#ch. finnick

[solangelostars]

ANNIE CRESTA IN MOCKINGJAY PT 2 (2015)

Stef Dawson and Sam Claflin

Dir. Francis Lawerence

[happyhauntt]

BURIAL GROUND, a hunger games fic.

─── summary:  In District Four, they teach you  how to survive the Games. They don’t teach you how to survive what comes after. ─── warnings: this story contains triggering themes including sexual assault & rape, prostitution, self-harm and thoughts of suicide, death and canon-typical violence. these themes, along with others, are prevalent in the hunger games universe and will come up in this story, so please don’t read if these things affect you! ─── fic tag. read on ao3. fic masterlist.

CHAPTER ONE ─── the uglier truth (3.8k words.)

     YOU WOULD THINK, by the way people in the Capitol talk about Nimah Caplan, that she was some kind of deity. That she wasn't born human, but instead rose from the sea foam crashing onto the shores of District 4 one day, skin glowing like the inside of a buttercup and eyes greener than the freshest grass.

     The Capitol likes to forget the uglier truth  ━  that she was never some goddess that appeared out of the blue one day, some beautiful woman to be at the center of President Snow's glistening parties.

     Nim hates to disappoint, but her life certainly didn't start out that way. She was a child, once, a long time ago. They drag it up every year, her adolescence reduced to nothing but a newsreel; it hurts to look at the films and see how young she used to be, still soft with innocence. She grew up a feral child, practically born with a knife in her hand, and yet still, before the Hunger Games, she'd been... something else.

     On mornings like this, though, she wishes she were born of the sea. Dragging herself out of bed, the silken sheets still tangled around her legs, she stumbles into the bathroom across the hall. She runs the tap and holds her hands beneath the freezing water for a moment before splashing it onto her face, hoping the chill will wake her up faster.

     Nim is fairly certain that goddesses don't get hangovers.

     She groans, drying her face off with a towel. A mirror hangs above the sink, large and oval with a silver-painted frame. The sheet she threw over it years ago, in an effort to ensure she never saw her own reflection again, is loose at the edge. For just a moment, she catches a flash of blue-streaked curls, desperately in need of brushing.

     She holds her breath and tugs the sheet back into place.

     The clock says it's late. Later than she should be waking up, anyway, on market day. She learned a long time ago that alarm clocks weren't the best way of rousing her from a dead sleep, and Nim had destroyed more than enough of them in a panicked haze to prove it.

     Heading back into her bedroom, she tugs on the nearest pair of black slacks she can find and grabs her tan wool-lined jacket from where it is draped over the foot of the bed. The empty bottle sitting on her bedside table glares at her until she grabs that, too, taking it downstairs with her and tossing it into the trash.

     Her boots, slippery black leather, slide on too easily over her narrow shins. At the door, she pauses. The nausea comes quickly, an unpleasant burn lingering at the back of her throat, and Nim presses her forehead against the glass until it passes.

     It isn't always so bad.

     Most of the time, these days, she doesn't need to drink. At night, she can take her sleeping pills and drift off to a dreamless netherworld where little can trouble her, and the nightmares cannot fight their way into her subconscious to tear her brain apart. Nim is happy to survive in this way, half-rested, as long as the terrors stay safely trapped in the lining of her bones where they belong.

     There are the bad days, though. Less now than there were a few years ago, when the Games were still fresh and the trauma was new, but they still happen. Those days, she cannot sleep without a bottle in her hand and enough alcohol in her system to tranquilize an elephant.

     Those days only come when she knows the inevitable is coming. A fast train to the Capitol, a few nights clinking glasses with society's elite, a shining example of what a young woman should be, with the right stylists, escorts, manners  ━  and a particularly memorable stint in the Hunger Games under her belt.

     The thought of brushing shoulders with Capitol folk again always makes her want to crawl inside a bottle. The thought of what happens when the lights go down and the party is over makes her want to never come back out.

     She swallows the bile back down and breathes deeply until her headache subsides a little, but the static on her skin never goes away. The hangover is only half of what makes her so sick; leaving her house in Victor's Village always feels like treading through a minefield. The wide open spaces, the eyes peering at her, judging her, reducing her to nothing but a tiny grain of sand...

     Nimah can be confident. She can fake it with the best of them, hold her head high in the Capitol and wear her dazzling smile and bat her eyelashes, because when the cameras are out there is nothing else she can do. This was the part assigned to her when she won the Games, and it is the role she'll play for the rest of her life.

     In her home district, though, Nim just wants to be invisible. Every pair of eyes on her feels like a dagger in her back. The navy streaks in her hair and the inhuman green of her eyes mark her out as a creature of the Capitol, now. An outsider.

     Steeling herself, she wrenches open the front door and steps out into the street. 

     Nim used to think that Victor's Village was pretty. As a child, she'd stand at the gates and press her face between the bars, looking at the long row of a dozen white marble mansions, six on either side, dreaming of the day she'd get to live in one.

     Now, as she treks down the path, gravel crunching beneath her feet, the mansions aren't so pretty anymore. They line up like pale tombstones on either side of her, empty windows leering into the street. At the very end of the road, six of the houses sit dark, with no one inside to make them into homes. Every other mansion in the village bares the flaws that Nim was blind to as a child; the cracks in the paint, the wrinkles in the skin of a Victor, the proof that the Games are not all they are made out to be.

     Mags' home is nearest to the gates. Orange chrysanthemums blossom in the window boxes  ━  gardening was the talent Mags chose when she won her Games around sixty years ago  ━  but her gnarled hands haven't touched the soil in years. These days, the caretakers are the ones keeping the village looking perfect.

     Annie Cresta's house sits across from it. There are little stars and hearts carved into the front door, from when the pair of them sat on the doorstep one day a few summers ago, intent on letting the world slip by for once. They'd been able to hear the voices from the square, where the rest of the district had gathered to watch that year's Victor on their victory tour. They were both supposed to go, but Annie's breakdown prevented her, and Nimah volunteered to stay behind and sit with her friend.

     She'd stolen knives from the kitchen and they'd sat in silence, gritting their teeth, carving happy symbols into the wood, forcing their anger out in a way that was more productive than smashing things. The caretakers painted over them, but when Nim goes to visit her friend, she runs her fingers over the marks left behind by their knives. It reminds her of a solitary, pleasant memory in the midst of so much bad.

     Next to Mags' house is Cowell. Winner of a Games that had long-since past, the windows of his mansion were broken years ago in a fit of rage, and boarded up with wood. Sometimes Nim can see the light from inside peeking through the gaps in the boards, but she doesn't see Cowell often. She doesn't mind. There is a haunted look lingering in his eyes, the kind she knows is mirrored in her own, and she hates to be reminded of her failures.

     Hobbs lives next door to Annie. Almost as old as Mags, his door is always open for anyone who needs to talk. When Nim first returned from the Capitol after winning her Games, it was Hobbs she ran to when she could no longer stand the quiet in her own house.

     Finnick and Nimah live opposite one another. She has been inside Finnick's home enough times to know that he keeps it immaculately tidy, as if cleaning up a physical mess is his way of sorting through the trauma he keeps buried. He always needs to keep his hands busy.

