#haymitch x chaff

[thatthingilovewith]

trick or treat! 🦇

Here’s a fun Haymitch Tweet. Happy Halloween 🪓🍺

[vampirehizzies]

i'm in an unhinged haysilee mood right now? for some reason? if anyone cares?

[thefuseoftemptation]

you were telling us that there was no way finnick could be hated but what if the r hated him

Oh. Oh.

finnick odair x fem!reader/ finnick odair x tribute!reader

warning(s): cussing, the reader is like a year or so younger than finnick but never is the age put, the use of y/n (I don’t use it and try not to but bc of the type of request, it’s there), talks of loss, it's somewhat in order of the film but not really. lmk if there are more! NOT PROOFREAD.

a/n: none.

—

“Who’s left?”

“Uh, it's just Chaff and-”

“Y/N.”

Finnick hadn’t let Peeta finished before he was announcing your name. Their heads turned at his voice, Peeta nodding his head as if to back it up.

The former’s trident was pushed into the sand, using it as leverage to pull himself from the lower position he had been in from looking over their shoulders. “I’ll get Y/N.” It was stated, Finnick telling them- no room left to put in their words. But at the sentence, Johanna seemed to think otherwise– knowing why they were even said to begin with. 

The low chuckle followed by the shake of her head as if to dismiss the whole thing proved that much.

“There's no way.” And that only furthered it.

Her head was held up with her eyes narrowed in on Finnick, saying it with her chest out. While she knew her friend, she also knew you. There was no way Finnick would be coming out of that the same way he went in, if even at all. He was skilled, Johanna knew that much, but so were you. And put in the fact that you had something against him- a reason to come after him- made it all more necessary for her reaction.

“You doubting me?” Finnick asked, lips stretching up and tilting his head as he looked to the other tribute.

Johanna shook her head again, turning around as she tried to think through what he was getting himself into.

“It’s not the time, you know how she is. If you wanna go and put yourself on the line, by all means.” Her arms spread as she spoke, not even gonna try to be the voice of reason if this was how he was gonna take it. 

The others only looked between them, unsure of why these things were being said.

It wasn’t till later on that Katniss spoke up, all of them dispersed as they settled for the evening, Finnick in her line of sight as she asked the question that’d been on her mind since earlier.

“Who is she?” Her head turned to Johanna, who then looked over at Katniss, only to turn away and go back to what she had been doing. “I mean, to him. Who is she to him?” Katniss repeated, rewording herself when she got no response back after the first one.

“They were friends,” there was a rest before Johanna went on. “At least that’s how it was up until he returned.” Her head nodded towards Finnick, referring to his time in the arena. “You know how it is….” The girl sighed upon her words. Or lack of them. It was something that katniss couldn't grasp onto. How what was?

“But I thought Y/N wasn’t reaped until a few years after?” Katniss remembered what Haymitch said about you. While you were a little older than she had been when she won, it was still subsequent to Finnick’s. It’s only when Johanna mentioned who the other tribute was that Finnick was reaped with that she started to put it together. 

“Not Y/N- her sister.”

Katniss’ eyes panned back over to where Finnick was, though still listening intently to what Johanna was saying. Now seeing why they had been going back and forth earlier. “What do you think happened? Only one of us comes out, it’s always been like that. Only one victor. Well, at least that’s how it was.” She said, her last sentence referring to the year before. When Katniss had been known.

“So, if Finnick won, where do you think that left the others, huh?” Johanna pressed, her words slipping into the thoughts of the tribute beside her.

“Ever since then, he’s been the only thing on her mind. And that's not said like it’s thought of.”

Johanna got up, wiping the sand off her as she looked over to Finnick, shaking her head as she watched him. “She’s out to get him, and he knows that. But I question just how much he knows the extent she’ll go through in order to make sure it happens. Because Y/N won’t rest until she sees his face plastered in the sky” Johanna gestures up with the tip of her chin, “and he can’t rest because he knows she’s still out there waiting for him. He just refuses to show it." She rolls her eyes, before lifting her ax and swinging it over her shoulder.

"He's thinks he knows her, seeing as their from the same district and that they were friends. But that's just it! They were." Katniss watched the girl in front of her tilt her head back, swiveling it to the side.

"Well, he does, doesn't he? That's gotta give him the upper hand. He knows her- knows how she'll be in here." Johanna tutted at her assumption. A far stretch from the truth. Not even close to grazing the tip of the surface when it came to what was underneath you. And there were a lot of layers.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying. That was years ago, Katniss." You were a whole other person now.

"You should've seen her in the arena..." Johanna thought out loudly, her words becoming one with the wind that was slightly there, remembering seeing parts of how you were. She remembered watching you.

Let's just say at the time, the tribute wasn't looking to be on the receiving end if it ever came down to it.

Yet here she was; and she was still gonna keep to her words. She was all about tracking down the other tributes but you? Absolutely not. She doesn’t know what was worse. Letting you come to them or them going to you, either way, that canon was gonna go off when it happened.

"It's easy for her. In every sense— that girl he grew up with is no longer there. He just doesn't see it yet." Her eyes casted down, shaking her head again. "Their minds are set."

And with that she left, calling to the one they were just speaking of.

—

Finnick's eyes panned over the area.

“What is it?” Katniss questioned as she stared at the back of him, his head turning at every angle to make sure it was nothing. Even if it was far from it.

Finnick shook his head before continuing, “let’s just go.”

Johanna gave the girl a look before following in Finnick's steps.

He knew you were out there somewhere, knew you were close by— and although Finnick could handle himself and was aware of what you were capable of, he wasn’t sure he liked knowing any of it. And that's what kept him up, because the thing about you was, it was you. He knew you. Just not presently speaking.

Johanna had been right. While he wasn't there to hear what she had said about you and him, it'd all been true.

He knew you. But that was then. This was now. In here, he was just like everyone else to you. And if it came to it, with the two of you face to face, he'd do what he knew how.

He still remembers the look on your face when he returned from the games, even at that age, he knew what it meant. What it stood for. There was no going back for you guys.

It was the last he spoke to you and the last he saw of you. And despite it all, his view of you never changed.

That girl he grew up with is no longer there. He just doesn't see it yet.

It was sometime during their walk that Johanna matched his steps. “You know you’ll have to kill her.”

There was nothing said from either of them, another moment passing before Finnick spoke, agreeing with her words. It wasn’t just him you were after. If you were coming for him then you were coming for all of them.

“I know.” Not at all wanting it to come to that, but knowing it would.

—

It was sudden.

Beetee had been wiring the tree, as Finnick and Peeta stood by, when they heard something. The latter had tried making way to where he heard the noise- only for Finnick to step in.

“I’ll go, you stay here.” There was no room for the other boy to speak before Finnick was taking off into the direction. His trident in hand as he left.

He'd had been so in his head, thinking about if the girls were at the beach yet, that he hadn’t even thought about the one he had been trying to be aware of.

He had heard you before he saw you.

The two of you taking a fall when you tackled him- no time for him to properly react. It was something that he should’ve looked out for, something previous tributes never did because they thought you weren’t capable seeing how you looked.

Your appearance always threw people off, it’s what gave you the upper hand, because those innocent features were just that. There was nothing behind your eyes because there was nothing left.

Though to Finnick, it was anything but that.

He groaned at the feeling of it all until he had to push it aside when he saw you quickly recover. He was on his feet in seconds because that’s all it took for you. His eyes scanning for his trident and barely being able to use it as a block when your weapon came down at him.

“Y/N.”

He said it as if it were to get through to you, but he knew with the look held in your eyes that any further words he spoke would go on deaf ears.

You were pushing down, and despite his size compared to yours, Finnick somehow felt smaller. Your strength and rage unmatched as you had one thing on your mind and one thing only. You took the opportunity of his lowered and cornered position to send a swift knee to him- his body toppling slightly as you pulled your spear back to swing it around your shoulders and back over to him.

Finnick heard himself groaning again when he felt the swipe. The side of his face grazed.

“Y/N, stop.” You were standing above him, going to swing again when he moved, avoiding it.

“What happened to manners, huh?”

That only seemed to get rise out of you as you went harder. You were quick, he had to give you that.

Finnick knew he shouldn’t be trying to get through to you- but he was. And the more you guys fought, the closer he was to going through with what Johanna said. He had told himself he would, told himself he could do it but the time is here and he’s holding it off.

“You’re my friend.” He breathed, feeling the effects of going at it for as long as you guys had.

“So was she.”

It’d been the first time you spoke, the first time he heard your voice in years. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how it still sounded the same. Older but the same.

You had swung again, rolling yourself onto your knees so you could get a better angle at striking him from below. Which only had you trying again and again when he kept avoiding them. It wasn’t till you dropped your weapon that he really was on the line, unsure of your intentions. He should’ve known what was going to come next. Your leg sweeping him off his own as yours swung under them.

Finnick fell on his back, wincing, and turning to the side so he could stare up at you. He knew Johanna would tell him something only after she threw her axe your way.

you’ll have to kill her

No matter how much Finnick heard it, or how much he was told, it still wasn’t what he wanted. And you seemed to pick up on it when he hadn’t gotten to his feet. It’s why you took the advantage of it, picking up your weapon. As he did too.

It had just been them left.

She’d been running towards him, ready and knowing.

“I’m sorry.”

They were the last words he said to her, to himself, before his trident launched.

—

[hungergameshyperfixation]

Okay so let me be cringe and free but I’ve had a little ‘project’ idea for quite some time about making wiki-adjacent things and one totally specific thing on my mind has been ships.

Not just like shipping in a meta-fandom way (which that interests me too, but that’s another convo for a different day), but in an “individual ship appeal” way.

Like, using a Hunger Games specific example: Everlark. Everlark (Katniss x Peeta) has been analyzed literally ever since the books came out, but still.

Anyways, all this to say, there will be a ‘shipping’ themed post sometime hopefully soon(??)

(I will be EXCLUDING any pro-shipping things. I do no want to discuss that, so please do not mention any minors/adults or anything the like)

(Some of these are super niche and I don’t expect a lot of various answers, but I wanted to list out nearly every possible ship with Haymitch) ↴

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 6

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: I went with the chariot outfit from the books. If there's ever any confusion about something being described that doesn't match the movies, it's because I mixed it with the books :))))))) I feel like this chapter really hammers home the fact that Hozier inspired this fic. And while I have your attention, Finnick says the word too instead of to later on in this chapter because he means also. Just for those of you who don't know the different meanings of the word.

Past (vi) - Finnick

[18 & 19] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

You and Finnick are sitting side by side when they flood the arena.

An earthquake breaks the dam open, and the tributes closest to it die almost instantly, the crushing weight of the water pressure either breaking their necks or knocking them out before they drown. Multiple canons fire one after the other. If Finnick counted correctly, only six tributes are left—five of which aren't from districts with large bodies of water. It’ll only be a matter of time before they tire out. 

He's not hoping that the other kids die, but he is hoping that Annie makes it. She's a sweet girl, and she actually took his advice to heart, unlike his other tributes, who usually didn't take him seriously because of his age. 

He feels a smaller hand slip into his and he doesn’t have to look down to know it's yours. Your tributes had died in the cornucopia and it’s been ten days since then. You had no reason to stay behind. But you did. For him.

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

Once the waters have calmed and the rest of the tributes strive to stay afloat, Annie does the smart thing and moves to float on her back. 

Of course, in a test of endurance, she's the strongest swimmer in the arena. In District Four, kids learn how to backstroke before they can walk. However, there’s no telling how long they’ll be in the water, and trying to tread it will only drain what little stamina she has left.

It takes three hours for three of the tributes to die and five for Finnick to have his first victor.

Socialites and mentors alike surround you and Finnick to congratulate him as they airlift Annie out of the arena. Augustus claps him on the shoulder, and Gloss shakes his hand. But the only hand he cares about slips out of his when four different people try to rope him into a conversation at once, your bracelet catching against his.

You say nothing to him as you edge out of the crowd, and he supposes you don’t owe him an explanation, but it leaves a pit in his stomach to watch you walk away.

When he comes to the Eleventh floor later that night, Chaff is the one who greets him when the elevator opens, presumably heading out himself. Something he should have expected since you aren’t the only one who lives on the floor, but he’s still taken by surprise.

