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trashbag-baby666 · 1 year

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Between Tridents and Knives-Finnick Odair

Chapter One

Summary: Fawn Viridis, victor of the 68th games from District Four. That's where she got to know Finnick and they fell in love for each other fast. Snow put no time between them announcing their relationship at the end of her victor tour and beginning to sell their bodies together to the capitol. Now it's been six years of trying to live in solitude together in the victors village. Then the 75th quarter quell is announced. Both are worried for each other as they're reaped. Things change of course, Fawn isn't ready to let her lover die for Katniss.

This Work Is More Based On The Books Rather Than Movies.

Word Count: 2,069

C/W: Mentions of violence, blood, and trauma.

Series Masterlist!

“Fawn,” Finnicks voice was small as he choked on his own blood. A spear in his chest as he bled out.

“No, Finnick stop it.” Fawn held her hands over the wound trying to stop the bleeding. Finnick laid on a beach in an arena, blood soaked sand around them. A dead fellow victor nearby who just speared Finnick.

“Fawn just let go, there can only be one of us.”Finnick was trying his best as the blood seeped down his chin. Fawns hands covered in blood.

His blood.

“Finnick stop saying that, I can fix this.” Fawn grabbed a part of the pants she was issued and ripped a chunk off stuffing it into the wound.

“I love you,” Finnick let out a long breath. As she added more pressure her light brown bangs fell into her face. She pushed them aside, soaking her hair and her skin in his blood.

“I love you too.” Fawns voice was desperate as she grabbed another chunk of her pants holding them tighter.

“Finnick?” panic ran through her body as she saw his chest not moving.

She grabbed one of her knives from the slots in her belt and held it under his nose. Not fogging up he definitely wasn’t bleeding.

“Finnick!” Fawn screamed, shaking him.

“Fawn, Fawn.” Finnick sat up grabbing onto her. She shot awake with a gasp tears streaming down her face, “I’m right here.” Finnick held her in his lap stroking her shoulder length sandy brown hair.

“I’m sorry,” Fawn sobbed into the loose, thin gray sweater he wore. They’d announced the third quarter quell during the mandatory broadcast that night.

President Snows’ voice echoed through her head, "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

“Fawn,” Finnick kissed her head, wiping her tears away with his thumb, “It’s not guaranteed our names will get drawn.”

“For you, sure. It’s between me, Mags, and Annie. I’m the only one out of the three of us that has a chance to win. But if we both go in, one of us has to die…” Fawn rubbed her eyes moving further into Finnick as he laid them both back down.

“Annie can’t mentally handle that, Mags will for sure die in the blood bath.” Fawn sighed as she met the eyes of Finnick. His seafoam green eyes

“Sweetheart,” Finnick pushed some of her bangs out of her eyes, “We don’t know what's going to happen yet. There's uprisings going on here, maybe something will change. The capital's people will be too sad and upset thinking about their favorite victors going up to kill each other.”

“We can hope,” she yawned. She was tired but if she shut her eyes she’d see Finnicks lifeless body, the small boy they had mentored last year getting blungened within the first few minutes of the 74th games, having to get up close with her opponents in her games.

Fawn sat in their kitchen as her stylists prepared her doing a soft makeup look on her face. A soft pink blush to highlight her cheek bones and give her color, soft sparkly sunset orange eyeshadow brushed onto her eyes to bring out her green eyes with a dark red lipstick on. The stylist came in with a cream colored sweater and deep blue ocean-like pants.

“You and Finnick will match with the sweaters.” She spoke quietly, she had to style the three female victors of district four. She handed the carefully folded clothes to her then the stylist laid her necklace on top. A choker-like style of brown and white shells around it, a small blue heart pendant in the center. After she won her games Finnick gave it to her. She wore it almost daily but now the stylist is basing outfits around it.

“Thank you Nava,” Fawn gave her a sad smile as she went to her room to change. Everyone was somber, no one wanted to see any of the District Four victors go. Especially Fawn and Finnick.

Fawn was reaped for the 68th games at the age of 17, Finnick was her mentor that year. He also was freshly 17, both of them knew of each other. They were in the same grade and attended school together. Fawn also worked for Finnicks fathers fishing company. When Fawn was young, probably 9 or 10 she saw a girl in the games who threw knives. Since then she was hooked. She started taking kitchen knives from her parents and throwing them at trees for practice. Then it became a hobby, or maybe a way to keep her worry down that if she was ever reaped she had a way to defend herself.

Then she was reaped.

She remembered the way the girl next to her rested her hand on Fawns shoulder when they called her name.

She was just hoping anyone would volunteer. But no one did. She shakily walked towards the stage with peacekeepers following her. She looked at her family as her mother began to cry, her father comforting her. But no one was there to comfort Fawn as she stood on the stage as the district four escort pulled a boy's name from the reaping ball.

Fawn kept to herself during her training. She didn’t really show what she was good at in training. Finnick taught her that, then during her private with the game makers she managed to pull a 10. She did a near perfect display of knife throwing in an interactive training session.

But while she was training she could admit she was distracted.

Distracted by him.

She knew of Finnick but didn’t really know how charming he was.

They were able to grow close quickly, he would offer small touches on her. A hand on the small of her waist, taking her hand in comfort.