     Nimah sleeps with every light on in her house. Before she goes to bed, she treks through all the rooms and closes all the curtains, only to turn on the light before she leaves. If she wakes up in a darkened room, terror clogs her throat until she can't breathe. Her screaming wakes up the whole street. Even now, at midday, if she looks back over her shoulder she'll find her bedroom window glowing with golden light. It's how she finds her way home.

     When she reaches the gates, Nim pauses. Just beyond, down a long pathway, she can hear the bustle of the docks. From her window she can see the beach, the sea rising up in raucous grey waves to crash against the sand, and all the fishing boats bobbing in the water.

     Her old house, a brown shack with only a few rooms and a leaking roof, isn't near the beach. It sits in a long row of other shacks, all different shapes and sizes, in the shadow of the huge fisheries. Her parents used to work on the conveyor line, sorting the fish. Nim grew up in a house where the scent of rotting fish permeated everything, and she shared a room with her brother, and her grandparents lived in the room next door. There were six of them in that house. Her family wasn't poor, they earned better wages than many in the district and Nim and her brother never had to take tesserae, but every spare bit of her parents' money was spent sending their children to the combat academies.

     They didn't want the Hunger Games to take their children away.

     At least not without a fight.

     "Nim!"

     The crunching of gravel creeps up on her, and she turns weary eyes upon her new companion, offering him a small smile. "Finnick. I thought you had left for the Capitol already."

     His throat bobs as he comes to a stop beside her, holding the gate open so she can go through ahead of him. "Tomorrow." The smile he offers her in return is dazzling, white teeth gleaming like a shark's. "I've got business to attend to before the party next week. Are you going?"

     His voice dips, and for a moment it vanishes in the cool wind blowing in off the sea. Nim can't help it; she shivers. The party in question is the Victor's Ball, held at the Presidential Palace for this year's newest winners, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Former Victors have always been invited, but most of them don't bother to go; Annie hasn't been to the Capitol for years, not even as a Mentor, and Cowell never passes the threshold of his front door these days.

     For Finnick and Nim, though, their attendance is not optional.

     Nim grimaces at his question, knowing he is only asking to be polite. "I'm putting it off until the day before. I've no desire to be in the Capitol any longer than required."

     Part of her likes it. The mindless gossip, the glitter and the gold, all the strange people and the way it distracts her for an hour or two. Her prep team dolls her up, and Nim has always shone as the center of attention, able to command a room with little effort.

     The days after, though, she has to bury herself beneath the covers and cry. To be so outgoing comes at a cost. To allow strangers to touch her, to rub shoulders with them and laugh with them, takes all of her energy. At one of her first parties after winning, someone grabbed her wrist when she wasn't looking, and she nearly clawed their eyes out.

     Surviving them takes everything she has.

     Without another word, the pair of them start the slow trudge down the path towards the town square. Nim pulls her jacket tighter around her. In mid-winter, the weather in District 4 is mild. It never snows here, but on the coldest days, the wind coming from the sea nips and bites.

     Her earliest memories are of summers spent playing on the beach with her brother, digging her toes into the warm sand. Those days were few and far between  ━  the peacekeepers only opened the beach up to the public on holidays  ━  but Nim's fondest memories are of chasing her brother into the surf and jumping over the waves.

     Every one of those moments feels tinged with red, now. The salty tang in the air reminds Nim of blood on her tongue.

     "What do you need from the market? I'll get it for you." Nim already has a list for Annie and Mags tucked into her pocket. The old woman had tried to insist that she was perfectly able to buy her own bread, but Nim had refused to listen.

     Finnick shakes his head. "You look like you need the company." He looks at her, his eyes lingering on the plain silk eye patch and the dark circles beneath her uncovered eye, her unruly curls and the odd pallor of her skin.

     Nim turns away. "I don't..."

     She leaves her sentence unfinished and lowers her eyes, careful to ensure her steps are even, one boot in front of another. Part of Nim craves silence; where Finnick must always keep his hands busy, must always have something to do, Nim adores nothing more than the quiet rooms of her too-large house, legs crossed in the middle of the plush carpet, trying her best to breathe.

     The small, traitorous heart of her, though, needs the company. Not to be surrounded, but to just exist with someone else, in the little moments of peace. To breathe with them. To be reminded that, no matter the horrors she has endured, there is someone else in the world that bleeds the same way she does.

     That doesn't mean she appreciates it. Finnick Odair, the Capitol's golden boy, hovering over her shoulder like she's a fragile thing about to break. Him and Mags and Hobbs, all watching and waiting for her to snap again. Wondering if it will be worse than last time.

     The pair of them walk on in silence, until they reach the town square. On market days, the square in front of the Justice Building fills up with stalls selling all kinds of goods. Peacekeepers mill through the crowd, white-gloved hands ready with their guns. They used to chat with stallholders, gossip and buy their bread without much trouble, but since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark came through last week on their victory tour, things have been different.

     There is a tension in the air that wasn't there before.

     The shouting batters her ears. Nim closes her eyes for a moment, struck by the sudden rise in volume. Without a word, Finnick presses closer; not close enough to touch her, but she can feel the warmth of his hand hovering over the small of her back, close enough to shield her from the noise.

     Releasing a slow breath through her nose, Nim heads over to the first of the long line of stalls. Drawing the crumpled list from her coat pocket, she passes it over to the stallholder, who sets to work putting a series of glass jars into a basket.

     Finnick leans over Nim's shoulder. "What is Mags cooking up that requires that many jars?"

     Nim shrugs. "Ask Mags."

     They move along the line of stalls. Nim keeps her head low, eyes intently focused on the movements of her hands  ━  passing the money across to each vendor, inspecting her purchases before carefully putting them into her basket. She can feel Finnick at her back, only a few inches taller but feeling infinitely more like a human shield the longer she spends in the midst of a crowd.

     She hates this. Every time someone she doesn't know accidentally brushes past, she flinches away. A vile feeling coils in the pit of her stomach like a viper waiting to strike; an urge to run coupled with the instinct to attack first, to drive a knife through someone's throat before they can get her.

     Her muscles tense. She keeps a tight grip on the basket, lime-green eye darting from stranger to stranger, her pupil narrowed to a tiny black pinprick. Everyone is an threat, even the people she recognises  ━  a girl she went to school with lingers by one of the many shellfish stalls, hardly paying attention to her surroundings, but when Nim blinks, she sees a flash of bare teeth lunging for her neck.

     To be that ignorant, she thinks, pushing the obtrusive thoughts away. It does not stop the horrible prickling of her skin, but she loosens her shoulders a bit. Even with the Peacekeepers wandering around, everyone in the marketplace seems so carefree in comparison to the thundering of her heart. None of them know what it is like to have blood on their hands; to feel the slick warmth of it as it runs up their wrist, to scrub and scrub until their skin is raw and still feel no closer to clean.

     The girl  ━  her name tugs at the edge of Nim's memory, but Nim hasn't thought of her old schoolmates in so long that it feels like that life belonged to someone else  ━  moves along. Nim tracks her movements like a predator until she has moved just out of view, and suddenly someone else, someone heartbreakingly familiar, crosses into her line of vision.

     She can feel Finnick looking at her, wondering why she froze like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter, but with one look at where she is staring, he understands.

     Her grandmother hasn't seen them yet.

     Distantly, as if she is underwater, Nim can hear the irritated mutters of people as they step around her and Finnick, annoyed that they've stopped in the middle of the path. Finnick wraps his hand around Nim's arm and gently tugs her out of the way. Almost automatically, she tears herself out of his grasp, shocked out of her haze.