“Oh. Hey?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, the letters curling and drawing out at the end like he’s just discovered the human language.

“You’re acting like I’m not the face you wanted to see.” Chaff crosses his arms with a beaming grin that spells trouble for Finnick. “What? Am I not pretty enough, Odair?” 

“No, you’re plenty beautiful, Chaff,” he laughs, “I was just expecting Star.”

“Yeah, alright. Go ahead.” He steps aside, and Finnick feels like he got caught sneaking into his girlfriend's room. Which isn’t too far off. “I’m sure you know where her room is.” He decides to pointedly ignore that last comment.

He spots Seeder dishing out playing cards and Haymitch drinking at the dining table, and he just knows this will spread like wildfire among the victors. Despite being grown men, Chaff and Haymitch are the biggest gossips he knows.

“Ah, there’s the blushing bride!” Haymitch half shouts—half cackles, halfway into a bottle of expensive Capitol wine. He ignores them, which only makes them crack up harder. Finnick is nineteen years old, and as they laugh behind him, he actually feels his age for once.

He’s come to your floor for the past two years. So when your door slides open, you only look slightly surprised to see him. 

“Finnick,” you look over his shoulder like you expected him to bring someone with him. “I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you’d be spending time with Annie.” You venture tiredly.

“I spoke to her after they got her into medic, but not for long.”

After Talon, his other tribute, was decapitated in front of her, something happened. Something broke. She cried uncontrollably and screamed when the nurses tried to take her vitals. He was able to help calm her down enough for them to sedate her, but Finnick knows that isn’t going to be an easy fix. No victor comes out of their games the same as when they entered.

You take a step back from him. He didn’t even notice when he got so close and gravitated to you; he never does.

“Well. Thanks for letting me know, I guess. You can go now.”

He stands there, mouth opening and closing.

“Go..." he blinks, furrows his brows, and then blinks again. "I can go—are you mad at me?” He asks incredulously.

"No!" You deny it like the idea of being mad at him never even crossed your mind, yet he can't help but feel like he’s upset you somehow. 

"Are you...sad at me?" You hesitate at that, and his heart sinks. You sigh, and for a second, he worries you’re going to send him away.

"C’mon." You wave him into your room. “I’d rather not have an audience for this.” He glances over his shoulder and spots the three adults in the room clearly eavesdropping as they pretend to play cards at the table.

“Leave the door cracked!” You flip off the cackling trio, herding Finnick into your room, and you barely get the door closed before he’s apologizing.

“I don’t know what I did, Star, but I’m sorry, okay? And—and whatever it is, sweetheart, I swear I won’t do it again.” He pleads, feeling just as desperate as he probably sounds. He’s trailing pretty close after you through the hallway that curves into your bedroom, so he almost bumps into you when suddenly you stop in front of him.

“Finnick, calm down, okay? You didn’t do anything.” You claim, but if that’s true, then—

“I don’t understand. Wh–what’s wrong?” Because there’s definitely something wrong. Your body language is closed off. You’re never closed off around him.

You cross your arms, then drop them and place your hands on your hips. 

“Annie.” You mutter, staring over his shoulder.

“...Annie?” He repeats, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah.” You speak muffled, biting at the nail of your thumb. “I’ve been thinking and I can only imagine how exciting it is for you to have someone your age in Four who’s gone through the same things as you. You guys have much more in common, I’m sure. Not to mention you can see each other whenever you want. So, I won’t fault you for, I don’t know, spending less time with me. Or, if you forget to respond to a letter or…something.” You finish off your rambling in a mumble, losing steam.

He blinks at you.

“And why would I do that?” He asks, and you throw your arms up in frustration, walking further into the room to crash down into a forest green armchair. What is he doing wrong?

“Because we don’t see each other outside of the Capitol.” You avoid making eye contact and pick at the skin around your nails instead of biting them, a habit he thought you grew out of. “And I’m fine with that, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. You don’t have to settle for...this.” You wave a vague hand around, either referring to your room, yourself, or your relationship. All of which Finnick finds unacceptable for you to put down. 

“Do you feel like you’re settling?” He asks, doing, in his opinion, a pretty good job of acting like his heart isn’t hinging on your answer.

“What? Of course not.” You look at him like he grew a second head. As if his question isn't completely reasonable given how you're behaving. “But, we just... We have such little time together.”

“Yeah, and that makes the time we do get to spend together special.” He argues. Finnick tracks your movements, coming to stand before you. You clench your fists together before hiding them by folding your arms. “What is this really about?”

You take a breath.

"Finnick, we can never be together outside of this city.” You laugh, hollow and brittle. Beautiful. “With Annie in the picture, you can have something close to normal. You’ve earned that much.” He takes a second to look you over. Finnick has always been able to pick things up through body language. A skill he developed after Mags lost the ability to speak, and even that took him years to perfect. With you, someone who is practically mute when it comes to your emotions, it was almost instantaneous. He can read you like a well-loved book.

"Will you look at me?" He ducks his head down to get you to look at him, but you're being especially avoidant. 

"I’m sorry, it's really not that serious." You mumble, stubbornly keeping your eyes on the ground, "You don't need to—” He places his hand on the back of your neck, bending over to touch his forehead to yours. 

"There you are." He smiles when you finally look up at him. He holds you tighter, free hand sliding down to your waist and his neck straining at the position. "I'm not gonna leave you behind for Annie, okay—I would never leave you behind. For anyone." And he would appreciate you not taking that choice from him. There's already so little he has control over in his life, and, knowing you, it wouldn't be a reach for you to cut him off without explanation if you thought it was for his benefit. 

"Why?" You ask barely above a whisper, confusion so genuine that it nearly breaks his heart. As if you can't wrap your head around Finnick wanting to stay with you, choosing you. He’s failed you somewhere along the way if that’s the case.

He takes a different approach, dropping down to one knee on the cold brown marble floor and then the other until he’s kneeling between your legs, giving his neck a break. The big green chair becomes the backdrop behind you, and it really is an enormous chair.

“Finnick,” you laugh, as dulcet as a melody. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t want normal. I want you. That’s all I ever wanted.” He grins up at you, wrapping his arms around your stomach. "I'll stop needing air before I stop needing you.” He could spend the rest of his life being the most altruistic bastard in Panem and still not deserve you.

You loop your arms around his neck, fingers carding through the back of his hair. He leans into the warmth of your hand and wonders if there will ever be a moment better than this. There’s always been a level of affection between the two of you that's a little too intimate to call friendship, but Finnick’s grown so accustomed to it that he'd feel unsettled without it.

You lean closer to him, practically sitting on the edge of your seat. "Can I…” You hesitate. “Can I try something?" You ask and he agrees like he always will. He can deny you nothing. 

You move one hand to his cheek. The other grips his shirt as you lean toward him. He holds still—barely breathing, afraid that any sudden movement will make you lose your nerve. 

You run cold, you always have, it’s just another thing to love as far as Finnick is concerned. He himself emits heat like a furnace on the best of days.

He remembers cold hands touching his heated skin, cold toes shocking the skin of his legs whenever you lay together. But now, now Finnick feels nothing but a hissing heat as your mouths press together. Heat like a hot knife cutting into a block of ice, like a blazing star consuming him in a ball of fire, only to sizzle into a warm embrace. He melts into you, trusting that you’ll sculpt him back together with your glacial grip.

And you will, won’t you? Take him into your arms and mold him into whatever shape he needs to be to fit inside your heart. He’s had no experience with that sort of thing. He’s never had to, his heart automatically made room for you without any input on his part. There’s a perfect you-shaped hole in his chest, and you’ve already slotted into place. When you hold him like this, kiss him like this, he can believe it. Believe that maybe, maybe this is something you’ve been hoping for too—that you aren't only doing this because it's what you think he wants and that he hasn’t been alone in his longing.

Your lips are soft, softer than he imagined. You’re softer than he imagined. It’s more of a peck than anything else, but it means everything to Finnick. You stop to take a breath, and he moves to follow you as you pull away. He doesn't open his eyes for a second. If it never happens again, if he never has the chance to kiss you again, he wants to commit this moment to memory. Every detail, down to the puff of air against his lips before you leaned in.

Finnick is well aware of the effect he has on people; he’s had five years to come to terms with it. But he’s never been on the receiving end of it before. It’s all new to him—new and utterly terrifying. Terrifying and utterly beautiful because it’s you. It's always been you, and it’ll keep being you even if this ends here.

"What was that?" he asks, just in case he’s reading this wrong and you aren’t looking at the kiss the way he is, in case you’re not looking at him like he looks at you.

"...I don't know." You whisper like it’s a secret shared between you two.

"Okay," he exhales between you. He can work with that. Finnick shakes his head. “I don’t need more than that.” He smiles. He’ll give himself to you in whatever capacity you’ll have him, as long as you’ll have him. He doesn’t have the right to ask for more.

“I think,” you start, dazed, and he can’t tamp down the smug satisfaction bubbling up because he did that to you, “I've wanted to do that for a long time." 

He considers it. He's wanted to kiss you since that first night under the stars. When you allowed yourself to be vulnerable—sharing a piece of yourself with him—and you looked at him with a smile that was more genuine than he deserved, too good to be aimed at someone like him. “So why haven’t you?” 

You sway into him like you can’t help yourself, and he gets the feeling. You rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“I…I’ve never had anything I've wanted before—I’ve never taken it, but,” you burrow your face into his neck, and he can feel your lashes fluttering against his skin as you squeeze your eyes shut, and he doesn't like that. He doesn't like not having your gaze on him. When did that happen? Under his nose, he's become so needy for your attention, so needy for you. There should certainly be some shame there. “But I want this more than I’ve wanted anything, Finnick. I want you.”

“Then take me. Have me." He begs into the crown of your hair, sounding so desperate he’s surprised you haven’t run the other way. But, honestly, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t chase after you. He's been yours in everything but name for years at this point. It’s just one more leap, one more line to cross together because Finnick wants too. He wants and wants and wants. He wants to be yours.

"It's selfish. To want this much, right?" You pull him closer to you, and he goes. He can't imagine doing anything else. You nose at his jaw, and he shivers at the brush of smooth lips and warm breath on the sensitive skin of his neck. He moves his head to the side to give you more room. "It has to be."

"I like you selfish." If this is you selfish, he wants you greedy; he wants you heedless. He wants your want. He closes his eyes, every other sense focused on you. He holds you closer. “I know it’s hard to love me—” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t think my hesitation has anything to do with who you are. It’s just…” You pull back far enough to look up at him, your eyes darting back and forth between his, and he thinks he understands what you’re asking for. 

You’re scared, so you want him to make the choice. You want it to be his decision. He’s scared, too, so he understands. He’ll take the plunge and bear the brunt of the fall. There’s not much he can protect you from, but he can do this. He can protect you from himself.

This time, he's the one who leans in, and you meet him halfway. On instinct, he goes to grab your waist and stops himself. Instead, he grabs the hand gripping his shirt, lacing your fingers with his. 

Finnick's never prayed for anything; he doesn't even believe in a higher power. Yet, selfishly, he begs. Let this be real. Let him keep this one thing. 

Let him keep you. 

Present (VI) - You

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL; CHARIOT RIDES

You stand alone in the elevator, skin bristling with the phantom feeling of scrubbing. If your prep team had scrubbed any harder, you're sure your skin would have come off. You rub at the now smooth skin of your face, trying to soothe the lingering sting from the waxing.

The Capitol has many demeaning traditions, but there’s nothing more performative than the Chariot rides. There’s nothing quite like being paraded before crowds of adoring fans while dressed in a caricature of your district.

The elevator slows down as you get closer and closer to the ground. It raises your hackles like a cat being lowered into water. Water that’s full of bloodthirsty sharks that have already gotten a taste of you and are coming back for seconds.

When the doors slide open, the breeze nips at your bare skin. Victors, stylists, and horse handlers alike mill around as the chariots get set up. You spot Chaff and Seeder conversing by the horses, and you see Johanna, dressed as what looks like a tree, having a very heated argument with her stylists. You choose the safer option.

“Of course, I’m the only one dressed provocatively,” you say as you approach them. “And here I was hoping you’d finally be showing some skin, Chaff.” You joke, but you really wish you were at least given some kind of underwear. It’s not exactly warm in here and that draft is reaching places it shouldn’t.

