sound kike Haymitch just had rough manners that could easily be dealt with.

"Yes," She hissed "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he slurred. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in a mess.

"So laugh away!" said Effie Trinket. And so I did, I barked out mocking laughter as she hopped in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and fled the room.

Word count: 2974

Tags:

@nin3s

#hunger games x reader #hunger games #hunger games x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #peetamellark #x male reader #gale #male x male reader

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yougobunny · 3 years

Text

In the year 2900, Tech receives a message in a bottle....

The city had erected a statue honouring the Loonatics a decade after the team had formed. It stood in the heart of AcmeCity Park, a gleaming monument commemorating their contributions to the city planet of Acmetropolis. Over the years countless of these tributes have arisen all over; statues and permanent exhibitions and towers and rose gardens and city streets, streetside graffiti and artwork and paintings hanging in museums. The AcmeCity Park statue however was one of Tech’s favourites for two reasons: 1) They had all been given a say in the design, and 2) It was the first statue where the entire team had been present at the unveiling.

The team captured the citizens' imaginations in ways that have outlived them all.

Well, almost all of them.

Tech’s balcony overlooked said park. He sat on a little rattan recliner, absentmindedly tinkering with the little object in his lap. The apartment was still cozy albeit being sparsely decorated. It didn’t really matter to Tech, it wasn’t where he spent most of his time anyway. He had just flown back into Acmetropolis earlier that week after a few months overseeing a project down in Acmestralia, and later took a few weeks to recuperate in Acmelaysia before finally coming back to the city. Someone from the AcmeTech Institute had forwarded him a package with a note saying an intern had found the contents--a palm sized, metallic cube--in the institute’s storage. They had traced it back to being part of the original Loonatics HQ and couldn't extract any data because the source was corrupted and basically unreadable, but maybe Tech would like to have it and try his luck?

The package was dusty by the time Tech got a hold of it, but the cube itself had been sealed in a vacuum. That was how he found himself on the balcony, bags discarded in the living room and still unpacked. The lab might not have use for this sort of technology, but Tech found himself working on it almost entirely on muscle memory--even if said memory was blurry around the edges. It was easy enough, unscrambling the lines upon lines of source code and retrieving s-

The top of the cube cracked open, revealing a bright glimmer of holographic light which projected a square onto the space in front of Tech’s face. He frowned. The light in the square was shifting, unclear. It didn’t look like interference though, more like someone was knowingly messing with the reco- “Oh-my-god-Tech’s-gonna-be-so-so-so-mad.”

Everything in Tech went cold.

The image cleared. Rev Runner, young, bustling, alive, stared back at him. His face was pressed right up against the square, a few inches from Tech’s own.

Tech had almost stopped breathing.

Rev looked worried. He pulled back and Tech finally saw them. His friends. It was a window into their common area and after all this time Tech could still picture the space the way it was when they had lived there. Duck was on the floor beside Rev, Slam over his shoulder and peering inquisitively into what must have been a camera. Ace lounged on the couch slightly behind the three of them, Lexi sprawled across it with her head in his lap. It looked like they had both been reading but had abandoned the task in favour of looking at the camera as well.

“Is it working now?” Lexi asked, propping herself up on her elbows,

Ace tilted his head, probably looking around Duck, “Looks like it, the light’s back on.”

“Famously, that’s how we know it’s recording,” Duck replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Ace rolled his eyes, “Eh, sorry Doc. It’s kinda hard to see with your head blocking the way.”

“Ya, duh,” Duck leaned forward, lifting his eyebrows at the camera, “If there’s anyone it should be recording it’s me. I am the Acmetropolis media darling.”

“First of all, that’s not true,” that was Lexi, laying back down but this time turning onto her side to address the room. “And second, that’s just for security, Duck.”

“Yeah-if-anyone’s-gonna-see-this-it-will-be-Tech,” Rev must have tapped the side of the camera then as the video jerked sharply to the side before he corrected it again.

Slam garbled something cheerful, the suggestion clear in his eyes as he waved into the camera. Ace seemed to pick it up, “Slam’s right, sorry we messed up your camera Tech.” He lifted a hand and waved towards the camera as well, “We fixed it now for ya.”

“You mean Rev fixed it,” Lexi laughed, “We just watched.” She looked straight into the camera, grinning, “We miss you Tech! Slam’s been waiting to cook a big welcome back dinner.”

Slam nodded excitedly, almost knocking Duck sideways. The mallard groaned, “You guys know he’s not going to see this, right? He’s a nerd but even he has better things to do than check out security footage.”

The video flickered and stabilised once more. “Looks-like-it’s-still-not-entirely-working.” Judging by the shaky images Rev must have tapped the camera a few more times. “I’ll-turn-it-off-before-it-explodes-just-in-case. Everyone-say-bye-to-Tech!”

They were laughing, talking over each other until Tech couldn’t really make out what each of them were saying, but they were waving into the camera and Rev’s hand moved across the screen and suddenly it was just empty air in front of him again.

He must have forgotten to breathe at one point, he figured, going by the burning in his lungs. He must have started crying, he wasn’t sure when, and he didn’t stop for a while either. He grasped the small cube in his palms, looking over the park, the greenhouses and gardens and the artificial lake, the gleaming statues that seemed to almost be set ablaze by the setting sun.

#loonatics unleashed #my fics #tech e coyote #ace bunny #rev runner #slam tasmanian #danger duck #lexi bunny #Hello I like making myself Sad #anyway lots of thoughts about Tech being immortal today!!!!

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Redamancy - Chapter Nine (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, brief mention of murder.

wc; 8.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This morning, you’re floating around the room. There’s an impossible grin on your face as you move to get ready today, not even mad over the fact that you didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s the anticipation of seeing your tribute again--now a victor! You’ve always pictured the moment where you finally get to see your tribute again after their big win, and it’s finally happened.

Five years of trial and error, and you’ve finally found a solution. It doesn’t matter that it’s been standing in front of you the entire time, all that matters is that you made it. You figured out what you need to do in your future years. In no time, you’ll be just as infamous as Districts One and Two. No more caskets, you’ll finally be able to start sleeping easy.

What you wear today doesn’t have to be anything specially fancy. You settle for a pair of black jeans and dark grey shirt. You kick the black tennis shoes out of the closet and into the middle of your room. You drop the clothes onto the bed, but bring the black underwear into the bathroom with you.

You turn on the shower, and strip yourself naked. The last time anyone has seen Annie was a week and a half ago, inside of the arena. Since then, you only get updates on her. Mostly the injuries she sustained, and fixing the blemishes that might have appeared on her skin since being inside of the arena. You went ahead and approved the full-body polish, mostly because you’re not sure if she can handle seeing the scars as reminders.

It’s less of the fact that she might find them ugly and will want them covered up later, and more of the fact that she literally will not be able to handle seeing them. Along with all the other testing and evaluating that they’ve been doing over the last week and a half, they’ve also been frequently checking her mental health. She’s pretty drugged each time they ‘wake her up’ from her medically-induced coma, but from what they can tell, it’s not good.

Annie’s time in the arena has left her damaged. Which is okay, because that has happened to all the victors that you’ve met so far. This will be the first time you’ve seen it more severely, and you’ll just have to take a different approach with it. You’ve already decided that she won’t be replacing you in the mentor program, or helping you, Anchor, and Finnick in the boarding school. At least, not until you’re sure that she can handle it.

For now, she’s a delicate flower, and needs to be handled as such.

You shower, scrubbing yourself clean. The sugary smell of the body wash fills the air, and you find yourself taking in deep breaths through your nose to savor the sweetness. Even if it’s unintentional, the Capitol is exceptional at selling products to you. How can you resist the body scrub that makes you smell like ice cream? You can’t.

You have time before you need to be out in the dining room to meet Finnick to go down to Annie. So, you sit on the floor of the shower, hair out of reach of the water to make sure that you won’t have to dry it, and let the warm water soothe you. Every now and then, you’ll turn it hotter, or colder, bouncing back and forth until your stomach is growling and you can’t put it off any longer.

You dry yourself with a soft towel, eyes on yourself in the mirror. You can’t really help it when you turn to see the scar on your back. A part of you is sad that you couldn’t even keep one thing for Annie. A scar, a cracked tooth, some abnormality. Something on her body that would tell everyone, when shown, that she won the Hunger Games and kept an injury as a souvenir. Even after everything that she’s gone through.

It would be a sign of strength, you think.

You pull on the black underwear, and leave the bathroom to get dressed in your room, since that’s where you left your clothes. The moment you step into the doorway, you can see Finnick sitting on the chair in the corner. He stares blankly at you for a moment, before he slowly turns a red color.

“I should’ve knocked.” He covers his eyes with one hand, but does the little peek thing through his fingers as a joke.

Of course, the one time you don’t lock your bedroom door before you go to take a shower, someone comes in. And of course, the first person that does it by accident is Finnick.

You give him a face before pulling on your jeans, “You need something?”

“Just came in to check on you, you’ve been showering for a while now.” he says, there’s a smile hinting at the corner of his lips.

“And you didn’t knock?” you pull on your shirt next, and reach for a pair of socks, when you realize that you didn’t set any out by accident. This starts your next hunt.

“I did, actually, a couple of times. Elysia got tired of the sound so she told me to sit and wait or give up altogether.” Finnick shrugs, “We’re both adults here, so I thought that you wouldn’t be too bothered if I sat in here.”

“Seems like an innocent enough excuse.” you grin, he laughs a little bit to himself, “What are you planning?”

“Obviously I was hoping that you’d walk out naked.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re a little late for that.”

You open the top drawer of the dresser to find that there’s only one pair of socks, which means that you’re going to have to wear this pair tomorrow. You’ll only be in the Capitol today and tomorrow, after that you’re going to be going home. Unfortunately, none of you are going to have a minute to think to yourselves as soon as Annie’s awake.

You pull on the socks, and then the shoes. Together, you and Finnick meet Elysia in the dining room. She’s wearing a particular green color that you vaguely remember her wearing after you won your games. It’s a different shade, a pea green color. It’s not an awful color on her, but it’s the color itself that looks gross. It seems that all of the times you’ve had to change Alyssum’s diaper has finally gotten to you.

“You look like you’re wearing baby shit.” you say, going down the steps.

Elysia’s neck practically breaks from how hard she turns to look at you, “What?”

“The color, it’s putrid.” you sit in a chair. Finnick sits next to you, laughing.

She looks down at what she’s wearing, a frown appearing on her face, and then she looks back at you, “You’re not kidding.”

“It’s an ugly color.” Finnick agrees, “It’s a good thing that you’re changing later.”

“The both of you are insufferable.” She sighs, but going back to drinking her coffee, “I suppose I should thank you for being honest.”

“You’re welcome.” You say, piling the food onto your plate.

“Just keeping you on your toes.”

It’s pancakes, and spread all over the table, is a variety of toppers. Different types of syrups, like caramel, fudge and maple are offered. Next is the sweets, like chocolate chips and toffee. Or there’s the fruits, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, everything you could possibly imagine. Which is quite a difference from the day you were only allowed to have fruits.

You grab what seems good, keeping in mind that you’ll be able to try as many combinations as you want to. You start with the fruits, and then the sweets, and end with the syrups, since they’re pretty irreversible. You could always ask for a new plate, or you can just be smart and wait until the end to try syrups.

Anyway, Finnick seems to have the same thought process that you do. Maybe he’s finally realized that this will be the last breakfast you eat. As tomorrow you’ll probably be eating brunch, or lunch altogether from how late you’ll be getting up. The final interview will be conducted at two tomorrow, you’ve already been given the schedule. And since the Victory Banquet that will take place tonight, lasts until early morning, you’ll all be sleeping in past breakfast.

The avoxes take their time clearing the table, since you three are in no hurry to leave. There’s still half an hour to burn before you should even think to start making your way downstairs. There’s no set time that Annie will be awake, but they’ll let her out of the room at a certain time. When they’re sure that the drugs have worn off and that she won’t hurt herself, or others.

And since her current mental state is a little questionable, she’s been met with quite a few exceptions from the gamemakers and President Snow, himself. You remember having to put on your arena outfit after you woke up in the medical room. It wasn’t a pleasant sight after everything that you’d been through. The navy blue color has almost permanently been ruined for you because of it.

