#Change clothes (either to sponsor received ones or to ones found in the arena)

[hollandwestbrook]

She, Aspen, and Wren had all scattered once Amalthea had fallen and the cannon had sounded. Her mind was headed in a thousand directions as well, and she couldn’t even mentally track where Wren had run, rather trying to find Aspen’s hand with her own as the two of them fled the scene. As if that could absolve them of what they’d done.

She was breathing heavily. This was becoming a list: Francis, Otto, Doriss, Amalthea. Shit. Shit. Shit. What was she doing?

H.W. is a liar.

They know.

Holland, you are a fucking killer.

She and Aspen ran through the streets, searching for somewhere safe, a building that hadn’t collapsed. The bag hanging over her shoulder bumped against her hip rhythmically as they moved; it now contained a last bit of thread she was saving for Nico, should he need it, as well as the strange mask she’d gotten, the rope, and the small vial.

The knife remained in her hand, still dripping with Amalthea’s blood.

She stepped through the large, open doors of one of the buildings, from which a strange, damp odor floated. “In here,” she said, waiting for Aspen to come through the doors before closing them. There were some hooks with some robes hanging from them, sandals on the ground. She immediately started stripping out of her tunic, which had blood on it, though whether it was Thea’s or Doriss’s she wasn’t sure.

@aspensawyer​

[platonic-plots]

Just Breathe.

Request/Summary: “So how about you’re Katniss's younger sister, y/n, and when you come back from the games as a victor you’re shell shocked and always on edge. So the Everdeen's need to take care of their broken sister and daughter (Prim doesn't exist (a crime in itself 😭) y/n is 15-16 Katniss is 18)”

Pairings: sister!katniss x reader, gale x reader (platonic)

Words: 1633

Warnings: mentions of violence, implication of some form of ptsd

Specific time/Important info: reader is 15

There had only ever been two victors from district 12; one was dead and one was drunken. It was near impossible for someone from your district to compete against those who had consistently trained throughout their childhood and actually survive the brutal games. The odds of someone from 12 winning after Haymitch were practically non-existent, until you proved everyone wrong. You listened to and followed every word from the mouths of Effie and Haymitch, despite all three of you knowing that you were more-or-less guaranteed to die. Because of this- because of the three of you, your district had its first victor in 24 years. 

You stepped onto the train platform of 12. Cameras flashing, crowds surging, peacekeepers struggling. You had brought respect to the district - you had survived almost twenty days in the arena, surrounded by bloodthirsty teenagers - and everyone wanted a look at the girl who had used innocence to her advantage and, for once, succeeded. You plastered on a fake smile that never quite reached your eyes as you waved at the Capitol’s photographers. They didn’t know what it was like to witness, from only inches away, people your own age being brutally murdered by nature, mutts or each other. They didn’t know what it was like to leave your family, knowing you’d probably never return. They didn’t know what it was like to be repeatedly bombarded with and forced to answer questions about the most horrific, harrowing, tediously never-ending experience of your life and still be expected to smile about it.

You scanned the crowd, hoping to meet the eyes of somebody who would make you feel safe. The familiar colour of your mother’s hair was nowhere to be seen and, for once, trying to find Gale’s towering figure amongst the crowd wasn’t a simple task. Your heart felt like it cracked when you realised you couldn’t find the faces of those you needed most. As soon as you had finally made your way through the crowd, someone began pacing towards you, seemingly urgently. When you looked up, a wave of relief flooded you as you took in the appearance of the person you missed above anyone else. Her hair was as beautifully messy as always, her cheeks as gaunt as you’d ever seen them, her clothes beginning to hang off her body. Katniss. 

“I missed you, little duck.”

Your arms snaked around her body quicker than the blink of an eye. For a split second, everything felt like it was going to be okay. It felt like you could close your eyes and be alone with the girl who had kept you going throughout every single thing. You wished you could stay frozen like that forever; you wouldn’t have to put up with any more sleepless nights or invading thoughts, and your head would finally be at rest. But that was impossible. 

Katniss took your hand and you began your walk to your new home in the Victors’ Village. “We’ve already moved most of our things to the new house. Mom’s sat at the table waiting right this second, so is Gale- he’s staying with us for a little while. Your room is huge; it’s as big as our entire home in the seam. I think it was time for a change of scenery, y’know?” She did her best to try and lighten the mood ever so slightly, and you appreciated that she was attempting to take your mind off of everything, but it didn’t really work. You tried your best to concentrate on walking down the quiet street with your sister, and on the conversation at hand, but your attention was somewhere else entirely. With every syllable, your thoughts grew bigger, stronger, scarier. All it took was the accidental smashing of glass to grip your brain from the state it was in and thrust it straight into another one entirely. One that formed a scene in your head that was not dissimilar to the nightmare you had just lived.