The night of her interview with Caesar she portrayed herself as this gentle girl from district four. Her brown hair still long at the time tied into space buns down at her neck to give her a more young look.

She wasn’t stupid if by some crazy miracle she won she would most definitely have her body sold to the capitols people. Just like Finnick and Cashmere.

Finnick told her that after the opening ceremony so many people were lined up to sponsor her.

Then she was in the games and as she proved to herself she was lethal. The arena was desert-like with lakes.

Killing within the first few minutes of the blood bath. That had plenty surprised, the plates were on the edge of a sand pit with the cornucopia in the pit. They had to strategically slide down then there were two sets of stairs to escape. Fawn did a few killings there.

The capitol was fast to name her the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Her partner was fast to join the career pack of district one, two, and him from four.

She decided being alone was her best chance. She saw the district one and two tributes as unpredictable, they could snap at any moment and kill each other. Fawn took up a small hiding spot by a lake. It took her about two days to find one. Each lake had a different quality, poisonous electric, stuff like that.

She lived off of fish she caught in the only safe lake and sponsors. During the day she would seek out areas looking for other tributes. She quickly was sought out by the careers.

By the end of the ten day mark it was just her, district four partner, a girl from 1, a boy from 2 left, the boy from four, and a girl from 8. That was the feast day. For the last two days there were no deaths, just people hiding out. Caesar announced that the bags in the cornucopia would have the district numbers on them.

So before sunrise Fawn made her way to the cornucopia and hid in there. A strategy advised by Finnick. It happened most years.

By dawn the career pack came into view. There was only one bag for four, she was going to take it.

The boy from four came running at the cornucopia as she put her hand on the bag as she emerged from the cornucopia.

“Let go,” he let out a hiss as he put his hand on it.

“Sorry,” was all Fawn could say as she grabbed a knife from the holister on her chest and threw it into him. His eyes went wide as his hand came close as he hit the ground. The canon going off not long after. She grabbed it and ran for the stairs. She had no time to think or mourn or how District four would take it.

She heard footsteps behind her as the girl from one readied to throw a spear at her. Fawn grabbed another knife throwing it at her just as threw the spear both of them dodged the opposers weapon and Fawn lunged at her taking her down at the legs. She hadn’t had to have any hand to hand combat yet and the games.

They both rolled each other around trying to scratch or grab at anything.

Then Fawn was able to wrestle her so she had the girl from One pinned over her as they laid on the stares. Fawn spent no time slicing her throat then rolling her off as soon as the canon went off.

She ran back and opened up her bag. A fresh set of a dozen throwing knives and a bag of dried fruit. that night in the sky saw, District One girl, The boy from four, and the girl from eight.

It was just her, the boy from one and the other boy from 2 left.

Wonderful two careers to take on, on her own. It had gotten hotter in the arena and the lakes started to lose water and fish. She was disoriented; they also had to be as well.

She decided that night she would get a good night's rest, eat half of what she had left and go out tomorrow to hunt them down.

Fawn walked through the sand dunes looking for other tributes when she heard a canon go off and she flinched.

This was it, the capitol's finale. They would probably release some kind of mutts to drive them together. Fawn could feel her heartbeat in her ears. There was a 50/50 shot now that she could make it back home and be with Finnick. He heard a male scream and a series of barking. She began running for the cornucopia sliding down the sand carefully. She was able to see the other tribute and the mutts as she climbed onto the top of the cornucopia.

The mutts barked and jumped at it as the boy climbed on top. Then the mutts all ran towards a glowing circle. Leaving just the two of them standing there.

Fawn could feel every twinge, tingle, bruise, everything as they stood there staring each other down. He wielded a sword and she grabbed out one of her longer knives.

They fought, fought hard.

Rolling off the top of the cornucopia both of them getting swipes at each other. Both bleeding off into the sand as they were both hanging on by hopes and prayers.

Finnick was the only thing she could think about as she grabbed a knife flinging it at the boys hitting him in his calf.

There’s no way she could beat him in hand to hand combat. He had height on her and he was much stronger. She just had to land the perfect shot with a knife.

Then she did, she threw one right into his neck as he wielded the sword up to slash it into her. He coughed up blood as he fell back dropping his sword. Fawn pinned his shoulders down with her knees and grabbed the sword slicing his throat wide open. The canon went off and the trumpets sounded.

The adrenaline stopped and she fell into the sand clutching her side that bled. Claudius Templesmith came over the speakers, “We present to you the winner of the 68th Hunger Games: Fawn Viridis!”

#finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #original oc #the hunger games #catching fire #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #mags thg #annie cresta #beetee latier #Wiress thg #president snow #plutarch heavensbee #johanna mason

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whillywisp · 10 months

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These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends—

Summary: Dreams never held any meaning for you. Not really. Even the nightmares of the arena never held any weight in your mind except being a production of extreme PTSD. Until now.

Or alternatively,

Reader pretty much predicts Finnick's death in all it's painful, gruesome glory over the course of a couple of months through nightmares. And almost loses their sanity in the process. Almost.

Warnings: gore, nightmares, ptsd, self destructive tendencies, near death experiences, non explicit talks of prostitution and domestic violence, non explicit smut, unreliable narrator, psychological horror.

Pairings: Finnick Odair x Reader.

'These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss, consume.'

— Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI.

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Chapter One: Warning Signs. Butterflies.