If it was hard for you, there’s no telling what Annie might think of it. So, she’ll be wearing sweatpants and a shirt. The accommodations don’t really stop there, they’ll continue on from today, to tonight, to tomorrow afternoon, District Four, all the way until after her Victory Tour. Annie is in no state to be constantly hounded by cameras as soon as she gets home. Same thing goes for coming face to face with the families of the dead tributes.

Annie’s lucky that she was born and fought for the district she’s in currently, otherwise there’s no telling what other mentors would have made her do. Look strong-minded, as if the games didn’t affect her at all. Pretend as though killing two tributes isn’t detrimental all by itself. Act like Marsh never meant a thing to her, like he was just garbage to be thrown away.

No, you and Finnick know the value of human life. You know that volunteering takes a willpower that you will never have. On one hand, you’re lucky that Alyssum isn’t in your age group, because you would have hated to volunteer over her. To willingly put yourself into a situation that would supposedly look like a ‘noble act’. But on the other hand, if she’s chosen for the games--since her eligibility doesn’t just magically go away because you’ve won--you won’t be able to volunteer for her, only mentor.

It’s mostly the reason why you’re so hellbent on sending her to the boarding school. You, Reed and Mox can’t protect her. She’s too young. Reed is seventeen years older than her, Mox is sixteen, and you are twelve. If she gets chosen, none of you can go in there and protect her. Even family friends are too old to do that, and you would never ask them to do it in the first place.

To volunteer to go into the games is to willingly accept that you might die when you go inside. It means to stand in line to get on Charon’s boat to cross the river Styx. It’s like standing outside of the gates of hell, knowing what is happening on the other side of the fence, and choosing to go inside anyway. In a way, it also means that you are not completely whole, and you are trying to find the missing piece.

The Hunger Games is not that missing piece.

The Hunger Games takes all the pieces you have and scatters them. You have to find each and every one of them individually, and hope that you haven’t gone out of order. Otherwise, you’re stuck in some purgatory of not knowing what you’re missing and thinking that missing piece is the solution.

You know because you’re speaking from experience.

The moment you rsoe from that platform inside of the arena, you lost everything you had before. You had to build it from the ground up, hoping that the foundation that your brothers had helped with, was sturdy enough to build the rest of the house. You got lucky in there. What they don’t tell you, is that you lose all the pieces when you come back, too.

You’ll never be able to officially understand what Annie will feel and go through, but you’ll be able to offer her advice. Tell her that she’s not alone, and every single victor had to go through the same process that she’s going through now. Readjusting back to reality after living inside a death trap designed to kill you, is hell. It’s always like walking through hell.

“I think I’m going to change.” Elysia says, getting up from the table and leaving towards the hallway, which might actually lead her to a room with extra clothes for the escorts. You don’t know, you never go farther than the balcony because there’s never a need to.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks, his hand is gentle on your shoulder, “You’ve got a look on your face.”

“Just remembering how I felt post-games.” you look at him.

“Hopeless?” His voice is careful.

“Hopeless.” you agree, giving him a smile, “It’s okay, the pieces are coming back together. One at a time. I’m sure by the time I’m Haymitch’s age, I should have my head on straight without the help of alcohol poisoning.”

Finnick lets out a laugh, and then draws you in close enough to press a kiss to your lips. There’s a small explosion of heat across your face, since the giddy feeling from when you were a teenager seems to have come back. Along with all the previous feelings you had for Finnick.

You never stopped loving him, you were just waiting until it was the right time.

He presses a kiss to your forehead after, “Is your room back home soundproof?”

You pull away from him, face twisting, “You know how to ruin a moment, huh?”

“It was a genuine question!” He asks, but there’s laughter in his voice.

“If that’s really a concern, we can just use your house.”

He makes a face, “Your bed is always softer.”

“That’s because I know how to get a proper mattress.” a smile appears on your face as you get to your feet. You can hear Elysia coming down the hall, heels clicking on the wooden floorboards.

She’s dressed in a darker green, which still goes with her makeup, so there wasn’t a need for change. She obviously did this on purpose, just so that she wouldn’t have to take off what she’s wearing, put on a fresh layer, only to take it off a couple hours later. It would be a waste, mostly because all of the products in the Capitol are crazy expensive.

“We can go now.” she says.

Together, the three of you take the first elevator down to the Training Center, and then a second one further underground. Where the walls, floors and ceiling is all cement, and the doors are hidden unless digitally told to move. You remember sitting inside of your medical room, waiting for the doors to open for you. A random panel on the wall had moved. You knew the door blended in, but the architect was a genius for how well they'd done it.

You’re not allowed to go beyond a certain point. Annie hearing your voices directly outside of her room can make her feel like she’s going insane--it’s a rule for all victors, not an accommodation for her--and might even make her destructive. The peacekeepers stand in place for a while, motionless and waiting for orders. When the orders are given to them, they leave you three to yourselves in the hallway.

“Three more days until we go home.” you massage the back of your neck, “Finally, I’m tired of this.”

“So it takes nearly three full weeks for you to grow homesick?” Finnick asks.

“More of the fact that I just want to start the next round of trainees.” you run a hand through your hair, now, “Now that I’ve caught the mistake, I just want to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Do you have a set schedule for training?” Elysia asks, you can see Laurel coming your way.

When she stops next to Elysia, she doesn’t really say anything, just listens to what you three are talking about. If you didn’t know her as well as you did, you’re sure that you would be afraid to speak about this in front of her. However, she’s like one of your best friends, you trust her with your life.

“Mostly during the school year, we take a break when the games come around, and pick it up a week or two after. But this year I’m probably going to make them come in as soon as possible.”

Elysia opens her mouth, pauses, and then asks; “You take their entire break from them?”

“No,” Finnick says, you smile along, “No, when we designed this, we knew that we wouldn’t be able to run it all day long.”

“But you call it a boarding school.” she says slowly.

“To make sure that we don’t get in trouble with the law.” you raise your eyebrows slightly, feeling smug, “Preparing tributes for the Hunger Games is highly illegal, but if you can find ways around it…”

“Also, the school runs from late afternoon into evening. The teens have the entire morning to themselves.” Finnick says, “Because there’s nothing more teenagers hate than having to get up in the morning for school.”

You nod, “It runs for four to five hours, sometimes over if it’s a special day. We always warn the parents and teens in advance. We also keep track of who comes in, who drops out and for what reason. And also grades, for the younger kids because their education is important and all of that.”

Finnick’s trying to suppress a smile, “We run a very ethical business.”

You laugh, elbowing him.

You can hear the scuffle of feet behind you, which makes you and Finnick turn to see who’s coming. You know already, there’s no one else in this part of the building that has woken from their slumber.

Annie stands at the end of the hallway, looking only slightly disoriented. Her hair looks like she used her fingers to comb through it. As you said earlier, she’s wearing the grey sweatpants, with a matching grey shirt. At first, she just stands and stares at you guys, almost like she’s unsure if you guys are real.

And then a smile spreads across her face, breaking into a run with her arms open wide. You open your arms too, not being able to help the grin on your face. She slams into your body, arms tight around your waist. You squeeze her, rubbing her back with a laugh.

“Welcome back, Annie.”

She moves onto Finnick next, then Elysia, and finally, Laurel. When all of you can see her face, it’s slightly blotchy from crying. She wipes her eyes and gives you guys a wobbly smile, wrapping her arms around herself.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

She shrugs slightly, “Tired, when are we going home?”

“Two days, we’ll be on the train by tomorrow afternoon.”

Annie smiles, Laurel touches her shoulder carefully, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

And then her eyes land on you, Finnick and Elysia, “Don’t wait too long to get ready, you only have a few hours.”

“We got it.” Finnick gives her and Annie a wave.

Laurel brings Annie’s arm into hers, talking to her on the way to the elevator. They take a turn around a corner, and then they’re out of sight. For a moment, all three of you stand in silence, trying to gather what you can from that brief interaction with Annie.

“I think that we shouldn’t be as careful as we’re being.” you say slowly, trying to make sure that you won’t be wording this wrong, “She isn’t a child, she’s eighteen.”

Finnick’s nodding along, “You can be fragile and still not break under pressure.”

“Bingo.”

You decided that it wouldn’t hurt to get ready for the recap in the same room. You had Finnick bring his suit, and whatever he would need for his hair into your room, since you have too much to transfer. You stand in front of the mirror, half-naked and curling your hair. Finnick sits on a kitchen stool, wearing his black slacks and a white undershirt. He’s caught in a game of buttoning and unbuttoning his cuffs.

“We should get her a counselor.” he mutters absently.

“She can use mine.” you let the curl fall, and then twirl the strand of hair around your finger for a couple of seconds, “She’s still active, I see her every now and then when I’m having a particularly hard time.”

Finnick’s eyes find yours in the mirror, “How often?”

You shrug, “It’s gotten less over the years, but sometimes little things will set me off.” you give him a half-smile, “I don’t cook by myself anymore because the knives in our kitchen are small and triggering. But if it’s teaching the boarding school, I can use knives, swords, whatever all day long without a problem.”

You know what the problem is. When you cook, you like to do it alone because you don’t have people around you to distract you. You’re not as prone to making accidents. However, it also means that you’re allowed to think to yourself, and dig up everything that you’ve worked hard to bury. Like what it feels like to have your hands coated in blood, and the panicked feeling when Allio had woken up right as you’d begun to retreat.

If you’re surrounded by the teens, it means you’re using the knife with a purpose. You’re teaching them how to defend themselves, you don’t have to think about all the bad things you’ve done with a weapon, and all the feelings that came after. You also don’t do it often, too. You know to take breaks between you teaching and Anchor, because progress can unwind very, very quickly and easily. Years of work can be gone in a simple hour.

“Huh.” Finnick lets out, “Anything else?”

You think for a moment, and then laugh, “I don’t like the taste of fish. I can’t stand the smell of it cooking, either.”

Finnick laughs too.

“Alyssum asked me for a rabbit last year, like a pet.” You shake your head, “I told her no but I couldn’t explain why, exactly. How do you tell your little sister that you know what they taste like? Much less that you ate them for weeks on end?”

“That would be a good way to traumatize her.”

“Just a couple more years, and then I’ll let her in on the secret.” you wink.

You do your makeup next, going easy on the gold eyeshadow. Earlier, Laurel had hand-delivered a puffy gold dress, as well as Finnick’s black and white suit. He doesn’t get to have all the fun colors like he used to, unless he’s dressing himself. Laurel and Pleurisy wouldn’t allow that this time around, and you’re not really upset about it. She knows better than you do when it comes to what the Capitol will want to see.

“Are you nervous?”

You raise your eyebrows, “For what?”

“To be on stage, it’ll be the first time since we were kids.”

You pause, looking at him, “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” he admits, shrugging, “I mean, people will know that I’m a phony and did nothing.”

“Except you did do something, you mentored. Just because you didn’t help in the boarding school, doesn’t mean anything just yet.” you back up for a minute, “I wish Leo was here to do my makeup, he can do it more evenly than I can.”

“I think it looks good.” Finnick says, “The real problem is the eyeliner, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been practicing.”

It’s quiet for a second, “You didn’t answer my question.”

A low hum sounds from you as you try and finish up what you’re doing, “I don’t think so.” you move onto your other eye, “It’s not about me, it’s about Annie and her victory. It’s harder to be afraid to look good and stuff like that. I’m not the main focus, we won years ago.”

“Except they’re going to know we’re a couple…” Finnick trails off, “Maybe that isn’t a bad thing.”

You smile, “See? You’re worrying over nothing.”

You finish up what you’re doing, which takes an additional ten minutes. After, you pull on the dress, have Finnick zip up the back, and then sit on the chair in front of the mirror. You lightly curl some of his hair to accentuate the look, it’s also somewhat of a throwback to how he’d look on stage the last time you two were together.

“You look very handsome.” you say, rufflign up his hair to make it look less clean.

“I look handsome? I think you look handsome.” Finnick says.