     The old woman stops at one of the stalls further down, clutching the hand of a young child. Something stony and cold ripples through Nim as the little girl, no older than six, chatters happily away. Beneath the eye patch, the marbled scar over Nim's eye burns.

     "Have you talked to her recently?" Finnick's voice is soft in her ear, but Nim wants to reach up and rip his tongue out. Finnick, darling of the Capitol. Finnick, who, in the eyes of the world, seems never to have done anything wrong in his life  ━  except save her.

     Nim scoffs. "What do we have to talk about?"

     He grimaces, a poor attempt to hide his loathing of the old woman. He has never been so good at biting his tongue when it could get him into trouble with Nim, but these days, he knows better than to push her where her family is concerned.

     Her grandmother buys a loaf of bread and carries on walking, pulling the little girl along beside her. The child tosses her head back to giggle, a wave of brown curls cascading over her shoulders, before suddenly she looks back over her shoulder, beaming a bright smile at no-one in particular.

     "I'm not a masochist," Nim says through gritted teeth. Jaw clenched, she watches as her grandmother and the girl press on, eyes lingering on them until the crowd swallows them up and they vanish from sight.

[robertsbarbie]

nothing can survive without a heart

MOCKINGJAY PART ONE (2014)

[dreamerwithapen1]

Death Comes to Me Again

Venus Hart, victor of the 68th Hunger Games, had always known that the real games would begin after she left the arena and that she had best be ready for it.

The Poisoned Chalice- that was what the citizens of the Capitol named her, among other things, but that was the one that stuck. She had made the unfortunate mistake of standing out in the Games and piqued the interest of everyone watching. But given her history, it was inevitable.

The daughter of a healer and a midwife, Venus had grown up being taught to have an immense respect for all life. Their family was meant to heal and to help. Aloysius and Alba Hart had vowed to never take a life, and they had stuck to it. And they expected the very same from their children. So when their eldest child, Janus, was chosen to participate in the 63rd Hunger Games, they said a sad farewell and bid him to do as much good as he could inside the arena. And like the good son that he was, he did exactly that. He made allies. He stitched up and disinfected every wound that he possibly could. He was invaluable to his fellow Careers and saved their lives countless times. Without taking a single life, Janus made it to the final two. And rather than forcing his ally to take one more life, Janus made the decision to take his own, leaving Gloss the victor.

The Capitol was left irritated and underwhelmed by his performance. Meanwhile, her parents couldn't have been more proud, her sister more heartbroken, and she more enraged. She hated her brother for not fighting, hated her parents for instilling that in him. But more than anything, she hated that his selfless actions could be twisted and be seen as rebellion instead. Five years passed in relative peace, though Venus swore she could feel the weight of President Snow's eyes all the way from the Capitol. With the invisible threat of execution hanging over her family, she made a choice.

She volunteered.

Everyone expected her role in the Games to be a replica of her brother's, and she used that to her advantage. With her petite frame and sweetheart face, she was the picture of innocence and purity. She fell into the act flawlessly, luring the other tributes in with her kind nature and warm smile. She eased their pain and gained their trust. And when their guard was down, she killed them. She was ruthless, and she was vicious- she was victorious.

And then the real games began.

Forever Tag: @darknightfrombeyond @arrthurpendragon @foxesandmagic @bravelittleflower @darkwolf76 @stareyedplanet @thophil2941btw

(Want to be added to my taglist? Send me an ask or message!)

[museaes]

BAMBI’S WEB WEAVES 4/?: FINNICK ODAIR.

if you feel nothing then why are you shaking?

[mega-aulover]

Fletcha

Chapter Six

Summary: Katniss believes herself to be cursed, as everyone she's loved is killed by King Snow. Until one day she's orphaned and she finds an old wizard who tells her she's the key to solving the mystery behind her father's disappearance and her unnatural second sight. King Snow wants her dead because he knows Katniss is the only one who can destroy him. Fantasy AU HG

Chapter 6: With the arrival of King Snow, Katniss is faced with a quandary. Will she stay and fight or will she take a journey into the past?

FFN & AO3

For my bestie @norbertsmom

[fcllendeities]

who: @bloodsmoonlit / finnick

where: finnick's loft / mid-afternoon

Autumn Talbot sat with the foot of her boot pressed against the edge of the old teakwood table, studying the fallen God's features who had sprawled across the chaise lounge opposite her like a cat stretching in the sun.

Whatever a God was supposed to look like, Finnick Barnes hadn't been what she pictured.

Finnick carried himself with an air of nonchalance, as if everything and everyone was an inconvenience to him. As if mankind was as important as an ant on the bottom of his boot. As if he always had somewhere more important to be, something more pressing to attend to.

Autumn couldn't possibly fathom what could be more important than finding The Architect—the ancient being responsible for his entire existence. Then again, the man responsible for your entire existence being a stranger was a match that struck a little too close to home for Autumn.

"Your father—" If that was even the right word to call him, Autumn realised, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "—Is one elusive son of a bitch." She closes over the text book she had been reading, or aptly, she had been stuck reading the same sentence over and over again due to the growing distraction that was Finnick Barnes.

"Is it a prerequisite for all of you Old One's to be like Houdini or is that just a speciality of his?"

[sgrspiced-a]

@jedicide : "now i know what you are." +finnick!

“ NOW THAT'S NOT ENTIRELY FAIR . ” aventurine eyes meet the other's , brow raised in challenge . hands that were previously up , [ a show of peace ] , come down , one resting comfortably on the trident by his side .

seeing anakin like this — it feels wrong . unnatural , in spite of this being what finnick had trained for for the better part of his life . he thinks to the last time he'd seen anakin — how long had it been , now ? a few months , at least . laughing into their bottles and reminiscing on time as teenagers . finnick had hoped he'd be on the correct side . but now , under the cover of thick foliage and rain , he can concede that that was never an option , “ i haven't changed and you know it . i'm still finnick , anakin — does that mean nothing ? ”

[devilsmenu]

"Yeah. Last Halloween we had a corn maze trying to kill us" Junwoong revealed to Finnick. "I wasn't thinking about this word but it can be it too".

"fatal?" finnick repeated, glancing up as if he might see the glitch of a force field, "sounds like one big arena," he muttered to himself.

[little-lynx]

EVERLARK OUTFITS: THE VICTORY TOUR

This part of “Catching Fire” is done (finally) so I put it all together;) DISTRICT 11, THE SQUARE

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. <…> As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. <…> I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. // Catching Fire, ch. 4

I think this dress should be a little semi-official so I choose cape sleeve sheath midi dress. It’s perfect for autumn (and they have early autumn weather there in 11th). The hair is just plain + gold hairband = girlish innocent look like the one after the games (this tactics they choose for the Tour). Plus I wanted to draw Katniss with her natural straight hair because i draw her with her braid usually ;) And again nothing about Peeta’s outfit. You know I feel like Portia 😅 because I have to choose how to dress Peeta. I’m not complaining through. So it is black suit with golden buttons (matching Katniss’s hairband and pin), thin soft orange sweater and black leather shoes.

