#another set of tributes and mentors. i think they are the only other set with both mentors and tributes from the same district shown like t | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

runningfrom2am · 9 months

Text

in this life or the next

summary: It's the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, and you were just unlucky enough to get picked; but lucky enough for this Quarter Quell to feature pre-selected teams. You get paired up with District One's pride and joy, the one and only Rafe Cameron.

pairing: rafe x fem!reader

wc: 15k (oh my LORD)

tags/warnings: its the hunger games so like... yeah... violence and gore and stuff. definitely swearing, spoilers for the og Hunger Games movie I guess (but also not bc i changed it up a bit- you'll see), reader has a special talent that i won't spoil here, Rafe is lowkey a dick at the beginning, Ward being a shitty dad (what's new). also this isn't thoroughly edited bc.. its 15k words and i'm lazy.

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a/n: hello lovelies!! oh my gosh i have been slowly chipping away at this for actual literal months, and i am so proud of how it turned out!! i’m really glad i could finally post it by my birthday!! (i’m 23 wtf??)

thank you so much if you're going to put in the time to read this, but it honestly means a lot to me that you've made it this far. reblogs and likes would be so appreciated and let me know your thoughts in the replies! i really, really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. let me know if you want a part two of what happens post games, bc i think i left it at a minor baby sized cliffhanger. anyway, i’m off to eat cake now! enjoy!

Staring blankly out at the crowd in front of you, you attempt to process the echoing of your heartbeat in your ears.

"I'd like us to give a round of applause for our brave, brave tributes this year, and wish them the best of luck in this year's quarter quell!" Your attention is drawn to the woman next to you, the District Five escort, Opal, dressed head to toe in bright yellow. A universally happy color- what a joke.

The crowd is mostly silent and you can't bear the thought of even glancing in the direction of your parents. You turn silently as you're ushered back into the building from the stage, tripping slightly over your feet as the shock sets in. People are talking, possibly to you, but you can hardly hear a thing. You almost made it. You were almost eighteen- one more year and you would have been free.

You were granted the briefest of goodbyes to your family, but you were tempted to even turn that down. An action you regret not taking as your parents walk into the room, your mother with tears already coating her cheeks and your father trying to keep a strong resolve for you and your siblings.

"We'll see you soon, Bug. Remember we love you," He whispers into your hair as you sob into his shoulder. You know he doesn't necessarily mean in this lifetime.

Your tunnel vision settles back in as you're walked out of the room, glancing one last time over your shoulder only to see your dad's shoulders shaking from his silent cries as he turns his back to you.

You are quickly pushed onto the train taking you out of District Five, ignoring the other three tributes and your mentors as they talk. You just stare out the window with tired, red eyes and say a silent goodbye to the home you're already sure you'll never see again.

"Y/N..?" The girl next to you says, tapping you on the shoulder and making you jump.

"Hm?" You hum your acknowledgment, looking at the girl beside you. She's only a year older than you, and you went to school together for years; Maisie, you remember.

"I just wanted to make sure you hear them," Maisie whispers, gesturing to Opal as she starts to explain what the premise of the games is this year.

"So," she claps her hands together, clad in tacky yellow gloves. "I'm sure you have noticed that this year there are four of you, and you'll each be paired up with another tribute to compete. Not necessarily from your own District, but, anything is possible, I suppose. The exciting news is that there's a possibility for two winners this year! You and your teammate will be given a score throughout the games, and if your score as the final two is above ten, you will both be crowned victors!" The woman says excitedly- like it's a good thing.

"And if we don't have over ten?" The boy sitting across from you asks flatly.

"Well... the games shall continue," Opal explains vaguely, but you know what that means. You've seen it before.

"Okay, well, how do we get a good score?" The boy asks.

"I-" The escort starts, hesitance clear in her tone as she's quickly interrupted.

"You kill people," Your female mentor answers. She's leaning her elbows on the end of the table, standing with a knife in her hand, spinning it around like it's some kind of toy.

Your eyes drop from her form, staring down at the table in front of you, suddenly remembering your glass of water and quickly grabbing it when you realize your mouth has gone completely dry just from the idea of what's to come.

You arrive at the Capitol in the middle of the night and despite this fact, the crowds are still there. You didn't expect this, even though you've seen it on the beat-up television in your living room every year. It feels less real, somehow, when you're the one getting pushed through the crowd, not knowing what to do besides give awkward smiles to people yelling your name.

Your room is beautiful. You've never seen anything like this, but you can fully customize it at will with a remote, and this level of technology fascinates you. You spend hours flicking through different images that can appear on the walls, surrounding you in another world. Exhaustion and the sound of an artificial thunderstorm put you to sleep with the remote still resting in your palm.

"Up, up, up, my dear! We've got a big day ahead!" Opal's cheery voice startles you awake from your less-than-cozy spot on the floor. "There's breakfast on the table then we've got to get you down to prep, so hurry up, please." She says, and just like that she's gone, no doubt off to wake the other District Five tributes in a similar fashion.

"You're going to be meeting your teammates for the first time today so you can train together- gosh isn't that just so exciting!" Opal claps as you all stand in the elevator. There's a silence that follows as you and Maisie just nod, not excited about the whole idea. You're about to meet someone who will either be spending the last days of your life with you, or be killing you themselves, and you're not fond of either.

"This way you'll get to train together first, which I do believe to be a very generous act on behalf of the game makers." She adds, making you roll your eyes. How considerate. The most you can hope for is someone who is capable, and preferably someone who isn't in the twelve to fifteen age range, having seen that there were several drawn from different districts.

You shift on your feet as you try to adjust to the uncomfortably tight catsuit they squeezed you into, covered in what must be sapphire and diamond rhinestones, pinching your skin with every slight movement. Gold accents line the seams of the suit, extending out into something that resembles wings and lightning bolts protruding from your back. District Five; power. You get it, but we're the diamonds necessary? You hardly take note of the varying outfits you're surrounded with from the other kids in your district, before Opal is guiding the four of you up the line of extravagant carriages you're meant to parade out on for the people of the Capitol to fawn over.

You take note of where all of the other tributes from Five are lead, guessing based on the order of carriages that Maisie got paired up with another girl from Eleven, and the boys somehow ended up paired together. There must be some sort of personal aspect to this decision, considering you have watched those two boys fight back home. You're last, and Opal looks at you excitedly as you follow her up, and up, and up- to the very front of the line.

"Surprise!" She grins, clapping excitedly as you approach the very first carriage. "Y/N, getting paired with a career is huge. Your odds are good already, your partner has trained his whole life- he even volunteered."

"Sucks for him." You mutter under your breath as you get closer, eyeing up the boy in front of you, wearing an almost matching outfit. All the rhinestones make sense now, blending power with luxury could only mean as much.

"Y/N Y/L/N, meet Rafe Cameron. He'll be your teammate in the games." She smiles as she introduces you.

"Hi." You say quietly, taking his hand as he holds it out to you to help you up onto the carriage.

"Hey." He mutters, avoiding your gaze. It's off to a rough start for him for sure, seeing he's being paired up with someone from an outlying district must be daunting, when for you it should be exciting. Rafe did volunteer, yes, but he doesn't want to risk any kind of attachment- despite what the people of the Capitol want for their entertainment. He wants to come out alive, he doesn't care so much about who he's with.

"Okay, Y/N, remember to smile, please." Opal reminds you and you nod, looking down at her as you hold onto the handle in front of you.

You promise her with a nod, willing to do almost anything at this point to win the favour of possible sponsors. Again, your odds look better next to a career on that front, as well.

Quickly everyone is cleared away from the horses and the carriages and you start moving, catching you off guard and you stumble a little, readjusting your grip on the railing. "Careful." Rafe says beside you, quick to reach out to steady you if you needed it. You think you see the smallest of smiles on his face, but that must have just been your own mind trying to find comfort in anything around you.

"I got it." You whisper, blushing slightly. You've been with your teammate for all of a minute, and you're already proving yourself to be clumsy.

The lights hit your eyes the same time all the cheering does, being the first carriage, it's already so loud you can hardly hear yourself think. You snap out of it quickly, plastering on a smile once you see your own face on a giant screen ahead of you, you don't even look like yourself anymore. Your eyes land on the screen adjacent to the one showing you, seeing Rafe as well. He's smiling too, clearly having headed Opal's advice, or his many years of training is getting to him and he's excited. You really don't know. Then his head turns, and you turn your head as well, making dead eye contact with him for only a moment before he's looking past you into the crowds, taking in the moment.

When you finally get out of the extremely public eye and back into the building you exited from, you feel like you can finally breathe again. Not fully, in the tight, rigid suit they had you dressed up in, but more than you realized you were with all that yelling in your ears and lights in your face.

"District Five, right?" Rafe asks you as you're both stepping down and you nod. "Jeez, you don't talk much, do you?" He follows up with, taking a water bottle from someone who's walking by with them.

"I talk." You reply quietly. "Just... not much to talk about at the moment."

"The shock? Yeah, that'll do it." He nods, taking a sip from the water bottle and holding it out to you. You shake your head and push it away, making him shrug. "Shitty bust when you're not a volunteer."

You just stare at him, taken off guard by the comment. "That being said..." He leans in closer to make sure no one else hears. "I've been waiting my whole life for this, so don't ruin it for me, yeah?"

You pull back away from him and just nod again, not wanting to get on his bad side already. He won't be the one to kill you, probably, but it would still be nice if you spent your final days without your teammate hating your guts. "Thanks, darling." He smirks, patting your shoulder and brushing past you to go to the elevators.

The next day, bright and early yet again, you have your first day of training. You're sure Rafe won't even need it, but you certainly will. Your mentor told you he will likely be using it to size up the other tributes, especially considering there is a staggering amount of them this year, and you will need to focus on survival skills. Only survival skills, if you had to pick one thing- and your mentor drove that into your head until it was all that was echoing in your mind when you entered the training center.

After the trainers speech which ironically tried to do the same thing, you beeline straight for the fire making station. You're shocked to see almost no one else listened, definitely none of the boys, mostly lining up to show off their physical strengths, likely to try and intimidate each other. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't working.

You look up as you hear echoing laughter coming from the other side of the room, eyes scanning over the wall lined with silhouette targets, and racks with an array of weapons before landing on your teammate, laughing away with the other career tributes over a joke you didn't hear. He's got a spear in one hand, leaning his weight on it as his head drops back with laughter. You shake your head to get back on task, rolling the rough wood in your palms in hopes of making a spark. Good to see at least one of you is having fun, especially in your final days.

After a few minutes you get it, sitting back into your calves where you were kneeling on the ground, taking a breath of relief as you're satisfied with your success. You glance around to see how others are doing, giving a small smile and wave to Maisie when you see her, reading a book about different edible plants and trying desperately to memorize every image. You watch as Rafe takes the same spear he was leaning on before, hurling towards one of the targets. A direct hit, right in the chest, slightly right of the centre. You jump a little at the sound it makes on impact, looking finally at the boy who threw it.

He's pacing, huffing and looking a little frustrated with himself. A little to the left would have been perfect, but it was a kill shot nonetheless. There would be no coming back from that, and you count yourself lucky that it likely won't be you in place of the target in the games.

You quickly put out your fire and try again, making sure you've got the hang of it. You'll sit here all day if you must. After three more successful attempts, you're satisfied for the day, deciding you'll return to that station tomorrow and try again. You get up and brush the dirt off your knees, trekking over to where they have supplies to make game traps. You've never done this before, but there's no better time to learn, especially since your teammate has shown no interest in survival skills so far today.

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Rafe is standing behind you, as you're once again kneeling on the ground attempting to get the trigger on your bladeless trap to work.

You jump a little, startled by someone talking to you. "Uh, trying to make a snare, I think." You answer, turning to look up at him.

"Looks good." He nods, crouching down next to you. "Uh, isn't there supposed to be a blade or a spearhead or something on that piece?" He says, pointing to it.

"Well, yeah, I just didn't want to stab myself by accident." You laugh slightly, trying the trigger again- and this time it works, snapping forward into his arm.

"Ouch, yeah, fair enough." Rafe chuckles, rubbing the spot on his arm where the wood made contact.

You just nod and begin to reset it to test it again. "What if you can't get any of this shit in the arena?" He asks.

"What, a stick?" You ask, hitting the trigger one more time, sending the stick into his arm again, which he had decided not to move.

"Ow! Yes, a stick. We don't know what it will look like." He rubs his arm, examining the trap you built closer now.

"Then we're screwed I guess." You joke, leaning back on your calves again, watching him dissect it piece by piece to figure out how it works.

"So, is this like, your thing?" Rafe asks, and you tilt your head at him as you think it over.

"My thing?" You ask, unsure entirely what he meant. "I've never made one before, if that's what you're asking."

"Really?" He seems shocked by this.

"Uh, yeah, really. Unfortunately for you, you got paired up with someone who has zero survival or combat skills."

Rafe looks at you, a smug grin crossing his features. "Ha ha, very funny." He clearly thinks you're joking, but you're definitely not.

"I'm serious." You say, confused as to why he doesn't believe you.

His smile falters, replaced with wrinkles of confusion on his forehead. "But- I just watched you look at the instruction book for no more than like, three seconds before sitting down to make this."

"And..?"

"If you've never done it before it's supposed to be harder than that."

"Well, I've seen other people do it on TV and stuff every year for like, ever." You shrug. "I've just got a good memory, I guess."

Rafe nods, looking at the deconstructed trap in front of him for a moment, thinking about the implications of this. How far does this go? Could he use it? He'd never dreamt of having to work in a team in his games, but maybe it would benefit him after all. "Come with me." He stands up, and you follow as he paces over to two big screens, covered with a large array of different symbols.

"Try this, I just want to see something." Rafe says, standing next to you with his arms crossed as you quickly look over the screen, reaching down toward the one in front of you. You notice quickly that the screens mirror each other, all the images placed in the same spots as they are above. You look up at your teammate briefly who nods at you and then you tap one, watching it disappear from both screens before you tap the matching symbol. It's a matching game.

Your eyes are locked on the top screen as you tap away at the bottom one, quickly making all the images disappear one by one. It takes you no more than a minute to get rid of them all, and then a timer appears on the screen replaying your every move in real-time. Forty-two seconds. Were you really going that fast?

"Neat." Rafe says to himself, nodding as he watches it replay on the screen. That was impressive, sure, but his mind is straining to find a practical implication for this in the arena. "Go back to survival stuff. Learn as much as you can." He settles on, turning and walking off back to where he was before, returning to combat training.

The four days of training fly by insanely fast, and that's likely due to your dread of what's to come. you've got through everything in survival no less than three times, and you're pretty sure last night you dreamt of plants and making a fire. Not surprisingly, Rafe has left you pretty much alone the whole time, but you did watch from a distance as he cycled through every weapon the training center had to offer, proving he's almost mastered every last one. Of course, with over ten years of training, anything less wouldn't make sense. What scares you is the other careers showing a similar skill level to that of your teammate, but he seems to be on good terms with them. Again, maybe this would be a good thing in the beginning of the games.

You sit down for your last day of making fires and fishing hooks, working solely on memory since day one, you're feeling pretty confident that the elements or exposure won't be what takes you out- but you don't know if that's a good thing or not. You just hope your death will be quick.

"Y/N, c'mere." Rafe is suddenly calling to you, motioning for you to join him in the combat area. Not seeing much of a choice, and not looking forward to another day of doing the same thing over and over, you listen.

You make your way over, avoiding the gaze of other tributes who are looking at you like you're about to make a fool of yourself. It's possible you are. "I want you to learn how to use this." He says as you walk up, holding out the handle of a knife to you.

You take it, turning the sharp blade over in your hand. "I thought you were the weapons master." You joke, looking up at him briefly.

"Well, I need you to make fires and shit so you have to stay alive somehow, and if we get separated or something I need to know you can at least defend yourself. These are good from a distance and up close, but remember that any weapon you have they can take and use against you. So keep distance whenever you can." He answers, pointing over to the target about fifteen feet away. "So, throw it."

You look over to where he was pointing, adjusting your grip on the handle as you nod, taking in the information he's dumping on you. He is probably right, especially since you don't think he plans on protecting you himself. Why would he? If you die, he can still win without you.

You lift your arm over your shoulder, closing one eye to narrow down your aim before throwing it hard towards the target, which the knife bounces off of and clatters to the ground. You and Rafe both turn at the same time to look at the group that's laughing at you, the clang of the metal on the cement echoing loudly in the vast space.

"Don't worry about them. They're not there." Rafe is quick to grab another one, handing it to you the same way. "Try again, this time, hold it like this..." He says, grabbing your hand and placing your fingers in the correct spots on the handle. "Keep your wrist tense and straight, don't flick it or anything. Yeah, like that." He nods, taking a step back.

You look over how you're holding it, committing the feeling and finger placement to memory before raising your arm again. You throw it again, and this time it sticks, but your aim is off and it ends up in the target's leg. You look over at Rafe, unsure if you're hoping for approval or just satisfaction. "That's perfect." He nods. "Not a death blow, but that'll buy you time to get away. which is all you need."

"Okay." You agree quietly.

"Would it help if you watched me?" He offered, already grabbing a new knife while you nod. "So, you want to follow through with the throw, your shoulders should end about here if you're doing it right. You get more power that way, and better aim." He explains, standing with one foot forward, parallel to the target.

You step back to watch his strategy, noting the way he held the blade and his form when he aimed to throw it. He lets it fly from his fingers as his shoulders fall forward, smirking to himself as it hits the bullseye circle, right in the chest.

"You got it?" He asks, standing up straight again. You nod in response and he's handing you yet another knife to try again.

You go back and forth for hours, not caring that you're keeping anyone else from practicing. You're not the best at it, but it's become muscle memory now, and every time it sticks, most of the time hitting the silhouette somewhere. You tried the moving targets briefly, the gold, pixelated figures running at you quickly. You were immediately overwhelmed, and Rafe ended up having to step in to help. He said after that the minimal skill you had would be good enough to get away, and that is all you would need. You just have to focus on that.

You didn't talk a lot, besides taking a few short breaks to gather the knives and his arrows as Rafe explained the pros and cons of every weapon they had present, showing you briefly how to use some of them. Mostly how to defend yourself against them. It's hard for him to sum up years of training in one day, but he's dead set on the idea that you won't need most of it- just having to focus on keeping the two of you sheltered and fed, he can handle the rest; hopefully.

You sit outside the training center next to Rafe, waiting for your name to be called. It was the youngest female tribute from his district first, so if you had to guess, you would be third and fourth to go, which doesn't buy you a lot of time to decide what to do to best show your skills.

"What are you gonna do?" You ask, whispering in the deathly quiet room.

"Huh?" Rafe hums, leaning closer to hear you better.

You clear your throat, before speaking this time, unsure if you were clear enough. "What are you gonna do? Like which skill?" You clarify.

"Oh, uh..." He mutters, adjusting how he's sitting as he thinks about what to say. "I'm just going to cycle through some different weapons, different distance targets, I think. My mentors want me to show like, a variety of what I can do."

You nod at this, making a mental note of that. Maybe you should do the matching game and then try the knives. Opal told you that you would be scored both individually, and as a team. You hope you won't bring down his score too much, since you know he's aiming high. You planned on going for a mid-level score, not to be seen as a threat but also not as an easy kill. A perfect six would be your ideal score. "What about you?" Rafe interrupts your thought process.

"I'm not sure." You answer honestly.

"You should do your survival stuff. That will improve our team score, if we show them we have strengths at both." Rafe suggests. That's not actually a bad idea. Your individual score will likely be lower, but that's a risk you're willing to take.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

You ended up scoring a six, the judges obviously not seeing you as any kind of threat. This is what you expected, though, and you were correct about your group score as well. Rafe and you together scored a ten. On his own, he scored a ten, so you hadn't affected it in the way you feared. This left you reeling over the idea of other tributes seeing you both as a threat as you stand in yet another extravagant dress, waiting in line to be called out for your interview. The games were tomorrow, and the last thing you wanted was to get in front of a crowd and subtly plead with them to let you live, to send you gifts, and to give you their sympathy.