Word count: 3.1K

Warning: slightly graphic gore, death, panic attacks.

'It's funny. How warning signs can feel like they're butterflies.' —Graveyard, Halsey.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It started slowly.

You never gave much thought to dreams or nightmares or premonitions or any of those things. God was a concept long forgotten in Panem, religion an anomaly, and if this country feared the supernatural, something as vile as the Games wouldn't exist to begin with.

But it started slowly. And it did the night you were barely holding yourself together as it is. At first, you tried to chalk it up to the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell, Snow's words still echoing through your mind. Your neck was soaked with Finnick's tears, who had spent the better part of the last hour begging you to not volunteer if you weren't chosen and you refusing to make impossible promises, knowing you'd jump in to sacrifice yourself if Mags or Annie's name was drawn.

If it were possible, you'd jump in to take his place before the escort, Faire, had even finished announcing his name out loud. But it wasn't. So the second best scenario you could think of was going into the Arena with him. At least that way you could protect him.

It wasn't his fault really, you'd have done the same, begged and grovelled in front of him to stay with you here, in the safety of your home, if there were any other male victors in District 4 who could take Finnick's place too. But there weren't. He had been sentenced to death the second this new, sickening twist for this year's Quarter Quell had been signed and approved and there was absolutely nothing you could do.

So you lay in the quiet of Finnick's bedroom, his silk pillowcase soaked from your tears and Finnick's wet hair from when you had gently coaxed him into the shower and washed his hair while he blankly stared at the wall, his eyes red and his knees drawn to his chest, looking smaller than his existence could ever be. Sleep escaped your clutches even as you desperately chased it, and the only thing echoing in the room was Finnick's rhythmic and even breathing against your chest, the waves from the beach behind the Victor's Village and the swirling of the ceiling fan overhead.

You don't remember dozing off at first, or the way your fingers stilled against the top of his shoulder from where they drew delicate, invisible patterns into his skin. But you do at some point, because suddenly you're in a place even darker than Finnick's bedroom or the reality of your current situation.

You're standing in the middle of a long hallway, like the ones in a mansion owned by someone who had only seen wealth all their life, the walls old and the moss growing taking over most of the old faded wallpaper, signs of grandeur clear in the way the golden details in the ceilings still glitter in some places. Recognition is a slow poison that seeps through your consciousness as you realise where you are. Because you know this hallway, you know this mansion. Because you had spent the better part of a month here once, when you had been reaped for the Hunger Games for the first time three years ago.

But you know this is not a regular nightmare about the Games, not something triggered from the announcement of the Quell.

The air is as suffocating as you remember, the smell of dust and blood and waterlogged walls making your heart thud painfully in your chest, like a warning sign and your grip tightens around the coiled metal whip in your hand. But something's wrong. This is not a regular nightmare about the Games.

No. This is something worse.

And you can tell, by the way Finnick's standing in front of you, his own eyes wide as he takes in the darkness that stretches as the hallway fades away in front of you both, blanketed by the fog, his knuckles white around the trident in his hand.

Because he's not supposed to be here.

Finnick mentored you during your Games, he never stepped foot into the same Arena as you. Not in the real world and not even in any your dreams.

So why was he here?

Before you could ask him this question, a sound that still turns your blood to ice in your veins reaches you both. You turn to him in panic and open your mouth to tell him to run, to hide, to do something but he's already rushing towards you, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him down the winding hallways of the crumbling mansion.

Something is wrong.

Because this wasn't how it had happened. There had been no one trying to protect you in the end of the seventieth Hunger Games, but rather you were trying to run away from your district partner, Markus, who had been chasing you with a bloody axe at this point. You had been running from him, the blood from your head wound where he had bludgeoned you seeping into your hair and your vision blurring with every step you took. Mutts hadn't been chasing you, you had thrown a knife down the hallway you knew they were in to get their attention, to get them to kill Markus. Because you both had been the last ones standing and Markus was hunting you.

But that's not what's happening right now.

Even in your dream, Finnick's hand feels the same as it always does: callused from all those years of fishing and training, his skin warm and his hand making your whole fist disappear in it's hold. But right now it's clammy with sweat. Or is it blood? You can't tell. Not with the way your lungs are burning from the exertion, not with the way your eyes keep losing their focus on his golden strands, not with the way his grip on your hands keep slipping and sliding from whatever makes it hard to hold.

Something is wrong.

As you near the familiar door with the old brass door knob, that had saved your life in the Games, the one you had sat behind and listened to Markus' screams over Caesar Flickerman's voice crowning you victor, you trip and land face first on the the dirty marble floor of the hallway. Finnick yelps as you almost take him down with you but his grip around your hand never falters. His green eyes are desperate as looks down at you, his hands at your waist, urging you to get up.

"Please! Please get up! They are coming please!" His voice is frantic, and you want to reassure him, find a way to get him to the door, the door that'll save you both. But your vision blurs again and the wave of dizziness that washes over you makes you whimper.

At the sound of your whimper, you feel Finnick's arms wrap tightly around you as he hoists you into his arms, holding you against his chest and bolts towards the door again, his trident abandoned where you tripped and bile rises in your throat as you watch the mutts step over it as they run towards you both, growling and snarling at the smell of fresh human blood. They are faceless and slimy, grey decomposed skin hanging off their bony limbs and the sight of them makes every cell in your body vibrate in fear. Even Finnick's arms wrapped tightly around you couldn't shake off the terror these mutts induce in you.