The sound of the cannon rang throughout the arena. The third within the past hour alone. As you sprinted through the treacherous landscapes, you begged your legs to run faster, to take you further. If the pace of your feet matched the pace of your heart, you’d have no problem surviving the hunger games. You tried your hardest to move further through the forest, but you were just a child. Before long, you began to tire: your strides became shorter, your breaths became ragged and your head became clouded. Within seconds, you were laying on the ground with a vine wrapped around your leg. A tribute from district one advanced towards you wielding a broken glass bottle, most likely obtained from one of the many sponsor gifts he’d received. You didn’t put up a fight. You didn’t want to. Between either fighting for survival against innocent teenagers, in a conjured up space, as entertainment for an audience of adults, or losing your life then and there, you knew which option you favoured. When the boy stood above you with the weapon gripped tightly in his hand, you begged and pleaded as much as the energy left in you would allow. ‘Please. Please, just kill me. You have to, just kill me. Please.’

Gasping for air, you shot up. You looked around - you had been laying on a couch with a damp towel above your eyes, a steaming mug on a small table beside you and a strangely familiar smell filling your nostrils, in a room you’d never seen before. Without Katniss. You quickly removed the cloth from your head and let your eyes attempt to take in your surroundings. The fact that you didn’t know where you were or what had happened led your mind to be overcome with panic and worry. You brought your legs up to your chest and you rested your head on your knees as you began to cry. In a rush, you had accidentally knocked over the cup, allowing it to greet the floor with a startling crash. You heard someone’s rushed footsteps become louder with every pace. 

The figure, most likely ignoring the small mess you’d made, knelt down in front of you. “My baby girl.” A shaking hand was placed gingerly on your head by the woman who struggled to utter those words without her voice breaking. A mere glance was all it took to convince you to crawl from your position into your mother’s arms. In her embrace, you sobbed. The storm of emotions, that your body had enclosed, had finally been let loose. As she held you, mumbled encouragements and questions escaped her lips, from “You strong, strong girl,” to “What did they do to you?”

You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to do anything. Despite this, you couldn’t help the fact that time moved on. In the breath of a moment, twilight became midnight and, although you wanted nothing more than to stay in the company of your mother, you could clearly see that she was tiring quickly. She wrapped a comforting arm around you as she led you to your new room, stifling a yawn as the both of you reached the door. With a final hug and a kiss to your forehead, she turned around and walked down the hallway, leaving you in ‘peace’. You didn’t want her to go; you didn’t want to be alone. But you didn’t stop her.

In the space of two hours, the night had become worse than you thought. You tossed and turned for well over an hour, terrified of what you might encounter should you close your eyes. As soon as you managed to fall asleep, memories disguised as nightmares plagued your rest. You shot back into reality with a strangled cry. Strings of tears flew down your face and beads sweat followed them. Your knees instinctively found their place adjacent to your chest and you clamped your hands over your mouth, but you couldn’t take back the sound that had already left.

Barely seconds passed before the door to your left opened to reveal the figure of somebody you hadn’t seen in weeks. Gale. He edged through the opening, across the floor and onto your bed, his sympathy was obvious in everything from his body language to his facial features. He sat next you, and instead of invading your space or forcing you into an unwelcoming hug, he simply placed a calloused hand onto your back and began talking as calmly and as soothingly as he could.

“Just breathe, you’re safe. You’re home now, just breathe, y/n. You’re safe here, I promise. Just breathe.’ He carried on like this for a few minutes until your breathing grew steadier. When you finally managed to compose yourself (as well as you could), you looked at the man who had been like a father to you for years. The man who had refused to let you put your name into the reaping for tesserae. The man who had tears in his eyes as he looked back at you- at how your body was crumbling beneath the weight of the experiences you’d endured. 

The second you could think clearly again, you clung onto Gale like he was going to disappear. He pulled you onto his chest, knowing the sound of his steady heartbeat had always been good at calming you down from nightmares. As the two of you lay there, he kept one arm around you, almost protectively, and used the other to brush your hair out of you face. In the same way your mother did, after an age of being in an oddly comforting silence, he kissed your head goodnight, and you followed his cue. Lying there, your mind wandered harmlessly. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re ok.

sO ya friendly neighnourhood procrastinator (it me) has been on an unofficial writing hiatus but now i’m back (for now), so genuinely: thank you for sticking around :) as always, my requests are open for any platonic fics, and send me an ask or a message if you maybe want to be tagged in any future fics :) it’s currently 02:51 so (a.) i apologise for any typos, they’ll be fixed when i wake up, and (b.) nanite