#can i volunteer as tribute to be his first lady

[illiana-mystery]

He could be my president any day...

[leviathanspain]

hii 💌 can I request some angst with president!coryo & victor!reader, same plot line as tbosas basically, he was once her mentor & now she’s his first lady

except the quarter quell with former victors happens earlier & he deliberately leaves her name out but she ends up volunteering instead

his first lady

coriolanus snow x victor!reader

synopsis: after years of hiding from the public, ashamed of your past and your husband, you discover the only way to end this, is with you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he had lost his mind.

in the five years since your games, you had married the man who had given dr. gaul the ideas and tools to continue with the annual hunger games. he had also been the man to mentor you, showing you to an audience to get them to love you, simultaneously he fell in love with you.

he was powerful, you knew you couldn’t reject his advances, not while you were stuck behind the bars of the capital zoo. so you held his hand, listened to everything he said, winning as he promised you would.

only then did you hope that his attention on you would end, and you would be free to return home to your district, to put this part of your life behind…

except it haunted you, every day, every waking moment.

you never returned home, you never saw your parents again after being reaped, he became president, and you became his wife; his first lady.

and now, president snow stood on that stage, smile blazing as he announced that the fifteenth annual hunger games would reap its tributes, from the existing pool of victors.

he had truly lost his mind.

you gripped tigris’ arm as you watched coryo on the screen. he had just announced the changes, and you were left shocked.

tigris gulped, “i doubt he would leave your name in there.” she comforted you, “he would never do that-“ she paused, and you knew it was hesitation.

you stared at the screen, watching as the symbol of panem graced the screen, and you knew he would be home soon.

you shook your head, still in disbelief. you didn’t know what to think, coriolanus’ morality scale had gotten worse as the years went by and more power came, you were unsure what he would do to anyone, let alone you.

he loved you, more than you loved him. you never forgave him for what he did to sejanus, and coriolanus knew that, but he had made it known that as long as you were alive, he would never divorce you. his little loose end.

this could be the means to an end. if coriolanus was as smart as he was told, he would leave your name in, hope for the possibility to send you to your death, tying his loose end completely.

tigris stared as you grabbed the tv clicker, clicking the buttons to turn off the awful song that blasted with the logo. it wasn’t working, tigris tried to help you with it but your frustration over the games led you to slam the clicker into the tv screen, promptly breaking the screen.

coriolanus came home to a dark house. all the lights had been shut off, and he could still smell tigris’ perfume, lingering in the living room.

he set his bag down, taking off his coat and laying it down on the couch. he could see light emanating from the bedroom, and he could hear your soft singing.

coryo smiled, slowly walking down the hall, pushing the half cracked door open, seeing you on the bed. your nightshirt hung off your shoulder slightly, and your hair was loose. you looked beautiful, in the dim candlelight.

“my lady.” he greeted softly, bed dipping as he sat on his side. you turned, closing the novel you had been reading. you smiled softly, “coriolanus.” he frowned slightly, going in to give you a kiss, but you turned around to put your book away, effectively dodging his kiss.

“you’re upset.” he knew it immediately, you never called him coriolanus, not unless you were mad at him. usually he was called coriolanus every hunger games, as long as each games lasted. he had known eventually it would start up again, but this was far too early.

you didn’t say anything, opting to shrug as you stood up, pulling the sheets up.

coriolanus watched you get into the bed, snuggling into the snow white sheets, trying to avoid the conversation all together.

coryo stood up, removing his shoes and tie, “you saw the announcement.” he deduced, having put it together from the faint scent of his cousin’s perfume. “i didn’t want you to see it, i wanted to tell you myself-“ he kept undressing, and you sat up abruptly, “you had all morning to tell me what you had planned, but you let me go on about my day, let me think of you fondly and for you to announce that?!” you couldn’t help the tone of voice that you took with him, sometimes he was just irrational that not even you could get through to him.

he laughed softly, “so you wouldn’t have thought of me fondly if i had told you before the rest of the country?” he pulled the sheets on his side of the bed up, pulling them up to his chest as he turned to face you.

your back was resting against the pillows, arms crossed as you continued, “why would you do that, coryo?” your voice cracked, and his expression softened. one of his only weaknesses’ was you crying, whether it was someone else’s fault or his, it was a wretched weakness. “the victors are victors for a reason, why do we have to fight for our lives, all over again? hmm, haven’t we done enough?” you felt tears on your cheek, and you sniffled slightly.

coriolanus shook his head, “y/n, i took your name out.” he grabbed your thigh, “you won’t even have the chance of being reaped. you’ll just stand pretty on stage and watch the others get reaped.”

the others.

“you mean the children that i mentored to fight to the death and win?” you couldn’t see him through the puddles of tears in your eyes. you could only keep crying.

coriolanus stared, watching you sniffle and dab your tears away. he didn’t know what to say. this was his country, but you were his wife.

“just stand there y/n, they’ll be room for tears later.” he spat, and you stared at him in disbelief. coriolanus had become cruel, shrewd in his ways. this was a perfect example of one of the many ways he had changed.

you hauled yourself out of the bed, staring at coriolanus as you stomped out of the room. you had plenty of extra rooms in the house, and decided to go into one, leaving coriolanus to sleep in the bed by himself. he called after you, but you ignored him as you locked the door behind you.

you hadn’t seen so many people gathered in a long time. they stood in rows, long rows that seem to never end from where you stood. you stood next to the other tributes from your district, younger than you, eyes full of pain and sorrow.

the bowls containing their names were placed in front, one for the girls, and another for the boys. you knew your name wasn’t in there, coryo had said, ‘nothings changed’.

you listened carefully as the female victor was announced. valora grove, the young girl who you had just mentored this last hunger games. you watched as she hesitated to step up, face stricken with fear, this was happening to her all over again.

“i volunteer!” you panted, stepping up as you held a hand out, blocking valora from walking any further, “i volunteer as tribute.” you repeated, chest falling heavily as you stared out into the crowd, their faces displaying plain shock.

president snow’s wife, the first lady, the tenth annual hunger games victor, had just volunteered.

coriolanus must’ve just heard the news, because as you stood forward, accepting of what was to come, you were promptly escorted from the stage by peacekeepers, thrown into a car and driven straight back to the capitol.

coriolanus was furious, you knew. you knew your husband better than anyone in the world, better than his own family. he knew you well too, but you knew this was something he hadn’t anticipated, a small crack in his plans.

“you better hope i die.” was the first thing you said to him as the car doors open, coriolanus angrily gripping onto the handle. he stood there, fuming, “why y/n? why would you do that, you know that i can’t-“

“what? stop the games? of course not, that would make you look bad, coriolanus. but that’s exactly why i did it. you have no choice.” one thing that coriolanus had forgotten about you, was that you were smart, and usually, always one step ahead of him.

“i’m still a loose end, president snow.” you reminded him, stuck staring at his piercing blue eyes as his expression warped.

[7s3ven]

hello! ur writing is so fun and rahhhh i heart it. idk if ur taking cato reqs but i love him bro its an issue. anyhow, childhood friend!tribute!reader and him coming to terms with the fact that both of them cant win. could be platonic or romantic whatever u like<3

I’m literally in love with Cato.

( master list )

DANCING WITH UR GHOST. cato hadley

IN WHICH… Cato Hadley and Y/N L/N accept there can only be one winner. The Capitol watches as one falls and the other leaves the arena with a furious heart, never quite moving on.

Warnings : not proof-read, a little bit of angst, some gore (it’s the hunger games)

—

THG TAG LIST : No one rn 💀

—

It was a hot and sunny day when the Capitol chose to announce the tributes. Small beads of sweat rolled down Y/N’s forehead as she clasped her hands behind her back. The sun was relentlessly beating down on the large group of teenagers crowded in front of the stage, organised by age and all eagerly waiting.

Y/N wasn’t like the rest of her District. She had seen how the effects of the Hunger Games weighed down on the tributes. Haymitch had turned to drinking after the slaughter of his family. Y/N couldn’t imagine returning home to see the people you held dear gruesomely bloodied on the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cato. He stood out from the boys, being one of the tallest and towering over them. He had his jaw clenched and he was impatiently tapping his foot, waiting until he could leap onto the stage.

His head turned and they locked eyes. Y/N was the first to break into an amused smile and he returned it, his pale lips curving upwards.

Y/N paid no attention to the video playing on the screen in front of her. They showed it every year and she had practically memorised the voice lines by now. Her mind flashed back to yesterday, the day where Cato had suggested the unthinkable.

“What if we run away?” He questioned, making Y/N pause. She grasped the handle of her ax tightly as she spun around to face her childhood friend.

“What?” She needed to make sure that she had heard him right. It’s not like Y/N hadn’t thought of it before but for Cato Hadley of all people to ask was outrageous. He was Two’s greatest candidate. They were all counting on him.

“You heard me. What if we ran away? Away from all this and away from the games? I wouldn’t have to worry about being a peacekeeper. We could do it, you and me.”

Y/N has full faith in her axe skills and Cato’s strength but the idea was almost too crazy to pull off. She shook her head, “They’d find us.” She whispered. Y/N was glad nobody else was in the gym because this could be considered treason.

Y/N subtly shook her head. If only leaving District Two was that easy. They would surely notice if their strongest candidate and his axe-throwing friend went missing.

Her attention was caught by the lady, Kikoro, walking towards the microphone in a hideously bright yellow skirt. Beside her, Y/N heard Clove laugh.

Clove was a good friend of Cato’s and by default she was a friend of Y/N’s too. She was shorter than both of them but that didn’t stop her from snapping at people left and right. Her skills with throwing knives were amazing and Y/N often felt a little jealous. Surely the knives were lighter compared to lugging around a wooden stick with a blade attached to it.

“Now, I must warn you, there’s a new little rule. No volunteering this year.” Kikoro uttered into the microphone, her lips covered in yellow lipstick curling into an unsettling smile. She ignored the disappointed jeers from the teenagers as she reached into the first bowl. “Ladies first. It’s only polite.”

Everybody watched with bated breath as Kikoro unfolded the piece of paper painfully slow. Clove was practically shaking with excitement.

Kiroko cleared her throat before she leaned forward, glancing at the crumbled paper. “Y/N L/N.” She said.

Y/N clicked her tongue, thinking it was all a sick joke. She wasn’t scared shitless like the tributes in the paper districts were but she was disappointed. Why her and not somebody who actually wanted to compete?

Y/N begrudgingly stepped onto stage after being dragged by a peacekeeper. “Let go of me.” She hissed, yanking her arm out of the man’s grip.

“What’s your name, dear?” Kiroko asked, gesturing Y/N to step forward to the microphone. The H/C-nette stared at the Capitol citizen in confusion.

“You just said my name… Y/N L/N.”

Kikoro paused before she burst into a fit of light laughter. “Ah, sorry dear. I’m so used to volunteers. Next up, the boys.”

Y/N hoped her District partner would be someone useful who she could discard later. Someone strong but not too strong as to overpower her.

As Y/N rocked back and forth on her heels, she glanced over at Kikoro who was now unfolding the second paper. She read text written in black ink before grasping the microphone.

Hearing her own name getting called didn’t frighten Y/N but as Kikoro declared the male tribute, her heart dropped so fast that she may as well collapsed. It was the one person she wished hadn’t been chosen.

“Cato Hadley.”

The train ride was silent. Enobaria had tried talking to the pair but they never replied. Eventually, she gave up and went to a different compartment.

“We should’ve run away.” Y/N quietly muttered, suddenly regretting not putting the absurd plan into action. Across from her, Cato chuckled.

“Yeah…” He paused, refusing to believe that this was really happening. That he’d have to kill his best friend if he wanted to survive. He was brought back to the harsh reality as the train bumped along the tracks.

“You should’ve played dead… or something.” Y/N stirred the spoon around in her cup of coffee, having no intentions of actually tasting the bitter drink. She licked her dry lips. “What happens if we’re the last ones left?”

Cato didn’t have the courage to answer. He pushed his food around with his fork for a few moments before finally lifting his head. “May the best win.” He uttered.

Y/N glanced out the window, staring at the tall buildings of the Capitol in the distance. She took a deep breath as the train quickly approached the large city and their impending doom.

The days in the Capitol were limited. And they passed by fast. One minute Y/N was standing in front of the dummy targets, skilfully throwing axes as their heads then the next she was in front of a crowd in a glittery gold gown.

“You’re a fan favourite, Y/N. How does that make you feel?” Caesar, with his crazy blue hair and matching suit, said as he widely grinned.

“I guess I’m just that charming.” Y/N smiled as she leaned back in her seat, gracefully crossing one leg over the other.

“Our time is almost up but may I ask the question that everyone has been wondering? What on earth is going on between you and Cato?”

The Capitol had caught wind of the small stolen glances and borderline flirtatious kisses on the knuckles. Y/N shifted in her seat as she recalled the event before this very interview.

“You look…” Cato entered the room, practically starstruck as Y/N stood on a small platform. “Wow.” She frowned as she adjusted the tight bodice of her dress.

“Really? Because right now, I can’t really breathe.” Y/N let out a small laugh but she felt her corset suffocate her lungs.

“Does this look like a face that would lie to you?” Cato grasped Y/N’s hands and helped her off the platform. “I mean it. You look stunning… almost makes me wish we were getting ready for a ball instead of this.” Cato’s face was so close. Y/N couldn’t help but let her eyes dart to his lips.

“You look handsome too.” She playfully grinned as she straightened Cato’s tie. “Blue suits you.”

“We’re just friends.” Y/N repeated that overused phrase while the Capitol citizens groaned in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to admit… Cato is handsome but I can’t imagine dating someone I’ve known since childhood… his face is getting a little annoying.”

Y/N’s cheeky remark earned her a few laughs.

“If given the chance, I probably would’ve liked to kiss him once, you know?” Y/N’s confidence grew and she forgot all about how Cato could hear her words through the small screen in the waiting room. She folded her arms over her chest just as the timer buzzed.

“Y/N L/N, everybody!” Caesar declared.

She stepped off the stage and back into the shadows, away from the piercing lights. Glimmer and Marvel had already returned to their rooms and Y/N was about to do the same before Cato came into view.

She saw him wave enthusiastically at the crowd but his eyes were on her. She shrank back, suddenly aware of what she had said during the interview.

Y/N scurried off before Caesar could even ask Cato one question. She stormed into the room assigned to District Two. Enobaria was sitting on the couch, clicking the TV remote buttons.

“Need help getting out of that dress?” The sharp-toothed woman asked. Y/N silently nodded.