You fake a gasp, placing your hand on your chest, grinning, “Oh my gosh, thank you.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing. The only thing you have to do is put on jewelry and put on your shoes before it’s too late. You go ahead and do the black heels first, Finnick volunteers to do the ribbons on the bottom because he knows how to tie a tie. When he gets to his feet, you cup his face and kiss him.

All the jewelry is black, except for your ring. You pull on the bracelets, and while you’re positioning them, you spy a wiggly gold one. So, you place it in the middle to make a small pattern, before moving onto your ears. The earrings are dangly black lines, it doesn’t draw much attention, and it’s mostly hidden by your hair, unless you move it behind your shoulder or tuck strands behind your ears.

Just before you think you’re ready enough to go, you go back and apply black lipstick, afraid that Laurel will pick that out when she finally sees you in less than an hour. You make sure that the black isn’t on your teeth, and won’t be transferring onto Finnick if you end up kissing him more. Then, you head out of your room and into the dining room to see that Elysia is just about to leave the apartment too.

She’s dressed in silver, but she isn’t shiny like you are, “I think Annie’s wearing red.”

“She is.” Finnick says, “It’s a maroon color, goes down to her calves.”

When you first saw the dress when Laurel showed you, it seemed a little dangerous, especially the color. But getting to see it in person a couple days ago, you finally agreed that Annie would like it. Annie’s not really going to get to see herself in the mirror, because they want to make sure she won’t have a panic attack just before the recap and crowning. Everyone was promised to make her glance in the mirror as brief as possible.

Elysia brings you and Finnick to where you’ll be standing when you’re raised. Unlike the first time, this time you and Finnick aren’t separated by a wall. You stand on yours briefly, and Finnick mimics you. A sense of nostalgia goes through you, staring at the wall in front of you like this, hands in your lap. Back then, you were moments from seeing Finnick for the first time since the arena. The first time he’d be able to see you awake, alert, alive.

You’re sure that you hate the feeling of all of this, rushing back into your head fast enough to give you a pounding headache. But you don’t move from the platform, you smile down at it slightly. It’s an old friend, the start of your journey home.

“Finnick?” you ask, looking at him.

His eyes meet yours, the darkness in here makes it nearly impossible to see the smile that appears on his face, “(Y/n)?”

“Thank you.”

His face twists slightly, “For what?”

“For saving me.”

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean, but Elysia appears telling you that Annie has made it down. The prep team and Laurel are going to go get ready, so you have a couple of minutes before you really need to start worrying about being where you should be. She disappears again.

“I’m going to go check on Annie real quick, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” you get off the platform.

Annie is standing by herself in the dark, playing with the smooth ruffles on her dress. She runs her fingers along the cloth, an easy soothing method. When she hears your heels, she looks over, and then smiles.

“Hey,” you stop in front of her, “You look great!”

Her chin lowers slightly, “Thank you, you do too.”

“The recap is going to be extremely easy. All you have to do is smile and wave.” you fix some hair, pulling it over her shoulder, “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

She nods, rubbing her hands down her dress until they disappear, pockets. You totally forgot that Laurel had incorporated pockets into her dress. You don’t even remember why she had done it in the first place, maybe because of the Victory Banquet? You suppose that makes the most sense.

Either way, she pulls out a small strand of rope, already frayed, “Laurel snuck me this.”

“Smart, I didn’t even think to get you something like that.” you nod, “We’ll be up in a couple of minutes, so just stay on the platform. You’ll be brought up last, you’ll hear Caesar and the audience above you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

You join Finnick back at the plate, stepping onto it and readjusting little things to make sure that they’re in place. Finnick does the same, as the minutes tick down. Before you know it, the anthem is blasting overhead. It’s only a matter of time, now. You’ll be on stage briefly, and then you’ll be sitting in the crowd.

You listen to Caesar greet the audience, and then slowly start to introduce Annie’s prep team. Cleo is up first, then Beth, then Leo. They don’t get extremely loud cheering, as they’re not seen as super important. They only handle hair and makeup, but they still get their own small spotlight. And it’s their second time, too. Elysia is introduced immediately after, you’re sure she’s thrilled that being in District Four is finally paying off.

Of course, Laurel gets loud cheering because she organized Annie’s outfits. You’re sure she’s dressed in black, that’s her go-to color. However, she’s very good at making it not look like a funeral color, and more of a welcome sight. You remember her telling you, once upon a time, that the color shouldn’t be frowned upon and exclusively made for funerals. Just like white, black can be made a bright color too.

You’re not entirely sure about that, considering that you’ve been to more than your fair share of funerals. She can think that the color can be reimagined into something that hasn’t such a dim meaning as soon as it’s seen. But in the districts, it’ll never be given a new meaning.

You and Finnick are next. You can hear your name being called, a little echo following after. The crowd is already cheering loudly, just as you’re beginning to be pushed up. You wipe the grim look off your face, knowing that it’s not what the audience will want to see. Plus, you’re not entirely sure you want to spend the rest of the day in a bad mood. You still have hours of being around Capitol people ahead of you.

You blink and squint through the light, waving towards the crowd. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding loudly in your chest. You look over to see that Finnick has this cheeky smile on his face, and then he looks at you. It’s an immediate sense of deja vu that washes over you.

As the two of you come together, he holds his hand out for you to take. You slip your palm into his, and pull him to you a little bit to give him a kiss. He meets you halfway, and honestly, if you thought that the cheering before was loud, it gets louder. You smile against his lips, and he can’t help but to let out a little laugh himself.

The two of you meet everyone else at the front of the stage, waving and pointing to the people you recognize from the betting room. At the end, the prep teams lead the way down to the front row of seats, leaving the middle just for you and Finnick. Very last, so she has the entire stage to herself, Annie raises from the ground.

The crowd stands, so you stand with them. You clap, and when Annie has made it to the top of the platform, you go ahead and whistle. You can’t imagine how lonely it is up there, being by herself. Suddenly you’re more appreciative of the fact that the gamemakers gave you an opportunity to go home with Finnick. Imagine standing on that stage, knowing it could have been two.

You squeeze Finnick’s hand a little harder.

Annie sits in the white chair, hands dipping into her pockets. She nonchalantly pulls out her string and messes with it while her recap begins to play. And since all recaps tell a story, hers is ‘lone survivor’. It’s not a happy tale, as it starts with teamwork. She watches Marsh get beheaded in front of her, but the room falls silent when she slits Geare’s throat, and then attacks Sanguin. The recap ends with her on the roof, announcing her own win.

Again, the anthem plays. Annie raises from her spot in her seat, as you all watch President Coriolanus Snow come out from the side, with a girl trailing behind him, carrying the crown on a pillow. He stops in front of Annie, at an angle so that the audience can see. He carefully picks up the crown before placing it on her brow.

He moves out of the way, cheering erupts all around you. Annie places one hand in her pocket, the one that was holding the rope, while she waves with the other. She looks naturally happy here, you wonder how you’ll break the news to her that she won’t have a moment to think to herself after this. You and Finnick won’t be allowed to stay near her the entire night, you’ve got people to talk to, yourselves.

Caesar finally wraps up the show, bidding you all a good night, with a reminder to tune into tomorrow’s final interview. It’ll be the last real time that they see Annie before the Victory Tour, as tomorrow the last glimpse the cameras will catch is her leaving the train station. After that, she’s in her own protective bubble, away from the cameras.

You all hurry to catch Annie behind the stage, singing praise to how well she did on stage, even if it was just sitting. She looked absolutely wonderful with the crown, Elysia doesn’t stop telling her that, even after you all get in the car. The ride to the Victory Banquet at the President’s Mansion is filled with pure instruction and warning.

“You’ll have a small bit of time to eat before you’re bombarded.” you say, watching as Elysia fixes little bits of Annie’s costume, “So, eat quickly and don’t grab rich foods that you know will make you sick.”

Finnick goes next, “They’re going to want conversation and pictures, so keep it brief and don’t stop smiling. If they offer you drinks, turn it down. There’s a hundred combinations they have, and not all of them are good.”

“We’ll come by every now and then to check on you. But we can’t stay the entire time.”

“You’ll do great.” Elysia assures her.

And just as promised, you leave Annie alone when you get there. Just like her, you and him don’t have much time to yourselves. So, you eat and talk at the same time, covering your mouth occasionally if you’re doing both. The food is rich, cooked perfectly, and delicious. Some food will melt in your mouth immediately, while others you have to chew it a few times before the flavor really kicks in. It’s a buffet, so just like this morning, there’s endless possibilities on what you can taste.

You and Finnick make your way around.

“About earlier, when you thank me for saving you--what were you thinking?” he asks, watching you.

You give him a smile, grabbing a bowl while you carefully spoon in a type of stew that smells savory. When you get the first taste of it, it’s not too thin, and it’s got a variety of spices, too many to think. It’s on the variety of overwhelming, but the thought of more makes your mouth water.

“When I stepped onto the platform, I remembered how I felt when I knew I’d be seeing you in mere minutes.” You look at him, “You were the first thing I asked for when I woke up, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, actually.” he smiles a bit, mirroring you, “If it makes you feel better, I asked if you were okay and alive.”

You laugh, he does too, “When I got on stage…” you quiet for a second, lowering the bowl, “I was relieved.”

“Me too.” Finnick says, “But I was also nervous about kissing you again.” you give him a look, “Honestly!”

“Right, Mister Casanova--”

“Oh, not this again.”

“--who had all the girls in high school wrapped around his finger--”

“(Y/n), it wasn’t like that.” his face is slowly turning red, adjusting his footing.

“--never had his first kiss before me? Okay.” you grin, watching him recollect himself.

As he takes deep breaths, the normal color of his face begins to return, “I never said that, all I said was that I was nervous to kiss you again. Because, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Go ahead and enlighten me.”

He tilts his head, making a ‘seriously’ face at you. You’re thoroughly enjoying this, watching him explain his feelings. If this is how he gets every single time, you think you’ll have to do it more often. Find the deep things that he hasn’t told you just yet, and watch him get flustered when you pretend not to know.

“You’re telling me that you didn’t notice I liked you? I walked you home after school, in the rain, snow, sun. My mom gave you cookies, (Y/n).” He says, and you have to pause to think.

“I just thought you were being friendly.”

“We hung out everywhere.” he emphasizes.

And you guess he’s right. You thought that you and him didn’t hang out that often, but it’s a lot more than you can recall off the top of your head. You were so preoccupied in your own little bubble, worried about things back home and how they would get done, to notice that he was always there.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” you tell him.

He shrugs, “I could always tell there was something on your mind.”

You smile.

Unfortunately, your time together, alone, ends there. You discard your plates and bowls in the proper places, knowing that you’ll be able to pick up more later if you have the time. For now, you talk to sponsors and important Capitol people. It’s mostly praise on how well your mentoring is, to get a tribute as dedicated as Annie is. But it’s also filled with pictures and polite smiles, pulling Finnick in close to join you.

There’s a few people that come around and tell you that they met you beforehand. Some of them you genuinely recognize, others aren’t as memorable, and you figure it’s because they came later. You remember all the faces blurring towards the end of the night. Mostly because they were drunk, dressed the same, and would talk the same before leaving.

You and Finnick work together to keep an eye on Annie. As far as you can tell, she’s holding up well. She seems like she’s comfortable, taking pictures and shaking hands. Elysia checks up on her first, and then comes around to you two to tell you that she’s feeling fine. About an hour later, you two become shields for her to allow her to recollect and start again.

She drinks water, you escort her to the bathroom, and help her pick out foods that will make her feel full. You vaguely know the tastes of all the food, and if you don’t, there’s papers that will tell her. Most of them are on point, some stray altogether. Annie seems to have fun, though, being able to pick her foods instead of having the Capitol regulate what she eats.

After that, you leave her again, wish her luck, and join Laurel and Elysia. They’re enjoying drinks with the prep team, who are all on the verge of making fools of themselves. Depending on the flavor of the alcohol, the color of the drink varies. You pick up a tall glass that fizzes that tastes like pineapple, lemon and orange. Finnick drinks a blue one that tastes like blueberries, blue raspberry and makes his face twist because it’s sour.