DISTRICT 11, THE DINNER

A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. “Like it?”  “It's beautiful. As always,” I say. “Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. // Catching Fire, ch.5

DISTRICT 7

Jackson has devised a game called «Real or Not Real» to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. <...> But since Peeta’s greatest confusion centers around me—and not everything can be explained simply—our exchanges are painful and loaded, even though we touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of my dress in 7. My preference for cheese buns. The name of our math teacher when we were little. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try. // Mockingjay, ch. 19

So we have only one sentence in “Mockingjay” about this outfit. And still I decided to draw it because I have a theory (head canon?) about it. I think Peeta remembers the color of her dress because it was special night for him (a lot of kisses and attempts to sneak away from everyone and maybe it felt very real at times) and also because she had two braids and the dress was red. RED is the color ❤️. / Peeta has dark red + black + a little bit gold which is also sexy color combination.

DISTRICT 5 I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour.  <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…>  As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.  // Mockingjay, ch. 16

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

DISTRICT 2

Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. “Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.” Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head. “I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna. // Catching Fire, Chapter 15

This description gave me strong “Anastasia” feels 😅. So I loosely based Katniss dress on Anastasia’s ballet evening gown. For Peeta I chose tuxedo jacket similar to Salvatore Ferragamo design for FF 12/13.  Neo classic, purple velvet, shiny shoes. Also I decided to include a cane, both to help Peeta to have some rest during all this Tour activities and as an accessory.

DISTRICT 12

When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. <…> She [Madge] saw my reflection behind her and smiled. “Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.” // Catching Fire, ch.6

When I started drawing this one I just felt that I need to make it look very “Capitol”. So I added some feathers. A LOT of sparkling feathers, haha. Also there are some “moon and stars” accessories in Katniss’ hair because this silver gown gives me moonlight vibes. For Peeta I came up with classic suit but made him wear it casually.

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 13

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

Johanna thinks men are stupid and she doesn’t respect them (pls tell me someone gets this reference)

Content Warnings - your fave is an idiot (for now)

District 13 is lonely. They still won’t let you have any visitors and haven’t quite determined if you are safe yet. Their constant dismissal of your words reminds you of why you went mute all those years ago.

“Please,” you beg one of the doctors. “What do I have to do to prove I’m not a danger? You released Annie a week ago.”

“Miss Y/L/N I am not approved to clear you. That decision is made elsewhere,” the doctor responds.

“Then let me speak to whoever’s in charge!” you demand. “There has to be some way for me to show you all that I’m harmless.”

Ten minutes later you are sitting in front of a lady named President Coin. Your hands and feet are still cuffed but they gave you a jumpsuit to wear instead of your hospital gown. They wheeled you over here in a wheelchair despite your constant reminders that you could walk just fine.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Coin states. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to be released from the hospital,” you firmly state. “I’m of no danger to anyone here.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do that,” Coin replies.

“Why?” you ask.

“It was risky enough to bring you to thirteen,” Coin explains. “We can’t have someone as rogue as you wandering amongst the general population. It’s too dangerous.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you that I’m no longer a danger to anyone?” you practically shout. “They didn’t hurt me in the capital. They gave me some treatment that made me better. I’m not feral anymore.”

“And how am I supposed to believe that?” Coin asks.

“I didn’t talk to anyone for five years besides Finnick,” you snort. “You think I’d be talking to you if I wasn’t healed?”

“That is a fair point,” she sighed. “Maybe we could come to a compromise. I won’t permit your release yet but I will allow you to have pre-approved visitors on the condition that a soldier can monitor the visits and administer sedative if necessary. We can revisit this arrangement in two weeks and adjust based on results.”

“Fine,” you huff. “I just want to see Finnick.”

An hour later, Finnick comes to visit. You reach out to pull him onto the bed with you but he sticks to the edge of the room, sitting down in a chair in the opposite corner.

“Finn,” you whine. “Come here.”

“They told me I need to stay five feet away,” he states. “for my own safety.”

“Well that sounds a lot like a rule you ignored for the past five years,” you shrug. He just shakes his head in response.

“I can’t,” he states. “Not until I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”

You look at him dumbfounded. He thinks you would hurt him?

“You really think I’m going to hurt you?” you ask him.

“I,” he stutters. “I don’t know.”

“They fixed me,” you explain. “I can talk to everyone now. No more violent outbursts or breakdowns.”

He just shakes his head and puts his hands on his temples.

“If you’re just going to treat me like a feral animal, then leave,” you state, causing him to look up at you. What hurts the most is the fact that he actually does get up and leave.

He doesn’t trust you.

Three days later, Johanna comes to see you. Finnick hasn’t come back since you told him to leave so you’ve been all alone in your room.

“Hey Fiesty,” she mutters as she sits down on your bed. “What are you up to nowadays?”

“Nothing much,” you shrug. “I just got moved from one prison to another.” This answer gets a small laugh out of Johanna.

“Glad to see you’re talking again,” she states. “When are they letting you out?”

“They aren’t,” you respond.

“Oh come on,” she groans. “You’re harmless. Don’t tell me Finnick hasn’t tried convincing Coin to release you.”

“He hasn’t,” you reply, shaking your head. “He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m going to hurt him like how Peeta hurt Katniss.”

“Ugh. Men are so stupid,” Johanna groans. “I’ll talk some sense into him when he visits me this afternoon.”

“He visits you?” you ask. “Why doesn’t he visit me?”

“Because he’s stupid,” Johanna snorts. “Don’t worry. I’ll go fix your relationship.”

“It’s not a relationship!” you exclaim as she leaves your room.

“Shut up Fiesty!” she yells as she finally exits.

“Hey idiot,” Johanna states as Finnick enters her room. He looks like he didn’t sleep again.

“What did I do this time?” he groans.

“You’ve been avoiding Fiesty,” she replies. “She’s locked up in a room all by herself and I’m the only one who has visited her in days.”

“I can’t see her,” he responds, fiddling with the rope in his hands. “It isn’t safe.”

“Stop being an idiot,” Johanna states, causing Finnick to look up at her. “I don’t know exactly what her treatment entailed but it definitely wasn’t the same as mine or Peeta’s. She never screamed. She didn’t have a single cut or bruise on her body when they rescued her. They even polished the bite mark off her wrist. If they had done anything to her, I think someone would have noticed by now.”

“You said before that her room was near Peeta’s,” Finnick comments. “Did he see or hear anything?”

“Well I’m not allowed to see him so I haven’t been able to ask,” Johanna shrugs. “One of the soldiers, the one who is supposedly Katniss’ cousin, told me that Fiesty made a comment about Peeta being dangerous when she was brought in but he didn’t think much about it till he attacked Katniss. If she was also dangerous, I don’t think she would have tried to warn anyone.”

“I don’t know…” Finnick sighs.

“Look,” Johanna states firmly. “We will go visit her together, first thing tomorrow, and I will show you that she’s not dangerous.“

“Fine,” Finnick relents.

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[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Everlark (Catching Fire, Ch. 24-25)

katniss being angry that peeta hasn't come to help her before she realises he literally can't

peeta putting his hand up against the wall and her putting hers up to meet him. these two are so angsty romance-coded

"i just stare at his face, doing my best to hang onto my sanity"

peeta holding and rocking katniss on his lap, lifting her chin so she looks at him. husband. he loves her so much.

(as an aside, johanna and finnick basically being katniss's and peeta's older siblings is so adorable. what a cute fun brokem damaged little family)

when katniss finds out that finnick loves a "poor, mad girl back home", i can't not think of the parallels being set up between annie/finnick and peeta/katniss in the next book

ah the beach scene

"everything. that's what peeta wants me to take from him"

"i realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if peeta dies. me"

"i do. i need you"

i'm dead at this point. how can people say katniss didn't love peeta. i got the evidence right here!