“Thank you.” Y/N said, finally able to breathe properly again. She would never take oxygen for granted again.

Y/N was only dressed in a black singlet and shorts when Cato burst through her personal room door. “What was that?” He demanded, slamming the door behind him. “If given the chance? I’m giving you the damn chance, Y/N!”

Y/N let out a squeak of surprise when he grabbed her face and pulled her forward, swiftly kissing her like he had been waiting to do so for years. With how his hands trailed down to tightly grip her waist, Y/N wouldn’t be surprised if Cato had been dreaming of this moment.

Cato pulled away, resting his forehead on Y/N’s. “How’s that for a given chance?”

The sun in the arena felt different. Its heat was blistering and Y/N felt her body burning up underneath her heavy jacket. She wanted to discard the warm piece of clothing but it would come in handy at night.

The Careers had already made their allies clear. Y/N glanced at Cato who was already staring at her as usual.

To Y/N’s left was Glimmer, who was impatiently tapping her foot as the countdown began. Y/N stared at the decreasing numbers until it reached five and she had no choice but to get ready to run.

This was no mere dream, it was a reality that Y/N wish she didn’t exist in, for Cato’s sake.

To no one’s surprise, Cato was the first to react as the countdown finished. He leaped off his podium, immediately making a run for a silver sword. Some tributes turned tail and ran but those who joined the mess in the middle were gruesomely stabbed by Cato.

Y/N grasped a pack of throwing knives, tossing the sharp objects at anything that moved. She managed to cut Katniss’ cheek and the ravenette was not pleased about that. The District Twelve girl shot an arrow Y/N’s way but she ducked and avoided it.

“Y/N, here!” Cato tossed a fancy looking axe her way. She easily caught it, swinging it at a foolish boy who thought he could beat her.

The bloodbath didn’t last long thanks to Cato. He either killed or drove off any of the remaining tributes. “I’m feeling pretty good about this.” He grinned down at Y/N as they waltzed around the Cornucopia. He twirled his heavy sword in his hand.

“You’re in a good mood.” Y/N muttered. The hunger for bloodshed had clouded Cato’s mind, causing him to forget that Y/N would have to die in order for him to emerge victorious. She said nothing about it, though, not wanting to spoil his cheerful mood.

“I’ll be in a better mood after this.” Cato chuckled to himself as he pecked Y/N’s lips. He held her close, burying his face in her neck.

Y/N stood still, awaiting the moment where they would be forced to turn on each other. Out of the pair, Y/N had always been the rational realist.

Glimmer was dead, filled with toxin after Katniss sabotaged the Careers’ camp.

Marvel was next. Katniss skewered him like a kebab with her arrow. He died on the forest floor, joining Glimmer in Katniss’ kill count.

And then there were two. Y/N had narrowly avoided being bashed in the head with a stone by Thresh. The side of her head was still bleeding, the crimson liquid staining the green grass below.

Y/N groaned as she collapsed beside Cato, leaning against the large tree trunk. “Who’s left?” She rasped. She had heard a canon go off but she had no idea who it was.

“The boy from Eleven, the pair from two, and us.” Cato replied, his shoulder brushing against Y/N’s. He pulled out a small tin bottle, handing it over to Y/N. She gratefully took a large gulp of cold water. “Don’t worry, we’ll get home.” He whispered, “You and me forever.” After Y/N’s near death experience, Cato realized that the Capitol had played him as a fool. But he was happy about the announcement that said two victors could win if they originated from the same District.

Y/N leaned her head on Cato’s shoulder and closed her eyes, deeply sighing. She didn’t know when she dozed off or how long she was asleep but she cracked open one eye to see Cato hurriedly shaking her.

Night time, the Careers’ prime time to hunt, had already past. When Y/N’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, she furrowed her eyebrows. She was in a cave yet she remembered falling asleep on the forest floor. And Cato was covered in bites and gruesome grazes and blood. So much blood.

“Cato…” Y/N breathed, quickly leaning forward, “What happened to you?”

“I killed Katniss and Peeta… and the mutts killed Thresh. It’s you and me left, Y/N.” His sounded sounded so weak and he sluggishly cupped her face, panting heavily. For once, he was covered in his own blood rather than the blood of his victims.

“You drugged me…” Y/N’s heart fell to her stomach as she realized what had happened. Cato had slipped sleeping pills into the water and while she was knocked out, he put her in a cave and went to hunt down the three other tributes. She furrowed her brows. “How could you? Cato… you could’ve died.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah… I know. That was kind of the point. While you were asleep, they revoked the two victors rule. There can only be one again.”

That was enough for tears to well up in Y/N’s eyes. “Don’t leave me… please.” She cried as she held Cato, her childhood friend and her first true crush. His blood stained her muddy clothes but she didn’t care. “Please…” She trailed off as Cato wheezed.

“The mutts did a good job on me.” He muttered, finding it harder to stay awake. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“No. Cato. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here!” She immediately noticed how his pulse slowed down. “Stay awake, Cato! I can fix this! Please.”

Y/N had already come to terms that there could only be one victor but she had yet to accept that fact that she had to lose Cato to walk out.

“You can’t give up now… we came this far. We can sort something out.” Y/N uttered as she shook Cato in a fruitless attempt to convince him.

“I love you, Y/N.” He grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I always have. Ever since we became friends. Ever since you were the first to find the courage to talk to me. I don’t know what I would have done with you.”

Y/N laughed as a sob bubbled up in her throat. “I love you too. If only your name wasn’t called. I could’ve won the games and come back to you.” She shakily sighed as she leaned down to kiss Cato’s cold lips. She placed her hand on his neck and when she felt no pulse, she pulled back in a panic.

“Cato?” She shook him once. Then again. “Cato?!” She repeated, this time louder. “No… no… no! Don’t leave me here! Cato!”

She screamed so loud that the sound echoed around the forest, scaring the birds and causing them to flee.

“Cato!”

Y/N walked out of the arena a free woman. Not quite since Snow would still have full control over her but she liked to think she was free to a certain extent.

The Capitol workers had tried to discard of the necklace she held so tightly in her left hand but she refused to let them take it away. It was the only remaining memory she had of Cato.

Anger swirled around in her heart like a monster, threatening to burst free and reign terror over anyone that came in contact with her.

Only now was Y/N realising why the victors never looked genuinely happy despite having everything they wanted. It was because Snow tore their deepest desires away, always holding it near but never within their reach.

Enobaria had wanted to be a mother.

Gloss wanted a peaceful life with his sister.

Cashmere wanted nothing more than to take care of the children in District One.

Brutus craved freedom from Snow’s cruel clutches.

And poor Y/N dreamt of becoming a bride but as she watched the light drift from Cato’s eyes, her wish was swept away with it.

Now, Snow had nothing to take away from her because the person she loved the most was already gone.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment II

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.3k

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

Then came the 74th Hunger Games. On reaping day you woke up in bed with Haymitch. “Here we go again,” you muttered dryly as you sat up.

“I know,” Haymitch agreed solemnly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Stay by me, I don’t want you to be taken without me knowing.”

You agreed, standing up to get ready for the day.

As mentors you were allowed on the train whenever you wanted so once Haymitch was ready you headed over. As for the reaping, news had reached you that Katniss Everdeen had volunteered for her little sister. “She just signed her own death certificate but hey, at least sponsors will like her,” Haymitch said.

“Hopefully not too much,” you muttered.

Soon enough the train was moving and you had finally convinced Haymitch to go out to meet the kids. You walked into the dining room as Effie, District 12’s escort was talking to the kids. “Ah, and these are Y/N and Haymitch, your mentors!” she said excitedly.

Haymitch made a beeline for the alcohol while you went to go sit in front of the tributes. “Peeta, Katniss,” you greeted.

“So where do we start?” Peeta asked eagerly.

“Woah is that how you talk to a lady?” Haymitch interrupted, bringing you your drink. You definitely weren’t as much of a drinker as Haymitch but you certainly drank to take the edge off occasionally.

“Sorry,” Peeta mumbled, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.

“Don’t be. And don’t listen to Haymitch, he’s a drunk,” you dismissed playfully. “Seriously, don’t be sorry. I know you guys are angry, scared, whatever. I’m going to try my best to help you, prepare you… get you sponsors,” you added after a second, knowing what that meant for you.

“Let me handle to sponsors,” Haymitch cut in. “And as long as you��re going to be productive, I don’t need to be here,” he said, going back to his aloof persona he presented to everyone but you. He pressed a kiss to your temple before heading back to no doubt your room, bringing a bottle of whiskey with him.

“I didn’t realize you two were…” Peeta trailed off.

“Not many people do. And we were all each other had after my games,” you shrugged. “Like I said I’m going to try to ensure your survival but I will say this— the life of a Victor is a tortured one. Keep that in mind before you’ve gone through the torture of the games only to die at the end, having fought so hard for no reason.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Katniss asked, the first words she had uttered to you.

“Yes,” you had uttered point blank. “I don’t have the same fate as most Victors but had I known what was coming I think I would’ve stepped off that platform before the timer hit zero.” They sat in your words for a second, not sure what to say. “As for the games there are two basic methods. Either go out of the gate killing everyone you can, which will make you a target and you’ll likely be killed in the bloodbath. Or you can hide for a little while, wait out the masses. As District 12 I strongly encourage you to run away from the cornucopia. That knife, sword, spear, bow and arrow,” you looked at Katniss, “whatever is not worth getting trapped by another tribute because you will more than likely lose. These careers have not only been training their entire lives, their bodies are better prepared to fight which brings me to my next advice. Eat now. Food is fuel and the more fuel you have, the longer you can go.”

“Is that how you won your games? Running away?”

“Yes and no. I stalked other tributes. The girl from district 5 my year? I waited for her to fall asleep then I stole her supplies.”

“Did you kill her in her sleep,” Katniss pressed. You felt like she was daring you to reveal yourself as a monster.

“Yes,” you relented, challenging her stare. “I cut her carotid in her sleep. I couldn’t face what I had done so I ran. I then killed every career tribute in my games by sneaking up on them and killing them from behind. So watch your back and wait for the others to show you theirs. Like I said the life of a Victor is a tortured one.”

“So should we utilize that strategy?” Peeta asked, breaking up the tension.

“Theoretically yes but there’s also strategy before the games. You’re going to be out on display, then you’re going to have three days of training, and your final chance to get sponsors before the arena is your interview. Unfortunately as District 12 you’ll probably be coal miners, I was covered in coal dust and dragged down the strip half naked but you have a new stylist so hopefully it’ll be better. As for training, focus on survival. You’re not going to learn how to throw spears of knives in three days. After three days you show off your skills to the game makers who will give you a score. The higher your score the more likely you are to get sponsors. Of course you may want to lay low for that because a low score makes you not a threat. I scored a 3, one of the lowest in history. Johanna Mason from four years ago also won that way. As for your interview, Cesar is going to try to help you as best he can so be as charming as possible but that part is ultimately out of your hands. The Capitol people love District 1, after that they pretty much tune it out,” you rolled your eyes. “Then the next morning you’re brought to the arena. Any questions?” They both stared at you blankly. “Well if you’ll excuse me there’s pretty much nothing you can do on this train to prepare except eat so…” And with that you left, going to your and Haymitch’s room.

~

The next morning you were surprised to wake up alone for the first time in seven years. You made your way to the dining car in time for Katniss to stab next to Haymitch’s hand. You immediately felt a protective surge but it was quelled by Haymitch’s words. “Look at you, just killed a placemat,” he taunted, pulling the knife out of the table. “You really want to know how you survive? You get people to like you. Not the answer you were expecting, huh? You’re in the middle of the games and you’re starving or freezing. Some water, a knife, or even a few matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors and in order to get those you need to make people like you. And right now, sweetheart, you’re not off to a very good start.” Katniss looked like a kicked puppy, her tough demeanor probably having never been questioned since she was a provider within District 12.

“There it is!” Peeta exclaimed, dragging everyone’s attention from Katniss. Out of the window you could see the shiny buildings of the Capitol across the lake. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread every time you approached the Capitol. But here Peeta was, waving at the waiting crowds.

“Better keep the knife. He knows what he’s doing,” you commented, picking up a roll before sliding out of view of the window. You’re sure Snow would punish you if the people of the Capitol saw you in your pajamas.

Making your way into the bedroom, Haymitch followed you. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just have to get ready,” you dismissed, pulling out a sundress. “That was quite the speech you gave Katniss,” you changed the subject.

“She’s arrogant, she’s a fighter, she thinks she can win the games but she’s too arrogant and it rubs sponsors the wrong way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with rubbing the sponsors the wrong way a little,” you sighed. “May save her if she does win.”

“But she needs sponsors to win,” Haymitch argued.

“You didn’t have sponsors,” you protested.

“Yeah but look at me now, a good for nothing drunk!” Haymitch raised his voice.

“Look at me!” you yelled. “I get dragged out of my home, out of my bed, out of your arms to be a slave to the very same sponsors who saved my life and it makes me want to end it all every day!” Tears stung your eyes now.

Haymitch froze. “You actually thought about killing yourself?” he asked in a broken voice.

The tears began to fall seeing how hurt he looked. You looked down, nodding almost shamefully. “I’m so tired of being used. But I haven’t because of you. Both because it breaks my heart to hurt you that way and because you’ve given me a reason to live.”

“Y/N…” Haymitch said softly, reaching out to you.

“We have to go,” you brushed off, not wanting to deal with what you had just revealed. Wiping your tears you quickly changed before leaving the train. You put on a sweet smile, hoping your eyes weren’t too puffy as you stepped off the train, waving and smiling at the Capitol citizens.

You were quickly brought to the tribute’s building where you met up with the other trainers in the lobby. “Finnick!” you greeted your only friend.

“Y/N!” his face brightened. “How are you?” he asked greeting you with a hug.

“I’m good,” you answered. “Where’s Annie?” you asked, looking around for the redhead.

“She wanted to stay home this year so Mags filled in,” he nodded to the older woman who was listening to Beetee’s rambling. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Uh I don’t know… we got into a little spat on the train over the tributes,” you answered a little embarrassed.

Before Finnick could respond, two peacekeepers came up to you. Both yours and Finnick’s hearts dropped, not sure who they were here for. Games season was when you both were busiest. “Y/N L/N, please come with us,” one ordered.

You sighed in defeat. “Tell Haymitch,” you requested, looking at Finnick. He nodded as you walked out of the lobby, one peacekeeper behind you, the other in front.

