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clatoera · 2 years ago

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Always Remember We’re Burned for Better Chapter 15: If I’m On Fire, You’ll be Made of Ashes Too

...Hey y’all. Sorry I sucked again and didn’t post for 17 days. I had a literal breakdown over boards and worked 70 hours a week two weeks ago and! Yeah! Here we are! Back to full length chapters too so! woo.

Direct quotes from Mockingjay are not mine!

TW for Glimmer’s speech at the end (Finnick’s speech in the book/movie)

Title from My Tears Ricochet (T swift of course)

AO3

Masterpost

As always. thank you to my besties, who I feel bad tagging every week, but I don’t feel bad tagging @kentwells ever so!

Anyway...let's do it.

“We’re never going to lose these ‘mentally unstable’ bands if you keep taking a swing at everyone who looks at us wrong.” Finnick flicks a shred of bread in Cato’s general direction, sure that no one would see him dare to waste food, even if that food was a glorified crouton. “You know she isn’t here for you to impress, right?”

“Leave him alone, Finnick.” Glimmer sighs, tired of yet another version of the same conversation. Cato’s unhinged. Glimmer’s unstable. Cato’s a loose cannon. Glimmer’s not to be trusted alone. “Gale deserved it, anyway, he’s running his mouth that the two of us are together-“

“And we would never.” Cato stabs the slightly sharper end of his spoon into the tray of lunch, having lost his privileges to any further utensil when he threatened to carve out Gale Hawthorne’s eyes with the spork he had just been upgraded to. “No offense, of course, Glimmer.”

“Oh, none taken! You were never my type anyway.” She offers over her full fledged fork and goes back to ripping up the stale roll to toss back at Finnick. “Besides , they were starting the same rumors about me and you Finny, that's not a rumor we need Annie to hear when we get her back.”

Such is how they, as the surviving victors, had decided to talk. It had to become when we got them back, not if. False hope or not, it was all they had to get them through day to day life in the hell hole that is District 13. It was a light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel that was the other side of this great war.

“I’ve had worse. He doesn’t even leave a mark.” Cato brushes off, taking Glimmer’s offering with an appreciative nod. “His only value is fawning over Fire girl anyway.”

“He keeps her stable enough. Which, you know you aren't getting any closer to getting them back by going after her personal attack dog, right ?” Finnick warns, noting how Katniss sits a safe distance away from Gale at their assigned table entirely across the room, firmly lodged against her little sister’s side.

“I find it hard to believe she cares about Peeta if she’s so easily moving on.” Glimmer huffs before she rests her left elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “I’ll never be able to love someone else. And I don’t want to. You’d have to kill me before I'd just…move on that easily. She changes her man more often than she changes her braid.”

“Oh he wants her, but she doesn't feel the same.” Finnick assures, fingers falling into a familiar pattern of braiding his napkin. It was obsessive and unintentional, but it kept him in one piece. “She feels like she owes him, I think. For getting her family out…”

“And he left Peeta’s behind.” Cato reminds, a tone in voice that could nearly be disgust if someone really wanted to call it such, if they really wanted to look for meaning in the way he refers to the families from Twelve. “Seems like a low blow, leaving behind the family out of jealousy.”

He’ll deny it, fervently, to anyone who even suggests it, but there's something about the bombing of District Twelve right off the face of the map that settles inside him wrong. Sure, they were an outlying district, but wasn’t that the whole point of Panem? All the districts contribute to a greater good, providing some sort of service to the others. Twelve and Two, while plenty different, are both the mining districts after all. Maybe the mountainside villages of Two make the shantytowns of Twelve all the more desolate, but at their core, were they really that different in what they provided to the capitol?

If twelve was so expendable..what really makes the others any different?

Glimmer is the next one to renew the lease on her ‘mentally unstable’ armband, and lose their utensil privileges, when she actually uses a fork and goes after the same insufferable district twelve boy for having the audacity to insinuate that her relationship was fake.

–

“You two are wanted in the conference room.” A guard, maybe twice their age, announces at the door of their cell– room, okay fine it’s a room, but it may as well be their prison cell.

Glimmer shoots Cato a hesitant look– noone has ever wanted them in a conference, noone has ever given a single fuck about what they have to say about anything that happens to or around them. At this point though, what would the benefit of executing them be?

“Sorry, Conference call isn’t on my schedule for the day.” Cato holds up his left arm, with their printed schedules tattooed in for the day. Not that either of them followed them– ninety nine percent of their time was spent inside these four walls of this room. “Maybe if you factor it in we’ll consider–”

“It is not an option. You are expected promptly. Failure to attend will be seen as a direct act of discompliance and will have severe consequences.”

Cato tightens his jaw before he slips his feet over the edge of the bed, nodding to Glimmer to do the same. The narrowed look of her green eyes in his direction tells him all he needed to know– she can imagine the same consequence as him, which isn’t a direct threat to the two of them at all.

They say nothing as they follow this armed man, weaving through halls and up elevators, a route they could not re-create on their own even if they combined their brain power with the intention to do so.

The door has a keypad, opened only with a scan of the guard’s eye rather than any code they can memorize and exploit later.

Glimmer glances out of the corner of her eyes as she is ushered into the room a step in front of Cato, fully taking in the physicality of the guard as she passes him. They could probably take him, if one dispatched the gun from his hands and the other got him down.

Glimmer’s mental notes were tossed to the wayside when she saw the contents of the room.

Around a conference table sat Miss Mockingjay herself, Finnick Odair, a newly sober Haymitch Abernathy, Plutarch Heavensbee, Beetee, and a gray haired woman Glimmer could vaguely identify as the president of District 13.

Her eyes must betray her absolute distrust in the members of the room, as the guard behind her grabs her by the shoulders and goes to push her to the table, when Cato’s hand encircles one of the man’s wide wrists.

“Don’t touch her.” He warns, though it comes out as a warning growl. Cato would fight, that much he had proven over and over during their months long stint in the pit of hell that is District Thirteen.

“Now there’s no need for any of that–” Plutarch interrupts, and with a wave of his hand Glimmer’s shoulders are released and she steps forward on her own accord. “Please, sit. You two were invited here as guests for this conversation..”

“Oh, Guests? That's what we are here now? Guests?” Glimmer quips, but settles herself down in one of the conference chairs furthest away from anyone else, anyone who could reach up and grab at her. Guests, sure, of the local psychiatric lock down unit maybe.

“You have both been extended a generosity by District Thirteen under our protections. And you were both granted an even larger generosity under Miss. Everdeen’s Mockingjay deal. It would behoove you both to listen to the expectations that are required of you both.” The gray haired woman begins, addressing them both. However, it is like she sees through them both, refusing to look either in the face and instead staring through as if they are beneath her, unworthy of her attention.

Something about her steely gaze and underlying threats in her tone feels familiar to Cato, and for the briefest second it is like he is back in President Snow’s office being given an ultimatum with Clove at his side.

What he wouldn’t give to have her at his side now.

“...requested of you.” Plutarch intervenes, holding out a hand to stop the president from continuing on with what Cato assumes would be demanded. “We believe that having two victors from previously Career districts openly on the side of the Rebellion could help the cause, especially in District Two.”

“And before you start with the ‘we aren’t on the side of the rebellion’ crap,” Comes from Haymitch, who is more sober than either of them have ever seen him, looking dare they say well shaven and clean, “Remember who the Capitol has. If you think they’re being treated well out there… you’ve got another thing coming. This is how we get them back.”

“The faster we bring in the districts, the closer we are to Annie. And Clove. And Marvel. And Johanna and Peeta.” Finnick offers, also somehow miraculously looking healthier than he has since their time in Thirteen began. He had mentioned being allowed outside with Katniss for a few hours– the sunlight did him some good, clearly.

“It is expected that you will do your part to help this Revolution.” The cold voice of President Coin cuts through the warmer tones of past victors and a gamemaker, staring right into the center of Cato’s face. “If you give us cause to believe that you would in any way be a threat to this cause, we would have no choice but to remove that threat, and the threat your respective partners would present as well, once we got our opportunity.”

The threat is not even veiled, but before Cato can give her the rise and reaction Coin is prodding out of them, Katniss herself chimes in.

“That’s not part of the deal. The victors are pardoned. All of us.” Her tone is not the young girl who won the game, or the girl who gave everything for the sweet little sister that even Cato couldn’t hate, no, that was the voice of the leader of this rebellion. The power and insistence of someone with a lot more pull than she’d give herself credit for.

“Everyone is doing some part,” Plutarch interjects, attempting to assuage the underlying power struggle between the President and the Mockingjay. “Katniss is going into the battlefields, she’s shooting rallying calls on the front lines. Finnick has agreed to begin doing special features on fallen tributes from each district. Pulling on the heartstrings of every district one by one.”

“Glimmer, you were very popular in the capitol, maybe you could reach them.” Haymitch suggests, with a wave of his hand. “Smile, toss your hair, whatever it takes..”

Before Glimmer can snap back in response Cato takes over, despite how she deserves to say whatever the hell she wants at this point.

“How are you even getting in? Doesn’t Snow control the airways?” Cato leans back, arms crossed over his chest firmly, a stance of both disbelief and judgment. “Do districts even have televisions for this to get across?”

“I am responsible for the creation of a lot of the airways.” Beetee explains, wheeling his chair over to access a remote before clicking on the screen. “Here’s what we have so far.”

They watch the reel of Katniss in District Eight, as a hospital is obliterated in the background. They watch her on the front lines rediscovering District Twelve, and most notably, they hear her voice filling the air as she sings a song of rebellion and lovers running to their conjoined deaths.

“...maybe your talent should’ve been singing, not Fashion.” Glimmer comments, though there is no sarcasm or venom in her own tone. It’s a compliment, a genuine one, when she says, “you have a lovely voice, Katniss.”

“Peeta thought so too.” Katniss admits, finally making direct eye contact with the career girl for the first time. “It just..it wasn’t for everyone else.”

“Look at that, this government can exploit you, too. It’s not just the Capitol!” Glimmer snorts, shaking her head before glancing at Cato out of the side of her eye.

His jaw is locked, his knuckles nearly white from how tightly he is squeezing his fist together. Something in the conversation had successfully gotten to him, and while the source of all of his self control is locked in a cell in the captiol, he somehow manages to hold himself back for once.

“Katniss…let us talk. Alone. Finnick too.” Glimmer requests, glancing between the other two young victors in the room. There’s only four of them left, maybe only four left in the whole world for all they know.

Now is the time to make new alliances.

“Absolutely not.” President Coin interjects, shaking her head furiously. “The safety of Katniss is too important–”

“They won’t hurt us.” Finnick assures, giving a knowing nod to Glimmer and Cato both. There is an understanding, an agreement, amongst the victors. “Let us talk.”

Haymitch puts his hands up to prevent any further debate or questioning. “I say we give them ten minutes. We can wait right outside the door for them, come in the minute we hear a raised voice for something being thrown.”

“Ten minutes.” Plutarch agrees, and that seems to convince Alma Coin to eventually agree as well.

“You get exactly ten minutes. Nothing more.” She pushes herself back and the elder men at the table agree, shooting Glimmer and Cato a look of diluted venom, not quite a snake but maybe a scorpion instead.

The immediate second the door is closed, Glimmer lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t like her at all.”

For the first time ever, Katniss smiles at Glimmer, in a wordless agreement. Maybe the leader of the rebellion couldn’t say it, but the unhinged victim from District One certainly could.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” Cato immediately presses Katniss, the only victor who has seen beyond the perimeter of thirteen and into the real world. “Who’s fighting, is there an actual war happening?”

“All of the Districts have joined, except for District Two.” Katniss begins, oddly at ease with two of the people who were most determined to kill her. “Two provides the army, I guess–”

“Peacekeepers, yeah.” Cato agrees, giving an unsurprised nod. That was always the other option– you either went in the games and won or the high level of training guaranteed a higher rank in the peacekeepers upon graduation. There were the outliers, training partners who resented each other for not getting into the games, who married and tried to combine their mediocre genetics to create a victor child. That had not been successful, possibly ever, but every year there were one pair who tried it. “Two won’t be easy.”

“....even One is in the war? On our side” Glimmer pipes up, for the first time verbally acknowledging that yes, she is with the Mockingjay, too. “That’s a loss for the Capitol, they rely on us for..just about anything they enjoy.”

“It was you and Marvel, Glimmer.” Finnick reaches forward to grab at the remote, shuffling through additional propos as they talk, an audio buffer to protect their conversation from the inevitable listening ears just outside the door. “It had to be everything you said before the games. They had enough of sending their children to be trafficked. They’ve sent enough luxury goods, their sons and daughters aren't going to be added to the list of their hottest commodities anymore.”

“....do you know if Cash and Gloss are…”

“We don’t. But what we do know is that the Capitol is completely cut off from everyone but Two.” Katniss adds, looking between the two.

“You two need to see this.” Finnick interrupts, before he settles on a hidden file of a recording deep in the depths of a desktop folder . “They already think Katniss hasn’t, and I know they kept this from you two. You’re a liability when you’re angry.”

“What do you mean they’re keeping something from us, they keep everything from us, what else could it be-” Glimmer is cut off by her own gasp of shock, when the screen lights up with a scene in the President’s mansion. Peeta– looking far worse for the wear, fifteen pounds lighter than he had been just a week ago on the recording, with deep dark circles under his eyes– is flanked on either side by two other victors.

Their other victors.

Glimmer is on her feet first, a look of pure horror on her face as she reaches out to the screen to touch the ghost of Marvel’s face.

Like Peeta, he is easily fifteen pounds lighter than he had been when they were lifted from the arena. And though the collar of his shirt doesn’t seem to conceal bruises the way Peeta’s does, he looks overall limp. Lifeless. As if the fight has been sucked right out of him. Most notably to Glimmer, of course, is his eyes. The shining blue of his eyes lacks the joy and brightness she had come to find her home in, the one constant source of comfort ripped from them both.

“What did they do to him?” Glimmer whispers, frantically looking around the duration of the screen for any other clue. “Are they starving them? What are they doing to him?”

Clove does not look as distinctly ill to the untrained eye. Always small, the drop in weight is not as blatantly apparent on her. Sure, the darkness under her eyes is abnormal, but anyone would see it as a normal response to lack of sleep and stress. There is some purple discoloration at the top of her black dress, that may even be passed off as a shadow rather than bruising.

But when she slightly tilts her head to the side, Cato recognizes in an instant the way the corner of her lip twitches downward for the slightest moment. It was a tell, a tell only to someone who had spent the majority of his life pulling from her.

Pain.

Clove was never one to show it, not in the academy, not in the games, and surely not for the nation.

Cato, though, knew her tells and her secrets more than he knew his own.

“What the fuck did they do to her.” Cato pushes himself to a standing position immediately, his voice barely above a whisper. For all he can growl and scream, there's something almost more haunting about the way he whispers in this moment, like a man possessed. “Why the fuck did he touch her–”

“It’s a message to us,” Finnick has to explain, as Katniss locks her gaze on her feet and never at the screen. “They don’t say anything, Peeta does all the talking, but look at them. It’s a message, Cato. You’re here, you are guilty, and she is going to pay for it.”

Katniss does not look up, she can’t stomach to watch the violence that has occurred to Peeta yet again. Peeta, who has suffered for the crime of loving her, for the crime of being too good.

“I’m going to kill him.” Cato snarls, and though it isn’t said it is immediately understood who he means.

“You’re going to have to fight me for it.” Katniss chimes in, though she continues her lock on the floor while Cato and Glimmer keep their eyes locked on the screen.

“Why aren’t they speaking?” Glimmer half whimpers, unable to tear her eyes away from the remnants of her loved ones on the other side of the screen. “Why aren’t they saying anything!”

“Because Peeta’s the mouthpiece. Peeta is to the Capitol what Katniss is here. They started this rebellion, they have to represent it. They’re a message to you two, and you two only.”

“...has there been any sign of Annie? Or Johanna?” Glimmer tries, though her heart is with the dulled eyes of the man she loves on the screen.

The silence that follows provides the answer they needed, without ever needing to even be said.

“...I’m in.” Glimmer agrees in an instant, backing away but not breaking her gaze. “Whatever you need from me, I’m in.”

“We have to get them back.” Cato begins, though he has also moved to a standing position right in front of the tv. “I’m going to get her.” And though he’s made the threat before– and been shot down at the idea– the demand has new meanings. They need to get them and do it fast. “....I don’t know what I can say or do on these stupid videos. I have no big story. I don’t think I’m much help…”

He wants to argue, he wants to come up with an excuse as to why he’s no use, but he can’t. He’d do anything for that psychotic girl, walk to the ends of the earth for her, if it meant she was safe in his arms.

“Fuck it, I’m in.”

They never planned to die by being suffocated alive in the tomb that is the bowels of District 13 in a bunker, if they were dying it was in glory in the games or at their own hands on their own terms.

Cato, Glimmer, and Finnick were resolved to their own tiny corner, much like the lunch table, where none of the other citizens would dare come near them.

Cato sits on the floor, the heels of his hands digging so deeply into his eyes that it stung. If there were any light– which there is not– Glimmer would have been able to see the way he is digging into the skin of his hairline, like he wants to peel his skin from his skull.

It had been a nightmare to get him to agree to come under ground after the disastrous interview.

Peeta had been flying solo in an interview yet again, though Clove and Marvel must’ve been nearby. When whatever trance Peeta was in broke, he had warned them of their impending death, and the feed cut out as fast as the Capitol could manage.

Not fast enough, of course, to drown out the blood curdling scream in the background of Peeta’s broadcast. It would have been ambiguous enough, with no face to the name of an anonymous woman, until the single word she managed before the broadcast cut came across clear as day.

Cato.

Him. She was calling for him. Screaming for him, really, and here he was. Unable to get to her. Unable to help her.

“She called for me.” Cato repeats, over and over and over again, bordering a state of catatonia and hysteria as he refuses to get off the ground.

“I know.” Glimmer sighs, a half hearted agreement. There was nothing she could do, to ease his comfort. It was clear as day– Clove had screamed his name from deeper inside the President's mansion, and it was clearly a call of desperation.

Clove would kill her if she called it a cry for help, even if for all the world that is exactly how it sounded.

While it could have been a warning, like Peeta had given. A dead girl walking calling out in warning you too, Cato, he’ll kill you too. It could have been confirmation of what Peeta was saying.

No matter what her intention, it did not change all Cato could hear.

She had been his longest friend before she was his world, his longest ally, and they had always had each other’s backs. That was a plea rooted deeply in their childhoods, deeply in the core of who they are.

That was not a cry of a desperate girl, that was not the scream for her lover. That was a scream and cry for her partner, the one person in two she was supposed to be able to rely on to be there if she got in too deep of trouble.

And he failed her.

Not as her life long best friend, or as the man who married her.

He failed her as her partner.

He is only pulled from his self effacing spiral by the feeling of something soft brushing against his calves.

He nearly flinches when he realizes it is the tail of a soft little animal against his legs, and not some sneak attack.

A purring noise immediately betrays the creature as Katniss’s sister’s cat, the only pet in all of thirteen. The little thing didn’t like Katniss and so it already earned a bonus point in Cato’s book, and he thinks of his own little sister every time he sees the little blonde that belongs to the girl on fire. He gives the cat a half-hearted pet, remembering how desperately his sister had begged their parents for a cat for her fourth birthday, and how he nearly bought her one with his winnings a few years prior.

He lets himself think of the dog he and Clove will never get to have and begins to give the cat a more diligent pet in honor of the future they have lost.

He failed her. He failed her. He failed her.

He’s lost her.

The four of them, the surviving, youngest victors, are led above ground before anyone else is given clearance. It of course had to be deemed safe before they let precious Katniss Everdeen step foot above ground.