So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. 

the idea of peeta trying to talk despite katniss kissing him and then just giving up is too much

the warmth that grows inside of her exclusively due to peeta

the line about a new kind of hunger. bars

she's so down bad for him, and i think she truly realises here, even if she doesn't let herself think about it too much.

finnick waking up and realising the way they're wrapped around eachother and being like... "um get a room? if you want?" is hilarious too

i truly wonder how far they would've gone if they hadn't been interrupted by the lightning bolt. judging by katniss saying there's nothing to stop them this time but them, i think she might've not stopped at all. and the wrapping around each other. i know they were about to cut away in the capitol feeds.

peeta again being husband and making katniss lie down and leading her to bed. "i let him lead me over to where the others are." the "i let him." this books is just a masterpiece in showing the change in their dynamics.

lol at katniss being like "fuck no" at the suggestion of having kids with gale. "for one thing, that's never been part of my plan." like how much clearer has she got to make it. contrasting this to when peeta dropped the baby bomb and she was like: it could be true by now if it wasn't for the games, right? she's so shameless

i honestly feel like crying every time katniss says she thinks of peeta's child safe in the meadows. the fact that it's just peeta's child makes me think that the unnamed, unidentified unspoken of mother, is her. like that's who she's picturing in this fantasy, in this dream.

"when i wake, i have a brief delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with peeta" and she clings to it as long as she can

just something so beautiful that all this talk of love and family and peace and the future is linked with peeta and thus her own happiness. like my heart aches for her.

she can't look at peeta the next morning after their kissing the night before. i think a big part of it was because she just allowed herself to think all these thoughts involving peeta and then came back down to earth very quickly and realised that this wasn't possible for her because of the QQ

the pearl, their inside joke because of effie! the fact they remembered, the fact that they laugh together like this even with everything going on

katniss determining that peeta is her biggest enemy because their desires are the complete opposite when it comes to survival. "i promise myself i will defeat his plan." and even despite them both realising they're at odds, despite peeta not being able to look at her after, they sit together hand in hand.

the pearl and everything it comes to symbolise with these two kills me.

[happyhauntt]

BURIAL GROUND, a hunger games fic. ─── summary:  In District Four, they teach you  how to survive the Games. They don’t teach you how to survive what comes after. ─── warnings: this story contains triggering themes including sexual assault & rape, prostitution, self-harm and thoughts of suicide, death and canon-typical violence. these themes, along with others, are prevalent in the hunger games universe and will come up in this story, so please don’t read if these things affect you! ─── fic tag. read on ao3. fic masterlist.

CHAPTER TWO ─── pretty things (5.1k words.)

     LONG AGO, BEFORE THE GAMES clawed their way into Nimah's life, she dreamed of being the guest of honour at one of President Snow's glittering pageants.

     She remembers being a seven year old girl, crouched right in front of the television in her old house. Her mother bustling in the kitchen, her father at the factory, her grandparents sitting on rickety wooden chairs behind her. They were chattering to one another in hushed voices, pretending not to watch the broadcast.

     Her brother, Caspian, had been at the combat academy. Months before had been his first reaping. He'd been twelve and terrified, with trembling hands he'd balled into fists to hide the tremors. He'd worn his best shirt and their mother had combed his hair, and he'd stood in line with the rest of the children to await his fate.

     He hadn't been chosen. Both Nimah and Caspian were born with knives in their hands and sweat on their brow, but she'd still been a child then, too. She still had chubby cheeks and shining brown eyes, and she'd leaned in so close to the television that every breath made the image flicker.

     Nim's parents spent every bit of money they had to send their children to the combat academies. Nim learned to fight as soon as she could walk, and yet, with her knees pressed into the grimy carpet, the horrors of the Games never reached her. Only the glamour of the Victors, bathed in riches beyond all imagining.

     She had dreamed of Snow's parties. The champagne, the glitter woven through her hair, dripping in jewelry and adored by the nation. On television, the Presidential Palace stood proud and pale, seeming to shine beneath the lights. Nim had wanted to be there. She'd so badly wanted to have that life.

     She had not known what her naivety would cost her.

     The diamonds wrap around her throat like a noose. Jeweled bracelets layered upon bird-like wrists feel like shackles weighing her down. The lights that had made the mansion shine on television are blinding in real-life, technicolour flashes painting rainbows across the party.

     Everyone else is made to shine, too  ━  skin splashed with gold-and-turquoise body paint, gems of every kind adorning every surface of their bodies, everyone draped in expensive silks and brocades. Each and every Capitol citizen trying to outdo one another, to look more outrageous than the next, trying to grab the attention of the cameras, the president, anyone worth something.

     Unfortunately for them, all eyes have been on Nimah Caplan since the moment she won her Games.

     President Snow's mansion has always been a sight to behold; whether she is seeing is through a television screen or in person, the grandeur of his home never fails to take her breath away. Tonight, the ballroom has been transformed into what Nimah assumes must be intended to imitate Mount Olympus.

     High above her head, stars twinkle where dozens of chandeliers used to be. It must be an illusion, some trick of the light or a clever projection, but the dark abyss of the night sky stares back at her. In spite of the bright stars and pretty constellations, it feels as if it is trying to swallow her whole.

     All around, there are guests lounging on soft sofas and large, fluffy cushions. There are fireplaces and gardens and small ponds filled with exotic fish, and the faint scent of honey lingers on the air. Everyone here behaves as if they belong; as if they truly are gods resting on their mount in the heavens, ruling over the unfortunate mortals below.

     Nim is too used to playing the role of goddess.

     As sure as she is with a knife in her hand, temptation is the game Nimah was truly born to play. Her eye patch is bedazzled with emeralds and held in place by a stiff golden braid, and her hair, left to fall down her back in sleek curls, is speckled with rhinestones. Her stylist chose a forest-green dress, simple by the Capitol's standards  ━  swathes of silk pool around her ankles, a sweetheart neckline guards her modesty, and the sleeves come all the way down to her wrists.

     To anyone who looks  ━  and all eyes are on her, the belle of the ball  ━  she is the very image of an angel. Saintly and demure, she floats through the ballroom, gracing familiar faces with a pleasant, welcome smile. But when she walks, those watching will catch brief flashes of smooth skin, courtesy of the thigh-high slit in her dress.

     She knows how best to get them talking.

     Someone taps her shoulder. For a moment, Nim's whole body stiffens, her muscles coiled to strike out at the stranger. Within seconds, the facade slips seamlessly back into place; she turns on her heel and greets the man, someone she recognises vaguely from other Capitol parties, as an old friend. She allows him to take her hand, lets him lead her into the center of the dance floor.

     He twirls her slowly, his grip on her waist too tight to be polite. Her senses scream at her to run  ━  to peel his roaming hands off her body and snap his fingers like twigs  ━  but she carries herself as she always does. She lets him touch her, tossing her head back to laugh at every word he says, more of a showpiece than a person tonight.

     That's all he wants. Everyone to watch them, him dancing with her. To watch his light fingers wandering dangerously close to inappropriate places, to know that he got to touch her, the Capitol's darling.