You scratch at the pins holding the wreath of purple petunias in your hair; they’re digging into your scalp. Two purple maple leaves cover your breasts, held on with nothing but liquid adhesive. You weren’t so sure about the coverage, but it’s not like you have any sway over what you wear. Vines and palm leaves of different lengths are tied low around your waist as a skirt and not very modestly. If you make any sharp movements, you’ll be flashing your ass to all of Panem.

It’s a drastic change from your last chariot outfit. At the time, your stylist insisted you be portrayed as coquettish. Someone people will sympathize with and root for as an underdog. That innocent little girl act has followed you for the past eight years. Until today, of course. The assets on display will certainly convince the Capitol elites that you’re a woman worth sponsoring, not that your clients need the reminder.

“What, you wanna switch?” He laughs.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t think these leaves will be big enough for you.” Seeder ‘ooh’s as you pat one of the steeds on its flank. The only horses you're used to seeing are the ones bred for farming—hulking beasts genetically modified to only do one job. But these particular horses get to live a life of luxury as long as they serve the Capitol.

“I guess we aren’t that different, huh, girl?” She neighs at you and you take it as a ‘yes’.

“The company you’re keeping must be horrible if you’ve resorted to talking to horses,” Haymitch says as he approaches.

“I hope you’re including yourself.” Seeder teases.

“Ha, ha. I’ve gathered everyone that’ll ally with Katniss and Peeta.” He makes to lean against the horse but thinks better of it when she scuffs one of her hooves on the ground rather threateningly. “Districts Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, and, of course, Eleven. More than I thought we’d get, honestly.” So, that’s it then. Those are all the people who are willing to put their lives on the line for something bigger than themselves. That leaves five districts out, and if it comes down to it, ten people you’ll have to kill. 

It’s suddenly become very real.

“There’s plenty to plan and discuss, but in the meantime, how about you,” he grabs you by the shoulders and turns you toward the last chariot in the line, “go and make a good first impression.”

“How’d you describe me?” What face are you putting forward? There’s a certain way you’ll be expected to act while you’re here, so you can’t deviate too far from that shy naivety.

“If you must know, I told them you have a lot of influence and that you’d be a very good ally. Gives you a bit of creative freedom. Now, go play nice.” You stumble a little when he nudges you forward. You glare over your shoulder, and he holds two thumbs up.

Nothing he said was a lie. Whether you want to admit it or not, you do have an uncanny ability for persuasion. You like to believe it’s because you’re eloquent, but you can acknowledge people are far more likely to believe something when it comes from a pretty face.

"I've been meaning to speak to you,” you settle beside Katniss. You smile up at the horse, reaching up to pet her, "I’m sorry I missed your Victory Tour celebration." You lie. You had just finished dealing with a client at the time, so Snow, in a rare act of mercy, allowed you to skip the event.

"Everyone wants to speak to us." She remarks sorely.

"I remember what that’s like," you chuckle, feeling the horse's silky, black mane. You certainly don’t miss being the shiny new toy. There was always someone asking your opinion on benign subjects, always someone making up excuses to talk to you. It was exhausting when you were fifteen, and it’s still exhausting now. "I’m sure you’ve got plenty to say."

“Nothing I should say.”

“You can start with everything you’re grateful for. They love feeling like they’ve done charity work.” The number of interviews you’ve had to do where you practically kissed the Capitol’s ass for ‘saving you from the squalor of District Eleven’ will always leave a bad taste in your mouth.

“Well, that’ll be a very short conversation with an even shorter list.” She says, just as monotone as she is in her interviews.

“It doesn’t hurt to embellish sometimes.”

“I’m sure you do enough of that for the both of us.” You cock your jaw at the jab. You smile around it until you realize something. You might be a little biased here, but if she thinks she’s had the worst of it, then that ignorance isn’t as much of an act as you thought.

"...You have no idea how lucky you are." You frame it not as a question but as a statement. A revelation that’s just revealed itself to you.

"And how's that?" She turns to you, skepticism evident. You pause and stare at her. There's plenty you can say. Namely, the fact that she was saved from a world of hurt by that star-crossed lovers bullshit. Or the immunity her family has because the Capitol can’t seem to get enough of them. All of that can be flipped into you criticizing the Capitol by the right mouth, so you refrain.

"Well," you sigh and conjure up something that won't flag anyone's attention. "For starters, you've never had to be a mentor." 

She hesitates before asking, mask slipping for a second, "Rue?" 

You nod. "She was one of mine." She was the youngest you had ever mentored. 

She and you both knew she wouldn't survive on the ground. You and Thresh told her to stay high in the trees, and you gathered as many sponsors as you could for them. 

"The trees were her best bet at staying alive. I don't know how many times I told her that." You scoff and shake your head. She was nimble and fast, as most children from Eleven are. They’re forced to climb high in trees to get fruit, and being malnourished only makes them lighter. No one would have been able to chase her. And you knew there wasn't a chance in hell of her winning, but you still had hope, despite yourself, "and, for all intents and purposes, she never would have come down—if it weren't for you." 

Despite what it sounds like, you're not trying to place any blame on Katniss. She wasn't responsible for Rue's actions. She didn't make her come down and help. That was all on Rue and how selflessly compassionate she was. 

You are, however, trying to make her understand the role she's played in all this.

"And Thresh..." You trail off. You don't know what to say. If he hadn't been reaped, he would have been forced to do more backbreaking labor. But he would have been alive. 

It’s a complicated dilemma. Knowing that if the kid won, they'd never be the same. And there was always the possibility that they'd be thrusted into the kind of life that you were forced to live. And if they lost, then they were another bright star snuffed out of the night sky. 

It's nearly impossible not to get attached to the tributes, especially in Eleven, where you truly only have each other. 

There's no good answer, just a shitty position to be in. 

"It hurts each time you lose a tribute. But those two—I don't know. I guess they were a reminder of how…human these kids really are." You shrug and hold her gaze. "How human we are." She takes a second to absorb your words. Can she hear what you’re not saying?

My humanity, thousands of people’s humanity, you think, was kickstarted by you. Take responsibility.

"Thresh—he saved me. He probably would have won if he hadn't." 

"He did save you; they both did. It may have been unintentional, but they gave their lives for you," and with the way things are looking, they won’t be the last. "What will you do with the sacrifices they made?"

The question sits between the two of you. It’s one you’ve been asking yourself since talking with Haymitch. You wonder if your answers will be similar.

"Katniss!" Katniss turns towards the sound of her name, and what do you do? You keep facing the horse. 

Finnick.

If you went deaf, you'd recognize his voice just from the vibrations it sent through your bones. You never thought about what you would do when you saw him again. How you would react, how you would get through it. It's a grave oversight on your part because he's getting closer, and your heartbeat is in your tongue. 

You glance to the side and immediately regret it.

Your eyes trail from his brown gladiator sandals up his bare, tan legs to…netting. There’s a fishnet draped across his torso and knotted low around his hips, similar to how your skirt is tied. It’s very thin, with very spacious holes.

“Star.” You wince at the nickname. You drag your eyes away from his chest and look up to sea green. He’s just as beautiful as you remember him, just as magnetic. There’s something in his gaze, something complex, and it’s more than you can handle. It was always more than you could handle.

"Finnick," you nod, far more composed than you feel. Your tongue will always remember the shape of his name, but you’ve forgotten the taste of it. It’s bittersweet.

His eyes sweep over you at a snail's pace, and you feel him take in your curves and bare skin like phantom hands.

“Stunning as always, Star.” He compliments you just like he used to in that voice that isn’t meant for company. Not that he ever cared about that before.

You war between the urges to cross your arms over your chest and to preen under his stare like a peacock. Briefly, you’re reminded of the way some plants will shift to face the sun whenever it moves.

Katniss looks between you both. Probably taking into account the way you simultaneously wilt and bask under Finnick’s gaze and the way Finnick has yet to look away from you. You two were never subtle, and apparently, that hasn’t changed.

“I take it you two know each other?”

“We’re victors.” You sigh. “We all know each other.” He opens his mouth, but you cut in before he can say anything. Just saying your name—your nickname—was already devastating. He says one syllable, and it shakes your foundations.

You turn back to Katniss, taking the opportunity to look at anything but him. "Good luck, Katniss. Congrats on the engagement." You rush out, but it can be blamed on you being ‘shy’. You pat the horse on her flank one last time before marching to your carriage, and the blue bracelet wrapped around your ankle feels especially tight. 

You did better than you thought you would. You didn’t beg him for an explanation like you’ve wanted to since you read his letter. You’ve still got that. You still have your dignity.

You can feel his eyes on your bare back, but he doesn't call after you. Not that you expect him to. There was a time when you could predict Finnick's next move, where you could walk away and know he'd be right behind you. But now you walk away and pretend like each step isn't killing you, wound still as fresh as it was when he left you with no hand to staunch the bleeding. 

Like there isn't a box under your bed in Eleven with hundreds of sand-colored envelopes and a blue handkerchief that smells like the sea.

A/N: You 🤝 Katniss = unreliable narrators Peeta 🤝 Finnick = Longing for an emotionally constipated woman

[aquanova99]

Haunted (Cato x Reader)

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Part 7

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A/N: Im sorry its taken so long I am trying to wrap up book one but how do I change it and leave out unnecessary details... I'm working on it

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Cato’s POV

The room was tense. Seeder’s gift was sure to draw some attention. Rumors swirled around Rue’s death sparking anger in District 11. While the victors had become friendly throughout the years of mentoring bringing them together it wasn’t a common theme to grieve over other tributes like this. From the same district, maybe. Then again, alliances did not normally cross over between more than one district outside of District 1,2, and 4. The mentors whispered what her actions would bring upon them. Haymitch had been in and out of the shared viewing room. Only talking to Chaff a handful of times.

 You’d been largely silent focused on the screen anytime y/n came into view. She was stone faced the morning after Rue and Marvels death. To someone from the capitol it could seem that she was simply waiting for the next canon to go off, but it would have been a stretch. Anyone with half a brain could see she was in a catatonic state. You wondered if Thresh really believed Marvel had gotten help in his endeavor with Rue. Likely not, Thresh seemed shaken up enough that he seemed the type to avenge his tiny friend and from what you saw he had made his way to the part of the arena covered in a field of wheat. If he knew about the dangers it was as a good place as any, you certainly wouldn’t have chased him out there.

Cashmere decides to sit next to you, clearing her throat and wakes you out of trance you seem to keep finding yourself in. She doesn’t speak to anyone in particular, but you know she’s directing every word to you. “She’s different, that one. We will have to help her when she comes back.”

“Don’t all tributes get that, mentors for the first year.”

“Hm? I don’t know what you mean, I must have been thinking out loud. It would be a shame if she couldn’t dig herself out. We don’t want her to go through the same thing Annie did.” With that Cashmere floated away. Annie. The girl from 4. She had come out a little more messed up  than the usual victor, dissociating completely in certain situations as if she was somewhere totally different. Finnick had taken upon himself to help her get through her spells, and as much as he could try and hide the pair had grown dependent on the other, completely and totally in love with each other. It was easy to ignore everything when they were home, but Finnick was often called away and playing the role that was forced on anyone who had received help from sponsors. Even those who got nothing could be forced into keeping some annoying capitol citizen ‘company.’ You remember it had only been a month after you had gotten out of your own games. You still hadn’t left the arena, I guess that was your own fault for finishing so quickly, it never processed right. The woman…you couldn’t remember her name, you barely remembered her face, all you saw was a threat. You’d broken her arm the second she touched you, and then…well its lucky there were more people hanging around because before you knew it you were unconscious.

Killer Cato. The only good that came from that name is that until Brutus and Enobaria deemed you safe you were lucky enough to avoid traveling back and forth to the capitol. Most of the time the tributes were allowed to live their life as victor peacefully until the victory tour, most of the time. Some victors like the morphlings or the ones who weren’t conventionally attractive or maybe the ones who got lucky and survived the games on their own were left to their own devices. Most of tributes from 1, 2, and 4 were asked and more often than not told to pay a visit to the generous people of the capitol more quickly than the others. Unless she did something unappealing to the viewers y/n would probably suffer the same fate. Cashmere’s words soothed you, maybe there would be a way to keep her away from that life for now. Seeing as she risked her life for family, or something close to family, its likely the threats the capitol offered would force her to comply…These feelings were weird. You didn’t understand why it mattered. If she won you would only see her once a year once you were both mentors. Out of all of the tributes, she seemed like she had the best head to win, that’s all. Right? Maybe you can get some use out of the training center.