“What the fuck.” Is the first thing Cato thinks to say, when he takes in the surrounding destruction. Where as he had expected the smoke and ash, nothing could have prepared him for the blanket of white that littered the smoking land. For a second he wonders if it is snow, if somehow a nuclear winter has fallen upon them, but the warmth of the air pushes that idea right out of his head. He’s acutely aware of the team of videographers focused in on Katniss, priming and prodding her to make some statement about surviving an attack by the capitol.

There is a soft crunching under his foot, and when he sees the slightly luminescent spray of white rose petals under his heels, he realizes (though he does not understand) that they are walking in a sea of white roses. He is about to pick one up, to run the unnatural petals between his fingers, but he is immediately startled by the panic coming from Katniss just over the rocks.

“He’s going to Kill Peeta. I can’t do this–”

Cato steps forward, over the edge of the rocks to catch a glimpse of Katniss, as she slowly starts to unravel before the cameras.

There is a woman with a half shaved head with a camera in the girl’s face, prodding and poking at her to brag about the survival of the center of the rebellion against a direct attack from the Capitol, but Katniss is fading fast at their insistence.

“He’s going to kill him, because I’m the Mockingjay. I can’t do it.” Katniss utters as she staggers away, trying to avoid the cameras shoved in her face and their persistence.

Haymitch Abernathy takes her by the shoulders, and leads her out of the way of the Camera, but it isn’t enough for Cato.

Because if they’re going to kill Peeta, they’re going to kill Clove too.

He pushes the camera out of the woman’s hands, not enough to break but enough to be indisposed just for a little while.

“She isn’t fucking doing it,” Cato reaffirms, hand still resting on the camera equipment, not breaking it but not opposed to doing so.

Finnick leads the camera crew away before Cato can make any permanent damage to the equipment or the war effort.

–

“Why the fuck didn’t you let me go, I’ve been threatening to go for months and you left us behind!” Cato pushes firmly in the middle of Haymitch Abernathy’s chest, cornering him into the wall. “I should be there! It’s my fucking job, she’s mine.”

“You couldn’t be trusted not to go off on your own, Cato.” Haymitch explains, gently placing his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “It was impromptu, there wasn’t time to get you properly trained.”

“Properly Trained? I gave my entire life to training for this! I know what i’m doing–” He snarls at the older victor, and without Enobaria and Brutus here to cool him off he might just carry through on his most intrusive of thoughts, the ones that say to crush the man’s skull against the concrete wall. “I’m better trained than anyone in this hell hole.”

“You aren’t reliable. You’ll throw the whole mission to get to that girl, they couldn’t risk it.”

“Let me make something so incredibly clear. I will throw any mission, I would throw this entire district, I would let this rebellion burn to the ground if it meant getting to her. I do not give a single fuck about any other person in this entire district, but her.” Cato drops his grip on Haymitch, letting the man relax against the wall. “If they leave her behind, I am going to kill every single one of them. That’s a promise, Haymitch. I don’t need a sword or a knife or a gun or a fork. I will kill them.”

“That's exactly the problem, Cato”

“What is he doing..” Glimmer whispers, wiggling her thumbnail between her bottom front teeth. Her nails bleed from her biting to the quick, watching as Finnick commands the attention of the camera and the media screen behind them.

“It’s to distract while they’re in the training center,” Someone, Glimmer doesn’t care who, informs her.

Listening to his words, with his allusions and language with only insinuation, she wipes the blood of her fingers on the sad gray of her clothes, and steps forward.

“Put me on.”

Beetee quirks his head at her, and Plutarch gives her an unsure look, not quite trusting she knew what she was offering to do.

“Finnick has it.” Plutarch assures with a patronizing half smile, before redirecting his attention to Finnick and the broadcast going out to all of Panem.

“We were told to do our part, this is mine. Put me on.” Glimmer once again insists, this time walking herself right into the eyesight of the camera.

They cannot stop her when she steps in directly next to Finnick, as he recalls stories of secrets shared as late night pillow talk, as the exchange for his service.

“Stop sugar coating it.” Glimmer demands, stepping into the light of the camera.

The girl presented to Panem is a far cry from the beautiful bombshell of a victor she was once paraded around as. Once perfectly manicured nails bleed from the quick she had bitten them too. Once perfectly shiny, bouncing curls fall in two half braided pigtails, with crinkled waves going the length of her hair, frizzy ringlet curls framing her eyes. There is no perfectly winged eyeliner, eyelash extensions, or expertly applied blush.

She is not a shimmering shining prize, but she is still Glimmer.

“Finnick is so considerate as to give you a filtered version of what happened to us. I’m not. We weren’t just ‘sold’ to the highest bidder. I was brutally, violently raped. From the time I was fifteen years old. I have been held down until I screamed, and I have bled and begged people to stop. My sister, my brother, Finnick, Marvel..and countless others. We are not being rented, we are being violently abused. There is a trafficking ring of Victors. Starting from our childhood. I was fifteen. Fifteen years old! Finnick was Fourteen! We were children!” Glimmer catches Katniss out of the corner of her eye, who has a whole new layer of horror painted on her features. Katniss nods at her, to keep going, because if she is enraptured so is the entirety of the capitol.

“It doesn’t stop there! My entire life has been this. I’ve been sent to procedures where I don’t even know what they did to me! I’ve been drugged unconscious for days! I have sat in bath tubs full of my own blood, and woken up in sheets so wet with it that I couldn’t stand the next day! We lose our childhood to the games, but we lose our innocence to them! Seven years. Seven years of horrific abuse, and if I didn’t? Then my parents die. Then my older sister and brother, who already did all of this to protect me. They go after the people you love. Call this what it is. It is violence and it is abuse.”

Together, Glimmer and Finnick offer a passionate plea.

Finnick exposes name after name of a capitol official and bought him, listing the secrets of each and every one. Between stories Glimmer accounts graphic details of a girlhood lost, of specific moments of begging for death after fighting so hard for her life. Finnick exposes the President himself and his history of poisonous treachery, while Glimmer recounts the long nights and the aftermath of such horrific, harrowing moments of her young life.

Ultimately they lose the broadcast until Katniss steps in and directly asks for the President himself.

Glimmer steps out of the light, and realizes for the first time that she has tears running down her face, uncontrollable and unstopping.

Cato can’t help it, when he grabs her and pulls her in what could pass for a hug. He’s seen Glimmer as, well, Glimmer, for a long time. A career victor from One who had gone through a little too much at the hands of the capitol. Something about her now, though, goes deeper than that. She is someone’s little sister, someone’s little blonde sister who was robbed of the sweetness his own was so remarkable for. He is all too aware that he may never see his own again.

She is a brotherless sister and he is a sisterless brother, who would give just about anything to make sure his little blonde baby sister never even knew the kind of horrors Glimmer experienced even existed.

He watches over Glimmer’s head, as Katniss pleads her case to the president directly.

“You asked me to convince you I was in love with Peeta. Haven’t I at least done that?” Katniss questions, and there is an earnestness in her voice that even Cato cannot ignore.

Maybe she had convinced them all.

The next words Cato picks up on send a chill to the very root of his spine.

“Don’t you think I know your friends are in the tribute center? Cut them off.”

If his blood could run cold, it would have. As the feed cuts out, and Katniss begins to spiral- “He was taunting me, he knew the whole time!”-- and the reality starts to come from Beetee– “we can’t communicate with them” it all falls into place. The seemingly unbroken communication, the opportunity to plead directly with the president of the country..it all made more sense as reality set in.

It was a trap.

They were never getting them out.

“They’re dead.” Glimmer whispers, pushing him back and turning to face the screen. Her sob catches in her throat before she even realizes it is coming. “They’re dead, we aren’t ever getting them back!”

The four of them are corralled into a single, padded, locked room on the same level of the command center using various levels of sedatives.

Hours pass, maybe. They can’t be sure, in their windowless room, with some drug coursing through their system.

Finnick rocks and ties his knots, and Katniss has gone catatonic, resting her chin on her knees, humming that creepy death song from the propo she filmed what seemed like ages ago.

Glimmer lays against a wall, tears freely flowing from her eyes, matching the level of helpless she feels deep in the core of who she is.

Cato paces. Whatever they calmed them down with has started to wear off in him, based on his sheer size alone.

“When did you know you loved Annie?” Katniss nearly whispers to Finnick, voice and face flat in affect. “Was it immediate?”

“No. It was gradual. She snuck up on me.” Finnick nearly smiles, but then passes the question on to Glimmer. “What about you? When did you know?”

“We were friends for a long long time at first. I would sleep in his room a lot. Nothing ever happened and then..well It was actually during Clove’s games. I looked at him one morning and I realized that I wasn’t afraid when I was with him. He was right there, right in front of me the whole time.” Glimmer nearly smiles, but the tears do not stop. “Come on Cato, like we weren’t all there.”

Cato stops, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand for a moment. “We uh..we were fifteen. We trained together since we were ten, you know? She was at my house with my baby sister and I realized that I knew exactly how many freckles she had on her face. One hundred and forty seven. That isn’t a normal thing that you notice about someone.”

There is a soft silence that befalls them, as if it hits them at once that they are giving eulogies to the love they have lost.

“....It was on the beach in the Quell. That's when I really knew.” Katniss offers without prompting, the softness in her voice confirming what they had slowly grown to accept.

Somewhere along the line- during the quell, apparently– life began to imitate the art of the star crossed lovers' performance.

Time passes slowly in thirteen.

How long exactly, none of them know.

The door swings opens without so much as a knock, and Haymitch lets himself into the room of sedated, miserable victors, before he announces:

“They’re back.”

#clato #cato and clove fanfic #clato fanfiction #thg fanfic #thg au #ARWBFB TAG #always remember we're burned for better tag #glimmer and cato are bonding #trauma bonding besties #its almost time for..the reunitings

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sunniebabe99 · 3 years ago

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Reuniting

Warnings; none maybe just mentions of killing?

Sith!Obi-wan x Darth Vader

Just a random little short writing. Let me know if you would like to see more like this!

Darth Vader walked down the halls of his base on Mustafar and thought of the recent mission his master had assigned to him…

“There have been sightings of a force-sensitive man taking out many bases across the Empire. He was last seen on Cato Neimoidia and stole files from the bases data banks…it seems he is looking for something…or someone…You are to track him down and put an end to this. Kill him” The words of his master echoed in his head as he thought back. What kind of man would go through all that trouble to steal a couple of files? Unless he wasn't just any ordinary force sensitive. He could be a Jedi that escaped the purge. Darth Vader looked forward to putting an end to him even more.

He was almost to his office until he felt it. He froze and stood there. His signature trembled slightly as he felt the force of another. One that he had known very well. He could easily feel it coming from his office. It was as if it was seducing him to come along and follow it. The familiar feeling of the cool force signature pulled Darth to his office. His anger flickered as he thought about that man, that man who ruined everything for him those ten years ago. He had no idea how the old man could have snuck into this highly guarded facility. He would have to go and fix that security issue after he was done killing this sad excuse for a man.

He brought out his lightsaber and ignited it. Walking to his large office doors and they opened quickly with a hiss.

He looked across the room. Seeing the familiar copper head peaking over his office chair. Looked over at the window at the vast flowing lava that consumed Mustafar.

“You are either brave or a fool to come here….Obi-wan” his deep modulated voice rang in the air. The tension deafening as he felt a surge of confidence through the force. A light chuckle came from Obi-wan. Turning around smoothly in the chair, his legs crossed as he looked at Darth Vader. He almost inhaled sharply as he took in Obi-wan's appearance. He was ragged as ever, hair long and beard untamed. Wearing darker robes and having a confident, cocky air to him that seemed out of character for the Master he knew since he was a boy. One thing that had mostly caused Vader’s surprise though…was Obi-wan's glowing yellow eyes staring right back at him and grinning.

“It's good to see you too Anakin,” He said, but then held his hands up in mock apology.

“Or is it Darth Vader now? It's hard to keep up with all of these name changes nowadays”.

Darth moved closer and kept his lightsaber activated.

“Stop the idle chatter and get to the point…you need something,” Darth Vader said sharply. He had no idea why he didn't just cut him down where he sat. something was telling him not to as if whispering in his ear softly to let the man speak and to be wary.

Obi-wan moved off the chair and stood up. Sighing and then glanced at Vader gripping his saber tightly. His caution made Obi-wan grin. Anakin had every right to be cautious. Obi-wan was already a master of the Jedi way…but with the power of the sith fulling him…who knows how powerful he could be now. Obi-wan enjoyed feeling his anger through the force. His signature brushed against the broken bond they once had shared all of those years ago. Obi-wan leaned on the black desk. His sharp eyes examined Darth Vader’s body and the helmet that hid his burnt face from him. Vader felt his advances on the broken bond. The feeling of his signature touching the bond felt like silk touching his skin. Cool, smooth, and inviting, almost calling to him. begging him to let the bond mend.

“It isn't what I want my darling Anakin…It is who I want.” Obi-wan said as they both felt their old bond slowly begin to reform.

#writing #anakin skywalker #Darth Vader #obikin #Vaderkin #star wars #star wars writing #sith obi wan

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braceletofteeth · 2 years ago

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Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @kissporsche 💕💕 which made me really happy because a few months ago they initiated a conversation with me and I was too much of an introvert to keep it going, so I had thought then that I had lost my chance at friendship forever 🥲

Three Ships

The (un)holy trinity: Hannigram (from Hannibal), Jongmoon (from Strangers From Hell) and VegasPete (from KinnPorsche).

First Ever Ship

It's hard to pinpoint the exact pair... Hmm... I'll tell you about the first one I remember being obsessed about, as in reading all the fics available about them-obsessed. I was eleven? Twelve? Anyway. That would be Cato and Clove, from The Hunger Games. They were not canon in the book (or the movie! They were done SO dirty in the movie!!! I CAN'T EVEN FIND A GIF OF THEM TOGETHER TO INCLUDE HERE 😤), there were just one (or two?) moments that could be interpreted like that, if you had a wild imagination 😅 Fortunately, at that time, me, and a bunch of other kids who enjoyed the tragedy of it all, read too much into it.

So, while everyone else was discussing the love triangle of the main characters or shipping themselves with Finnick Odair, we were in a dark corner crying and throwing up because of two kids who were raised to become killing machines—the star-crossed lovers from District 2, as we liked to call them.

Last Song

youtube

Keep Asking Me, by Francis Well. It has a feeling similar to Little House On The Hill, so I think of them as sisters.

Last Movie

Cherry Magic: The Movie. I had already forgotten the gifsets I had seen about it, months ago, so everything was a surprise.

[spoiler alert] My favorites scenes were the ones of Adachi and Kurosawa meeting each other's families, even though it seemed like my heart was going to jump out of my chest in both occasions 😀

Currently Reading

Making my way through the PrapaiSky tag on AO3 (meaning I'm reading literally anything and everything that sounds slightly interesting).

Currently Watching

1. GAP. I haven't watched the most recent episode yet, but it seems we're reaching the climax of the story. I'm already dreading the moment I'll have to let go of all my girls (+ Mon's step-father) :(

2. Star & Sky Series. I've finished Star in My Mind, and I'll start Sky in Your Heart (which is the part two? the spin-off?) soon (allegedly. Never trust a 'soon' coming from me).

3. TharnType. Only a few more episodes to go. Absolutely bonkers show.

4. Summer Strike. The healing type that I had been saving for when I needed it most.

5. Beyond Evil. I had been saying for a long time that I was going to rewatch BE, but never got around to do it (16 episodes! Who has the time!!). My brother was browsing Netflix looking for something for us to watch together, and suggested BE. I thought he was joking (he has already rewatched it 5 or 6 times by himself 🙃), so I agreed, also joking. Turns out, he wasn't joking 😀😀 So now we're watching it again (*in my first time, I watched it with him as well). It's been a really different experience, watching it from the perspective of someone who knows what they should be paying attention to (I wish I had forgotten the details so I could enjoy the unpredictable mystery again, but it seems I still remember most of it 😅) .

Currently Consuming

Crackers.

Currently Craving

Eight (or more) hours of sleep. No waking up because of freezing temperatures, bad dreams, or the men working on a new floor for my neighbour's house in the early hours of the morning.

... I haven't had one of those in a while 😞

Tagging

Since it's people I'd like to get to know better, I'll tag the blogs I started following more recently: @saturnskyline @leporschespam @ronandhermy @teakrush @stillqueerstillhere (it's absolutely okay to ignore this, though 😊✌)

**If there aren't 9 it's because I'm bad at math.

#tag game #who would read all this #if you got to the end of it I'm giving you a chocolate medal

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5sospenguinqueen · 4 years ago

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PULL ME BACK FROM THE DARKNESS ~ CATO HADLEY

PLOT: You and Cato fill in the missing pieces of each other.

Warning: smut, m/f, hints at PTSD and depression, slight breeding kink if you squint, slight size kink.

I am not responsible for what media you choose to consume. If you cannot handle the contents of this or are too young, please do not read. It is your responsibility, not mine.

________________________________________________________________

Wet strands of hair dripped down your back as your fingers nimbly worked at braiding them away from your face. Not yet fully dressed, you leant across the sink to gaze into the small mirror to see whether the top of the braid was flat. A click resonated throughout the room and you couldn't help the smile that sidled its way onto your face as the thudding of heavy footsteps filled your ears. The hulking figure of the man who had been your rock filled the doorway and you connected eyes with him through the mirror. Rough fingers replaced your hands as he smoothed out the tangles in your hair and expertly twisted the strands together. Once he was done, you couldn't help but admit that he had done a better job than you would have done yourself. Reminding you that he had younger sisters who he'd been forced to practice on, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before stripping for his own shower.

Sinking your teeth into her lip, you heard him exclaim in shock when the water came out cold instead of the usual lukewarm. Guilt made its appearance once more when you realised you had used up the hot water for the day. Plopping down onto the mattress, you closed in on herself as the memories that had plagued you all day took their toll on you. For so long you had been fighting – fighting for survival, fighting other children, fighting your own mind. Whilst your hands were no longer covered in blood, they would never be cleansed of the innocent lives you had taken.

Pulled from your thoughts as a bare chest entered your view, you bit her lip at the towel slung around his hips. How it didn't drop any lower was beyond you but you found herself almost willing it to slide down. Leaning into his touch as he placed his hand on the side of your face, you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Rough day, baby?"

You remained silent, relishing in his strength for a moment or two. All you wanted was to lie down and wait for the fight to pass. To wait for the moment when her mind would fall blank and the memories would cease to exist. Eyes connecting with Cato's, you realised you had disappeared inside your own head once again. Concern was written across his face until you reassured him that you were present in the room and not back in the arena. Both of you had spent too long plagued by the chaos that had followed you out of the arena. Thankfully, one of you was always there to be the tether to reality. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Cato from looking at her as if she was one crack away from irreparable.

"Stop," she demanded. "I'm not weak enough to crumble from one bad day. I’ll get through it, just like I get through the rest.”

"Sweetheart, I never meant-."

"No, I know exactly what you meant. The next Games are fast approaching and my nightmares are coming on faster and darker but so are yours. Snow didn't break me. I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be hidden away whilst the pieces are glued back together again. I am perfectly mentally capable of mentoring the next lot of tributes without having a breakdown.”

"Indie, this isn't about me thinking you're not strong enough, this is about me not being strong enough! How can I look at these small children and send them to their death. I've already had to deal with losing them before."

Falling to his knees, Cato buried his head in your lap and allowed the tears to fall. Whispering soothing words, you ran your fingers through his blond strands. Teardrops slid down your own cheeks as you watched the strongest person in your life fall apart. Cato had been there for you since the moment you had been reunited after your were rescued from the arena after cutting down all those in your way. He had been there to catch you every time you stumbled. Watching him feeling so hopeless shook you and although you felt like curling up next to him and giving in, you knew it was your time to be there for him.