You know you're both nearing the door, getting closer to your one chance at survival and you let some relief seep into your heart as turn to watch him unwrap an arm from around you and twist the brass doorknob, yanking the old wooden door open hard enough that it forgets to screech and pushes you into the dust storage room. You rise on your knees, ready to pull him into your arms when he would join you on the floor, closing the mutts out behind him when he's suddenly gone from your sight, snatched away.

Something is wrong.

Your chest heaves as a guttural scream echoes from the darkness of the hallway and you whimper as you crawl as fast as you could out of the door, towards the mutts, crowded around something. No. Someone.

Finnick.

The cry that escapes you is as animalistic as the growls of the mutts and you don't hesitate to grab at them, to try and pull them away from him with your bare hands but they don't seem interested in you, too engaged in devouring him. His screams feel like acid on your ears, burning everything that makes you. Even through the chaos of blood and flesh that seeps into your jumpsuit, your eyes meet his, his green eyes wide with terror.

And then they are gone.

"NO! NO! NO! PLEASE STOP PLEASE!"

It's your screams that wake you up. Your screams and warm arms tightening around you.

"It's okay! You're okay, darling! Please!" His voice is just a touch below shouting as he tries to be heard over your frantic screaming. This wasn't the first time you had woken him up, crying from a nightmare stemming from the Games. He knew, in these instances, he needed to hold your limbs down because of your tendency to hurt yourself in your haze of fear and panic.

But he had never seen you like this, screaming yourself hoarse in terror.

Your eyes snap open and the screaming stops, replaced by ragged breathing and uncontrolled sobs that sound like growls, the growls of those mutts, which make you just sob harder. You slump against his chest and you cry like your heart will break, his arms tighten around you, clutching you against him and rocking you gently, as if to mimic the tides of the ocean and the rocking of his fishing boat on the days you joined him.

It takes a while for you to calm down, your eyes frantic as they take in your surroundings. His bedroom is now bathed in the golden warmth from the lamp on the nightstand, the fan still swirls above you both, circulating cool air. And your heart still thumps in your chest as you try to will away the final images of the dream. But you can't. They still linger behind your eyelids, just like his screams still echo inside your head.

You straighten up suddenly, putting a pause to his gentle mumbles of sweet nothings and let your hands flutter on his skin like butterflies, as if afraid of hurting him. Tracing his face, touching his neck, checking for scratches, blood, the image in your mind so gruesome and cruel that you can't help the sobs that still fall from your lips as he gently cradles your face, halting your frantic movements. His green eyes shine with concern as they peer at your own, taking in your frantic state.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm okay. It's okay." His voice is low, as if he's speaking to a frightened animal and you can't help but feel like one, your sobs turning into slow hiccups as all the fear and fight bleeds out of you. He gently tugs you into his arms again as you take in ragged breaths, willing yourself to calm down.

"What's wrong?" His voice is a breathless whisper, as if he's afraid of your answer. You still against him, and your body sags, trembling in it's desparate attempt to calm down.

"I-I had a dream." The words feel like ash in your mouth. Your entire body aches from the lingering adrenaline and panic of the nightmare, as if you're still stuck there, in the winding hallways of the mansion that was the Arena, watching Finnick get ripped to shreds.

His eyes, still red rimmed from all the tears that had lulled him to sleep earlier, are concerned as he looks down at you, gently pushing back the stray strand of hair that was curling near your cheek.

"It didn't look like a normal dream. You were screaming. You never scream when you have nightmares." He speaks softly, still rocking you gently. You close your eyes, feeling the weight of the images in your head against your shoulders again like a separate entity, haunting you.

"It wasn't. You—" The words get stuck in your throat, as if burning the delicate tissues there on their way out. As if afraid of making it worse for him than it already is. He peers at you, curiosity and concern making his green eyes seem wider.

You take a deep breath, and blink as you take in your surroundings again, unable to meet his gentle gaze. When you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper, as if afraid of what kind of damage they'd do.

"I saw you die. And it was...it was bad."

His eyes immediately soften as you turn away from him, a broken sob escaping your lips as he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss into the back of your neck. You're grateful when he makes no indication of asking what the dream was actually about as his hand travels underneath your sleep shirt, his shirt, to caress the delicate, scarred skin of your abdomen, as if to comfort you when all you feel is wrong, wrong, wrong. For dreaming something as vile as what you did and your chest aches at the gentleness his heart is still capable of after everything the world put it through.

"I know the...announcement of the Quell..." you both wince at the word, as if there's a curse on the word itself and in a way, there really is. "...has been hard to take in but I promise you, I will do everything in my power to come back to you. You just need you to trust me."

You exhale slowly, playing with his fingers as you continue to avoid his gaze. You could feel his heart beat in tandem with yours, so different from the frantic rhythm it had when you had gently tucked him into your neck earlier that night, to pull him away from the clutches of the panic attack bruising his lungs and mind in an attempt to break out of him, drown him. You shift and turn around to face him again, gently running a hand through his hair.

