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heliads · 2 years

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Hello!!😁 I've just seen your post in which you said you would like to write about characters from the hunger games and I'm here to provide a request, if you like the idea🥰

Finnick × reader: It's kinda of a crazy idea and a bit long so sorry in advance:)

Reader is from district 5 and they won their games the next year after Finnick, them being the same age. They are close to Finnick, having travelled back and forth between district 4 and 5, due to reader's relative(maybe a brother that settled there because of marriage or some other reason). We know what happened to Finnick after he won :( and something happens to reader as well, but it's entirely different. They are an incredible singer and songwriter, and after singing an original piece during the games (because of fear and loneliness), Snow wants them as a personal entertainer (reader reminds him of Lucy gray if you've read the ballad of songbirds and snakes :) )

So, reader having been a prisoner, a sparkling jewel for Snow and the capitol, performing at parties and events, they get even closer to Finnick, him being the only one who understands the meaning behind each song they write, to the point of something romantic. They can't be together, especially in public, because of their conditions, so right before Peeta and Katniss win, a party is held and everyone can finally see their undeniable connection to Finnick, when the two find a rare moment to dance.

I want to leave the ending up to you, so will they just confess in front of everyone or continue to suffer (if you choose this one, maybe snow announces a marriage between the reader and some snob from the capitol, and the two lovers find out on the spot? and maybe they find a way to persuade snow into thinking that a marriage between Finnick and reader would be better? - this is just because I'm a sucker for a happy ending😭)

Thank you so much for listening and if you don't like it then that's okay, or if you do like it but want to change it, then that's also okay💛

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

thank you for sending in a hunger games request!!! also fandom aside this is AMAZING, your requests are always so creative and fun to write 😭😭

masterlist

You’re not entirely sure what’s real and what isn’t. On some surface level, you are smiling and beaming as if you might believe the emotions you’ve taken such care to display, but deep beneath your skin and bone, you’re back there, in the arena once more. Your eyes see different visions, one past, one present. Nothing seems to stick around long enough for you to be sure of it.

That is the problem with the Capitol, after all, they get into your head once you’ve spent too long amongst their bright lipsticked masses. Their eyes stare at you unblinkingly, pupils stretched and dilated as they watch you sing upon their stages. You have been their favorite plaything for quite some time now, no matter how much you wish they would just forget about you. Their favor shifts like the tides, surely it should leave you soon, right?

Despite all of their attention, you’re not sure that any of the legions of wealthy watchers have truly seen you in quite some time. Otherwise, they’d start to notice that the songs they love to examine don’t seem as happy or sweet as they thought. Lyrics are the only way for you to speak your mind, after all, even if the true message has to be hidden beneath a layer or two of literary fluff.

It’s their own fault, you decide. You should have been left to rot in peace after you won your round of the Hunger Games. You shouldn’t have had to return to the Capitol time and time again, until your house in the Victors’ Village in District Five goes empty more often than not. They like to have their darling little music box available at a single call, especially now that the latest round of the Hunger Games has begun.

You would have had to be here anyway, to act as a mentor for all of the tributes from your district who are about to die. You’ve been able to secure a good amount of gifts for your surviving girl, although her male counterpart died the first day during the initial bloodbath. You’d warned him to stay away from the Cornucopia, but then again, no one ever wants to listen. That’s as common amongst the citizens of the Panem districts as the gilded classes of the Capitol.

Still, you’re trying. On the occasions that you’re actually able to break away from the stage to send aid to the remaining tribute from District Five, you’re pleased to see that she’s doing well, for the most part. She’s only fourteen or fifteen, but she sparks with wit. She might be able to win if she’s able to outfox everyone else, but enough fame is growing around those two tributes from District Twelve that you can only hope she’ll last long enough to make it out.

Already, though, you think she might be a lost cause. No matter how many compliments you lay on her to all available sponsors, you can tell one thing that they can’t. There’s a look in the girl’s eyes that tells you she’s going to give up soon enough. It might not happen for hours, maybe even days, but at one point an accident will come and she’ll stop fighting.