"Listen to me, we've made it through death and we've made it through separation. Baby, I am just as scared as you but I know that we're going to get through this together. We haven't made it this far just to lose now. You and me, together, Cato. Forever."

"You don't deserve this." Cato sniffled, brushing away his own tears. "You've been through so much, lost so much, I'm supposed to be there for you."

"Cato, I'm your partner, it's my duty to be there for you. We fight together or we don't fight at all. Don't forget that we're from Career Districts. We're always strong and we never lose. We will not allow these next Games to strip away the strength that we have left."

"Well maybe, for one night, we reward ourselves with the luxury of being weak. Just tonight, let's forget about this stupid war and just wallow in our pity. Please?"

And maybe it was the broken look on his face, the sadness swirling in the sky blue eyes, or the fact that forgetting about the future Games was all you wanted to do, you granted him the only thing he had ever asked of you. Snuggling into his comforting (still bare) arms, you allowed yourself to cry about your own pain. The tears that fell weren't for the fallen and all they had left behind, they weren't for the deaths of the future children you were about to witness, these were purely for how mentally exhausted and rundown you felt. Soft lips kissed away your tears. One warm hand rested on the cool skin of your hip, having slithered its way under the thin shirt you slept in.

With a small inhale, you pressed your lips to his whilst your hands snaked their way into his hair. Salt mixed with the taste of his tongue but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A rumble echoed in his chest as his length pressed against you and he straightened, yanking you up with him. Spinning you around, Cato backed you up until you hit the wall with a bump. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you rested your head against the wall, back arching when Cato sucked on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"I love you," his lips traced the words down to the valley between your breasts before he wrenched the top over your head and threw it behind him.

Left hand reaching up to palm at your breast, his mouth wrapped around the nipple on the other one, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. Your breath hitched and you used your foot to deftly push the towel down and finally reveal what had been hidden from you. Exclaiming in shock, you scowled when Cato chuckled against you. When you reached down to grasp him, he gently bit your nipple but the action forced your hips against his and with one roll, he brushed against your clothed clit.

"Off," you begged, lifting your hips slightly away from the wall so that Cato could slide them down your shaky legs.

Fingers dancing along your legs, he reached down to cup your heat and one finger slid between your wet walls.

"I will never get sick of this," he groaned, watching as you bit your lip in pleasure.

Thumb rubbing your clit, he added another finger, watching as they plunged in and out of your slick heat. His name tumbled off your lips as your pleasure increased and Cato knew that that would be his favourite sound. If there was one sound that could banish the nightmares and dispel the darkness, it would be you crying his name as you tumbled over the edge, coating his fingers. Panting slightly, you pushed him away, revelling in the confused look on his face.

As you sunk to her knees, lust clouded his blue eyes until they were as dark as the sea in District Four on a stormy day. Hand wrapping around the base, you smirked as he hissed when your tongue licked a stripe from balls to tip. Mouth wrapping around his tip, you moved down ever so slightly before pulling back up. Hollowing your cheeks out, you sucked gently on his tip and was rewarded with a throaty groan as Cato bucked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

"So good to me, baby." Cato cursed, hand resting on your head as he pushed you down a little more.

Humming around him, you gagged when he jerked slightly and his dick hit the back of your throat. One hand gently fondled his balls and Cato swore before pulling himself away from you.

"As much as I love your mouth wrapped around me, I'd rather put my cock somewhere else."

Shivers skittered down your spine as his husky words were whispered in your ear and you found yourself being pulled of your knees before you were shoved against the wall face first. Large hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and you smiled knowing Cato remembered just how you liked it.

"Always so tight for me," he grunted as he slid into you.

Cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall, you whimpered as your walls adjusted to the girth of him. Teasingly, he slowly entered inch by inch until his impatient girl backed up and enveloped the entirety of him in one quick movement. One hand braced on the wall, small grunts escaped his mouth as h thrust gently into you. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred back of his hand, you rested your head against his hand in a loving gesture. A primal instinct ignited in Cato at the sight of his partner so small and vulnerable, as you let down your guard and opened yourself up to him both emotionally and physically. The woman beneath him was always so strong and fierce that he couldn't help the dark chuckle that escaped as his body encompassed yours entirely as he pressed you further into the wall.

"Such a good girl. Take me so well," he praised, enjoying the little pants that left your mouth and with a shift of his hips, he coaxed a scream from you.

Unable to help the moans that tumbled from your mouth, you reached down to grab the hand that gripped your hip and pulled you against his cock. Love swelled within him as you held on tightly to him, begging him to go faster as you pleaded for her impending orgasm.

"I love you," you cried as stars exploded across your vision and your walls clenched him tightly.

At the feel of your orgasm, Cato burrowed himself in deeper and pounded harder into your sensitive walls.

"So close, Princess." Cato gasped, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his movements quickened as he sought release.

"Cum in me," you begged.

Not one to deny the woman he loved, Cato called your name as he stuffed himself inside you, hot cum painting your walls. Sensitive to his touch, you leaned back into his chest as his arms came around your waist and pulled you in for a loving embrace. One hand wrested flat on your belly as he whispered promises of having their own family but in a world where the Hunger Games didn’t exist. Naked and wrapped around one another, you could pretend for just a moment that you were a normal couple whose only issues were what to eat for dinner and how many children you wanted. Whimpering as Cato pulled out of you, you watched him wander into the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

Hand resting on your own abdomen, you wondered whether you would have end up with child. And, for the first time in your life, you found herself hoping you would. Struck by the aching pang within you, you realised that the life you had built with Cato had made you realise just how badly you craved a perfect family with the man you loved. In a world where they grew up safe and never needing to learn the ways to kill another person.

________________________________________________________________

Loosely based on a scene from my Cato x OC story but details have been adapted to avoid spoilers. You can find the book Pugnator at;

Wattpad

Fanfiction.Net

#cato imagine #cato hadley #cato hadley imagine #cato smut #cato hadley smut #cato thg #thg cato #Hunger Games #hunger games imagine #hunger games smut #5sospenguinqueen

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vanserraseris · 4 years ago

Note

END OF PART V - This part sort of just gives a little insight into the Vanserra family dynamics, and they’re kind of a mess. The brothers probably aren’t as shit as they are supposed to be, though, but they’re still pretty bad. There are a few mentions of child abuse, Beron is literally the worst. It got a little longer than I’d first planned, but I hope you enjoy it (and big thanks to everyone who is reading)!!!

ahhhh i love it sm. love the brothers. fuck beron

Prince of Ashes. Part V.

masterlist.

Eris’s eyes snapped open, the incessant banging coming from the front of his cottage startling him out of a dreamless sleep. Despite having just woken up, Eris’s movements as he reached for the dagger he always kept on his nightstand were quick, controlled. Even in the dark of the room, Eris could see that there were no intruders. Not many people knew of his personal cottage, but that didn’t mean Eris never worried about being killed in his sleep while there.

“What is that?” Eris had nearly forgotten about Lucien. His youngest brother seemed to have fallen asleep curled up on the large cushioned chair by the stone fireplace again instead of going to the smaller room he’d claimed as his own. Eris didn’t know why, but when he took Lucien to his cottage, Lucien often preferred sleeping on one of the chairs in Eris’s bedroom. Lucien’s red hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Eris grabbed the pair of old brown boots he had by the foot of his bed, wondering who in the hells was capable of getting past the wards he’d had Lagos put around his personal home. “Don’t worry, it’s just the door,” Eris answered, irritation lacing each word in the hopes that Lucien wouldn’t think anything was amiss.

Lucien didn’t seem worried in the slightest as he yawned before he asked, “Is Micah back? He left a bunch of scrolls on the table.”

“Micah has a key.” All three of his friends had a key, and the only other person he could think of that would be coming to see him so late at night was Rufus, but Rufus could easily winnow through the wards.

Eris snarled softly when he saw the wrinkles on his own shirt, briefly considering whether or not he should just put another one on, but decided not to when the banging started once more.

It was probably Beron. Eris figured he had absolutely nothing to worry about, his father was most likely just angry with him, and that was nothing new. Or perhaps Beron had come for Lucien. Eris ran a hand through his hair, his other hand still clutching his dagger as he tried to decide if it was Lucien his father wanted, what he might do. With a few large steps, Eris made his way across the room. He crouched down in front of Lucien’s chair, holding the dagger out to him, “Take this.”

Lucien straightened, suddenly looking a lot more troubled, but he didn’t reach out to take the dagger. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Eris desperately hoped it was nothing. “Rufus probably just got drunk and forgot how to winnow again.”

“Eris,” russett eyes wide, Lucien grabbed onto the loose sleeve of Eris’s shirt, “Where are you going?”

“To open the door,” Eris flashed his brother a small smile, hoping that it would be enough to convince him that everything was alright. “Take this and stay here.” Lucien knew how to use a blade, most Autumn court children did.

Lucien was just a little older than half a decade, but despite his age, he knew all too well how dangerous the Autumn Court was, how cutthroat. Lucien took a deep breath, eyes now on the dagger in Eris’s outstretched hand.

The hilt of the dagger was ornate, golden, and fashioned to look like the head of a snake, green jewels that acted as the snake’s eyes glittered brightly as Lucien curled his small fingers around the weapon. Eris brought his now empty hand up to ruffle Lucien’s hair, “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Lucien nodded once, pulling his knees up to his chest, a look of pure determination on his young features as he watched Eris stand to his full height.

Eris regretted that he’d left all of his hounds at the kennel in the Forest House I’m his rush to leave. He’d have preferred at least Enya, his oldest hound and the alpha of the pack, to have watched over Lucien. Eris no longer had a weapon, but his magic would most likely be enough, so with one final glance at Lucien, Eris tore out of the room. As Eris walked with fast steps down the hall, the bronze sconces that lined the walls flared to life behind him.

The banging on the door hadn’t gotten any louder or any more frantic, and as Eris approached it, he lifted his nose in the air, taking a deep breath. The familiar scent of red apples lingered in the small foyer - not father - but it did nothing to ease Eris’s worries. His features schooled into a practiced look of irritation, Eris pulled the latch on the door, unlocking it before he yanked it open, “Cato.”

His brother smiled. To anyone else, it might have looked sincere, “Eris.” When Eris didn’t move to the side, Cato made a face that looked genuinely confused, his brows raising in a look of mock puzzlement, “Not going to invite me in?”

Eris didn’t move, he was taller than Cato, and while they were both lean, Eris’s shoulders were broader. He effectively blocked the entrance to his home as he asked, “Why are you here, Cato?”

His younger brother frowned, “Can’t I come say hello to my older brother?” He tilted his head a fraction, russett eyes widening slightly. “I only have one, you know.” Perhaps that was why Cato and Eris never really got along. Eris was the only obstacle to Cato’s place as High Lord, and they had never spent much time together while Cato was growing up - Eris had been sent to a war camp right after he’d been born.

They had almost no relationship, and yet, they still managed to fight over the smallest of things. Eris supposed that their non-existent brotherly bond meant that there would be no regret for Cato when he would inevitably end Eris’s life. Sending Eris away had been smart on Beron’s part, he’d practically ensured that his two eldest sons were always at each other’s throats.

Eris growled, “No. No, you cannot come say hello, especially not at the crack of dawn.”

“Did I wake little Lucien?” Cato’s voice dripped with such a convincing act of concern. Even Eris could admit that Cato was the best fucking courtier in all of Prythian, a snake in the grass in every sense.

“You woke me,” Eris spat.

Cato was no longer acting the part of the concerned younger brother as he practically shoved past Eris, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Eris bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Slowly, Eris shut the door, mumbling a frustrated, “I doubt it,” under his breath.

When Eris finally turned to face Cato, he looked closely at his greatest rival. Not a single one of Cato’s deadly throwing knives was in sight, but that didn’t mean none were there. Cato’s eyes looked tired - troubled - and if Eris didn’t know any better, he'd have guessed that he looked a bit nervous.

He was holding himself up a little too straight, the sleeve of his shirt sloppily peaked out of his jacket, and a muscle in his jaw was working. Wonderful, Eris thought, Cato had finally decided to kill him. Eris took a breath, controlling his flames, getting ready for a fight.

“I know you favour the runt, Eris.”

Eris blinked. His brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head, “Cato—”

Cato raised a hand, “I don’t know why, but father’s given us orders to make his life as miserable as possible - probably to piss you off as much as because he’s just a horrible old bastard - and I’m not going to go against a direct order from the High Lord.”

Eris froze, “And you’ve come to tell me this because?”

Cato flashed him an adder’s grin, “I’m in a benevolent mood.”

Eris eyed him. Eris didn’t know if Cato had ever done him any favours, at least not in the last century. He sometimes wondered if Cato and him could have been close, knowing very well that it was much too late now. The resentment Cato had for his only older brother had been ingrained in his very young and impressionable mind by their father. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t resent Cato as well.

Cato’s grin, faltered, turned into a frown, a seemingly real and true emotion Eris didn’t think he’d ever seen on his younger brother’s face. “It is an act I’ve done in good faith,” Cato wasn’t meeting Eris’s gaze, “Owain, Maddox, and Priam got the lecture, too.” Cato tugged on the cuff of his jacket sleeve, “I’m sure Rufus would have gotten the lecture if he’d been at the house, waste of father’s breath if you ask me - he only ever listens to you.”

Cato had gone out of his way to warn Eris, and while Eris was grateful, he couldn’t very well let almost all of his brothers turn on Lucien just because Beron had ordered it. “I’m going to say it once, Cato, don’t you dare lay a hand on him.”

Cato huffed a laugh, flames in his eyes, “I don’t follow your orders, brother, and if you're asking me, I’d say the little runt would benefit from having the rest of us beat on him as well.”

Eris wasn’t usually one for any sort of physical violence, but he was blinded by rage as he lunged at Cato, grabbing him roughly by the collar and shoving him back up against the wall. Eris snarled, teeth bared, “Don’t touch him.”

“I wasn’t being entirely serious,” Cato rolled his eyes, “But it’s fucking nice to know your weakness, Eris.”

Of course Cato would use their youngest brother against him. “I think all of us would benefit if I cut out that silver tongue.” Eris didn’t mean it, but it worked in Eris’s favour if Cato feared him just a bit.

Cato grinned again. “I’d be very careful, Eris, I’m not in the mood to gut you tonight, ” Eris hadn’t felt the point of the knife pressed up against his side until Cato applied just a little more pressure, “I’d hate to get blood all over my good jacket, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

Eris snarled, pressing Cato harder up against the wall, “You always manage to make my blood fucking boil, you know.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Eris thought he felt Cato’s knife cut through his shirt.

With one final growl, Eris loosened his hold on Cato’s jacket. He took a few small steps back, running a hand through his long hair.

Cato adjusted his jacket with one hand, in the other, he twirled the knife between his fingers, the simple silver blade flashing. “Be honest with me, Eris, just this once.” Eris would have asked him what the hell he was talking about, but Cato didn’t wait for a response before he asked, “What’s so very special about Lucien?”

Eris couldn’t actually tell him about the oath he’d taken, wouldn’t risk Cato using that against him, so he simply sneered, “Absolutely nothing.”

Cato scoffed, “I know you dislike it when precious little Lucien gets a beating, but I think you’re overreacting. Father’s hands aren’t as painful as the whips he was using on us at Lucien’s age.”

Eris set his jaw, opting to give his brother some of the honesty he’d asked for. “I want to protect him from that - maybe then he won’t end up like the rest of us.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand.

There seemed to be a sort of understanding between the both of them when Cato met his eyes once more, a strange sort of openness that Eris couldn’t really read. Cato sounded a bit defeated as he spoke, “You cannot protect him forever.”

Eris knew he couldn’t, the vow he’d taken haunted him some nights, but that didn’t mean he wanted Cato to point it out. “I can try,” Eris snapped.

“I appreciate the honesty, truly, but let me tell you something, brother. Your efforts will have been for nothing if the outcome is no good.” Cato shook his head, “I reckon no one - not mother, not Rufus, definitely not Lucien - no one will remember that you tried.” His lip curled over his teeth at the last word like he was disgusted by it. “Father’s got it out for little Lucien, I don’t know why, so try and protect him if you must, but when it all goes to shit, just remember I warned you.”

Eris couldn’t even begin to guess why their father was acting this way so suddenly, but he dipped his chin at his brother. “Thank you, Cato,” Eris said with as much sincerity as he was able. Eris wasn’t very used to thanking anyone, and he didn’t think that Cato was very used to hearing any thanks, either. Eris could practically hear his father’s voice, see the sneer on Beron’s face, as he’d hissed at a young Eris that sons of Autumn never gave thanks.

Cauldron boil me, Eris thought, he was going fucking soft.

Cato’s russett eyes widened at the words before his genuine look of surprise was replaced by a scowl, the masks were back, it seemed. “You won’t be thanking me when I steal your crown, brother.”

“If you are feeling benevolent when you decide to kill me,” Cato flinched, but Eris continued, choosing to ignore it, “Do me a favour and make it quick.” The silence that dragged between them as they stared at each other was uncomfortable.

They looked so alike, very much like their mother. Long red hair, sharp cheekbones, elegant brows, the only difference was the russet colour of Cato’s eyes and the much softer lines of his face.

With a shake of his head, Cato moved past Eris, ensuring that their shoulders hit. He threw open the door, the heat of the room leaving as he stood in the doorway for a moment, as though he wanted to say something.

Cato stepped over the threshold of the door, the first few rays of the sun peaking over the horizon. “And not like you asked for my advice,” Cato picked at a thread on the sleeve of his shirt, turning to face Eris once more, “But you should stop spoiling the little runt, you’ll make him as useless as Rufus. And father is growing impatient with you and I’d rather not be dragged out of my duties to watch your flogging.”

Eris nodded once absently, his mind reeling, but nothing except irritation showed on his face. Perhaps Beron had learned in truth that Lucien was not his son. Perhaps Beron was no longer questioning the blood that ran through Lucien’s veins. Perhaps Eris would not be able to protect him, and Eris would rather tear out his own throat than let Beron harm his youngest brother. He’d made a vow, after all - he found he had to remind himself that was the only reason why.

Before he winnowed away, Cato called back to his older brother, “Be careful, Eris.” It could have been a warning or a threat, but Eris was choosing to believe that Cato might have actually been a bit worried for his well being.

Eris shut the door, turning and leaning against it with his eyes closed. He slowly slid to the floor, breathing in through his nose, wrapping his hands around his knees. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was a child.

Eris felt dizzy as he thought about how he would have to find a way to get his father to pay even less attention to Lucien, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He was also trying not to think too much about Cato. Cato had fucking warned him. The brother who he competed against, constantly fought with, never trusted - had warned him. Cato was young and ruthless and cruel, just as Eris was, and Eris knew they were more alike than they were different.

They were two-sides of the same tarnished coin. Eris took another breath, he didn’t like thinking about his brothers too much, it made his chest ache. Eris thumped his head a couple times on the door behind him. Perhaps if he hit it a little harder he’d knock some sense into himself. Eris could feel flames dancing on the tips of his fingers. He’d gotten much too emotional, all his actions driven by that stupid oath, and he’d lost his edge.

“Eris?”

Eris opened his eyes at the sound of Lucien’s worried voice. He was sure he hadn’t managed to control his magic, and he knew that there were wild flames flaring in his eyes. Eris was almost certain Lucien would flinch away from him, away from that all-too familiar and dangerous fire, a fire that reminded most people of his father. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

Lucien was no longer holding the dagger Eris had given him, but he took a small step towards where Eris sat. “Are you alright?”