So far it's been in the same order they called everyone for assessments yesterday, which means you would be next. Rafe stands behind you, arms crossed in a suit that looks more expensive than any you've seen back home in all of your life, but he looks comfortable in it. Your dress is once again covered in rhinestones, and your waist is cinched in so tight you can hardly breathe as it is, so you're not looking forward to going on stage.

"Our next tribute, welcome to the stage from District Five, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!" You hear the familiar voice of Caesar Flickerman calling you out and some guards usher you forward onto the stage, very briefly glancing over your shoulder at Rafe.

You're quick to smile as you turn back around, giving a small wave to the host and then out to the audience as they cheer for you. For a brief moment, you feel as if they don't plan on watching you die as early as tomorrow, you feel as if they're rooting for you. "Hi!" You say as you get closer and Caesar stands up to greet you, shaking your hand and giving you a quick hug before gesturing for you to sit down across from him.

You look around the large theatre, spotting every camera you can. Your family is out there watching, somewhere, and you know they'll see right through this show you have to put on. You wish they wouldn't. You can picture so vividly your living room back home, with your parents and siblings scattered across the couch and the floor watching you with bated breath, they can see you- and on some level, you can see them too.

"Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for being here." Caesar sighs, reaching out and patting your hand where it sits on the armrest next to you.

"Well, I didn't have any other plans for the night, so..." You shrug, making him laugh. Laughter echoes from the audience and you smile, hoping that your plan to win people over is working.

"What? A beautiful girl like you?" He asks after he's done laughing. "You weren't planning on spending some of your free time with your teammate?" As if you got even a minute of free time since you've been here.

"Well, I guess we'll never know." You chuckle, looking back at the boy where he stands in the wing, giving you a small smile.

"Now listen, Y/N, Rafe is..." He has to stop after mentioning his name as cheers erupt again, laughing as he waits for the audience to quiet down. "Your teammate is, as you may have guessed, a popular face in the Capitol right now. Are you feeling lucky about your pairing?"

Rafe crossed his arms as he watches intently, feeling smug about his odds, especially now knowing the Capitol's opinion of him. He knows his dad is back home watching, full of pride that his son has become a fan favourite.

"I am." You answer honestly. "He's very talented."

"And handsome, don't you think?"

"I mean, who am I to argue with the people?" You joke, waving your hand dismissively as you hear the cheers pick up again. "Besides, his looks won't save us. We will save ourselves." You add seriously.

Caesar nods in acknowledgment, showing that to an extent, he agrees with you. "Well, I hope that you are right, dear." He smiles, getting up to signal you've run out of time. You stand as well, taking his hand as he holds it up above your heads. "It was so lovely to meet you, and may the odds stay ever in your favor. Y/N Y/L/N, everyone!"

You smile and thank him quietly, waving to everyone with both hands as you walk across the stage to exit on the other side. You take a few deep breaths as you step into yet another waiting room, watching the screen as Rafe is called out right behind you.

Rafe sits down on the chair across from Caesar after his introduction, which allows a few moments for the audience to quiet down. He smiles proudly as he rests one of his feet on his other knee, bouncing his leg with anxiety. He hopes it's interpreted as excitement. "Rafe." Caesar smiles at him, sitting back down as well. "I'll be honest, I have been so excited to finally meet you."

"It's good to meet you too." Rafe grins, chuckling slightly at the few whistles he gets scattered from the crowd.

"You got a fabulous score, how are you feeling about that?"

"Really good, yeah. Obviously I've been waiting my whole life for this opportunity, so it feels amazing to see it all paying off." Rafe answers, focussing on keeping the confidence in his tone.

"We can tell, can't we?" Caesar laughs, riling up the audience again, making Rafe laugh to himself as he softly shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah. So, with all this planning you've been doing, how do you feel about getting paired up? You probably expected to be going in solo."

"I did, for sure, but I don't think this is a bad thing." Rafe admits.

"Oh, getting along well with your teammate?" Caesar asks, a hint of suggestion in his tone.

"Yeah, we get on really well." Rafe exaggerates your relationship a bit, knowing it will earn you more sponsors, and maybe keep other tributes away from you in the games. "At least I think we do, I'm not fully sure about her thoughts on me, though."

"You scored incredibly well together, despite Y/N having a fairly average score on her own. What are your thoughts and feelings on that?"

Rafe chuckles as he leans forward a bit, pointing out to the audience as he speaks. "Don't underestimate her based on the score. I won't give you any spoilers, but trust me, don't overlook her. She's got as good a shot as any of us. Maybe better."

Caesar makes a surprised expression as he nods. "Well okay! Does she have some sort of secret weapon we should be worried about?" He chuckles, gripping the armrests and looking around as the audience laughs.

Rafe just shrugs in response, smirking slightly, which you can tell the audience just eats up. You're trying to decide if this is good or bad for you, though, as you watch, gnawing at your nails in anticipation as you stare at the screen.

"Okay, alright, don't spoil anything then." Caesar laughs. "It'll make for a better show, and I can get behind that."

After a moment of waiting for the cheers to die down, Caesar speaks up again. "Rafe, if I can ask, I know your father has a lot of influence in your district- how is he feeling about your selection for the games?"

You furrow your brow a little bit as you look at the screen, finally learning something interesting about your teammate. If he's from a prominent family in District One of all places, that would certainly explain his attitude. Rafe, on the other hand, doesn't want to talk about his father at all- but of course they would bring him up.

"Yeah, of course." Rafe replies, shifting in his seat. "He's thrilled, it's a huge honour to be here, and to be the first out of his children to be chosen is really special to me. I just hope I can make him and my sisters proud, he's always encouraged us to volunteer."

"I'm sure that you will." Caesar smiles at him. "I hope I will have the honour of hosting one of your sisters on this stage one day, as well."

Your stomach churns just watching this. How can any father who loves his children want this fate for them? This was your father's worst nightmare. You watch as Rafe nods with a smile, and you can see behind his eyes that he doesn't want that, not at all.

The audience cheers as they both stand up, shaking hands before Rafe leaves the stage, a cocky smirk on his face as he waves and winks at the audience. Before Rafe makes it down to the waiting room, you're grabbed an escorted out, heading for the elevator back to your room.

You can't eat, but you know you should. This will likely be your last meal for a while. You decide on just taking a large bowl of fruit and toast to your room, trying to get it down slowly with all the nerves, while you have a bath. Your parents never let you eat in the bath. It's hard to get out knowing this is likely the last bath you'll ever have.

The morning goes by in a blur, you feel Opal's arms around you as she hugs you goodbye and wishes you luck. You know you'll need all of it. You stare down at the ground in front of you as you're pushed onto a plane, of sorts, along with all the other tributes. Once you're sat down, you look around at everyone else. You remember all of their names as you scan over their faces, but you wish you didn't. You get stuck on one of the girls from District Eleven, Hope, who was only thirteen.

She's shaking, and you can see that from where you're sat down the row from her. She reminds you of Rue, the tribute from last year. Her death was a tragedy, it broke the hearts of everyone outside of the Capitol and the career districts. Hope's curly hair sat in a bun on top of her head, and tears fell down her cheeks as she sniffled. She got paired up with a girl from Twelve- the lengths the Capitol will go to to make a mockery of last years games will never cease to amaze you.

"Hey, you look a little pale." Rafe whispers, leaning close to you. You didn't even notice him sit down on the other side of you.

You shake your head slightly, looking down at your knees. "I'm fine."

"Don't think about it." Rafe instructs you, holding his arm out for the tracker to be injected as a guard approaches with the device.

You wince as you hear it get shot into his arm and he chuckles, shaking his arm off to ease the sting. You raise your shaking arm as they hold their hand out expectantly to you. You don't know what it is they're putting in you, but you've never been fond of needles. This is a million times worse. "It's not that bad," Rafe tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel pressure on your forearm, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain. You bite your tongue to keep from making a sound, dropping your arm onto your lap as they quickly walk away.

"What did they do?" You ask him, trying to keep a steady tone.

"It's a tracker, so they know where we are in the arena." He explains quietly. You were the only two talking, and you notice it's earning you glares from several other tributes. Rafe notices this as well, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, taking this time to size everyone up.

The plane takes off, and before you know it, you're landing at the arena on the outskirts of Capitol property. You wonder if you're close to the ocean, not that you'll get to see it anyways.

You're paraded off of the plane, still trying not to let it show how afraid you are of what's to come. You make the briefest of eye contact with Maisie as she's pulled towards a different hallway, and neither of you have it in you to smile anymore.

"We've gotta get supplies, that's our first move." Rafe says to you as you're led out of earshot of other tributes, into your own hall.

"My mentor said to run." You reply quietly.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. "Your what, one mentor said that? Cool. I have fifteen that are still alive and well enough to show up every year. I think we should get supplies." He tells you firmly, but you know that will get you instantly killed, maybe not him, but you stand no shot. "Just stick with me if you want to live."

You just nod a little bit, glancing at him again briefly before you're directed into a separate room across the hall from him. His pedestal will be next to yours, which is a bit of a relief. Your stylist quickly instructs you to strip, and then she helps you into the uniform you assume you'll all be wearing. It's exactly the same as last year, you notice this quickly, but with a '75' logo embroidered on the chest where the District Twelve tribute had her pin placed. Katniss, you remember her name was. She had volunteered for her sister, and at the time you contemplated heavily on whether or not you would do the same. She was so, so close to winning- to getting to see her sister again, but she and the boy from her district, the final two tributes, ended up committing together rather than giving the Capitol their Victor. It was an admirable stance, but you couldn't imagine what that was like for her family, and his.

You step off the concrete floor once you're dressed, instructed to get into the pod that will lift you up into the arena; a glass elevator. Your stylist says nothing to you as they walk out of the room, the glass door sliding shut in front of you. Your knees get weak as you realize you are totally, completely alone, and likely no more than twenty minutes from dying. You think of your family, your siblings, your dad- and the last words he said to you. You'll see him soon.

Your thoughts are halted when the elevator starts to move, lifting you up as the ceiling falls away and you can see sunlight coming through. You squint and shield your eyes as you try to look up to get a better grasp on your surroundings before you can even see anything. Once trees come into view you're frantically looking around, trying to process as much information as you can, and quickly. It's exactly the same as last year, but from what you can tell, flipped in reverse, and made larger to accommodate twice as many tributes. Or everything on camera last year was flipped. There's a silver cornucopia in the middle with the timer that's immediately counting down and supplies inside and scattered around the field in front of you. Rafe is to your right, and a boy from Seven on your left. He scored a six, the same as you, so he's not the biggest threat to you immediately.

You adjust your stance, getting ready to run once the timer hits zero. In what direction, you don't know yet. Rafe wants you to run to the supplies, but statistically, the most deaths will happen in the next five minutes and you don't want any part of that. The supply bags and weapons spread out on the grass are all the same too, by the looks of it. The closest bag to you got picked up by the girl from Seven last year, and it didn't have much of anything helpful. If you're remembering right, it had a rope and some matches, and that was it. It definitely would be useful, but you know you can do better. There should be a bag four pedestals to your right, with a water bottle, an emergency blanket, a fire starter, a first aid kit, and a knife. Right now, that's the one you have to get to. That's your best bet.

Ten, nine, eight... The timer ticks down to the final seconds as you look over at Rafe, who's already looking at you. You point to the bag as your eyes land on it on the other side of him across the field, and he looks at you confused. He's closer, he has a better shot, but you know he won't take it.

Rafe is confused, following your finger and spotting the bag. Why would you want that one specifically? There are others closer, he doesn't feel like now is a time to be picky.

Four, three, two...

Your ears ring with shock as the clock reaches zero, and you're watching most of the other tributes booking it for the center. No one has seen your bag yet as you jump down, beelining across the field and narrowly brushing past Rafe in your move for the small backpack. He stops to let you pass, almost crashing into you head-on. He doesn't have time to worry about you, so he continues on his path to the middle, but he's lost time. Precious time that he doesn't have to lose right at the beginning of the games.

He gets into the bloodbath that the cornucopia has already turned into, looking back over his shoulder quickly as he grabs at any weapon he can get his hands on. He quickly has to sacrifice the blade he just grabbed when he hears footsteps quickly approaching from behind him, turning quickly and plunging it into the boy's chest. He doesn't think to look at who it was.

Cannon's echo around you, and you're counting how many internally as you get to the bag, reaching down to grab it as you run past, trying not to slow down. You look back over your shoulder, hoping to spot your teammate somewhere, but you can't see him. You're scanning the area, blocking out the blood you see flying and scattered along the silver metal of the cornucopia. You can hardly hear any screams over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You can't help but watch as the girl from Three jumps on who is supposed to be her partner, a girl from Twelve, snapping her neck in a second. Within moments, she just drops to the ground next to her- another cannon following. That makes a strong incentive for working in teams. At least Rafe won't betray you early on.

You freeze up for a moment, stopping to scan your surroundings. You still can't find Rafe, taking in the number of bodies scattered around the cornucopia and a few tributes running into the tree line. At least some people were smart. Something flies past your head, making you jump back a step as you look up ahead of you. Within an instant, you're being tackled back by the body of the boy from your district.

"Y/N, fancy seeing you here." He chuckles darkly while you try and fight him off.

"Don't!" You squeak out, him pressing his forearm down against your throat on the ground.

"I've wanted to do this since the second they called your name." He growls, shoving you down again.

"We can help each other, Jack..." You say weakly, clawing at his arm.

"You don't need me. You've got your career boyfriend- and whatever your secret weapon is." He scoffs. "You don't have a secret weapon, Y/N. He's bluffing and he won't convince us."

You gather all your strength and knee him in the crotch, scrambling to get away as he fumbles for just a moment. "God- you are a bitch!" He shouts, grabbing for your ankle just has you pick up the knife he had thrown at you. You grip it the way Rafe had shown you, quickly shoving it into Jack's leg. You just needed to get away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You exclaim, backing away quickly. Jack doesn't say another word, cutting his losses and getting up to make an escape for the woods. You hope he ends up okay.

You make your break for it as well, running back towards the woods as you once again scan your surroundings for your partner.

Suddenly you're on the ground, having run straight into the side of one of the pedestals and falling over it. You yelp with the sudden impact of the ground, scrambling to get up and continue when suddenly someone is grabbing your jacket, slamming you into the pedestal again. You scream, trying to shove them off, but they're much stronger than you. "Jael! Wait, wait- Jael!" You make out your own voice yelling the boy's name, which makes him falter. He's the oldest tribute from Eight- he seems shocked you even know his name.

In the moment when he loosened his grip, he jerks forward and then falls over you, a cannon booming making you gasp as you panic to get away. Rafe is quickly running towards you, slinging the bow he just used over his shoulder and yanking the arrow out of the boy's back. "Y/N, let's go!" He shouts, motioning for you to follow him as you continue toward the tree line, both of you keeping an eye on what's happening behind you as you disappear into the woods.

"Let's stay close, but not too close," Rafe suggests as soon as you feel safe enough to slow down, your chest heaving with the exertion of energy and boost of adrenaline. He glances at you briefly, then does a double take. "You okay? Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, coughing to ease the stinging in your throat. "I'm fine. You?"

"Good," Rafe answers, slowing his pace to match yours.

"We, uh, I think we should go the other way." You say, looking around to try and mentally place where abouts you are.

Rafe stops and furrows his brow at you, seemingly frustrated by your resistance. "Why does it matter?"

"The arena, it's the same as last year. Exactly the same. Just, scaled up a bit." You explain. "We should head south, that's where the river is. We'll need water soon."

Rafe laughs slightly, his demeanor changing as he places his hands on his hips and looks at you. "No shit," He says, truly surprised and impressed that you could tell. A lot of the games tend to look like this, and he would never notice a repeat arena down to the rivers if it punched him in the face. Your 'secret weapon' is already paying off. "And you could tell that right away?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so. The bags were all the same, everything was laid out the same. I bet there's a river down south." You nod, having a sudden realization. "We should get to that cave- the one the tributes from Twelve holed up in last year. That'll be a good, stable shelter. We can pretty much wait it out." You say, starting to walk in what you believe is the right direction.

"No," Rafe replies, making you stop in your tracks. "Unless you want me to have to kill you in the end."

"Oh, right." You forgot about that part, keeping score. "We're still going to need somewhere to sleep, though."

"Yeah, we'll find it anyways." Rafe nods, carrying on in the direction you started heading. You follow a few steps behind, keeping a bit of distance in the somewhat awkward silence that fell over you two after his comment about having to kill you.

You walk in the thick of the woods for about an hour before you feel like you're reaching the river. You can feel it under your feet, the soil is slightly softer, and the trees a little more green.

Cannons interrupt your thoughts a few times in the hike, totaling up to twenty-three by the time you reach the riverbank. "You were right." Rafe chuckles, mentally disparaging any skepticism he faced during the long, quiet walk.

"Thank god." You giggle, dropping your bag and crouching down to dig through it, hoping for a water bottle. You were right, everything you expected was accounted for.

"Why that bag?" Rafe says, already sitting down on the rocky water's edge to rest for a moment.

"Huh?" You question, unsure you heard over the shuffling of the bag while you zip it up.

"You pointed to it, during the countdown. Why did you want that one?"

"Oh, uh, like I said they all looked the same as last year, and I hoped I remembered what was inside." You say, laying down to reach into the water and fill up the bottle.

"Were you right?"

You nod with a small smile, sitting back up and holding the bottle out to him as you cross your legs.

"That's actually insane." Rafe shakes his head in disbelief as he takes it, downing just about everything in it before handing it back.

You take it and refill it again for yourself. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

Rafe wouldn't admit it, but at this moment as he's watching you drink, he's grateful that he got paired up with you. But now, that it's been shown on national television that you know the arena in and out, he wonders what obstacles the gamemakers will desperately throw your way.

"We should keep moving. I feel like a sitting duck out here in the open, I don't like it." Rafe mutters, checking his attitude as he stands up. You're quick to fill up the bottle again, following behind him yet again as the arrows in his quiver rattle together against his back walking over the rocky and unstable terrain, knife gripped tightly in his hand.

You wonder to yourself how he's feeling about leaving behind his predestined alliance of the career pack, but with the factor of most of them being paired up with other districts, it was already too unpredictable. You wouldn't have stuck around either.

The sun started to set as you followed the river upstream. You didn't want to settle without some kind of shelter, and you were committed to finding that cave before you could relax. You could tell that Rafe had the same idea, his steps ahead of you gradually picking up speed with the bow still gripped firmly in his palm.

"It's a beautiful sunset." You speak your mind before thinking, desperately wanting to fill the silence.

Rafe just hums in response, looking up only briefly before training his gaze once again on the ragged rocks at his feet and continuing on. "What's it like in District One?" You ask.

"Fine." He replies coldly. You aren't sure what you expected, but this response was pretty on par. You knew you had almost no chance of survival, so it would at least be nice to get to know the person you spend your final days with, even if he would be the one to kill you in the end.

"I've never been, but I've heard it's... nice." You've only ever heard about it from the perspective of other bitter individuals from Five, jealous of the cushy lifestyle everyone knew they must have lived.

"Yeah." Rafe agrees, clearly not wanting to discuss it.

"What are your sister's names?" You ask, deciding to push a little bit. It's not like he can kill you just yet.

Rafe sighs, but answers anyways. "Wheezie and Sarah."

You're shocked that he answered at all, but you could tell in his interview that he has a soft spot for them. "Cute." You nod, smiling to yourself. "Is Wheezie a nickname?"

"Yep, it's short for Louise."

"That's adorable." You grin, shaking your head.

"Hey, look. There." Rafe says, changing the subject and pointing down the rocks, where there's a small opening under a ledge.