"You won't need any elaborate plans if I'm in the Arena with you. We can...we can figure it out. We won't need to be so-so scared and worried-"

He breathes in sharply, his eyes hardening a little and you feel your heart clench in your chest, knowing exactly what's to follow. "Can you please, for the sake of everything I love and care for, not talk about being in the same Arena as me? Please, I'd appreciate it a lot."

You sigh, pushing your face into his neck, his own sigh of disappointment at himself for losing his temper ruffling your hair like a warm breeze. He always had to remind himself how fragile you are, to not lose himself in the moment like he did with the strangers who traced the same paths on his skin that you did. You were different. You didn't deserve the rage he had saved only for those who had hurt him or you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and shook his head, feeling the telltale sting of tears in his throat intensify.

"Please, you can't-you can't be in there with me. Please-"

Your voice is frantic as you whisper, "You know I can't just sit here and let you go in there on your own. I can't. I-I will die of anxiety if not anything-"

"But you're not doing nothing by staying here. You're giving me every single reason to return home to you. Why don't you understand that?" His frustration fades, making way for desparation as he sighs again, leaning his forehead against yours. "I refuse to go into that Arena all over again just to die. I promise you, your nightmare is just that, a nightmare. And I need you to trust me on this, I will never leave you."

He ends his speech by tugging your face out from it's hiding spot in his neck and pressing his lips to yours, gently tracing your jaw with his thumb as his green eyes search yours in hopes of finding the trust he always does. "I love you. So much. So just trust me please."

Your lips purse at his words, your heart finally slowing as the reassurances of his words finally settle into your body like a blanket. He'd never broken any he's made promises to you, not really, but you also know that this is not a promise he's capable of controlling. You sigh, and nod.

"I love you more and I do trust you. I trust you with everything that makes me. But you have to understand I can't help the panic or fear I feel."

He nods, his nose brushing yours. "I know and i don't blame you for it. I feel the same. But just trust me. And stay here, if you don't get reaped. I am begging you. Please."

You don't reply to his pleas, choosing meld your body back into his as you hide your face into his neck again and his answering sigh of exhaustion a clear sign that he's tired of this argument. Not even one day into this new reality where you are both more than likely to die in a few months and it's already creating a wedge between you both. And you hate it. But you know you can't make promises like that, not when you know you'll break them. And you know he can't either, not when he'd jump in front of you and take a dagger to the heart without any hesitation.

That's the curse of devotion, after all. Death by another and death for your lover, it becomes hard to distinguish between the two.

You push those thoughts away, disturbed by their mere existence and cursing your brain for tormenting you as you kiss the skin of his neck, your voice a mere whisper in the quiet of the bedroom, the only other sound being the waves in the distance, echoing as they crash into the shore.

"We still have months to think about these things. To plan a strategy for either scenarios. So let's just sleep for now. Please?" You feel him nod against your head and tighten his arms around you.

You can't sleep again, not that night, your mind a whirlwind of the images from your nightmare and no amount of safety his arms provide seemed to protect you from your own grief.

In a way, you're glad they don't. You'd need more than just a safety net, after all, for what is to come.

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A/N: ngl, this took a chunk out of my soul to write. Tell me what you think? All my love, Moon.

Masterlist

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #the hunger games #fanfiction #thg #writing #hunger games #finnick imagine #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #mags thg #finnick x you #finnick x reader #moonfm #catching fire

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faithisasuperstar · 4 months

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thinking about mags and coral rn 😕

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #tbosas #thg #coral tbosas #coral thg #mags flanagan #mags thg #mags #faith talks a lot

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littlebirdhighhitt · 6 months

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What I wouldn’t do to hear Mags, winner of the 11th game, thoughts about Lucy Gray, winner of the 10th game.

That would be if Mags had ever heard of her before. After the reveal of Coriolanus and Lucy’s cheating in the game, all recordings(except one) of the 10th game was erased from history. Since the games wasn’t very developed back then, most of the district’s citizens didn’t even watch the games, reasons 1. Nobody had access to a working television. 2. If they did most people was actively against the games, because obviously nobody wants to see children murdering each other.

Even if people had followed the game and Lucy’s victory, most people didn’t think much of it. The games didn’t have the same power and recognition as they do in the 74th and 75th game. It was simply a terrible act forced upon the districts by the capitol. When the winners came back home, they received nothing but the trauma that the games gave them and the little extra life that had to offer. They all disappeared into nothing, they became a living example of the games cruelty.

So when Mags gets reaped into the game, it was very likely her first introduction to it, except from the yearly reaping. Even if she remembered the name Lucy Gray, it would have become nothing more than a myth, something people might believe in, but something they don’t speak of very much, if at all.

Perhaps Mags spoke with some tributes from twelve, who might have known her, but would it really matter? All the winners from game 1-10 might as well never have existed.

They might have been the luckiest ones of the bunch.

#ballad of songbirds and snakes #bosas spoilers #bosas #thg series #thg #mags thg #lucy gray baird #the hunger games

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lasthaysileeshipper · 8 months

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you know a(nother) character I love who doesn’t get enough love? mags.

like holy shit can you imagine the things this woman has seen? the amount of tributes she’s lost and all of brutal ways she’s seen those tributes die? all of the victors she’s seen suffer from paranoia and addiction and all of the victors she couldn’t save from their own demons?

the amount of strength it takes to see all of that death, deal with her own demons, and still remain kind and gentle is immense. I think haymitch describing her as a “wonderful lady” in the movies was such a tremendous understatement.