In the light, Eris could clearly see just how terrible Lucien looked after Beron’s beating. It had taken all of Eris’s strength not to go after his father, and just like a coward, he’d done nothing but winnow Lucien away from that cauldron-damned house. Eris hadn’t been there to see Lucien’s punishment - he didn’t even know what Lucien might have been punished for - but Beron’s marks were all over his little brother.

Eris could barely look at the black eye, at the split skin near Lucien’s eyebrow, at the dark bruise on his cheekbone. Eris knew there were more bruises he couldn’t see.

“I’m fine.” Eris lied, willing the flames in his eyes to vanish.

Lucien took a few more small, slow steps towards Eris, like he was approaching a wounded animal. It must have been a shock for Lucien to see Eris in this way, but Eris was tired, and he didn’t think he had it in him to act alright even for Lucien’s sake.

Lucien sat right next to Eris, leaning up against the door, mirroring the way Eris was sitting. Eris knew he should perhaps be offering Lucien words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say.

Lucien was the first to break the silence. “It’s light.”

“What?” Eris turned his head to face Lucien, confused.

Lucien looked up at him with a small smile, “What can fill a room, but takes up no space. Your riddle.”

Eris raised an auburn brow, “I’m going to have to start giving you harder ones.”

“I’ll solve those ones, too.”

Eris felt the corner of his mouth tilt up just a fraction, “I bet you will.”

Lucien turned away from Eris, moving so that he was leaning up against Eris’s side. “Don’t worry too much about whatever’s bothering you,” Lucien muttered, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Eris took comfort in knowing that at least Lucien believed in him, and he figured that Lucien was probably right

Eris would figure something out, he always did.

68 notes · View notes

ilguna · 3 years ago

Text

Berceuse - Chapter Three

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 10.8k

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

–

Alyssum sits alone at a table, picking at her nails while she waits for the Gamemakers to finally start calling in tributes to their private sessions. After what happened on the first day of training, she’d been given a very specific set of instructions by you and Finnick.

And to sum it all up; she’s supposed to keep her head down and pass through training with no other problems. Do what she wants to do, play with weapons and refresh her survival skills, and keep the hell away from people unless she’s going to be nice. Alyssum hasn’t been put in timeout for years, but this feels exactly like it.

As for Paslee, he was told that if he killed Alyssum in any sort of way, directly or indirectly, and ended up winning the Hunger Games, he’d never be forgiven and he’d live to regret it. Not only would he have to live with the guilt of her death, he’d also be stuck with a bunch of victors--maybe a whole district--that loathes him.

Needless to say, the careers haven’t bothered Alyssum either, especially with Paslee there to redirect them when they come close. Which was hardly ever, Alyssum kept close to the survival stations, and even joined Katniss and Peeta when she felt like she could learn something with them, not wanting to show off.

Although, it’s no secret that she knows stuff that the others do not.

If it comes down to just her in the arena in two days--which she has a feeling it will--there’s not a single doubt in her mind that she’ll be able to survive. If she can’t fight, it’s fine, because she doesn’t need to know how. As long as she can clean water, hunt animals, and stay out of sight, she’ll be fine.

The only people Alyssum has warmed up to are Katniss and Peeta. She’s not entirely sure that it matters in the end though, because they haven’t shown a lick of knowledge when it comes to fighting. Of course, she doesn’t have much experience herself, but at least she went to the stations to figure some stuff out.

Alyssum rests her head on her hand, right as a Gamemaker comes over the intercom, calling for Marvel, from District One. Her eyes shift over to see the tallest boy out of the career group stand, sharing a smile with her friends. She closes her eyes after that, and lets the clock on the wall tick away, counting down the minutes until it’s her turn.

After Marvel is Glimmer, then Cato, then Clove. They don’t return after they’ve been called into their session, which is good news to her. They’d probably brag if they came back inside, and she’s not really in the mood to listen to that. She’s already had to endure their constant chatter and laughter, talk about a headache.

The girl from District Three is then called, setting Paslee up to go next. When Alyssum looks over to him, curious about what he looks like right now, they lock eyes. He doesn’t stare for long, quickly shifting his eyes back to his own empty table that he’s sitting at.

As soon as Paslee is called, Alyssum begins counting down the time, eyes never leaving the clock. Five minutes, then ten. The nerves in her stomach sprout, and then make her sick when she thinks about her skills. What will she show the Gamemakers that she hasn’t already? The clock hits fifteen, and it’s only a couple seconds later, when they’re calling her name.

She slides off of the bench, standing up to her full height, which isn’t much, before starting her way to the door. She can feel her heart beating in her chest, and despite trying her best to ignore it, it’s loud. The doors open for her automatically, letting her inside, and sealing behind her to ensure she can’t go back.

The Gamemakers are all sitting together in a box, dressed in dark robes. Over these past few days during lunch, they’d go and speak to the experts from the stations, huddled together with the head trainer, too. They made it no secret that they had been discussing tributes, with occasional gestures and glances to the tables they were sitting at.

Now, it’s only her and them. It’s Alyssum’s turn to show them a secret skill, something she hadn’t wanted the other tributes to know for obvious reasons. As long as she has one deadly idea, then she might be alright.

The good news is that she has their attention. One Gamemaker motions for her to start, and she takes the initiative, turning her body towards the weapons, because she’s shown them what she can do with survival skills. The experts have told them how good she is at the stations. The only thing they don’t know is how handy she is with a knife.

She has you to thank for this skill.

This is one of the moments where Alyssum has to be grateful over the fact that you never left her defenseless. You have been drilling the idea of handling knives into her head since she turned nine.

So, when she walks up to the table, with all the differently carved knives on a pretty display, she picks up the first knife and doesn’t worry about the length, or the weight. Alyssum knows she has to find solutions in the face of discomfort. How will she combat it in one throw?

The knife she holds is too light, which is a problem she’s not used to. A part is telling her that now isn’t the time to overcome a challenge, it’ll put her score at risk. Then again, she hasn’t had the chance to play with knives for days, she should just enjoy it while she can.

Alyssum looks over the handle to see that it’s carved in the shape of a flower. Delicate, and the petals dig into her palm if she squeezes it too lightly, she’s careful not to. Her body turns towards the Gamemakers, holding the knife up in her hand by her thumb. In her time of training at the boarding school, Alyssum has only heard whispers about what actually happened during your private session, and she’s your sister.

There is one aspect that the story always revolves around, and it’s a knife. You somehow used a knife to score a ten. Alyssum wishes that could be the case for her, to show the same impressive skill you had, but it’s going to be impossible. She’s twelve, not fifteen. She has to keep her expectations realistic, and that’s why she’s aiming for an eight.

Without warning, she spins back to the targets at the knife station, arm drawn so far back that it hurts. Her eyes land on one of the bodies hanging up by a rope, fingers releasing the knife as she throws. It slices through the air quickly, no weight holding it back, and slams into the middle of the forehead.

She makes a face, looking back down at the other knives at display. There are four more copies of the knife she just threw, but she picks up one that’s on the opposite end, and finds it to be much heavier than an average knife. It clicks in her head then, that they’re laid out from least to most heaviest. If she picked out one in the middle, it’d probably work better for her.

With this one, she takes more time to get used to the weight, holding it in her palm to analyze where it’s coming from. The blade is thick, made of real metal, the blade sharp to the touch. However, it’s the handle of it that’s making it harder to hold. If she throws it, the knife is going to be more bottom heavy.

She can’t throw it by the blade this time, then.

Alyssum rolls her wrist a couple of times, and then throws, watching as the knife slams into the skull of the dummy hard enough for it to make a ‘thump’ sound on impact. She’s pleased to see that there’s barely an inch gap between the two weapons, side by side, parallel.

It goes on like this, with her bouncing back and forth between knives, throwing them at various parts of the body. Chest, elbows, knees, shoulders. It isn’t until she realizes that she has one knife left, the one that feels just right in her palm, does she see just how much she’s gone through.

A small smile appears on her face, just before she throws this knife too, lodging it where the throat should be.

Her heart is still pounding in her ears, sucking in deep breaths through her nose while she turns to the Gamemakers, who have all suddenly stopped to watch her. She raises her chin slightly, and gives a firm nod. She’s done. She’s shown them all her one secret.

They dismiss her, and she takes a different door to leave the gymnasium. As soon as that door closes behind her, she breathes out in relief. Inside of the elevator, she takes the time to calm her marathon breathing, because there’s no need to worry anymore. She did it, she made it through another obstacle of the Hunger Games.

Her next focus will be the interview, and then the arena, itself.

When she walks inside of the apartment, she’s able to see you sitting on the couch with Elysia, a leg tucked beneath you. The conversation looks lighthearted, nothing important. Caesar Flickerman is already on the television, talking about what the scores might look like for this year. As if the tributes ever change drastically enough to change the prediction.

“I’m back.” Alyssum announces, catching your attention. She gives a look to the hallway, wondering if Paslee is hiding in his room.

She partially wants to ask him what the Gamemakers had done for him, if they fell silent when he showed them his special skill. Or if he’s not as special, because he’s seventeen, and he’s a career. He’s expected to have a large set of skills, therefore it’s nothing to bat their eyes at.

Either way, she doesn’t see him nearby, he must have gone straight to his room after talking to you. Alyssum’s probably going to do the same, and take a hot shower to try and relax. She has a feeling that it’s going to be nearly impossible to do, considering her whole life in the arena depends on this score.

“How was it?” you ask, turning your body to her more.

Alyssum wanders forward, “I didn’t mess up once.”

A smile appears on your face, “That’s great!”

“When do we get to see the scores?”

“After dinner,” Elysia sits up slightly, “The stylists will be joining us, too.”

Alyssum makes a face, “I’m gonna go shower and get ready, then.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to say anything else, heading up the steps and into the hallway so that she can go to her room. She only gets a few steps in before stopping near her door, holding her breath. She can faintly hear that you and Elysia have resumed your conversation, and waits to see if she can hear anything about Paslee.

The only thing she’s able to catch is that Paslee is also confident that he scored highly. After that, the door in front of her opens, and Alyssum barely has enough time to jump to pretend she’s still going for her room. Paslee stands in the doorway, staring at her, eyes slowly lowering into a squint.

She smiles, “Just came back.”

She leaves, makes sure that her door shuts behind her, and goes the extra mile to lock it to ensure that there won’t be any unwanted guests. If Paslee thinks that he did well during his session, then that means she should expect a score higher than eight tonight. For her, it’s unheard of for any twelve year old to get higher than a seven, but judging by the Gamemaker’s reactions, she might just barely make the cut that qualifies her as a career.

All she can do right now is cross her fingers and hope.

Alyssum picks out a nice outfit for the dinner, and then wanders into the bathroom. She peels off the training outfit, which has begun to feel like a second skin during these past couple of days. Of course, she’s given a freshly cleaned outfit everyday, but that doesn’t mean that they stink from sweat any less.

In the shower, she washes herself from head to toe, and it isn’t until she’s done, does she realize just how scorching hot the water is. And with her senses finally returning to her--after reliving her private session with the Gamemakers the entire shower--she shuts off the water and rubs at her skin carefully, not liking the sensitive feeling.

Her body and hair is blow-dried, she pulls on her new outfit, feeling much better already. She brings a couple of hair ties with her to the window in her room, sitting on the floor to watch the city below. She can’t imagine the frenzy that the Capitol people must be in right now, desperate to get their evening activities done as soon as possible before the scores air.

She ends up with a bun on the back of her head, wanting her hair to be off the back of her neck.

She sits there for a while, watching the cars below. Her thoughts are stuck on her brothers, what they’re doing at the moment, if they’re calm, if they’re worried. This is the second time that they’re having to go through this, an occasion that doesn’t happen often. Of course, siblings volunteer all the time, like Marsh and Paslee, but the chances of them winning are slim. Very few can come out like Gloss and Cashmere, sibling victors who are very good friends of yours.

The difference here is that Alyssum didn’t volunteer, she was chosen, just like how you were chosen nine years prior. And her odds are low, lower than yours ever were. If she’s going to make it out alive, she’s going to have to be sneakier, more clever than you ever were, which is going to be impossible to do. The wolf in sheep’s clothing tributes never make it very far anymore.

Not to mention, she’s already fucked up her chances at playing that role off, anyway. Her stunt in the gymnasium gave her attitude away to everyone in that room, and the careers didn’t make it a secret that she was going to be a target. She knows that she shouldn’t beat herself up over it, especially considering that she’s done that enough already, but she screwed herself over.

Royally.

About half an hour later, there’s a knock at her door. It’s Elysia, telling her that dinner is ready when she is. Alyssum pulls on a pair of flats before leaving her room to join everyone else at the table. Just as Elysia had promised earlier, the stylists are at the table.

Alyssum takes her spot at the table, and immediately there’s questions being asked about their private sessions. She’s a little stingy on the answers, she’s not allied with Paslee anymore, which means that whatever information she gives up about herself now, can be spun and told to the careers. For Paslee, however, he doesn’t spare details.

She has a feeling that it’s because he wants to build an image for you and Finnick, that he’s not all bad and he does have some potential. It also might have something to do with earlier, when she was basically caught eavesdropping. She waits patiently for him to finish what he’s saying, since she already found a way to crumble the flimsy sandcastle he’s been building.

“That reminds me,” Alyssum says, looking between you and Finnick, “Is it normal for the Gamemakers to be just… silent?”

You sit up, “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, “They weren’t talking or anything, during or after I was showing them my skill.”

Elysia turns her attention to Paslee, who’s beginning to lose the smile on his face, “What about you?”

“I--um,” his face twists, “A few of them were talking, but most of them were watching me.”

You and Finnick are sharing a look. Finnick tilts his head to the side, turning his attention back to the food in front of him, “Well, can’t say I’m surprised.”

“To answer your question,” you begin slowly, “No, that isn’t normal. I didn’t even have undivided attention.”

Finnick nods in agreement, “We should talk later on why that happened.”

Alyssum nods, eating her food while trying not to smile. The bragging from Paslee is done, she can tell by his sudden interest in his food, which he had been shunning earlier.

Once everyone is done eating, they migrate to the living room, where they all take their different positions while they wait for the scores to air. Alyssum has her legs criss-crossed beneath her, rubbing her knees to bring them some warmth.

Once Caesar is done with the formalities, he jumps right into scores, starting with District One, boys first. The boy gets a nine, the girl an eight, the boy’s score is normal, but Alyssum finds herself hung up over the girl’s score. What did she do to be so terrible? There’s hardly any time to think about it, as Cato gets a ten and Clove gets the same.

She hums.

A hand appears on her shoulder, giving it a small massage. It’s you, it’s always your go-to move when Alyssum is feeling stressed or nervous. She has to admit that this is an unforeseen twist of events. Clove is a lot better than Aly took her for, which means that it’s going to come back and bite later.

Paslee’s face appears on screen, Caesar gives a nod, and then announces that his score is a ten, too. Cheers and congratulations rain on him, as it’s a big achievement. Alyssum isn’t as worried about Paslee as she is about Clove. She already knows that he’s not allowed to directly kill her, he’ll just be messing with his relationship with you and Finnick. Which is not a gamble that most tributes want to play with their mentors.

When it’s Alyssum’s turn, the room falls into a hush, the anticipation building. Her picture comes in, and Caesar takes a moment to look over the score. A proud smile builds on his face, looking at the camera again before he says, “Alyssum Gallows, with a score of eight.”

More cheering, Alyssum can feel the balloon pop and dissipate in her chest, relief taking over. She scored high, that’s all she wanted. She’s allowed within the career playground now, she’s one of them. All there’s left to do is blow away the competition during the interviews and she’s golden for the arena.

“Amazing!” Elysia cheers, clapping quickly.

“Never done before, I don’t think.” Laurel says to Pleurisy, she’s nodding in agreement.

You pull Alyssum in for a hug, “Good job, Aly.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you and Finnick,” she murmurs back, squeezing your arm.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Paslee asks.

Elysia clears her throat and stands, she’s probably going to be the first to leave, “You two will be preparing for the interviews, there’s a lot of work to do on you both. I will start with Alyssum, you’ll be with (Y/n) and Finnick for four hours, and then we’ll switch. You’ll get more details about what you’re doing tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Paslee stands, and stretches his arms above his head with a yawn.

“We’ll get you up tomorrow if you’re not already.” Finnick says.

“Thank you,” he starts out of the living room, “For the training all these years, it looks like it paid off.”

“Just keep up with that spirit and we’ll be even,” you tell him, “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

Just as he takes off to his room, Caesar’s finishing up with District Twelve. Their tributes normally always score low, so no one normally pays attention, yet the television hasn’t been shut off just yet. Alyssum watches as Peeta receives an eight, making Paslee stop moving, halfway into the hallway already.

The room’s buzz dies out into silence once again, which means that no one misses when Katniss gets an eleven.

Alyssum stares for a moment, and then looks over to Paslee, who seems to be just as awestruck as she is. She may only be twelve, but never in her life has she seen a Twelve tribute score any higher than a five, which is their average score in the first place. Aly can’t help it when she looks at you and Finnick, waiting for some sort of a reaction.

It comes from Laurel first, “That stylist of hers has really set the stage for them.” she’s scowling, “We should get going so we can fix the interview outfits again.”

Pleurisy gets to her feet, “And we were nearly done this time, too. We’ll see you later.”

They leave, the door shutting behind them with a click. No one wants to move from where they’re standing or sitting. It’s a few more beats before you clear your throat, getting to your feet, “Well, she sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“We should go have that talk on the balcony,” Finnick says.

“Do you think that it was a mistake?” Paslee asks hopefully.

“The Gamemakers never make a mistake that severe,” Elysia snuffs, heading to leave.

You nod, “She’s right, Katniss must have done something fantastic in order to get a score that good. My only advice to you now is not to go after Katniss purposely.”

He nods, turning away and going up the steps. He disappears into the hallway, Elysia is nowhere to be seen. The only people left are the Gallows family, gathered together in a triangle, sharing a look of doubt between them. You let out a sigh, placing your hand on Aly’s lower back as you guide her to the balcony, where the wind will be too loud to try and eavesdrop through.

“What exactly happened?” you ask her, and Alyssum doesn’t waste time reciting her time with the Gamemakers. From beginning to end, every single detail is given up, and it’s clear that she’s been dying to share, because she forgets to take breaths of air between sentences.

By the time she’s done speaking, she’s waiting anxiously for your guys’ assessment of what happened, and what it means. It obviously has to be good in some aspect, considering that she just pulled an eight. The other twelve year-old girl had only gotten a seven, which is pretty good, considering her odds, but it’s not career worthy.

“I feel like they were holding back on her score,” Finnick murmurs, leaning up against the railing, staring out at the city lights, “If she didn’t miss a single target with perfect accuracy, she should’ve gotten a higher score.”

“Yeah, but if they scored her higher, then that means she would have a bigger target on her back.”

“Publicity, though.”

“And they’d have to admit that not only is District Four training their tributes, so are One and Two. They’d have to do something about it.”

“She’s your sister, though. We know the way they score tributes and why they do it, she should have gotten a nine.” Finnick looks at you.

“You got a nine,” you remind Finnick, “And with what you showed them, they would have to reevaluate their whole scoring system just to allow her to be a nine.”

“That’s my point, they’ve changed so much, this shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

A sigh escapes you, “I’m grateful for the fact that she even got an eight in the first place. Like I said earlier, she would’ve had a bigger target on her back, and we already agreed that she should be watching her moves so the careers aren’t going after her specifically.”

Finnick makes a face, not liking this conclusion, but turns his attention back to Aly anyway, “You did good, kid. As for Katniss and Peeta, I would be careful trying to be their ally. You know that the careers will want them now.”

“Take advantage of that,” you cup her face, making her look at you, “Their eyes won’t be on you, which is a perfect distraction.”