"That's it!" You exclaim, deciding to drop the topic of his sisters in favour for finding your shelter for the night. You rush past him, watching your step as you climb down into the small cave.

Rafe quickly draws his bow, slowing down and peaking into the cave and bracing himself for your screams. How could you be so careless in a game like this? He doesn't understand your lightheartedness, your somewhat positive attitude, and your ability to make small talk despite the circumstances. "Hey, careful!"

"It's perfect!" You call back out as you look around, and Rafe steps down carefully, looking around more carefully than you had. He relaxes once he's satisfied that there's nothing down there waiting to kill you.

"Nice, okay." Rafe nods to himself, and you both get to work making a small fire near the entrance, hidden from view.

You take off your jacket and roll it up, using it as a makeshift pillow as you lay next to the fire, staring at the orange flicker of the flames you made.

Rafe is sitting across from you, knees tucked up to his chest as he does just the same. His mind is absolutely reeling- he needs to find something to eat, and soon. That will be the first thing you'll do in the morning, he'll have to employ your help to find something edible. "How are you with making traps?" He asks.

"I can do it." You reply, sitting up and leaning on your elbow so you can see him. "I'll set some up in the morning."

Rafe nods a little bit. He already knew you could, of course, but he's wondering about the logistics of how they work. "So like... hypothetically, would they work the same if you made them bigger?"

"Like... human-sized?" You ask, catching on to what he's suggesting. It's not ethical- but nothing about this game is. For you, this would definitely be preferable to fighting other kids to death over and over again.

Rafe nods, adjusting how he was sitting and crossing his legs.

"Yeah. I can't see why not." You answer. "It would be harder since I've never done it, but I think it could work."

"Then I say we try it."

The next day, you wake up as the sun rises and the light beats down on you from the entrance of the cave. You didn't sleep comfortably, that's for sure, waking up twice throughout the night to the sound of the cannon. That's twenty-seven. You wonder how many teams have already reached their ten-kill quota, you imagine someone in the career pack already has. Both times when you were startled awake, Rafe was standing at the cave entrance, bow drawn as he squinted into the darkness, hoping that whoever was out hunting other tributes wasn't nearby.

You sit up slowly, stretching out your tired limbs as you look over to see Rafe, fast asleep with a blade in his hand. You should let him sleep, and get to work on finding something to eat, and making some traps.

You grab one of the knives Rafe somehow collected from the bag laying next to him as quietly as possible, sneaking outside and taking in your surroundings. The sound of the river flowing and the smell of morning dew was amazing- you wish you could truly enjoy it in different circumstances.

You quickly get to work tracking down something to eat, landing on a few different plants you know to be edible. You're trekking through the woods near your cave when you come across an apple tree- making you pause as you look it over. It looks out of place- and maybe no one got close enough to it in the games last time that you wouldn't have seen it, but that seems unlikely. It must be new; it makes for the perfect place to try and set up a trap for the next hungry tribute who would be unfortunate enough to wander too close to your hideout.

You're digging a hole in the ground with your hands, avoiding the roots of the tree and sticking in some sticks you sharpened when you hear a twig snap behind you. You freeze, hoping that by some miracle, it's just an animal. You slowly turn your head to try and look, picking up the knife from the ground next to you and holding it tight.

"Just me." Rafe's voice relaxes you, and you stand up, brushing off your knees.

"You scared me." You admit as he takes to looking down into the hole you just dug.

"That looks... awful." He chuckles, patting your shoulder. "It won't kill, but it'll slow someone down enough that I can finish the job."

You nod slightly, staring into the dirt as well. You hated the idea that you were crafting something intentionally to bring harm to another person, but realistically you have no choice. "We'll set up more, along the riverbed and closer to the career pack. We can't monitor them all at once, though- can you make more fatal ones next time?" Rafe asks, pointing back towards the river to accentuate his point.

"That depends, how many arrows can you spare?"

The next few days saw the death toll rise to thirty-six. You kept track every night, scratching their numbers and names into the walls of the cave despite being able to remember anyway. You viewed it as a small memorial, Rafe saw it as a timer ticking down to when he'd have to kill you.

Your first trap had worked on one person, their screams of pain from a cut-up leg summoning your teammate back to the apple tree. He insisted you stay behind as he finished what you started. You had to reset several other traps as well, closer to the cornucopia.

Rafe would never admit it, but he was really starting to like you. He didn't want to hurt you- he was worried the traps wouldn't do enough. The passive approach you so preferred wasn't what he expected, and he knew his dad would be disappointed in him. But Ward would never understand.

He sighed as he poked at the fire with a stick, leaning his head back against the rocky wall of the cave, another cold night ahead of you.

You had your head laid on his lap, his thigh replacing the thin material of your coat that you had been using the last few days.

"How old are your sisters?" You ask out of nowhere, prompting him to look down at you. He had thought you fell asleep a while ago.

"Why does it matter?" Rafe replies, and you just shrug a little bit.

"Gives us something to talk about."

"Fifteen and Eleven." He relents.

"Hey, me too." You smile a little to yourself.

"You have sisters?" Rafe asks. He never asked much about you- he didn't really want to know, in the case he had to kill you.

"Yep. And a brother." You nod, sitting up a little bit. "He's older though, he aged out last year."

Rafe finds himself clenching his jaw. He can't hear that- to see you as a little sister. He doesn't want to imagine what it would be like to see his sisters face the same fate. "Lucky guy." He says quietly.

"Why? I thought it was a privilege, and all that." You chuckle.

"Well, yeah, but not for most. For the outlying districts like you."

"At least you get it." You agree. "How does it feel? Now that you're here, I mean."

"Scary." Rafe admits, throwing caution to the wind now with what his father will think. "Not what everyone tells you it'll be like."

"Is that because of me?" You ask after a few moments, and he nods slightly.

"Not in a bad way, though. It's just different. I expected to be on my own, to die alone, or kill my allies if I had to. Now... I don't know that I have to. Or if I even could." He can practically hear his father shouting at their large screen at home, or storming out claiming he was an embarrassment. He was told his whole life to never show weakness, to 'be a man', but now, at the end, that doesn't matter to him.

"I won't take it personally." You giggle softly, voice shaking as you try to make light of it. "My family won't either, I don't think. Maybe my dad, at first, but eventually he'll understand. They'll forgive you." You try and ease his mind, knowing that in the case that Rafe does win without you, he'll have to face your family in the next month or so during the victory tour.

"I wouldn't ever expect him to." Rafe tells you, tossing his stick into the flames now. He feels sick hearing you talk about it like it's inevitable- but if he has anything to do with it, you'll be coming home with him.

"They're good people." You assure him.

"Don't say that." Rafe chuckles, shaking his head. "I would never forgive myself."

"Okay, fine. They're awful. Just... the worst." You smile, looking up at him and resting your chin in your hand.

"That's better. Thank you." Rafe laughs, poking your forehead and gazing out onto the river as the flames illuminate the water.

In the morning, you're awoken to something brushing your leg. You groan and roll over, head landing once more on Rafe's extended arm underneath you. At least he was finally getting some sleep, pretty much unable to close his eyes since you set foot in the arena. You feel the brush again, followed by something moving on your arm, several things, suddenly, and your eyes fly open and look down when you remember where you are. You let out a scream, scrambling to sit up and pushing yourself back against the wall.

Rafe wakes up quickly, scrambling for the bow next to him when he realizes it won't be any help. You're surrounded by and quickly almost covered in a sickening combination of snakes and spiders.

You're still screaming, trying to shove the creatures off of you. "Come on- come on!" Rafe is yelling at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the exit. You don't get the chance to grab your back and you regret that as you're jumping into the river in attempt to get the spiders off of your skin and out of your clothes.

You're breathing heavily as you come up for air, and Rafe is quickly there, brushing his hands over your hair to make sure every last spider is gone. He looks back at the entrance of the cave, chest heaving like yours as the bugs and snakes spill out of it. It sends a shiver down his spine- he was never a fan of snakes.

"I guess that's the gamemakers telling us enough was enough." He sighs, gently pulling you towards the shore again a safe distance away. "Are you bit?" He asks once you're a safe distance away.

"I don't think so..." You reply, hiking up the ankles of your pants to look at your calves and over your bare arms as you sit on the shore. "You?"

Rafe shakes his head, doing the same. "It was probably just a warning. We have to move." He quickly lowers his pant leg over the puncture wounds in his leg, hoping you didn't see. If it gets worse, he'll tell you. The bite itself didn't hurt much, so if it's going to be fatal, he's glad he won't have to hurt you.

Rafe helps you up, leading you up towards the tree line. "They probably want to push us in toward the other tributes, I think we should go with it before they throw something worse at us." You, the two of you now left with nothing but what you had on you, along with Rafe's bow and a few spare arrows.

He nods. "It's our best move anyways. How many tributes are left?"

"Twelve including us." You answer quickly. "There's Avril, a boy from six, Maisie, she's from my district, most of the careers I think are still in it but not their teammates," You begin to rattle off the list,

"I don't want to know names." Rafe cuts you off, and you understand why. He's been doing all the dirty work, and part of you knows it's because he's hoping to have time to learn names and feel guilty about it later. Right now, he can't afford to see them as human.

"Right." You agree. "It doesn't really matter, anyways."

"Do you know scores?" He asks, walking alongside you now.

You nod, beginning to list off all the remaining tributes and their scores, from lowest to highest. The lowest being you- and the highest being ten, shared by Rafe and a boy from district two.

After hearing two more cannons that day, and checking all the traps you had set, you're circling back to the river to be near fresh water before you set up camp again. You don't have your water bottle anymore, or anything to set up any kind of shelter with, you do your best. You set up a fire, Rafe insisting that if it draws other tributes to you so be it- he's ready for this to end just as much as you, but you don't want to rush into your death or an ambush. It's safe to say you won't be sleeping tonight.

You didn't sleep, but at least, curled up under a tree, the night sky was beautiful. The stars seemed realistic, and you wondered if somehow they were real. Between the two more cannons that struck overnight, you still wondered if you were somewhere near the ocean, or somewhere closer to home. While you're sitting next to each other in a peaceful silence, both admiring the vastness of the night sky, you hear a ringing sound coming from above.

Rafe quickly stands, reaching for the small silver pack with a parachute before it hits the ground. He's quick to open it as you stand up, looking into the container. You grab the small card, tilting it into the light of your fire to read it.

For our Y/N,

Keep fighting. Please come home to us.

Love You Always, Dad

Tears form in your eyes almost instantly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "It's just a water bottle and some kind of granola bars... or something." Rafe says, turning the water bottle over in his hand.

He looks up at you, frowning when he sees how upset you look. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." You quickly shake your head, wiping your eyes. "Uhm, it's from my dad."

The fact that your family could spare enough money to send you something in the games at all was amazing to you. You heard horror stories of the astronomical prices of trying to send something from outside of the capitol, without the status and funds of a sponsor.

"Oh." Rafe replies, handing you the tin and bottle now, taking the card from you gently. He reads it over slowly, and over and over again. His family had seemingly endless amounts of money, and they had sent him nothing. He knew his father viewed it as cheating, and that you shouldn't need any kind of help to win. If he loved him, though, that wouldn't matter. He should be willing to do anything he could to keep his son alive. The way your parents did.

"My mom made these." You sniffle, grabbing a small bar from the container in her hand. "They're my favourite, she only makes them on birthdays or special occasions." You explain.

"That's... that's really nice." Rafe says, putting the card back in the tin. He doesn't know how to handle this, or what to say.

You smile sadly as you sit back down against the tree, placing the tin on your lap as Rafe joins you. "Here." You hold the bar out to him.

"They're for you." Rafe shakes his head, pushing it away.

"They're for us." You insist, holding it out to him again. "They wouldn't have sent two if I wasn't meant to share."

"Thank you." Rafe smiles genuinely, for the first time in weeks as he takes it. He's starving, having eaten only small amounts of meat and plants over the last week or so, so he's quick to take a bite. It's sweet, more so than he expected. He never thought he could enjoy sugar this much.

"No wonder they're reserved for celebrations, hey?" You giggle, having intently watched his reaction.

Rafe nods. "Yeah, it's really good. Super sweet." He says, mouth still full. You grin, satisfied as you take a bite of your own.

The night flew by so quickly, you're feeling as though it must have gotten shorter. The sunrise went by fast too. You're guessing the gamemakers and the viewers were getting antsy. To be honest, you were as well.

Renewed with your energy the sugary baking your parents had sent, you set about gathering food and water, while Rafe goes on to check a few of your traps to see if they needed to be reset. He could do it on his own, but he liked watching you do it, working the ropes between your fingers and tying intricate knots, pulling back on the stick used to trigger the arrow. By the afternoon, having taken a mental note of the amount of cannons that had fired. It was a few, at least. You must be getting down to the end. He prayed it wasn't you, but the cries of some kind of mutts in the distance right before the cannons lead him to believe that you were fine- but he should be getting back soon anyways.

You were wandering down to the water, reluctant to leave your camp, but you knew water was a priority. You were just filling up the new bottle when you heard a scream. It sounded like a boy. You quickly look back over your shoulder, noticing it was nearby. Toward the apple tree. You stand slowly, looking around as you attach the water bottle back to your side with a carabiner, reaching instead for the knife Rafe had left with you. God, you hoped it wasn't him. The absence of a cannon gives you hope, though.

You quietly head in that direction, watching your step so your presence isn't detected. When you get closer to the tree, you hear crying. Painful crying, as you're faced with the reality of the trap you set.

You watch from behind a tree as the boy from eight tries to pull his leg up from the ground, screaming out again as the sharp sticks dig into his flesh. You should go get Rafe- you feel guilty, but you can't kill him yourself. You turn quickly, and before you can get a step away you're face to face with one of the other careers- a sword held up against your neck.

"Don't move." Blake says, a smile that can only be described as evil spreading over his lips.

You try and scream out for help, hoping Rafe was still in earshot but a hand is quickly covering your mouth. "Not yet." He whispers, shaking his head. "We've got a plan, it'll be fun. You wouldn't want to ruin that, right?"

As Rafe gets back to your small camp, he expects to see you there waiting. He scans the trees above him, wondering if you had climbed up for some reason. He calls your name when he doesn't see you, brow furrowed. You definitely should be back by now. As he's heading down to the water to look for you, he hears a cannon, which at this point wouldn't bother him- if it wasn't for the scream that followed after. It was you. No doubt in his mind that it was you. With his bow drawn, he's moving quickly towards where he heard your voice, throwing caution to the wind.

You scream again, crying as the tip of the sword is dug into your shoulder, laying down next to the apple tree. You can't help it- but you don't want their trap to work. You don't want Rafe to come, so you bite your tongue until you taste blood, hoping to keep quiet. "It'll only get worse for you if you don't scream, Y/N/N." Blake scolds you, digging in the blade more. "He has to hear you." He adds through gritted teeth.

You hear a twig snap just outside the small clearing, and Blake is quickly turning to look with the sword still pinning you to the ground. "Rafe it's a trap!" You shout, hoping that it's him.

Rafe steps out then, into full view with his bow drawn as he aims at the boy in front of him. When they first met, he knew they would have been good friends if they met anywhere else. "You won't shoot me." Blake chuckles, and Rafe quickly readjusts his grip.

"I will." Rafe says sternly, pulling the string tighter as Blake moves the sword to hover over your chest. Over your heart.

"If you shoot, the last of my energy will go into killing her. I don't think you want that." He shakes his head, smiling smugly.

"I don't care." Rafe says, making your heart clench. You know that you're friends, at the very least. He does care. He's bluffing- you have to believe that.

"If you didn't care you would have shot me already." Blake calls it, and Rafe tenses up, looking down at you only briefly.

"Then what do you want?" Rafe spits.

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to watch." Blake shrugs. "Just makes it a little more fun, you know? But don't worry, you'll be next." You know he just wants to prove himself, somehow, not having scored as high as Rafe did. You wonder if his family was somehow similar- that he needed some kind of approval that he thought he might find through sadism.

Rafe looks down at you again, and you just nod, tears streaming down your temples to your ears. He quickly readjusts before letting the arrow fly, planting straight in the shoulder that held the sword as you quickly roll over, slicing across your chest and shoulder in the process. It was well worth it.

Rafe fires another arrow into his chest, not taking any risks and the cannon quickly follows as he rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" He's asking, hands hovering above you as he's kneeled next to you, unsure what to do.

You nod, still biting into your tongue as blood continues to slide down your skin, dampening your now torn up clothes.

"It's not that bad." Rafe says, looking over the cuts as best he can, but you wince when he pulls the fabric away. "You're gonna be fine, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." You mumble, letting your head fall back against the brush below you. Rafe is quick to take his coat off, using it to push down on the deepest part of the wound on your shoulder, trying with his other hand to apply pressure to the rest of it. You try and focus on your breathing, rather than the pain, but it's hard when a significant amount of weight is being applied to your shoulder and chest.

"I'm sorry, I have to." Rafe tells you, jaw tense as he lifts his coat to check whether or not the bleeding has slowed. You didn't even realize you were crying.

After a few minutes, he's lessened the pressure a bit, still holding the fabric firmly over your skin. "You could have ran." You mumble, voice hardly above a whisper.

"I wasn't gonna leave you." Rafe shakes his head, gently peeling away his now blood soaked windbreaker.

"You at least shouldn't have saved me. Not much point in that, is there?" You smile softly, trying to sit up and Rafe is quick to help.

"There is. You have to win." He mutters.

"I'm not winning, Rafe." You smile sadly at him. "Infection will kill me if you won't, and if no one else does first."

"No, they'll fix you up. This cut will be gone in a week, the technology they have is-"

"Rafe." You grab his attention again and he looks up to meet your eyes. They seemed to suck in all the light of the sunset above the two of you, reflecting back at him in a way that makes his breath hitch. The thought is cut short, however, when you say something that breaks his heart. "Don't give me hope like that."

"Why? You're gonna go home. I mean it." He promises. "I'll make sure of it."

"I don't think we have enough." You remind him sadly, a small smile still evident on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek in your palm. "I never expected to go home. I'm okay with that."

Your friend shakes his head softly. "That doesn't matter. You have your family to get home to, I read that note from your dad. They need you, I can see that. For me, these games are all I was raised for. I have nothing left for me after this." He admits, avoiding eye contact with you. "I could never forgive myself if I didn't get you home."

Tears are forming in your eyes again as you look up at him. The world is watching, and in this moment of vulnerability you feel that more than ever- despite the quiet sounds around you being only the rushing water in the nearby river and the birds chirping around you. "You're a good person, Rafe." You smile at him, watching as he gently raises his hand to yours, grabbing it in his own. "I hope you know that."

In this moment, you settle on the idea that you would die for him. You never understood last years tributes, honestly, how they were willing to die for each other instead of getting home to their own loved ones, but now you do. Completely.

Without a second thought, you find yourself leaning closer, Rafe doing the same as he kneels next to you in the dark. Your eyes meet once more, lips only an inch from touching when you hear a howl in the distance, and you snap your head to the direction it came from. "The Mutts... Already?" You say, scrambling to get up and ignoring the pain in your shoulder.

"I- I heard them earlier, they sound far away." Rafe says, trying to calm you.

"You heard them? You didn't tell me?" You ask, frantically grabbing his bow from the ground and handing it to him as he goes to pull the discarded arrows out of Blake's body.

"I didn't think it mattered!" He defends, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

"There were four left last year when they sent them out. I think... yeah I think that's right. There's four of us. We have to run." You say in a panic, pulling on his hand. "Our best bet is making it back to the cornucopia."

"It'll be too open- can't we climb a tree or something?" Rafe says, following after you as you're running through the bush now in the direction of the open field.

"I don't know if that will work, but I know we'll be safe there." You explain like it's obvious. "We have to risk it- and if you can get to the others first, if they have the same idea, we'll be at ten."