~

Haymitch eventually stumbled into the lobby with the other former victors after quickly downing half a bottle of whiskey. His mind was reeling with the idea that you had wanted to kill yourself. But since you didn’t want to deal with it, he didn’t have to deal with it either.

He walked into the lobby, finding Chaff from 11. “Hey Chaff, have you seen Y/N?”

“Hey, I’m sorry Haymitch, haven’t seen her. I’m surprised you let her out of your sight,” Chaff chuckled. “How are you two?”

“Oh we’re good except we got in a little spat on the train. Nothing big it was just about our tributes. Thanks though, I’ll catch you later,” Haymitch said, already walking away. He searched through the faces of the crowd, becoming increasingly frantic and afraid for you. He continued scanning for yours until he spotted an all too familiar one. “Finnick!” Haymitch called.

“Haymitch! There you are,” Finnick said in relief although he still looked frantic. “Look, I gotta talk to you-”

“They took her, didn’t they?” Haymitch finished cynically. “God I let her get away from me for one minute and they swoop in like-”

“Haymitch she’ll be back before you know it,” Finnick tried to calm him down. “She’ll be alright, she’s dealt with this before.”

Haymitch didn’t say anything, instead pulling out a flask to take a swig. He felt so guilty and angry at himself for not being there for you. He also knew you were scared, every time you came back you were shaking in fear.

Soon after the mentors were allowed to go up to their rooms and Haymitch had to suffer through the long elevator ride as it had to stop at every floor to allow the other mentors to get off on their floors.

When Haymitch reached District 12’s floor he was itching for a drink, his flask having long been emptied. He made a beeline for the bar, pulling out some scotch. He took a swig, savoring the burn as a way to distract himself before pouring it into his flask for later. He then stumbled his way to his room, freezing when he saw a vase full of white roses on the dresser. He picked it up, nearly dropping it due to his anger and drunkenness, bringing it to an avox. “Get rid of it,” he ordered, knowing that it was a sign from Snow that he was always watching.

Haymitch eventually passed out, waking up only when the door whirred open. He opened his eyes to find you looking through the closet to find something to wear. The sundress you were still wearing was a little ripped at the hem and at one of the straps. When you turned around he could see hickies littering your neck and chest. Seeing what someone had done to you Haymitch lurched out of bed, realizing what he had thought were hickies covering your neck were fingerprint shaped bruises. Someone had choked you so hard they left most of their handprint on your neck and arms. Haymitch had seen you in the post sex-slave state more times than he could count but it had never been this bad. “Who did this to you?”

“It’s not like it matters, we can’t do anything,” you dismissed, your voice hoarse from crying or screaming, probably both. You went to move past him and into the bathroom but he grabbed your arm. You quickly pulled out of his grasp, his heart dropping into his stomach when he saw fear painted across your face.

“Oh- no- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you,” Haymitch pleaded with you to forgive him. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him, the one person who was supposed to protect you. “Let me start a bath,” he said, leaving no room for objection as he rushed into the bathroom.

Fortunately the Capitol’s plumbing system was way better than District 12’s because the bath filled up with warm water and bubbles in only a few minutes. Haymitch went back out into the bedroom to find you already naked, a small blanket wrapped around you. “I couldn’t stand to be in that dress anymore,” you explained bashfully.

You made your way into the bathroom looking at him hesitantly before you dropped your blanket. “I’ve seen you naked a hundred times,” Haymitch tried to laugh to lighten the mood. You tried your best to give him a smile, dropping the blanket to reveal more bruises before quickly submerging yourself into the tub. As you did, Haymitch came to kneel next to you. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I will be. If this is what I’ll be doing from now on I’ll just have to get used to it I guess.”

“How long have you been suicidal?” he asked gently.

“Hay-” your protests were suddenly cut off by his voice again.

“You’ve been feeling this way for god knows how long and I never even noticed!” he said, mostly angry with himself.

You sighed. “Ever since I realized that this,” you gestured to your body, “would be my life.”

“Y/N I’m so sorry.”

“‘S not your fault,” you dismissed. “You’ve kept me alive. I’m only here because of you.” You reached a hand out to cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned over the tub and you met him half way, enjoying his always gentle kisses compared to the rough ones the Capitol stole from you.

~

Two days of training went past and the five of you were eating dinner. “Tomorrow is your final day of training and then you’ll be individually evaluated by the game makers for your score so start to think about what you want to show them should you decide to go for a high score to get sponsors,” you advised.

“Katniss can shoot,” Peeta said. “I’ve seen it. She brings deer to us. My dad always talks about how she shoots them right in the eye, keeps the pelts from getting damaged,” he explained both optimistically and with a touch of frustration.

“Okay good, show them your skills and I can guarantee there will be a bow in the cornucopia,” Haymitch said.

“Peeta’s strong,” Katniss added, frustration evident in her tone. “I’ve seen him throw a hundred pound sack of flour over his head.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone with flour,” he protested.

“But you can fight. You have a chance-”

“I have no chance!” Peeta interrupted Katniss. “When my mother came to say goodbye she said District 12 may finally have a winner. She wasn’t talking about me, she was talking about you!” The table sat in stunned silence. I felt for him, it’s hard to go into the arena with absolutely no one cheering you on. He stormed off, Katniss following not even a minute later along with Effie shouting about manners.

Uncomfortable with the lingering tension you turned to Haymitch, a playfully quizzical look on your face. “Why’d he say ‘District 12 may finally have a winner?’ I won 7 years ago.”

Haymitch chuckled into his glass. “I don’t know about you but everyone remembers my victory.”

“That was like 24 years ago, grandpa,” you poked fun at him.

He laughed, grabbing a bottle of wine. “Take your glass,” he said with a mischievous smile. You didn’t question him, grabbing your glass and following him, giggling like a teenager.

He led you to the back of the penthouse where there was a decently hidden set of stairs that led to the rooftop. You stood in awe of the sparkling city below you. “Y’know as hellish as this place actually is it’s very pretty at night,” Haymitch said, taking a gulp of wine.

“You're right about that one,” you agreed, reaching for the bottle to fill up your glass. You turned your attention upward, disappointed to see the sky. “There’s no stars because of all the light,” you commented sadly.

“At least it’s not covered in smog,” Haymitch offered, referring to the eternal coal smoke emanating from District 12.

“Do you remember that night we spent in District 11 during my tour? The sky was so clear you could actually count the stars.”

“Hmm I remember making you see stars,” Haymitch said cheekily.

You gave him a playfully scolding look, “Shut up.” While sex in the Capitol was a job to you— a task you had to complete— sex with Haymitch was about intimacy. You had been hesitant at first, still traumatized by your first experience but Haymitch allowed you to take your time and eventually you were close enough with him to go all the way.

“What?” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Are you seriously going to tell me I’m wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head a little. “Don’t get too cocky,” you giggled. Haymitch laughed too as he tilted your head back to meet your lips in a drunken kiss.

Part I | Masterlist | Part III

[ceruleansx]

request from : energyellow46

let me go | finnick odair

↳ finnick odair x reader x annie x gabs

↳ warnings : emotion, basically that

↳ summary : first, finnick was called. then gabs was called. annie knew how special gabs was to finnick, so she volunteered. you knew that annie was to important to finnick, so you volunteered.

↳ a/n : annie is reader's sister, and annie's dating finnick

------------------------------------------------------------

"finnick odair." effie announced.

you heared a quick gasp and sob from the back. heads were turned, only to find annie on her knees with her hand covering her mouth.

you turned to the side and saw finnick walking up, looking towards annie's direction. his face was in utter guilt, and he knew that he couldn't do anything about it.

you've been best friends with finnick for forever, and you always suspected that annie and finnick had a thing. to your surprise, they started dating a year ago.

their gonna be a forever couple, you knew it. you could tell by the way annie talks about him, and the way he looks at her.

you had to turn away, still wishing yourself that you wouldn't get called.

effie stuck her hand in the bown and ruffled her hand a little bit. she opened the note and widened her eyes slightly. she went up to the mic.

"mags flanagan."

your body did a jump at the sound of her name. oh god. mags was the most important person to finnick, other than annie.

everyone stared at mags as she walked down, all wondering how an old lady can do this. you looked at finnick's face, seeing the utter horror.

"no no no." you heared someone whisper to the back of you. you didn't think much of it.

"wait NO!!" you heared annie yell. every single person turned and watched.

annie left the crowd and went to the middle, where the guards were already blocking her. "please-" she sobbed.

"i volunteer!! please!!" she sobbed and went on her knees.

"not mags.." she whisper-sobbed, yet everyone could hear her.

it was utterly heartbreaking. annie's family was sobbing, finnick was about to break down, and you yourself felt like tearing up.

"well then." effie clears her throat. "we have a volunteer!!"

no one clapped at her attempt of happiness.

"NO ANNIE PLEASE DON'T" finnick yelled.

"I HAVE TO FINNICK." annie was stumbling and crying as she walked up to the stage.

"annie- i can't lose you.." he cried. "please~"

you both looked at them. if they both had to go in, one of them would have to die. it would be so heartbreaking for each of them. no one knew them like you did, and you made the biggest decision ever.

"ANNIE STOP." you yelled from across the crowd.

she stopped walking up the stage, giving you a 'what the heck are you doing' look.

"i volunteer as tribute." you said loudly.

you heared your mom cry from a distance, but you were to emotional to look back.

"no y/n-"

you cut annie off, "no annie get back. i'm going. not you. please trust me on this one"

she still stood there, but not for long as the guards grabbed her and took her back to the crowd. they held both her arms as she fought ficiously trying to escape.

as the guardsms were taking her back, you walked forward. before passing her, you went in front of her and grabbed her face.

you connected your forhead with hers and whispered, "ill bring him back home for you, i promise."

she sniffed, "i love you, don't die on me out there.. okay?"

you nodded quickly , "i promise."

you two separted as you walked up the stage. you caught a glimpse of finnick's face. once again, utter horror.

"my my, never knew so many people wanted to join." effie chuckled. "well then, our new tributes for the annual 75th hunger games!!"

music started playing as the door behind you opened and the tributes started to go back home. you and finnick walked next to each other, your gaze stiff and foward.

"why did you do that..?" finnick said softly.

you still didnt look at him. "i want you to come home safe for annie."

you were trying not to cry with those words, but you kept strong, focused on your mission of trying to keep finnick alive. he was strong, but you were a little bit stronger.

he gave you one last guilty look before facing foward. as you two walked, every happy memory flashed in your mind.

welcome to the 75th hunger games.

[hangmansgbaby]

You Burn With Us ONE

Masterlist

T H E R E A P I N G

“Up and at em.” Birdie shouts, throwing open the blinds of her father’s home in the victory village. She could already tell that he was wasted and going to make her day as difficult as possible. “If you’re not up by the time Effie comes around, she’ll have your head.” 

The 74th Annual Hunger Games are around the corner and today is the day of the Reaping. 2 tributes, a boy and a girl, between the ages of 12 and 25 will be selected at random to represent District 12 against two tributes from each of the 11 other districts. 

Birdie Abernathy was victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, 22 years after he father Haymitch won the 50th Hunger Games at 21. Birdie walks across the courtyard to her home, she can see her best friend helping his brothers get ready through the window.

Jake Seresin won last year's games, and fortunately for his family they’ve been better off ever since except for the anxiety of his younger brother getting reaped. The pattern and rumors had proven it time and time again. Families of victors always got chosen. Birdie was living proof but some victors in other districts weren’t as lucky to see their kids afterwards and Jake constantly worries about his siblings. Fortunately, with his victory, his brothers never have to take out tesserae to feed their family so they are only in a handful of times, unlike Jake who had nearly hundred collected by the time he was reaped. 

Jake catches a glimpse of Birdie and flashes his usual grin. Birdie smiles back before heading inside her home to prepare for the reaping and before long the horn is signaling everyone to head for the justice building.

“Hey Songbird.” Jake greets as Birdie falls in step with him. 

“Hey freakshow.” Birdie smiles, bumping him just as they cross the gates of the Victor’s Village. 

“Ouch, still hurts Birdie.” Jake laughs in return. “Your dad already headed off before us?”

“Do you really think he was sober enough to do that?”

“Effie will have his head.” Jake shrugs as his brothers run back past the two playing tag.

“Effie’s gonna have all our heads if we're late.” 

“Bennet! Jordan! Let's go!” Jake calls as they start running back. 

“Welcome! Welcome, welcome.” Effie speaks into the microphone front and center on the stage of the Justice Building. “Happy Hunger Games. And, may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, before we begin. We have a very special film. Brought to you all the way from the Capitol!” The footage rolls and you completely block it out. 13 years of listening to the video talking about how beneficial the Hunger Games is, you basically have it memorized. You only begin paying attention again when Effie speaks up.

“I just love that.” Effie sighs as it ends. “Now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger games. As usual, ladies first.” Effie walks over to the giant fishbowl and pulls a random paper. She takes a deep breath and says “Primrose Everdeen.” The crowd turns to look at the young blonde girl who has only the look of fear on her face. Birdie and Jake recognise the girl as one of Bennet’s friends. Birdie sighs when she realizes that she’s only 12.

“Where are you, dear?” Effie calls. “Come on up.” Just as Primrose starts walking, someone calls her name.

“Prim! Prim!” Prim’s older sister Katniss, Birdie recognizes her from the trips to the schools she made after her games, runs forward only to be stopped by peacekeepers. “No! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute.” Katniss screams, pushing past them.

“Looks like we have a volunteer!” Effie smiles. Everyone watches as Katniss speaks to her sister before pushing her behind her and walking on stage. “A dramatic turn of events here in district 12. Yes, well, District 12’s very first volunteer. What’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

“Well, I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn’t it?” Katniss agrees. “Let's have a hand for our very first volunteer, Katniss Everdeen.” The district salutes her with a three finger salute until Effie continues. “And now, for the boys.”  Effie pulls a name from the bottom of the bowl. “Peeta Mellark.”

Birdie watches the crowd of boys part to show the baker’s son. Birdie had actually grown close with the boy ever since she donated some of her rations to keep their bakery open last year. So she knew the boy well.

“Here we are. Our Tributes from District 12.” Effie smiles as Peeta joins everyone on stage. “Well, come on you two. Shake hands.” Peeta and Katniss shake as Effie continues speaking. “Happy Hunger Games and be the odds be ever in your favor.”