You place a kiss on her forehead, “I’ll try.”

“Good.” you say, “Go to bed, Elysia will be working you from start to end. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love you.”

“I love you too, Aly.”

When Elysia wakes Alyssum the following morning, she waits by the door until Alyssum sits up, after that she takes off. Aly takes her time going through the closet, since there’s no set outfit that Laurel had planned. She throws on some jeans and a shirt, then moves onto the bathroom to do the rest of her morning routine.

By the time she’s done and moving onto the dining room, everyone is already at the table eating. She takes her seat, and listens as you, Finnick and Elysia go back and forth on meaningless things. Mostly about the scores and what the other tributes had gotten. It seems as if you and Finnick went back to rewatch the scores, just in case any other big scores were missed.

And they had, the boy from District Eleven had scored a ten, not a big surprise. Both Paslee and Alyssum offer up what little information they observed inside of the Training Center. Just that he’s intimidating and is clearly hiding some serious skills, as he didn’t do much when it came to training.

When food comes at a slow pace, it’s time to get the four hours started. Alyssum drinks the rest of her hot chocolate, wipes her mouth, and follows Elysia back to her room.

It’s clear that Elysia has been doing this for years, because there’s not a single second of hesitation in her movements. She pulls out a long dress and heels for Alyssum to put on while she rearranges the chairs to fit her needs. Before Alyssum is allowed to sit, she’s required to walk around the room to allow Elysia to assess her.

She’s wobbly, it’s not a secret. There are several times where Elysia jerks to catch Aly when she begins to fall. Elysia mentions something about the carpet isn’t helping, but that doesn’t mean they get to change environments. They spend a good thirty minutes on just this, and by the end of it, Aly’s not half bad.

The next three and a half hours are tiring. Elysia fixes posture, corrects the way she sits several times, and has a whole segment on tweaking manners. A smile at the end of every sentence, or at the beginning, how to do a polite pause--Aly can’t believe that’s even a thing--and so on. She’s sure that Elysia is making it all up, until she gives a perfect example of all of her teachings thrown together in just a sentence.

Alyssum is dumbfounded.

“Well?” Elysia asks after a long moment of silence.

Alyssum’s face is twisted, “I feel like I could skip over all of this and the Capitol wouldn’t care.”

Elysia lets out a laugh, covering her mouth, “You’re lucky my four hours is over. It’s time for lunch.”

Alyssum changes back into her original outfit, helps Elysia put the room back together, and finds that Paslee is still working with you two. It isn’t until Alyssum has sat at the table, and is begun to be served lunch, do you realize that time is up.

Lunch is quick, Alyssum offers Paslee good luck in passing. She can’t imagine what he’ll be doing for four hours with Elysia if that’s what she just went through. He’s confused, she smiles, and joins you and Finnick in the sitting room while Elysia directs him to his room.

Alyssum doesn’t even get to sit down before Finnick is turning to you, “Okay, let me speak and then you can object.”

You raise your eyebrows, “So it’s not going to be something that I like?”

“Hear me out first.” Finnick says, and then looks at Alyssum, “If we tried to do some delicate personality on her, then she'd be looked over, which is what I originally suggested. However, laying low was ruined her first day of training, so we can’t just keep working with it.”

You stare at Finnick, “You’re suggesting we try and make her aggressive? Do you see her?”

“The Capitol doesn’t know what happened that first day of training, but the other tributes did. And now that everyone has seen her score, any facade that we were trying to give off, is ruined. There’s no point in trying to fool the other tributes.” Finnick explains, “That was the whole point of her being careful, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not entirely sure how the Capitol is going to react to her being anything other than innocent.”

He smiles, “Won’t know until we try.”

“This is not a game.”

“It isn’t, and still we took a chance exactly like this when we sent Marsh into the interviews with a comedy skit.”

It’s weird for Alyssum to see you and Finnick like this outside of the boarding school. You two have your moments like these all the time, banter back and forth until a solution is worked out. It’s how the two of you work through problems, minor or not. No matter what happens, though, you two never do it at home. And if you do, it’s never been in front of Alyssum.

Either way, Alyssum thinks that he’s won you over.

“Okay, say we do go through with this,” you start, Finnick sits up taller, “What’s her play? She’s not intimidating, she’s too small for that. She doesn’t look aggressive, and proved that during the tribute parade, and she’s my sister.”

“Exactly, she’s your sister. They all know what happened during our games, how we won, how we got there. It doesn’t matter what she looks like or what she did, she just has to try right now. It’s all about playing pretend.”

There’s a pause of silence as you look her over, gears turning in your head, “Okay, what do you suggest?”

“Aloof.”

Their eyes turn back to Alyssum, she raises her eyebrows, trying not to smile.

“We can make that work.”

They start getting to work on her after that, giving examples on how she can be aloof. Once again, she finds out that she’s really not bad at it, if she relaxes enough, it can come naturally. When they’re sure she has the personality down, they begin the questions that force her to open up or shut them out in order to keep it intact.

She’s good at it, picking which questions get to pass long enough to tell the Capitol a little about herself. They already know about her family, even if all the information is outdated now. She needs to tell them about her, how she went from that toddler in the family interview to a girl earning an eight on her training score.

After talking about herself, she’s then asked to say some stuff about the Capitol. It doesn’t come as naturally, since you and Finnick haven’t made your hatred for the Capitol a secret by any means. It’s rubbed off on her over the years, and recently it’s only begun to get worse. She’s stuck trying to find little things that will satisfy the Capitol’s curiosity on her experience thus far.

When she’s told to stop, she’s relieved but worried. You lean back on the chair you sit in, stretching your arms above your head, “She’s too much like me, I clammed up when it came to the Capitol, too.”

“Then don’t talk about the Capitol,” Finnick suggests, “Change the topic to something else, like home.”

“That would work better.” You say, readjusting.

And so it starts again, this time much smoother. You’re satisfied with her answers, shift gears, and tell her that in the last hour that you three have together, she’s going to pretend as if she’s actually being interviewed. You’ll be the one asking questions, Finnick will be the audience and judge by how they would react, and Alyssum has to throw all of her knowledge together. This includes what Elysia had taught her.

She doesn’t know how you know so many questions, or why they come so effortlessly, but there’s hardly a break between questions. Finnick will gasp, clap, sit in silence, and shake his head depending on answers. If it’s appropriate, she’ll elaborate on answers, which Finnick will nod encouragingly to tell her that it’s good and she should keep going.

The second that their four hours is up, Alyssum is on her feet, ready to be done with the mock interview. Her jaw hurts from talking so much, and she’s got a headache going on. At least you and Finnick seem to be satisfied with her results, because it’s nothing but smiles on your guys’ part.

Elysia comes out a minute later, dusting her hands and placing them on her hips, “They’re ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, they are.” You agree.

Dinner is quiet and uneventful, both tributes had been given more than enough time to learn everything needed. They eat their dinner, and stick by long enough for you to tell them that they don’t have matching outfits for the interviews anymore. The two of them had completely forgotten to update Laurel and Pleurisy about it.

“Thank us later,” Finnick smiles.

“It still has the same idea to it, doesn’t it?” Alyssum asks.

“For you, yes. Paslee has something different.” You say.

Paslee shrugs, not bothered, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“The stylists aren’t starting at noon tomorrow, so I wouldn’t stay up late if I were you.”

He doesn’t say anything back. Alyssum begins to push her plates and bowls away from her, getting ready to leave. She can imagine that it’s going to be a busy morning tomorrow, and knowing her nerves, she’s not going to be able to fall asleep easily.

“I’m going to go, too.” she says, smiling, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Aly. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she chirps, heading into her room.

She stands before her bed for a few seconds, not feeling tired. A part of her just wants to sit in the shower and let the warmth rain on her, but she knows that the prep team will undoubtedly have her do that tomorrow, anyways.

Alyssum lays in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, occasionally out the window. She misses her bed, back home it wouldn’t matter if she’s exhausted or not, she could always fall asleep in her bed. Not to mention all the soft blankets that she’s collected over the years. The only way she’ll ever feel comfort like that again, is if she somehow manages to pull off a win.

She’s got a footing, she can’t deny it. Laurel is her stylist, you’re her older sister, Finnick’s her brother-in-law. She’s been training for five years now, Paslee too. There’s spotlight on her, she’s managed to score an eight, and made semi-friends with Katniss and Peeta.

All she has to do is not screw this up, which is easier said than done.

She’s twelve years-old, no one has ever won at twelve, Finnick is the youngest victor for a reason. She made enemies with another career, who’s fifteen and bigger than her, and scored a ten. Clove is going to have some influence over the career pack, which means that if she wants to hunt down Alyssum, she’s not going to get any opposition.

And Alyssum doesn’t have any real allies, she has to keep that in mind too. Katniss and Peeta were a nice thought, but she didn’t secure any sort of deal with them. She’s on her own inside of the arena, and that can be the safest bet sometimes. Only, when situations get sticky, it’s good to have that extra pair of hands.

She’s screwed inside of that arena, and that’s all she can think about.

The prep team scares Alyssum awake when they appear in the morning. Cleo’s pulling her into a sitting position, she can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and Leo is pulling chairs around to rearrange the room. She and Elysia had worked so hard to get everything looking back to normal too…

“Rise and shine!” Cleo laughs, “You sleep like the dead.”

No, that’s not right. Alyssum doesn’t even remember falling asleep, much less getting drowsy. It must have been some time after three did she fall asleep, because that’s the last time she checked the clock before rolling over to stare out the window again.

“What time is it?” Aly asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Ten thirty, which is why we’ve got to start.”

She follows their directions, dragging her feet the entire way. They start with a shower to jumpstart her, pressing buttons that she hadn’t considered using before. They wash her hair, and make her use a special body wash so she smells sugary. When she’s done, her hair is like silk and almost doesn’t feel real.

They dress her in undergarments, and that’s as far as they go with clothing. Beth takes her time on Alyssum’s hair, humming a song to herself. Cleo and Leo go back and forth between talking and arguing about certain things. No matter what happens, Beth doesn’t get in the middle of it.

All of her nails are painted white with hollow pink circles placed in specific areas. Once Cleo moves out of the way, Leo gets to work with makeup. It’s the last time she’s able to see what Beth is doing to her hair, which has so far consisted of straightening it. Beth must’ve been waiting for this part, because it’s when she really starts getting to work.

Laurel must want the reveal to be a surprise, then. Alyssum gets comfortable with her eyes closed, tuning in and out when she feels like pitching in her own opinions. Mostly she’s letting her imagination take her on a ride on what the arena might look like. The possibilities are endless, of course. If it doesn’t have anything to do with water, she hopes it won’t be a desert, at the very least.

Alyssum can’t stand hot climates, she’d rather freeze at night than spend an entire day sweating, going back and forth getting water. Dehydration is a nightmare, and she won’t want to live through it long enough to be declared a victor.

Beth then says she’s done, spraying hairspray on Alyssum’s hair, it smells just as good as her body wash did. They have to wait until Leo is done before they have her get up and turn her back to the mirror and window. Cleo shakes a can, Aly holds her arms out so that Cleo can get to every single area.

The initial spray is cold, but the longer she circles Alyssum, the more she gets used to the feeling. Whatever it is, it’s glittery, just not to the point that it’s overwhelming. When Alyssum manages to sneak a wipe on the wall, curious if it’ll transfer, it stays stuck to her skin.

“Don’t worry,” Leo says, as if he’s reading her mind, “It’ll come off when you shower tonight.”

That’s good news, she won’t be an obvious target each time she steps into the sun.

She continues to stand in the corner, waiting for Laurel to finally come by. Cleo twists hair around her finger, listening to Beth talk about what she plans to do with her hair. All it takes is for Leo to ask her to do his hair too, and she lightens up and asks what he wants done. This is the most Alyssum’s heard Beth talk since she got here.

As soon as the door opens, conversation dies out. Alyssum is instructed to close her eyes again while Laurel looks her over. Once it’s approved, the dress is brought in, and Alyssum has to navigate it with her eyes closed. Cleo is there to hold her hand and steady Aly when she needs it, but for the most part she’s useless. After the dress, comes the heels.

She expects she’ll be allowed to open her eyes after this part, but they insist on putting the finishing touches on her first. Dangly earrings, she can tell by the feeling. A few rings on her fingers, a necklace, one bracelet, and even go as far to give her an ankle bracelet too. Then Beth remembers the headband that she was supposed to put on Alyssum,

“She’s beautiful.” Cleo sighs, “Can we show her now?”

“Yes,” Laurel says, she sounds happy too.

Alyssum is shuffled in front of the mirror, and with a countdown from her prep team, she’s allowed to open her eyes. She doesn’t recognize who stands in front of her. Alyssum has dressed up at home before, the day of the reaping being a good example of that, however she’s never gone this far before.

Her hair is down and curled at the ends, and the white fabric headband in the middle. She can’t pinpoint what color her eyeshadow is, each time she moves her head to get a better angle to look at herself, it changes into a different pastel color. She knows she has rainbow highlights on her cheeks, at the very least. She also has winged eyeliner and fake eyelashes to bring more attention to her face.

Her earrings are rose gold and have little flowers spread throughout the chain. As for her dress, the upper half is like a tank top with how thick the straps are, it's a very smooth material. And the bottom half of it resembles layered petals, almost like a rose, that ends at her knees. It’s stiff enough to keep the bell look, but moves when touched. It has that lenticular look that her eyeshadow does, only with more glitter--that also doesn’t transfer.

The bracelet is a simple gold chain with dainty flower charms on it, her rings are also gold. Some have flowers, others have little designs that keep with the theme that Laurel has given her. Her ankle bracelet matches the one on her wrist, and her shoes are see-through with straps around her ankles.

No matter how she moves, she catches the light and changes colors. The colors match, too. Alyssum’s not sure how they managed to pull that one off, but they did it perfectly. If her eyeshadow goes green, so does her dress. However, it seems as if the colors mostly keep in the range of red, pink or orange.

“This is amazing,” Alyssum moves to a different angle, and catches the light pink that they must have been modeling the outfit after.

“It was your idea.” Laurel smiles.

“You managed to pull it off, though, I can’t take the credit for this,” Alyssum looks at her stylist, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she looks at her watch, “I think it’s time for us to get to the elevator, so look her over.”

The prep team circles Alyssum for a full minute, checking and double-checking areas to make sure they aren’t missing anything. Once they’re sure they haven’t missed anything, they escort Alyssum out of her room and straight to the elevator. Elysia is standing by it, talking to you and Finnick. You two have also dressed up for the occasion.

“It’s a shame I’m not your stylist anymore, because you two look like shit.” Laurel says, causing you and Finnick to turn around.

“Excuse me?” your voice is sharp, “We made your career, the least you could have is some respect!”

Finnick places his hands on his hips, “What she said.”

You can’t hold the serious face you were trying to keep, a snort comes from Finnick as you dissolve into laughter. Once the two of you are collected enough, your attention turns to Alyssum, “Look at you! Reed and Mox are going to love this.”

Alyssum smiles, doing a small curtsy, “Will Caesar be able to compare us?”

“No, not at all,” Laurel says, “We designed you specifically like this to avoid any comparisons, you need to be yourself for just one night.”

“I was in blue and silver, you’re in the clear, trust me.” you smile.

“And pink is definitely your color.” Finnick says, you elbow his ribs.

“I can’t believe you guys got done before Pleurisy.” Elysia says, “That’s a miracle.”

Finnick clears his throat, “You didn’t hear it from me, but apparently Paslee was acting like a diva.”

Elysia coughs, trying to hide her laugh. Alyssum presses her lips together, looking at the elevator. You and Finnick share two different looks, trying to get the other to lose it. Laurel shakes her head for a long while… until Cleo snorts and the hallway erupts into laughter.

Which is right on time for the door to open and Pleurisy to walk out, rolling her eyes, “Sorry we’re late.”

Paslee is the last out of the apartment, dressed in a gentle pink suit that has a white undershirt. He gives a smile to Alyssum, raising his eyebrows as if he’s impressed. With what she just heard, though, she can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s go,” Elysia says, pressing the button to the elevator.

They all crowd inside, being careful to conceal the two tributes in the middle of bodies, not wanting them to be the first people seen when the doors open. Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy lead them out just far enough for you and Finnick to say what you want to before the interviews.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I hope you two already realize that you’re mildly matching.”

“Yes,” Paslee says, Alyssum nods.

“No back-handed compliments to the Capitol,” Finnick starts, “they don’t like it, and neither would you two. Compliment them on something at least once during the interview if you can fit it in, don’t force it.”

“Tell the truth as much as you can, if you have to lie to keep things interesting, we’ll lie with you. The sky is your limit, just keep the boarding school out of it at all costs, we can’t let it get shut down.” You continue, “Keep in character, don’t go out of it. They know it’s a facade already, but they love pretending it’s real.”

“If you don’t like a question, let Caesar down gently. Be short, yet give enough information to make sure it satisfies and move onto another topic. He’ll never go back and bring it up again. He’ll likely split it up into three categories.” Finnick holds out his fingers, “The Capitol, family, and you. He’s going to stress on the last two because you’re siblings of tributes that have gone in before. You’re like an update, and the Capitol will eat it up.”

You smile, “If either of you get nervous, we’re in the crowd, and so are your stylists and prep teams. Find us if you need reassurance, but you have to look around, especially to the balconies. Don’t forget the people up there.”

It’s silent for a beat or two, and then Finnick’s lips are also turning upwards into a smile, “It’s only three minutes.”

Alyssum and Paslee are told to stand behind the District Three tributes, with Aly in front of him. Unlike the private training session, for the interviews, it’s ladies first. Which is good, because Alyssum doesn’t want to be shadowed by Paslee.

With tributes arriving slowly, she’s able to take in how the interviews are going to work. As soon as everyone is in line in the correct order, they’ll be brought outside to the stage, where Capitol citizens will be waiting in a large crowd, the most expensive of them will be on private balconies.

All tributes will be on stage for the interviews, just sitting on chairs behind Caesar while he goes through them one by one. Alyssum will have to be careful on how she reacts to tributes and what they’re saying, and be even more careful with her posture.

The last pair of tributes arrive, and one-by-one they all get onto stage, heading toward their seats in the back. Alyssum is only on the bottom step, not even in sight of the Capitol just yet, and she can feel a sickness sprout in her throat, a headache beginning at the sight of all the bright lights.

Tonight is going to be miserable.

She steps on stage, and offers the crowd a shy smile. In a small glimpse she’s able to see that they’re all standing, none of them are sitting. All streets leading up to the City Circle are packed with brightly colored people dressed in various styles. She notes that not all balconies are occupied by the expensive Capitol people, but Gamemakers and cameras instead. It doesn’t ease her nerves at all.

She takes her seat in the white chair, making sure to cross her legs and sitting as straight as possible. Paslee, who’s sitting to her left, readjusts to do the same. The two of them whisper quietly about how everyone back home is watching. District Four is waiting eagerly to see what you and Finnick have cooked up this year. She hopes they’re satisfied.

Caesar bounces on stage as soon as his cue is given, the crowd roars, clapping and cheering for him. This year, his hair is a light blue, and so is the gloss on his lips. He wears a matching midnight blue suit that twinkles like stars with how many light bulbs are attached to it.

He makes sure that the audience is in a light mood by cracking a few jokes, and quickly introduces Glimmer before they have a chance to retreat. Alyssum stares blankly, watching as each career comes and goes, how they’re acting in front of the Capitol, how Alyssum can replicate it when it finally comes to be her turn.

It’s all very light on her end, figuring that she’ll be able to be gentle with the aloof idea. Then Clove finishes her interview, and gives Alyssum a certain look on the way back to her chair, and suddenly the competition has started. She can’t help the smirk that curls onto her face.