#she truly was the mother to all of those victors huh #mags flanagan #mags thg #thg #the hunger games #lhs thoughts

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losingmymindrn · 14 days

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Confession: I’m not a fan of the coral/mags ship 🤭

SAME

I think of them more of friends tbh

#tbosas #the hunger games #coral tbosas #asks open #thank you for the ask btw!!#Mags thg #coral my dearest<3 #Confessions

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kahlanmars · 8 months

Text

BAD FEELING part. 28

This has been a hell of a chapter to write so PLS comment or like if you liked it!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

28. I stand with the Mockingjay

Three days pass and nothing changes. President Snow is being captured in a palace with a beautiful garden, surrounded by his beloved roses and you can’t help but think that Alma Coin is trying to make an example out of it. Presidents should be treated with kindness and respect even after being captured. You can torture civils and guards if you want, but not the President. It’s just a coincidence that she is a president.

Katniss is always with Prim, she reads her stories and she sings for her, while her mother is catatonic again, staring at the wall for hours. You sometimes talk to Katniss, but you can sense she is desperate, she stares at her sisters for hours and hours and she doesn’t talk to Gale Hawthorne anymore, which means she knows something about the theory about Snow and Coin.

Peeta is a little better. He has to continue the therapy and he spends an awful lot of time thinking he is in the Capitol being tortured, but now he knows that he loves the Mockingjay, he knows he is not in danger anymore and he even remembers some things.

He is a patient of Doctor Aurelius too, but today she wants to see you.

«So, how's it going today? Do you want to tell me something?»

«The nightmares are a little better.» You can tell her that. You have to deny all the other things, because she is on Alma Coin’s payroll and you may like her but you definitely don’t trust her. «And when I wake up Haymitch helps me.»

«Haymitch is your boyfriend.» She asks, but you don’t know why. She knows him, she’s seen you with him.

«Yeah.» You answer her nonetheless, because it’s the polite thing to do. And he hates the term, by the way. He keeps saying he is too old to be anyone’s “boyfriend” and “partner” is more than okay.

«He is a victor too.» She points out, maybe in a sense that tells you “He needs to be helped too”. You know it, every victor should be in therapy, but he in particular is a stubborn mule. Maybe after all this mess you will insist.

«He was my mentor. Like Annie and Finnick. And we fell in love. Are you going to tell me he is not right for me?»

«No, Daisy. You know what it’s right for you. I was just wondering if you thought about what we talked about last time.»

You thought she wanted to ask you only about the murder, and it would’ve made sense, but Dr. Aurelius wants to know about your life, so you told her about Portia’s offer and how it makes you feel.

It felt safer than talking about Caius or Clark, at the beginning.

«He doesn’t know that. It’s not exactly a priority right now.»

«And you still want to go to learn from Portia?»

«Yeah I mean, I like clothes very much. I like making clothes, you have that perfect image in your head and then you try to sketch it and in the paper it’s not sure, but then you cut the fabric and you sew and you embroidery… and it’s yours. It’s exactly how you wanted and you can have it because you did it. It’s fantastic.» You explain, quickly full with enthusiasm.

Since you were little you’ve done dresses for your doll, Olivia, with little pieces of fabrics that Holly couldn’t use anymore. She wanted you to learn, because in the district life is hard if you don’t know how to do things yourself. She made you learn how to clean, how to cook, how to hunt (that’s not something you want to do) and a lot of other skills but you really enjoy sewing, you’ve always done it even when it wasn’t a necessity anymore. You used to do it for your friends and for their dolls, when they had them.

«But you don’t want to stay away from Haymitch.»

You just shake your head, aware this is not right, it’s a person, not an addiction. But you don’t think you would be happy without him. «He hates the Capitol.»

«What about District One or Two? They are very close to Capitol City, so you can take the train everyday.»

This is actually a good idea. An idea that could save the day, if you survive the last straw of the revolution.

You go out of the psychologist with a great headache and you decide you need to be in your room. Your room is not even yours anymore, you spend all your time at Haymitch’s room or the hospital and Effie is always there with Portia. And here you find her, alone, so you open your arms and you cuddle against her.

«Friend.» You request with a little pout. Effie and Haymitch can’t resist a pout or big eyes. Then again you always want to snuggle against them and they humour you more times than not, so perhaps they just like to spoil you a little. Their last tribute.

«Of course!» She pats your head. You can only imagine the state of your hair right now. «Is everything okay? Is it Little Prim?»

«No, she is stable. I just missed you.» You get to be whiny and spoiled with her. When you are with Haymitch he is your partner, so you can ask for a cuddle but you also have to prove to him that you are independent, and if you would try to act like this with Holly she would scream to you to stop it. Effie is different, she enjoys being the big sister and you get to have a holiday from being the strong one all the time.

«Haymitch told me he loves me.» You confess after a while. You don’t even know if you can say that to her, it feels a little like cheating. You don’t completely get people like Haymitch or Perla, so private. When you are happy you want to share it with the world, you want to scream it to everybody and you are glad to hear it from others.

«That’s wonderful news!» She hugs you again. «In times like this I-»

She can’t end the sentence, because two guards burst into the room. The door was closed, so they had a passepartout. They could have entered any time, you realise with a shiver down your spine. District Thirteen is a horrible place.