Some drinks go down like pure water, others make you pucker and cough from the intensity. Finnick will think that he’s strong enough to take on the drink that you just had, and then he’ll be subjected to the same burning sensation in his throat. You enjoy laughing at him after each time, until he finally learns his lesson.

As the night goes into morning, you and Finnick stop drinking and migrate around to say your goodbyes to as many people as you can before getting Annie with Elysia. All of you pile into the same car, where you’re brought to the Tribute Center. Immediately, Annie is brought to her room.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, just try and get some rest, okay?” you close her door, say goodnight to Elysia, and then you’re left with Finnick.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he asks, moving some hair out of your face.

“Yeah.”

You slowly undress, hanging the gold dress in the closet, dropping the shoes beneath it. In the bathroom, you shed every piece of jewelry into a single drawer, not caring whether or not it fits in. You don’t have to look good tomorrow, you won’t be on camera until you’re at the train station.

You clean your face, and meet Finnick in the bed. Slipping beneath the blankets, you lay on your back, closing your eyes as you allow the tension in your back and shoulders to escape you. Finnick comes into the room a couple of moments later, no longer wearing his suit, only his boxers.

He jumps onto the bed, making you bounce. You let out a laugh, watching him get under the blankets too. You let him pull you into his body, finding out that he’s a literal furnace. You’re not sure you’ll last too long with the blankets if he’s producing this much heat. Either way, you wrap yourself around him, feeling him pull you against his body.

“I’m so fucking tired.” he says.

“Me too.” you briefly squeeze him, “We’ll be home soon.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “You smell nice.”

“So do you.”

He lets out a half-laugh, before the two of you fall into silence. And eventually, sleep.

The morning is chaotic, as you have to move quickly to get ready this morning. Finnick brought in clothes last night to change into this morning. So, while he gets dressed, you briefly pull on a shirt and shorts before going out to eat breakfast with Annie and Elysia.

Annie’s only given so much time. She practically inhales the stew and rice, not having any time to properly enjoy it before the prep team is appearing. Laurel isn’t here just yet, as always. On the way out of the room, Annie picks up a buttered roll on the way out, waving to you and Finnick. She disappears in the hallway, you can hear her door shut.

You and Finnick don’t have a load of time, either. But you’re still allowed to eat slowly and properly savor the taste. When you’re done, you tell Elysia that you’ll be out before Annie starts her interview, and then Finnick goes to grab today’s clothes. You disappear into your room.

You take a shower, which entails washing your hair and your body. You should’ve done it last night, but you were far too tired to actually do it. When you step out, the machines dry you from head to toe, hair included. You pull on skin-matching underwear, and then pull your hair half-up, letting the rest be down like normal.

Makeup isn’t a number one priority, so you settle for mascara. Cameras aren’t going to be focusing on you, as you said. Finnick is sitting in front of the window when you get back inside of your room. He briefly looks over his shoulder to see you, and then back out at the city. The sun is nowhere to be seen, even though it’s past afternoon time by now.

You get dressed in ripped black jeans and a pink shirt. The tennis shoes are also black, the ring blends in slightly, which is the good news. The bad is that you and Finnick are almost matching, because of the shirt he’s wearing. But instead of telling him to get changed, you sit on the bed and pull on your tennis shoes. The city looks fairly alive, considering that Annie will be on television in less than a half hour.

“I’ve been thinking.” Finnick says, you hum, not moving from your spot on the bed, “It wasn’t me that saved you.”

Your eyebrows draw in, “What?”

“It was you who saved me.”

“Finnick, you know how dumb you sound right now, right?” you start, “You saved me from dying--twice! You saved me from the stab wound, and then kept me from falling over the edge of the cliff.”

“But you’re the one who got us to the cliff in the first place. You knew that running headfirst into the careers would get us killed. You were the one that kept pushing on even though you were physically dying--”

“Which wouldn’t have been possible without you healing me!” you say.

“And you were there the entire time during the victory tour.” Finnick’s voice gets quieter, “You held my hand the entire time. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through.”

You get off the bed and sit next to Finnick, taking his hand in yours. You say nothing, leaning your head against his shoulder. The two of you sit like this for a while, watching the cars dart around in the streets until you have to get up and be there for Annie’s interview.

It’s pretty uniform. You, Elysia and Finnick stand in the doorway, behind the cameras but Annie can still see you if she looks over. Caesar starts off slow for her, cracking jokes and keeping topics light. There’s a few questions he has to ask, which make your hands curl into fists, nervous if this will be what makes her break down. Especially the question about leaving Sanguin alive.

But Annie eases right through it, “I didn’t have to kill her, so I didn’t.” and then moves onto the next question without blinking an eye. It works like this, her answers are informative enough to make sure that Caesar can’t press on, but vague enough to not dig up memories. You’re proud of her.

It goes on for a little while more, as the questions have no set direction. You know that when he’s asking about the end, it’s almost over. So, you cross your arms, watching and listening to Caesar propose the question.

“When you saw the water coming, what was your intention, exactly?”

Annie pauses for a moment, drawing her lips inward, and then she lets out a smile, “I was trying to run for as long as possible before I had to get into the water. I ran straight, because zig-zagging would only slow me down. And the further I ran, the more the height of the water, and really the intensity, started to lower.

“I got on the roof because I knew that it would be easier to swim to the top of the water from halfway, rather than the bottom. And the pressure at the bottom might have been too much for my ears. I waited until the water was right in front of me before I dived in, so that the impact wouldn’t shock me. At the top, all I had to do was coast and wait until something happened.” Annie finishes, playing with her fingers.

“So, you didn’t anticipate winning?” Caesar asks.

“No, I thought that the other tributes might have been somewhere safe already. That the water would eventually lower, and I’d go right back to trying to survive.”

Caesar smiles, “Which is why the announcement came as a shock.”

Annie smiles back, “Yeah.”

The interview is over. Caesar wraps it up, and the cameras are off. You can hear laughing, watching people hug. Annie raises from where she sat on her chair, and comes over to you and Finnick.

“Home?” She asks hopefully.

“Home.” you repeat.

Just before you all leave for the train, you collect anything that you might want out of your room. You find that the clothes you wore during the reaping are nicely folded and placed on the edge of your bed. You pick it all up, holding it against your chest when you meet Finnick in the hallway, looking the exact same way that you do.

You all meet in the front room together, where you go downstairs and out onto the street to see cars with blackened windows. Together, you, Finnick, Annie, Elysia and Laurel fit into a large car. Where you all assure Annie that she looks great, and that she answers her questions like she should’ve.

She gets a brief moment to say goodbye to Laurel, hugging her and thanking her for everything that she’s done so far. After that, you’re all brought onto the train station, where Annie waves goodbye for a couple of seconds, and then you’re inside, and the doors have closed.

“Holy shit.” you let out, stretching your arms above your head, “Glad that’s over.”

The entire train is dark for a couple of seconds, as you pass through the tunnel on the way out. As soon as light has filled the windows again, Elysia is bringing you all to the dining room to eat. It’s a big dinner, with plenty of courses. Annie seems to have it down by now, and she lasts all the way to the end before she’s full. You and Finnick picked at what you wanted, finishing up with the chocolate lava cake and ice cream.

After, you all sit on the couch together to watch a replay of the interview. Every now and then, Annie will admit how she was thinking of saying something else, and then will tell you what she could’ve said instead. Some of it is letting the audience down more slowly, other times it’s straight-forward and almost out-of-character. Like she’s trying to purposely provoke the Capitol into having an interaction.

When it’s over, you’re left to entertain yourselves. Annie says that she’s heading right to bed, and you and Finnick figure that it won’t hurt to do the same. However, neither of you are tired. For a while, you swing in Finnick’s hammock, talking to him about the boarding school and the schedule, how you’ll fit him in and what the teens will benefit from it.

“You think your brothers will kill me tomorrow?”

“We’ll just barely step off the platform and you’ll be dead.” you laugh, “You have no chance of even making it back home.”

“I think I can run fast.”

You look over your shoulder, through the holes of the rope at Finnick, who’s watching you. You tilt your head, amused by the thought of him managing to outrun Reed, “I don’t think you’ll make it ten feet. He’ll just jump at you. What will you do then?”

Finnick sputters out a laugh, “Jump out of the way, easy peasy.”

You laugh a little too loud, covering your mouth. When you settle, you say; “I think they’ll be happy to see you again.”

You can hear Finnick get up, and you watch as he comes closer, standing next to you. He takes your hand in his, squeezing it, “Good, because I don’t plan on going away ever again.”

You give Finnick a soft smile, “I know.”

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair redamancy #redamancy #redamancy chapter nine