As soon as the District Three boy sits, Alyssum prepares to stand.

“May I introduce District Four’s very own Alyssum Gallows?” Caesar asks slyly, motioning back with his hand. The Capitol’s cheers are loud, almost deafening.

Alyssum gets to her feet, forcing the smile to hide. She has to look indifferent, or else the aloof idea won’t work. She stands tall, and walks carefully to the center stage. Reed and Mox are back home, on the edge of their seats, she can just feel it. You have told your story to the boarding school a thousand times, you were sweet during your interviews.

Now it’s Alyssum’s turn to be the opposite.

As soon as she stops in front of Caesar, grabbing his hand for the handshake, the three minutes have begun. It’s her time to be memorable, and she needs to fight to be seen as one of the careers, even if she won’t be joining them. She’s got the personality for it.

“Alyssum!” Caesar gasps, as if she’s an old friend, “You’re all grown up!”

She raises her eyebrows, looking out to the crowd, “Of course I am, it’s been nine years since you saw me last.”

“Nine years?” He asks incredulously, face twisted in mock horror, “The years aren’t showing, are they folks?”

The crowd shouts back at him, some clapping, others cheering. He lets out a laugh after a moment, waving off the idea that he could ever get old. That’s exactly why they have plastic surgery here. Alyssum almost didn’t believe it when you told her that Caesar has been hosting the Hunger Games for more than forty years.

“That dress is very eye-catching.” Caesar says, “I can’t even pinpoint what color it is!” He laughs.

“That’s because it’s not just one color,” she says as if it’s obvious, “Laurel, my stylist, went with a lenticular design.”

To prove what she said, she moves from side to side, allowing the crowd to see what Caesar means. With all the artificial lighting now that the sun’s down, it gives them the perfect opportunity to see. The crowd cheers, there’s a few stray whistles.

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Caesar awes, “And the bottom half, is it supposed to resemble a flower?”

“Yes, everything on me is flowery.” she hesitates, and then begins slowly, “Actually, it’s supposed to represent the innocence that the Capitol is taking away from me by forcing me to go inside of an arena as a punishment for a problem I didn’t even cause.”

And before the tension can settle, she flashes a smile and forces out a laugh, which Caesar reluctantly joins. Her eyes find you and Finnick in the crowd, you make a pinching motion with your fingers, probably telling her to tone it down. The problem is that she doesn’t want to.

“Well, for such an innocent girl, you scored so high.” He says, trying to move on.

“It runs in the family.”

“I can tell! Does it have anything to do with a special skill?” He asks, a hush seems to fall over the audience, eager to hear this part.

As if she’ll ever give it away, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Oh! I was afraid you’d say that!” He laughs, and looks at the crowd, “I know for sure that people have been on the edge of their seats wanting to know.”

“My only hint is that it relates to my sister in an aspect,” her eyes cast upwards, towards one of the balconies, “Doesn’t it?”

There’s a couple of quick nods coming from the Gamemakers, they know what she’s talking about, “Yes!” one of them shouts.

“A resemblance! As if we don’t have enough of those already!” and then he slows for a moment, “Speaking of which, I have to ask, at the reaping, was the gold dress intentional?”

Alyssum shakes her head, “No, just an unfortunate coincidence.”

There’s a few shouts of agreement, “Yes, I do think so too. I hope it ends up bringing luck in the end. What do you think your brothers thought of it?”

“They probably hated it, watching the youngest get reaped, especially since they’re absolutely helpless in the process. I’m sure that they won’t be wearing gold for generations to come.”

“I think that would be a wise choice,” Caesar agrees, “When you said goodbye, how was it?”

“Hard. They gave me an old necklace that belonged to mom and then made me promise something.” Alyssum can feel her time coming to an end, thankfully, she doesn’t think she can pretend any longer.

“And what did they make you promise?” Caesar asks, a hush falls in the air again.

It’s a lie, but they’ll never know, none of them will ever know. She looks out to the crowd, finding you and Finnick, “To win at all costs.”

The buzzer sounds, Alyssum can feel the relief hit her instantly. The crowd is cheering loudly, clapping, whistling, stomping. She can hardly hear herself think, eyes darting to the nearest camera. She hopes that this performance was good enough for everyone back home. Even if the promise wasn’t actually made, she’s going to bring it to life as best as possible.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Alyssum Gallows from District Four! It was a pleasure talking to you again, Alyssum. I wish you luck on your promise.” Caesar grins.

There has to be some sort of hatred that he’s hiding, because she nearly single handedly ruined the show. There were a hundred things she could have said after he commented on her dress, she just held it in. Not to mention, it definitely would’ve lost the favor of the Capitol.

Alyssum raises a hand to the crowd as a goodbye, and then makes her way back to her chair, ignoring the glares she’s getting from the rest of the careers. Paslee utters out a congratulations, she wishes him luck. He’s going to need it, at this rate she stole the entire show and she was only up there for three minutes. Even though it felt like an entire lifetime.

Paslee is called up, and Alyssum spends the entire interview trying to figure out what his angle is. If she was aloof--although, she did get hostile at some moments--then what did he have to go with? It comes to her when he keeps making statements that end the same way, he’s being cocky.

She can’t blame you and Finnick for making him act like this, it’s a good word to go off of, especially since he’s been training inside of the boarding school for years now. He’s got all of the experience on lock, and so far she hasn’t seen him doubt himself once.

Caesar’s only a little surprised that he’s getting an attitude like this right after Alyssum, maybe he was hoping only one of them would be bad to deal with. It sucks to be him, she supposes, because the two of them are careers, whether they want to admit it or not. Age doesn’t matter.

She’s expected to be timid, he’s supposed to be loud. It’s nice being able to see their surprise up-close.

His interview ends with a flourish, she’s honestly bored watching every other tribute go after her. It hits a point where they all act the same, since they all scored in the low range and their mentors haven’t seen a victor for years. They’ve lost all originality and rely on old tricks to get them through.

It could be worse, though. They could be from District Twelve, which Alyssum perks back up at, hoping for something good. Katniss gets through her interview, and Aly isn’t surprised when she says she promised her younger sister that she’d win. Her buzzer goes off, it’s Peeta’s turn.

It isn’t until the very end of his interview, does he take the spotlight right from Alyssum, and place it back on them again. She was sure with her attitude that it would be unbeatable, but there’s nothing better than a live love confession in the Capitol. Even she can hear Paslee curse under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Peeta’s in love with Katniss.

She’s glad when the interviews end and she’s able to stand on her feet again. The anthem plays, she raises her head as required, impatient to get off the stage. Once it’s finally over, everyone files into a line, starting with District One, and walks off stage and to the lobby.

Alyssum lets out the biggest sigh as soon as she’s out of sight, curling her hands into fists as she and Paslee go to search for you and Finnick in the sea of bodies. There’s a possibility that it wasn’t intentional, after all, Caesar had led up to that question. Doesn’t mean that he’s to blame for it, though.

“What a waste.” Paslee murmurs, walking beside Alyssum.

“Tell me about it.”

With every passing second, the lobby becomes an even worse nightmare. The two of them end up agreeing on just taking an elevator up to their floor, instead of waiting for their people. Just before Alyssum steps into the elevator with Paslee, she realizes who’s standing inside of it.

It consists of the entire band of careers, she backs off and moves onto the elevator next to it, and finds that it’s not much better. Peeta stands in this one, and it’s packed full with a bunch of other tributes. She sucks it up, presses the Four button, and then picks a wall to stand by until it’s her turn to get off.

Thankfully, it only stops once before hers, letting off the girl from Three. When the doors open again, she slips around people to get out. Paslee is waiting for her in the hallway, together they go inside of the apartment. They’re the first to arrive, which isn’t a big surprise. There’s a lot of people that need to be transferred.

“Quite an interview you had,” Paslee says, probably not wanting to wait in silence.

“I can say the same for you.”

“I’m not sure passive-aggressive was the way to go.”

She looks at him, “Who cares? They’ve probably forgotten about me already.”

The door opens, and one by one, does everyone file in. Instantly, congratulations are falling on the two of them. Briefly, you and Finnick pull her aside to talk about why she went off track, and explain to her that she wasn’t supposed to verbalize the anger, just show it through body language. She’s lucky that she changed her attitude by the end, because that saved her.

Kind of.

With the exception of the prep team, everyone sits at the table for dinner, which is a little more elegant than it was these past couple of nights. The Capitol’s food is always delicious, but tonight is a special occasion. It’s their last night in the Capitol, as tomorrow morning they’ll both be at the arena before ten.

Laurel and Pleurisy keep conversation going by giving out their opinions and who would’ve interested them personally if they weren’t stylists. They end up admitting that Katniss and Peeta have, once again, outshone them all, which is something that Alyssum already figured out.

She should probably invest a couple of days into looking for either Katniss or Peeta inside of the arena. Even if the two of them aren’t allies, having one of them as her backup is going to be better than no one. Besides, she can’t even entertain the idea of joining the careers.

Of course, that means she’s going to have to get over her growing irritation for the both of them.

They bring Alyssum and Paslee into the living room so that they can watch a recap of the interviews. She has to admit that it’s very different seeing them from the front than the back or on the television screens provided. Whenever a tribute looks at a certain camera, it’ll flip to that perspective.

She can hardly stomach watching Peeta confess his love again, but she’s happy to see that she’s not the only tribute that reacted negatively--with the exception of Katniss, who was bright red. It makes her realize that there’s a problem with wanting to team up with either of them, Katniss especially.

With all of the attention they’ve been getting lately, the careers are probably seeing them as a threat. If she goes out of her way to find them and it turns out that the careers are hunting them, she’ll be screwed. And the careers will have a field day because they’ll have two tributes they want to kill, right next to each other.

Maybe she needs to do some rethinking.

Elysia is the first to say her goodbyes, hugging Paslee first, but holds onto Alyssum the longest. When she pulls away, there’s tears in her eyes. She wishes the two of them luck, since they won’t be seeing her again after tonight, and then leaves immediately to have a breather.

You and Finnick give them a smile. She can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now, how you might want to react. Alyssum begins to wish that she had spent more time with you in between events, even if that meant she’d be exhausted everyday. It would’ve been better than the guilt that’s settling in her chest.

“Aly, stay out of the cornucopia.” You start, “I don’t care what the reason behind going might be, run in the other direction.”

Alyssum nods.

Finnick looks over at Paslee, “Watch your back, there’s going to be a dozen people in the bloodbath at that moment. You don’t know who’s watching you or what their plans are. Also, don’t go too deep inside, you’ll trap yourself. Wait until you’re absolutely sure that it’s over.”

“Finding water should be both of your guys’ priority. And use common sense inside of the arena, please.” you give them a gentle smile, “No matter what happens, we have your back, remember that.”

“Thank you,” Paslee says.

“Go rest, you’ll be getting up early tomorrow morning.” Finnick says.

Paslee nods, heading up the steps. Alyssum doesn’t move from where she stands, staring up at you and Finnick. The longer the silence settles, the more tears fill her own eyes. She’ll be on her own starting tomorrow morning, and she doesn’t even know what to do. Did she even make progress?

“Come here,” you open your arms for her.

She doesn’t hesitate, crying into your dress.

Alyssum doesn’t want to go.

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @itsanantonia / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld /

#ilguna #berceuse #berceuse chapter three #halcyon

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triangularjuice · 4 years ago

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Remember? -A Pokémon Story-

Chapter 10: A Familiar face

You're running. Running through a forest.

Running from what?

Legs are burning. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins.

You can hear something behind you.

Have to get away.

Your foot snags on a tree root, and you fall to the ground. You try to yank it free, but the roots are wrapping around your ankle. You look behind you, trying to see what you're running from.

You hear your name. You whip your head around, looking for the source. You hear it again, and again, and again, from all directions. It's a voice you recognize, but can't put a face to.

"(Y/N)," you hear more clearly than the rest. You look in front of you and see a tall figure. You can't make out any defining features, just the basics.

Dark, curly hair.

Lab coat.

You try and look at his face, but you can't make it out, almost as if his face isn't even there. You turn and look at the tree roots curling up your legs, pulling you away from this man.

"(Y/N), do you remember?" the man says. Your heart rate picks up. Remember?

You look at him again, straining to see anything that could tell you his identity. As you stare at his nondescript figure, you feel tingling in the back of your mind. A sharp pain stabs your skull, making you yelp and clutch your head. The roots squeeze harder around your lower body as you rack your brain, trying to identify this man in front of you. With another sharp stab in your head, vague memories start returning to you.

An injured Shinx.

A big city.

A twelfth birthday.

You stare up at the man, mouth agape. Tears start to form in your eyes as it dawns on you.

"D-dad?" you whisper to the man. A kind smile makes its way onto his face, and he reaches his hand out to you. You desperately try to grab it, but he's just out of reach.

"Dad!" you scream, as the tree roots curl up and around your torso, pulling you away from your father. You continue calling out for him as the roots morph into cable-like limbs. You look back in horror as the tree converts into Xurkitree.