Hours go by, and it’s a slow day. The gamemakers are going to have to do something to pull them together, Y/ns eyes are hollow as she sits by the fire, seemingly waiting for anyone to come find her. They don’t. Arioch and Clove wont be lured by something so similar to what destroyed their supplies and killed an ally, not yet anyway. You wonder if Clove and Arioch had realized he had been ready to turn against Arioch, if they did neither showed any sign of doubting him. The red-headed girl is still spying on them, waiting for an opportune time to try and steal whatever foods been handed to them by the sponsors. Clove had been keeping Arioch calm, but he was getting angry. Lyme was only giving what was absolutely necessary for them to eat. She worried they wouldn’t be able to ration it properly and judging by how annoyed Arioch was getting she was right. It was clear he was fond enough of Clove that he knocked it off whenever she would say something about it but she had her fair share of complaints. You were shocked no one had gone where Thresh was hidden, it seemed to be abundant with food. If you knew about it anyway, which you were almost positive your tributes wouldn’t. The academy you trained for the games had classes on interviews, deadly snares and traps, and the biggest majority fighting, there were also classes for food and foraging but it was never forced. And realistically, you never needed to know about that, seeing as there was always a steady stream of sponsors willing to bet on your districts training.

Then finally as everyone is ready or already retiring to their rooms for a night of unrestful sleep, the trumpets sound. Haymitch sits back down in a spot next to you, a his hands clenched together as he rests his arms on his knees. Not even looking at his screen. You realize he knows what is about to happen, what the announcement will be. And you couldn’t have been more wrong. Claudius Templesmith has an announcement. You expected a feast, something to give Peeta a chance but no, the words ‘rule change’ freezes every victor left in the room. You realize why Haymitch has been largely absent today. You realize Peeta’s one sided pining has worked, and you also realize that maybe, it wasn’t so one sided, she’s teary eyed as his name leaves her lips the second the announcement is over.

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Y/ns POV

You were about to be sick again. You had never felt so conflicted. You should wait until morning. Every instinct screamed at you to not be so reckless.  You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t sleep. You had your night glasses anyway…the ones Thresh had told you about. Thresh. The one who could have had an ally had you been able to save Rue. Rue. The young girl who could have made it if she hadn’t teamed up with you. Really it was the tributes of District 11 that originally urge your feet forward. You felt a guilt begin overing you under a weight that seemed to be getting heavier to shake off the more you allowed yourself to think of either of them. And Peeta. You could have ruined everything. He had continued playing up the star crossed lovers, why else would the gamemakers make a rule change like this. You move quickly and silently, theres only one place he could be, really. Arioch had gotten in your head, if Peeta was really that badly injured you may not have much time left, and you’d be damned if you lost anyone else. You only stop to rest when you’re close enough to the stream that you hope you’ll be able to hear or see Peeta.

The second daylight hits your still weary eyes you sit up. It stirs you from a rather unfulfilling sleep  and you are off to try and find Peeta again. You almost give up several times before you manage to find that blood-streaked boulder. Hes close. He has to be.

You were amazed how even near death Peeta seemed to have his sense of humor intact. In other news, you suddenly remembered how much you hated the act of cleaning wounds.

“Something wrong?” He asks after seeing my face.

“Shut up.” Peeta laughs as you try not gag while cleaning his wound.

“How do you manage to kill anything around here?”

“You never know, I may be killing you as we speak.”

“Cant you just use that spear?”

“My food isn’t draining pus all over me. Blood I can handle.” You shove him some dried fruit and continue working on him. Its clear the wound is far above any medical capabilities you thought you had. After working on his leg for an hour you are finally able to wrap, and all you can do is hope for the best.

“I need to clean your…undershorts.”

“Okay.” He says it so calmly you grit your teeth, you’ve cried too much in that past couple of days for nakedness to be another thing on an ever growing list that makes you squeamish. You just avoid looking in his direction while he takes them off and turn your back to him as you get cleaning. “So no pus, but nakedness is okay? Or are you just being stubborn like how you were with Haymitch?”

“Speaking of…have you gotten anything?”

“No, what did you get?”

“Burn medicine.” You don’t need to say anything about the bread its an unnecessary truth. “It was when it was earlier in the games so he could probably afford it then.”

“Uh huh, not because you’re his favorite or anything.” You’re unsure what to say. You cant deny you and Haymitch understand each other on a different level. And survival wise, you could outlast anyone here. Maybe he could only bet on one of you. But with the rule change… ugh the whole rule change. The capitol has to be waiting for you to kiss him or love him. I mean youre washing his damn underwear, cant that be enough.

“I bet you he’ll send you something when he can.”

“Its okay Y/N, besides I know what will make me feel better.”

“Me too. Medicine.”

“No, you. I mean obviously you’re doing something right.”

 You toss him some damp clothes to put back on. “Lets hope I am and your fever breaks.”

“Seriously thanks for coming back for me, I know you didn’t hav—” You cut him off and hugged  him as tight as you could

“Just get better okay.” Because you did want him to get better. Whatever the reason was, the gamemakers are falling for his pining and giving you a chance to return it. Honestly after everything that happened with Rue, you kept thinking back to his words the night before the game. And this was something the games wouldn’t change. You weren’t in love with Peeta, and you couldn’t pretend. He was more of a family member or friend you would do almost anything for. But kissing him would feel wrong, be wrong. A hug is as much as the capitol would get for now, if your feelings changed later and you both made it out of here maybe you could play along.

“Is that all I get.”

“Get better and then maybe, maybe you get more.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Peeta was so good at this. It didn’t take him long to doze off. You take the time to collect more water and hunt for anything near the stream. You know through the slower moving parts the fish could be easy pickings. You debate staying with Peeta, but you both need something in your system. Maybe you should let him rest, but you cant hunt for anything with him out in the open. You relent after about an hour and coax him into walking with you down the stream, as long as he can anyway. You comfort him as he gathers whatever strength he has left and when hes ready you find a small cave like formation a little way above the stream. You let him sleep and work on making the cave as unnoticeable as you possibly can. You let him sleep and work on making the cave as unnoticeable as you possibly. You manage to further downstream and pick off a few fish where the water is slow. You try to ignore how badly you missed a few times and instead try to figure out how to make yourself more appealing to any possible sponsors, you cant tell him you love him but if you cant give him medicine, maybe you can give him hope. The audience might turn their indifference into pity if you could make them believe that you cant allow yourself to fall in love yet. You take a deep, dramatic breath before entering the cave.

Peeta is still sound asleep in your sleeping bag. Good. It will be easier to do this when hes not fully coherent. You crouch besides him and brush a strand of hair away from his face, you try to show your hesitation, tapping your fingers and shaking your leg before shaking your head and kissing him on the cheek. A cheek that is rapidly raising in temperature.

Peeta stirs, “Mm Y/n?”

“I caught us some fish.”

“Thanks for finding me,”

“It’s the least I could do. Just get better for me, okay?”

“You know what would really make me feel better?” You roll your eyes, he is much better at playing the lovestruck boy than you could ever hope.

“You already got one. But if you actually get better…” then what? You don’t want to kiss him, “then maybe.” That’s the best you can do for now.

“I’ll take it.” He smiles at you. You can tell the fever medication you have is having next to effect on him. If he doesn’t get medicine soon he’s going to die. You both know it. You hear a soft crunch of leaves and you’re up in an instant. Peeta grabs your hand to try and stop you from doing anything dangerous, you squeeze his hand and put the other on his cheek. You then quickly grab your knife and sneak to the edge of the cave, you try not to laugh when you see the silver parachute at the foot of the entrance. Haymitch is obviously rewarding your actions. Not that they aren’t out of real concern but regardless its clear that hes going to keep pushing for you to act like this if its what sends you food. Realistically, what you want is medicine but you aren’t likely to get that at this stage in the game.

“Hey Peeta! Looks like Haymitch decided to send you something after all.” You are able to convince him its for him soup is easier for him to eat, otherwise he would have sent actual food. It seems to make sense to him anyway. Apparently even soup is a struggle for Peeta, “And here I thought you wanted to get better, I guess no kisses for you.”

“Not fair.”

“Please Peeta, you have to get better.” It takes entirely too long for him to stomach the tiny pot of broth. Once he sleeps, you put the last of your bandage supply left on his warm forehead. Great. Now you wish you had made out with more in the arena before you blew it up. Whatever. You could mope while you kept watch since its all you could do for now. Anything else is just hope that the audience enjoyed what you did today.

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Cato’s POV

Haymitch continues to go in and out of the room. If this had anything to do with the rule change, you can only hope he continues doing it. Y/n finished telling a story about her and her brother scrounging around their house to look for anything valuable to sell to buy their younger brother something for his birthday. To probably most people, it should be clear she had some other way to get their brother an old guitar. Music is something that seems relatively prevalent in her house, you think back to her singing with Rue. You wonder how often she’s gone without eating to feed someone else in her family, she was barely sleeping to continue to check on the boy from her district. For some reason the kiss she gave him kept replaying in your brain. He was definitely hurting her chances of making it, but its clear she struggles to not help out other tributes. That probably isn’t making Snow very happy. The concern on her face grows as she finishes her story and rechecks Peetas leg, which won’t make it without any medicine soon.

She cleans the bandage again, clearly not helping make a dent in his fever. They both know the blood poisoning will take him out soon if the games don’t end in a matter of maybe two days tops. And after the camera has shown Thresh doing quite well…it doesn’t seem like Peeta would be the one to outlast his fellow tributes. Haymitch almost collapses into the couch, you’re shocked he doesn’t spill the whiskey in his glass.

“You alr—” you try to ask before he puts one finger up, effectively quieting you while he takes a sip. Guess he’s doing worse than you thought.

“Its too expensive.”

“The medicine.” Its meant to be a question but you know the price is too much for any sponsor to fork over.

“Hopefully Effie and her gaggle of friends have gossiped enough to get an idea to the gamemakers.” Almost on cue the trumpets sound an announcement. When Claudius Templesmith begins speaking Haymitch laughs to himself, “Sometimes I think I might actually love that woman.”

Just as quickly as relief hits, Peeta threatens to follow Y/n to the banquet. Haymitch mutters something about Peeta making everything difficult and steps out again. You think how hard it must be to do this alone all these years. Most all of the other districts have someone else to divide the work out. Haymitch looked as tired as his tributes in the arena. Maybe ten minutes pass before he stumbles back into the viewing room. You just hold out some kind of spirit in a cup. He raises it to you before letting his head fall back.

“Nothing else I can do.” Y/n has been arguing with Peeta on letting her go to the cornucopia. The small vial meant nothing to you but Y/n stared at it for a long while before going back to the cave.

‘I guess I don’t have to go to the feast after all. Haymitch sent you some medicine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah it says to take it like a shot. But it smells nasty. You’re stomach will probably try and reject it.’

‘I’m sure it wont.’ He snatched the vial with what little strength he had. You didn’t miss the smirk she had as he tried quickly drank it back. She played a big gamble on his ego and it paid off. She immediately plugged his nose and covered his mouth before he spit anything out. The effort was already draining the little energy he had, his attempt to force himself to throw didn’t help.

‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ Peetas anger reached all the way to the capitol. His eyes brimmed with fury as sleep overtook him. Y/n was smug at her victory, but she quickly leaned over him. Fussing over the sleeping bag covering him, cleaning any remaining medicine on his face, brushing his now sweat soaked hair from his face. ‘I hope you know I had to. I need you to make it.’

You watch as she presses her lip against his and try to find some logical reason on why you suddenly feel the need to go hit something. Y/n wastes no time. She starts arranging the cave to be almost undetectable. Luckily, she had been working on it before, as she finishes quickly. She walks for awhile and sets up a fire, with dusk settling it gives her good cover and she has time to cook everything she had caught the past day, making a decent meal of rabbit and fish. She finishes and fills the water containers when she gets back to the cave before allowing herself to sleep again. She only allows herself a few hours. You find yourself worrying about her lack of sleep.