No one else knows it, you think, except perhaps the other mentors. There’s no way to recognize that complacency unless you’ve been in the arena and seen it on the faces of the other tributes. You swore to yourself the second you were reaped that you wouldn’t be a murderer, that you’d win by keeping yourself alive and letting the others take each other out. If you were going to win the Hunger Games, you wanted to do it right.

That, of course, was just a dream. You’re not going to let yourself think about how many people you did kill, what it felt like to plunge a dagger into someone’s chest and watch their breathing slow. You know exactly what it looks like when someone gives up on living because they always stared at you like that in the split second before they died, like they accepted once and for all that they were never going to win.

Instead, you were going to win, but at what cost? The residents of the Capitol love to applaud your songs, to read between lines and think of themselves as proper detectives for figuring out all of the red herrings you throw at them. In truth, not a single song of yours has been about love. How could it, when you haven’t been human enough to feel something like that since the day you appeared in the arena?

Instead, each song is about a tribute. The record-toppers are usually about the ones you killed, because even the harshest critics can’t deny that there’s strong emotion in them. Sure, it’s because you lie awake at night wondering if there was another way, if perhaps you killed all those kids because you wanted to, but who in the Capitol wouldn’t applaud real feelings in a place where anything other than falsehoods is a sin only found with the children dying onscreen?

Dimly, you hear the song winding down, and come back to something similar to reality just in time to hit your last nights. You’re hit by a wave of applause, and let it sink into your skin like hooks. Every standing room only show means one thing: another month before they let you go. At some point, you accepted that you’ll never truly be able to leave, but you still like to pretend otherwise.

You depart the receiving room of the Capitol as soon as you can. You’re not allowed to set foot onto Capitol streets without an armed escort. Supposedly, this is to make sure that no crazed fans try to kidnap you, but you harbor a suspicion that it’s actually a guarantee that you can’t try to run for it.

Still, they let you have the illusion of freedom by letting you walk wherever you want under the surveillance of only a dozen or so security cameras. You pace through the corridors until you find a high balcony overlooking the streets surrounding you. They’re busy tonight, likely because Capitol residents, when they’re not holding gaudy watch parties so they can bet on which teenager will be the next to bite it, do something they affectionately refer to as faux reapings.

Basically, they’ll send out gilded invitations on thickest cardstock to all of their wealthiest friends so they can ‘rough it’ by watching the Games outside instead of the safety of their climate controlled penthouses and mansions. They’ll have servants and waitstaff set out exquisite venues in neighboring parks or gardens, with the token plant or supposedly extinct animal on hand to prove their mettle at wilderness survival.

In reality, it’s nothing better than a floral soiree, but to the citizens of the Capitol, it’s far more immersive than a simple holographic display. It’s like they’re in the Games, or so they claim. Being in the Games is the last thing you’d want to do, but you suppose it’s easier for them to enjoy it when they’re never living in fear about what it would be like to be a twelve year old dying at the hands of a starving friend, so they cluster outside anyways.

“That might have been the most depressing performance I’ve seen all year,” a voice next to you says matter-of-factly.

You turn, surprised, to see the Capitol’s other favorite golden tribute coming to a stop beside you. Technically, you’ve met Finnick Odair before, but it was never personal, always some Capitol debutante wanting to see how many tributes they could convince to retreat together to their personal chambers.

At this moment, however, all you can think about is that he is decidedly less charming than you’d heard. “That’s a wonderful compliment, Odair,” you reply, “I’ll be sure to keep my melancholy attitude at bay next time I’m dragged before the Capitol again.”

Finnick nods somberly. If he’s affected by your sarcasm, it’s only to entertain him further. “You should. If anyone dares open their eyes a little more, they’d realize that you’re not actually here for your own amusement. Appearances are all we’ve got, sweetheart. It would do you good to keep yours intact.”

You lean back against the balcony so you can look him dead in the eyes. “Oh, and I’m supposed to believe that your dashing good humor is just an act, too? You’ve had that going on for far too long. At some point, you have to have believed in it at least once.”

Finnick takes a fast step forward, just out of range of the watching cameras. All of a sudden, his smirk drops, and the look in his eyes is soulless and dead. “You tell me. Does this look real to you?”