Taglist (I forgot it earlier🫢🫣): @mamachasesmayhem @sarahsmi13s @callsignbirdy @hookslove1592 @stillreadingfantasy @kmc1989 @tgmreader @ashcosmo @bethbunnyy

[justrainandcoffee]

The rebel district 11

Side fic of this main story

Summary: The winner of the 41th Hunger Games was a black girl called Aveline, Avie for her friends. The girl is now a woman and this is the story of how she hears the news about the Quarter Quell and what happened after the announcement.

Warning: Death. Blood. Poverty.

Words: 900.

Aveline Young just returned from the cemetery where her mother and brother were, when Snow made the announcement.

"...the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

"FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!"

The memories of her Arena were present in her mind. The fake but extremely hot lava, her skin burning, falling, her flesh exposed and melting every time the lava touched her legs. The weight of the katana in her hands, the sensation of the blade trespassing the bodies of the other tributes. She was so young back then…

And now, at her 50s, she was forced to go again.

Thanks to the fucking monster of Coriolanus Snow.

The other victors of district 11 were her friends. Both of them were her mentee. Leigh and Kay. Leigh was now 43 and Kay 39.

The reaping day was absurdly sunny. The day was mocking them.

The three of them were standing on the stage, facing a multitude that was quiet. The tension was evident. District 11 was the first one next to 13, to raise itself against the Capitol. Maybe it was a poor district, maybe its people were hungry. But people of 11 were always fighters. And when people has nothing to lose, they become reckless.

Snow sent a new army to her lands. These soldiers unlike the old ones were well fed and wanted blood. Aveline despised them as soon as they arrived. Because at least she knew the old peacekeepers (funny name for those trained to kill civilians) and those men knew her. Aveline Young was the first victor from their district and was a kind of celebrity, if you want to call it that way. And a woman who jumped directly into a fucking volcano, who was almost two meters tall, and a one who always carried a sword in her back, was someone you don't want to mess with.

But the new soldiers didn't know that. Yet.

Theodore Walker was the escort that the capitol sent to district 11 for the last 15 years. He was a fat man always wearing very colourful suits, but unlike his colleague who loved to wear wigs or dyed their hair, he kept his natural blond hair.

He was faking his smile. Like many other escorts, he knew the victors and likr many others, too, Theodore knew that the Quarter Quell was an injustice.

Leigh was condemned to participate from the very beginning. He was the only male victor. But the ladies' bowl had two names.

"Aveline Young," exclaimed Theodore opening the paper.

But before Aveline could walk towards the man, Kay volunteered.

"You can't!" Aveline was still confused and was shaking her head. "Kay!"

"I can. I volunteer as tribute!" said Kay this times more firmly. "Give me the chance to return to the Arena and spit on Snow's shoes. FUCK YOU, MR. PRESIDENT!"

She didn't care that the cameras were pointing at her. The peacekeepers dragged her out of the stage along with Leigh and Theodore.

"This people need you, Avie!" yelled Kay. "Make it worth."

They didn't allow her to go with them this time. Inside the Justice Palace, Aveline sat in a chair alone.

Make it worth.

Aveline wasn't going to be part of the Quarter Quell, but she was still part of the rebellion. How many of her friends were going to die, because Snow was trying to prove he was still in charge?

The woman left the building and walked towards her house. The last month she had prepared a backpack with the necessary for survive somewhere else plus some weapons like knives. She was leaving to district 13.

Her katana was with her, as always. One day she was going to tell of how she get her most beloved possession, but not now.

The new captain of the peacekeepers was guarding the entrance of the victor's village when Aveline was ready to cross the gate.

"Where're you goin', Young?"

"To fuck your mama, kid."

Apparently, the captain didn't find her answer amusing and tried to shoot her, new orders allowed them to kill anyone, including victors. But Aveline was quicker.

Before the man knew it, the long blade of the katana was stuck in his heart. The man looked at her, before collapsing in the ground, dead.

"You're going to call your fucking superior and you're going to tell him that in district 11 everything is fine, you hear?" she said to another peacekeeper who was looking in shock how his captain was dead in front of him and how his white armour was now red.

"Bitch!" the man tried to jump over her but a muscular black man stopped him. He smacked the peacekeeper's head against the floor and soon he was dead, too.

The good thing about being a celebrity are the fans. Always ready to protect you because they love you.

And the district, loved Aveline.

One peacekeeper decided not to tempt his own luck and sent a message to the Capitol saying that in that place was everything under control. The Capitol was too busy paying attention to important things to lose their time with black, poor people. Besides, Snow sent a good, well prepared man to keep everyone in their seats, right?

A pity that the man was fucking dead.

That was the day that Aveline left her title of mentor and victor forever behind her, to embrace her new role as Commander Young, leader of district 11.

[katherinejess]

The Volunteer

The new Hunger Games movie, TBOSAS, reignited my love for the series and Finnick Odair. This started off as an imagine concept but then I just kept adding to it. Now it's a series. Definite slow burn, please tell me what you think if you read it!

Part 2 is up!

While District Four had become more of a career district, Cyrena Thalassa did not expect her younger brother to volunteer for tribute when he knew how much she despised the games. She had hope that died when he uttered two little words that seemed like it broke her heart and her mind at the same time. He was only 13. It was only the second year he had his name in the bowl. But when the girl's name was called, it did not stop her from interrupting the girl's first step. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” My voice called across the crowd of people. Titan looks shocked from where he is next to the podium, and I feel sick to my stomach. But I can’t watch him die to the games, to the careers from 1 and 2 who he will try to befriend only to be stabbed in the back or killed in the cornucopia's bloodbath. 

My feet drag my body to the stairs, my eyes lock onto my brother and he is enraged. “What’s your name, dear?” the presenter questions, her eyebrows raising impatiently as I finally take in what she is saying now that she is in front of me.

“Cyrena. Cyrena Thalassa.” I murmur, which seems to send her eyebrows higher as her mouth opens in surprise.

Her face quickly changes as she turns to the crowd “How cute! Family,” she speaks into the microphone. She turns to my brother, “Are you two siblings, cousins?” She trails off, and he looks over at me as he mutters his response.

“She’s my sister.” 

“How wonderful! Your own built-in ally!” she squeaks into the microphone, “Well say goodbye to district four! You two will be getting to experience the Capitol together!”

She ushers us into the building behind us, Titan storming off in front of us. The Peacekeepers close the door behind us, faster than Titan can whirl around to yell at me. “What is wrong with you,” he starts in on me, the presenter quickly moving away from us, “you don’t even like the games and you volunteer just because I do? What, you think I need protection?” he accuses.

“Titan, you’re 13. Nobody your age has won, I am not losing you to the games. I thought you knew better than this!” I yell back at him, anger finally winning over as I look at him. 

He scoffs, “You are the only one who doesn’t like the games! I just didn’t want you to try and stop me, I didn’t think you’d volunteer! There’s only one winner, you or me. How do you expect this to play out, Cyrena?” He pulls his hands across his face. I shake my head at him, the fleeting anger leaving my body.

I notice two people enter the room, recognizing them as the former victors before I state, “I have no intentions of winning.” I turn to the two people who I assume will be our mentors, “Now that we are clear, I’m Cyrena. This is Titan, my brother.”

“So we’ve heard.” the man, Finnick, says, “Quite the show you put on.” 

I level him with a stare, “As the youngest victor in history, I expect you to train him with everything you’ve got. Make him the next youngest victor.” 

He cocks his head, “And what about you? Or do you expect to just do all this and then end up dying at the cornucopia in front of him the first minute in?” The older lady next to him whacks his arm, scoldingly saying his name, which he raises his hand in defeat while still maintaining the same attitude he had, “I’m just saying, without training she’s not gonna make it very far to protect him.”

I cross my arms, “I’m a career and have been training for years, though I was hoping not to have to use any of it, seems like i’m out of luck.” I sigh, deflating a bit “Now do I get to say goodbye to my family before the train?” 

“I was just coming to escort you myself. I never got to introduce myself. Finnick Odair, but it seems you know who I am. This is Mags.” He gestures to the lady next to him, “We are your mentors.” Mags smiles at us softly, giving me a very warm look.

“Now I can take you to your family. Then to the train where Mags will be along with your escort, Koi.” he grins at us, watching Mags slowly leave while holding open the door  for her before whirling back around to us. 

Titan looks over at me before leaving the room quickly as Finnick still holds the door. I follow at a slightly slower pace so I’m behind him and Finnick takes up next to Titan once I’m clear of the doorway. He guides us to another room where our parents and older brother are. 

Finnick leans on the wall of the hallway while I watch Titan go in and give our parents a hug. I stop in the doorway, facing the hall to close the door and catch Finnicks cheeky grin before I shut it. Then I put on a smile and turn to face my family.

[fastlikealambo]

strange things did happen here.|| Steve Harrington x  Sinclair! Reader Hunger Games AU

Summary: After volunteering for your little sister, you are the District 7 tribute of the 67th Hunger Games. With President Brenner paying a concerning amount of attention to you and Career Tributes like Henry and Jason fighting over which of them gets to kill you first, the odds are definitely not in your favor. You’ve fully prepared to die with your family watching but your mentor Steve Harrington isn’t going to let that happen.

Notes: This is an AU, it won’t be following the Hunger Games to the T but I do hope you enjoy this sample chapter. Reader is 19, Steve is 23 (yes I know this doesn’t follow the rules but I can do what I want) and won the 63rd Hunger Games. This is a sample chapter and if you’d like to see more, please reblog or comment on this post.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Injuries, allusions to violence

There’s blood in your eyes.

“Ladies and Gentleman, may I present the winner of The 67th Hunger Games!”

Everything else is frozen in the arena, ice coat bodies and tree stumps but the blood in your eyes?

That’s warm.

Panem cheers for the girl in the tomb.

It’s one foot in front of the other to the hovercraft, politely waiting for it to open up when a drone floats in front of your face.

“Can you give the folks at home a nice big wave?” 

You give a calm smile, careful not to show your broken teeth and scabbed lips, and wave with your good hand, not too big, not too fast like your escort drilled into you, absolutely perfect.

A perfect victor.

You don’t make it to the top of the hovercraft before you’re face down on the cold metal floor. There’s heavy footsteps running in your direction and you don’t need to look to know Steve’s the one turning you over, the kisses on the top of your head and quiet voice in your ear tell you everything you need to know.

“You did it pretty girl, it’s over, it’s finished Sinclair.” Steve whispered, alternating with hushed comfort and loud cries for help.

Was it over?

Not yet.

You opened your victorious mouth and a prepared Steve leaned in, expecting to hear sobbing or perhaps even a confession of love. But the comfort died on his lips, eyes frozen in pity and absolute horror as an unyielding scream expelled itself from you, over and over again until a prick in the side of your neck made the hovercraft silent.

Now, it is over. 

[softguarnere]

Like An Echo (Like More Than)

Legacy

Shifty Powers x ofc (Hunger Games!au)

Summary: There’s no need for introductions – they know who she is; everyone does – but she does it anyway. When Granny once told her about her own Games, she had mentioned that she announced her name and district when stepping into her private session. Zenie had been awestruck by the way her grandmother had demanded their attention like that. So now, she does the same, because it’s what Granny did, and repeating the action makes her feel less alone. A/N: Another year, another Zenie birthday fic (because laglam is my Roman Empire and I miss writing it) Warnings: none Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @dcyllom @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Soon enough the seconds will stop slipping by and they will call the female tribute from District 11 back to her private session with the Gamemakers. She will have nothing to show them except that she can identify almost every plant, and that she can wield a scythe in a way that could be deadly in combat. But until then, Zenie sits at a table with the boy from District 12, pretending not to notice him casting glances at her every so often.

Which is something that he’s been doing since the second they got to the Capitol. Everyone has been looking at her, but him more than most. In training, he’s had his eye on Zenie almost as much as he’s been eyeing the bow and arrows – which, strangely, she has never seen him actually pick up.

Unable to stomach both the shy glances and the uncertainty of her private session anymore, Zenie steels herself and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I saw what you did,” she announces. Trying to conceal her nerves, trying to make sure her voice doesn’t shake, has made it quiet, steady, and somewhat ominous. The boy sitting across from her startles when she says it, making her realize just how menacing that sentence sounded. She amends by clarifying, “At the Reaping. For that boy. That was very brave of you.”

The boy relaxes, somewhat. In all the brief glances that she’s had of him, Zenie has always thought that he had a somber look about him. Now that she’s looking at him openly for the first time, she can’t help but think that his dark eyes house a deep sadness.

“My little brother,” he says by way of explanation.

Ah, that explains it. Why else would someone from an outlying District volunteer in the Reaping? Zenie would know. Scenes from her own District’s Reaping flash through her mind – her name being called; the realization no one was coming to save her when the crowd around her parted as her peers stepped away to reveal her, leaving her no place to hide; how suddenly she was on the stage, watching a Peacekeeper hold back her brother, too old to be Reaped, unable to volunteer for a girl anyway, trying to break through the crowd to get to her.

“I’m Darrel, by the way,” the boy says, extending his hand for a shake. “But everyone back home calls me Shifty.”

“Zena.” He’s got a firm shake, rough, calloused hands. “But most everyone calls me Zenie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says as if they’re friends and not people who will be at each other’s throats in just a matter of hours that are counting down on a constantly ticking clock. Now that he no longer has to pretend not to be looking at her anymore, Shifty studies her. “They say you’re a legacy. Did one of your parents win the Games?”

“My grandmother. She won when she was seventeen. Same age as me.” With so many people still around, she can’t say what she really means, which is that she’s sure this was intentional, somehow or other. District 11 is a big place. There is no coincidence in the fact that she has just been Reaped at the very age that her grandmother was. With all the fights between the Peacekeepers and harvesters this past year, this is some kind of warning.

Shifty considers this. His brow furrows in a way that seems very vulnerable to Zenie – it’s best not to reveal your emotions in a place like this, around people who want you dead, yet here he is.

“You’ve probably got a better chance than any of us,” he reasons after a moment of thinking.

That’s kind of him. Completely misplaced confidence in a stranger, but still kind.

“She won by being a good shot with a bow,” Zenie admits, more to see how he’ll react than anything else. “I’m not going to make it very far unless identifying poisonous plants somehow becomes a skill that sponsors love.”

As expected, Shifty perks up slightly. He starts to speak but is cut off by a voice from an overhead speaker calling for the male tribute from District 10. Once they watch her go, he leans across the table, eyes bright. “Shooting a bow isn’t that hard. Have you practiced with one at all?”

He asks as if he doesn’t know. Zenie could feel him watching her on their first day in training, when she picked up the bow, managed to fire a single shot that hit the outside of the target, and then gave up in favor of the digital plant identification game.