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Mature

Warning: Mention of whipping

A/N: My thanks to @everlarkficexchange ; @javistg and @xerxia31 for allowing me to go way over the deadline. It was a real struggle but I’m so excited I finally have something post-worthy. My apologies to the 2 anons who have been so patiently waiting for their prompts to be turned into stories. I hope you like what I’ve written. A special thank you to @sunsetsrmydreams. This story would be nothing without you.

~~~

Chapter 1

“Trust me.”

I did. I trusted Katniss with my life, and so it seemed at the time…with my impending death.

After everything we both went through to survive, enduring the pain and horrors only The Hunger Games could bring, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

The Capitolites craved this abhorrent form of entertainment and under the watchful and devious eye of President Coriolanus Snow, thrilled at the sight of children kill and be killed.

As it was in previous games, once the first wave of bloodshed was spilled, tributes from Districts 1 and 2 formed packs like wolves and hunted down the weak and vulnerable one by one before turning on themselves until only one was left standing.

The Victor.

All this savagery was broadcasted live each year across Panem in all its goriest detail and deemed mandatory viewing for every citizen.

Through it all, Katniss and I beat the odds and fought our way out of the gruesome web the Gamemakers spun to be the last two remaining tributes from the same district. But I should have known better…should have never allowed myself to be duped into believing the odds would at last be in our favour.

All our valiant efforts to stay alive was thrown in our weary and battle-scared faces.

President Snow had no intention of honouring the change in rules by allowing both of us to live and for the first time in The Hunger Games infamous history, have two tributes jointly crowned as Victors. So when the words bellowed in the air announcing the revocation of those rules, it came as little surprise to me.

The promise of a peaceful life and all the wealth any citizen could ever want held no sway over me. Already knowing the odds would never be in my favour, I accepted my fate.

For as long as I could remember, it had always been a fanciful dream of mine to live a life with Katniss, if she would allow it. Dreaming of our toasting and the vows I would say to her as I broke a piece of bread I baked myself and brought it to her sweet mouth. The feel of her soft body as we made love for the first time, even as far as raising a family of our own someday was a stupid pipedream, and I foolishly clung onto it all. Any hope of it becoming a reality was ripped from my grasp and shattered into a million pieces.

The choice was a simple one. When we were reaped, I vowed to do everything I could to protect Katniss even if it meant sacrificing my own life so she could live. I had no chance of winning and besides…no one needed me back home. But it became apparent Katniss had other ideas.

“Together?”

The sound of her voice echoing my question came as a soft whisper and in that moment we understood each other. If we couldn’t leave the arena together, then we would die…together.

In the face of death itself, that one singular word gave me a strange sense of calm and peace.

“One.”

Starting off the count knowing how little time I had left in this cruel and merciless world, the chance to tell Katniss what I’ve always felt in my heart was before me…and quickly ticking by.

“Two.”

I inhaled a deep breath sure the words would flow but instead my voice fell silent. Time was clearly against me but how many words would I need to express what Katniss meant to me?

In the precious dying second, my hand as if possessed with a will of its own, reached for her braid. This was something I had always longed to do and if I couldn’t say those words to Katniss, then I hoped she would feel them through this one innocent touch.

I would have given anything to sketch those steel grey eyes staring back at me. A chance to kiss her deeply and unravel her braid as I gently combed my fingers through the silky dark tresses the way I hoped she would like. Just one last chance to watch over her as she slept soundly in my arms and whisper the words she should have heard me say years ago.

But this was the cruel reality I was faced with and the closest thing I would ever get to realising any part of my dream. And I made sure not to let that final moment between us slip by.

“Three.”

I focused on the only image I would take with me into the darkness…her eyes.

Slowly, we brought the handful of poison berries to our lips, ready to end this before the Gamemakers took the choice away from us when the deafening sound of Claudius Templesmith’s desperate shout rang out from the hidden audio speakers, freezing us both from any further movement.

“STOP! STOP! STOP”

…and so we did.

***

All that seems like a lifetime ago instead of weeks. The Hunger Games, The Victory Tour and everything in between changed after the cameras finally stopped rolling and we boarded the train for home. And as we sped closer to District 12, Katniss began to withdraw from me and eventually shut me out completely and it confused me.

What did I do to make her feel so indifferent towards me?

Those lonely nights on the train were the hardest to deal with. Sleeping without Katniss beside me was a new torture all on its own but it was what she wanted. I guess in the end, conscience got the better of her and I was finally put out of my misery with the hurtful truth.

It was an act…a show that Katniss and our mentor Haymitch Abernathy devised to fool the Capitol into believing we were star-crossed lovers desperate to be together even in death, only it was me who was completely fooled.

But their plan worked, and it kept us both alive. The cave…the embraces…the whispered words…all those kisses were just part of the act and she wanted to forget them all…but I didn’t.

When we finally arrived home, the citizens of Twelve were all at the train station to welcome us home. To my astonishment, they were cheering us both as heroes. Perhaps they too, were acting in front of the cameras. But as soon as the scripted speeches were done and the crowd slowly dispersed taking Katniss and her family along with it, the finality of it all hit home.

I was alone.

***

Living in the Victor’s Village was a new start. But even in our proximity, Katniss avoided having any sort of contact with me. I tried my best not to let it affect me, but the hurt I felt inside festered like an open wound.

I missed her so much.

At first, I blamed myself for Katniss distancing herself from me. She said she wanted to forget and maybe I reminded her too much of the arena and the nightmares those memories brought her.

But I had nightmares too.

Hearing her screams in the dead of night will haunt me forever and even now, it takes all my willpower to stop myself from crashing through her front door and rushing to her side.

She doesn’t need me.

At first, I thought time alone would help her figure things out in her head and I of all people, understood. But time wasn’t what she needed. I finally came to terms with what was real.

Gale Hawthorne had been her choice all along.

***

As one lonely day slowly creeps into the next, working in my family’s bakery has been my saving grace, helping me cope with my new life a little more each day. With both Bran and Rye learning new trades from the Merchant businesses they successfully married into, it left my father with no resources to help run the bakery, making me his only viable option.

The strain showed on his face and although dad would never admit to it, especially in front of my mother, I knew he needed my help desperately. So, when I suggested I could work in the bakery for a few hours each day, he accepted my offer in a heartbeat. In an odd kind of way, it felt good to be needed even if I was being used to keep our family business afloat.

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Understandably, my older brothers were quick to register their new living and working arrangements at the Justice Building, automatically forsaking any claims of inheritance or ownership of the bakery. But it was a small price to pay as far as they were concerned, if it meant being free from under our mother’s thumb.

So, technically speaking I am now part-owner of the Mellark Bakery with all rights and privileges bestowed to any Merchant business holder, making mother my employee.

An ironic twist in fate.

***

Safely hidden in the darkness of my own room, my racing heart begins to calm after waking from my usual nightmare. As it is on most nights, my first compelling impulse is to rush towards the opened bedroom window and look in the direction of her room and breathe out a sigh of relief when I see her.

“It’s okay…just another bad dream…she’s safe,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the shadowy figure pacing the floor from across the way. Even in the darkness of her room, I would recognise her silhouette anywhere and she’s becoming alarmingly thinner by the day.

Katniss always leaves her lamp on during the night because she fears being left in the dark. Her phobia started soon after her father’s tragic death in the mines and the thought of him being buried alive in the explosion has left her emotionally scarred. At least that’s what she told me once before she drifted off to sleep in my arms.

Now, each night I watch on helplessly as Katniss paces her room. When I leave my house in the early hours of the morning for the bakery I try so hard not to look, but it only takes two steps outside my front door before my eyes dart towards her dimly-lit bedroom. She’s always there. Standing at her window, sleepless, anxiously twirling her messy braid around her fingers. When she spots me, she’s quick to move from sight.

I tell myself I must be imagining it, but I swear I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as I walk along the pathway, towards the gate. But I won’t allow myself to turn around and see if I’m right. She’s probably glad to see me leave while she waits for Gale Hawthorne to arrive.

It’s no secret Gale and Katniss are together now. My mother takes great pleasure in reminding me of this fact.

“Stop pinning over that Seam trash! She used you! It’s a known fact what she does with that Hawthorne boy in those woods. She’s probably carrying his brat inside of her. Time to get on with your own life and find a wife to help you in the bakery…a nice Merchant girl…someone pure like Delly Cartwright. She’s smart, pretty, comes from a respectable family. Those qualities are a rarity. Delly’s the perfect choice for you.”

Choice. Why do I always cringe when I hear that word?

I can’t continue to ignore the facts before me. Katniss hates me. She spends every Sunday with Gale sneaking off to the woods for hours. When they return, he stays at her house until late and the curtains in her bedroom which are usually left open even during the night, are drawn until he leaves.

I’m surprised Mrs Everdeen who was brought up with Merchant values would allow such a thing, but I guess after watching us in the cave during The Games and The Victory Tour, she’s not troubled by it now and happily overlooks her daughter’s lack of propriety because it’s with Gale Hawthorne after all.

I’m sure to hear the announcement of their toasting soon.

I need to keep reminding myself what Katniss does with her life is none of my business. What made me think it ever was? She’s clearly moved on with her life and maybe it’s time I thought about doing the same with mine.

For once my mother may have a point.

tbc…

#Springtime Edition 2020 #submission #justajjfan #prompt 116

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

Photo

Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire

3 In Mockingjay ( and Some)

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES. ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek)

Here is a sort form of the Kisses.

The Hunger Games

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games)

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here)

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one)

5. Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return.

7. Katniss just wants the Games to End and they Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more.

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss.

12. They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food.

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do what you want

14. So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone

15. This one is when they Both said listen if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss.

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the rewatch of the games

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras. and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden. She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured. And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie.

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies

7. The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one)

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t have as many kisses).

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two

Now Bonus ones

1. Catching Fire After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.

so grand total is 30 kisses on all platforms the books and the movies.

So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too

1. The surprise Kiss From Gale That snow knew about

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses Katniss on the Cheek

Bonus ones

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena,

So their grand total is 6...

In the Hunger Games ( Book)

Chapter 5 But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 19,

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand, “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit)

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss)

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22 ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in)

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

Chapter 23

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.

Chapter 26.

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27.

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home.

Chapter 9 I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says.

Chaper 11 Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11 They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon

Chapter 19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20 Cpr is a kind of kissing

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales Kisses will be added below

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

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southsidestory · 4 years

Text

Caged

RATING: Explicit

FANDOM: Hunger Games

SHIP: Odesta

WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, drug use, forced sex work

SUMMARY: Annie’s Victory Tour brings her to the Capitol, with Finnick at her side. He did his job as her mentor when he got her out of the arena, but he can’t look after her anymore. All he can do is play the part Snow has given him. It’s almost simple now, posing for the cameras and obeying his patrons, all with a smile on his face. Pretending is so easy that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. But Annie might be able to remind him.

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With his lips closed, Dionysus looks plain by Capitol standards. Pasty skin, undyed and free of tattoos. Short brown hair, black shoes, dark suit. Colorless, except for the trio of yellow tablets in his palm. My throat itches to swallow down the promise they hold, but I have two questions that need answering.

First: “Will I be able to fuck?”

The dealer laughs, revealing a mouth full of gold and gems. “Like a damn rabbit,” Dionysus says.

Second: “I want to feel nothing, but a good nothing. Can this do that?”

Sapphires flash on his eye teeth. “You’ll see nirvana,” he promises.

I don’t know what that is, or where it might be, but any place would be better than this one.

Red. That’s all I see, at first. Waves and folds of the color spilling down the length of Annie’s skirt. Six feet of fabric fans out behind her, but the top of the dress is spare, sheer wisps that cling to her breasts and shoulders and throat.

“Inspired,” says Sabina. “Her stylist has an eye for drama.”

Her stylist will be lucky to have eyes at all when I’m done with him.

I take a flute of turquoise champagne from a passing Avox’s tray. It tastes like turpentine and sugar, the medicine that District Four mothers force down their children’s sore throats. I drink three glasses in ten minutes. Red still bleeds along the edges of my vision, and no matter where I turn, there’s Annie. Trussed up for Capitol appetites, tribute all over again. When I reach for another glass Sabina touches her too-long nails to my wrist. Tap, tap: bad dog. She kisses me, tongue sour blue slick, and I imagine what a senator’s wife might look like if three weeping mouths opened in the middle of her chest.