     When the song ends, he finally releases her. She gives him a coquettish smile and promises to save him another dance for later in the evening. No sooner has he left that someone else arrives  ━  a woman this time, who kisses both of Nim's cheeks, her spidery lashes fluttering against Nim's skin in a way that makes her stomach churn.

     Her skin burns, but the mask never slips. Not for a moment.

     In the Capitol, Nim becomes someone else so easily, it's like she never existed before. The moment she steps off the train, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement, the cameras flashing, dazzling her, she is a shapeshifter. A woman once dead, come alive again.

     When people are watching, there is nothing else she can afford to be. She'll paint her lips red and flash her smiles, make them all swoon for her; the performance, the persona she slips into, did not come easily at first. Now she is a well-oiled machine, a doll the Capitol gets to play with, to dress up or dress down, to play with and then discard. The mindless gossip, the glitter, the constant reaching hands, all of it is precise.

     She can play her part better than anybody else, but it leaves her reeling for weeks after.

     Some of the others don't play their parts as well  ━  and some of them, the unlucky few, have very different roles.

     Cosmo Byrd lies slumped over one of the sofas in the corner of the ballroom. There are some who earned their victories, like Nimah and Finnick, with blood and guts and lifetimes of guilt to show for it. They parade around with their crowns forged in death. They are society's glittering elite  ━  the ones who fought. The ones who earned it.

     Then there are the ones, like Cosmo and Annie Cresta, who were lucky. They snatched their lives back from the jaws of death through sheer circumstance, and now they must live with the trauma of it. He was seventeen when he became the Victor of the 60th Hunger Games, and all that time he was just a boy running scared. The last one standing.

     In the fourteen-and-a-half years since that moment, he has never stopped running.

     There is a boy attached to his neck; in the hazy light, Nimah can just make out blue-painted nails and hair slicked back with green paint. Cosmo lifts a hand and greets her with a lazy smile. She wonders if he knows who he's waving at, or even where he is.

     A presence hovers near Nimah's elbow as she finishes dancing with another Capitol citizen. It is strangely comforting, the way the man's pink irises flicker between her and the girl at her side. He bids her goodbye, stuttering as he does so, before swooping back into the crowd that huddles at the edge of the dance floor.

     With a gentle smile, Nim turns to greet her old friend. "Derry. Enjoying the party?"

     If Nimah is the bright shining light at the center of a room, attracting glossy-eyed people like moths to a flame, then Alderry Minette is a lightning strike in the middle of a forest. Something about her has always screamed DANGER  ━  from her sharp jaw to the curve of her lips, the devious look in her eyes and the strange quickness with which she can move, standing at Alderry's side has always felt more like handling a pit viper.

     Perhaps that is why, after all these years, Nimah feels more at ease when Derry is in the room than anywhere else in the world. With Derry near, everyone else seems to steer clear; they know who she is, how she won, what those quick little hands are capable of.

     She won the 68th Hunger Games, two years after Nimah. She was sixteen.

     She was one of the ones who earned it.

     Derry flashes a quick grin. "As much as I enjoy any other party. When do you have to leave?"

     Nim clenches her jaw for a split second, the only flaw in an otherwise perfect performance. She glances quickly at the edges of the room; the doorways are cloaked in shadow, almost giving the impression that there is no escape from this decadent illusion. Something about that reminds her of the arena so suddenly that her lungs constrict painfully.

     If Alderry notices, she doesn't remark on it.

     "I'll go when the party's over, and not before," Nimah says finally, when the panicked feeling passes. It leaves behind that prickling static that dances across her skin; it never really goes away. She spares a glance around the room, wondering if her client for the evening is among the guests, or whether she'll find them waiting at her apartment. They might be eager to begin with her, but they'll have to be patient. President Snow likes her to stick around until the end of the festivities, showing off. "Was fight club before the party, or after?"

     Derry gives an unpleasant snort. Her faces has been splashed in rouge and shadows; her eyes streaked with black liner, her cheeks and lips painted pink to highlight her porcelain skin. Her hair is sewn with quartz crystals. She looks more like a doll than a killer.

     "They'd never risk bruising my face before the party," says Derry, a cold smile curling on her lips. She swipes two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and offers one to Nimah, who accepts it gladly, downing the contents in one mouthful.

     They all have their parts to play. Nimah and Finnick, the Capitol's darlings. Cosmo, a cautionary tale. Alderry Minette, a bloodthirsty girl, forced into underground fighting rings to earn money for sponsers.

     And Katniss and Peeta, Nimah thinks, as they enter the ballroom together. She wonders what roles they will have to play.

     All attention shifts to the newly-engaged couple, and Nimah slumps for a moment, taking the opportunity to catch her breath. Most of the time she can make herself love the lights, the glitter, the attention when it's happening. She can regress to the starry-eyed child who wanted to be there, shining  ━  but not at the cost of who she is.

     These people, all of them, think they know her because they watched her transform from an innocent girl to a teenage killer on a television screen. They don't know half the shit inside her head. They don't know half the shit she went through. It sticks to the inside of her skull, messy and black and congealed. She tries her best to deal with it, but the more she scrapes and claws at it, the messier it gets.

     Her whole body is a cage. Her skin holds back a tide of black matter, of rage and ruin; it wants to escape. It wants to stain everyone it can, to blacken everything Nim touches, to make the world as dark and messy as she feels.

     She can smile, and smile, and flatter and shine, but her fingernails still bleed when she scratches at her bedroom walls. The inside of her throat is still raw from screaming, from the alcohol she swallows to fall asleep at night, to keep the nightmares at bay.

     Nimah catches her reflection in her champagne glass. Just for a moment, her gaze lingers. Someone strange stares back at her; a green-eyed, eye-patched girl she cannot be now. She wrinkles her nose, bile rising in the back of her throat, and she passes it off to another waiter. Her hands tremble; she closes them into fists and prays for the shaking to pass.

     "I feel sorry for the poor kids," Derry mutters, taking a sip from her own glass.

     Katniss and Peeta are sixteen, just teenagers, their faces fresh and pulled wide with smiles as they circle the room, led by their escort. Their eyes are shiny and bright, they kiss the cheeks of those clamouring to meet them, but there is a tensity in their shoulders that Nimah knows only too well.

     She frowns. "All of us were those kids."

     And none of them are kids anymore.

     She shakes herself out of her daze, plastering a pleasant look on her face as the other guests flock back to the dance floor.

     Gently, she taps Alderry on the shoulder, leaning close to murmur in the woman's ear. "Check on Cosmo before you leave for fight club, please?" She spares a glance at their barely-conscious friend. She wishes she could spend her days in a similar state of numbness. "Another public overdose is what none of us need."

     Alderry nods. Nimah leaves her, disappearing back into the crowd as stretching hands reach out to brush over her shoulders, her face. A million tiny spiders scatter across her skin.

     She finds Finnick at the other end of the ballroom. He stands tall, like a statue made of bronze, copper hair glowing beneath the dim lights. The crisp edges of his suit are bedazzled with precious gems; when she reaches him, emerging from the crowd of admirers like a rose blooming in the summertime, he greets her with a gracious, slightly-relieved smile.

     "Dance with me?" It is more of a demand than a request. She stands too closely to him, trailing the tip of her finger along the sapphires on his lapel. She leans in and murmurs, "It'll look good, like the king and queen dancing. That's always great publicity."