She decides to humor him. “I tried, but I wasn’t very good. Getting my hands on one in the arena wouldn’t help me.”

“But it might help you in your private session,” Shifty points out. A grin tugs at his lips as he suggests it, like helping a rival tribute isn’t the most outlandish and foolish thing he could possibly do right now. “When you first shoot at the target, look straight down the arrow at the bullseye. If the arrow hits above it, aim lower next time. If it hits below it the first time, aim higher. Same for left and right.”

On that one shot she dared fire in front of the others, she had looked down the arrow, directly at the bullseye. That was how archery was supposed to work, in her mind. The arrow had been in line with the bullseye, but hit to its left. So if she were to pick up the bow again, she should aim to the right.

“Okay . . .” Zenie agrees, albeit hesitantly. For all she knows, he could be making this up, sabotaging her so that she makes a complete fool of herself in front of the Gamemakers and receives a lousy score.

Yet somehow, she senses nothing but kindness in his earnest way of speaking.

“My daddy taught me that,” Shifty assures her, as if providing his credentials. He whispers it so that none of the other tributes can hear him.

For a second, it shocks Zenie that someone’s father would provide them with a lesson like this. Her own father would never do something like that for her. He never spent any time with her. He didn’t even come to say goodbye to her after the Reaping –

She pushes the thought from her mind. Shifty helped her. She should offer him something in return.

“In training, did you ever do the plant matching game?” She asks, voice low in the same way his was a moment before. If they’re going to share secrets, they may as well do it properly.

The boy from 12 shakes his head. “Never had the chance. But I’m usually pretty good with plants.”

“Have you ever heard of nightlock?”

“What?” Shifty’s brow furrows.

“Nightlock,” Zenie repeats. “They’re like blueberries, but more of a deep purple. Gotta watch out for them in the arena, because it can be hard to tell the difference. That was the only thing that kept me from beating the game.”

Shifty nods, muttering the name under his breath so he doesn’t forget it. He looks her in the eye when he says, “Thank you.”

As if on cue, a voice from on high calls Zenie’s name, summoning her to come and meet her fate.

“Good luck,” Shifty says as she stands to go.

“You, too.”

The sounds of talking and laughter decrescendo to a hushed silence the second that Zenie steps into the sight of the Gamemakers. There’s no need for introductions – they know who she is; everyone does – but she does it anyway. When Granny once told her about her own Games, she had mentioned that she announced her name and district when stepping into her private session. Zenie had been awestruck by the way her grandmother had demanded their attention like that. So now, she does the same, because it’s what Granny did, and repeating the action makes her feel less alone.

“Zena McGlamery. District 11.”

The Gamemakers are watching.

Now, what to do? Playing the plant identification game would bore them to death. Swinging around a scythe looks silly if she’s not wielding it against an opponent. She’s made an entrance – now she has to live up to it. Just like Granny once did.

With the conscious choice to hold her head high and her shoulders back, Zenie takes long, confident strides towards the archery station. The silver bow feels sleek and foreign in her hands. But this is what they expect, isn’t it?

Hoping that no one can see the trembling of her hands, Zenie selects an arrow and knocks it. The bow draws easily. The fletching is cool against her cheek, and the arrow’s tip points straight to the bullseye.

Her fingers tremble with anticipation. She’s about to fire when she hears the advice of the boy from 12 play in her mind, just as clearly as if he were there with her. He’s gotten into her head – literally.

But I trust him, Zenie thinks, remembering the look on his face, in his eyes.

She shifts her stance, aiming the arrow’s tip to the right of the bullseye, parallel to the spot she hit a few days before. Inhale, exhale. Release, and the bow twangs as the arrow flies down the range.

Thwack! The echo announces the arrow’s impact.

There is a polite smattering of applause from the Gamemakers that conveniently covers up Zenie’s own gasp.

Bullseye.

[anyon-else]

The Reaping (The Hunger Games pt. 1) | Keigo’s loyalty to you ran deep; deep enough for him to volunteer for the games in an effort to protect you. Before today, he’d never considered volunteering as a real option. But seeing you walk to the stage, practically stepping into Death’s hands, the words left him before he fully realized what he was saying. – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairing | Hawks | Keigo Takami x Reader + Dabi, Enji Todoroki, Aizawa Shouta, Midnight

Warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of abuse if you squint, me changing the rules of the hunger games because i can and suzanne collins can’t stop me, spoilers for dabi’s backstory

Word count | 3.8k

(next chapter) | (series masterlist)

Keigo’s palms always started to sweat as soon as Midnight stepped onto the stage. This year was no exception; he tried taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, but his heart still jumped every time her heels clicked against the worn, platformed wood. The Capitol darling was sporting her usual glowing smile and sleek white pantsuit. A long black cape trailed behind her, covered in what he could only assume were real diamonds that sparkled in the sunlight.

It was a fine enough day for the Reaping, but the blue sky and bright, shining sun contrasted the deep contempt settling over the crowd. A few rows ahead of him, Eri stood stoically with her little hand crushed in Kai’s. Kota waited next to her, holding her other hand and standing as tall as he could manage in the face of his first Reaping.

The Todorokis stood in a line to his right, all wearing matching blank expressions. Dabi was the only one who broke the pattern. His eyes glowed with a familiar unhinged anger.

“I’m going to wipe that damn smile off her face someday,” was what he always told Keigo before Reapings started. Something about those words became more and more comforting every year, like hearing them meant that things would turn out exactly the same as they had the year before. Routine, Keigo always tried to convince himself, that’s what keeps us all sane. Without it, he would have fallen apart years ago. He closed his eyes when Midnight stopped in the middle of the stage, standing between the two bowls that held the names of every teenager in the district.

This Reaping marked the first time that his name wouldn’t be in that bowl, but he was still just as nervous as the year before. Even in past years when he was in danger of being chosen, half of his worry was always reserved for you and Dabi. 

You stood to his left, fingers threaded through his. You were as steady as he’d ever seen you, blank eyes following Midnight’s progress across the stage. No anger or fear, just calm anticipation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today we will select the twenty-four tributes who will fight for their lives and their district to win the sixty-eighth annual Hunger Games. I’m happy to be here, and each of you should be too.”

Keigo glanced towards you, hand tightening around yours as a silent plea that you look at him. You met his eyes in an instant, and your blank expression fell into one of concern. Too late, he tried to school his features into easy indifference, but he must not have done a very good job of it.

“It’ll be okay,” you whispered, offering him a small, reassuring smile. He tried to tamp down the warmth that bloomed in his chest. He should’ve been saying those words to you, acting as your pillar of strength instead of being overcome by the fear that you would be taken from him. You were the one facing the danger of the games while he stood safely on the sidelines, but somehow he was the one falling apart. 

“Some time ago, our nation had to withstand earthquakes, floods, and storms, but we were strong and our country originated from the ashes. But then, the Capitol and its thirteen districts, which are surrounding it, grew and the districts rebelled. So the Capitol had to defeat this rebellion and District Thirteen was destroyed. So that anything like that will never happen again, we invented the Hunger Games. Each of the twelve districts has to offer a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen. I hope that one day our children can live together in peace and without violence. I wish good luck to the districts and its tributes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dabi muttered, ignoring Enji’s hard glare. A scowl had replaced Dabi’s smirk as soon as Midnight’s speech began, “please tell me this is the last year we’re coming to this shit show.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dabi,” you whispered back, though the words held no real bite, and Keigo caught the upward twitch of your lips. Dabi grinned, turning to face you and Keigo at the same time that Enji raised a hand towards him, landing it heavily on his shoulder. Fuyumi flinched at the sound, but Dabi showed no reaction.

“As always,” Midnight reached towards the bowl on her right, looking over the crowd with a smile, “ladies first.”

Your mask broke. He saw your small frown from the corner of his eye. He felt the stutter where your hands touched and held onto you tighter.

“And the female tribute for district twelve is...” she added a final flare as she pulled a slip from the middle of the bowl, taking her time unfolding it. Even before the name was announced, Keigo felt his heart seize in his chest. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing you unwillingly give your life for the Capital. Not when you were so close to freedom.

And if you were somehow chosen, he thought he might be able to make you stay. He just had to hold on to you tight enough.

“Y/N Y/L/N!”

Utter silence followed the echoes of your name, just like it did after every name that had been called before it. But this time, the silence suffocated Keigo. The echoes of your name faded into an unsteady murmur and people began to turn towards you, some pitying, some relieved. 

Keigo’s breath caught in his throat, stomach twisting painfully. He had never felt this before...this paralyzing fear that rooted him in place. His grip on your hand tightened until he was sure you wouldn’t be able to get free of it. The silence became a tangible thing. It reached towards him and grabbed him by the throat, forcing him back to the truth of what was happening.

Dabi whipped his head towards you, eyes wide and smirk falling from his face. Keigo scanned the crowd surrounding you, looking for an opening. You could run; you were fast enough. You could get away before anyone even knew what was happening. 

“No,” he stated firmly when you pulled your hand from his iron-tight grip, wide eyes meeting his as you moved robotically through the crowd. “Y/N, stop.”

He could already picture how this ended. You would to step on that stage and put on a smile and a happy face for the Capitol, and then you would die for them. He felt his hands begin to shake. They couldn’t take you. They wouldn’t.

“Y/N, wait,” he demanded as you pulled away from him and approached the peacekeeper waiting for you at the end of the row, “wait.”

He pushed past Dabi and reached for you, but his friend grabbed his arm, grip tight as they watched you reach the edge of the crowd. You avoided looking back at the commotion, which had become more chaotic as Enji’s voice boomed over those already yelling. He scolded Keigo now, telling him that there was nothing he could do. Your name had been called. It was over.

“Y/N!”

The peacekeepers noticed the interruption at the same time that Keigo slipped past Enji, ready to follow you onto the stage. He forced his way through the rest of the crowd despite Enji and Dabi’s best efforts to stop him, the hand that had just been holding yours stretched in front of him.

“Y/N, hold on! Let go of me! Y/N, stop!”

Keigo watched you falter for just a moment, but you steeled yourself and stepped onto the platform, staring blankly at Midnight’s beaming face. Keigo quieted, defeated at the sight of you standing on the stage. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes darting around the crowd. You focused on each of your friends as you found them in the crowd, sending them a look that he knew was a goodbye. It was something you’d told him you’d do when you speculated about your names getting called. But back then, you were just kids. It seemed like an impossible situation, so many years away that talking about it didn’t hold any weight.

“Well,” Midnight sighed once the crowd quieted, forcing a pleasant smile, “on to the boys.”

Enji pulled Keigo back next to Dabi, who gave his shoulder a squeeze too tight to be comforting.

By the time they were back in their places, Midnight had already pulled the next slip from the second bowl. She unfolded it carefully and smiled at the crowd.

“The male tribute for district twelve is…Shinsou Hitoshi!”

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Keigo opened his mouth without really being able to control it. Dabi’s head hung against his chest. He’d known this was coming. He knew the moment your name was called that there was no other option. Keigo would follow you to Hell if that’s what it took to stay by your side. 

Keigo felt a second surge of anger when he met your eyes. Your face had been a blank mask throughout the entirety of the Reaping, even as you were called to the stage. But when it was him approaching, your mask shattered. He pulled out of Dabi’s grip, shouldering past Enji and the others towards where the peacekeepers waited patiently for him at the edge of the crowd.

“Well, what a surprise,” Midnight sighed as Keigo took his place next to her. He looked over the crowd, now steady on his feet while you were starting to falter, “and what is your name, young man?” 

“Keigo Takami.”

“Wonderful! And are you two friends? Siblings? Perhaps she’s your girlfriend!”

Keigo didn’t dignify her performative prying with a response. He just stared ahead, ignoring the searing glares he was receiving from Enji and Dabi.

“Well, in any case, congratulations to our tributes.”

Keigo wanted to throw Midnight into a fire.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

“Why did you do that?”

You stood with your back to Keigo for a few moments, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm your nerves. Keigo kept his mouth shut and waited.

“You could have survived,” you whispered after a long moment. “You would have been fine if you had just let me go. Why the fuck couldn’t you just let me go?” 

Your voice was low, and you found it harder to meet his eyes the longer he stared at you. “There are people back home who need you, Keigo. Our friends need you, and now we’re both going to die. Why the fuck did you– you goddamn idiot-”

You sank to your knees, head pressed between your hands as you tried to get a grip on your emotions. Your breathing became erratic, panic clawing up your throat. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Your lungs felt like they were being crushed. You couldn’t breath. You couldn’t breath.

Gentle hands took hold of your wrists, guiding them away from your face. Keigo placed them on his chest, directly over his still-beating heart, and lifted his hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I’ll follow you,” he whispered, tears of his own falling to the floor between you. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. No one is taking you away from me.”

You shook your head harshly, pressing your hands against his. A sob tore from your throat. You were trembling now, and despite your best efforts to ground yourself, all you could see was Keigo’s name added to a long list of dead tributes.

“I was never going to let you go alone. After our first reaping, I promised myself that I would follow you anywhere. Even if it led me here.”

“You’re so stupid,” you told him, but it was weaker than before. Your anger began to fade as you took him in, holding his head between your palms and running your thumbs over his cheeks. There were still tear stains on his face from the Reaping, tears that he shed for you. Guiltily, you felt some relief at the fact that he was the one here beside you.

Pressing his head into your neck, Keigo took a deep, trembling breath. You buried a hand in his hair and grasped at his shirt, holding on to any part of him that you could. Just as long as you could feel him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, the words muffled against your skin. He trailed his lips over your collarbone, a feeling so familiar that it made you ache. “I love you so much. I’ll never leave you in that arena, even if it kills me.”

“Don’t say that. God, Keigo, please don’t say that,” you sobbed, pulling him even closer. His arms tightened around you until you were holding him between your legs, “I love you too. Even though you’re a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, this will make for a fantastic strategy.”

You jumped at the voice, staring up at an amused but tired-looking Aizawa Shouta. 

Shinsou’s father, your memory supplied. His son would’ve been here next to you if it hadn’t been for Keigo volunteering.

“What?” you muttered dumbly. Aizawa looked unimpressed.

“Two lovestruck teenagers fighting against all odds to keep each other alive,” Aizawa sat in a chair on the far side of the room, unfazed by the intimacy that he’d interrupted. “It’s been used countless times, but it never fails to win the sympathy card. You should capitalize on that.”

“We aren’t characters for people to fawn at,” Keigo grumbled, “You’re sending us in there to die. The least you could do is treat us like human beings.”