A second later, the teasing grin is back up in full force, as if it had never left at all. “Don’t look so shocked, Y/N, we’re supposed to be having a fun conversation.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, then. You’re unhappy. We all are, that’s no surprise. Name a single victor who’s ever been grateful to the Capitol for anything except that they don’t have to starve anymore.”

Finnick arches a brow. “I would have thought you’d be alright with the whole deal. Your singing gets you out of the less palatable uses for victors.”

You look away. “Yes, President Snow has an affinity for his songbirds. He enjoys dragging them out before crowds to hear their voice, but most of all, he likes to keep them in cages. At least you get to keep your secrets, Finnick. There is no part of me that isn’t on glaring display for everyone else to see.”

Finnick inclines his head solemnly. “I don’t think that’s true, though, is it? You know, they should be able to tell that your songs aren’t quite so pro-Capitol as they believe, but that isn’t the case. Not even Snow seems to have a problem with it.”

“Snow doesn’t have to know,” you shoot him a warning look, “and he won’t, will he?”

He just chuckles. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not going to tell on you. That wouldn’t do well for my image, would it? I’m just glad to know that I’m not the only one here about to lose their minds.”

Out of some impulse you don’t think you could name if you tried, you reach out and place your hand gently on the balcony beside you. It’s close enough to Finnick that he could take your hand if he wanted to, and after a moment of staring, he does.

“You’re not alone in this,” you whisper, and he nods.

“Neither are you.”

Thus begins what might be the happiest time of your life. Sure, you don’t have many good memories to compete with, but still. Finnick is at the Capitol almost as often as you are, and suddenly, your new songs start to have meanings outside of just tallying up the bodies you can’t stop seeing whenever you close your eyes.

You didn’t think you had it in you to love. You shouldn’t, at any rate, you’re more monster than man and have been for quite some time, but Finnick makes you believe that you could heal after all. There are conversations to be had in the midst of loud rooms when no one else can overhear, clandestine meetings skirting security cameras. Even as the 74th Hunger Games progress, the truth remains clear to you: you love Finnick Odair, and he loves you.

The only problem is that you’re not the kind of person who can be loved half so easily at Finnick. You make a mistake soon enough in wanting to have more with Finnick than just secret conversations. There’s a gala to mark half the tributes killed, and both you and Finnick are invited, along with most of the other mentors and everybody who’s anybody in the Capitol.

One dance. That’s all it took to get on Snow’s radar. It was supposed to be nothing. Finnick had taken your hand and led you to the floor when a particularly good song started playing. You have long since accepted the fact that you would follow him anywhere, so you went with him. It was just a waltz. It should have been nothing out of the ordinary, you dance with other victors all the time.

The issue is that you don’t feel the same way about other victors as Finnick, and it showed. Suddenly, all the major news sources were talking about how Finnick Odair and Y/N L/N were definitely in love. Victors aren’t supposed to have feelings of their own, so President Snow’s claws latched around you with a fervor even more intense than usual.

Suddenly, everyone was talking about the fact that Snow might lose his favored songbird to the Capitol’s favorite victor from District Four. It’s a double loss for the Capitol, of course, not only would you be off the market forever but Finnick would be as well, at least for a month or two after the supposed future wedding.

Snow couldn’t have that, could he? Not when he seems obsessed with making sure that you, his chosen singer, would never truly be able to leave his clutches. There’s another story buried there, deep within the copper stained roses showing up mysteriously in your quarters and the scheduled appearances. Snow has not always won, but he’ll never lose again. He would sell anyone out to make sure of it.

To chase the news that you might love Finnick, Snow announced something far more grand within twenty-four hours of that ill-fated dance. All of a sudden, you weren’t in love with Finnick, you couldn’t possibly, because you were already engaged to a man you had never met.

According to the news sources already salivating at the thought of a true love story, Umber Meadowberry is a wonderful man, but even the most delightful savior would forever be scarred in your eyes for one reason and one reason only: he is not be Finnick Odair, and thus he is worthless to you.

Finnick tried to talk to you the second the news of your phony engagement came out, but all of a sudden the guards at your door were keeping adoring fans away and him as well. You tried to sneak out to find him, but no luck. You are being followed even more than you ever were.