Its arms wrap around your body, engulfing you completely. You look back at your Dad, who is still waiting for you to take his hand. You beg for him to help you, but he doesn't move. You scream and struggle against your captor, trying to break free, but it's too strong. You can feel darkness prickling the back of your mind. Tears are flowing freely down your face as you look to your Dad's featureless figure one last time. You scream out to him right before you slip away, your mind being consumed in a thick darkness.

~~~~~

You sit upright, panting heavily. You bring your hand up to your forehead and push your (h/c) hair out of your face, holding it in a balled fist on top of your head. Your cheeks are wet from your tears.

You look around, the small hospital room only slightly illuminated by the light of the moon shining through your window. You breathe deeply as you listen to the rain and occasional roll of thunder. Cato is still sound asleep in his bed on the floor.

Earlier, you had asked to be alone for the night, needing some time to think. Professor Kukui was against the idea, but you managed to convince him that you would be fine. You still have Cato, after all. So here you are, in the late hours of the night, crying to yourself, yearning for comfort from a father you barely remember.

You bring your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. The memories that came back to you in that dream... are they real? Are they actually yours? They sure feel like it.

'I lived in a big city,' you think to yourself, 'one of the biggest.'

'I found an injured Shinx and brought him home so my dad could help him. I named him Cato.'

'The last birthday I celebrated was my twelfth, so I must have been taken sometime after that.'

You look up, searching the room for a calendar or something. Don't hospital rooms usually have a small 'hang in there!' calendar? Frustrated, you hop down from your bed and wince a little, body aching. You tiptoe over to the door, careful not to wake Cato, and slip on your shoes.

You suddenly feel hesitant, remembering how adamant Kukui and the doctors were about you not getting out of bed. If you keep pushing your body like this, it could be really damaging. You know that if you get caught you're going to be in a lot of trouble. Arceus, you could even picture them handcuffing you to the bed so you couldn't leave.

You apologize to Kukui internally and crack the door open, peering out to see if anyone is in the hall. You glance back at Cato and then slip out, carefully shutting the door. You sneak silently down the hallway, nearly tripping over your too-large hospital gown, looking for an office or something of that nature. A clock hanging from the wall reads 3:45 AM, so hopefully you won't run into anyone.

As if on cue with your thoughts, you hear footsteps echoing from around the upcoming corner, and you freeze. You frantically look around for somewhere to hide, settling on what looks like a broom closet. You quickly, but quietly, slip inside and carefully pull the door so it looks shut.

A doctor appears through the door crack, head down in a clipboard, walking slowly down the hallway you just came from. You hold your breath, keeping completely still. The doctor yawns and pauses at the corner, looking behind him.

He looks down at his clipboard and then up to the clock on the wall. He turns around and comes back down the hallway, towards you. He walks past your closet and heads down a different corridor. You wait a couple seconds before slowly pushing the door open and exiting, looking around carefully.

'How hard is it to find a calendar in a hospital??' you think to yourself after a couple minutes of wandering aimlessly through the halls. After what feels like forever to your fatigued body, you finally come across a small office.

Peering in the small window, you make sure nobody is inside before slipping in. Not wasting any time, you immediately scan the small room for some sort of way to find the year. Your eyes land on a small desk calendar, and you quickly pick it up, flipping to the front.

Your heart drops as you stare at the numbers in front of you. 'This can't be right,' you think.

It's been two years?

Suddenly, the door to the office opens, and the doctor from earlier walks in. Startled, you drop the little calendar. He stops abruptly, surprised at your presence. He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"I-I needed to know the date," you blurt out, quickly. He rolls his eyes, not believing your story. He grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room.

However, when he grabs your arm, something inside you snaps. You start struggling against him, your heart racing. You don't know what's happening, but all you want is for him to let go. You look up, expecting to see the doctor, but you see Xurkitree looming over you, instead.

Your eyes widen as it starts screeching, and you fight against the cables wrapped around your arms. You can feel electricity pulsing through your veins. You scream and kick, panic building in your body. The more you struggle, the more cables start wrapping around you.

"Let me go!" you scream. The electricity builds in your body, making you feel more and more panicked. Suddenly, a flash of electricity sends you both flying backwards. You land with a thud on the floor of the corridor. Breathing heavily, you prop yourself up on your elbows. You look up, but to your surprise, Xurkitree is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, the doctor and a few nurses are lying on the ground, looking up at you with frightened faces.

Frantically, you look around, searching for Xurkitree, but it really is gone. You look down at your trembling hands, small sparks bouncing off your fingertips. You let out a small cry as you look back up at the others, terror written all over your face.

*** Chapter 11: Panic

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #professor sycamore #professor kukui #professor burnet #ash ketchum #professor sycamore x daughter!reader #dad!sycamore

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years ago

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The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64: Chapter 2

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x x

Ao3: x x x

May

Tryouts came and went with an excellent turnout, the best Katniss had seen ever. And in true Miss Trinket fashion, the assistant director had sought out the theatre and dance kids with the promise of getting to perform such an iconic story on the biggest stage they’ll ever have the privilege to perform on. Miss Trinket wanted the drama, the flair, and she didn’t have to go far to get it.

Even more surprising was that they actually showed up and were actually pretty good. Katniss had had her doubts when seeing the likes of musical star extraordinaire Finnick Odair saunter into the gym where auditions were being held, wearing that arrogant smile she always saw on him, but after seeing what he and the other theatre and dance kids could do with a flag, she admitted she was wrong and focused her energy on earning her place as captain.

Between her and Miss Trinket’s determination, Athens Ridge Marching Gladiators might have a good chance of finally beating Capitol Heights this year at PSU!

“We’re looking promising,” she told Leevy as they put together their instruments. It was the day after final rounds of auditions and she couldn’t stop thinking how at the end of today, Miss Trinket would post who was on the team and Katniss would finally know if she was made captain or not. She had done her best, she kept telling herself, and now it was out of her hands. The wait was killing her, though, and her poor bladder was taking most of the brunt, the constant need to pee every two minutes distracting her in all her classes today.

Had she proven to Miss Trinket that she was enough to be captain?

Her legs twitched closed, the need to pee returning.

“You should have seen Finnick Odair twirl a rifle,” Katniss said to distract herself. “It was insane how good he is! I always thought he was a bit full of himself, but maybe he has a right to brag. I’m pretty sure Miss Trinket’s going to use him as one of the spotlight guards.”

Leevy’s eyes widened, her thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose a bit. Her crush on the performer was not an unknown fact to Katniss. “Oh, do you think she’d have him play Romeo? I bet he’ll be Romeo. He’d make an incredible Romeo.”

Katniss snorted. “I’m sure he’d be up to the challenge.” Finnick Odair not wanting the titular role would come as more of a shock to her. Miss Trinket hadn’t revealed much about how she wanted to choreograph the show, but if last season’s Cirque du Soleil and Alice Through the Looking Glass the season before were any indications of how she envisioned next season’s show, she would be using color guard to visually tell the story of the star-crossed lovers. Miss Trinket always had “big big big plans” for them all. There was no way she’d pass up on someone talented like Finnick.

Mr. Abernathy gave the two minute warning before rehearsal started up and the girls leaned toward each other to tune their flutes. As they made adjustments, Katniss wondered who would play Finnick’s Juliet. Madge, maybe? She was a good height and her years of ballet served her well, being the lead spotlight guard two years in a row. Or Glimmer? She grimaced at the thought of Glimmer Macklemore being the lead spotlight, believing it would go straight to her head. Glimmer was by far one of the worst human beings Katniss has had the misfortune of knowing all these years, but the girl was graceful. “Like a swan on water,” Miss Trinket was known for saying about Glimmer’s talent.

I hope it’s Madge, Katniss thought, glancing slightly over at her friend who sat further down the row from her, Madge’s cheeks slightly puffed as she tuned her oboe. Yes, Madge would make an incredible Juliet.

*******

All her thoughts and worry over color guard went away during what ended up being a long and brutal rehearsal. It was hard worrying over who’d play Juliet to Finnick’s Romeo when Mr. Abernathy was out for blood. He was yelling at everyone today, not pleased that they had a concert in another week and sounded like a beginning band. What made the rehearsal even worse was much of his agitation was directed at her and the two solos she had. Over and over he made her play in front of the whole band, walking her through the notes, asking her snidely who controlled the tempo. By the time he threw up his arms in defeat, her face was a completely different shade.

“Sign up for a practice room, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy told her after her sixth attempt at a difficult run. “And maybe work on your fingerings instead of drooling over Finnick Odair, huh?” He moved his attention to his next victims and was just as merciless.

Slumping low in her seat, her throat tight with choked back tears, Katniss focused hard on her music, pretending she was just practicing when really it took all her strength not to cry. Snickers from the brass section could be heard, or maybe she was just paranoid that the whole band was laughing at her. Either way, no matter how hard she kept her attention on her music, forcing back tears from spilling over, she couldn’t hide how dark her face must look right now. Mr. Abernathy’s words played over in her head, causing her cheeks to warm even more. From embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. The man was never one to mince words and was known for his sour temper, but this was the first time he’d ever taken it out on her. And he thought her, one of his most dedicated players, as nothing more than a teenage girl drooling over boys.

She’d never hated the man more than in this moment.

“Hey,” Leevy nudged her, face sympathetic. “You okay?”

Katniss stiffly nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d break and start to cry, and that was definitely something she didn’t want to do in front of the whole band.

“He’s being an ass today,” her friend whispered in comfort, playfully bumping their knees together. “You’re his best player and he knows it. He’s probably just mad because Coin took away the pizza buffet in the cafeteria.” Katniss gave a halfhearted smile, knowing her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but Mr. Abernathy was at least right about her playing. She really did need to practice more.

“Okay, we’re calling it today,” Mr. Abernathy sighed, slamming his scorebook closed. “It’s clear no one’s practiced since yesterday and it’s wasting my time. I better hear improvement tomorrow, or I’m going to have everyone play their part and have your whole semester grade be based off that.”

“Practice, practice, practice!” Miss Trinket trilled from the back of the room, typing at the computer. “We want to be the best, don’t we?” Mr. Abernathy gave her the stink eye, like he wanted to argue her statement, but waved his hand, reminding everyone not to leave the band room until the bell rang.

“Well that was brutal,” Leevy joked halfheartedly, her eyes still looking at Katniss with pity. Katniss looked away, unable to stomach her friend’s obvious sympathies. She’d received enough of that look to last an entire lifetime.

“Can’t wait until he starts threatening laps,” Katniss mumbled, her throat still tight. She just wanted to leave. Run to a bathroom stall to collect herself, but it’d be too obvious and the likes of Cato and Marvel calling her a crybaby kept her seated.

*******

They didn’t often have so much time to lounge around, especially before a concert, but Katniss took the opportunity to catch up on homework she’d been neglecting, too stressed about tryouts to bother with algebra and chemistry. Feeling like everyone was still watching her, waiting for her to crack, she tucked herself in the back locker room, between two instrument lockers, out of sight from her classmates. The space was tight and not the most ideal of places to hide, but it blocked out a lot of the noise from out front and let her take a few deep breaths in. She couldn’t cry until she got home, but at least it didn’t feel like her tears were strangling her any more.

Taking out the beat up copy of A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, Katniss began scouring the chapters they were assigned to read (or sparknoted, in her case) for political symbolisms Mr. Heavensbee, her English teacher, was always quizzing them on during his infamous rapid fire quizzes. English had never been a strong subject for her, finding the books they read incredibly dull and full of nothing but tales about old white guys bemoaning about their manhoods, but grades was the one thing her mom actually paid attention to and hers were slipping in Heavensbee’s class due to these stupid quizzes. Her pencil circled another example, not feeling confident about it, but if her index card wasn’t pulled early on, all the obvious examples would be taken and this would be all she had to argue.

“Good book?” She jumped, her head hitting the wall behind her, pencil stabbing her in the gums. Peeta Mellark stood in front of her, looking all casual in his dark denim jeans and grey shirt, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. He smiled at her scowl. “Sorry,” he said, and to her astonishment, it sounded like he actually meant it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” she quickly informed, tucking her pencil in the book as a bookmark. “Just preparing to be publicly humiliated in English, that’s all. ”

“Heavensbee’s quizzes are brutal,” he agreed, still standing there, trying to be nonchalant, but his shoulders were way too tight to pull it off. It looked like it was taking all he had to be standing in front of her like this. Her hackles rose. Why should he look uncomfortable? He sought her out. If anything, she should be the one uncomfortable, caged in a corner like this. “I think I almost cried during one last week,” he continued, not even looking at her now but at the locker next to her head. “Marvel wouldn’t stop making fun of me after that.” That didn’t surprise her, but it felt rude to point out what a shit person she thought Marvel Baxter was to Peeta’s face.

“Yeah.” Katniss tapped her book, unsure what else to say. “Listen, I’m kind of busy trying not to fail and all, Peeta, so unless you have a question…?”

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his Converse, taking a deep breath in. It was a little unsettling seeing him like this, she realized, still confused why he was talking to her to begin with. Normally he knew exactly what to say, in any given situation she’d ever seen him in.

“Okay, seriously,” she said at last, a bit more snappish than she meant. “What do you want? I don’t have time watching you sputter like a dead fish.”

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he said in one breath. It was a totally innocent question to ask, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach, sending her back to when she was 11 years old and standing next to her mother and Prim as strangers she barely knew came up and smothered her in tight, smelly hugs. They cried over how young Sage was, still in his prime, and poor Cary, having to raise those two young girls on her own. The funeral had felt so surreal, her movements stiff and disjointed. Her voice hollow as she thanked the strangers for coming, trying not to cry in front of them as they passed. Her father’s death still hadn’t fully hit her yet and the only thing she wanted was to crawl into the casket with him and shake him awake, tell him this joke wasn’t funny any more. Ha ha. He got her. Now could he please get up so they could go home?

Katniss’ throat tightened at the sudden memory and she shoved her book in her bag, really needing to go before she did something stupid, like cry in front of Peeta Mellark.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to push past him. Peeta wasn’t only tall, but his wide frame stopped her from escaping as easily as she’d like. “Really.”

“Katniss.” He grabbed her hand to stop her, but pulled away instantly, realizing he had no right to touch her. “You looked like you were about to cry out there and then you bolted—I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I wasn’t going to cry!” she snapped, her vision red now. There were only so many punches she could take in one class period, but it seemed the universe kept wanting to come for more. “I was doing homework, Peeta, and then you waltzed in, wanting to rub it in my face that I’m a terrible player. Were you hoping I’d cry? Is Cato secretly filming this?” She looked around the small room for Golden Ass’ burley frame.

“Cato isn’t in here, Katniss,” he snapped back, then winced, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was: Abernathy is a complete asshole and he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Katniss, you’re the best player in the band and he knows it.” Any other day, hearing the sweet sentiment twice in one period would have been a real confidence booster for her, but today, it just felt like pity. Leevy felt sorry for her and now freaking Peeta Mellark felt sorry for her, too. What a blow that felt, looking into his sad blue eyes right now.

“I don’t want your pity,” she sneered, not knowing what else to say, but if he kept looking at her like that, she was definitely going to break down crying. Then he’d just look at her with that pathetic sad expression, feeling even more sorry for her. “Abernathy was right about my runs and I can handle his criticism like I do with everything else in my life: alone. So if you don’t mind.” And she tried to push past him.

In typical Peeta fashion, he blocked her only exit. “I wasn’t pitying you, Katniss.” His tone sounded as sharp and annoyed as hers now. “I was being nice. I know you don’t know what that is because you think the whole world is out to get you, but it means caring about other people and being there for them.” She looked down at her feet at the sudden weight of his accusation, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.

They were so engrossed in their argument, neither heard the familiar clap clap clap of Miss Trinket’s heels before the small woman announced herself, causing them both to jump and turn to the small woman.

“There you are!” the assistant director smiled. “Peeta, I have been calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?”

Peeta glanced down at Katniss, his eyes still hard, before looking over at his teacher. “Sorry, Miss Trinket. Katniss and I were just...talking.” Why did he say it like that? He made it sound like they weren’t talking and by the twinkle of amusement in Miss Trinket’s eyes, she suspected nothing else from two teenagers hiding in a back room.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your... talking” —Katniss’ cheeks darkened again, wondering how fast it’d take for the rumors to start going around that she and Peeta were caught making out in the instrument locker room by Miss Trinket—“but I need to speak with you for a moment, Peeta. If you don’t mind?” She motioned for him to proceed ahead.

Peeta’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Am I in trouble, ma’am?”

“No, no!” their teacher assured. “Mr. Abernathy and I need to discuss something with you about this upcoming season. Nothing scary, I promise.” He went ahead with no further comment, his hands stuffed in his front pockets, as Miss Trinket hurried ahead to unlock the band office door. He didn’t look back at her as she stood there, hand still gripping her backpack, and somehow, that felt worse than his pity.

Katniss, I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s so not fair. How are you doing?

Katniss?

Are you there, Katniss? Hey, how are you doing?

#Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games Fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #My writing #The Dance of the Color Guard Op. 64 #Marching band fic #OTP: Survival #I hope you enjoy! :)#Let me know what you think!

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holidaywishes · 4 years ago

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not all monsters do monstrous things...

Part 1: The Victor

Summary of Series: Delly Cartwright lost her best friend, Peeta, to the games. Now, the one that took him seems to have a soft spot for her.

Summary of Chapter: Cato wins the 74th Hunger Games but during his Victory Tour, he comes face to face with his actions. As well as a young girl who he can’t seem to get off his mind

Warning: Some fluff, some angst, some violence

Author’s Note: No, this was not requested but who cares. It’s my blog and I’ll write what I want 😂. I reblogged this post like a year ago about writing for Cato and Delly after reading something on FanFiction.net with them as a pairing but it didn’t conclude/continue and I wanted more. Thus, I’m writing my own take on Tumblr. I’m going to do my best to keep it has original as possible but there’s a chance I’ll use things from the story I read. So, any similarities to plot go to the original author of They Caught Fire from fanfic.net (go check it out, it’s pretty good!) Also, for some reason, there aren’t really any Cato/Hunger Games GIFs in the search bar so I found this on Google. Don’t @ me. I tried to find the owner but it wouldn’t bring me to the page. I’m not claiming it, just using it for this until I pick a graphic.

masterlist

the other masterlist

Cato’s P.O.V.

Seeing the look on the Mellark boy’s face as you pushed Katniss off the steel Cornucopia was supposed to make you happy. It meant you were the victor after all. Yet, as he stood in front of you, you could see the pain in his face. No trace of fear, just pain. He lost the girl he loved and you knew the feeling all too well. You took one step toward Peeta and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say I won’t fight you, before he jumped after The Girl On Fire.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” The voice of Claudius Templesmith boomed through the arena as the mutts disappeared and you were left alone, “I am proud to present to you, your newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Cato Berenger -- the tribute from District 2!” You watch as a hovercraft appears overhead and begins to descend into the arena, dropping a ladder for you to clutch onto and take you back to the Capitol. Whoever is there -- doctors, aids, Capitol attendants -- swarm you in preparation for the interview you’ll soon be having with Caesar Flickerman. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life, it was a priority at your parents Training Centre

“You win the games by sheer force and brute strength, fine. But it means nothing, nothing, if you can’t connect with the audience in those interviews. They have to love you. They have to respect you. You are their victor.” Your mothers words rung through your ears and you took a deep breath before your mentor found you and explained what was happening; you didn’t pay attention for most of it though, considering you already knew.

“Cato!” Wade, the former victor and your mentor, yelled to you, “are you listening to me?”

“I know what to do, Wade, I’ll be fine.” you sneered

“There’s something that you need to understand, boy,” he snaps back, forcing himself to block your path as you try to walk away, “the interview is one part of a thousand things that will happen within the next few months. The interview is easy, it’s fun even, it’s a celebration of you and your strength. That’s easy for us in Two, but the Victory Tour is where your world changes. Where you’ll realize what a monster you’ve become”

“I did what I had to, to survive!” you yelled

“WE ALL DID!” He shouted back, “but I’ve never quite seen someone as callous, as monstrous, as you. And neither has anyone in the districts you visit. They’ll stare blankly as you speak to them, cheering only when they fear their lives may be in danger, but they won’t appreciate your words. You killed their children, their families, their friends. You won’t deserve their kindness and they won’t show it to you. Especially not in the outer districts -- 11 and 12. Not after what you did to that little girl in 11 and 12′s precious ‘Girl on Fire.’ And after the tour is over, what comes of you? Nothing. Until you get to be in my position. A mentor for the next soldier who volunteers to sacrifice himself for President Snow.“ His words were venomous, you couldn’t deny that, but you didn’t understand why. Being a victor is all that we’d trained for in District Two, so why has he not been more grateful for his survival, you wondered. He notices the confusion on your face before continuing his ‘lesson,’ “You think being a victor is this wonderful life, right? Fancy houses and clothes, attention from the most beautiful girls in the District and glamourous parties in the Capitol; that’s what you imagine right?”

“I--”

“It’s like that for a while,” Wade interrupted you before you could finish your thought, “it is. And then you realize, you’re lonely. You’re completely alone. The shine of being the victor wears off quickly, especially when there’s a new batch of tributes lining up to fill your shoes. What made you special to them soon becomes a distant memory but what never fades, no matter how hard you try, are the screams from the people you killed. The blood you spilt. The faces of the families you had to look into and say ‘we thank you for your sacrifice.’”

“So what do you suppose I do?” you said through bared teeth

“Unfortunately,” he scoffed, “there’s not much you can do. You have to be who the Capitol wants you to be. Who you’ve trained to be. I just wanted to prepare for what’s to come.” You absorbed his words as you made your way to the waiting area before you entered the stage for your interview, hearing the booming music for Caesar’s introduction as he excitedly greeted the audience, before allowing for cheers for your team. When the plate rising you up, you adjust your suit jacket and put on a cocky smile, the one that the Capitol audience was so used to seeing, so you could charm the faces in the audience as soon as they could see you.

“CATO BERENGER! Our newest victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaimed, outstretching one arm to showcase you as you walked on the stage, “Welcome Cato!”

“Hi Caesar” you smile

“So, how are you feeling?” he asks, listening intently

“I feel good. I feel like a victor!” The audience cheered and Caesar let out a congratulatory chuckle

“Well that’s good!” he said, “isn’t it?” directing the question to the audience before turning back to you, “I must ask about your District Partner, Clove. You seemed quite upset about her death.”

“Clove was... a dear friend. We grew up together,” you fought the urge to say you’d trained together, as it was technically illegal and the Capitol officials would be furious, “she was a talented competitor and I will miss her.”