     The corner of Finnick's lip twitches with the hint of a frown. He always struggled to understand the difference in Nimah, when she comes to the Capitol. As a snake sheds its skin, she sheds her insecurities and twirls in her sparkling dresses. At home, she cannot sleep without a light on in every room. She is frightened and fierce, two entirely separate entities. He always wondered how two creatures like that could live inside the same body.

     But now he sees the anxiety flickering in her eye. The nervous flick of her wrist as she flattens down his lapel. They're watching us. He can feel their eyes, too, all of them, like a burial shroud. Without another word, he leads her into a dance.

     Most of the time, he's used to it. Someone is always watching. You get used to the burn that comes with eyes staring at you. Like an unfamiliar smell in your bedroom. At first, it's all you can think about  ━  how different everything feels. But if you live with it long enough, it becomes part of your life. Another thing to carry.

     His fingers hold tightly to Nimah's waist, their hands clasped together. She lets him lead, for once. The song changes to a light, airy tune, floating down from above them. The other dancers seem to distance themselves, making space for their golden Victors in the center of the dance floor.

     Nim plasters a deceptive grin on her face, one that must be convincing to everyone in the room except him. Finnick cannot tell whether it is a blessing or a curse that he knows her so well.

     "I hate this," she murmurs, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her. Her lips hardly move, the words breathed between her teeth as if they are some secret, revolutionary covenant that cannot ever be heard by prying ears.

     Finnick gives her waist a gentle squeeze. Nim can't tell if it's because he has one more year of this under his belt than her, or if the looseness of his shoulders comes naturally, but his smile is too easy. He is all charm.

     Is it easier for him? Did he just... adjust better than she did?

     Their hell will last for only a few hours more, at most. By midday tomorrow, they'll both be on a train back to their district, and the decompression will begin. Nim will lock herself inside her house for days, hiding beneath the duvet with all the lights turned on, an empty bottle resting on the pillow beside her. Hobbs might try and break the door down again, if he doesn't see any movement through the windows.

     "It won't be like this forever." The words taste stale and false on his tongue.

     Nim scoffs. She looks up at him through her lashes, her lime-green eye narrowed scornfully. The emeralds on her eye patch wink. "You're too smart to believe that."

     He doesn't try to correct her.

     When the song ends, morphing into another ethereal melody, Nimah peels herself away. The few minutes of peace she earned with Finnick vanish as she slips back into the sea of guests. Various excuses spill from her lips as she makes a beeline towards one of the tables lining the walls, an array of stunning food laid out to be sampled.

     She plucks a small, rose-shaped pastry from a plate and pops it into her mouth whole, careful not to smear her lipstick. A delighted moan springs from someone nearby, and her eye wanders to find Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire and the Capitol's newest obsession, with another pastry caught between her fingers.

     "Congratulations." Nim's heel-clad feet carry her toward Katniss before she truly knows what she's doing. "On winning your Games."

     Katniss looks startled, choking on a stray flake of pastry for a moment. She swallows quickly, a strange frown overtaking her features as she realises who spoke. "You're Nimah Caplan," says Katniss. "You, uh..."

     The younger girl struggles to find the right words. Nimah chuckles. "You can say it, you know. I killed my brother." The wet squelch rings in her ears; her brother's dying words float through her brain. She thought it would hurt less, almost ten years later. When someone dies so you can survive, though, that pain stays with you like an open wound.

     Still, she presses her lips together in a grim smile. "My favourite response is usually your Games were very memorable. But not more memorable than yours, hm? Two victors." It isn't bitterness that colours her voice; it's almost wonder. "Star-crossed lovers."

     Katniss narrows her gaze for a moment, as if trying to decipher whether Nimah is mocking her. In spite of the scorn curling up in her ribs, though, Nimah wouldn't mock Katniss. Not for such a clever move. Not for pulling one over on a system designed to make them suffer.

     "You're not very good at masking your feelings, are you?" Nimah mutters, observing the uncomfortable tension in Katniss' jaw. Nim keeps her features locked in a steady smile, always ready for the cameras. "You'll learn to. You'll have to. But you don't love him, huh?"

     Katniss doesn't respond.

     Nim almost doesn't expect her to; denying it would be an outright lie, and both of them know better to tell half-truths in the Capitol, a city built of pretty falsehoods.

     The muscles jump in Katniss' cheek. Nim fixes the younger girl with a piercing eye. "There are worse things," she says quietly, turning back to the dessert table. She surveys the pastries, one ring-laden hand lingering over some chocolate tarts. "There are roles we have to play for the rest of our lives. Most of us would kill to be in your place, Katniss. Can I call you Katniss?"

     The District 12 girl blinks. Nimah wonders if Katniss is imagining lodging a knife in her throat.

     "Playing happy families is a dream compared to what some of us have to do." Perhaps she is being cruel, but it's not her intention. She was thirteen, but she could've been sixteen; she could've fallen in love, or pretended to, just to get out of there alive.

     Nim has too many regrets, but there is only one thing she would do differently.

     Her brother would be standing here, instead, if she could make that happen.

     The silence between them stretches on as Nim chooses another pastry, the otherworldly music wrapping around them like silk, swallowing them whole; insects caught in a fantasy, something soft and warm to keep them happy while they are digested.

     Then Katniss says, "What happened to your eyes? I don't recall hearing about any head injuries in your Games..."

     Nimah swallows roughly, her smooth facade chipped slightly at the edges. She turns to face Katniss, and finds the younger girl staring at her through narrowed eyes, triumph dancing through her expression.

     Perhaps, Nimah realises, Katniss is better at this game than she thought.

     "It happened after."

     She hardly remembers it; the hilt of the kitchen knife clutched in her hand, digging into her skin. The white-hot flash of pain and the blood and the screaming. The memories of that awful morning stay hazy and pale at the edges of her mind, and she is thankful that she cannot remember the true horror of it.

     "A few years ago." She wipes the discomfort from her eyes, paints the simple smile back onto her face as if she is some perfectly-poised doll. "It was an accident."

     Katniss clicks her tongue, and mutters, "Some of us have to do what we have to do, huh?"

     Nimah nods soundlessly. "Call me if you need any advice," she says, after another moment of silence passes between them. She takes a step closer to Katniss; she stands half-a-head taller than the younger girl in her heels. Her eyes bores into Katniss, almost pleading. Her voice is low when she adds, "The fight is over. We've got the rest of our lives to deal with now, and it's easier to do it together."

     She spent years hiding. Growing thorns instead of skin, pushing away anyone who dared try to help her, dared to try and share her feelings. All of them are Victors. All of them won their Games.

     Now they get to live with it.

. . .

     THE NEXT MORNING, Nimah lies on the bare wooden floors of her apartment, in the patch of sunlight streaming in through the window. She doesn't know if the weather outside is truly good or bad; she changed all the windows to show only sunny days the moment she got the keys, and ever since, her mornings in the Capitol have been spent wishing the sun could burn her up.

     President Snow pays for it. Nimah is sure he pays for all of their apartments in the city, so the Victors he chooses to use for his own gain are always shown in the best light. Expensive furnishings, silk bedclothes, he made sure these rooms were a luxurious paradise fit for a queen.

     Nimah emptied out all the furniture as soon as she could.

     She kept the bedroom the same; perfumed bed sheets with a thread count higher than the sky, candelabras in the corners, a rug that must've cost a fortune, which Nimah poured a bottle of red wine over out of spite. But everything other room is bare.