You're out of breath already, adrenaline pushing you through as you hear scattered barking getting steadily closer after one more cannon. Part of you wants to stop, turn, and force Rafe to take the win if you couldn't have it, but with any hope left, you have to try and get back to where this started. The traps was an unfortunate choice in how you got your kills, because you couldn't keep track of how many since by the time you got around to checking them, the body's would have been airlifted off if it wasn't a misfire. If you had to guess, though, you were sitting at eight.

Rafe is running similar calculations in his head as he lets you lead him by memory straight to the field, mind short-circuiting as he sees the silver moonlight reflect off the cornucopia.

You sprint across the open field, blood pouring from your undressed wound again with the intense exertion of energy. Rafe doesn't pass you, though, despite you expecting that he would. You have tunnel vision as you make it to the metal structure, practically slamming into it before you can even stop. Rafe is quick to lift you and shove you up, both of you looking over your shoulders as you struggle to hold onto the edge, kicking the sides to hold yourself up.

You finally get up, reaching down to help pull Rafe up. He grabs onto your arm for leverage, mostly pulling himself up and you wince as you feel the tension from his weight in your cuts.

You flop down onto your back on the cold surface as he climbs over you, immediately standing up with bow drawn as he intently scans the surrounding area. He's only got the two arrows left, which makes him nervous if that's all he has to defend the both of you with.

You try to settle your breathing, which only lasts for a moment until the sky lights up with the recap. You miss your cave, where you could contribute to your memorial, especially seeing the face of Maisie flash above you on the sky while the anthem plays.

You close your eyes, just listening to the music now until you hear barking just outside of where Rafe can see, and you're quickly sitting up. He draws the bow tighter, aiming in the direction the howls came from just as someone pushes out into the clearing. Rafe is aimed straight at them, bow string pressed to his cheek. He's getting dizzy, and quickly. His aim can't fail him now, he doesn't have that option.

You watch them, in the dark you think it's the other boy from district one, and in your exhaustion you can't remember his name. You wouldn't dare say it, anyways. He's screaming for help, a call you know you can't answer, and you watch as they stumble on their feet, shoes and hands digging into the ground as they try to get up, just ten or so yards from you by now.

Rafe wants to shoot just then, it would be as simple as letting his finger loose and the arrow would fly towards its target. It would be a merciful end for the boy he's trained with for years now, only a couple years younger than him. The muscle in his jaw is aching from the tension he's put on it when he forces himself to let go. He has to do it, for himself, if he wants to go home.

He misses. The yelp of one of the mutts tells you it landed in a paw or back, and you look up at Rafe who's already drawn his second. "Rafe!" You cry out, pushing yourself up onto your feet and standing behind him now.

He hates to admit that your empathy has rubbed off on him. Watching you every night carving seemingly endless names and numbers into the rocks that lined the space you stepped in. He recalls waking up one morning and seeing your name and his carved in as well, closer to where he laid by the fire, his underlined and yours with a heart at the end. Like a signature on the top of a math test. He had wondered if you always wrote your name like that, and in this moment as he releases the bow again, he knows he has to find out for himself.

It happened so fast, the mutts knocking down the boy and the arrow flying from Rafe's shaky hands into where he should have been right as the cannon sounds. You don't know that it was Rafe's arrow that did him in.

"No..." You mumble, clamouring forward and onto your knees again to look over as the boys body is torn apart by the mutts. "You had to have done it. You had to." You say, trying to get a better view.

In a second, Rafe's arms are around you and he's pulling you back from the edge, sitting now behind you with his arms wrapped tightly over your body. "It's okay.. it's over." He mumbles, kissing the side of your head as the sunlight comes over the trees. He's fighting off the urge to vomit, everything spinning around him now.

You sit with him, gripping onto his arms and crying. Nothing is happening, so you must not have made it to ten. You feel sick- your heart is in your throat and suddenly you're really hot, moving away from him to look over the edge again, this time incase you have to throw up. You freeze, looking over to where the boy's body once was. The second arrow was in the ground. He missed again.

Rafe sees it at the same time as you. He sighs, hanging his legs over the edge. "Shit... Y/N, I'm sorry." He mumbles, gently reaching over to rub your back.

"No, no. It's okay." You insist, sitting up next to him. "I knew this would happen."

"I'll get you home." Rafe says, sliding down the side of the cornucopia before you can stop him. He stumbles the landing, swaying in his walk as he heads towards the arrow lodged into the dirt.

"Wait! Wait, wait, Rafe!" You're sliding down after him, running to his side and grabbing his arm before he can get to the arrow in the ground.

He turns to you quickly, hand on your cheek and he's pressing his lips to your forehead. "Sit with me?" He asks, knees already giving out as he falls to the ground.

You're instantly on the ground beside him, practically holding his head up with your free hand as you search him visually for some kind of injury. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Uh, I guess so." Rafe mutters. "Snake bite. I think."

"You didn't tell me? I could have fixed this, I could have helped..." You ramble on, his eyes dropping shut now. "Hey, eyes open."

"It's okay. Just sit with me..." He says again, smiling weakly. "Wait with me... please?"

You nod, sniffling as you fight back the tears that want to fall. "Yeah, of course. I'll stay."

Before he closes his eyes, the music starts again and your eyes are drawn up to the sky after you notice Rafe is looking first.

Then, begins a similar slideshow of faces you recognize. Ten in total. Rafe's eyes flicker with slight recollection, remembering any kills he made himself and you gasp when you see Jack. Whatever damage you had done when he tackled you on the first day must have killed him. "Rafe.." You mumble, lowering your eyes to meet his. "I think we won."

Your point is accentuated by the voice of the head gamemaker over some unseen speakers. "Introducing the Victors of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"

"We did it." Rafe laughs weakly, squeezing your hand.

You fully ignore the aircraft hovering down in front of you on the grass, turning your head to look down at him. You don't say anything, neither of you do, and you finally feel your lips against his. The kiss is bad, it doesn't really work when both of you are stuck smiling ear to ear, but you don't care one bit. The only thing that matters is that you got this chance at all.

Rafe pulls away from you slowly, using all the strength he has left to lift himself onto his feet as you steady him. "He needs help!" You shout to them, and you're quickly being lead onto the plane.

"They've got really good technology," You mock what he said to you just the day before. "It'll be like it never happened in a week, okay?" You chuckle, feeling waves of happiness, worry, and relief all at once as you quickly wipe away a tear with your free hand, other arm wrapped tightly around Rafe's waist to hold him up.

He laughs, and you lean into him more, your forehead against his shoulder as the aircraft door slides shut behind you.

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oweninadaydream · 3 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar.

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead.

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept.

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her.

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However, nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body.

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature.

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience.

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day.

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured :

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

#oweninadaydream #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #female reader #fem!reader #the hunger games imagine

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 10 months

Note

hi!! i thought i'd send in a request for lucy gray baird! i was thinking maybe hurt/comfort set in the arena, where reader gets injured and either lucy helps them or has to leave them alone for a bit for whatever reason? gn reader preferred but i don't mind too much!

can't wait to read your writing in the future! no pressure to write this specifically though, of course <3

— @aubeystawby

I'm so excited to write about Lucy Gray, she is such a cool character. And thank you for reposting my requirements list! Also, I'm sorry if she's OOC, I've never written for her and haven't read the book in a couple of months.

Lucy Gray Baird x Gender neutral! Reader (hurt/comfort)

Warning: mention of murder, blood, description of wounds, spoilers for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and hand-holding!

Keep in mind: the story can be taken in a platonic or romantic way. There are no kissing or romantic gestures but the way it is written can be taken either way.

Gliding one hand along the arena wall, you covered your eyes from the sun. The sun beamed down onto your skin, bathing you in warmth, but it wasn't pleasant. The midsummer heat and the humidity in the arena made it unbearable. It felt disgusting being in the sun from how little you had eaten in the past couple of hours.

When was the last time you had eaten a full meal? Maybe the night before reaping day. You couldn't have eaten anything the actual day from nerves. Your mentor barely gave you food from the days in the monkey house. The closest semblance of food you had received was from Capital citizens, which was minute and didn't help your appetite. You just had to hope your mentor pitied you enough to feed you now.

Hunger pains washed over your body, climbing through your body in waves. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, hoping the pains wouldn't last as long as the last time. Your prayers weren't answered, rather, the pains lasted nearly twice as long. Loud and deep breaths were heard coming from you as you keeled over.

When the hunger pains had left, you glanced around the dirt-covered arena, wanting to find any semblance of food. Perhaps another tribute willing to trade food for something. But what would you give? The only thing you had was a roll of bandages and a small knife. You could always threaten them. But it probably wouldn't have worked, the other tributes presumably had more than you. No point in that option.

You reminded yourself to stay focused, being in your head was not somewhere you wanted to be, especially in this place.

Your eyes glide over the surrounding area. The walls looked the same, a beige and dirty tone, it seemed to suck life from the already lifeless building. But the vibrancy of the six flags of Panem hung on the walls brought it back. Or rather five flags. One was gone and laid over several bodies in a large area of the arena.

Reaper’s graveyard. It brought a sense of disgust to you. The idea that they will always have Panem over them, even in death, made you pity them.

You didn't feel to count the bodies, rather, your eyes were drawn to a body in a small corner of the arena. It was a male tribute's body, several water bottles lay next to his body. You gave up discerning the identity of the tribute at the sight of a handkerchief over its face.

Buzzing sounds filled the silence as you looked up at a drone slowly flying toward you. It held a bread roll in its metal claw. A grin crossed your face as you reached your hand for the drone. At the sight of the bread in its metal hand, your mouth watered. Thank god your mentor had mercy on you. You held your hand out before it dropped the roll into your hand. It left as quickly as it had come but you didn't pay any mind to it.

You were swift as you took large bites out of brown bread. The stale, crumbly bread fell apart in your mouth but you kept eating. It didn't matter that the food wasn't the greatest, it was good you were even given food at all. Your fingers tore the bread apart rapidly. The feeling of hunger made the bread taste twice as good.

You were barely three-quarters through the bread when the small sound of metal hitting concrete filled the air. Your body stiffened. Silence filled the emptiness as you looked around quickly.

Your eyes trailed over the walls of the arena, then to the tunnel entrances. Your grasp on your knife tightened as you listened for anything else.

You were expecting one of the tributes to come running at you with a blade or an axe. Hell, you were expecting Reaper.

But the idea of someone getting their hand on a trident wasn't something that crossed your mind.

Heavy footsteps overtook the quiet and they grew closer. You didn't take a chance to look at who was running after you as you run for the channel entrance. A boy's voice yelled for another tribute, the boy calling for Coral. It must have been Mizzen. He was the only tribute that was allied with the girl tribute. And he was the only other tribute with a trident.

It took barely a second for the trident to be thrown through the air and hit your leg. Your body hit the ground roughly as you cried out. Pain flowed through your body as you reached back for the weapon. You peek at the boy running for you, and you were correct. It was Mizzen. You pull the trident from your leg harshly.

The pain grew worse as the air touched delicately at your bleeding wound. You got up and threw the weapon in another direction. It wouldn't be smart to take the trident with you. The situation was already bad but it would be worse being hunted for taking someone's stuff.

The trident hit the dirt-covered ground loudly. Mizzen was quick to rush for the skewer. It gave you little time to run since it seemed he wasn't willing to leave you alive.

Your footsteps were heavy as you dash through the flickering tunnels. Reaching down to hold your wound, you turned corners swiftly and continued running.

Agony crept up your leg and sprouted in your nerves as you ran from the boy. Mizzen’s shouts filled the flickering channel as you rush past corners. It took everything in you not to scream and wail from pain.

Hot pain wafted through your body as you limped through the tunnels. You took swift turns around the corners, wanting to get rid of your attacker. Heavy gasps left your lungs, not only from running but also from agony in your leg.

The lights shine down onto your blood-covered limb. Your face contorted in agony as you held your leg with one hand. Mizzen’s footsteps slowly quieted as you ran deeper into the dark tunnels.

When you were sure Mizzen and Coral had given up their chase, you finally stop running and slow to a walk, a slow and painful walk. You ground your teeth as you took in deep breaths. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. You reminded yourself.

You ultimately looked down at your wound, taking in the damage done to your limb. It was far more disgusting than you had thought. Blood ran down your leg, soaking your socks in reddish-pink tones. The trident had torn the muscles in your leg and putting any pressure proved painful.

Blood ran down your ankle and gradually covered the dark cement floor. Your breathing was heavy as you tried to unroll the gauze from your pocket. Tears cascade down your face as you hurriedly wipe dust and dirt from your wound, pain welling from the scratchiness of your clothes and the dirt.

You take deep breaths, trying to think happy thoughts so you can continue. You knew you couldn't be in the same spot for long. Another tribute would find you fast, and they wouldn't have mercy on you.

You looked at the remnants of the bread roll in your hand. The deep brown crust had become maroon from the blood it soaked up. Its insides were a pinkish hue. You cursed to yourself and threw the bread angrily at the wall, it hit with a soft ‘splat’.

You rigidly reached back into your pocket, withdrawing a small hunter's knife. Reaching for a piece of clothing, you cut at the fabric quickly. Threads came undone as you slash hastily but it didn't matter. You needed to make a tourniquet.

The soft clicking could barely be made clear. The tapping of shoes. Looking around the dingy hall, you're quick to grab your knife. Your breath is rigid as you give your best effort to stand. The pain in your leg seemed to claw at your body and nerves. You whined in pain but kept standing. Your good leg held most of your balance, while you kept your free hand against the curved wall. Your exhalation came as a pant.

You glared at the figure, guiding your knife to the woman in the dark. “Stay back!” You screeched, jutting the knife at the girl. She held her hands up, as though she was getting caught for something. You were still on guard when you started to piece together who the girl was. Her dress was vibrant, contrasting her tan skin. Oh, you knew who this was.

Lucy Gray.

It was obvious the arena warmth and stress had affected her. Her dark hair was tangled, and her forehead was sweaty, though her dress stayed vivid. You were slightly surprised she hadn't been killed yet, her dress could have given her away. But it must have been her sneakiness that kept her alive.

Even if she was a nice person, you knew not to back down. No matter how nice she was, you knew her survival was always number one for her. No matter how sweetly she spoke, you didn't want to look away from her out of worry she would attack.

Lucy Gray stepped into the light, showing herself fully. There were no noticeable weapons on her. The only thing pointing out that she had something on her would be one side of her rainbow ruffles hanging lower than the other. Something was in her pocket.

“(Y/n), I know how scared you must be. I saw your interaction with Mizzen, it didn't look too pretty,” Lucy Gray spoke, acknowledging the gaping wound on your leg with worry. “Yeah, no shit,” You retort, keeping a hard expression as you exhale through your teeth.

“I can help you, I have water to clean your wound. Plus, I want you to be my ally for the rest of the Games. I lost my District partner and you're just as alone as I am,” Lucy Gray seemed saddened at the mention of her District partner. Wasn't it Jessup? You couldn't remember properly. You stared daggers into her wordlessly. The only sound that could be heard was your loud breathing.

Your brain gradually shifted from her hurting you to the idea of partnering with her. Lucy Gray was popular in the Capital, everyone knew that. Partnering with her would have a lot of benefits since she has a lot of sponsors. Which meant food, lots of it.

Blood dripped onto the floor in large droplets, but you didn't pay attention to it. The only thing you were worried about was Lucy Gray. “(Y/n), if you don't let me help you, you're gonna bleed out,” she muttered and took a step closer. At the small action, you slashed at the air in front of her. You blinked lazily. Your breathing grew staggered as you slowly became lightheaded. You swallow thickly as you fall over onto the hard concrete.

Your body hits the ground with a thud. Silence follows as Lucy Gray peered down at you. She is quick to get closer, reaching into her rainbow ruffles to grab something. As you recover sluggishly, you immediately swing your knife at the closeness between you and the girl. Seeing her reach into her pocket, you sliced at the air near her with more intent.

You pointed the knife at Lucy Gray, giving her an angry yet weak stare. “Get away! Stay back!” You exclaimed as you used your free hand to trudge your body along the dirt floor. The dirt gradually covered your clothes as you tried to move away from the girl. You groan as the skin near your cut got dragged along the cement flooring. Tears ran down your face from the pain but you kept going. Pushing yourself farther from Lucy Gray, even if it was only a couple of inches.

Your body grew weak as the soreness in your body grew. Lucy Gray watched you closely, acting as though you were a hurt animal. You used your free hand to wipe the tears

Yet, she didn't try to hurt you. She simply gave you a saddened look as she tried stepping closer. “I'm not going to hurt you,” Lucy Gray spoke in a soft tone.

“How... How should I know you won't?” You bellow, your words coming out slowly from the pain of your wound.

Lucy Gray expressed her tenderness with a slight smile. She calmly reached into the ruffles of her rainbow dress. Your eyes stay fixed on Lucy Gray, the knife never pointing away from her. She didn't mind the knife and your angry gaze. She must have understood your fear, this was the Hunger Games after all, and you couldn't trust anyone. She finally pulled her hand out of the ruffles, attaining a clear bottle of water and a dark compact. She shook her colorful skirt, hoping to prove she had nothing else.

“I don't have anything else, see?” Lucy Gray smiled graciously, putting the compact back in her pocket. Her movements were slow and steady. She kneeled, laying the clear bottle on its side, and rolled it to you.

You eye the bottle and Lucy Gray, looking between the two swiftly. Your body grew weak as your arm holding the blade faltered. “(Y/n), I don't plan on hurting you. I know you don't trust me and I respect that, this isn't the place to trust anyone,” Lucy Gray took a step closer.

The lights in the tunnels flickered as you gaze up at her. Each second gave the impression of hours. Each time you blinked, it felt like a day. You lowered the blade bit by bit until it rested at your side. You placed yourself against the wall and grabbed the water bottle, acting as though you were reluctant. Lucy Gray looked pleased by you wordlessly accepting her offer, so she sat down next to you.

Some part of you wanted to push her away, maybe even point the knife at her but you were too weak. Instead, you held the bottle to Lucy Gray, letting her take it from you. She took it from you carefully, as though the small action of taking it too fast would hurt you.

You kept your focus on her, even if your vision was dazed and a bit blurry. The girl poured water onto her dirt-covered fingers, washing the soot off before turning the bottle to your wound. You braced yourself as you felt the lukewarm water run against your injury. Waves of discomfort washed through your body but you didn't try to stop Lucy Gray from helping you.

Her touch was gentle, her fingers caressing the skin around the bloody injury. The blood stains on her fingers greatly contrasted with her tan skin.

Every touch on the sensitive skin and flesh was painful. Lucy Gray was careful, her touch was only uncomfortable. She took the knife from your grasp and brought it to finish cutting the clothing you had started. But she didn't use it immediately. She set the cloth onto her vibrantly covered lap, reaching for the roll of bandages.

You were somewhat faster to grab the knife from her, not wanting her to change her mind about helping you. Light glinted off the dirty blade, shining a small light onto the floor. It brought a small ounce of happiness to you. It was childish but it was nonetheless fun to move the reflected light. You twisted the handle and the reflected shine glided over the cement. Even if the blood loss was causing your change in mood, a smile crossed your lips as you moved it again.

Lucy Gray looked between taking care of your injury and at your complexion. The smile brought a small sense of comfort to her. Knowing that you were able to keep your mind off the wound, even if it was childlike, brought Lucy Gray a kind of reassurance. She didn't stress to take the blade from you too.

She instead focused on your leg. She wrapped the bandages tightly around the bloody wound, which caused you to wince. Lucy Gray shushed you calmly. “Take deep breaths, think happy thoughts,” she muttered as she kept up with her care. You nodded. Instead of going back to distracting yourself, you took in the details of her corset.

It was beautiful, the corsets design drew you in. Two snakes tied as a bow, a beautiful primrose in the center, and katniss flowers painted around it. A lovely primrose protected by katniss, ain't that sweet?

When your attention was led back to your leg, Lucy Gray had already finished. Your leg was covered in stained bandages, your thigh tightly wrapped with a tourniquet made from a part of your clothes.