Something tugs at my shirt sleeve, jealous but gentle. Annie, drowning in all that District One silk.

“I need you,” she says. Splattered droplets dot her left cheek, a constellation of freckles that shine crimson-wet in the low light.

“Everyone needs me tonight.”

Sabina laughs and Annie pulls away, so I know I've said the wrong thing. That’s what happens when I put pills in my mouth; nothing but mistakes come out.

I say, “Teenage girls,” and give my date a knowing smile. Let her read what she wants into that.

Sabina twines her fingers around my arm and leans in close, smug and conspiratorial. “My daughter’s at that age now. It’s all me, me, me! And they want everything immediately. Nothing pleases them…”

How this is any different from the rest of the Capitol I can’t guess, but I let her go on, nodding and humming my sympathy where appropriate. Oh yes, they’re selfish little brats. Ungrateful, never satisfied. When Sabina pauses to sample a canapé I say how much I hate to leave her for even a moment, but I am Annie’s mentor. Duty calls and all that.

Sabina frowns prettily. “I hope you're this dedicated in all of your pursuits.”

She should know the answer to that already. This isn’t our first date. Still, I feed her a stock innuendo about finishing the things I start.

“Go on then, but be back soon!”

I find my tribute talking to the light crew. A woman with tattooed vines climbing the side of her shaved head shows Annie how to hold a sheet of foil. It’s a clever way to hide from the cameras and I wish I’d thought of it first. Too late for that, because Annie turns her silver shield, and then there’s a lens blinking closer to my well-lit face.

“Perfect,” says Vines. “You’re a natural.”

Annie shakes her head. “No. He’s just an easy target.”

I duck into the bright circle of the light crew’s equipment before the cameras can focus. The heat feels artificial, claustrophobic, like the solar beds my stylist makes me visit. Annie returns the foil to Vines and thanks her for the lesson. I can’t breathe again until there’s ten feet between me and the clicking insect sound of mechanical eyes.

“I thought you were busy,” Annie says. Her voice is so light and casual that, if I didn’t know her, I’d have no idea that she’s annoyed.

“I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

Annie shrugs. “You never mean anything you say in the Capitol.”

Sometimes I forget how much she sees, this girl who’s turned my world upside down in six months. “Where are your tokens?”

Annie grasps at the place over her heart where two sea glass pendants always rest. She looks mildly surprised to catch only empty air between her fingers. “Vibius wouldn’t let me wear them. Said the colors...” She shakes her head, the way you would to get water out of your ears after swimming. “I’m hungry.”

But when I follow her to a banquet table she doesn’t eat a bite. Instead, she stacks gingerbread cubes around a pink chocolate fountain.

“Who’s your date?” she asks.

“Senator Wexler’s wife,” I say.

Annie never looks up, too busy skewering blueberries on toothpicks. She sticks them in the topmost layer of her curtain wall, like heads on neighboring spikes. Two by two by two. Then she says, “Doesn’t the senator mind?”

“Only that he couldn’t come with us.”

Annie tips over the fountain, and chocolate bursts through her gingerbread dam. It creeps along the aisle of white cloth and drips onto the floor. Part of me wants to scold her, because some Avox will have to clean all this up after the party. I don’t, though, because I know how everything shifts after the Games. You might leave the arena, but it comes with you all the same. Alliances replace friendships. Sleep never really comes easy again, because too many things are still awake in the dark. Survival is tangled up with fighting, hurting, killing, and sometimes you need small destructions just to breathe.

“Dance with me,” Annie says.

The train on that fucking dress is longer than she is. “How could I, with you in that?”

I laugh. Everything and nothing seems funny at the same time. Annie jumps a little when I finger one of the slivers of silk covering her chest. Vibius didn’t leave much to the imagination, so I can see the shape of her. Small teardrop breasts, narrow shoulders, long waist. Her nipples peak beneath the fabric.

Somewhere in my periphery a camera flashes.

“Stop,” Annie says, and I want to shake her. That word doesn’t mean anything in this city. A victor should understand the rules by now.

I trace her collarbone. We’re too far away for Sabina to see us, but even if she does it won’t matter. This is what they want me to be.

The preps painted Annie’s lips too, and it makes her look like a working girl. Ripe apple mouth ready to be plucked. If I could I’d spit on a napkin and wipe it all away, same as my mother used to do to get dirt off my face.

She leans into my touch and asks, “Why are you with that woman?”

“Because she can afford my company.”

Annie’s red, red mouth frowns, but I simply smile and step away, tell her to eat something and enjoy the party.

Sabina welcomes me with a soft hello peck to my cheek. I turn it into more, the kind of wet, deep kiss that decent folk back home wouldn’t dream of doing in public. But that’s how I like it, even if I can hear the cameras snapping behind and beside and in front of me. Pretending is so easy that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

These sounds are almost lost beneath the snap of handcuffs closing: footsteps, a full skirt whispering across the floor, the creak of hinges.

The manacles lock around my wrists, pulling my arms taut, stretching until my shoulders lift from the bed and I can feel the blades angling outward. Like clipped wings opening, Sabina said, the first time she bought me. A caged bird poised to take flight. Now she leans forward and bites my neck, just hard enough to mark. It’s always hard enough to mark with Sabina, whether she uses teeth or nails or the back of her hand.

I hear feather-light fabric brushing the carpet, then see something in the gap between door and frame. The briefest flash of red silk. There, then gone.

Sabina strikes me hard on the cheek. Pain vibrates through my jaw and up the side of my face. Stars burst behind my eyes, then in front of them, but I don’t feel distant or dizzy. Everything becomes sharper, brighter. Needles made of sunlight prick my vision, highlighting it all with stinging intensity. If I ever come down I’m going to kill Dionysus for selling me those three little pills the color of daffodils. He promised oblivion but gave me this instead. With every blow the room grows brighter, until all I see is Sabina, haloed in white.

Her mouth closes over me, warm and soft, drawing out all the things I don’t want to give. Then she’s straddling my lap, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. Ten welts spring beneath her touch, bright as pink ribbons down my chest. It’s winter everywhere but between her legs, and there she’s fever hot. Cold snakes down my throat, chokes and burrows inside me until it’s snowing under my skin.

“Finnick,” she hisses. I grip the bedposts and snap my hips up to meet her. I’m shaking from the chill air, the pleasure where a warm body takes mine in and the pain everywhere else. I don’t stop, not until she arches and trembles, mouth open on a whiny cry.

One beat, two, and she climbs off. Leaves me aching, tied up, and filthy while she saunters to the bathroom to refresh herself.

The haze clears, unfreezes, and I remember where I’ve seen red silk tonight.

I scrub until the scratch marks on my chest reopen and the water blushes down the drain, washing away smudged makeup and sweat, fresh blood and Sabina’s come. Not mine, and even though I’m half-hard, I’m mostly thankful. Dates are always worse when a client makes me finish. Steam fills the shower stall, wet and suffocating. Flash-bulbs go off behind my closed eyelids and all I can hear is the endless snapping of camera shutters. I sit on the tile floor, head between my knees, until the water grows cold.

After I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on the tight blue pants from my date with Sabina and go to Annie’s room. I don’t knock, and when I step inside she jumps. Her dress is curled up in the corner, wilting. All those red folds remind me of a rose, so I turn away. Free of make-up, Annie’s face shines brown and clean. Dark waves fall limply around her cheeks, weighted and damp. By the way she holds the robe over her breasts I can tell she’s not wearing much underneath.

Good. I hope she feels naked. Exposed and vulnerable, like I do.

“You watched us.”

Annie sits on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up close to her body. She whispers an apology I can’t stand to hear.

“Don’t,” I say. She flinches and grasps the sea glass tokens around her neck. Her eyes dart away, focusing on some point along the baseboard.

“Look at me.” I kneel on the floor before her, too close to be ignored. “You didn’t have any trouble looking before.”

The only small mercy I can find is that Annie left before Sabina actually fucked me. But she saw me handcuffed to the bed, and that’s bad enough.

Annie bites her bottom lip, and for a moment all I can see is this same skittish girl, more innocent and less broken, on a different train, blushing under my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “When I saw you leaving with that woman—I didn’t really think, I just wanted to know what was so special about her. So I followed you.”

I thought she wanted to see me, and I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s a good thing that she didn’t want a peep show, that she ran off before she saw the main event. A good thing—but it still pisses me off.

I wrap my hands around her calves and slide down, thumbs grazing the soft skin of her inner ankles.

“Finnick?” Her lips linger on the sound, not quite closing over the question she’s made of my name.

“Open your legs,” I tell her. Because whatever she’s asking, this is the only answer I have to give.

Annie’s breath hitches. She trembles all the way down to her toes, but she’s warm, my girl. I brought her home and that makes Annie mine. She belongs to me in the same way I belong to my sponsors.

When she doesn’t move, I kiss the inside of her right knee, flicking my tongue over a new scar there—a pretty pink thing that’s cropped up since her Games—until her legs shake and unlock. Just as she falls open and willing below the waist, Annie clutches the collar of her robe even more tightly, keeping it closed to me.

Eighteen isn’t so young, I remind myself. Not here, not in this place.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all I need.

Beads of moisture cling to the dark curls between her legs. She smells like the Capitol, flowers and spun sugar, but when I put my mouth there all I taste is salt and wet and girl. Her hands scramble for purchase, first on the covers, then in my hair, and she pulls with more strength than I expected. Not as sharply as Sabina, but enough to smart. That’s been done to me so many times that I know it means more and now and harder—though by the way Annie’s thumb brushes over my cheek, I think it might also mean please.

No, eighteen isn’t too young for this, but I might be.

I can feel her looking: eyes on me, on my body, on the things I’m doing. Just like before, when she peeked into that bedroom and watched Sabina getting her money’s worth, and it stirs something ugly and angry in the pit of my stomach. So I pull away, let my mouth part from her with a goodbye kiss cruel enough to make her whine and tug on my hair, to say my name again. No question this time, just a soft plea.

I’m sick of being on my knees, and really, there’s no reason I can’t do what I want. No reason at all. When I stand, Annie’s eyes go to my chest, flickering across the stripes Sabina’s fingernails left behind. I strip off my pants, and her gaze lowers, lingers.

Beneath the robe I find her pliant and panting. Skin damp, nipples hard, breath coming fast and shallow. Greedy, grasping, her touch falls with selfish hunger, and in this Annie isn’t unlike my other lovers. Long legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her. She’s warm and wet, whimpering in a way that might sound pitiful if it wasn’t making me so hard. I press against her, teasing. Those little mewling noises grow stronger, tighten together into a full-throated moan.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Annie shakes her head, then says, “Almost, once, but…”

Her eyes go distant, and she’s about to slip away from me. Retreat to some inner place where her district partner still lives and loves, but I’m not going to let her mind wander, not now when our bodies are tangled up together. I kiss her, our first, and that’s so backwards that I almost laugh.

Beneath my mouth Annie takes a deep, gasping breath. Then she peppers kisses everywhere she can reach. My brow, both cheeks, the tip of my nose. My lips, again and again. The curve from shoulder to neck and the hollow between my collarbones. When her quick tongue darts out to trace the shell of my ear, I shudder. The drugs must have finally worn off, because I feel myself warming for the first time tonight. “Finnick,” she whispers. “I love you—”

I can’t stand to hear that, not from Annie. So I kiss her quiet, slip a hand between her thighs, and slide two fingers inside of her.

“You’re wetter than home,” I say, and it’s true. More so when I curl my fingers, beckoning her forward—closer to me, closer to coming. “Were you like this in the ballroom, when I touched you?”

“Yes?” It comes out a question, eager but unsure. Annie’s not fluent in pillow talk, and something about that sends a jolt through me. All at once I want her, need to fuck her like I’ll die if I don’t. Under me she’s subtle curves and rocking warmth. Open legs, cradling my hips as I push inside—and then I feel her. Tight, slick heat, stretched around my cock, gripping me, pulling me in.

Annie whimpers, but whether that sound is pained or pleased I’m not sure, can’t tell and barely care. “Yes,” she says, even though I never asked. Why didn’t I ask?

In the beginning I go gentle and steady. Then I slow our rhythm, stretch out the slide of skin on skin, and tell her to beg. Love me becomes have me, you can have me becomes fuck me.

For a moment all I can feel are handcuffs snapping closed, grabbing fingers and greedy cunt. I’m angry all over again but still aching, and Annie knows, because her hands untangle from my hair and dart down to cover her ears. But I catch her wrists, drag them over her head and let my weight do the rest.

I spread her arms apart, wide as they’ll go. Pinned, she’s a butterfly behind glass, pretty and splayed. Annie must like being caged better than I do, because soon she shivers beneath me, coming and crying at once. Back arched, small breasts thrust forward, toes curled and legs taut; she’s lovely like this and so tight it almost hurts.

On the low tide of our touch she says those three unwanted words, passes them from her mouth to mine like a hard candy secret.

“Don’t,” I say.

The camera loves me too. I’m sick to death of love.

But then my climax creeps up on me, sharp and sweet, and I can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but Annie beneath me, her body tight and wet around mine.

In the soft moment right after, I feel something new. A warmth, quiet and gentle, as Annie looks up at me with heavy-lidded green eyes. That love she promised is raw and open as a wound.

It’s terrifying. And tempting, which is the scariest part of all.

The knot around her throat unties easily, and I take a green sea glass token with me when I go. It’s all she has left of the boy who loved her, who died at her side. Stealing it is cruel, but I don’t do it out of spite or jealousy. The reason is simple: my patrons always pay, and Annie is no exception.

#odesta #odesta fanfiction #odesta fic #odesta fanfic #finnick odair #annie cresta #thg #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fic

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redshirtgal · 3 years

Photo

As mentioned in our previous article, our Transportation Assistant Ensign Wilson was played by Garland Lee Thompson, Sr. He was born in 1938 in Muskogee, Oklahoma but his family moved to Portland, Oregon when he was seven. It was during high school there that he discovered his love of theater and dance. At age 20, he moved to Los Angeles. His first movie part was that of a ceremonial dancer in the Roger and Hammerstein movie, South Pacific.

His dual talents in theater and dance paid off when he landed the part of Wilson in “The Enemy Within.” According to his son, Garland Thompson, Jr., there was no stuntman coordinator to block out the moves Thompson and Shatner would have to make during the fight scene between the two of them. Luckily, William Shatner had also studied dancing and the two of them went into a corner and choreographed the movements. By the time they were finished, the filming crew was ready to roll. Shatner and Thompson hit their marks perfectly, the scene was all done in one take, and the focus puller declared the film gate was clean. Which thrilled the crew because that meant everyone could eat an early lunch.