“I’ll treat you however I want if it gives you a better chance of surviving. If you need to look at yourselves as characters to put on a better show, then do it. If you survive, you’ll have all the time in the world to be real people. In the arena, your only job is be in love, look pretty, and kill as many people as possible.” 

Aizawa glanced out the window as you passed through District Four, staring blankly at the forest surrounding the city, “but from the looks of it, it won’t be very hard to play the part.”

His eyes fell to your and Keigo’s joined hands. You avoided his intense gaze as it slid from Keigo to you, still kneeling on the floor. He was right. You knew he was, but you hated that you had to expose your relationship with Keigo to survive. Love was supposed to be sacred. Intimacy was meant to be private. 

But you also weren’t naïve. Combat wasn’t the only thing you needed to be focusing on. Every person who’d won the games in the past did so with the help of sponsors. To get sponsors, you’d need a good story.

“Can we have some time alone?” Keigo spat, although you could see the fight slowly draining from him, “we have weeks to strategize.”

Aizawa glanced between you. After a few moments, his eyes softened and the tension in his shoulders released. He wasn’t someone who vocalized anything but objective fact and strategy, but you remembered the way your mentor and his partner got as far as they did before his partner died. Watching the games as a child, you were entranced by the love that the two obviously felt for one another. Looking at him now, you couldn’t help but wonder if you or Keigo would be like him after the games. Traumatized and alone, left wondering why you had even survived if it meant you lost the most important person in your world.

“You have the rest of the night,” he eventually sighed, “that’s all I can give you. We meet back here tomorrow morning. Don’t sleep in. We have a lot to go over.”

Keigo didn’t understand how this happened. Everything was fine. Next year you both would’ve been safe. All of your friends would’ve been safe, and you could’ve lived your lives in relative peace.

He wanted to marry you. He’d found a ring from one of the vendors in the market and bought it spontaneously, realizing the moment he held it in his palm that he wanted to see you wearing it for the rest of your lives. He carried it with him everywhere he went, a constant reminder of the future he wanted with you. But right now, it felt heavy in his pocket.

He pulled you closer, closing his eyes again in a fruitless attempt to sleep. He’d kept himself up all night, paranoia plaguing him as he searched the empty room for a nonexistent threat. Part of him felt like it was already in the arena.

He sighed into the back of your neck, hand spreading across your stomach to press you closer. He’d taken this closeness for granted before the Reaping. Now these moments were limited. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold you close enough to make up for the time that you were going to lose after the games.

He couldn’t let you die.

It was a thought that jolted him. Of course, the plan was always to keep you alive, but he was still coming to terms with what that meant for him. He selfishly wanted to stay alive too, to see his family and friends again. To see your face when he gave you the ring. To see your face every day for the rest of his life. He wanted to live. 

“Why’re you still awake?” you murmured, turning to face him with glassy eyes, “we need to sleep.”

It was an impossible thing to ask of him. Sleep felt farther away the longer he was awake. His fear gripped him like a vice, taking hold of his throat and squeezing any remaining life out of him. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breath.

“Keigo,” you whispered, pulling him out of his haze, “you need to breath. You’re having a panic attack.”

Oh. That made more sense than his immediate assumption, which was that he was dying via some unknown, merciful force.

Selfish, he reminded himself. Stop being selfish.

You attempted to move away from him to give him distance, but he stopped you, pulling you close again. Part of him whispered that he should let you go, get used to the space between you, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough. He never had been when it came to you. He sighed when he felt your heart beating against his and timed his breaths with yours. You relaxed against him, hand brushing through his hair.

“Just breathe,” you whispered. His hands trembled against your back and he curled them into fists, hating himself for how weak he was. You were going to the games too. You shouldn’t have had to anchor him, not when you were probably just as scared as he was. But despite this knowledge, he still clung to you, pressing his lips to your chest with a shaky sigh.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, closing his eyes when your arms tightened around him, “please.”

“Never.”

“I love you,” he looked at you, taking your face carefully in his palms and kissing your jaw. When he kissed you, you could feel the salty tears that had sunk to his lips, “more than anything.”

“I love you too,” your voice sounded as weak as he felt, and he wished more than anything that this was a dream. That he would wake up in his own bed, tucked away in the safety of your arms. In some other world, he hoped that’s where he was, free from the burden of the games.

He wanted to lose himself in your touch. He wanted to forget. Just for one more night, he wanted to feel peace.

It didn’t take much searching for you to find Aizawa’s room, secluded from the rest of the train. It was far too early to be awake, but you couldn’t wait until morning to talk to him. You looked around tentatively to make sure no one woke up at the sound of your quiet footsteps and tapped once against the door. When no answer came, you knocked again, a bit louder. It took a moment, but you waited patiently until you heard Aizawa’s footsteps coming closer. The door slid open slowly, just barely wide enough for Aizawa to look through.

“What?” he grunted, opening the door for you and walking back towards his bed in a silent invitation for you to follow. You shuffled towards him, sitting on the chair that he pointed to and waiting for him to look at you.

“I needed to talk to you before tomorrow. I know you probably have a strategy in mind, but whatever it is, you need to change it.”

Aizawa looked less than impressed.

“He has to live,” your whispered words did not phase him. In fact, the look on his face made you think that this had been a complete waste of your time. 

But this was something you had to confront. If not for Keigo, then for yourself. The fight between wanting to find a way for you both to live and needing Keigo to get back home was one you’d been having since the moment he volunteered. But you knew that two people surviving the games was impossible. This was your only option.

“Keigo lives. He has to. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change, and you realized he was probably expecting this. If you had to guess, his only question was whether it would be you or Keigo showing up at his door.

“That’s not up to me,” he told you, “any strategy we come up with will end with one person coming out of that arena alive. If you do end up getting to the finish line with him, it’ll be your job to decide what happens.”

You didn’t know what else you were expecting. You felt idiotic for even coming given the little that you were leaving with. You felt far from reassured, but there was a tentative plan starting to form. Or at least some semblance of motivation.

“If you really want it to be him that makes it out, you’re going to have to fight until the end. That means the strategy stays the same,” he leaned forward, studying you for a moment. “This isn’t an out for you, if that’s what you were hoping. Your training stays the same, as does his.”

“I don’t want an out. All I want is to protect him.”

Aizawa met your eyes, fully alert as he stared at you. You wanted to back down from his intensity, but you forced yourself to stand your ground, unstable as it was.

“Then protect him. No one else is going to do it for you.”

[gudvina]

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 3: Reaping day (or trying for a child)

Can also be read on AO3!

74th Hunger Games, part one.

The potential tributes were lined up in rows taking up the Square, the stage was ready, and the Mayor was already making his speech, but Effie couldn’t stop looking at the empty seat beside her.

Being late really hadn’t been her plan. She scheduled everything to the last millisecond, but a hovercraft malfunction came up. When she arrived in Twelve she was told there wasn’t time for her to retrieve her Victor, Peacekeepers were going to deal with that, because she needed to greet the Mayor. She’d tried to reason with the Head Peacekeeper to no avail. It was too late.

She didn’t trust others with him. Very well acquainted with his nightmares, the idea of him drunk and terrified as armed men barged into his house made her nauseous. What if he, in a drunken episode, became violent? She knew how to behave in such cases; get far away from him, let him gain consciousness of his surroundings, and never touch him.  

But the Peacekeepers weren’t her. They wouldn’t know. They would arrest him, and she’d-

The Mayor finished his speech and suddenly Haymitch appeared, staggering onto the stage. He wobbled to the chair close to her, and the smell of liquor filled her nostrils. It was a terrible entrance, but better than him being arrested. She paled when his arms rose to hold her, almost knocking down her wig.

“This is very inappropriate, Haymitch” she muttered, escort smile still tight on her lips.

He mumbled something under his breath about marriage, but the Mayor called her name, and there was nothing she could do but walk up to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour! Oh, I love this! It’s such an honour being here, on this fine day.” she beamed at the crowd and met grey faces everywhere. Admittedly, the clouds in the sky made her statement a little dishonest. It wasn’t a fine day.

The moment of the drawing came, and she sauntered to the bowls. She did this every year. She pulled a slip of paper and walked back to the podium, already opening the slip.  

“Oh, our first tribute has a beautiful name! Primrose Everdeen!”.

She meant it. It was a beautiful, delicate, sweet name, and when she saw a tiny girl come forth, her hair styled in two braids, wearing a dress too big for her, she thought it fit her. She was pretty. So, so pretty.

“Prim!” a voice bellowed from the crowds. It was one of the older girls, quickly making her way into the crowd to reach for Primrose. With a sweeping motion, she pushed the child behind her.

“I volunteer!” the girl repeated twice more.

A volunteer in District Twelve? It was unheard of, probably the first time in decades, and she looked at the Mayor. The man’s eyes were fixed on the scene in front of them, Haymitch was out of it, and she realized it would fall on her to answer.

“Lovely! But I believe there is a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…” what was the procedure again? Why did nobody explain it to her?

“Why does it matter?... Why does it matter? Let her come forward” the Mayor’s expression was agonizing, and the urge to storm off was growing on her. This was why she was never late; everything went terribly when she did!

Her eyes fell on the Square again, and she saw small Primrose hold onto the older girl. She couldn’t hear what they said, and soon one of the boys ended up carrying the child away. The lady climbed up the stage, determined if a little stiff. Her hair was dark, her face angular, but what caught her attention were her grey eyes. They were a lighter shade than Haymitch’s, but resembled his enough that for a moment she was transfixed. As soon as she was on the podium, she snapped out of it.

Chin up!

The rest of Katniss’ introduction passed in a frenzy, the crowd raised their three fingers in a strange salute and Haymitch taunted the cameras, before falling off stage. He didn’t get up. Haymitch was unconscious and she couldn’t even check on him. The reaping couldn’t be stopped.

When the Peacekeepers took him away on a stretcher, she couldn’t wait to get over with it.

“What an exciting day!” she fixed her wig, still sporting her grin “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!”.

Effie marched back to the bowl trying to hold her wig in place, picked a slip of paper, and quickly retraced her steps. All she could think about was Haymitch on the floor, unconscious. It made her heart hurt worse than her face was.

“Peeta Mellark!”

From the crowd, a boy came forward. His hair was an ashy blonde colour, soft waves framing his forehead. His soft traits were tainted by a panicked expression he struggled to contain, and when he was close to the podium, she found herself touching his shoulder to guide him close to Katniss. He was very pretty and looked strong, and well-fed. Despite the disaster of a Reaping she had just presided, she thought that maybe this year Twelve might finally have a winner.

The Mayor finished his speech, and the Anthem finally ended, taking away with it her tributes.

“Well, Miss Trinket, I take you will move on to the train station?” asked the Mayor. It was polite small talk she would have usually indulged, but her nerves were frayed.

“No, I… do you have any idea where they took Mr Abernathy?”

“The clinic, I think”.

“How do I get there?”

“Well, it’s not too far. If you want, I can have my daughter walk you there”.

Not too far turned out to be, in fact, farther than she was comfortable to walk in her heels. Madge Undersee was nice company, though a bit reserved, but keeping a conversation was her forte so she managed. When they reached the clinic, she even kissed her goodbye Capitol-style, thanking her for the courtesy.

When inside everybody’s eyes were on her. She was received in a cold, stand-offish manner, and taken swiftly to Haymitch’s room. Twelve’s manners were atrocious, and if this had been another occasion, she would have reprimanded everyone in the hall. She didn’t have it in her, though. Her thoughts were filled with an unconscious Haymitch being taken away by Peacekeepers.

When she entered he was awake and lying in a bed, clearly annoyed by his situation. Seeing him relieved her immediately, and when she felt the nurse leave her relief was replaced with anger.

“Do you realise what you did in front of all Panem?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

“Well hello, princess, where the fuck were you?! Weren’t you supposed to be here in the morning?”

“I have nothing to justify myself for, but for your information, we had a hovercraft malfunction that delayed my departure. When I was here it was already too late. I didn’t enjoy it any more than you did. In addition, I will not tolerate this language from you. We’ve not had a Reaping this bad since the 63rd edition!”

“Don’t get your wig in a twist, princess, it’s not like I was dying to have you here. You can go back where you came from.” he cut her off, sulking in his bed.

She sighed and sat on the visitor’s chair. The room was small, the paint was faded or in certain areas even cracked. She let her anger steam away, and she could see him do the same. His head wasn’t bleeding. He seemed alright.

“I think this year we might have a chance” she offered.

“Told you to stop getting your hopes up years ago” his voice was softer, and she relaxed.

“I know, but I have a feeling-“

“Usually it takes you a day to get attached, can’t believe you’re already doing this. I’m not drunk enough”.

“Oh, no, you have been drunk enough already! Don’t you dare touch another drink, Panem knows how your body might react after your concussion”.

“Not a concussion, sweetheart”.

“Whatever it was, not under my watch, Haymitch Abernathy!”

“Did you come just to shrill in my ear?” he asked nonchalantly.

“No, we have to go to the train station at once, and I will personally make sure you are tucked into bed when we get there”. She felt her blood rush to her face and was thankful for the white powder on it, she sounded awfully domestic. His smirk didn’t help.

“See, Effie, now I like the sound of that”.

“Don’t you get funny ideas; you were drunk and unconscious just thirty minutes ago and I’m still angry. I will not have sex with you”.

“That’s what you always say” he smirked, getting up with her help. Maybe she always said that, but this time she meant it.

“Only not to us” the boy lashed at his drink, flinging it on the floor where it shattered, wasting perfectly good liquor. His name was Peeta, or so he thought. Peeta stared at him with a stern look, and the girl beside him, Katniss?, was mirroring him.

He’d told them to stay alive and laughed, not expecting them to retaliate. But retaliate they did.

He’d needed that drink. It was the day after the Reaping and Effie was still avoiding him like the plague. Angry at his drunken acts and worried for his health she left him to the boy’s care. It brought him back to the 70th edition when she’d disappeared. He’d even tried to sneak into her bed, but she thought he was hoping for some action, so she kicked him out.

He needed her. What wife kicked her husband out when sick, anyway? Was this a Capitol thing?

Haymitch took a good look at the two in front of him and decided the best course of action was to remind them who he was. A drunkard? Maybe. But a Victor still.

He punched the boy’s jaw, knocking him from his chair, and turned to reach for another bottle. The girl took the occasion to drive her knife between his hands and the bottle, lodging it successfully in the mahogany table. Effie’s words made their way back into his mind. This was the first time any of the tributes showed anything more than a meagre will to survive, and maybe he could work with them. Maybe.

“Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?” he snorted, and saw the boy pick himself up from the floor.