The camera pans to the other districts again. The girl from five is starving and damn near freezing to death. Her item will definitely be something to protect her from the weather. Cato and Clove are cold too, their breaths making small white clouds, but they have the experience with cold weather training. Thresh seems fine too. You wonder what will be in store for those three.

‘Come on. I promise to make it a good show.’

‘No way. I kill her.’

‘Don’t be like that. You’ve killed almost everyone else we’ve dealt with and since you missed loverboy, its only fair I get a shot at her now.’

You don’t have to wonder who they’re talking about.

…’You’ll drag it out.’

‘Of course, when I’m done with her they’ll forget why they were ever rooting for her in the first place.’

‘Good thing you’re on my side, Clove.’ He chuckles, Clove grins with a sense of pride

‘So I can do it??’ Too excited, you think

‘Yeah sure.’

You didn’t expect Clove to do anything else. One of her critiques from the academy was quite literally how she wasted too much time making a show of things. She needed to prove she belonged. Its why all of you were shocked when she was the one picked from your district and not another eighteen year old to match Ariochs anger. Then again, if Arioch had another one of him out there they would have torn eachother apart before getting out of the blood bath. Probably over who got a certain kill.

Y/n began her journey back to the cornucopia. You wondered why she walked somewhat sideways until you remembered the big explosion. The ear must have been permanently damaged, or damaged until she made it back. She stopped more often than not to make sure she was hearing correctly. There was nothing. She arrived to her original hiding spot with no issue, with the glasses she slowly moved as close as she could. Arioch and Clove had sought out the space closest to the lake, which ended up helping Cora, the girl from five. She had snuck around the other side of giant cornucopia, hiding inside and ensuring she would be the closest to the feast the second the table appeared. Thresh was at the biggest disadvantage, positioning himself at the back of the cornucopia, He would need to listen for when the table came up because he definitely could not see from there.

District 5 had the right idea. Y/N realizes this the second she runs off. She wastes no time and runs in immediately after and grabs the tiny bag for her district, unfortunately Clove comes to the same realization. Y/n tries to follow District five but it’s clear Clove will be there before she can run off. You wonder why she only brought her knives but then again, the other weapons would require more time for her to aim and might end up hindering her. Cloves first knife is knocked away. You’re sure Y/ns cut up at least a little but not enough to stop her. She throws her own knife and it lands in Cloves right shoulder. Fortunately, that’s the arm she throws with. Unfortunately, this incites a rage you werent aware she had. She yanks the knife out, and switches it to her other hand quickly. Her aim is off now, and the knife whizzes past y/ns head. Y/n makes the mistake to look at where the knife landed and in that second Clove is tackling her to the ground. You remember your conversations on the roof that seem so long ago, and know she wont make it out of this. Your heart sinks to your stomach. Clove begins relishing in this, she knows this information just as well and is going to make her suffer just like she said she would.

‘Well if it isn’t the girl on fire. Whats the matter 12, worried about getting the medicine to loverboy?’

‘Worried about getting your screentime?’ She smirked until Clove threw a relatively soft punch considering her arm was clearly struggling to lift itself.

‘Not at all, I promised to give the audience a good show. Its funny because if it was Arioch right now, he’d probably finish you off pretty quickly. Would that be better for you? To go as quickly as your pathetic little friend?’

The mention of Rue has her struggling to unseat Clove with no avail, ‘Shut up. You don’t get to talk about her.’

‘The girl who hopped around in the trees. Rue? Well, we took care of her, and nature will take care of loverboy. and now I’m going to take care of you. Now, where to start?’ Y/n lifts her head trying to do anything to get Cloves balance off just to get a better chance of getting out of there. Clove is taking delight in her struggle, ‘I think we’ll start with your mouth. Make sure you blow loverboy one last kiss.’

��Wow so clever. But if I can only say one last thing…’ Clove is puzzled for only a second more before Y/n spits in her face.

Clove gets one more punch as Y/n continues to struggle. When her nose begins to bleed she stills becoming unblinking, staring down her last opponent. You see Thresh coming up to the table freezing as he hears the entire conversation. ‘Lets start then,’

She barely leans over to trace the outline of Y/ns lips before he yanks her off his former ally. Flinging her to the ground. ‘You’re the one who killed her??’

Clove begins scooting backward, frantic at another opponent she clearly did not expect. Arioch had begun looking for another tribute where Y/n ran out of and was only now heading back to his original hiding spot.

‘No! No, it wasn’t me.!’

Thresh picks her up again holding her against the cornucopia. ‘I heard you!’

Arioch is already beginning to run as Clove begins screaming for help. He answers her but he’s too far. Thresh smashes her into the cornucopia. Y/n is still sat as she looks up in shock. Cloves body has the slightest moan escaping her lips. You look away, hating that the death wasn’t quick that somewhere in her mind she feels the pain coursing through her body. Your eyes snap up when Thresh speaks again.

‘Just this time Y/n. For Rue.’

Y/n eyes look at the two bags he has, ‘Don’t do it Thresh. Its not worth it.’

‘Clove!’ Ariochs voice makes Y/ns stand in a defensive position.

‘You better run now, Fire Girl.’ Y/ns scrambles to collect her knives and begins to run. She pauses when she hits the edge of the forest. Thresh has run off with both backpacks which could be a really smart or really stupid move. She looks at a frozen Arioch leaning over Clove and continues to run towards Peeta.

Y/n makes several stops as she runs towards Peeta, once to make sure her nose had stopped bleeding, it had. Once to see if her arm had stopped, it had not. She squeezed it shut until her feet hit the stream. She stops several more times to bend over and hold her head. You assume she is getting dizzy. The punch probably giving her an effect of a concussion. Every time she stands again she seems to have trouble getting her bearings but she makes it to the cave. Her hands shake as she struggles to open the small box, it contains one needle. She fumbles to unzip the sleeping bag and the second Peetas arm is exposed Y/n tries to center the shot. She has to take several deep breaths to calm the adrenaline that is sure to be coursing through her body, her hands are still shaking but she is able to slowly press down on the needle’s plunger. When shes finished she throws it across the cave and curls up into a ball, finally succumbing to the sleep that’s been eluding her since finding Peeta.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Y/N’s POV

You couldn’t cry, not again. You’ve cried too much in these games. One, its embarrassing, two the capitol cannot have another excuse to make you look weak. So when Peeta tells you Thresh’s picture is in the sky you ask if he can take the first watch and you cover your face with the sleeping bag until the tears stops falling. You have a feeling Peeta understands, but to what extent?

You’d woken up to the sound of the anthem. Peeta stroking your hair like you had done to him when he had been sick. You had to explain how you had worked with District 11. How Thresh moved you to a safe location after the tracker jackers, how you had helped fix his shoulder, how you’d gotten them both food and blew up the career’s supply, and the worst part…the part you didn’t want to ever discuss, Rue. Peeta had made a remark about how he must have felt like your alliance was still technically in place since Arioch and Clove had still been around. But you knew deep down, that it wasn’t about you, but Rue. The feast you had gotten for excitedly hugging Peeta and peppering his face with light kisses had suddenly turned to lead in your stomach. You had pretended to get caught up in the moment, and apparently, it had been enough for Haymitch to let you both eat real food while hiding in the downpour that had been happening the last couple of days.

Under the sleeping bag you think about anything besides your fallen allies. So you retrace the events leading up to the meal, the kisses, Peetas retelling of how he fell in love with you…well how he fell in love with Katniss. You had been friends with Katniss long ago, when you were both really young, and the memory albeit fuzzy was there of a young more cheerful Katniss telling you all about how she sang the valley song for her class. Then the mining incident happened, and the resentment that your father was one of the few to make it while hers was gone forever drove a divisible wedge. After that, it felt wrong to compare situations. Without your own father being able to work, you had lost him too. Pride had made him bitter and somewhat cruel, and he refused to work. Your mother was so focused on rehabilitating him, it fell on you to help your brothers. You remember how your father said nothing before you left, except to make himself seem like somewhat of a hero. You had once thought about how different you and Katniss had grown to get to the same indifference towards your parents. You could barely manage to be in the same room with your father while Katniss still held him in the highest regards, you at best felt pity for your mother for being tied to someone who believed he was better than everyone. Katniss for lack of better words, hated her mother for the abandonment. You were so similar you wished everyday you could restart the friendship you two had had long ago, you also wonder what she makes of this whole act and Peetas story that so clearly reference her. He was great at changing small details to make it plausible. You had just promised him that when you both made it out of there he could take you on an actual date, playing enough to keep the audience’s hopes up, well and Peeta kept poking fun at you saying he was planning on going all out when you got out. Regardless, you both played on this story and got the incredible food that you were trying to inhale before he looked outside the cave and saw Thresh’s picture in the sky.

Thresh. You should have told him about that extra backpack you’d hidden in the beginning of the game. Stopped him from taking Ariochs backpack. He was sure to have made Threshs death slow…and painful. You think about the last time you ever saw him he finally used your name. The capitol food threatens to make a reappearance. You give Peeta one of your knives, tell him to hide it in unless he absolutely needs it. He could train with the arrows tomorrow because honestly, you weren’t proving to be very good with it. You wonder if Katniss was irritated at how poorly you aimed, you wonder if she would train you on it when you got home. You wondered if you could be friends again. You focus on that instead of the sleep that’s eluding you again now that you’re thinking of Thresh’s murder. Now all you had was Cora and Arioch. Arioch you could handle, Cora…you remember how she almost agreed to be allies, and had least said you wouldn’t gun for each other.

Eventually, Peeta wakes you so you can keep watch. You comply soundlessly. You’re so thankful you aren’t alone anymore because really, you were barely making by before the rule change. You were tired of killing, you didn’t need anymore blood on your hands. Of course, this is the hunger games, and you knew that likely you wouldn’t have a choice.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Catos POV

Peeta had proven being kind could save your life in the game. You saw Y/n’s panic as she spun around expecting Peeta to have eaten those berries. Instead, they find the District 5 girl. Y/n cleans the berry stains from her mouth and hands, and closes her sunken, hollow eyes before trying to move Peeta along. He meanwhile, was waiting for the two of them to be able to eat together, really he’s quite lucky, most people would have snacked on the berries before meeting back up with an ally. His naivete, sparing him a quick death. She claimed she wanted to get some space before Arioch barreled through the woods but likely, she was uncomfortable with another dead tribute. She needed to compartmentalize. The capitol wouldn’t like how torn she seemed everytime a picture was shown in the sky.

You noticed Haymitch was all but telling her to accept Peetas affection. She seemed to be trying to suppress her attraction to the guy, but you were unsure how much of it was an act. It was clear the audience was going crazy over what they saw as fear of losing someone she was in love with. Fear of admitting something that was too good to be true. Their return would ensure the two of them would be forced to get into a relationship immediately. You wondered if they could keep up the whole pretense.

In the real world the victors we’re headed back to their respective floors for dinner. You and Enobaria went to the couch while Brutus went on about how Arioch would win out.

The temperature was dropping quickly too quickly. This was the finale. Everyone would have work off tomorrow throughout all of the districts. And Arioch now had the advantage of complete body armor. Seemed a little unfair but I guess it was two against one. Peeta was about as good as Glimmer with the bow and arrow. Y/N held Marvels spear as they headed to the cornucopia. The camera pans to Arioch confidently walking deeper into the forest where the girl from district five was picked up. He’d been hunting since brutally torturing Thresh in the downpour. The fight could go either way, but Arioch was going on pure rage and vengeance. He made the death painfully slow, making cuts that individually wouldn’t kill anyone. Thresh fought back well, the weapon and armor he had stolen came in handy. The rain however made it hard for him to see clearly and Arioch still had the glasses. You were somewhat surprised when Arioch didn’t scream his success after finishing him off.