Garland Thompson performed on other television shows of the 60s such as The Lieutenant, Perry Mason and Bewitched. But he always preferred working on the stage. Even while he was on stage or before the camera, he still attended acting classes at various conservatories and workshops. The most influential of these was Frank Silvera’s Theatre of Being Workshop. Frank Silvera was an accomplished black actor in film and on the stage (his performance as King Lear in the Shakespeare play of the same name, directed by Joseph Papp, is still considered one of the best). Silvera started his workshop as a way of improving racial equality in the arts by providing instruction and support for young black actors. He also helped them attain membership in the actors’ unions and he created a theater where they could perform. Garland Thompson gave full credit to Silvera for helping him attain success as an actor, a playwright, and a theater producer. His mentor’s sudden death in 1970 at the age of 56 affected him deeply. (photo on left is Frank Silvera and on the right is a playbill from one of his productions. Note the names Isabell Sanford and Whitman Mayo)

Garland was already learning his way around and behind the stage as well as in front of it. He had served as the stage manager for Ray Bradbury’s plays in L.A. but then moved to New York to be the original stage manager and associate director for No Place to be Somebody by Charles Gordone on its first national tour as well as twice more during its run on Broadway. He also began to dabble in writing plays. This led him to realize how hard it was for black playwrights to have their plays produced. As a result, Garland Thompson decided to join actor/director Morgan Freeman, actress/director Billie Allen Henderson, and journalist/ theater critic to form the Frank Silvera’s Writers’ Workshop as a testament to his mentor and as a place for people of color to develop their play writing skills. He also served as its Executive Director. Within weeks, Garland was leading Monday night readings (and later Saturday night readings) along with critical discussions at the Martinique Theater in New York, one of many theaters that housed the Frank Silvera’s Writers workshop over the years. These readings were almost always packed. But they allowed budding playwrights a chance to hear their material read aloud for the first time and critiqued. Some rewrote their plays after the first presentation and brought them back to be read and critiqued a second time.

Over the years, around 20,000 scripts were written and read at the workshop. Thompson also helped writers get their scripts produced on stage, including Ntozake Shange’ and her award winning play For Colored Girls Who Have Consider Suicide, When the Rainbow is Enuf. Many of the students in the workshop also learned how to work backstage in largely unseen but very important duties, such as those involving lighting and sound. This gave them a more complete education in the theater arts. Garland Thompson even brought his own work in front of his students to be read and critiqued, then later produced. A playbill and a newspaper advertisement illustrate production details of two of his plays. Many major figures in Black Theater participated in several aspects of the workshop. These included Ruby Dee, Angela Bassett, Adolph Caesar. Morgan Freeman, Debbie Allen, Aduke Aremu, Samuel L. Jackson, LaTonya Richardson-Jackson, Phylicia Rashad, and Charles Dutton.

youtube

In early 1999, Inside New York (a local TV news magazine) interviewed Mr. Thompson about the reasons he and his cofounders believed a workshop for people of color to write and produce plays was necessary. Do yourself a favor and carve yourself out some time to watch it in its entirety. This man’s charisma was amazing as was his enthusiasm for helping young people of color enter the world of theater.

During his lifetime, Mr. Thompson worked with and often headed many other organizations devoted to Black Theater and received many honors in connection with them. He was the founding board member of the Harlem Arts Alliance and also served on the Board of Directors. In addition to being one of the founding members of the FSWW, he served as its director and was President of the Board of Directors of the FSWW Foundation, Inc. in 1981. The AUDELCO awards were created to promote "recognition, understanding, and awareness of the arts in the African-American community." Garland Thompson was given the Board of Directors Award in 1976 for superior and sustained contribution to community theater. He also earned another AUDELCO award in 1981 as the producer of Bessie Smith, Empress of the Blues. The photo above shows him along with two other recipients at the 1981 Awards. He also was the winner of the Washington D.C. One-Act Play Festival (according to the book Voices of Color) and the FSWW under his direction was awarded the Obie for playwrighting in 1989.

Garland also became involved in the National Black Theater Festival, starting with its second year. He set up and directed The Readers Theatre program, which grew and expanded over the years. He is shown above with his friend Ossie Davis, who was another major figure in Black Theater and who started the Festival’s first poetry slam in 2001.

(photo credit - Lia Chang)

Unfortunately, Garland Thompson suffered a serious fall in early November 2014 which resulted in being transported to the intensive care unit at Harlem Hospital. Unfortunately, he never regained consciousness and developed pneumonia and other serious conditions. He died on the 18th at age 76. Garland Thompson’s death was mourned by the Black Theater world. The first memorial devoted to his life and contributions was the addition of his life story to the “harlem is... Theater” Exhibition at New York’s Interchurch Center in December of 2015. Garland Lee Thompson Jr. is seen in the photo above in front of the the tribute to his father.

On February 12th of 2015, Representative Charles Rangel of New York gave a speech in front of the U.S. House of Representatives to celebrate the legacy of Garland Thompson. This speech became an official part of the Congressional Record. If you wish to read it, then click here: https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/CREC-2015-02-12/html/CREC-2015-02-12-pt1-PgE208-3.htm

Instead of a traditional funeral, there was a Three Act Performance Tribute, two of which were held on February 14th, which would have been Garland’s 77th birthday. The First Act was a Memorial held at St. James Presbyterian Church. In the photo above, Garland’s son (Garland Lee Thompson, Jr.) is holding a copy of the Congressional Record containing his father’s tribute along with a photo of his father. Act Two was a reception later that day at the Johnson Theater for the New City. Garland Lee Thompson, Jr. and Sean C. Turner hosted an afternoon of readings, poetry, and performances which ended with a celebration of Garland Sr.’s birthday. The final act was held in August of that year during Harlem’s National Black Theatre Festival. This is where Garland created the Readers Theater so Act III was a fitting final tribute to a man who had spent over 40 years teaching, encouraging, and nurturing writers and artists of color. His son Garland Thompson, Jr., is a noted playwright, actor, cinematographer, poet, director and producer, although he has worn many, many other hats in the arts over the years. Since 2008, he has been the Coordinator for the Poetry Out Loud recitation contest for high school students in Monterey County, California (this is part of a national contest funded by the National Endowment of the Arts) and hosts the Rubber Chicken Open Mic and Poetry Slam at the East Village Coffee Lounge in Monterey (which he co-founded 14 years ago). In 2014 he took over running his father’s Frank Silvera’s Writers’ Workshop in New York.

#Star Trek TOS #Redshirt #Garland Lee Thompson #Frank #Silvera's Writer Workshop #National Black Theater Festival #The Readers Theatre #Ensign Wilson

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

Not Your Hero. Chapter 1

Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four

AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation

Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner

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You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.

Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.

If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?

“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.

Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”

“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.

“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”

You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.

“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”

It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.

Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.

“Do you know his name?” He asked.

You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”

You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.

“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”

“Who?”

“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.

You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”

Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?

-----------------

Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.

“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”

“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.

“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”

“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.

“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”

“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”

Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.

“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.

Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”

Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”

“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.

She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”

------------------

Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.

While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”

“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”

Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.

“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”

“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”

Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.

“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”

Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”

There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.

“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out

“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”

“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.

Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;

“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.

Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.

Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.

At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.

You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.

“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.

You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”

You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.

“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.

Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.

He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”

At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.

“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.

You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.

“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”

Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.

“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”

You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”

And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.

If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.

“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.

The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”

“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”

“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.

“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”

Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”

Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”

Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.

“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.

“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”

“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”

Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.

“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”

--------------------------

Tag list: @i-love-you-green, @heatherhollowayst

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babieyangyang10 · 4 years

Text

violent ends (chapter 12)

(chapter 12)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairings: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: lots of kissing, mentions of killing, description of injuries

previous | next

Athena's POV

It took a while for Jisung's quiet sniffles to fade the night of Chenle's death. By the time Mark and I had made our way back, Jaemin and Jisung had found out the news after they saw his face among the dead in the sky. Honestly, it was almost easier for Jisung to find out that way. I know Mark was in too much pain to tell him. As for me, I don't know how I could bare to look him in those innocent eyes and tell him either. As expected, he took it pretty hard. I mean, he was his best friend. He literally cried so much, that he eventually became exhausted and fell asleep.

I took the first watch, since Mark looked like he needed rest as well. The only other person who was still up was Na Jaemin.

"What are you thinking about?" Just like when we were alone in the first days, his head was resting on my lap.

"Jeno, Renjun, and the District 5 girl are the only ones left other than us." I point out.

Focusing on the positives, he replies, "Okay, well I'm guessing they'll go after her for us, since she's alone. Hopefully, they'll kill each-other. If not, we'll do it."

My voice was in a small whisper, "And then?"

He's silent.

I know District 2 is watching me right now. The same district that attachment is only necessary when it pertains to something you need. Once you have gotten what you've needed, you have to detach yourself. Almost like how a leech sucks enough blood until their fulfilled, then falls off on their own free will.

These people have given me my fill. Mark and Jisung took Jaemin and I in, even after Jaemin was injured. However, now we are both healthy as can be. As they sleep in front of me, what is stopping us from running away or even just killing them? Friends. Something I never had before. I never understood it until now. How it means that even though I'm full, I feel obligated to them too. To give just as much as they gave me.

But they are right. This is what they warned us about. This obligation will keep me captive. Let's say that we do all make it to the end together. Even so, the games will continue until a single victor. It happens every time.

The longest was the 25th games, it lasted for a total of twenty-seven days. This year the Districts had chosen the children of their mayors. Because of growing up wealthy and sheltered, none of the kids knew anything about fighting.

So they didn't. Half of them were wiped out by vicious mutations on the third day, then eventually others by starvation. However, the Gamemakers had a twist this year. Instead of the parachutes sending things to help and aid you, they sent down things like tracker jackers and acidic rain. No longer did the tributes have to survive eachother, but instead the sponsors.

Three weeks later, only two managed to do this: a brother and sister from District 9. Hopeless and broken, they decided to draw straws to see who would survive and win. The brother ended up getting the short one and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek before she stabbed him to death.

This just proves no matter how much you care for the other survivors, the Capitol won't give up until you kill the other.

The long silence was interrupted, "You know you're my priority. Ever since the beginning, only you."

"You know what I'm saying, what I'll do if I need to." Jaemin whispers sincerely, "I know you wouldn't like it, but we promised it would be me and you in the end, right?"

I knew exactly what he was alluding to. It doesn't matter if it's Mark or Jisung, he would kill anyone so we'd survive.

"I know." I speak even through the lump in my throat. There's no point in pretending or acting like things could never possibly come to that. I mean, it's not like the games are a place where you make friends.

Jaemin is sensitive to my discomfort, "Hopefully, it won't come to that, okay?"

All I could do was respond with a nod. Let's hope it doesn't.

It's almost natural the way I once again played with his hair to calm down. I noticed that since we've been separated, time had caused his nearly-black roots to appear, fading nicely into the frosty blonde. His eyes were more sunken in and tired, but still held the same old light as he peered up at me with interest, "You really have no shame, Athena."