Lucy Gray held the bottle of water to your mouth. You didn't reach for it but accepted her help with drinking from it. There was little left for you but you needed it, your mouth dry from drinking nothing for days.

When the bottle was finished, Lucy Gray smiled and set it to the side. She took your hand and encouraged you to move when she wanted you to. Lucy Gray wanted to move you like a puppet but you obliged. Her hands moved to your shoulder then your back, pulling you gently to face away from her.

The small action made you worry but you were too weak to ask her what she was doing. But your thoughts were answered fast when Lucy Gray pulled your head into her lap. The rainbow ruffles that decorated her skirt tickled the back of your neck.

You could feel Lucy Gray holding you close, yet her arms loose. You watched her as she smiled down at you, your head in her lap. The lively shades of red and purple made you feel as though you were in a flower bed. Lucy Gray’s voice came out quietly, it seemed she still thought you were weak. You were but you wouldn't admit that to her.

“I can get us food when we go into the arena again, but not now. I want you to rest, ok?” Lucy Gray said softly. Her hands were gentle as she touched you, her fingers gliding over your skin.

Your eyes fluttered as you stared up from her lap. The want to show that you didn't want to rest was prevalent in your head, you knew it couldn't be seen on your face. You wanted to grab your knife and force her to take you to get food but you realize it was a bad idea. Lucy Gray has the power in this situation. She could kill you if she wanted.

Your thoughts came to a stop as Lucy Gray started to sing, murmuring the words. The words were difficult for you to hear but it nonetheless brought comfort. She kept your head propped up on her lap. Her fingers traced an indiscernible pattern on the back of your hand. It was calming. And Lucy Gray was so sweet. As you had thought before, she could have murdered you with your weak stare, yet she took care of you.

Lucy Gray kept serenading you in a soft voice. The sound of her voice didn't carry far, it only carried to you and her. Lucy Gray sang for comfort, not only for you but for herself. Lucy Gray’s fear and stress were distinct. Her voice was slightly shaky and so were her hands. They kept grazing your skin, trailing her fingers along your arm. At her evident stress, you shifted your hand to intertwine with hers.

Lucy Gray’s voice somewhat faltered, not expecting your touch. But she didn't pull her hand away. She squeezed your hand and continued to sing. Her voice is stronger now.

Each touch comforted you, it almost made you feel like you were in an entirely different place. You weren't in the arena, you were in her comforting arms. You didn't feel the pain in your legs or the fear of the other tributes. You only felt Lucy Gray’s warmth.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the hymn made your fatigue grow. Your body loosened in Lucy Gray’s arms. She kept you close as the song she sang ended but continued to another. She belted out the tune with sympathy and kindness. Her voice brought so much comfort, the meaning of the song wouldn't have mattered to you. Lucy Gray could have sung about murdering people but it still would have carried a sweetness.

Exhaust filled your body but Lucy Gray spoke again.

“Good night, (Y/n). Sleep well,” Lucy Gray’s voice whispered with the evident sound of a smile. The words conveyed something to your mind, permission to sleep. Her words gave you acceptance to be weak (or weaker than before) with her.

And you finally slept. You slept in her arms, your head against her rainbow ruffles. You imagined you were in a field of beautiful flowers, rainbow flowers. Some part of you hoped that is where you would be when the Games are over.

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squoosheez · 5 months

Text

Sweet Relief

Finnick Odair x Reader

summary: Yesterday, the reaping took place. Your name was the one picked from thousands—and it was your last year to even be eligible. Being from district four, your mentor is none other than Finnick Odair. Prince of the Capitol. Your relationship is off to a rocky start, but on your second night, he starts to come around.

setting: The 70th Hunger Games. You’re the female tribute from District 4, on your way to the Capitol with your male tribute, Caspian, and your mentor, Finnick Odair.

pairing: Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, implied mentions of forced prostitution but not blatantly mentioned ykwim?

notes: I wrote this in two sittings and it’s not proofread and it’s also my first time posting anything on tumblr soooo…

word count: 5.2k

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socials: ao3 (that’s all I have bcuz my cc isn’t working rn 😭

Thick, humid air circulates through your enormous room. This was not what you expected when they had called your name for the reaping. You still remember it like it’s happening in the present. You find yourself laying on your memory foam bed with satin sheets—courtesy of the capitol. One thousand thoughts race through your mind as you recall the events of this evening.

To start, you almost punched your mentor in the face. You try to convince yourself he deserved it, but he was just trying to lighten up the situation and try to make you feel better. At dinner, he made a comment about the games. His words rang through your mind. “Even if you don’t win, just try not to be killed first.”

It makes your blood boil just thinking about it. You’re appalled by his insensitivity. You know those people aren’t any less smart or skilled as anyone else in that arena. Just because Finnick was the one to kill them off, doesn’t make them any weaker.

District four. Your home, family, friends, everyone you love is there. You can’t imagine not making it home to them. You also can’t believe this just had to be the last year you’re even eligible for the games. The worst luck ever. You groan as you pull the comforter over your body. One of the perks about being a tribute has got to be how well they treat you before you’re sent off to your death. You finally start to drift off into a semi-deep sleep—since real sleep is impossible—when you hear a soft knocking at your door.

You groan again before allowing the person into your room. You watch intently as the figure makes its way further and further towards your bed. You can only assume it’s an avox coming to give you a spa treatment or something else extravagant. But to your surprise, it’s your fatally charming mentor.

“What are you doing here, Finnick? Wanna piss me off some more?” You immediately bark out, not even giving him a chance to look into your eyes. This obviously makes him angry, you can see it on his face.

He bites his lip in frustration. “Listen here, little girl. You should try showing your mentor some respect for a change. I could be the very difference between life and death for you in that arena. I wouldn’t take that for granted if I were you,” his fake smile pierces through your blanket of security. He really knows how to make your spine shiver.

“Here to tell you that we’ll be arriving at 7am tomorrow morning. I suggest you be up and ready before then,” he continues. You watch as he takes a piece of fruit from your nightstand and bites into it. He gives another fake smile and walks out of your room, the automatic door sliding closed behind him. The sound of his voice makes your face grow hot in anger. It’s like everything he says is made to piss you off, but he had a good point. He’s the one who decides what gets sent out. He can help you live or let you die. Maybe you should try and get on his good side.

A good two hours fly by while you lay helplessly trying to grasp onto an ounce of sleep. It’s no use. You’re far too nervous to even close your eyes. The thought of losing everyone creeps into the back of your mind, but you deem the thought selfish. You’re not losing them, they’re losing you. More than they already have. Your mother and sister sitting at home wondering why it was you. Your best friends pondering what life will be like without you. It was your final year.

The good thing about coming from district four was that most oftenly, they were able to form alliances with the main careers, district one and two. Though, you deemed them to be quite arrogant, stuck up, obnoxious.. the list goes on. You were probably the only one in district four that doesn’t wanna prove they can win The Hunger Games.

The boy two doors down from you has been training his whole life for this moment. Technically, it’s illegal to train, but since when does anyone follow the rules when it comes to the games? The little boy whose name was picked at the reaping was only twelve. You thought that maybe they were related, but he just really wanted a chance to win. Foolish. The boy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, you think.

When it comes to Finnick, he seems to favor you—which seems peculiar considering the fact you treat him like shit and the boy is nothing but pleasant towards him. You always assume he just acts that way towards the girls, he does seem to be a charmer. Capitol’s prince, some would call him. That warning he gave you earlier, was probably him genuinely trying to be helpful. You find that very hard to believe.

You turn on your side and click on the bedside lamp. The light brightens up the room more than a lamp probably should. The Capitol needs to stop sucking up to us, you think as you sit up and tread off to your bathroom. The bathroom is huge, a big shower that could fit any toiletries you could imagine. There’s a vanity full of makeup and hair products that you have never even seen before in your life. Red velvet robes that look incredibly soft and inviting. Last but not least, it smells of roses. The whole bathroom smells like you just walked into a florist.

You stretch and look at yourself in the huge wall mirror. You don’t look like yourself. Your features seem distorted and different. You know that you really do look the same, but you don’t feel like yourself. It’s definitely the Capitol. You turn on the water in the shower and wait for it to reach your desired temperature. You discard yourself of your clothes, realizing that you had never changed into your pajamas. When you finish undoing your hair and undressing, you step into the hot water.

Ten minutes pass and you’re rinsing some rose scented conditioner out of the ends of your hair. Everything here seems to be rose scented. Do we smell that bad? You laugh to yourself as you step out of the shower and grab onto a towel. You quickly dry off your body and hair, wrapping the towel around your hair and slipping into one of the velvet robes. Soft doesn’t even begin to describe it.

You open the door to your bedroom and begin to walk into it before you realize there’s a figure sitting on your bed. You assume it’s the boy from your district, probably couldn’t sleep either. Wants to talk strategy with you, pretend to be in love or helpless or siblings, or something even more ridiculous. To your surprise, it’s not the tribute boy at all. Quite the opposite.

You take a few steps closer, examining everything you can in the dark before you come to a conclusion. It’s Finnick. His golden-brown curls falling on his forehead paired with his sea green eyes, it’s obvious.

“What are you doing here?” You snarl, earning a laugh on his end.

“Well, you’re very welcoming,” Finnick says in return. He yawns and stretches before completely spreading himself out on your bed. “I went to check on your friend, Caspian, but he was dead asleep. Just thought I’d make sure you're sleeping.”

I knew he had a name. You roll your eyes and give Finnick an annoyed expression. “It’s impossible to sleep knowing I’m about to be sent off to my inevitable death.”

Finnick smiles. It makes you angry. He sits up to look you in the eyes. “It’s stuff like this that makes me think you really do have a chance. Definitely more than your friend down the hall, hate to say it.” He gives a fake disappointed look and it makes you chuckle to yourself.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you say. You slowly approach the bed and sit down beside Finnick despite how wrong it feels. Finnick rolls his eyes and grabs your hand.

“I think you have the drive. If you really wanted it—which you will in the arena—I definitely think you have a good chance of surviving. We’re district four. Make some allies, I know deep down you can push that cold heart and face of yours out of the way.” He gives your hand a squeeze of encouragement.

It makes you think. Just two hours ago you were sulking about losing everyone and everything, when in reality you don’t have to. You breathe out slowly, taking in everything Finnick said. He’s still there, staring at you with his green eyes. For once, his face doesn’t fill you with rage. His voice doesn’t infuriate you. He looks gentle. Compassionate. Charming. Finnick.

“Thanks,” is the only word you can mutter out. He looks at you with an endearing smile and kind eyes. You didn’t think he was capable of being nice. He looks actually sincere for once. Wow.

Finnick stands up and starts to make his way towards the door when your voice cuts through his action. “Finnick—” He turns around to face you, curiosity plastered on his face. He mumbles a quiet ‘hm?’ and you freeze. It’s like your words aren’t yours anymore.

“Will you stay?”

Finnick’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at your words. Immediately, you regret saying it. You want to hide underneath the comforter and never show your face to him ever again. Your face lights up a bright red, and you hope he doesn’t notice this.

A smirk creeps up on Finnick’s face. He doesn’t even give you a straight answer, he just climbs back into bed with you—which in most circumstances is very inappropriate for a mentor to do with a tribute. It’s fine, he’s only twenty.

Finnick wraps his arm around you, it's only then you remember you haven’t put on pajamas yet. You’re laying there in the robe from your bath, and your towel is still wrapped around your hair. You pull the towel off and let your still somewhat wet hair free to fall onto the sides of your face. Finnick looks over at you and gives your shoulder another squeeze of encouragement. Him and his squeezes of encouragement.

You reach around for the remote before finding it and turning on some show you’ve never seen before. In the districts, you only really get Capitol news. It’s definitely nice for a change. You and Finnick watch whatever drama is unfolding on the screen, holding each other as tightly as possibly.

“What’s it like?” You mutter out against Finnick’s shoulder. His head perks up as he registers what you said. He stays quiet, probably because you weren’t specific enough. “As a victor, I mean.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing as if he doesn’t want to tell you. Like it’s some sort of bad news your parents tell you when you’re ten. “It’s not as great as I make it seem.”

Your eyebrows raise. He always makes it seem like he’s living the dream out here. Money, jewels, fame, glory. He has it all. What could possibly be bad about being a victor?

“I want you to win. I really do, and I think you’re very capable of doing so but..” his words catch in the back of his throat. “I don’t want you to go through what I did.”

His expression is cold. He’s not even looking at you anymore, his gaze is fixated on the screen, but you know he’s not watching. It’s like watching him hold back tears with no tears to hold back. This time you give his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. This makes him smile softly and return his stare towards you.

“It’s wonderful.. now. I do have money and jewels, fame and glory. But nothing in life is free.” His smile fades, and he brushes a piece of your wet hair behind your ear. He is so good at keeping you oblivious. It’s frustrating.

He pulls you in closer, his grip on your shoulder tightens. Your breathing grows faster. You can hear his heart beating in his chest, and it makes yours beat even faster. His hand starts to move towards your hair. He runs his fingers through your slowly, making sure not to tug too hard. Just three hours ago, you could’ve sworn he hated your guts. What is wrong with him?

All you can do is look over at him. You realize he’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look away. The look in his eyes is something to fear, that’s for sure. He has to be zoning out.. But he’s not. He turns his body to face yours, resting his free hand on your side. You’re dumbfounded. Star struck, even. You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. Finnick smiles and caresses your jaw with his thumb. This seems oddly intimate, and you have zero experience in being intimate.

You want to pull away. You think. You’re frozen, a slave to his touch. You want to move, but you don’t. His fingertips dance across your hips and jaw. You start to believe he’s playing a trick on you. He wants to see how far you’re willing to go. Well, you’re not a quitter. That’s for sure.

Instead of your typical surprised expression, your face morphs into a confident smirk. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, in fact it does. Before you can wipe it away, Finnick presses his lips eagerly against your own. His tongue runs over the drop of blood, tasting the metallic substance mixed with your saliva. Jesus Christ.

His hands pull your face even closer, along with your body. Your robe is becoming loose, you feel the knot slipping slowly. Your hands are entangled in his golden hair, your eyes are closed so tightly. All you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel.

This is definitely wrong on some level, but when he’s touching and kissing you in all the right places, it seems to not matter. His lips begin to move downward. He places soft kisses on your jaw and neck. Once he reaches your collarbones, the kisses get more intense. He starts sucking dark purple hickeys and leaving discreet teeth marks on your fragile skin. He’s eager, but careful. As if your body is a porcelain doll and he’s the only one allowed to hold it. He’s so gentle yet abrasive.

Your muscles tense as you feel his hands travel down your waist and resting on your hips. You know his intentions. He’s not just kissing you in your bed while practically laying on top of you for nothing. He looks up at you, his sea green eyes pleading for you.

“Can I take off your robe?” He says softly. His voice seems safe now. Not infuriating. You give him a nod, but it’s not good enough for him. “I need to hear a yes.”

“Yes,” you say. And with that, he unties your robe in one swift motion. The sides of the robe fall off onto each side of your body, completely revealing everything. Obviously, since you just got out of the shower, there was nothing else underneath. Finnick observes every inch of your body before continuing to attack your chest with kisses.

It makes you smile. He’s so eager to make you feel good, and it makes you forget how you hated him moments before this. You feel his tongue trace the shape of your breasts, slowly making its way to your nipples. You’re quickly reminded just how bare you really are when Finnick licks a stripe up your nipple, his teeth catching on the bud. Your body tenses, and a chill runs down your spine. His hands move to your lower back, making you arch for him. You notice his smile at your helplessness.

You squeeze your legs together in a desperate attempt for any sort of relief. Your mouth drapes open as Finnick continues to tease you. Kissing everywhere, touching everywhere except the place you desire it most. Back to frustrating. You pull his head up by his hair to look him in the eyes. You’re pretty much begging with the look you’re giving, but Finnick still doesn’t think it’s enough.

He places another gentle kiss on your upper thigh, leaving his tongue to linger slightly longer. “Is there something you want, honey?” His voice was condescending yet so sweet to hear.

His words make you squirm, but the grip he has on your hips prevents you from going very far. You attempt to speak but all that escapes is a strangled moan you didn’t know was lurking in your throat. Finnick chuckles against your abdomen, causing your muscles to tense up. You realize quickly that he’s not going to resume his work until you give him an answer.

You roll your eyes at him to hide your embarrassment, like usual. He knows exactly what you want him to do. He knows exactly where you want to be touched. He just wants to hear you say it. “I wanna feel you, Finnick.”

Not good enough. He immediately refutes your statement.

“What do you want to feel, baby?” He places another kiss on your inner thigh. You can feel the throbbing sensation between your legs grow even more prominent when he calls you ‘baby.’ You can’t even form words; he just laughs at your struggling attempt.

“What about..” he begins. His fingers trail down the sides of your waist and stop at your hips. His calloused hands move forward to the front of your thighs, giving them a squeeze for good measure. “My tongue? You seem to be enjoying that so far.”

Fuck yes.

You throw your head back at the proposal. You would be laughing like a maniac if it weren’t for your inability to form words, which once again is not going too great for you. Finnick awaits an answer and the only thing coming out of your mouth is drool and moans.

Luckily, he starts to ease up on you. His hands find their way to your knees, spreading your legs apart as far as you’ll allow him. You feel so exposed in the best way possible. Finnick continues to leave sweet kisses on your inner thighs, teasing you on and on. You physically cannot take it anymore.

You grab Finnick by his hair, once again, and yank him forward. “If you don’t eat me out right now, you may never get the chance to. I would make your choice wisely and quickly.”

His eyes widen at your words, clearly surprised, but not unhappy. His sly smile creeps back onto his face as he licks a stripe between your folds. Your back immediately arches against his tongue. He takes the opportunity to grab the back of your thighs, allowing himself full control of your position.

You don’t resist whatsoever. As soon as his tongue is back inside you, tracing circles around your clit, everything fades away. He flicks his tongue over the same spot and a sharp moan echoes through the room. You come to the conclusion that it’s from you. Finnick chuckles softly. The cool air against your wet heat just makes you feel like you’re floating. And if he can’t tell how much you’re enjoying this by your body’s reaction, he can tell by the look on your face.

Finnick’s tongue continues to work its magic as your hands flail around for something to hold onto it. They end up grabbing onto the pillow and you’re surprised the whole train car can’t hear how loud you’re being. You swear no one else could make you feel this way. His tongue knows exactly where to go and what to do. You feel his hand move closer to your heat and it drives you crazy. His thumb moves slowly towards your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. Meanwhile, his tongue is prodding at your entrance. A loud moan escapes your lips as you attempt to focus on one thing at a time.

“Finn..” you whimper out. He pulls away from in between your legs, a mixture of juices dripping down his chin. He looks up at you, his chest heaving. He looks so good. Something about him looking so fucked out just manages to turn you on. “You look so fucking hot.”

A smile creeps up on his face at your words. He licks his lips and climbs up to meet your face. He places a soft kiss on your lips as a ‘thank you.’ You smile back and take the opportunity to give the obvious bulge in his pants a gentle squeeze. A groan leaves Finnick’s mouth and his hand makes its way back down to your pussy. He slips a finger in between your lips, flicking it over your clit again. Now you’re even.

You squeeze your legs together, making the pressure ten times more intense. You let out a soft whimper that seems to just push Finnick over the edge. He immediately pulls down his grey sweats, revealing his erection underneath a pair of black boxer briefs. You don’t even have to look twice to determine that’s gonna hurt.

You sit up and cross your legs to be face to face with him. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair trying to determine what he wants to do next. His eyes flick back and forth between you and his dick before coming to a consensus.

“On your knees,” he smiles. You quickly scurry off the bed and onto your knees in front of him. You pull your hair into a tight ponytail and wetten your mouth, a smirk plastering your face. You allow him to pull down his boxers, his erection springing up towards his abdomen. The sight makes you ten times wetter.