Despite his usual reticence, he found himself assessing the kids. A minute later, in an uncharacteristic bout of hopefulness, he decided to promise them his help. All they had to do was not interfere with his drinking, and he’d stay sober enough to do what he could for them.

When the kids left the car he stayed there, musing. The boy was good-looking and charismatic but didn’t have the fire in him. The girl, instead, looked ready to fight. He could already spin a narrative, there, but decided against any more thinking. He got up and walked through the carts.

He knocked at her door, like he’d done a thousand times before, and heard some shuffling behind it before it opened. She was still in her pink satin gown, the one that stopped at her thighs, and her face was slightly flushed, if a little irritated.

“What is it, Haymitch?” she asked, only opening the door enough for her to peek at him.

“I promised the children I’ll stay sober to help them, maybe you weren’t wrong”.

“Told you so! And good for you, now go back to your compartment” she moved to close the door, but he put his foot down to stop her, a smug smirk on his face.

“You know, sweetheart, I am not drunk, I don’t have a concussion, and I’m sure I can do much better than your fingers, here” he pushed the panel open and made his way into the compartment, sitting on her bed. The sheets exuded her smell, and he was tempted to lean down to smell them.

Effe sighed and finally closed the door, turning towards him. Her golden, shoulder-length hair framed her face, accentuating the blue of her eyes, and her lips were pursed in worry. She was scanning him for any sign of ill health, but he was as well as ever and she seemed convinced.

She walked towards him and moved to sit on his lap, her legs falling on either side of his waist. He sighed and inhaled her scent, while her hands smoothed his hair, humming softly. It was a washed-out blonde colour, and she loved its length. Men in the Capitol wore wigs, and she’d never seen anyone’s real hair before Haymitch. Not even her own father’s. It felt different.

“I truly think this year we might have a winner” she whispered with her usual sing-song tone, softly pushing a few strands away from his face.

“I don’t know, but this is the first time I’m sure they might survive the bloodbath, and that’s… new”.

“New is good. Will you truly drink less?”

“I mean, it’s either that or a bunch of kids will try to kill me, and your fingers will melt off, so I gotta do something!” he smirked and heard her gasp. He earned a slap on his arm, but otherwise, she didn’t try to deny what she was doing.

“Well, you were sick, what was I supposed to do?” she pouted, softly grinding on him. The little minx.

“You know damn well I wasn’t sick” he grumbled, but the way she looked at him told him she wasn’t convinced.

“Sure, but I am not going to do this until we get to the penthouse. I don’t trust the children not to wander around”.

Haymitch sighed. He knew she was right. Peeta and Katniss seemed bent on sneaking around. Her usage of the word children worried him, it was something she used to do when she got attached; for some reason this year it started right after the Reaping, and he didn’t know how far she might take it.

“I’m already here, now, am I not?” he tried, his hand trailing up the hem of her skirt, hoping she’d relent.

“I said not until the penthouse, Haymitch” her voice was breathy, he could see her fight his pull, and it took all his restraint not to flip her on the bed and have his way with her.

“God, you’ll be the death of me”.

“Try not to die, I am willing to wait another few hours, not more than that. Anyways this year we also get a new pair of stylists!” she lit up, dispersing some of the tension between them.

“Yeah? No more Chip and Chop? What do we get this year?”

“Oh, you’re going to like them. Cinna and Portia are quite the novelty, you’ll see”.

“The only thing I want to see now is your naked ass, sweetheart”.

“Haymitch!” she reprimanded him, but laughed heartily and he delighted in the sound. It did things, to him, her laugh. It was a sound he heard rarely, and when he did it ripped a piece of him in smithereens and rebuilt it, making it new.

He smirked and let his hand wander over her body, noticing the way her breath quickened. It would have taken him very little to work her up and make her forget her resolve, but he saw her point, so he stopped at a little groping here and there. He could wait until they’d get to the penthouse.

And if he kissed her again, he figured he could not be blamed. She was his wife, after all.

[mytearsricochvt13]

peeta's pov,my writing is not that good so bare with me

The boy with the bread(thg)

    Warning’s: this will be taken inspo by the original the hunger games and by “peeta’s games” on ao3 

I'm not that great of a writer so bare with me 

Peeta’s first brother - 18 y/o

Peeta's second brother- 17 y/o

Peeta- 16 y/o

                            Chapter:

                            Prologue

                         Part 1: the tribute

                         Part 2: the games

                         Part3: the victors

            Prologue (july 4th)

I wake up a small sense of dread arises in my stomach remembering what day it is today, I get up and get dress in a simple white shirt and some pants I still had a couple hours before the reaping began, I go downstairs to hear my mother yelling at one of my older brother’s over some flour he spilled. As I reached the last step I looked up to see my mother right at my face. She looks displeased as always she looks at me and says”get in your apron and go decorate the cakes it's almost time for the reaping”. I grab my apron from the hook it lays on and tie it to myself. I go to the cakes and get some colored whipped cream and start decorating it trying to ease my nerves from the upcoming reaping. I look up at the clock to realize it’s one pm. I hear my mother come down from upstairs and yells at  me and my older brother’s to go get dressed. I go up to my room scattered with paint supplies and paper, “I’ll clean them up when I get home from the reaping.”

          Part 1: the tribute

 I got dressed in a white button up shirt with some brown pants and some boots. I get my ashy blond hair brushed down so I look presentable. I wait as my dad  and mother and two older brothers all go out I  follow them the I  got to get the blood sample so they know it's me I wait in the line where most of the 16 year olds are placed which is in the middle meanwhile the younger boys are up front  I  look back at my two older brothers who are in line as well but behind me and the group of boys my age I look up at the stage as mayor undersee  is sitting and  Effie trinket the capitol escort for our district she’s wearing a purplish pink wig the town clock hit 2 pm marking the beginning of the reaping. The  reaping began by us watching the capitol video about why the games happen and then the mayor reads out the list of victors from our district there's only two and only one of them is alive the living victor is a alcoholic “his name is haymitch abernathy  and he won the 40th hunger games which was also a quarter quell” the mayor said snapping my out of my thoughts as the capitol escort Effie came up to the bowl and said the same words she always does “ happy hunger games and may the odds be ever in your favor,as always,ladies first” Effie inquires as she plunges her hand into the slips of names in the bowl  she pulls out a slip and walks to the microphone and she opens the slip and says”Primrose Everdeen” everyone stayed silent ”I recognize that name” I thought “oh no that's Katniss’s younger sister” I think and I feel a rush of worry bubbling up in the bottom of my stomach I turn to look at Katniss her face looks like someone who  saw a ghost I whip my head back as Effie calls out “come up dear” I turn back and watch as some peacekeepers try to escort primrose and then katniss ran out of her  spot and yelled out “prim!?” my heart ached for her after all I’ve always had a crush on her ever since my dad pointed her out  and then Katniss yelled out something that left even Effie shocked. “I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute”Katniss yelled out. Those words rang in my ear “a volunteer?” Effie said and turned to the mayor to ask about the volunteering system after all no one ever volunteers in twelve “come up dear” I watch as katniss gets on the stage I can tell she’s trying to hide her tears and then(to be continued)

[madamebaggio]

Notes: I wasn't going to do this, but...

Well, I could never resist Arthur.

Previously...

***

Chapter 1

Now, you might be wondering what had brought Sansa Stark to Arthur Pendragon’s front door and why she was questioning such an action.

Well, it was a funny story.

It started -as it sometimes does -with a conversation at a pub.

“You bought what?” Maggie asked, a mixture of awe and shock in her voice.

“A pair of handcuffs.” Percival informed her.

“And who are you going to be using this with?” Margaery pressed. “You’re depressingly single.”

Percival gave her a flat look. “Thank you for pointing that out.”

“But seriously, mate.” Arthur cut in. “Careful with that stuff.”

Percival rolled his eyes. “I’m not about to go around handcuffing people to beds, Arthur. It’s just curiosity.”

“Everyone gets curious at some point.” Marge conceded.

“Yeah, but for girls it’s different.” Maggie pointed out. “You can’t just meet a guy on a first date then go to his home to be handcuffed to the bed.”

Robb gave her a concerned look. “I’d hope not. Please, be safe.”

“He’s right. That shit is dangerous.” Arthur pointed out. “No one ties me up before a fourth date.”

That made the whole table laugh.

“Had some experience there, Arthur?” Margaery wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“I’m all for new experiences, Tyrell.” He smirked at her. “But some things are just common sense. If it involves me in a vulnerable position, I need to trust the person first.”

Robb snorted. “Vulnerable position?”

Maggie gasped theatrically. “Arthur, have you been pegged?”

In true Arthur fashion, he didn’t even blink at the suggestion. He just smirked at Maggie and winked. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

Katia made a gagging noise and reminded Arthur that she did not need to know about his sex-life. The cousins bickered for a bit.

“Girls do get it harder, though.” Robb commented. “There are many freaks out there.”

“Yeah. So, ladies, if you need someone you can really trust…” Arthur put a hand to his heart. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Maggie snorted, but Marge was laughing. “So selfless, as usual, Arthur.”

Sansa had been deadly quiet through the whole conversation. She felt she had nothing to add that’d be meaningful.

But she’d been paying attention to everything. Including what Arthur had just said.

Thus an idea formed in Sansa’s mind.

[c-a-tstories]

The Reaping Ceremony Peeta Millark x Katniss

(Based off the book<3)

“Ladies first!” Effie Trinket announces to the crowd her voice full of a type joy for the games that doesn’t seem to match the sorrow of district 12 and it makes my stomach twist and ache at how scary this day truly is for the lot of us. Effie reached in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. We all take in a collective breath and all go silent. Effie trinket crosses back to the podium, smooths out the slip of paper and reads out a name. A familiar name. “Primrose Everdeen!” Effie Trinket announces in an unmatched tone. The crowd starts murmuring. I can hear a cry out from Madge, the mayor’s daughter a few rows back.

Katniss’s younger sister is taken out of the group and quickly I hear a desperate scream. “Prim!” “Prim” Katniss’s voice echoes as she pushed through the crowd. “I volunteer!” And Delly who stands next to me gasps. “I volunteer as tribute!” The sounds of her words makes my eyes water. But tears do not flow, I can’t let them. It takes them a while to get everything in order, it's not common for people of 12 to volunteer. “Lovely!” I hear Effie Trinket’s voice pierce through my thoughts. I dismiss what she says after that, my thoughts going through my memories. I saved her once. But how can I save her now? She’s going into a death sentence and I never got to truly know her. Prims and Katnisses broken voices cut through my head again.

“No, katniss! No! You can’t go!” “Prim. Let go.” And it’s harsher than I’ve known Katniss to be to her family. The one she tries too hard to provide for. One she’s now having to leave behind. “Well bravo!” Effie trinket gushes, “What's your name?” It takes Katniss a second to answer and I don’t blame her. “Katniss Everdeen” and again her voice just echoes in the crowd. “I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we?” The thought of this being anything close to glory makes my stomach ache again. “Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” She sounds so unphased by the absurdity.

I don’t know who started it, but I joined once I realized. I take my three middle fingers on my left, hold them to my lips and push it up to the sky. This is not a common occurrence. My mind now races with the idea of who our male tribute will be, Haymitch starts taking in his drunken manner, and oh so quickly Effie Trinket is back to the podium waiting to for Haymitch to by taken away. “what an exciting day!” My stomach hurts, my hand now grab in a way to relieve this growing feeling. “But more excitement to come! It’s time for out boy tribute!” She walks over to the ball, pulling the name, and hurried to the podium.

“Peeta Mellark!” And finally the tears being held back fall. I feel Dellys hands by my side, and looking up I see Katniss staring at me. I clear my face of emotions, and start walking towards the podium. I’m terrified though, and I want to cry, will I just be another part of their game? Now that I actually will die in the game. Who will I become? A monster? And now I have to say goodbye. My stomach finally brings up bile that burns my throat but I can’t do anything but swallow it. I'm not breaking down here.

[justmorebtsffs]

First Chapter of My Hunger Games Au: The Reaping Pt. 1

(I still need help deciding what arena to use. The text is under cut due to length.)

Jungkook's Perspective: 

Downtown District 2 in front of the Justice Building early in the morning.

I groan as my mother yanks the covers off my head. It's the day of the reaping. Nothing new. And yesterday, just like every year, they gave us the lecture on how exactly to present ourselves if . . . when, one of us gets chosen. It was boring and they kept us until late then Jason and Liam got in a fight about who would volunteer. I got punched when I tried to break them up. This caused another lecture lasting an hour and 30 minutes. What I'm trying to say is I've only had 3 hours of sleep.

I touch my face and pain blooms beneath my fingers, I don't cry out, I'm used to it. 

They do the district reapings in order from 1 to 12 so the capitol can watch them all in a row. One's reaping is probably just ending now. A loud siren blares as I pull on my collared shirt and slacks. Before 8:15, Eomma, Junghyun, and I are in front of the Justice building. Junghyun is 20, an adult. He and Eomma wave then step into the back of the crowd with the other adults.

I scan the metal barrier blocking the citizenry off from the stage. Peacekeepers line the barrier, all looking mostly the same except for tiny differences in their uniforms to show rank. I spot the senior peacekeepers who have slightly different shoulder padding and then see my father. I know it's him because he wears a small metal rabbit pin, tucked away, almost hidden from view under his body armour. It's technically against regulation but he's well liked and respected so no one says anything. His head moves ever so slightly in my direction and he nods. I smile proudly and straighten my posture, raising my head to look towards the stage.

On the stage is the mayor and the previous year's victors. We have many but I know all of them because they've been my instructors ever since I was five. Most of them are actually decent people, all a little weird, but on the whole, nice. They'll be mentors to whoever volunteers. 

My favourite of all the victors is Min Yoongi. He won his games by climbing up the rocky terrain and using his masonry knowledge to create a massive avalanche. He looks bored almost to the point of sleep in his chair, but I know it's a ruse. He's the smartest, most observant person I know.

When the big clock reads 8:30 a loud gong sounds, only slightly different from the one that releases tributes to kill. The mayor gives a short speech about the thrill and glory of winning and how it is a son and daughter's highest duty to win for their family. I can't help but feel his spirit, my bones filling with pride and determination. I don't really want to be picked but every year these speeches make me feel like if I did it wouldn't be so bad.

When the mayor leaves the podium our district escort steps out, looking bright and bubbly as always. He's relatively new and has only been on the job for three years ever since our last escort mysteriously retired. 