«Miss Trinket, President Coin requested your presence for an interrogation.» The guard orders, and you watch her in disbelief. For an interrogation? About what? Effie has been nothing but perfect in this dreadful district since the moment you arrived. Much more perfect and well behaved than you.

«Miss Trinket has immunity.» You get up, shielding Effie with your body. Effie is taller than you, but she is so frightened and you, well, you did the Hunger Games, you are strong. The guards are not impressed, though.

«Not anymore.» Is the only answer you get.

It makes sense. You got arrested, you don’t have immunity anymore, let alone give it to other people.

Still, Effie was part of the revolution. Maybe not from the start, but she was. She was the one who said to you to hold on during the Games, she was aware of the plan and she is Cinna’s friend, she is not an enemy. She was a face of the Hunger Games publicly of course, being an escort for Twelve, but so was Plutarch being a Gamemaker.

You try to take their hands off of her, but they immediately out strong you and you see this scared, afraid woman in a grey jumpsuit taken away from you.

No, no, no, not Effie.

«Let her go, she didn’t do anything!» You scream.

«It’s just an interrogation.» The guard tells you, but you don’t believe him. If you let her go you will never see her again, and she doesn’t even have a bracelet.

«She is part of the revolution!»

Just for a moment you think you will hurt that man, but the blonde woman sees the glimpse in your eyes and stops you before you could do anything you would regret.

«Find Katniss or someone who could help us.» She instructs you, so calm despite the situation.

Not Effie. Not again.

You run as fast as you can, but you don’t know who to run to.

It’s Perla who finds you before you could catch her, though. She is still in bad shape and she has bruises all over her body, but she is up.

«They have Cinna.» She pants.

«Cinna?» You ask, worried.

«All the people from Capitol City. Cinna, Portia. Cinna was with me, I was about to leave the hospital and they took him.» She has trouble breathing, her face is so red you want to let her sit down, but you have more urgent problems now.

«They have Effie too.»

«It doesn’t make any sense! Cinna basically started the revolution! Portia and Effie were part of it. I don’t understand.» She is panicking. You start to think about who you could call for help, because you have no idea. The victors have little power over Coin, and Plutarch never listened to you one day in his life.

You rush into Haymitch’s room, but he is not there, so you try to go into the hospital room to see Finnick, but he has vanished. You don’t get it, you don’t understand and you try not to be scared, but there is no chance Haymitch would have gone without telling you.

He doesn’t know about Effie, you reason. He loves Effie, she is his friend. He will help you.

If he is somewhere. What if they took him too?

You go to the hospital again, thinking that maybe Finnick and Lora are there, but you only find Mags.

«Mags!»

When you spot the old woman in the hospital you are so relieved. She is still there. The grandmother with grey hair and a sweet smile, who has been in the hospital since she was retrieved. You nearly forgot about her.

Then you remember she doesn’t talk and she barely remembers you.

«Where are all the victors? Where is Finnick?»

She gestures something, but you are too on the verge to understand anything. Fortunately for you, Perla is more intelligent than that.

«They are in a room with President Coin?» She asks, and finally Mags nods.

Snow is captured and the victors are in a room with Coin, something big is going on.

Finally they open the door and all the victor go out. Finnick and Annie storm out of the room so quickly they practically bump into you, and Peeta looks at everyone with sad and judging eyes. When Katniss passes next to you she doesn’t even see you. Perla decides to follow Finnick, and you kinda think it’s the better choice instead of Haymitch, but you have loyalty to him.

Johanna Mason eyes you with a smirk. You don’t know what she has to laugh about. You don’t like Johanna very much, it’s like she brings trouble, and the only times she met you she always smiled at you kinda cruelly. The dark haired girl has been through hell like you, but she’s definitely not your favourite victor.

Haymitch is the last to exit. His face is blank, but you can sense he is not right and his hands are trembling. He looks like he wants to drink so badly you just want to hug him forever and take him away from this madness.

«Haymitch!» You call him, and you jump into his arms for comfort. «They took Effie.»

Now everything will be okay. The victors love Effie. They will rescue her one way or another, Haymitch and Finnick always know what to do.

«They did what?» He wants to know, and he is shocked. If he doesn’t know about the imprisonment they didn’t talk about it in the room.

«They took Effie for an interrogation.» You say again. «We have to go, we have to save her. They wanted information from her.»

«Good.» Johanna gets in the conversation. «She is Capitol.»

«She is part of the Revolution.» You snarl. You almost assaulted a guard before, you can hit a victor now. Actually you want to punch a victor now, a victor like Johanna Mason from District Seven, but you are adult enough to stop yourself.

«Once a Capitol, always a Capitol.» She talks back. Haymitch must see your expression, because he takes your hand.

You don’t handle well violence under stress.

«Johanna.» Haymitch growls. «Stop it.»

«Oh don’t be such a hypocrite! You voted with us.» The District 7 Victor reveals, and you don’t get it. There was a votation in the room? Is that why Finnick and Annie were so upset with everybody?

«What did you vote for?» You have a bad, bad feeling.

«I’ll explain in my room.» He tries to cut it off, but the woman interrupts his words again with a satisfied grin.

«New Hunger Games.» Johanna explains taking his place. «With Capitol kids.»