You take Finnick’s cock into your hand, giving it a few strokes as beads of precum run down your hand. You can feel him throb in your hand and it makes you let out a small chuckle. He laughs too, not really understanding why.

You give the head a small kitten lick and watch as his face scrunches up in pleasure. You take the tip entirely into your mouth and Finnick lets out a loud groan. His hips begin to move slowly into your mouth. He makes sure not to go too fast or deep in case you can’t take it. You take at least two more inches to assure him you can.

You continue to bob your head up and down as his hips fuck the back of your throat. Whatever you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke eagerly with the hand that’s not grabbing onto Finnick’s thigh.

Tears well up in your eyes and drool drips down your mouth as he fucks deeper into it. His little groans and whimpers are all the encouragement you need. You just sit back and let him have his way with you, every now and then you hum, sending the most pleasurable vibrations through his body.

You can feel his climax near when his hips start to stutter and his movements become faster and more desperate. You move your hands to rest on his chest, rolling his nipples in between your fingers. This throws him completely over the edge, because quickly after, he’s cumming down your throat. You take him out of your mouth and swallow what’s left of his cum before standing up to give him a sweaty, teary, drooly, cummy kiss. His tongue explores your mouth tasting what remains of his cum and you can see a string of your saliva when the kiss is over.

Despite your incredible blowjob skills, he’s still eager to make you feel as amazing as he possibly can. He moves his hands down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze of encouragement. You giggle and fall back onto the bed. The satin sheets feel so good underneath your hot skin, and Finnick looks so inviting.

You close your eyes and suddenly he’s gone. You search around for a moment until realizing he’s gone to get condoms. Smart man. Not giving me a choice. When he comes back, he slips on the condom with ease and gives his hand a small squirt of lubricant.

“Don’t think I’ll need much,” he says smirking. “You’re already soaking wet for me. Yes?”

You feel yourself throb in between your legs at his words. He is seriously driving you insane. You watch as he coats his cock with the lubricant and gives himself a couple lazy strokes.

You can’t even think of a response, so instead you just pull him down to kiss you. After a few moments you break the kiss. “Finnick..”

“Don’t wear it out,” he speaks slowly. You just can’t take your eyes off of how big he is. “You’ll be screaming it in a minute.”

You smile at his cocky response. You feel him line-up with your entrance. One of your hands is resting on his bicep, the other is tracing circles on your clit. You let out a soft moan as you feel his tip slowly slipping into you. You don’t understand how he could be this slow. He wants this just as bad as you do, why is he being such a tease?

Instead of pushing deeper, Finnick decides to just use the tip for now. You’re squirming and writhing underneath him, desperate for something more. Every time you look at his face, he looks like he’s in heaven. Finally, he slowly slides more into you. You can feel every vein pulsating inside you. It makes you clench around him, which earns a very strong moan from Finnick’s mouth.

Your thoughts are being clouded with Finnick. Every touch he makes, every breath he breathes. Everything is Finnick. He’s murmuring something under his breath, but you have zero clue what. Probably something along the lines of ‘you’re so fucking hot,’ or ‘I’ve been waiting so long for this.’

You watch as beads of sweat drip off his forehead and onto your stomach. You realize very quickly why he wanted to take it slow. As soon as he tries to push completely into you, he bottoms out. You tense up, surprised by the feeling. Finnick looks at you and back down at his dick once again. By the look on his face, you can tell he is not all the way in.

“Fuck, Finnick. I didn’t realize you were that big!” You groan partially in frustration and partially in pleasure as he rolls his hips in a circular motion. He just smirks in response. Despite the little bump in the road, Finnick continues his shallow thrusts. He’s more careful now, he doesn't want to hurt you and now it’s become very easy to do so. You let out a loud whimper at his movements, angled to hit your g-spot with every little movement. Unfortunately for you, he’s still taking his sweet time.

He can sense your neediness. It’s driving him crazy. He starts to move slightly faster, but he’s still trying to savor the moment. Your back arches whenever he hits your sweet spot, which is pretty often. Your legs start to shake from using them to keep yourself up. Finnick notices and immediately pulls out and picks you up. This takes you by surprise and you flush a bright pink color.

“I wanna make sure you’re comfortable, how do you wanna lay?” His voice is soft and sweet. It’s crazy how fast his tone can switch between dominant and demanding to soft and caring.

You bite your lip and wrap your arms around his neck. “Can I ride you?”

That’s not the answer Finnick was expecting. He nods eagerly and flips the two of you around. Now he’s laying on the bed, and you're sitting on top of him. You line him up with your hole and sink down slowly onto him once again. Once he bottoms out, you start to move your hips in a circle. Finnick’s hands fly to your waist, guiding your movement. He watches as you ride him, tits bouncing directly in his face. He is surely the luckiest man alive.

His groans grow louder and more frequent, and your movements become faster and harder. His hands move to cup your ass, giving it a couple slaps as you bounce on his cock. You clench around him every time and it makes him so horny it hurts.

Finnick flips you over once more, wrapping your legs around his neck. His thrusts are much more powerful now. They’re aiming to hit your spot and it’s so good. His hands are fondling with your tits, pinching your nipples as his thrusts grow faster. His other hand is fixated on your clit, rubbing it just hard enough to make your back arch and leave scratch marks on Finnick’s biceps.

You can hear his breath faltering and his thrusts become sloppy. He’s whispering words to you, but you can’t quite comprehend exactly what he’s saying. Loud moans are leaving your mouth, but you can’t hear anything besides the slaps of your ass against Finnick’s hips, and his groans.

You feel his hand get faster, giving your clit just the right amount of attention it needs to feel your climax bubbling up in your lower stomach. You clench around him in response, and that’s what pushes him over the edge.

He pounds into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot over and over again until you can’t take it. Your moans have become broken cries as tears flow from your eyes. The only words you can form are ‘Finnick’ and ‘faster.’ It doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach its peak. Your body tightens completely, causing Finnick to release with you. He cums with a loud moan, even though your senses are still clouded from seeing stars, you can assume it was probably a drawn out ‘fuck.’

You pull him closer as his body collapses into yours. You give him another kiss before pulling the used condom off of him and tossing it into the trash bin. He gives you a weak smile as he breathes in your scent.

“You were amazing,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck. You pull the comforter over the two of you and close your eyes.

“You were perfect,” you respond smiling. He gives you another kiss on the cheek since he can’t stand not having his lips on you. The reality of your situation sets in very quickly. You’re about to be in the Hunger Games and you’ve just accidentally fucked your mentor. Accidentally may be a stretch.

You look over at Finnick, somehow putting your emotions aside. You give him a sad smile and place a soft kiss directly onto his lips. It confuses him, but he doesn’t question it. You’re clearly in a vulnerable state and he doesn’t want to pry too much.

You look into his eyes for far too long. The beautiful sea-green color that completely encapsulates the beauty of the ocean. You realize far too late how you really feel about Finnick Odair. The worst part is…

The clock just struck seven.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #finnick x y/n #finnick fanfic #fanfic #smut #thg finnick #alternate universe #light angst

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fallingskiesandrisingseas · 1 year

Text

Been thinking about the set up of the Quarter Quell in Catching Fire, and something bothered me.

We have been told multiple times that the system to reap tributes isn't fair.

In the Career districts, the tributes are handpicked, chosen by their mentor based on skill and likability. They also tend to choose older tributes, as they have a higher chance of winning.

In the non-Career districts, Tesserae make sure that it is the poorest members of society that end up being reaped the most. More tickets in the bowl in order to gain a year's supply grain and oil is an offer that children like Katniss and Gale simply cannot refuse. And other systems are downright noted to be suspicious, like 11. The district is far too large for the tributes to be reaped from a bowl. Something more sinister might be going on.

These two systems are not iron-clad, however. In District 4, presumably a Career District, Finnick is chosen at the age of 14, which would imply that his teachers wanted to get rid of him or genuinly believed he would be able to win at 14. And in District 12, Prim is reaped, despite her name only being in the bowl once.

Then the Third Quarter Quell rolls around, and suddenly there are many victors reaped that don't agree with the methods of the Capitol, who are angry, who become or are already part of the revolution.

Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, Mags, Peeta, Chaff, Seeder, Gloss, Cashmere, Katniss, the Morphlings, Johanna, Blight, Celia, Woof; all part of the revolution.

Now, we are told that the Careers win it almost every year. We are told that they have the deepest pool of victors.

So why do they send in four people that absolutely do not want to be there?

Finnick, Mags, Gloss an d Cashmere all express discomfort at the idea of being in another games. They all express anger. And Annie was so traumatized by it that she doesn't want to go back ever.

But without Mags volunteering, it'd be Annie and Finnick, Gloss and Cashmere. Two pairs of people who do not under any circumstances want to kill each other.

There must be others, right? From how much prestige the Games have in the Career districts, certainly there are people dreaming of the chance to win it twice?

Or they all find out how life really is after all the trauma they went through and decide not to volunteer. The brainwashing comes off ( like veterans returning from war ).

Still, it is strange that those four get picked in that setup.

And Peeta and Katniss obviously are a part of the rebellion.

But Chaff and Seeder are a part of it too. Strong people from the largest district. As are Beetee and Wiress, perhaps the smartest tributes. Real assets for a revolution. We might need to kill them off....

What I am saying is that, if Snow can help it, he is sending in the people he wants dead the most. We know the Third Quarter Quell is a ploy to hopefully kill Peeta or Haymitch and Katniss, but it might also prove very useful to take out the tributes that are thinking about revolutionizing against the Capitol.

Killers.

Geniuses.

Men and women with a personal grudge against Snow and the willingness and ability to do damage, to make that grudge mean something.

I'm saying the Third Quarter Quell is a way to kill of clever people capable of violence who are revered in their communities, seen as beacons of hope, as leaders. That it is rigged to take out those most likely to revolt against the regime. That it leaves those who are no threat alone to take down those who are.

The Third Quarter Quell is meant to cull the heard. To make sure the revolution dies, to take out the officers, the front men. And the fact that it kills some people uninvolved? ( District 5, District 10, District 8? ). Too bad.

Funnily enough, despite nearly everyone listed dying, Snow accomplishes the opposite. Total war against the districts. He doesn't slow down the revolution: he speeds it up.

But we need to give him credit for having the skill to strike first. To sense the revolution. To try and nip it in the bud.

Shame he was focussed on Katniss and didn't see Coin. His rage killed him, in the end. His hatred, his obsession with Katniss. His blindness to the growing power of District 13.

Of course, it can also be that the Victors from other districts just happen to be those that are still alive.

There are only 74 Hunger Games, with 75 victors. Assuming the first 25 are dead minus Mags and Woof, there are only 50 Games for 20 spots.

But still...

Snow is cunning, and the fact that so many young and dangerous people end up in the Games ( generally tributes are below 40 ) speaks to his desire to get rid of those that do not serve him. This is also evidenced by the fact that Enobaria survives, and is treated well.

Kill disgruntled Careers and other dangerous elements. Kill either Haymitch or Peeta and Katniss. Let Brutus / Enobaria win the Games.

Rig the system. Protect the Capitol. Remain in power.

#character analysis #hunger games meta #headcannons #fan theory #hunger games movie #catching fire #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #finnick odair #haymitch abernathy #president snow

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strawb3rrystar · 4 months

Note

Hii, I have a really sad angst idea for sejanus plinth if you're open to hearing it! It's a platonic fic if you're okay with writing those. My idea is basically sejanus is the mentor for the female tribute of district two right? Except she's just a little kid, maybe even younger than wovey. Over time he sees her more and more as a little sister figure and is desperately trying to find a way to protect her. Despite her age she's quite emotionally intelligent and (as much as a child can) understands that she won't survive. She's still happy (again as happy as she can be) and tells sejanus not to worry about her. Before she enters the arena sejanus makes her promise to hide till it's all over. Well she breaks that promise to save another tribute ( maybe wovey or Lucy gray someone who she's friends with). My vision is someone sneaking up on her friend and she throws a rock to distract them so her friend can get away. she avoids other tributes but eventually gets taken out by the snakes. Her last words are apologizing to sejanus for breaking their promise. I personally think he'd be so upset he'd puke. If you choose to write this thank you! I'm way to nervous to write my own fics lol

Broken promises.

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth + Fem! District 2 tribute! Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Major character death, Mention Sejanus feeling nauseous

Word count: 1,250

✰Masterlist

Sejanus' heart broke when he heard that he would be mentoring a girl from District 2. It broke even more when he saw you were just a little kid. He felt sick to his somatch, his head pounded as he tried to eat something from the large array of food that the academy hand set out.

That night, he couldn't sleep. The image of you on screen flashed through his head. The way your hands trembled as you stood next to the male tribute.

He wanted to cry once he saw you sitting in the monkey cage like the others. Your eyes nervously dart around as if you would be killed any second. He softly called out your name, and your head shot up. Sejanus stuck his hand through the bars to offer you the sandwich he had brought with him.

You walk towards him cautiously, not holding any resentment in your eyes, but also not trusting him either. You mumble a small thanks and took a bite of what, to you, was the best thing you tasted all week. Sejanus tried his best to smile, but he couldn't hold it for long.

"I'm sorry..." He says quietly, leaning his head against the bars. "Why? It's not your fault."

The way you carried yourself despite the situation surprised him. But then he realized you probably had a hard life in 2. "You don't deserve this. None of you do."

Sejanus looks over at the other tributes. He hoped that in the back of everyone's mind, they would know that these people aren't animals. They're just children. You smile to yourself and take another bite.

"I'm glad you're different. These other people keep throwing nuts and stuff at us." You muttered. Sejanus softly chuckles as you roll your eyes. He goes on to introduce and tell you a little bit about himself. You do the same, describing your family and your friends at school.

When it came time for the mentor-tribute interview, you filled out the questionnaire within a few minutes. Leaving the rest of the time for you to discuss strategy. "Promise me you'll hide once the games start."

"Hide? From the looks of it there's no place to hide in that arena." You reply, your eyes wandering over to the other tributes and their mentors. Your eyes focus on Lucy Gray and her colourful ruffles, the only other person who was actually talking to their mentor. "She shared a piece of bread with me after she noticed I was too scared to get close to the bars."

Sejanus' eyes followed yours "So you're friends?" he asks.

"I guess." You shrug in response "She is quite nice, you know."

Walking into the arena had your heart beating with panic. Even with Sejanus standing right beside you, it felt wrong being casually shown your potential final resting place. It's like picking out your coffin before you die. Which spot looks pretty enough for my blood to stain the concrete like so many tributes before me?

You grab Sejanus' hand for comfort, calm your nerves and wobbly legs. He made sure you were right by his side. He felt an urgency to protect you, but he couldn't tell if it was recent or if he's felt this since he first saw your face.

When the rebel bomb landed and exploded the top of the arena, rubble falling on tributes, mentors, and peacekeepers alike, Sejanus held you close to him. Shielding your eyes from the thick dust that covered the arena. People's screams fill your ears and you freeze up, unable to move. When Sejanus heard that the gates were open, he tried to urge you to move, but you wouldn't budge. At that moment he didn't care about saving himself, he picked your much lighter body up and ran towards the exit.

Once you were safely out of the crumbling arena, he set you on the ground, asking if you were okay. You nod your head, your words getting stuck in your throat. A few seconds later, peacekeepers dragged you two apart.

You stood on your red circle, looking at the other tributes. Some of them you could become friends with if under different circumstances. You imagined yourself going to one of Lucy Gray's performances, just like she described for you, dancing the night away without a care. You heard Lamina's sniffles, that remind you too much of yourself. Reaper's protectiveness over Dill reminds you of how Sejanus protected you yesterday. And poor Dill, in your mind it was better for her to die a quick death in the arena, than a slow one of tuberculosis.

When everyone started running towards the pile of weapons, you ran in the opposite direction and hid behind some rocks. You watch as tributes are killed, Lucy Gray and Jessup jump down into what you could assume were underground tunnels, but Coral and her gang her hot on their trail. You take a deep breath as the remaining tributes above ground scatter and hide. You jolt as someone taps on your shoulder, you turn to be met with a girl who looked barely older than you. You remembered her name was Wovey. She takes your hand and leads you to the underground tunnels "We might find a better hiding place down here."

After days of hiding underground, everyone made their way back to the above. Wovey and you return to your previous hiding spot and watch as Coral and her gang take down Lamina. You watch Dill die and have to stop yourself from screaming when Reaper does. You look up as you see a flying thing place a big container of colour into the arena. You were so busy watching the flying thing that you didn't realize Wovey slipping past you.

"Is it over? Can we go home now?" She mumbles as she walks across the arena. The only thing you could think about was dragging her back to your hiding place. Not about your promise, not about the other tributes. All you could think about was Wovey.

"Wovey!" You yell running out from your hiding spot, drawing the attention of the other tributes and the Capitol people. Your heart shatters as the glass does, covering your ally, your friend, in snakes. You didn't have enough time to feel sorrow as the snakes flow like a river in your direction. You try to run away, but one of the snake sinks its fangs into your skin. You scream, doubling over as more snakes attack you. Sejanus was already out of his seat, standing, as soon as you came out of your hiding place. You never stood a chance, you both knew this, but Sejanus felt as if a part of him was being ripped out.

In the short time you knew Sejanus, you would call him your friend second, and your family first. Despite not being related by blood, you were both from District 2. And that was all the relation you needed. He would gladly, and proudly call you a Plinth.

Sejanus felt stomach churns as you look up at the camera with tears flowing down your cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry..."

Your body drops to the concrete, snakes wrapped around every limb. Sejanus practically runs out of the room. He leans against the wall and takes deep breaths, wiping the tears from his eyes. He slumps down to the ground as he feels the world around him disappear. His eyes felt hazy as the walls of the academy blur together.

"I'm so, so sorry, little sis. It wasn't your fault, it was never your fault. I should've found a way to get you out, instead of watching you struggle like a coward..."

"I'm sorry..."

Star's notes -> I had wayyyy too much fun with this concept (It made me cry)

(Thank you, sweet anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @arzua10 @candiedhearts55 @@delightfulbelieverwerewolf @toxicbimbo @shyunivrse @haymitchabernathyslover | Join the taglist

#☆strawb3rrystar answers requests #☆the hunger games #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #tbosas #tbosas x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x you #the hunger games

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bumblebugwrites · 3 months

Text

chapter 5: killer

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: Your very first Hunger Games as a mentor comes to an end, and you are forced to reckon with the aftermath.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons, Violence.

Word Count: 9.3k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357, @yourfavmiki, @blackoutdays13, @dialuvsbangtan

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bee has disappeared, but the alarm remains silent, and the girl from 2 is still swinging. You force yourself to blink past the tears rapidly welling in your eyes; you will have to save them for later. As of right now, you still have a tribute in the Games. But where is she?

From his place before the camera, Lucky Flickerman cries out in excitement at the feat.

“And Little Bee from 10 pulls off a miraculous disappearing act!” He displays an array of cards, waving them back and forth before making them vanish in one smooth movement, punctuating the end of his sentence. To your left, Treech sinks further into his seat, frustration palpable. You are still standing, heart beating at the erratic pace of a jackrabbit, and time moves unbearably slow as you continue to scan the screen for some sign of life.

And then it comes, and really, you aren’t sure what to say. The boy from 11 appears first, crawling out the shrub’s other side before Bee joins him, her hand tightly clasped in his own. They are careful, making little noise as they emerge, but the quiet does not last. The moment they are on their feet, they are moving with a speed that can not help but be loud, feet pounding against the forest floor. The girl from 2 makes no effort to chase, seemingly accepting the defeat of the moment, and you note, with a sinking feeling in your chest, that Bee turns back, for just a second, to eye Colt’s unmoving form, sprawled across the ground. Still, she does not stop running.