“Did you... love her?” he pries, leaning forward in his chair and you think about his answer for a moment. If you answer truthfully, that you loved Clove with your entire heart, then the audience might find you monstrous for letting her die when she called out to you. If you lie, and say that she was like a sister to you, they might question your authenticity

“I did,” you admitted, “but not in the way you may be implying. We were not the Star Crossed Lovers as those two from District 12 tried to portray themselves as. I loved her like a sister, as family.” The conversation shifted quickly and Caesar made jokes, keeping the atmosphere light-hearted before the inevitable death toll was displayed on screen and the murder of 23 children was broadcast. Three hours of footage from the past 18 days. From the pre-arena events to the bloodbath that saw so many die so suddenly. They showed your death count, as well as Clove’s, before taking a moment to share the small girl from 11′s death and Katniss’ song. You weren’t sure why, as it wasn’t in keeping with your story, but nevertheless, there it was; every note of the solemn song she sang to the dying child. Soon enough, they show your win on the Cornucopia, how you easily flung Katniss from the top and how Peeta jumped after her; An act they portrayed as cowardly. The anthem plays again and the seal appears on screen as President Snow is introduced, taking the stage with a young girl who carries the crown on a red cushion. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the same space as Snow and you can smell a hint of blood, covered by a thick layer of roses. He gives you a maniacal grin, as if he has something planned for you, before he congratulates you on your triumph.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this years victor of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!” Caesar exclaims once more and you wave to the crowd before being led off the stage, onto the train to take you back to District Two. Home. It feels so distant now. So much so, that you hardly recognize it. Wade was right, the first month or so was parties and affection from nearly everyone you came in contact with, but then you’d get tired of it and lock yourself in your mansion in the Victor’s Village. Preparing yourself for the Victory Tour and what ordeals would await you there. When it was finally time for you to leave, to make your way to District 12, Wade told you to prepare yourself for absolute silence.

“When I went to District 12, even though their tributes deaths weren’t by my hand, they treated me as if they were. As if I’d directly starved them or butchered them. They treated me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even worth their breath, and I didn’t kill the only volunteer their district has had in years, so imagine how they’ll treat you.” He sneered his words before buttering a piece of bread

“Maybe they won’t be silent. Maybe they’ll cause a commotion” you scoffed

“You don’t want that” Wade replied sharply

“Why not?”

“Any trouble caused with you around won’t look good. Whether you cause it or not. You should still try to act as though each district is important, because they are.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?”

“If you want commotion, you’re saying you don’t care about their lives.” You nodded in understanding at Wade’s words just as the train pulled up to District 12. A dirty, grimy, colourless place that was as quiet as a ghost town. Nothing like your home district. You looked to Wade who shrugged at you, as if to say ‘this is it,’ earning a sigh from you before continuing on your way to the square. You were able to watch as the citizens of the coal district filed into the square, noticing the worn faces from those who had to work every day of their lives to the fresh faces of the children who had been more fortunate than their older counterparts. Your eyes found their way to the front of the crowd, just below the stage, where the families and friends of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen stood. Immediately, you recognized Primrose Everdeen, the sister that Katniss had volunteered for; she looked so frail and innocent, no wonder the district and the Capitol was invested in Katniss’ story. There was a face that you didn’t recognize, however, on Peeta’s side

“Who’s that?” you asked Wade as you pointed to a small blonde girl with pale skin who stood beside Peeta’s brothers, “Peeta didn’t have a sister did he?”

“No,” Wade said simply, smirking at your sudden interest in a District 12 girl, “that’s Delly Cartwright. She was Peeta’s best friend. She was his Clove.” You didn’t quite register the words at first but when you did, you could only scoff at his words, refusing to reply. You’d, of course, been prepped on what to say to the crowd but when you stepped on stage, you became tongue-tied.

“I would first like to thank you for coming out today,” you knew they had no choice, but the words were scripted and you had to say them, “this is not an easy speech to make. The lives you’ve lost will be, uhm, will be felt by--” you looked up at the audience once, clearing your throat to force yourself to continue, “will be felt by the Capitol. Your sacrifices are -- will be missed.” You tried but stopped when you heard a small sob escape the audience, connecting it to Prim, who buried her face in the chest of a tall, dark haired boy. You were told to keep things distant, clean, and not mention the tributes by name but you couldn’t help it. Seeing the families faces changed things. Like Wade said it would, “Katniss was incredibly smart and, with the way she treated Rue, I could tell she had a big heart. Peeta had remarkable strength,” you turned to Peeta’s family, catching the stare of the blonde you’d seen before, “but for all his strength, he was kind, truly.”

“You’re a murderer!” The dark haired boy yelled out

“Gale stop,” clutching onto him, pleading him to stop, “please”

“You don’t care about them. You don’t care about us!” You couldn’t apologize, the tour would be ruined and the Capitol would think their victor was weak, but what could he say to this boy shouting at you from the audience, pushing away the young girl Katniss had volunteered for. How could you stop this from becoming the commotion Wade warned you would mean you didn’t care about their lives

“The Captiol thanks you for your sacrifices. Peeta and Katniss will be mourned.” Suddenly, the boy lunged at you, the one you heard was called Gale, a name that sounded familiar to you but you couldn’t quite place it. You knew you couldn’t be on the stage for much longer, so you turned to walk away but heard the sound of heavy footsteps sprint toward you

“GALE!” a voice screamed out. At first you thought it was Prim, due to the high pitched tone of it but there was a different cadence to it, “GALE DON’T!” the voice repeated, causing you to turn around just in time for a fist to fly towards your face. You managed to miss it but when you pulled your arm back to return the fist, you caught sight of Wade telling you not to.

“Don’t!” he shouted just as a fist connected with the side of your face. There was frantic movement as the Peacekeepers rushed to take Gale away and his family, as well as Katniss’, ran after him while you were pulled behind the curtain.

“LET ME GO!” You shouted as pairs of arms surrounded you, dragging you back to the square, “I have to stop them!”

“There’s nothing you can do!” Wade yelled

“They could kill him!”

“That’s his problem. He’s the one who tried to fight a victor.” You sighed and did your best to convince them that you were calm but once they let you go, you heard the sounds of a leather whip slashing through skin and you knew exactly what was happening. You ran quickly out to the square, where a whipping post had been set up and the Hawthorne boy was tied up by his wrists as Prim and Delly fought to get to his side

“STOP!” they yelled, watching as their friend bled from the marks inflicted on him

“ENOUGH!” you roared and the square went silent, the Peacekeeper who was laying the whip to Gale’s back stopping in his tracks while the guards restraining Prim and Delly dropped their hold. Delly was the first to run to Gale and Prim followed shortly after, the two of them frantically untying Gale wrists from the post; his body dropping onto Delly heavily that she almost crumpled under his weight. She and Prim took Gale out of the square, to safety, while you confronted the Peacekeepers

“Mr. Berenger...” the one who had given the lashings whimpered, “sir, I--”

“Why would you whip this boy?” you questioned, a harshness to your tone that this district had probably become all too familiar with, “because he mourns his friends? Because he is in pain?”

“Because he attacked you, sir!”

“I don’t need your protection, sir!” you countered, making yourself big enough that you were peering down at him, “I release him of any and all charges. And you are not to hurt him again. Is that understood?”

“Yessir--” they mumbled

“I SAID IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

“YES SIR!” they repeated, now with more urgency. You left the square not sure how to feel. President Snow was probably not going to like this very much and your parents wouldn’t be too pleased about it either. But it was her that you were worried about. Her opinion that you cared about. You felt like you searched for hours but the screams coming from the apothecary let you know that Gale was there and Delly likely was as well. When you found them, he had already passed out from the pain and Delly was clutching his hand as tears streamed down his face, gasping suddenly when she felt your presence

“Please,” she pleaded, standing up to block your path to him, “he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t have gone further than a punch, he was just upset..”

“It’s okay,” you assured, holding up your hands to try to ease her mind, “I’m not going to hurt him or take him away. I just wanted to see how you-- how he was doing...” She furrowed her brow at your confession, unsure of how to proceed, but took her seat next to Gale.

“The lashes have exhausted him and he lost a lot of blood” she said, rubbing his hand with her thumb. You examined more now that you were closer to her. Her blonde hair looked almost yellow in the square, but the lighting in the apothecary made it appear golden. Her pale skin translucent in the unforgiving light of the district but here it was dewy, a radiance that you wouldn’t expect from a coal-mining district. She must be a merchant’s daughter.

“I’m sorry” you said quietly and she looked at you hastily, shocked at your apology. Her blue eyes beaming from across the room. They were close in colour to Peeta’s, but also to yours, only hers were deeper. Like an ocean you could get lost in, surrounded by dark rings that you feared you’d never escape. They were beautiful. Enticing. Enchanting. But you could feel that she was holding back pain. Pain from the loss of her best friend. Pain from the toll the Hunger Games had taken on her district. A pain you desperately wanted to take from her, “you must think I’m a monster...” you said after a period of silence had overtaken the two of you

“Because of this?” she questioned, “this was the Peacekeepers, not you.”

“Because of the games,” you corrected, “I’ve watched those deaths more times than I care to admit. I saw how they portrayed me. How everyone else must have seen me.”

“I don’t envy you at all,” she said, turning her body a sliver to face you, “having to train your whole life to be taught to kill other children. Many your own age or younger. I’ve never understood why death, and the deaths of so many children, was the price the Capitol wanted to collect. You had to do awful things to bring pride to your district and I am very very very...” you prepared yourself for the viscous words she would hurl your way, surprised with what came “sorry.”

“Sorry?” you questioned

“Yes.” she replied, “to have your life mapped out for you, without your say, couldn’t have been easy. I’m so very sorry that this is the life you were led to believe was all you could have”

“You’re so kind...” you said, scrunching your eyebrows together, “no one has shown me this much kindness in my life.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Mr. Berenger, I think you’re lost. Trying to fit an image that the Capitol and your own District has created for you.” Just then, Wade stormed through the door

“CATO!” he barked, “you can’t be here. We have to go. Now!”

“Take this,” you said to Delly, taking out a small silver box from your jacket, “it’s not much but it should help with his healing.”

“Thank you” she smiled at you as you were torn from the room and back to the train.

“With what’s happened here, we’ve been forced to move up our timeline. You’ll be going to District 11 now. Staying for two days more than we’d planned.” Wade said

“Can I see her again?” was all you said, unable to remove Delly from your mind

“Focus, Mr. victor,” Wade snapped, “are you hearing what I’m saying to you? You will be staying in the District of the tribute who killed Clove for two days.”

“Fine. I’ll say a nice speech, enjoy their festivities and then keep to myself on the train”

“What if something happens, as it did here in 12.”

“Then I stay back. I don’t get involved”

“Easier said than done apparently,” he sighed, “that’s what you were supposed to do in 12 as well. But we see how that worked, now, don’t we?”

“That was different”

“Because of some girl?”

“She’s not just some girl...”

“You don’t know her. You cannot get involved with her, with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated... you’ll understand once you make it back home.”

“Tell me now.”

“You’re not free to do as you please, Cato, none of the Victors are. Why do you think we’re all miserable?” Wade replied, pushing you aside so you would pay attention, “it is better to keep a distance from anyone we could possibly hurt than be selfish and risk their lives.”

“Risk their lives?” you questioned

“Just trust me!”

“How can I trust you when you’re not telling me anything?”

“I have been there! Trust my experience, boy, or you will slowly go mad.” You inhaled sharply, wanting to argue, but trusting that Wade knew what he was talking about; he was a former victor after all. But it still didn’t make sense. You still wanted to find comfort in the kindness of Delly again and you couldn’t understand that, if you could have everything, why couldn’t you have her?

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nimsajlove · 4 years ago

Text

Brothers VI

Done! Now I can die in piece, I have posted my first complete fanfic in english and it was kinda hard. But hey, thats what I was asking for I guess...

Brothers-AU Ao3

Part I , Part V

*~*

How did they got into this situation? When had the Separatist army gained such strength and why the hell had the Chancellor suddenly turned against the Jedi? And how could there be Jedi, who had sided with him? She stood in the hangar of her cruiser and looked at the remnants of her troops, they had just escaped the lost battle and were now fleeing across hyperspace, jumping from one point to the next and trying to cover as much distance as possible. In her hand was a datapad, a list of the Jedi who might still be alive. But who should she rush to, to help? "Let's take care of the wounded... and Kix!" The clone looked at her again as he left. "Be prepared that we won’t get reinforcements.", she said softly and he nodded, his face darkened and she turned around and hurried to the bridge. Before she and the men could make a decision, she had a few things to check of on her list.

At her destination, Fives was already under one of the control units, Echo was sitting next to him and had fixed his gaze on a datapad. "Do you already have deleted the identification number?“, he asked his brother and she could hear the annoyed snort from Fives, as she came closer and crouched down next to Echo. "I'll take that as a no?", she joined in the conversation and Fives startled, wanted to sit up and rammed his head into the control console. "Please announce yourself!", he cursed and rubbed his head, Ahsoka had to laugh and Echo couldn't suppress a smile either, despite the current situation. Since their hasty escape she had thrown the protocol overboard; the close bond between them all might be of use to them today. She didn't want to suppress these feelings. “Of course I haven't done that yet! I'm still at the controls, I'm trying to reduce the number of men we need up here.”, Fives growled and disappeared again, into the tangle of cables. Ahsoka nodded, that was good. They still had enough men to manage the cruiser, but it was better if they could reduce the number of men on the vulnerable bridge. "Good, then I'll delete the other data.", she announced and patted Echo on the shoulder, before getting to work.

After a few hours, a lot of caffeine and two outbursts, thanks to the well-encrypted technology, Ahsoka was sitting cross-legged on the bridge on the floor, another coffee in one hand and the datapad in the other. She had tried to contact other Jedi. Cody had been able to reach her, he was lucky. Master Kenobi had defeated General Grievous and they hadn't noticed much, except that most of the communication channels had been blocked. From the Chancellor! “Unsettling. How is Master Kenobi?“, she asked and Cody laughed. “Oh great. He can’t stop cursing, so it can’t be that bad.", he joked, in the background she could hear the voice of the Jedi, his accent more harsch then ever, and it conjured a smile on her face! "That‘s good. You should move as soon as possible, who knows what else they'll be sending to you.”, she adviced and Cody promised to heed it. He would send her a message, when they reached a new location.

Aayla Secura she had actually reached personally, the Jedi Master and her Commander Bly did not hesitate to believe her. "Are you safe?", asked the Jedi after giving the order to the men, to move out. Ahsoka shrugged at this. "As safe as we can be right now, we're heading for the next stop and let's see where we are going then.", she said, without wanting to reveal too much about her position. Because who could she really trust? And the connection wasn't the safest either. There was one thing Aayla doubted. "And you are sure that there are Jedi who..." Ahsoka nodded firmly and knitted her eyebrows. “Yes, we escaped from one ourselves. I don't know who, but clearly faster than me. We lost a lot of men before we got out of there.”, she sighed and the Jedi Master's face turned pitying. "Then we'll hurry up, good luck Ahsoka. May the Force be with you."

Since saying goodbye to Master Secura, she sat there and stared at the information available, she would probably have to change course... The door behind her slid open and steps came towards her. Jesse, Fives, and Echo sat down next to her. Rex stopped and looked over her shoulder, she knew that he would not be able to sit down in such a situation. "I want to make a suggestion to you.", she began and immediately had the undivided attention of her brothers. "Where do you want to go?", asked Fives, glancing at the datapad. Ahsoka willingly passed the information around and looked, once again, at her missing fingers. “I would like to search for Master Plo on Cato Neimoidia, the last known signal came from him and Wolffe. They reported a crash and have since disappeared from the scene, but I can't imagine they're dead.” She scratched the back of her head and sighed. "I hope, I would have felt that.", she mumbled and got goose bumps, in the last few hours she had become colder and colder. Whenever she felt a Jedi fall silent, the temperature seemed to drop. She had known some voices personally, and had never consciously perceived others.

It was hard not to succumb to her debilitating effects, but somehow it helped her to know that there were still men to fight with.

She hadn't been able to establish contact with Anakin, but as long as Obi-Wan Kenobi was still conscious he would look for his former padawan. "Then let's look for them.", Echo smiled and Ahsoka breathed a sigh of relief, Jesse nodded in agreement and she began to get up. Then she looked at Rex, he looked worried. "That could be full of Seperatists and maybe some other Jedi.", he pointed out, but didn't cancel the plan. "I already know something.", she smiled and began to enter the new data.

They jumped out of hyperspace and Ahsoka took a deep breath, there were no separatist ships over this part of the planet. "We have to get as close to the surface as possible, maybe clouds and atmosphere can hide us.", she smiled and the men obeyed, even if Rex rolled his eyes. "Lucky kid.", he muttered and she nudged his shoulder, grinning softly.

* ~ *

It was so warm and wet! Puffing, Ahsoka fanned herself some air and looked around, everywhere water and rocks. And yet her gut feeling pulled her further in that direction. "And, already discovered something?", she called upwards and watched, as one of the men stood on one of the rocks and searched the area. “The enemy doesn't seem to be here either… But there is something over there!", he reported and pointed with his arm to the east. Her instinct also pointed in that direction and she quickened her pace.

Her little squadron followed her, the Chaos Troop and her other brothers had stayed on the cruiser. They protested, except for Rex. He understood, that she needed someone in charge if the cruiser had to flee.

It wasn't long, before she saw a small group of people on one of the stone arches fighting their way across the rough terrain. She screwed up her eyes and searched the group, then spotted Plo Koon at their end and formed her hands into a funnel at her mouth. "Master Plo!", she yelled over and the group stopped, looked around. Ahsoka immediately found a path to get to the stone arch. But when she finally got there, the guns turned on her. Behind her she could hear her men bringing their weapons up too and she raised her hands reassuringly. "Master Plo, I'm so glad you and your men are still alive.", she said with an honest smile and Plo Koon looked at her for a few seconds, then he gestured for the men to lower their weapons and Ahsoka smiled reassuringly at her squadron, the men relaxed again. The Jedi Master came over to her and looked as calm as ever, although his robes were a bit charred and stank of smoke. “Ahsoka, how nice. Forgive my men. We got into a somewhat… unexpected situation.” Ahsoka started to laugh, it wasn't really funny, but the joy of seeing the Jedi and the clones on their feet whitewashed any fear. "Who do you tell that? This is not the first time for me today.“, she sighed happily and called the gunships.

* ~ *

The grief was immense, none of the Jedi had endured near her any longer after the funeral. With slightly trembling hands and heavily pounding heart, she sat on one of the terraces of the temple and stretched her face into the warm sunlight, tried to take in some strength and get up again. The image of those terrifying eyes still danced in front of her closed eyelids, one look into them was enough to burn them into her memory forever. She had seen with her own eyes, the path that bonds might lead. But there was more, that soft stinging in her chest...

"Don't blame yourself.", it rang out from behind her and she opened her eyes, but did not turn her head. Only when the other Jedi sat down next to her with a deep sigh, she dared a look to the side, he looked so old. As if the last few hours had aged him by decades. Of course it wasn't gray or anything, but the line around Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes gave her that impression and made her even sadder. “I should have kept closer contact with him. Maybe, if the Chancellor did not have had such a big influence on him, then…", she revealed her thoughts and then looked at the arms of the Jedi Master. Two tiny, sleeping bundles lay there and despite the sadness that took her breath away, she smiled. They were so cute…

“Neither of us could have helped him where he was going. And you had to help yourself, your path has not been particularly gentle so far.", Obi-Wan pointed out and although she wanted to protest, she had to agree with him. Lost in thought, she stretched out her left hand and the little boy wrapped his around her little finger, she was a little surprised by the strength in the tiny fingers.

"Maybe, I should have talked him out of all of this with...", Obi-Wan began, but now Ahsoka shook her head. “None of us can get away of bonding with someone. I think it's our choice, how we want to cherish it.", she muttered. She didn't mean to think badly of Anakin, but the loss of so many Jedi and clones ran deep. She had realized, that every being came to such a point, at some point. Where you would lose someone and learn to live with it. Anakin had decided to let his fear and anger over the unfair fate win. She wouldn't, even if his death and the one of Padme had certainly not been fair! She would try to honor him as the kind and ambitious Master in her mind and not let the more terrible thoughts cover this image.

It was her, who stormed into the temple with the Jedi she had picked up, and found a trace of destruction. It was her strong, emphatic talent that led her to the crime scene only a few seconds late. She hadn't been able to save the children, but she had redeemed her Master after Padme had stood in the way. At least that was how Plo Koon had put it. The wording didn't really match what she had done and she picked up her weapons, looked at them for a while and then pressed them into Obi-Wan's hand, he now clasped the two swords and the children.

"I don't want to wield the murder weapon any longer, there is too much blood on it.", she sighed and suddenly a knot in her stomach, that she hadn't known about until then, loosened. "Are you sure?", the experienced Jedi asked suspiciously, but she nodded. “Yes, it's a good thing. I don't deserve them any longer.", she sighed and looked up at the sun again, her heart was a little lighter. "And what are you going to do without a weapon?" She shrugged. "Time will tell."

After saying this, Obi Wan waited a few seconds before he got up and left her alone. She just sat there for hours. Only at sunset did company join her again. Rex dropped down next to her with a grunt, she sensed that a few others were waiting at the entrance. "Here, eat.", he said, handing her a meal. She looked at it and gave a short laugh, that let the others come closer and sit down next to her. "But that's not from the temple!", she grinned and pushed the bottle of alcohol into Heavy's hand to open it for her. Then she went to work on the ration from the clone canteen, her brothers laughed. "No, we figured that you might be able to do without that little bit of what they call food.", Jesse grinned and she nodded with a sigh, before devouring the rest in record time. She hadn't realized she was hungry at all. "What's next?", Rex asked after she had finished eating and leaned back with a sigh, her back hitting Echo's side. She closed her eyes. "No idea, but we will know soon.", she mumbled, her stomach twitched in confirmation and then she heard a throat clearing behind her, she recognized Plo Koon immediately and looked over at him. His face was friendly, but Master Windu wasn't. Even though she and the Jedi got along, they would never be able to bring their views to the same level.

"The other members of the council have made a decision and I hope you will accept it.", Plo Koon announced and she got to her feet after all, it seemed to be more important than initially assumed. "And that would be?", she asked, her tone lurking. Had the Jedi Masters decided to start a conflict again? "We want to learn from your point of view and we offer you a seat.", Windu contributed and she could actually see the hint of a smile as he held out a lightsaber towards her. She hesitated before grabbing it, there was a tingling in her fingers. She activated it and was blinded when it lit up white, and seemed to be singing.

* ~ *

She watched the child. The boy jumped around excitedly and she smiled, even though her heart contracted painfully. She missed him so much... "You really want to train the little one?", asked it from behind her and she looked over her shoulder at her brothers. They were all no longer on Coruscant.

On a small moon, in a poorly populated temple, she had gathered her family around her and every day let a little more light into her heart. "But yeah, I can't leave it up to you guys. Or do you want to try it?", she teased and Jesse shook his head, laughing. When Rex came up tot hem, the younglings rushed over to them to grab lunch, she could hear the laugh of the clones and closed her eyes. It was not all good or the best, but it was okay. They were fine.

#brothers-au #star wars #clone wars #ahsoka tano #no order 66? Okay #have some fallen Jedi instead #the end #at least kinda #clone trooper hevy #clone trooper droidbait #clone trooper echo #clone trooper cutup #clone trooper fives #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #clone trooper rex

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