The gamemakers has quieted the background noise they had going on. The snarling was unmistakable. You could hear whatever creature was back lick it’s lips as it growled in Ariochs direction. Muttations. Half wolf and half human like things that looked like… oh god. You turned to look at Enobaria, maybe you were wrong. Her scowl told you your suspicions were correct. She quickly stood up and retired to her room. The rest of your victors were silent, knowing how she felt about the mutts, about herself every day she woke up, every time she looked in the mirror. You wondered if she thought she was just like those mutts on the screen. You wished there was something you could say, anything to help. But words weren’t really your strong suit.

When you turn back to the screen Y/n and Peeta have heard Arioch and the mutts running towards them. She should have thrown her knife the second she saw enter the clearing. But she frozen. Utterly frozen at the giant creatures following him, figuring out exactly what they were. Who they were.

Peeta yanks y/ns arm. They barely managed to make it to the cornucopia without any injuries.

‘It’s them. All of them.’ Y/n whimpers as she fumbles to tie a bandage on Peetas once again, bloodied leg.

‘Are- are those their real eyes???’

You force yourself to look at the muttations a little more closely. The eyes definitely looked entirely too human. It was a sick thing to do to them. Even dead their bodies served the capitol. Always loyal to the capitol.

The hair on the wolves had different textures, the one who could only be Glimmer had blond shiny hair, the one with the number four had curly hair throughout his entire body. You refused to look at them any more. You looked up when you heard y/n scream out just to see Arioch yank her hair to throw her back on the floor. Peeta quickly tackles him, even injured it’s clear Peeta has experience fighting but he’s injure and Arioch quickly has him in a headlock. Y/n is already trying to figure out where to aim the spear.

‘Drop it or he dies.’

‘He dies and you come in second.’

‘Then I get one last kill.’

‘Yeah real impressive killing someone injured, but seeing as you couldn’t kill him the first time I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you need to prove a point.’ She grinned, she was playing a dangerous game. Peeta was weakly clawing at Ariochs arm but the stalling could only go so far.

‘I was supposed to win. It should have been me or Clove..’

‘Come on Arioch, we all know I’m the one you have to beat. Look I’ll even go no weapons, no arrows, no spears, no knives.’ Arioch laughs at what seems is y/n signing Peetas death certificate.

It finally registers to Peeta what Y/n wants him to do. She sighs and pats her leg as she bends down, eyes on Arioch while she lays down the spear. Peeta manages to dig the knife y/n had told him to hide straight into Ariochs thigh.

He’s caught off guard and instinctively goes to remove the knife while screaming in pain. Y/ns gamble paid off, she throws her own knife towards his head. It nicks his already injured forehead sending a gush of blood down his face. The pause gives Peeta the room to push him off the cornucopia. Arioch isn’t one to go down easy, you think at the mutts that are way too excited to have him back down on the ground. Y/n rushes over to Oeeta cupping his face in her hands…

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. Much better now.’ He pulls her in for an embrace they share until Ariochs screams begin cutting through the freezing air.

You find yourself holding your breath as they try to figure out how to help Arioch. Peetas convinced he would waste all of the arrows. Y/n is unsure without her knives but exasperated takes the bow and arrow from Peeta. And for the first time that you’ve seen in the arena, she hits her mark and the canon goes off.

‘That’s it! We did it!’ Peeta says through chattering teeth. Y/n collapses next to him and rests her head on his shoulder. Just like that the mutts disappear back into the woods. Y/ns eyes trained on the remaining wolves, saying goodbye to her friends one more time.

‘I can’t wait to go home.’

Peeta tries to cheer her up again, ‘you know what this means?’

‘What?’

‘You have to go on a date with me now. You promised.’

Y/n laughs, ‘you promised actually…but I’ll hold you to that.’ She lifts her and pulls his chin closer to hers and presses her lips firmly on his. His hands pull her closer before she pulls away. You find one of your nails has begun going back and forth on your skin, digging into it and leaving a large raw scratch in the palm of your hand. Some act.

Where’s the damn hovercraft? Hours go by and y/n and Peeta are forced to huddle together to try and preserve whatever body heat is left between the two of them. You go back to the viewing room where most of the victors are watching as intently as you plan to.

‘What’s taking so damn long?’ Y/n asks by the time the sun begins to rise again

‘Maybe we need to move away from the body. They probably still need to collect it.’ Already y/n has figured out what’s beginning to happen. She presses her lips together but nods.

‘Well then let’s move.’

They both move slowly. Probably as quick as their bodies can move after spending the night in freezing weather. They make it to the edge of the clearing, certainly farther than they were from the district five girl. When the hovercraft eventually grabs Ariochs bloodied body Claudine’s Templesmith’s voice echoes through the arena. You lean as close to the screen as you can just in case you miss anything.

‘Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revisions have been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!’

Y/n closes her eyes and takes a deep breath knowing deep down this was coming. She looks at Peeta. Injured and takes a step back.

‘Dont y/n. One of us should go home.’

She shakes her head, ‘No.’

‘Y/n—‘

‘Peeta, I can’t. You could go and see—‘

‘Don’t be dumb y/n. I’m not going without you.’ She’s about to protest when he says, ‘that’s fine, you’ll outlast me anyway.’

He’s about to remove the bandage he has wrapped around his leg that’s already soaking through when y/n screams, ‘No! Just wait. Please.’

‘They have to have a winner y/n.’

That’s when she hatched the idea. ‘No. They don’t.’

She holds out the night lock berries. Peeta is about to protest when she tells him to trust her. They split the berries. Your throat is dry. You want to scream at both of them. Stop. Don’t give everything up now.

‘3.’

‘2.’

….

‘1’

They both have the berries on their lips when Claudius Templesmith comes back, frantic ‘Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Y/N L/N and Peeta Mellark! I give you the tributes of District Twelve!’

But while the announcement caused y/n to freeze, it caused Peeta to bite down. You could hear a pin drop in the room. Y/n spots the berries out and turns to Peeta excitedly, before she sees him try to open his mouth but fail as the night lock seizes his system and he collapses to the ground. Her moth drops and she’s frozen until the canon sounds one. Last. Time.

Haymitch smashes a glass across the room, “Damn it!” He storms out with Chaff following behind him.

‘No. No no no no. Peeta wake up.’ She falls to her knees and lifts his head on her lap, when he doesn’t respond she tries to shake his shoulders. ‘Peeta! Wake up, damn you! We just won. We’re supposed to go home. You owe me. You promised me! You said you would take me out so GET UP!’

She’s bawling by the time she gets out those last words. When the hovercraft comes for her and I guess Peeta as well she covers his body not making any effort to leave. You grimace, you know what happens when you don’t voluntarily go to the hovercraft.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen I am pleased to present the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games! Y/N L/N’

‘No! It’s both of us. Shut up!’ She screams as Peacekeepers descend from another hovercraft. She seems to be to busy rocking Peetas upper body gently alternating between telling him it’s okay to get up and begging him to open his eyes.

The peacekeepers each grab one of her arms and she goes feral; kicking and screaming protests, ‘No! LET ME GO! You can’t leave him please! No!’

You find yourself wanting to tell her it’s going to be okay. But you know that’s not entirely true. Still, you wish you could comfort her. The room is a mixture of mouths agape, people holding in their shock by covering their mouths, and looking at eachother with a look that can only be described as confusion. You all watch as her cries get quieter and quieter when another peacekeeper sedates her. And just like that her body ascends into the hovercraft, coming back to the Capitol.

That’s when it hits you. Y/ns coming back. And she’s going to have a whole new game to play.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Taglist: @chloe-skywalker @ietss @tomihoeka @chiimiki @akinatrix @inky-sun

[french-unknown]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟕𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 (𝟒) | 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: As a Victor from District 11, (Y/N) was close to the Victor of District 4 but the 75th Hunger Games turned everything upside down.

warning: death mentions

word count: 2.5k

author's note: Hi! English isn't my native language and, even if I can read English text, I have practically never written in this language. So you will be my English practice lesson! Be indulgent, thanks ~

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(F/L) : first letter of your name

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒 | ��𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

As soon as the first cannon ball was shot, all the tributes immediately jumped into the water to join the walkways next to them, which led them to the Cornucopia or the ground.

(Y/N) saw Haymitch on the other side of the room, as focused as she was on the screen.

Their plan was the next one: Haymitch will take care of his protégés from the 12 and all the allies who can go with them, and (Y/N) will help the other ones who succeeded in making a team until they meet the band with the both youngests. She got told they were Districts 3, 4, 7, 8, and 11.

The race of the firsts on the walkways began.

On one side, she noticed Chaff running away in the jungle whereas Woof, the old male tribute from District 8, got drowned close to his pedestal. Cecelia, the woman from 8 who she has only seen a few times these last few years, was killed by Enobaria.

Then she watched Katniss arrive among the firsts at the Cornucopia and shoot an arrow at Gloss before coming face-to-face with Finnick. She felt the tension climbing. But they seemed to agree since, accompanied by Peeta and Mags, the quatuor sank into the forest together.

Unfortunately, she also got a view of an unarmed Seeder facing a Cachemire equipped with a knife. Knowing what was going to happen, she looked away.

Districts 3, 6, and 7’s duo also went at the same time to the central point of the arena before going back safe in two groups: 3, 7 on one hand, and 6 on the other. However, the male morphling was slaughtered by one of the careers before he could even touch the sand. Everyone else came into the vegetation.

The only group that wasn’t with the pseudo-couple from District 12 was Johanna & Co. They were the ones she had to take care of.

Since every tribute was starting their game and wasn’t likely to die in the near future, she knew she couldn't do anything for the moment.

So she decided to begin working on the sponsorship.

She perceived several little groups of sponsors all over the room who had already helped her with her tributes the previous years. She stood up, made her dress pretty, and went toward them with her most beautiful smile.

She stayed there all day to discuss with every sponsor she met. She laughed with them and flattered them during their conversations. She informed herself on their families, jobs, etc. She asked them some news about their children since last year. They took a few drinks together while talking about cinema then, when dinner time came, they ate at the back of the room while chatting about sports or the arts.

She only got some sweating once, a few hours after the beginning of the games when she got a view of a Haymitch suddenly turning pale several seats from where she was. She managed to move her interlocutor, who was doing a monologue about his pet turtle, around until he got his back facing the screen. At this moment, she could watch the Games at her discretion.

And we can say she was surprised when she saw, on the giant screen, Peeta lying on the ground with Finninck on top of him, kissing him.

She bugged.

Thanksfully, or not, she understood the situation when she witnessed the District 4 tribute straighten to make a cardiac massage. Seconds later, when the younger guy got his breath back and had his friend between his arms, she felt relieved. So she went back into her boring conversation about pet turtle's nutrition.

But this tiring day was useful when the night came and none of her protégés had already found water in the jungle.

With an embarrassed voice, she declared at the end of dinner how much she would be happy if they could make some donations so she could help her friends. They all looked cheerful at the idea of supporting the girl with whom they had had fun all day, so they all gave at least a little bit of money.

Then she searched for Haymitch’s group camp position on the map and went to the sponsorship room with her new finds.

She hesitated to send a spile to the group she was in charge of, but she came around. She didn’t even know if they would recognize the object, considering Districts 3 and 7 had never been reputed for their survival capabilities. Instead, she gave them four big fresh water bottles with a message: "They’re in the jungle at northeast - (F/L)".

And, while the parachute flew away to the arena, she spent the rest of the money on a spile she sent in secret to Chaff with the same message.

When she went back to the projection room, there wasn't practically anyone aside from the most obsessed of the viewers. She wouldn’t find any sponsors tonight, so she returned to her bedroom and prepared herself to go to sleep. She turned on her television to program the Games and, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks because of Seeder’s death, she fell asleep.

She woke up early the day after and immediately looked for what happened this night on the Hunger Games information site.

Among other things, she learned about Blight’s and the female morphling’s deaths. Even if she was already sad, she was even more so the moment she saw Mags’s name on this list. She clicked on the link and was redirected to a rebroadcast showing the kind lady kissing Finninck before entering a threatening fog. She felt her heart break as soon as she noticed the light flickered into the blond guy’s eyes and his screams of his former mentor’s name.

She was interrupted by knocks on her door. On her doorstep, she read Haymitch’s note to meet them at the place they encountered Plutarch a few days ago.

She found both men there.

They exposed her to their problem: Beetee had a plan but he didn’t have the necessary material. He needed a coil of the wire he had created, but the only way to provide it to them without arousing suspicions was through sponsors. But it was really expensive, even for several middle sponsors.