     She wanted a place that felt safe and empty. The Capitol has never been either of these things, but in the middle of a bare room, with wooden floorboards digging into her shoulder blades, she can trick herself into believing something else for a moment or two.

     A light tap at the front door grabs her attention, but Nimah doesn't move. She lays still, her limbs protesting against the discomfort of the floor, the urge to run rising as heavy footsteps thud across the floor, but then Cosmo's face dips into her line of sight.

     He raises an eyebrow, a silent question. His eyes scrape over the dress she wears, the same dress from the night before, except one of the sleeves has been torn away, exposing her arm to the sunlight. One knee is drawn up, so the slit in the skirt falls away almost completely.

     Nimah remains quiet, and Cosmo accepts her non-answer, lying on the floor next to her. She wonders if he cares about the dust sticking to his brocade waistcoat.

     He rakes one hand through thick, curly hair before drawing a lighter from his pocket. He lights the cigarette that dangled between his fingers and takes a drag; the heady scent of cloves and some sweet drug Nimah can't identify clouds the air around them in a pale yellow haze.

     She plucks it from his grip and takes a long drag. Her lungs fill with smoke, an unfamiliar sweetness sits at the back of her throat. Before she can take another drag, Cosmo swats her and snatches the cigarette back.

     Nim blows smoke through her lips. She watches it swirl through the air, long tendrils curling and then vanishing entirely. "This wasn't what I thought it would be."

     Cosmo turns his head to face her, blowing smoke into her face. "What, the cigarette?"

     She reaches out and flicks the end of it; ash sprinkles down to powder Cosmo's face with tiny speckles of black-and-white. He rolls his eyes at her. "Go on."

     "Not the sex." That's almost empowering, for Nimah  ━  for an hour she can be the center of someone's world, feel the illusion of total control. She can make someone feel exactly as she wants, twist the whole world to her whims for just a little while. When, for so long, control has been something that slips through her fingers like sand, pretending to possess some is a strong tonic.

     But it isn't her choice.

     "If I decided to stop, someone would get hurt." Fear races, black and cold, through her bones. It leaves her shivering. "Look at what happened to you. And Haymitch."

     Cosmo looks away, and takes a long drag of the cigarette. Something in his dark eyes turns murky. It aches them both to think about it; Cosmo Byrd, ten years her senior, a man who'd love to slip inside of himself and never, ever come out.

     Nimah wishes she didn't know about what happened to Cosmo's family. She wishes she didn't have that knowledge hanging over her like a sword, a threat to never step out of line.

     "Do you think it makes Finnick feel better?" she murmurs. Her green eye finds the window; she fixes her gaze on the artificial sun glaring through until her eye waters. "Taking secrets instead of money. If it makes him feel less used, less... dirty."

     She doesn't remember much of what happened, but she recalls how it felt in perfect clarity. The knife in her hand, the way she'd driven it into her own skull. How much it had hurt. How relieved she'd been, to believe she'd found a way out of this.

     "This is the game, honey. You bought a winning ticket," Cosmo tells her, glassy eyes settled on the bare ceiling, "and you get a lifetime supply of bullshit as your prize."

     Above all else, Nimah wishes she'd known, as thirteen-year-old girl craving glory, that it wasn't such a pretty thing.

[andy-15-07]

Masterlist

Since I met you

SUMMARY : When a student meets a famous actor, what can happen? They fall in love, they don't care what the world says about them, they swear their love and that they will be next to each other regardless of the situation.

The story follows the beginning and formation of the love story of Sam and Andrea.

Sam Claflin x oc!reader

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 |

Imagines

Sam Claflin Imagines

Our life together

Finnick Odair Imagines

After all we are a family

Tom Blyth Imagines

Peaceful Morning

A new chapter

Coriolanus Snow Imagines

Our joy

Us and our children

Our Love

Night Change

Our legacy begins

Masterlist 2

Rudy Pankow imagines

Family love

Chase Stokes Imagines

Weathering the Storm

Unexpected Encounters | part 2

Sweet Dreams - John B

Drew Starkey Imagines

Lazy day ~ Rafe Cameron

Just me and you ~Rafe Cameron

Happy couple

A Glimpse into Tomorrow

A Family's Love

Stage of Love

Babysitting and decisions

Midnight Revelations

A true love

masterlist ! pairing: Drew Starkey x reader x Rudy Pankow

Hearts Aligned - Rudy ,Drew and Y/n are confessing their love for each other

Comfort in Caring - Drew and Rudy take care of their girlfriend during her period

Sweet moments- Cooking together creates beautiful memories, especially with the people you love

[xopearlz]

aequoreus • the tidal wave | finnick o. | CH.0

prologue / part one

the waves crash gently, but was it before or after the tidal wave?

cw: none, not rlly proofread

a/n: this is a bit random but i started daisy jones and the six and i think its lowkey motivating me bc i love sam claflin… anyways no idea what this story is or how it started but like… it’s here!! not the best (or that much it’s a small part) but hope you enjoy :)) part one will be coming soon js gotta get the motivation

wc: 354

the cool breeze blew through your hair as you sat along the edge of the water, small waves washing over to touch the bottom of your feet. in the distance there’s the sounds of waves crashing gently against the jagged rocks that border parts of the water, and it’s almost soothing how peaceful it is.

the sand is warm yet slightly damp beneath you, you had been outside for a few hours and the slight tan you had gained was evident of that. your eyes were shut, taking in the calming noises of the sea and breathing in the salty waters, when a voice called your name. a voice you knew. your eyes open slowly.

“finnick.” you reply back, gaze remaining on the water as his soft footsteps come from behind you.

“i’ve been looking for you.” he said, from his voice you could tell he was standing behind you.

“i’ve been here.” he chuckles lightly before the silence returns, waves crashing off in the distance. it takes a few moments for him to speak up again.

“…we need to talk.” he starts, and you turn your head to meet his gaze. his brows are slightly sewn together as he looks at you, an expression you can’t quite distinguish on his face. 

finnick was easy to read, described as a ‘peacock’, yet in this moment you couldn’t read him. you nod before looking back to the sea, in which finnick moves to sit next to you.

you glance to him from the corner of your eye, watching him. he runs a hand through his bronze hair, staring off to where the sun meets the water as it sets. it had been up high in the sky when you first went out, letting you realize just how long it had been.

as your gaze lingers on finnick, you can really tell how long it’s been; the lines on his forehead, the indents left on his cheeks from all the times he smiled and revealed his dimples, the slight bags under his sea-green eyes. he’s changed so much since you’ve met him, and you have too.

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Masterlist

Smut * Fluff <3 Angst :/

Good Omens

Falling <3 * - ch 1, ch2,

Down Bad :/ <3 - ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6.

Aziraphale & Crowley comforting you after a bad day at work (one shot) <3

Crowley & Aziraphale calming you down when you’re feeling anxious (one shot) <3

The Hunger Games

Finnick fic coming soon...

BBC Merlin

The Prince's Heart <3 :/ - ch1, ch2,

The Witcher (Netflix)

short fluffy Geraskier ramble <3

Don't Ever Stop Singing <3

His Sweet Kiss <3 *

Les Mis

Snow Day <3

Harry Potter

Domestic Drarry headcannons <3

James Bond

Movie Moment <3