It catches you off guard, the nudge from Teff, but you follow his finger as he indicates the television with Bee’s face spinning in a slow circle. Her sponsorships. They are increasing. You want to scream, to admonish the people of the Capitol for their pity money. She had no worth to them before, and now here was her grief, a commodity to them. You say nothing but give a curt nod in thanks to the District 11 mentor for pointing it out.

When the boy tugging Bee along eventually pulls her to a stop, it is in a clearing already occupied by another: Trawl’s girl, Mags. She spins on her heel, clearly readying a speech of some sort, but stops herself when her eyes settle on Bee.

“What the fuck is this?” Her voice is tense, not like you expected from the girl who put her life on the line to hold her District partner as he lay dying and took in the alliless boy from 11.

“She needed help; I saved her,” he says.

“We don’t need another person. She’s gonna slow us down.” And you know it is not her intent to be cruel, only logical, but her words sting.

“She’s smart. And she’s small; she can hide like me.”

“Jadam– I am barely taking care of us; what made you think I could handle someone else?” Mags’s arms fly out in exasperation.

“I just thought that–”

“No. Okay? I won’t kill her, but she has to go.” The panic in your chest begins to rise. You have to do something, and quickly, too. Your eyes flit to Bee’s mounting donations, beginning to dwindle at the 430 mark before traveling down to your screen and the price of bread. A single loaf would cost you 400. All her sponsorships out the window in a single move. Still, it is a risk you have to take, your chest constricting with the knowledge that if she loses this alliance, she will have no one. You slam down on the button.

On the screen, Jadam turns to Bee, an apologetic look painting his features. Mags only eyes the forest floor behind him, arms crossed and clearly set in her decision. In the distance, there is a noise.

All three heads dart up in seeming unison as a drone comes into view just above the canopy of leaves before beginning to lower itself slowly to the ground. There is a tin attached at the bottom, but the trio of tributes remain frozen with fear. It is Mags who eventually moves, after several moments of silence, to inspect the device. Slowly, she pulls the tin from the drone, before opening the small container. A note tumbles out from inside, and she dips to collect it, but her eyes do not leave the contents of the metal box. She is hungry; this much you know from having watched her closely the past two days. She has yet to eat.

“It’s for you,” she says, her jaw growing tight as her eyes travel up to meet Bee’s gaze. The smaller girl moves forward with caution and, after noting the bread, pulls it from the container and begins to tear it into separate parts, handing one to Mags and tossing a second to Jadam before squaring her shoulders and making towards the large expanse of woods ahead, her section of the loaf clutched tightly in her hand. Come on. Don’t let her leave.

She is almost out of sight when Mags calls out after her.

“Wait.”

Bee whips around, features unreadable as she pauses, allowing Mags to continue. The older girl only sighs, the sound dripping with defeat.

“You can stay.”

The sentiment has barely left her lips when your shoulders sag in relief, and you are off, headed for the doors.

“Bathroom,” you hiss at the Peacekeeper who moves to block your path, and he shifts to let you pass.

It is all you can do to halt the muffled sob that threatens to escape your lips the minute you set foot in the hallway. The heels of your boots make a distinct echoing sound as they come in contact with the cold marble floor, and succession of clicks is so loud you almost miss the second pair of footsteps ringing out behind you.

You whip around, prepared to warn whichever victor has just followed you out to stop tailing you. To plaster a blank look across your features and tell them you are fine. It is not a victor. You recognize Dr. Gaul from the beginning of the Games, clearly on her way in as you make your way out. She has made several appearances over the last two days, though none too prolonged, mostly spent at the back of the large room, whispering to the man with the white hair. To Snow, you correct again subconsciously.

“Ms. L/N,” she says, nodding in acknowledgment. “I saw what happened to that boy of yours. Pity, really.”

“I’m not really sure why you’re concerned. What’s one more kid when you’ve already killed so many?” You grit out, unsure where the courage to do so has emerged from, but holding firm. Refusing to look away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you must be confused. I was talking about the boy from 7. That’s too bad about his tribute. Although I must admit, it was disappointing to see the other one go. He truly would have made a strong contender. Much better, I’m afraid, than the little girl.” Fear, cold and sharp, travels down your spine at her words, and you fight the urge to flinch away from the woman, instead fumbling to defend yourself.

“Treech is not–” The doors to the lecture hall bang open, and the very man on your lips appears in the doorway.

“Interesting,” she notes with a dangerous grin before turning on her heel to enter the room. Treech eyes you with concern, one brow raised in confusion.

“What was–”

“Fuck off. You have to fuck off,” you cry out, and it almost sounds as though you are pleading with him as you swerve, avoiding his touch and making for the bathroom once more. All you wanted was a minute to cry in peace.

“What the hell? What is your problem?” He demands, anger creeping into his tone, but don’t respond, reaching the bathroom door and giving it a harsh tug. He slams it shut, planting a firm hand over your head.

“You. You are my problem!” You are inches apart, and your chest is heaving. Treech only looks lost, features plainly read for once. His lips are parted, body warm. The smell of cedar invades your personal space once more. You give him a shove, hard and meaningful, before darting inside the bathroom. He follows.

You want to scream in frustration, and the tears you have been fighting begin to wet your cheeks as he turns to lock the door, his eyes doing a quick scan of the walls. No cameras. At least as far as you’re aware.

“What is going on with you?” He hisses, and a wretched sob wracks your body. Treech takes a step forward, and you inch back.

“Don’t act so concerned now. You’re the one who said this had to be nothing,” you spit, knowing it is undeserved, but you are angry, and with rage wrapping its thick hands around your throat, it is difficult to see straight. To see who should truly bear the burden of your wrath.

“You said it first!” Treech looks exasperated at best, but he does not approach again, treating you like a wild animal of some sort as though afraid you might spook and disappear.

“You didn’t answer my letter!” Unfair. You are being unfair. But you will do anything to get him out of here. To make him leave you alone. Because at least alone, you are not a threat to his life.

“Don’t do that. Don’t put this on me.” He shakes his head, frustration lighting his features once more.

“So it’s my fault?” And by your third attempt to corral him out the door, you can feel your resolve weakening. Can see it in the mirror too.

“No! So it’s no one’s fault! You think I don’t– Every day I spend with you, I think about this. Us. And every day, I have to remind myself that it would get us both killed. But fuck, I–” His words feel heavy where they should fill you with excitement. With joy. And suddenly, awareness of your situation burdens you again. And he looks so earnest, the words tumbling from his lips in a regrettable stream. So vulnerable.

“Gaul knows.”

“Knows what?” He is taken aback, and you know it is not the response he wanted.

“She was calling you my boy from 7. She knows about whatever this is.” And once you have begun the words come pouring out in quick succession.

“She knows, and Teff and Trawl know. And at this point, I’d be surprised if Lucky fucking Flickerman hasn’t been made aware. And I am exhausted. And scared. And Colt is–” But you don’t finish, as all the emotions from earlier make their way back in, and the weight is unbearable, forcing you to your knees. Treech rushes forward, and this time, you do not stop him as he catches you halfway to the ground, pulling you close as he had two nights ago. And really, today’s frustration all comes back to that. Colt is dead, and no amount of screaming and crying will make it not so. Maybe that’s why you let it happen. Allow Treech to gently rock you on that bathroom floor and whisper soft words in your ear. Maybe that is why you turn to curl into his chest. To pretend, in spite of the lurking anxiety just beneath your skin, that this is alright. That there will be no consequences. No one to answer to. Just for a moment.

Treech reenters first, and by the time you step through the archaic double doors, it has been thirty minutes, and the girl from 6 is dead. You make for the back table, eyes fixed straight ahead, and pour yourself another coffee. Eight kids left. Something has to happen, and soon.

The walk back to your chair feels eternal, and you slump in your seat upon arrival, fixing the screen with your gaze. The sun has set, and Bee sits crosslegged beside Mags, who watches over the sleeping form of Jadam, his head in her lap.

“There’s no food out here. No water except for that fucking hellscape of a river. We can hide all we want, but we’re never gonna survive if we keep going down this route,” Mags sighs, her shoulders slumping.

“At this rate, we’ll all just starve to death,” she laments, eyes softening on their path over Jadam’s features.

“They can send us bread from the outside. Like today–” Bee supplies, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone. Your own gaze flits down to her sponsorships, measly and non-existent after your splurge on her peace offering.

“They need money for sponsorships. Money that no one is gonna send if we’re just sitting around doing nothing,” Mags reasons, and a sick feeling in your stomach tells you she is right.

“There’s food in the cornucopia,” Jadam mumbles, and you realize with a start he was only feigning sleep.

“What?” Bee asks, head turning to consider him and his words more carefully.

“There’s a whole box of it in there. I saw it on the first day, during the countdown. There’s apples, bread probably–” Mags cuts him off.

“Yeah, there’s also the boy from 1. The girl from 2. Or are you forgetting that?”

“I’m just saying–” Jadam tries once more, but the older girl will not let him finish.

“Well, don’t. It’s not safe. We’d be walking into an ambush. Completely weaponless. It’s not happening.”

Bee stands from her place beside the pair, brushing the dirt from her clothes before turning to make her way out into the woods.

“Where are you going?” And it is more of a demand than a true question, sharp and cold though tinged with worry as Mags asks it.

“Bathroom,” Bee explains easily, though her eyes do not meet the older girl’s before she spins on her heel and disappears. Your shoulders tense, gaze fixed on her departing form. Jadam rolls onto his back, eyes trained upwards on the twisted expression of concern on Mags’s face.

“She’ll be alright,” Jadam whispers, and Mags almost appears to flinch at the words of comfort.

“We’ll have to split from her soon,” she states, clearing her throat, and your own heart sinks deeper into your chest. It is true. They cannot stay together forever without eventually needing to kill one another. Still, Jadam asks the question you have already found the answer to.

“Why?”

“There can’t be many of us left, and I don’t want to have to kill her when it comes down to it.”

“What about me?” His words echo out across the room, quiet now from the lack of academy students, and you feel your gaze being tugged toward Teff, his brow creased into an unreadable emotion as he watches the screen.

“What about you?”

“Won’t you have to kill me? If we stay together?” There is a look that passes over Mags’s face, one you recognize from Colt. From the way he looked at Bee. From the way you look at Fawn. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. The truth hangs in the air with a heavy silence, broken only when Bee reappears. She thrusts something onto the ground. An object, heavy in weight. A trident. Not just any trident, the one that killed Colt.

“Where did you get that?” Mags demands, shock evident in her voice.

“Found it.” You know she is lying. And you thank God they have no fire lit because you are sure her face would appear blotchy and swollen.

“What–” Mags begins.

“You said we were weaponless. Now we aren’t.” And a wave of pride passes through your system, at little underestimated Bee and her bravery. It is quickly smothered, though, by disgust with yourself, thick and rampant at the realization that she should not have to make this stand in the first place.

“Bee–”

“Look, there’s two of them and three of us, and now we can fight. We need food. So let’s go get food.”

Something big is coming; you can feel it in the way your hands shake, gripping the fine china of your mug. Only it feels sinister, and with each second that creeps by it settles into certainty. The 11th Games is coming to an end. All there is to do is sit and wait.

The girl from 3 dies in the night, along with the boy from 6, which brings the number of remaining tributes to six. Neither gone of natural causes though, you note, with a worrisome lurch of your stomach. The fierce duo from 1 and 2 is on the hunt, and they show no signs of stopping.

You feel uneasy as you fix the screen with a watchful eye, camera trained on three small backs, lying in wait. It is Bee who speaks first, turning to Mags with a hushed whisper.

“I’m telling you, they’re not there. They must be out looking for other tributes. This is our chance.” Mags appears hesitant but eventually gives a nod, and the three creep out from their place in the tree line.

They make the jump across the river separately, and though Jadam nearly slips, both girls lunge forward, pulling him to safety. A soft yelp passes his lips, but Mags is quick to shush him, jutting her head in the direction of the cornucopia. Her implication is clear: they could still be inside.

As they get closer, the three take care to press themselves against the wall, with the District 4 girl in the lead, taking a shaky breath before readjusting her grip on the trident in her possession and peeking her head around the corner. Her shoulders drop in relief, and she delivers a curt nod in the direction of the others. They are safe to move forward.

The trio creeps inside, splitting up to peel the lids off of several boxes and fish around their contents. There are several long beats of shuffling and silence before Jadam clears his throat, lifting his head with a sly grin on his face and producing from the confines of the plastic container, a bag of apples.

And you can’t help it, really, your own slow smile at the small victory, especially as glee and relief plaster themselves across Bee and Mags’s faces. Finally. A win.

And then there is screaming. Distant at first, but quickly approaching. And the camera view changes and the girl from 7, Treech’s girl. Hazel is making a mad dash from the woods towards the center of the arena, the pair from 1 and 2 hot on her tail.

“Fuck.”

The trio has barely made it to the mouth of the cornucopia when she makes it over the river, hurtling herself with a violent force, the remains of the pack just behind her.

“We’ve gotta go,” Mags begins to rush, ushering the pair of younger tributes ahead of her and making toward the bank. It’s then the ground seems to begin shaking, all six remaining tributes hitting the ground, and suddenly, the center of the arena begins to shrink, pieces breaking off into the river as the water continues to engulf the chunks of land indiscriminatley.

The girl from 2 is up again, a twisted growl darkening her features as she lunges Hazel, still splayed out from the fall. It is quick and merciful, the sword passing through her chest, and before you can truly process it, she has gone limp, and the buzzer signals her death. Beside you, Treech flinches.

On the screen, Mags’s head whips around in several wild motions, trying to calculate an escape route. The trio edges closer to the river, and the pair from 1 and 2 notes their presence for the first time, the girl turning her mean scowl on Bee, the mark of Colt’s attack stretched across her face in a jagged scar. She starts to run, and the ground begins to shake once more.

A piece breaks off, this time not unpopulated. Jadam hits the water with a splash. Mags lets out a cry of concern, lunging forward to pull him from the river. Her free hand connects with his, but there is a clear tug at his figure, and he screams in pain, accidentally pulling her in with him. The girl from 2 is nearly on Bee when both of them disappear beneath the surface.

One half of the pack takes Bee to the ground, and you resist the urge to reach for her. Beneath the water, there is movement. Both heads resurface, but Jadam’s lulls awkwardly to the side, and his eyes are unblinking. You feel like throwing up as the buzzer sounds again.

Mags seems to notice as well, her eyes welling up and a strangled sob escaping her lips. And then she is lifting the trident, stabbing down and something seems to give as she moves through the water towards the shore, gripping at the dirt and pulling herself up. Her eyes are cold, and she barely seems to notice as she turns, as though on instinct and impales the oncoming boy from 1 with her weapon before discarding him into the river.

The girl is next and, from behind, poses less of a threat. Beneath her, Bee has stopped struggling so much. Something is wrong. The trident pierces the girl from 2’s throat, and with several wretched choking sounds, she falls to the side, revealing Bee, drained of color beneath her. She is still breathing, though barely, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths and a large gash painting her stomach. She looks up at Mags with eyes filled with tears, and you wonder if the older girl will deliver the final blow just to get it over with. She seems to consider it for a moment, and Bee’s eyes squeeze shut, awaiting the impact.

The trident hits the ground, cast aside in one harsh movement, and Mags sinks slowly to her knees, pulling the younger girl into her lap. Her features grow tired, though admittedly warmer, and she begins to stroke Bee’s hair. You choke back a sob.

The careful braid you had pleated into her chestnut locks is almost completely undone, and Mags runs her fingers through the strands, undoing your work and then beginning to work at the knots that had formed in the Games. There is no need for the braid anymore. There will be no more fighting, no more days spent working in the slaughterhouse. Instead, her hair falls loose around her shoulders in the way a little girl’s hair should, wild and free. Uncontained.

“I’m so sorry,” Mags whispers, the words croaked and wet.

“Don’t be. I was never gonna win.” The response comes, weak and small.

“Could you do me a favor?” Mags only manages a nod, and Bee flashes her with a half-smile.

“If you ever make it over to 10, tell my mom not to worry about me. And that I love her.”

“I will. Of course, I will,” Mags promises, tears falling atop Bee’s fragile form. She is quiet for a time before speaking again, moving her hand to lay over Mags’s.

“Do you think there’s another world where we could have been friends?” The older girl’s lip shakes as she takes a minute before responding.

“I’d like to think we don’t need another world. That I can tell people we were friends in this one.” Bee smiles, real and bright, though fading by the second.

“That’s nice. Friends. I’m sorry it wasn’t for longer. I think I really would’ve liked getting to know you.” When she finally stills, Mags lets out a final shuddering sob before loosing a scream, angry like no other you’ve heard before. She does not hear as they announce her the victor, barely seeming to notice the Peacekeepers entering the arena through some passage in the cornucopia. Instead, she leans forward to press a kiss to Bee’s head and clings, shuddering to her form until they pry her from it, pulling her towards the exit.

The first thing you do upon arrival at the victor’s suite is take a shower. It has been days, and you scrub at your skin with a ferocity previously unknown to you, but the ghost of the Games does not wash away.

Trawl has been called elsewhere, likely to meet with Mags, but the rest of you have been told you will remain in the hotel until called upon for further ceremonies, and so you do. Wait, that is, as the hours tick by in a vile silence. Several of the other victors depart towards their rooms to rest or perhaps escape the group and the constant reminder they provide of the events that have just occurred. And really, you should sleep. In the last five days, you’ve probably only managed to crash for a grand total of two hours, and even that time had been dispersed in fifteen-minute chunks. But closing your eyes means seeing them. Colt sprawled out, his eyes still open and the ghost of a smile on his face in spite of his leaking chest, and Bee, whispering her final words to the girl from 4, her hair a messy halo in the grass. You wonder what will become of what is left of them.

It is a thought that has plagued you since your own Games, what the Capitol does with the remains of the District children. The first few years, they had shipped them home in boxes, though little had been done in the way of embalming, and often, the children arrived in a condition so bad that parents were denied the privilege of even seeing them. One year, the Capitol sent patches torn from the clothing of the deceased as a means of commemoration. But eventually, they ceased pretending to care about the families of fallen tributes, and in the last few years, when your child died, you were left with nothing but the memory of them and an empty grave.

Your hands shake as you enter the kitchen, barely noting the other mentors in the room. You haven’t eaten much in the last few days; the Games made you feel sick, and keeping anything down felt difficult. Still, the lack of care seems to be catching up with your body, so you force down some toast from the plater on the counter as well as a piece of bacon before turning to observe the suite.

You note Treech’s absence almost immediately, and though a good part of you longs for his presence, you know that after the events of yesterday, you should keep your distance. Teff is seated alone at the dining room table, hunched over and scribbling something. Probably a letter you note. Probably to Jadam’s parents or Olive’s. You shake the thought as it brings in a torrent of others. Should you be writing letters? What do you even say to the mothers of two children who will never see their homes again? Nothing. At least nothing they haven’t heard before, and certainly nothing that makes the absence feel any less cruel.

On the couch, Octavian sits, stiff as a board, his eyes glued straight ahead. The television plays something you don’t recognize and, therefore, must not be the news, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him. He stares blankly past the screen, gaze fixed on something you’re certain isn’t there.

Beside him, Antonia has begun to nod off, though she jerks awake every few seconds, eyes doing a desperate search of the room before landing on Octavian and, noting that he is safe, closing once more. Further down, several feet away from the pair, Lux sits, feet tucked primly beneath her and a magazine in her hands. You note that the pages turn too quickly for her to possibly be reading the text, but the movement seems to calm her, apart from the occasional fidget. You make your way over, taking the seat beside hers.

“What are you doing?” She asks without so much as looking up from the task before her.

“Sitting down?” You snark in return, sinking further into your seat.

“You can’t sit somewhere else? Further away?” She turns to face you now, nose crinkling in mock disgust, but you ignore the twisting of her features, hoping mostly for a moment of normalcy.

“Lux–”

“We aren’t friends,” she says plainly. And bickering with Lux feels normal, but her statement still strikes at an odd place between your ribs.