"A solution," began Plutarch, "could be to go toward people we already know have enough money to afford exorbitant fancies."

A silence filled the room.

"Excuse me?" asked the (H/C) girl.

"This costs a lot of money, especially if it's a gift for a second day in the arena," continued the man, "so we need someone who can spend that much for their pleasure."

"Stop beating about the bush," declared Haymitch, "go clearly to the point."

"Julius is a very important man, he’s rich, and he throws extravagant expenses into... expensive hobbies." he said while directly looking at the girl from District 11.

"Too dangerous." refused the mentor from District 12, shaking his head.

"We don’t have many choices," responded the Head Gamemaker, "we need this for Beetee as soon as possible. It‘s a life-and-death issue for our allies in the arena."

Haymitch nervously eyed (Y/N).

"Alright," she accepted with her only wish to get Finnick and Johanna out of there as quickly as possible, "but I had never perceived him in the projection room during previous Games."

"I can convince him to pass his day there," Plutarch said, boosted, under the concerned look of the man from District 12. "It’s 8 a.m., I can bring him in 30 minutes."

The girl simply nodded.

"Perfect," finished the man, clapping his hands. "If you succeed, all our friends should be able to get out by this night. Good luck!"

And he left, leaving behind both districts residents.

"Don’t put yourself in danger." claimed Haymitch before quitting, "we can still find another plan."

Back in her bedroom, she made an emergency call to Lucretia so she could provide makeup and a very specific dress. The (H/C)-haired girl just wanted this to end: the interaction she will have with Julius, the 3rd Quarter Quell, the Hunger Games in general, and the domination of districts.

She only wished to peacefully live her life with her family and friends.

Her stylist seemed to be worried about her.

"Are you okay?" She wondered while showing the pale and transparent dress with a cut that didn’t leave much to the imagination. "You hadn’t wanted to wear this kind of dress since your own Hunger Games."

"Yeah," she responded, absent-minded. "It’s just a gift from a sponsor I want to please."

She arrived where they were showing the Games before 9 a.m.

She immediately noticed Julius, who was calmly resting alone with a drink in his hand in a corner of the room. She joined him and, after he agreed, sat with him in purposeful discussion.

Despite the deep disgust this man inspired in her, she stayed with him in the hope that it could make a difference for her friends. She didn't doubt that they should be impatiently waiting in the arena to be rescued alive. And she would hate herself for the rest of her life if they came to die in there because she couldn’t do what she had to do. So she kept smiling, but not without maintaining distance between them.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Haymitch enter. He freezed when he looked in their direction before innocently installing himself a few places away from them. Too far away to hear what they were saying but still close enough to intervene if there was a problem.

With the District 12 mentor’s presence, it made her more comfortable.

At noon, she seemed to be almost reaching her goal, but she was suddenly blocked.

"Mmm, I don’t know," declared the man who yet looked to agree with her in these last hours. "It’s a lot of money for a beautiful thing like you."

After this long chat, her nerves were getting raw. She just wanted to end this.

"You don’t trust me, Julius? She demanded while placing her hand on his knee. As she leaned, the cleavage of her dress stooped more, and the man didn’t miss it. "After all those years?"

"Trusting isn’t the problem, doll," he smirked, "but why do you clutter up your pretty head with this kind of thoughts?"

"They’re my friends." she declared with the innocentest look she could make.

"And until where can you go to help your friends?"

"Until where President Snow let me, unfortunatelly," she responded with an expression she hoped was contrite. Even if she had to suppress a heave. "But I heard you really loved it the last time Beetee made his magic trick."

"That’s true," he expressed with a suddenly dreaming gaze, "this guy is talented, there are no doubts. He took them all by surprise and turned them into grilled chickens."

At the same time, screams resonated in the room.

The duo turned their eyes away to get a view of the giant screen. There was the career group attacking the newly formed one from Districts 3, 4, 7, and 12 at the Cornucopia. Wiress’s body was lying on the ground as a puppet.

Since when have they gathered?

She didn’t see the time fly. So she used the fascinated gaze in Julius’s eyes to set her play.

"Do you imagine if Beetee had that wire?" She whispered in his ear. "All this water with the sand wetted by the waves, he will touch a lot of people. You’re right : he was really talented years ago. What would it be now if he gots more experience and adapted material."

Without even blinking, Julius got out an accessory from his pocket and quickly clicked on it before showing her. It seemed he gave her more money than was necessary. She thanked him and moved off to the other side of the room to search for the reference to Beetee’s wire. Then she realized she had way more than enough money to buy the longest of them all.

Happy to herself and to be finally done, she stood up when she heard new loud shoutings.

She watched Katniss run into the jungle, screaming her younger sister’s name. This one still wasn’t on the screen, but her shouting was horrible. However, the District 12 tribute shot an arrow at a bird flying around her, and the child's screaming surprisingly stopped at the same time the animal fell down.

Jabberjays.

Finnick showed up to inquire how she was.

But the District 11 girl unexpectedly heard her own paniqued voice imploring for help through the speakers.

"Finnick! No! It’s not her." Katniss tried to catch him.

He still ran deeper into the vegetation, looking for the voice.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)!" he yelled as a madman, confirming what she thought she had heard.

"Finnick! It’s not her." The dark-haired girl kept going. "It’s just a jabberjay. It’s not her."

"Well, how do you think they got that sound?" he responded, desperate. Jabberjays copy."

Both of them started to run away under the bird’s shouts.

From her side, (Y/N) could feel the weight of all the eyes directed toward her. Whispers began to spread while, on the screen, her voice was the only one torturing the male tribute from District 4.

Haymitch went behind her and moved her aside.

"You should maybe go." he murmured.

She nodded then, as if she were in slow motion, and went out of there to go to the sponsorship room. She automatically prepared the package for Beetee before she mechanically closed it and sent it with a message: "I’m fine, take care of you - (F/L)".

Back into her bedroom, she installed herself on her blankets and took in her arms the pillow Finnick had slept on the night before the beginning of the Games. She pressed her nose against it but couldn’t smell his scent. She still retained the pillow and switched on the television to keep watching the 3rd Quarter Quell.

She noticed the empty and exhausted look in Finnick’s eyes when the hour was done, and when they went on the beach, she contemplated him sitting in the water to think. The single act that lifted her, more than the happy faces at the moment they perceived the gift, was the relieved sigh of the blond guy at the moment he read the message. And when he discretely hidden it in his combination to keep it close.

She continued to sluggishly view the competition.

Once they separated to execute their plan and she still didn’t have any news from Haymitch or Plutarch, she decided to go looking for them. She didn’t find them in the projection room, or in the sponsorship room, or even in the dorms since no one answered when she knocked.

She went back into her empty apartment and waited for them to come searching for her.

Sadly, when she opened her door later, it was to face a troop of Peacekeepers.

[saesyndrome]

speaking of gay haymitch (gaymitch if u will) haymitch x effie is tantamount to a hatecrime. haymitch x chaff forever. idiots.

[sparklebear11]

Chaff X Haymitch

my new thg minor character obsession is chaff. anyone have any thoughts, meta, or fics on him? 😔

[lythea-creation]

Broken Toys - Johanna Mason x fem reader (Chapter 10)

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

word count: 2.511

----------

I watched the rest of the victory tour on TV.

Katniss and Peeta never talked freely again, but sticked to the cards.

I wondered if the Capitol had been able to cut out the uprisings in district 11 fast enough.

In district 6 two people were brave enough to salute, but were immediately brought away by the peacekeepers.

The two victors pretended that nothing was happening.

Katniss had to feel horrible after what had happened here in 11, but it had been our choice. It had not been her fault.

District 3 was the only one that differed. The people were enraged that Katniss' just read out the cards. They tried reaching her with their yelling.

“Tell us what you really think!”, someone shouted.

But Katniss kept reading out the cards. I could only imagine the pressure and guilt she had to feel. At least she had Peeta to hold onto.

The situation in 11 got worse over the next three months.

Our district's food rations had been decreased. Snow wanted to weaken us and it worked. District 11 had not had enough food before. Now the people here were barely surviving.

I missed my family and talking to my friends. Snow had completely cut me off from the outside world.

I had started working again to distract me and to prevent me from losing my muscles.

I had the advantage of the fruits and vegetables in the victor's village. In comparison to my life before being a victor, I was still living in luxury.

The other people of 11 were not so lucky.

I had wanted to share the food once, but the peacekeepers were watching my every step. Of course they had not allowed it.

“Go back into your house and turn on the TV. There will be important news from the Capitol”, a peacekeeper instructed me.

I wanted to disobey just to defy him, but the curiosity won.

Rage boiled up inside of me when I saw President Snow himself on the screen.

“Ladies and Gentleman. This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games.”

What? He was announcing the next Games? But there were still three months left until then.

The applause and cheering in the background made me feel sick.

“It was written in the charter of the Games that every twenty-five years there will be a Quarter Quell. To keep fresh for each new generation the memories of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion we celebrate the 3rd Quarter Quell …”

Snow took out a card and read it out. “As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”

My mind refused to process his words.

No. This had to be a joke, another sick, cruel joke.

I pulled my knees close to my chest.

Was that our punishment? Our punishment for yearning for freedom and the end of unfair poverty? Our punishment for wanting justice? For not wanting to die anymore as an entertainment for the Capitol and a medium for oppression?

I had been prepared to die the whole time during the riots, but this was different. Snow wanted to break the rebellion from within.

Katniss was the only female survivor from her district. He would kill her.

The victor's were the only ones who were in touch with other districts. We were the only ones connecting the districts. We were the ones that had overcome the cruelties of the Capitol once during our Games. We had become an incarnation of hope, instead of an example of what the Capitol could do to you. That we were standing up to fight now, did not fit into Snow's plans.

So he intended to execute us in front of the whole nation of Panem. He wanted to demonstrate his power and extinguish the flame that had built together with us victors.

Johanna came to my mind. I wished I could be with her now. Instead we were both alone. Another part of Snow's torture.

Gentle arms wrapped around me.

“Seeder”, I mumbled.

“Shh, it's alright. I'm here. We will get through that together again. I won't let you die. You won't have to go back”, Seeder comforted me.

For now I just appreciated it. Let myself fall into the comforting belief of staying out of the fight. Though deep down I knew it was not an option for me. The words during my speech had not been an empty promise, neither my decision to fulfill Rue's wish to protect the family. I could only do that if the Games ended forever and therefore we had to destroy the current regime.

It felt like Seeder and I stayed like that for an endless time before I finally pulled away from her soothing embrace.

“Seeder. Thank you. But I need to ask you for another favor yet again.”

“No, (f/n). It's enough. You have already done more than anyone could expect.”

She knew exactly what I wanted her to do.

“I have to show our district that Snow won't be able to break me”, I declared while already being broken. “And Katniss, Johanna, probably even Finnick. They will have to fight inside the arena again. I can't sit by and watch like I did with Rue. We have to show Panem that we are a nation, not enemies. So please. No matter who of us is getting reaped, I have to become our tribute once again. Promise me.”

Seeder looked upset. It was obvious that she did not want me to return to that hell and I was grateful for that. But the efforts of the last months and Rue's death ... I could not let them go to waste. Seeder could not represent our district the way I would and she knew that.

“I promise”, she announced reluctantly.

For the next three months I trained daily and built up more muscles. I became even faster and quieter at climbing the trees.

Furthermore I had started to develop my killing technique I had accidentally discovered during my last Games. If I managed to silently sneak up on someone from above and jump down with a sharp device, I would easily be able to kill them.

The next Games would be different. I would be going up against skilled killers, against survivors. I needed more than luck to survive this time.

The riots in district 11 had not completely settled down, but had definitely occurred less frequently and weaker due to the lack of nutrition. Though you could still feel the tense and upset atmosphere that towered over all of us. Things could not go back to how they used to be.

When I stood on stage for the reaping and let my eyes glide over all the exploited people, I felt confidence instead of fear. I knew what was coming up for me. This time I was deciding to participate at the Hunger Games. Snow was not the one in control anymore.

We deserved better. We deserved freedom and hope.

“The female tribute of district 11 is Seeder Howell!”

I took a deep breath. “I volunteer as tribute!”