You’re allowed one last performance before the wedding. The whole affair is terribly rushed, but anyone who dares comment on it suddenly goes missing or immediately starts talking about how they were wrong to ever doubt Snow’s choices. You go onto the stage dressed in white, and the entire audience rises to their feet to cheer. Who cares about Finnick, when you are now forever linked to one of them?

Your supposed fiance, Umber Meadowberry, is in the front row. He smiles at you, a greasy sort of smile that reeks of centuries of old family money and partners who had best sit down and shut up when they’re not on display. You will spend the rest of your life in a glass box, perfect for all who dare approach, then left cracked and bleeding when nobody can see.

Caesar Flickerman bounds over to you, grinning ear to ear so hard that it must hurt. He tells you that he’s bleached his hair in honor of your wedding festivities, and he gestures to it excitedly. Will you be singing your most popular song, he asks, the one about the boy in the meadow? Everyone knows it’s such a romantic song.

In truth, it’s about the last boy you killed, but only one Finnick has ever known that. They’ve dragged him here too, sat between two men who are definitely soldiers in case you try something. You lock eyes once with him, and see straight through the polished exterior to someone who has just had their life’s purpose dragged from him. Finnick nods once when he sees you looking. Whatever you need to do, he’s giving you permission to do it. Even if that involves marrying Umber Meadowberry to make sure you survive.

Instead, you turn to Caesar and say that you’re actually going to be playing a song that you wrote just last night. The man jumps into the air, clapping his hands together in sheer thrill. Everyone in the audience titters and whispers about what it could be about. Obviously, your fiance must be the topic, and you watch as he leans from one side to the other, shaking hands and receiving compliments on his upcoming trophy.

The music starts, and you begin to sing. This time, you don’t bother to hide the true message of the song beneath metaphors and figurative language. The story is plain and bare, yet somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever written in your life. Before your eyes, the Capitol audience quiets and grows cold as they realize the truth of what you’re saying.

The song itself is relatively simple. There’s a songbird, you sing, a caged bird who found love even when their hands were stained red with blood. They’ll do anything for that love, even if it was taken from them. Even something drastic, like cut out their own tongue to ensure that they would never sing for anyone but their love.

The song fades, and the eyes of the Capitol are upon you as you reach inside a jeweled pouch on your belt to draw out a small knife. You open your red-dyed lips and place the knife against your tongue. The message is obvious, and the audience rises to their feet in unison, clutching themselves with horror as they realize what it is that you mean to do.

The metal is cold against your mouth, but your resolve is firm. It is horrifying, but after all that you’d done in the arena, the Capitol should know that you’re not going to back down from a little blood. They made you a monster, and now they get to find out that their darling songbird has claws.

Just before you can start to cut, though, the background behind you changes from a view of Caesar desperately trying to stop the live footage to a scene of President Snow sitting at his desk. There’s a vial of white roses on the far corner of the mahogany, although you swear they’re not sitting in water, instead something shadowed and wine-dark.

He claps, slow applause ringing through the video. The Capitol residents in the audience look amongst themselves nervously, then start to clap as well at the sight of their beloved leader.

Snow allows the jubilation to continue for a full minute longer before he starts to speak. “What we have here is a beautiful display of love. Is that not what we treasure here in the Capitol, the dedication to do whatever it takes for those our hearts desire?”

He gestures to you, and you feel your blood run cold. You have forced his hand, and whatever Snow chooses to do will no doubt have consequences far more severe than one mere round in the arena.

However, Snow would do many things before he loses his songbird, and even allowing you to follow your heart is less damaging than having you cut out your music once and for all.

“I believe I speak for all of us when I say that I am impressed with Y/N’s spirit. For that reason, why not have a wedding after all? Our victors are dear to us in the Capitol, and there could be no greater union than between two of our favorite winners. I say now, let Y/N and Finnick wed. I look forward to seeing how they repay us for such an excellent opportunity.”

You slowly remove the knife from where it still presses against your lips, and stare at Finnick, who has risen to his feet across the crowded amphitheater. He looks just as terrified as you, but slowly, surely, he starts to smile. Yes, there will be consequences. There always are. For now, though, you have Finnick at last, and he is all that you have ever needed.

requested by @zaypay, i hope you enjoy!

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