“Jesus, I know–” You begin once more.

“I’m not gonna sit here and play patty-cake and braid your hair.” This has you rolling your eyes, a soft snort escaping you.

“Would you calm down? I’m sitting next to you, not asking you to marry me.”

“Well, I would hope not; I’ve seen the wedding customs you have in 10; frankly, they’re a bit barbaric,” she taunts, flipping a long strand of hair over her shoulder and just barely missing your face. Still, there is something about the conversation that feels better than sitting catatonic like Octavian and staring at the wall.

“I’m sorry we can’t afford to be quite as gaudy with our ceremonies as–”

“Gaudy? We are very tasteful– I suppose you’d just have us walking down the aisle in work boots?” She sputters at the notion, and you know you are under her skin. Still, you do not stop, pushing forward with the jest.

“You know honey, maybe it would be better if we just eloped. I never really got the whole fuss around weddings anyways.” And suddenly, Lux breaks off in a laugh, though her brow remains raised in surprise as though she hadn’t been expecting to enjoy your company.

“I wanted a big wedding,” she admits after a long beat, turning to face you as though telling some sort of secret.

“When I was a girl, I would dream about falling in love and getting married. Perfect dress. Perfect venue. But nobody wants to lie in bed next to a killer. At least not back home. Not now. And by the time this Capitol plan kicks in and changes their minds, I won’t be me anymore, and that little girl will be long gone.” Her face has gone sour by the end of her confession, and you feel your own heart sinking in your chest at the turn in conversation. You want to say sorry. To reach out and comfort her. But she is Lux, and to do so would only encourage scorn, so you nod, trading a secret of your own.

“I always thought I would never marry. I wanted to work on the ranch like my dad; I thought that was what freedom looked like. And then it turned out all the ranchers ever really talk about is home. Their wives and husbands and how much they missed them. And I realized freedom doesn’t have to mean being alone. We don’t wear boots to our weddings. At least, not all of us do. It’s a ranching tradition. The whole bunkhouse saves up for a pair, and then the night before the wedding, you gift them to the person marrying into the ranch life. Like the things that are important to you become more important because they’re sharing them with you. And even though I didn’t believe in weddings or marriage, I started dreaming up those boots, what they would look like, and who would be wearing them. And then it didn’t seem so bad, falling in love.” Lux snorts at the notion, but when she dips her head to take in her magazine once more, there is a soft smile spread across her lips.

“You’re not so bad,” you say, quiet so only she can hear.

“I guess I’ve had worse company,” she replies, and you feel a piece of the weight chip away, just for a second.

For two days, the Capitol seems to forget entirely that you exist. Mags makes several television appearances accompanied by Trawl, but neither so much as enters the hotel. As for the rest of you, the space feels suffocating. At night, you escape to the lobby, seeking a change of environment and anything strong enough to drown out the Games that haunt you from every screen in the Capitol. The day proves to be more difficult, and you pass the hours making strained conversation with the other victors.

Several times, you consider writing Bee and Colt’s families, but the thought continues to bring bile to your throat, and you decide you will visit with them instead upon your return.

On the third day, there is a knock at the door. Several people enter all at once, including a pair of Peacekeepers led by a man you’ve never seen before. He has a sharp nose and eyes that remain guarded, almost appearing glassed over as he speaks. In addition, they bring Trawl and Mags, the former drawing you into an embrace upon arrival.

His companion shows signs of obvious discomfort, keeping close to her mentor as he makes his way to the couch. The man takes his place before the television, and you note he is likely here to pass on information regarding the next steps in this process, though you feel surprise creep into your system, wondering what has happened to Coriolanus Snow. Probably basking in the glory of his successful undertaking. It is a sour thought, but you have no doubt it is mostly true.

“Hello there, we haven’t met before. My name is Hilarius Heavensbee, and going forward, I’ll be working with Coriolanus Snow to oversee the mentorship program.” He is met with silence, but you all file in, aware there is likely a speech in store. He squares his shoulders before continuing.

“I’m here to let you know we’ll be keeping you here a little longer, mostly to get you prepped on what the first-ever Victory Tour will look like. Additionally, as part of our campaign to endear you to the public, each of you must pick a talent to cultivate and integrate into your personality.”

“Talent?” Antonia asks, a sneer decorating her features.

“Some sort of interesting skill. Drawing, poetry, dance, frankly, I don’t really care what you pick, as long as it’s something,” he says dismissively, though his posture conveys that there is a layer of deception to the aloof nature he presents.

“I’m good at chopping down trees. Can that be my talent?” Treech speaks up from beside you. Lux snorts, and he shoots her a glare.

“No. No, your talent needs to be something that distinguishes you from your district. Remember, on your new victor’s earnings, you will no longer be a part of the working class. This should be something you do for fun. A hobby,” Heavensbee prompts.

There is a wave of muttering that passes through the room, and you hear as several times the words fun and hobby are tossed around in a tone that indicates little more than confusion.

“Right, well, you’ll have until the end of the day to decide on something. And try not to pick the same talents; we don’t need nine victors who can knit,” he says, clapping his hands together before moving to depart and leaving the suite buzzing with confusion.

“What are you doing for this stupid talent thing?” Treech does not knock before entering your room; only thrusts himself down across the end of your bed and waits expectantly for your answer after closing the door behind him.

“Well, I already know how to draw, so probably just sketching,” you shrug, though it isn’t really a question; you’ve already decided.

“Urgh, this is so dumb,” he groans, burying his face in the duvet.

“C’mon, there has to be something you’re good at besides using an axe,” you tease, your lips twisting into a smile when he lifts his head to send you an indignant expression before the emotion on his face melts into something more contemplative.

“Sometimes I make little… things out of wood. For my sisters,” he says, slow as though weighing the option.

“There you go,” you encourage, pleased to have solved the predicament so quickly.

“No.” He shakes his head, setting it back down with another sigh.

“What do you mean, no? It’s right there. And you already know how to do it.”

“I don’t want them to have that. It’s– I want that to be for me.” And you cannot blame him for that, though the thought had not occurred to you before, and you think of your own talent. Of how the sole surviving symbol of your teenage dreams to become a veterinarian was the skill you would now hand on a silver platter to the Capitol.

“Okay,” you nod, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “Do you know how to play any instruments?”

“Do I look like I know how to play any instruments?” He quips, voice muffled by the bed.

“Maybe you could try the guitar,” you say, and it is mostly a joke.

“As if. Do you know how ridiculous I would look trying to play the guitar?” You resist a laugh at the thought.

“Please, the women of the Capitol are already practically falling at your feet; just imagine if you could serenade them.”

“Shut up,” he says, looking up at you with a pout plastered across his face. Still, you don’t stop.

“Play me your guitar, oh Capitol loverboy. Is it true? Are you really a tortured dark soul, like they say?”

“Shut up,” Treech exclaims, louder this time, and as the words leave his mouth, he lunges forward to muffle your remarks with his hand. You struggle to break free, laughter slipping from your lips as he pulls you closer in his attempts to silence you, but it is of little use as you continue to pester him with your remarks until you gain enough traction to whip around and face him.

You are inches apart when your eyes meet his, and the words seem to die on your tongue as you note the distance, or lack thereof, between you. And for a moment, the world seems to stop. And his lips are so close, his eyes so soft. You recall the feeling of his curls between your fingers. You think you will never forget that feeling. His nose brushes yours, and your eyes flutter closed, cheek leaning into the open palm inches from your face. But you cannot. You know you cannot. So you pull away.

“Treech–”

“I know,” he cuts you off, allowing his hand to remain outstretched for a moment before dropping it to his side. His eyes linger though, tracing each crevice of your face with a look you cannot quite dissect.

“I should–”

“I’ll go,” he interrupts you once more and stands to depart. And your heart feels as though it is heavy enough to crash through all your vital organs, sinking into the bottom of your stomach. “I think maybe it’s better if I stop staying in your room.” He doesn’t turn around, his words projecting out towards the door, and you feel the biting sting of tears forming in your eyes. You want to speak, but you’re afraid your voice will break and betray you. He is gone before you can even manage a shaky breath.

You do not speak with Treech the next day, silence providing a strain between you, though you spare him a glance upon Hilarius’s return when he announces he will, in fact, be learning to play the guitar.

Before his departure, the new hire announces that you are all set to return tomorrow, but not prior to engaging in one final festivity, a celebration set to be held at the President’s mansion. Lux nearly squeals with excitement, though the decision seems to breed more questions than answers among others. “They won’t even let you come in here without a security detail, and now we’re invited to a ball?” Teff demands, brow furrowed in concern. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“This is all part of the larger plan in reconstructing your image as victors. We want the people of the Capitol to regard you as favorites. That starts with getting you in the same rooms with them.”

“This is gonna be fucking miserable,” mutters Treech, and you cannot help but agree. You can hardly imagine a world where, upon being faced with you, the Capitol citizens can manage anything other than sheer horror. Still, if some party is all that’s standing between you and returning home, you’ll find a way to get through it, even if you have to grit your teeth and bite your tongue until it bleeds.

Your stylists arrive hot on the tail of Hilarius’s departure, and by 9:00 pm, you are all ready to depart. You find yourself standing by Mags in the center of the suite’s common space as you wait for the cars meant to transport the lot of you to arrive, and upon noting a fallen eyelash on her cheek, you reach out on instinct before stopping yourself and clearing your throat.

“Sorry, it’s just you have an eyelash,” you start, indicating its location with an outstretched finger. Her eyebrows lift and she quickly moves to dust off her cheek, but to no avail.

“Here, let me.” You reach out once more, this time making contact with her skin and brushing it from her face.

“It’s good luck, you know. They say you’re supposed to put it on your knuckle and then blow it off and make a wish,” you smile, offering it back.

“Thanks, but I don’t think any of my wishes have a chance of coming true.” You nod, quiet understanding passing over your face before moving the piece of her to your own knuckle.

“Well then, I’ll wish for both of us that tonight goes decently well.” You shut your eyes tight and huff the eyelash out into the room.

“You’re not supposed to say it out loud.” And there is the ghost of a smile on her face at your mistake.

“What are the chances it comes true anyway?”

That was two hours ago, and as it turns out, the answer is zero to none. In fact, so far, the night had proved to be a disaster. No self-respecting Capitol citizen wanted to be seen talking to someone from the Districts, and so, as expected, no one spoke with you at all. Picking at the abundance of food lining the tables that fill the garden had only earned you several hard stares, and there came a point where even talking to Teff felt frustrating under the weight of so many watchful eyes, and so, about thirty minutes ago, you had pressed yourself into a corner, brimming with the hope that you might get lucky and simply disappear.

At present, your gaze is fixed on Treech, locked in conversation with a woman you recognize as his mentor from the 10th Hunger Games. She is a pretty girl; hair twisted back and away from her face and a visage like a cherub’s. Not that you really take notice. Not that you’re jealous or anything.

“May I have this dance?” Your thoughts are interrupted by the sudden presence at your side, and with a jolt, you turn to meet Hilarius Heavensbee, looking slightly more preened than he had several hours ago in your hotel room. You cast another glance in Treech’s direction, though it reveals nothing new. He is still wrapt in his conversation with Vispania and you are still standing in the corner, only not quite so alone.

“Shouldn’t you be sneering at me with disgust from thirty feet away?” And really, he’s done nothing to deserve it, but you are not exactly in the mood to be extending courtesies, and his offer seems to you more like an attempt to get under your skin than anything else.

“Well, I would, but then you’d be stuck standing in this corner, and I cannot think of a worse way to waste a perfectly beautiful dress.” You only snort in response, but the words seem genuine enough, and he extends you a careful hand, which, after several moments of consideration, you take. He leads you with ease, you note, as you settle into the pattern of his practiced steps, and you begin to relax in spite of your newfound position thrusting you into the limelight. Your eyes flit back to Treech, who, having noted your presence on the dance floor, appears distracted from his conversation with his former mentor, expression unreadable.

“How’s your night been so far?” Hilarius asks low and quiet in your ear. This conversation is just for you, meaning your biting tone from before feels at liberty to return.

“Is that a joke?” You scoff, meeting his gaze with a single eyebrow arched in question.

“They’re warming up to you,” he reassures, gathering the implication of your words, and you mull over his comment.

“Yeah, to Lux and Beau. And Octavian, I guess.” This much is true. The three had been the most successful in engaging with the other partygoers, with Lux in particular managing to charm a group of Capitol citizens who have yet to depart from her side. Hilarius only sighs before seeming to make a quick shift in conversation.

“Do you know the real reason I’m dancing with you?”

“Well, given that I saw the ring on your finger the minute you walked up, I’m assuming it's not an attempt to get in my pants,” you chuckle, eyes traveling to the golden band on his left hand. He grants you a smile, though his head shakes in tandem with the action.

“Look around. Look at the way they’re looking at you.” And you do. And he’s right, you note, not even having heard his reason, because the people of the Capitol have stopped glaring, fixing you instead with looks of curiosity and interest. It’s working.

As the music comes to a stop, he steps back, taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the skin. You nearly jerk back in surprise.

“Was that really necessary?”

“No. But you should see the look on your face.” You roll your eyes, casting your head around to gauge the reaction of your audience. The place beside Vispania is empty, and all that’s left of Treech is a retreating form headed for the house.

“I have to go, sorry,” you whisper, barely looking back as you set off after him.

It is not for lack of trying that you come up empty in your search for Treech, doing the rounds of both the gardens and the house for the remainder of the party to no avail. By the time you return to the hotel, it is nearly 3:00 am, and Treech is nowhere to be found. You crash into the soft padding of your duvet, not even bothering to wipe the makeup from your face, and the hem of your dress spills over the side of the bed, brushing against your ankles.

You think of Hilarius, of the dance you’d shared and the seeming sympathy he had lent you in his attempt to garner you even a modicum of support and respect. Your brain picks at his possible motivations: advancement within Snow’s ranks, better support for their sadistic project, a false sense of trust instilled in you as a mentor. Genuine kindness. You keep coming back to that answer, but it feels ignorant to let yourself believe, so you move on to other musings. To Treech.

It is incredible, you think, the amount of time he spends occupying your thoughts. You run your hands down your face, resisting the urge to curl in on yourself as you picture once more his retreating form. Was it something Vispania said? Or maybe, just maybe, was it you? Your dance with Hilarius? The thought feels indulgent, and your mind travels to earlier today. To your almost kiss. To the awkward battle, the two of you seem locked in, both wanting to give in but refusing for the other. Your mind begins to drift over the what-ifs.

There is a knock at the door. You are on your feet in an instant, though upon reaching it, your hand hovers over the handle. What if it’s not Treech? Or worse, what if it is? What do you even say? That this is doomed. That the two of you are doomed. You twist it open, and he doesn’t even look up as the light of your room floods the hallway, soft curls hanging down in his face and his frame draped against the entrance.

“I–” You begin.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He does not look up as he speaks, and his voice is strained as it travels in your direction.

“What?”

“When I’m with you, I can’t have you. When I’m ignoring you, you’re all I can think about. This is driving me insane. I feel like I’m insane and like no matter what I do, I’m losing. And I can’t just push it down anymore– Trust me, I tried. And I just knew I had to tell you. Well, technically, I’ve already told you, but this is the last time I’ll say it and–” And he is looking at you now, eyes wild.

“Treech–”

“When I saw you with him tonight, it felt like I was– Like I couldn’t– I’m not good at–” His struggle is palpable, but even as you move to interrupt him, you sense he has more to say.

“Treech,” you begin again.

“Like I was drowning.”

“Treech.” And this time, he doesn’t interrupt you as you move forward, placing a hand on his chest to still his breathing, which has become a bit erratic. He freezes, and for once, every emotion on his face is clear. Fear. Frustration. Adoration. It pools at the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. You are inches apart. Your mind flits to several days ago in the bathroom. To yesterday in your room. To all the nights you’d shared your bed. To that very first trip out to the Capitol, his pinky twisting around yours moments before you stepped out on stage. You take a shaky breath, and he leans in closer. Your noses are brushing. Now is the time to pull back. You can stop this here. But you can’t, not really. You don’t think an oncoming train could pull you away. Your lips brush over his, and his eyes begin to flutter close before opening once more, fixing you with a questioning regard.

You only need to nod once, and it is as though time, which had stopped, has started again. And the kiss, which is soft at first, becomes frenzied, his hands pulling desperately at your waist, your own traveling up into his hair. And you pull each other closer, impossibly closer, appearing for a moment to devour one another. Completely undivided. Completely unaware.

It is early the next morning when the call comes; it sets the phone beside your bed ringing, and in your haze, you reach towards the sound only to discover Treech, who is closer, has released his hold on you to answer it. His voice is heavy with sleep, and you decide later that it was sleep that rendered you too dumb to perceive the danger of allowing him to pick up the phone. The phone in your room. Your room in which he was not meant to reside. But he continues speaking, in short, snippy phrases, before hanging up and turning to press a chaste kiss against your cheek.

“I’ll be right back.” And again, it should have scared you, his getting up so suddenly to depart, but all you can manage is a nod before you curl back into the warmth of the bed, unplagued by concern.

Snow’s office is much smaller than Treech expected, though that does not prevent the cold from seeping in. He had been quick to dress himself after receiving the call to your room, a mistake he had only recognized after speaking. Not that it would have saved him the grief. It was him Snow was asking for, not you. That thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. How had Snow known to reach him there? He pushes the thought away, toying with his hands nervously while the other man finishes shuffling through a stack of papers before turning to him with a nonchalance that should have almost lowered his guard. It does not. Treech only clenches his hands into two tight fists while waiting for the man in the pressed suit to begin.

“No need to look so nervous. As long as this conversation goes well, you have nothing to worry about.” Snow smiles, face contorting into the expression as though unsure how to proceed.

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here, though at this point, given your numerous indiscretions, I feel it should be a bit obvious.” Treech does not share the expressed sentiment and sets about wracking his brain for anything he might have done.

“Oh, come on, don’t look so confused. Your relationship? With the girl from 10? You didn’t seriously think I was that stupid, did you? And I mean, it was fine, all those sad puppy dog looks and missed glances, but then you had to go and do something about it, didn’t you?” Anything he might have done that didn’t involve you, his single gross oversight. And suddenly, it all falls into place. The call placed to your room, the teasing glint in Snow’s eye.

“How–” He begins.

“You’re in the Capitol, Mr. Elmore, my domain. There isn’t a single place in this city I don’t have eyes on.” And he’s not sure Snow even has to say it. But he does. And the words sink like a stone within his gut.

“Anyways, you’re in luck. It’s a simple fix, really. You cut ties with the girl, and I overlook this mistake.” Cut ties? He has only just gotten you within his grasp, and now he is supposed to, what? Throw you away?

“I can’t–”

“Oh, you can. And you will. I understand you have a family, several sisters? A mother? Not to worry, though. I wouldn’t start with them. You see, Miss. L/N happens to have a family as well. One that is very dear to her, as I’m sure you know. And wouldn’t it be a shame if that little sister of hers was reaped for next year's Games? A tragedy, I assure you, though it would make good press.” There it is. A threat strong enough to stop him in his tracks. A promise that his actions would result before all else in consequences for you and you alone.

“So what? I just stop talking to her? What if she won’t leave me alone?” It occurs to him that try as he might, it isn’t exactly in your nature to just let things go.

“Well, then you make her. Frankly, that’s not my concern. Just make it happen.” And just like that, you are gone. No longer within reach. No longer within reason.

“You can go now.” And Treech is nearly at the door before he speaks again.

“But Mr. Elmore? We’ll be in contact. See, there are a few other things I’d like to run by you at some point, and now that we’ve gotten to know one another on this personal level, I feel I can trust you to make the right decisions.” Treech’s gut twists at the dismissal, but he says nothing, thinking only of you. Of what he is going to say. Do. How he is going to push you away with all his unspoken confessions pressing at the backs of his teeth. He makes it to the end of the hall before throwing up.

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