New Hunger Games. New… it’s not possible. Coin really thought it was a good idea. Kids from the Capitol being reaped. The Games, the television, the arena. Memories creep in your mind and you have to close your mouth with your hand, free from your boyfriend’s.

«W-what?» You barely manage to talk.

This is not possible, this is not true. The Games are part of your nightmares. They are all the victor’s nightmares. They were supposed to end forever.

«Sweetheart…» He searches for your eyes, but you don’t see anything.

«This is not true. Haymitch would never.» You look at him. «You didn’t vote yes, right?»

Haymitch is many things, he is an addict, he is rude, he is not gentle and he is rough more times than not, but he is not cruel. He is not one for vengeance on innocent people, and they are innocent people.

You are District Twelve by luck, or the leaking of it. If you grew up in the Capitol, that wouldn’t have made you a bad person. Yes, maybe a spoiled one, but not bad. Not all Capitol citizens are pro games. Not everyone is rich.

And kids. Kids the same age Snow bombed. Or Coin bombed. Kids the same age you teached for.

«It’s complicated.»

«Not really. Did you vote yes?» You start to shiver. Your world is collapsing. In these months the war was upon you and you were about to die, but Haymitch was a certainty. A good man. A man of honour. The man you are in love with.

«…Yes.» He sighs.

He tries to hug you, but you take a step back. His touch is weird now, this is not your Haymitch. «Don’t you dare.» You spat.

Your head is spinning. Other blood, another game, another television show. Nothing is changing from this revolution, just the name of the tyrant.

«Sweetheart, please.»

«Kids, Haymitch! Cinna’s family. Effie’s family. They are with us. Capitol doesn’t mean Snow… how is that fair?» Ivy is a Capitol kid, you want to scream. The sweet girl you saved, the sweet girl he saved.

«You have to understand-»

You slap his hand because he wants to stroke your cheek and right now you can’t handle his touch. «I don’t have to do anything! Now we save Effie. Then we can discuss.»

It takes hours to finally make them release Cinna and Portia. Coin has no leverage against them, they are part of the revolution since the beginning, and the President just wants to get them out of the way because she wants the Capitol to be the enemy.

Effie has to stay in the cell for now, for “dubious connections”, but you can pay her a visit. Dubious connection, you don’t have any clue on what it means. Maybe her parents are on Capitol side, or her friends from her past life. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to keep Haymitch and you on track, because she knows you love her.

The room is little and grey, without any window. It’s claustrophobic, tiny, you can’t live in a place like this for more than two hours without screaming. No air whatsoever. There is a - grey - bed and a bucket you really don’t want to know what is used for.

«Darling girl.» She approaches you and she is trying to smile, but you can see she is frightened.

She is not a fighter. She is a TV host. An escort. Yes, she reaped the names of the kids, but she is not a mastermind, she doesn’t have a great plan, and she is an active part of the revolution you morons.

«I’ll take you out of here.» You promise her, reaching for her hand. She is cold, and you didn’t think about bringing her blankets.

«You are in danger too.»

«I don’t care, Effie. You will be free.» You smile through the tears. «You have to host me in Capitol City, okay?»

You are scared too. If the new games are real nothing reassures you Coin won’t torture her to get informations or kill her like she is about to do with President Snow.

«Okay.» She reassures you. «I promise.»

«Good, a promise is always good. You promised. I promised I would outlive the Games and I did it. Don’t break the promise, Effie.»

You hug a little more, until a guard tells you to exit. When you go out of the room you start to walk really fast, because Haymitch is behind you.

«If you just-» He begins, but you are furious this time. No amount of kisses and caresses will fix this.

«If I just what?» You turn around and face him with fire in your eyes. «And what? Your precious mockingjay said yes and you followed her?» This is mean. Katniss is a broken child herself but damn it, she should know better. You are angry at her too. Prim is the same age as Capitol kids.

«…Yes, but-»

«Kids, Haymitch! Capitol kids are still kids!» You shout, and you don’t care if all the district watches you. You are on a black list anyway, not really beloved by Thirteen. You are definitely the next after Effie.

«Don’t scream, it’s dangerous.» He whispers and takes your shoulders, but you scoff him away.

«I don’t give a flying fuck! You condemned kids. There will be a new mentor. A new you. A new Effie and a new me, but maybe she will be Prim’s age! Are you ready for it? You will watch it on television, I bet it will be mandatory.»

«Look at me.» He takes your wrist and dear heavens you are about to slap him. «Do you trust me?»

«I trusted you.» You reveal. You trusted him with your life, and you still trust him that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but if he’s doing it to save Katniss he is trading a child for a child.

«Remember who the real enemy is, Daisy.» He murmurs.

Coin. He wants to do something about the Coin situation. He probably knows everyone is in danger as long as she is in power.

Still, he said yes. The risk is too high. If whatever the plan is, if the plan fails, the “yes” will still be active and children will be reaped again. Children are not a price to pay. Children are the spark for the revolution. You don’t sacrifice children if you are not Snow or Coin.

«You still said yes.» You whisper, trying really hard not to cry. «Are you one hundred percent certain of what you are doing?»

He is about to lie, you see it on his face, but he closes his eyes. «No. Not one hundred percent.»

So children are a risk he is willing to take. «If anything happens, it’s on you.»

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