His name is Jeon Hoseok and he always dresses in bright bold colours. Last year he had bright red hair and wore a yellow oversized sweatshirt with a massive flower lace collar and leather pants. Gaudy or not, his presence alone brightens the dull place and I don't miss Yoongi-ssi visibly perking up. I have a theory, one I could never share out loud. I tried to test it yesterday but when I brought it up, Yoongi told me to get back to training, an action which only confirms said theory.

Today Hoseok wears a perfectly tailored magenta suit with pale pink flowers stitched on to appear as if they're creeping up from the ground and his hair is in perfectly styled blond curls. 

"Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!" He says all smiles, "It is an honour to be here with you all today and without further ado, let's get started. Ladies first . . ."

He walks over to the ball but doesn't bother sticking his hand in, now he knows the deal. A second later a voice rises from the crowd, "I volunteer!" It's a girl I don't know very well but I know I've seen her face in school and training.

"Thank you, and what is your name, young lady?" Hoseok says, which makes me snort because this girl looks like she could break an adult man in half, hardly a lady.

"Fiona Heartly."

"Everyone give the female tribute for District Two, Miss Heartly a big, big, big round of applause."

Cheers, whoops and applause fill the square and I can hear more cheers from streets nearby where the last of the population who couldn't fit in the square gathered.

As Fiona walks to the stage I think about Hoseok's first year, how he actually started to pull out a slip when no less than three girls volunteered, his face was priceless. There was a big confusion about who was going. Normally the mentors pick the best girl and boy to volunteer but two other girls must've wanted a go as well and rebelled. I did feel a bit bad for Hoseok though, did he not know that two is a volunteer district?

"Okay, okay. I know you're all excited but it's the gentlemen's turn." Hoseok waves his hands out, hushing the rowdy crowd. He walks over to the second glass bowl and still no one's volunteered, I guess none of us were good enough in the eyes of the mentors but if not then, what happens. They must expect someone to volunteer. I won't. I can see Hoseok is confused. 

"Um, Alright." He squints like he's truly to remember what to say when he actually has to announce the slip. He reaches in and I take a deep breath, this feeling of suspense is unfamiliar to me. "The male tribute for District Two is . . . JEON JUNGKOOK!"

I look around to see who's going to get up but no one does then a voice in my head kicks in, hard trained instincts after all these years of training. "What the hell are you doing? Get your ass up there right now." It whisper-yells. 

It's only been a second but I feel like everyone is staring at me as I make my way to the stage. I keep my eyes firmly on Hoseok, his grandiose outfit puts a smile on my face, so hopefully they'll think I'm actually glad to be picked. Any feelings the mayor's speech gave me are all gone now, and I try desperately to find them again.

Hoseok gives me a sunny smile and I must be hallucinating but I swear I see a hint of . . . sympathy (?) before he turns back to the crowd. "Here we have it, the female and male tributes for District Two. May the odds be ever in their favour."

Another round of applause overtakes the crowd and I glance back at Yoongi. His bored expression is gone now, he looks laser focused, he nods his head a tiny bit, my que. I turn back to the crowd determinedly. I'm from District Two, a career. I've trained my whole life for this, I have Yoongi and other mentors, allies. I can win. I will win! Not only for my family, but for myself.

Fiona shares my proud expression, dealing with her at the end will be a pain but I'll think about that later, at least if she did win District Two would still get the prize.

After the reading of the Treaty of Treason, the mayor has Fiona and I shake hands. Her grip is vice-like and I try not to shudder. Just like at the start of the ceremony, the national anthem plays and Hoseok escorts us inside the Justice building to say goodbye to our families.

My family comes into the small room one at a time first Eomma then Junghyun. They all tell me what a wonderful talented fighter I am and how they know that I can win but they'd be proud of me no matter what. I wonder if that's true. Eomma cries, she says it's because she's worried about me being away from home or getting hurt and not because I could die. I wish I shared her absolute faith.

I won't lie, any chance to make my family's life better is a good thing to me, I just wish that i didn't have to leave them. I know it's selfish but i think it anyway.

She holds out her hand to me, and opens it revealing two objects. One of them is Appa's rabbit pin. The sight makes tears form in my eyes, but they don't fall. The second object is a small blue rock, about the size of a small five pence coin. It doesn't look all that impressive but Eomma holds it like it's precious.

"It's called sapphire, it was my mothers favourite and it's your birthstone. Uncut and unpolished it's rough but it can still become something greater like you. When you get into that arena you'll become the man I know you can be. Win for me okay sweetie." She takes a studying breath and pins the pin to my shirt, right over my heart. She holds her hand over it for a moment and I put my hand over hers. She shakes her head as if to tell me that I shouldn't have to reassure her, but I want to. Even when she puts her hand on my shoulder instead I keep mine over the pin, letting it ground me.

"I will." I try to make myself believe it. And it's not hard to do. I know I have an advantage, being from Two. And even for a career, I'm stronger, faster, and better than most of the other tributes. Now that my fate is sealed, why waste time doubting myself? Doubt only makes me weak. I won't be weak. I'm not weak. I can't be. Not if I want a better life for my family, a life free of worry. Where my mother can have anything she wants. She really only wants two things, me safe, and my father to be with her. He works seemingly endless hours as a Peacekeeper so that we can have a good life. He makes a good salary as a senior Peacekeeper but still, we hardly ever see him, and I know it weighs heavily on my mother. If I won he could work less and my mother would be happy and I would get to have a dad.

When she leaves I take a deep breath. Next is the train ride. I'm glad it's only Yoongi who'll be coming with me, and Fiona's mentor. Since District 2 has so many victors only the ones who work specified with the tribute go. Most mentors focus on about 3 or 4 students and if one of them is selected they'll go to the capitol. Yoongi is rare and has worked exclusively with me, and since I try to keep to myself in training, he's the closest thing to a best friend I have. Pretty pathetic, I know.

There's a knock on the door and blond curls appear, then a full face, and Hoseok peeks in.

"Hello, Jungkook!" He hesitates, I barely catch him tilt his head a fraction upwards. I start to follow his gaze but he gives me a look that says to keep my eyes on him, it's so subtle I almost miss it but, confused, I obey. "Are you ready for the biggest adventure of your life? I know you are, let's get you to the station. The camera's are waiting, and everyone wants to see YOU!" He's smiling so big I swear his face is about to split open and something about it, unlike his other smiles, seems fake. He's showing me a crack in his cheery demeanour, but why? I think hard, trying to see inside the crack, beyond the facade. Then I realise: he's reminding me to get my shit together. Now that I'm paying attention, I can see sympathy in his eyes.

Part of me wants to hate him, I mean he represents the very essence of the capitol but I can't. He's just so sweet, and he passed Yoongi's inspection, so he must be alright. 

As we walk out of the back of the justice building, I see what he was looking at, a camera. It hits me harder than any punch: he isn't as oblivious as I thought, is he? But he's from the capitol still, having sympathy, warning me about the camera. This must be why Yoongi likes him so much. But whose side is he on?

We walk to the other visiting room to pick up Fiona and the perfect capitol excitement is back in place, not a trace of awareness left. But I know it was there. 

When we get to the station the cameras assault us. I remember Hoseok's actions in the visiting room and smile proudly, raising my fist high "Hell yeah, District Two. I'm here for one reason only: to win this thing!"

Fiona follows my actions shouting but I just focus on acting appropriately pumped for the cameras. After a minute Hoseok steps back in front of the cameras. 

"Alright, these two have a journey ahead of them, but I promise that you'll certainly be seeing more of us later. See you in the Capitol soon!" With that he leads us into the sleek train.

The inside is clean and shiny and luxurious and when the door closes Yoongi and Bridget Anderson, Fiona's mentor, appear.

Immediately Bridget takes Fiona's arm, "We'll be in the gym, training, if you need us. Don't need us."

When they're out of earshot Hoseok laughs "Cheery that one, isn't she?"

Yoongi sighs but sounds way more alert than usual, "They're going for the aggressive approach. She'll be joining the careers but she fully intends to break out on her own and win, that includes killing Kook." I smile at the nickname but Hoseok flinches on the word killing and excuses himself. Yoongi frowns, I note this down and decide to try confronting him again.

"Yoongi-hyung, what's with him?"

"Who?" He shrugs, clearly feigning ignorance.

"You know exactly who." I clarify anyway, "Jeon Hoseok. And don't lie, I see the way you act when he comes around every year."

He sighs again, thai time with finality. "Jeon Hoseok is, as you've probably figured out, much more aware than most people from the Capitol."

"Yeah, he warned me about the camera in the visiting room. And there was something else . . ." I want to ask Yoongi about that look in Hoseok's eyes but I don't know how.

"Yes, he's an excellent actor, it comes with the job, but he's extremely upset that you were picked, that he picked you. He feels guilty." Yoongi slumps, "And I've tried to tell him it wasn't his fault but . . ."

Yoongi's word's don't make sense. Why would he feel guilty about picking me specifically? Does he feel bad because kids usually volunteer? And why is Yoongi so set on consoling him? (That I think I know the answer, I'm pretty sure.)

I want a better answer. "But why me, would he feel this guilty if he picked any kid? If that's true then why would he pick this job?"

Yoongi's face is one of concentration, like he's trying to think of an explanation. Now I'm almost entirely sure. "He has picked up my soft spot for you, he knows you're like a son to me and he just wishes it wasn't you. I don't know why anyone would want this job?"

Of course, I don't miss how he dodged the second question. "But why does he care so much about someone you care about? And you two seem close, he really didn't tell why he wanted this job or how he got it so suddenly." Now that I think about it, the disappearance of the previous escort is even more suspicious.

Yoongi knows he's been busted. He gives me a look and I feel guilty for interrogating him like this. "Remember when I had to go with Gregory to the games four years ago, because old Richard died."

I nod, he continues. "Hob-" he stops himself then decides to continue, "Hobi and I met at the games. He was a sponsor and wanted to sponsor Gregory when he was dying. Hobi's gift saved Gregory's life." Yoongi gives a rare smile and I smile at the nickname. I'm entirely sure now. He's looking at me as if to measure my reaction, I nod to encourage him, "All during the games we grew close, but I'm still just a peasant," he laughs coldly, "I couldn't stay. I missed Hoseok horribly, and we met again in the Capitol on the victory tour at President Park Jin-young's party. It turned out he missed me just as much. We both agreed we needed to find a way to see each other. He's an extremely popular rapper in the Capitol so it wasn't hard for him to get the position of Tribute Escort. And because it's only part time he can still focus on his career."

"But you can still get to see him." I can't help smiling at seeing Yoongi hyung find happiness, "I'm happy for you hyung. I mean it."

"You, you don't . . . mind it? That we're both men, I mean?" He asks, sounding nervous

"No, why would I? You've found love Yoongi-hyung."

He looks relieved. And I'm in awe. To have a relationship without seeing each other for most of the year, the trust and love that it must to keep that up.

Just then Hoseok comes back. He's wearing a fuzzy hoodie that, like all of his clothes that I've seen, is bright and loud and exaggerated. His joggers are embroidered with a quilt like texture. (and where the hell does one even get platform bunny slippers?)

Yoongi shifts his posture to sit with his legs criss-crossed and Hoseok sits himself down on Yoongi's open lap, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

I suddenly feel very single, even though I've never really cared about romance before. My stomach aches, I didn't eat any breakfast. And I know that District Two is one of the richest, most fortunate districts but things still aren't perfect. The strict training, the work in the quarries, the constant pressure to be the best, the constant threat of being picked to volunteer because you're the best, the strict diet we're kept on, pushing ourselves further.

Don't get me wrong, I love working out and training. I love pushing myself to get better and testing limits, shaping myself into something perfect, but I've never really wanted to kill and what about my family? What if I don't come back?

But it's unavoidable now, I know I'll have to kill to survive, to win, to make it back home to my family. And I will, I'll do it with determination and gratitude, and I'll silently thank everyone of those other children, who are just like me, for letting me return home. And I'll be proud that I did it, I'll have made it, I'll have survived and bought a better life for my family and extra food for my district and friends and I know that the entire district will be proud of me. And I know that I'll have bought it with blood, sweat and tears, and violence and selfishness all because I want to go back home. And I'll be a coward, because a real man would lay down his life so that the less fortunate would have a chance but I already know that there's no way I'm doing that. I can't, I long to live far too much.

Sometimes I really wish I liked killing, hunting, maiming, hurting, because if I didn't have a conscience or a soul, then I wouldn't have one to risk losing. (And sometimes I hate myself because I know it's selfish for me not to like killing when it's what I've been made to do, my duty to my family, and my district. How selfish am I to resent that?)

But Yoongi is a victor and Hoseok is somebody big in the Capitol. I guess when you don't have to worry about all of that, then romance is the kind of thing you can have. I've always been worried about keeping in shape enough so that I can keep up, and worried about being too good and being picked to volunteer. Honestly, I've never even thought much about love. 

I kind of figured that the mentors would eventually pick me to volunteer, so It's always been IF I survive, (which being a career, I'm almost guaranteed) then I guess I'll take whatever's left of my conscience and soul and marry some girl my family knows and have a family and relive the trauma by worrying about my own children. I don't even know if I want to have children, just to see them get stuck in the cycle all over again, but it's expected so I know that IF I survive then I will.

My mind comes back to the present and I look at the two men. Grumpy pale Yoongi in all black. A simple shirt and pants. Only what's necessary. Bubbly, slightly tanned Hoseok exploding in colour, his crazy outfit screams wealth and excess. Perfect contradictions of each other. The perfect couple.

"Um . . . uh, if you two want to be alone, I can just find my room. It's okay."

They looked startled, as if they'd forgotten I was here.

"Oh, uh, no we'll just go. Of course we won't kick you out." Hoseok stutters, then looks to Yoongi, "Your room or mine?"

"Yours." is all Yoongi says and they dash off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

After a few minutes of letting myself get lost in my thoughts I snap back out of it. The television is showing the reaping in district three.

I watch for a few moments as the mayor reads a speech almost identical to the one our mayor gives. Bored, I focus on the other people on the stage. I immediately recognise Kim Namjoon. I was only five when he won his games but I still remember him rigging the exploding net that killed the last of the tributes. I remember the look on his face when he won, not triumph but resignation. He has a nephew I think, but I've forgotten his name.

The district 3 escort comes up on stage dressed in an electric blue jumpsuit and gold sparkly, knee high lace up combat boots. His butterfly wings are blue now and they flap elegantly as he introduces himself and says how excited he is for the games. I sigh and settle down. I might as well watch the rest of the reapings to see who my competition will be.