"What do you mean?" I tease, playing innocent like I wasn't obviously checking out the beautiful boy just seconds earlier.

Then, in a burst of affection, the boy literally almost tackles me. My elbows brace myself up on the ground, as he leans over me. Alarmed, I turn my head to see the boys fast asleep, a good distance away.

When I look back at Jaemin, I feel my head start to buzz. It's seems like so long since I've been this close to someone. A someone who is somewhere far away in this arena. Someone, who in was in this same position with the night before I came here. In a soft voice, Jaemin's voice brings me back to the present, to him.

"Please."

Not long after I nod, I feel his lips softly brush over mine. Almost as if he's testing the waters. The kiss that follows is soft and delicate, yet brief. It's like I'm a piece of glass, that he is trying his best not to break. When, he backs away to see my reaction, I nearly chase after his lips. He just laughs to himself at the display of eagerness. I move back, so I'm entirely laying on the grass.

I try to be patient, not wanting to overstep our boundaries. However, when he looks down at me with absolute adoration, I didn't stop myself from grabbing his shirt with both my hands. Once I pulled him down into an bruising kiss, I could hear him let out a content sigh.

I get lost and entirely forget where I am. Instead of in an arena, it just feels like we're two young teenagers making out under the stars. It feels normal and completely right. Out of breath, he is now laying on top of me. My mouth is open in awe, while I marvel at the feeling. Relaxing, I could feel Jaemin smiling into my neck. Even in the dark, I know the cameras can see me also smiling like a fool to the sky.

After that, Jaemin decided to take his watch and let me sleep. It was the first peaceful sleep I have had until forever. That was, of course, until a young boy named Park Jisung ruined it.

"We need water!" Beside me was a knocked out, Jaemin. He was leaning against a tree, while my head was leaning against his shoulder.

"Okay, fine. Just shush." I was trying to be wary of Jaemin, who stayed up for both of our watches.

Grabbing my stuff, I say a brief goodbye to Mark. Jisung happily follows me like a little puppy, probably glad to finally get out of the camp again.

The fresh sun illuminates the water of the lake. Birds are singing good morning to one another. I hand my bag to Jisung, as I take out my bottle. The tiny fish quickly swim away as I fill Mark and I's bottles up with water.

I feel a tug on my leather jacket.

"Athena." Jisung was pale, looking behind me.

My head snapped around to automatically meet eyes with Lee Jeno. Across the lake, he had just arrived with Renjun.

I don't waste any time before grabbing Jisung and running into the woods behind me. However, we could only get a small distance before Jisung fell to the ground, clutching his bad leg, "I can't."

"You can. Come on." I tried to hold him up like I did during the forest fire. I could hear the two Careers just around the corner.

"I'll slow you down." Jisung begged, "You gotta go without me."

Not even having it, I grabbed him and sat him down behind a nearby bush. Since the bush was fairly small, I had to go to the only other one across the clearing.

"Let's split up." I hear nearby.

Through a gap in the branches, I see Lee Jeno come around the corner. My heart pounds with each of his steps. Jeno gets closer and closer the bush Jisung is hiding behind. I violently curse in my head as I realized Jisung was carrying my backpack with all of my weapons in it.

I guess we're gonna have to do this a different way.

I dart out of my bush and begin running in the opposite direction of camp. That way, Jisung could hopefully make it back undetected to get help.

I don't look back at all. I just keep running until I get back to the lake. Before I can change direction, I feel someone jump on me.

Crashing down, the side of my head collides with a large boulder. At first, it's completely numb and I'm able to push the tall boy off of me.

However, once I push myself up, I start to see black and fall back to the ground.

"Hey, I got her!" Jeno yelled out to Renjun.

"We've been looking for you, pretty girl." His arms have mine completely pinned to the dirt. The more I struggle against him, the more the white dots fill up my vision.

Renjun's POV

When I run towards Jeno's voice, I eventually found the two of them.

Jeno was holding the small girl. Lee Athena's face was as white as a sheet. Blood was pouring out of her head, falling in thick drops down the side of her face. I couldn't even tell if she was even conscious at this point.

She was completely limp as the boy sat her up on her knees, "Why don't you finish her off?"

"Look who came to join us." He cooed, grabbing her hair to make her look up at me.

Her half-lidded eyes recognized me right away. Although, there wasn't any signs of fear or sadness for what she knew was about to happen to her. She almost looked like she was challenging me. You wouldn't.

Would I?

"Do it." Jeno urged me. Her chin was tilted back by his hold on her hair, neck entirely on display. My hand was tightly wrapped around the familiar blade in my hands.

I tried to quickly come up with an excuse for my next actions in my head. I mean it would have to happen eventually. At least, it would be somewhat quick.

Then, I did it.

#nct dream smut #nct smut #nct au #nct #nct dream imagines #nct dream #renjun #jaemin #jeno #haechan #jisung

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

Note

Hizzie Prompt... Ok so Lizzie has to deal with Hope while in heat or during a blood moon

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts!

Title: Uncharted Waters

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

[A/N: I will be the absolute first to admit that I got a little carried away with the plot here, I really enjoy the disgruntled lifeguard thing. So that means this could totally get a part two if you guys want!]

The day held a soft golden hue to it, spilling onto the scalding cement and glinting expertly against the choppy artificial waves that started at one end of the pool and pushed to the section that Lizzie was stationed at. She had the liberty of a sun-stained umbrella and a bout of shade that did nothing to quell the heat of the summer wind.

Cool Waves Summer Adventure Park was the bane of her existence. For the cheap wage of seven dollars an hour she would rise before the sun and leave when the night was finally cooling off. Everything smelled like cheap spray tan and sunscreen, and the occasional puddle of vomit. But her father insisted that she keep the position as a lifeguard if she wanted to keep that nice 1969 Chevy Camaro that a family friend had given her.

So she sat at the far end of the pool, day in and day out, watching for lazy parents that tip too far on the rafts, or for their demon kids who would drink the chlorine infused water. Occasionally she would have days like this; where it was crowded and the sun was more irritating than anything.

“Sir I don’t know how to explain this to you in any other way. The coupon you have isn’t even for our park. I couldn’t give you half-off at the snack shack even if I wanted to.”

If the customer in front of her wasn’t already sunburnt, she could see his bald head shifting through three shades of red. He frowned and removed his sunglasses because maybe that would make him look more intimidating, but really it just paid tribute to how many times he had fallen asleep by the side of the ocean. He had the measly paper clenched between his fist.

“Maybe if you went to the snack shack, they could help.” She tried weakly. It was dirty, she knew, pushing the disgruntled father off towards another department. But she was a lifeguard and nowhere near the food stand. “I’m sure they could give you something.”

He sputtered, not happy with the answer. “I want to talk to your supervisor, Josie.”

She glanced down at the white logoed shirt that hugged her closely, damp with sweat. He had used her name to drive a point, but she had grabbed the wrong nametag this morning on her way out the door. Another misstep that she would have to make up to her sister somehow in the next few days.

Lizzie opened her mouth to respond but halted to a stop when the sharp cut of a whistle captured both of their attentions. It wasn’t Lizzie’s hers still hung lazily around her neck, collecting heat like a beacon.

It was easy to spot an accident, she learned that her fourth day on the job when part of the Black Vulture came loose and the large waterslide was shut down faster than an ambulance could arrive to haul away the kid who got a few bruises.

People tended to clear and gawk instead of doing what they could to help. Right now there was a steady circle in the middle of the water and something, someone, thrashing around in the deeper end of the pool. Lizzie could feel her heart in her chest and suddenly didn’t care much about arguing with a disgruntled patron.

She moved quickly past the umbrella, and the chair, shoving both of her hands against the large red button that screamed: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. It didn’t do much of course, but it did bring the motor that created waves in the pool to a screeching halt. They had never used it before.

And then there was the girl, the one who blew the whistle in the first place. Hope Mikaelson didn’t bother shedding away her shirt or pulling the walkie-talkie from the waistband of her annoyingly tight shorts. Instead, she jumped into the pool with expert speed and precision.

Lizzie rushed down the cement steps, hand running across the scalding metal railing. “10-10 wave pool.” She knew her words were breathy over the radio, and she knew even more than that, that this wasn’t just a possible drowning. It was laid out clear and plain in front of her but her scrambled mind couldn’t get a grasp on the correct code.

Hope had pulled the young girl from the far end of the pool and onto the edge by the time that Lizzie had gotten there. They were both dripping and she had linked her hands together, placing them in the center of the young girl's chest, lips blue.

“Where the hell were you?” Hope snarled, squaring her shoulders and applying pressure in intervals. Her mouth moved while she counted before she said: “Help me, Saltzman.”

Lizzie didn’t need to be told twice. She was careful, listening to Hope count out the last five intervals before she lilted the girls chin up and blew just enough air into her lungs to push them outwards. She did this twice before Hope started pressing against her chest again.

Everything had slowed and by the time Hope alerted her of her position, Lizzie was ready to lean forward again. The girl coughed violently, a mix of bile and water pushed from her lips and a healthy dose of color returned to her cheeks.

“Stand back, both of you” Lizzie was shoved to a standing position as the real medical team got there, heeding her shout over the radio. The on-call medic pressed two gloved fingers to the edge of the girls throat for a pulse, despite her lucidity. “It’s a good thing you were here.”

“Where else would I be?” Hope asked, her words dripped of acid and her stare burned like a flame. Lizzie frowned.

“That’s not fair, I was dealing with another situation.”

“Yeah, so was I but I always keep on eye on the pool, Lizzie. That’s basic lifeguarding.” Hope started to walk to the main office shoving past her, shoulder wet and cold as she dripped onto the dry pavement. “Get it together.”

Lizzie wanted to call after her just like she had wanted to rip that guy's coupon to shreds and push him into the shallow end. But she bit her tongue until she could taste blood again before turning her attention back to the medic and the young girl who sat at the edge of the still water.

“You were really lucky that Hope was there.” MG struggled with the combination of his lock. He had been at it for a good fifteen minutes, but with no luck. Lizzie considered the fact that he had the wrong locker altogether, but she resorted to pulling on a sweatshirt, not wanting to stare at that stupid logo of the penguin holding a beach ball anymore.

“But why was she there?” Lizzie asked, earning a patronizing stare. “Not that I’m not thankful. That girl is totally alive because of her. But last time I checked, the almighty Hope Mikaelson was stationed at Hurricane falls, all the way on the other end of the park.”

He pulled down on the lock one final time and it clicked open fluidly. “Yes! Alyssa said she wasn’t feeling well so she was going to take a break in the shade. Hope kind of blew up on her.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Lizzie let the conversation fizzle in the air as MG collected his stuff from the locker, shoving his car keys in the slim pockets of his shorts. Though she thought that the girl had a hero Complex, Hope was anything but violent. Never one with a short fuse and always liked by every single supervisor including Alyssa.

The two of them strolled out into the nearly desolate park, breathing in the hot air. It had cooled off significantly from the afternoon and the usually pitch-black path was lit by an oddly orange light, a curved half-moon in the sky.

“Would you look at that?” MG stared up at it and blinked “Kind of cool,”

Blood Moons weren’t cool, not the full ones anyway. Not in Lizzie Saltzman’s household. She wasn’t an expert in the supernatural by any means, but she had found enough old and dusty books in her mother’s stuff to know that the energy around them was anything but pleasant. That the world was better off forgetting anything like that existed in the first place.

Over the years she and Josie had tried to ask their parents about it, about the old stories and the reason they had all of that stuff in the first place but they were shut out each time. Because magic didn’t really exist, and neither did the creatures that basked in its light.

“Oh, shoot-“ Lizzie patted down her person, “I forgot my keys. Go on without me.”

MG hesitated, his features soft in the darkened crimson light. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, sure of herself. Nothing bad happened here, not this late at night when all the bloodthirsty tourists had retired for fancy dinners by the ocean’s edge. Even if something did happen, the park was littered with cameras, and she was confident.

Lizzie parted ways with him and the two of them walked in opposite directions. Him towards the parking lot and her towards the main building, filled with offices and the employee locker rooms, lined with metal and eerily silent at this time of night.

The air was thick and wet with steam and the scent of soap, unlike it had been moments ago. She felt sweat collect instantly against her skin. They had showers lining the far end, something that had never been converted from the park's original design. But no one ever used them.

Lizzie silently crept towards her locker and started to struggle with her combination just like MG had. Her fingers were shaking, and she was starting to think coming back here on her own was her worst idea yet. But finally, she got enough advantage to snatch them and closed it softly, turning, but halting.

Her body came in contact with another, so quiet and smelling fresh like lavender body wash. Not the usual chemical scent that they all carried home with them like a badge. She felt the soft edge of a towel under her fingertips and slammed her back against the cold metal of the lockers.

“Jesus Christ Hope, you scared the hell out of me!” Lizzie felt her heart in her throat once more but for a different reason than before. Not adrenaline, not fear- something else entirely that she couldn’t’ pinpoint.

Hope was wrapped tightly in a dark green towel, or maybe it was black, she couldn’t tell over the soft light that flooded the bathroom like split blood. It shaded the girls features, sharp and different. Her hair was damp.

“Oh?” She cocked a perfect brow “Should I start wearing a bell, Saltzman?”

“Yeah, maybe. What are you doing here so late anyway?”

Hope raked her gaze up and down Lizzie’s frame before landing back on her stare. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I forgot my keys.” She jingled them like a prize, swallowing the way her hair raised on end, goosebumps prickling. “Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier today. It pains me to admit it, but you were right. I should have been paying more attention.”

The Mikaelson girl nodded thoughtfully and pulled the towel closer to her, suddenly moving an inch of a step back. Hope frowned and Lizzie couldn’t tell if it was about what she had said or the sudden loss of heat in the air. The light had shifted, hidden behind nothing but a wisp of a cloud.

“Uh, yeah.” Hope cleared her throat and blinked dumbly and took another step back. “Don’t worry about it. You should probably get home.”

Lizzie stared at the girl and the way she pulled into herself against the darkness of the locker room. It hung in the air and her fingers tightened against the edge of her keys. She knew she should wait for Hope, should offer her a ride home or politely walk her to her car- but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly.

“See you tomorrow?”

Hope averted her stare, “yeah, sure thing.”

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