My voice was steady and strong. I had buried my emotions other than rage and determination deep inside of me.

Chaff was the only male victor of our district. The reaping did not take long.

I saluted before anyone else could start and get punished for it. Dozens of hands shot up in the air.

Snow had united us. Now he would pay the prize.

We did not get to say goodbye to anyone, but there was no one left for me in district 11 anyway. My family was in 13 and Seeder was my mentor again. Some things never changed.

“I'm sure you don't really need any advice this time?”. Seeder's words were rather a conclusion than a question.

I nodded. “I've already decided for a strategy similar to my last Games. I improved it. And I don't think that I will have to worry about allies. I have some people in mind.”

“That's what I thought”, Seeder responded.

“Who got reaped in the other districts?”, I questioned.

Seeder led me to a TV.

“Chaff. What are you waiting for?”, Seeder encouraged him to follow us.

“It's fine. I will work on my own”, he declined.

Seeder showed me the clips of the reaping in the other districts and explained everything she knew about them.

The train ride felt longer than ever because I could not await to meet the other victor's again. I had not heard anything from Finnick and Johanna for months.

I put my outfit for the entrance ceremony on and soon later got off the train.

When I arrived at the horse-drawn carriage I saw Finnick and Katniss talking at her carriage.

“Hey, Finnick, Katniss”, I greeted them with a grin.

“Oh, hey newbie”, Finnick greeted me back.

“You know that I'm not the newbie anymore, right?”, I reminded him, eyeing Katniss.

“Sure, but I don't care”, he teased me.

His gaze switched in between Katniss and me. “Then I will leave you two alone”, he announced.

I pulled Katniss into an embrace.

At first she tensed up, but soon she hugged me back.

“Thank you for everything you did for Rue. I really appreciate it.”

“No, I couldn't protect her. She was right in front of me, but still ...”

I shook my head. “You tried. There's nothing more than giving our best. How's Prim doing?”

“She's fine, at least the best she can be under current circumstances. I didn't see your family during the victory tour. Are they …?”

“They're safe. And don't worry about the man. It wasn't your fault. We had started fighting months ago ... I guess I'll go now”, I proclaimed as Peeta arrived.

We smiled at each other before I got out of their sight.

I wanted to go to Johanna, but had to get on the carriage.

No one really cared for anyone but Katniss anyway. She was the new Capitol's favorite and everyone was calling out her name.

Soon later we arrived at the victor's apartments.

I could not wait to get rid off the dress and heavy jewelry, not even talking about my make-up.

But before Chaff and I could leave, Haymitch approached us together with Katniss and Peeta. He introduced us and Chaff placed a kiss on Katniss' lips.

Honestly her face was priceless, but I would have slapped Chaff for his action.

Haymitch and Chaff started laughing. Two alcoholics came along. Funny. Very funny to kiss an engaged teenager, Chaff.

I sent Katniss an apologetic look, although Haymitch was already dragging the couple with him again.

I decided to go and visit Johanna. It just could not wait until I had changed my clothes and stuff.

I got into an empty elevator and pressed the 7 button.

As the doors opened on the right floor, I already heard Johanna's voice. “Thanks. Let's do it again sometime.”

I froze when I saw that she was naked. “Jo …?”

She turned around, obviously surprised about my presence.

The blush on my face got even worse. “Why …? No, let's go into your apartment first before Blight arrives.”

“Nah. Wouldn't mind”, she replied with her signature grin, but went to the door anyway.

I followed her and closed the door behind us.

For a moment I was not sure how to react as she waited for me to say something.

“Don't you wanna put on some clothes?”, I questioned.

“Don't you wanna get rid of your fancy dress?”, she shot back, still grinning.

I sighed, my face still red. “What was that about? Who were you talking to and why are you naked?”

“I just put on a show for our new victors. I have to welcome them, don't I?”

She realized that I was not in the mood for such jokes. “Come on! It's not like I did anything serious. I undressed. That's all. You should have seen Katniss' face. It was priceless! She's too innocent.”

I had to smile slightly as I imagined Katniss inside that elevator.

“Ha! I knew that you would share my humor!”

I got a hold of myself again. “No, seriously, Johanna. Actually you're free to do whatever you want. It's not like you owe me anything, rather the opposite. My family is safe now. So you can drop the act.”

Her grin vanished. “Are you breaking up with me?”, she joked.

“How? We have never been a couple in the first place. You did it to mock Snow and to protect my family. Remember?”

“Yeah, but what? Do you wanna go into our interview and say we're enemies now and therefore our relationship is over? Or do you wanna reveal that it's been an act?”

“I don't know. But you can stop pretending now.”

Johanna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Who said I was pretending?”

“You did.”

“What if I lied?”

“Why should you have lied?”

“Touche.”

Johanna disappeared into the bathroom and finally returned with a slip and an over-sized shirt on.

“Didn't expect you to be waiting here after everything you said. Did you forget anything?”

“We're friends, right?”, I reassured.

“I guess you could call us that. Though it's more complicated than that to be honest”, she replied while sitting down beside me on the couch.

Tears started streaming down my face.

“Wait! Why are you crying now?”, she questioned shocked.

I wiped the tears away, but they kept flowing. “I don't know. It feels like I'm stuck in an endless spiral of the Hunger Games. Since my Games I got to know more people. I learned to appreciate more people and they end up inside the arena. I don't want you to die, Jo. Neither do I want it to happen with Finnick or Katniss. But there can only be one survivor.”

“What about you?”

“I know that I won't make it out of there alive. Luck isn't on my side anymore. Rue can't help me anymore.”

Johanna growled. “Let's make Snow pay! It's different this year. We victors all know each other and if even some of us refuse to kill each other, we can set an example.”

I nodded with a smile. “You're right. Not the best time for self pity. I know you think that such weaknesses are pathetic. Sorry for bothering you with it”, I stated before heading out to my own apartment, not waiting for her response.

[thatthingilovewith]

trickle treat...

Here yah go a Chaffnathey, just for you!

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Smashed

(Hayffie ❤️. Sensual angst and relationship building during the 72nd Hunger Games. Raw and vulnerable Effie is without a doubt the most gorgeous muse I’ve ever had. — Thank you for sharing the prompt. Writing this story brought up memories of a young man who died in his sleep in November 2019. I’d known him since he was 5 years old. Someone who has been drinking heavily, which can mean as few as 5 drinks, give or take, on an empty stomach, may need help. Watch for signs of alcohol poisoning, and don’t let them fall asleep unattended. The young man I knew had little experience with alcohol. If someone had been caring for him similarly to how Haymitch takes care of Effie in this fic, then he would likely still be alive. I think about him often.)

***

Haymitch startled awake and clutched his knife. His ears rang with an echo of shattered glass followed by humming. The sounds were muffled but too loud to be the residue of a dream. Dawn hadn’t yet broken, and it took a moment in darkness to remember whose bed he was in. ...The Capitol’s. The penthouse. The same room he’d slept in for 22 Julys but would never stoop to call his own.

This was supposed to be his day to sleep in if he could. The tributes from 11 and 12 had been killed during the bloodbath at the Cornucopia the day before, and he’d spent the afternoon with Chaff. Everything between then and now was a bit hazy. There’d been Vodka shots, and then a *pick-up* game in the betting lounge to see which of them would be the first to be propositioned for sex.

Not ten minutes in, Haymitch was approached by a woman with pale blue hair flowing down her back, a jeweled collar around her throat, and breast implants the size of cantaloupes. “Hey, victor. Wanna get out of here?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he muttered low enough for Chaff not to hear. This was his buddy’s game, not his. The last thing he wanted in the middle of the Games was to be a piece of meat for some Capitol bitch.

A waif like creature with tattooed olive skin and an unusually large ass for her tiny frame sidled up to Chaff soon afterward. ‘I win,’ he mouthed as he walked out the door with his hand already sliding into the back waistband of her pants.

Glass shattered again, shaking Haymitch from his fog covered memories. What the hell?! As the humming grew louder, he dragged himself out of bed and followed the sound into the living room.

Effie sat on the sofa wearing yesterday’s clothes. Her ankles were crossed on top of the coffee table. “I’ll have another, dear!” She called to a red-clad Avox. He stepped out from the shadows and handed her an oversized champagne flute. She dropped her feet to the floor and promptly filled the new stemware from a large, nearly empty pitcher of orange liquid. Her flute overflowed. The liquid pooled on the table, then dripped over the edge to the purple rug. The Avox stood by with a handtowel draped over his arm, but she didn’t call for one so he remained inconspicuous.

“You know...” Effie spoke to the pink wig she’d taken off at some point and set beside her on the couch, “I’ve always thought that rug needed more color. Orange goes with purple like wildflowers on a mountainside.”

She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, bent forward at the waist, put her mouth to the rim of the glass, and sipped the drink with a loud slurp until it was emptied enough to not spill further. As she raised her head, she caught sight of Haymitch.

All traces of the lipstick she’d worn the day before were gone. Her lips glistened with whatever she was drinking. A thought flashed through his mind of what it would be like to kiss her. He’d wondered before. As she licked her lips, looking at him like she was, he had a hard time thinking about anything else.

Neither of them glanced away nor said a word as he watched her swallow the rest of her drink. The spell broke when she smashed the flute to the floor and started humming again. The tune this time was unmistakable. It was the same melody that played in the arena when images of dead tributes were projected into a darkened sky.

“Effie, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m having brunch!”

“Brunch? It’s 5am.”

“Mimosas make any meal brunch!”

“I don’t see a meal here, sweetheart. Have you eaten since yesterday?”

“Yesterday we had dinner with the children. You remember. They picked at the food, but they had the decency to use silverware.”

“That wasn’t yesterday. That was the day before. Have you eaten anything since then?”

“I never eat on the first day of the Games. Nothing settles well...”

He’d been too wrapped up in his own miserable sense of responsibility and tension on Day 1 to notice her eating habits or lack thereof.

“...But these mimosas certainly are delicious.” She snapped her fingers and the Avox stepped into the light again. Effie held up the empty pitcher. The Avox took it as soon as he was clear that she didn’t intend to throw it on the floor. “Bring us another round and two more glasses.”

“Hold up,” Haymitch said to the Avox. “Bring a pitcher of water and a plastic cup. Make sure the pitcher is plastic too. And bring some crackers. ...And an empty bucket, thanks.”

“And crepes! With strawberries and cream cheese, chopped candied pecans and a drizzle of maple syrup... and mimosas!” Effie added.

The Avox looked to Haymitch who quietly shook his head. “Let’s start with crackers and work up to the rest. I think you’ve had enough alcohol this morning.”

“Amitch Habernathy! Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot have!”

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to help.” He went the long way around the rug to avoid stepping on shards of broken glass, and he sat beside her on the sofa.

Through worn layers of makeup, he couldn’t tell if her cheeks were pale or blazing. He raised his hand slowly to her forehead. She held her breath as he touched her. Her skin was clammy but held some warmth. “How many drinks have you had?”

The back of his hand still grazed her forehead as the answer barely escaped her throat, “I lost count.”

He assessed the pile of broken glass on the floor and believed it was enough to be concerned about her. Her body was slight under all those layers of clothes she wore. He’d stared at her enough to know it. Besides, she hadn’t eaten in a day and a half.

As he dropped his hand from her forehead, she caressed along his cheek, his jaw, his neck, then down the front of his rumpled T-shirt. “You’re so pretty,” she said.

She’d never touched him so personally. It almost scared the shit out of him because she felt so good. “I ain’t so pretty. You’re just drunk,” he reminded himself.

“I ain’t so drunk...”

Effie Trinket saying “ain’t” was drunk for sure, but he knew it would be pointless to argue with her.

The Avox brought Haymitch’s requested items in a bucket. They nodded to each other: Haymitch in appreciation, and the Avox in relief that Effie was no longer breaking champagne flutes.

“You’re pretty too,” she said to the Avox. All six of your eyes are pretty. But not quite as pretty as this guy.” Her palm still lingered on Haymitch’s chest, and she whispered to the Avox, “Have you seen him naked? Holy Mary Mother of God, he’s so fine!”

Haymitch wondered if and when Effie had actually seen him naked. He blacked out too often to know. “I don’t think any mothers of gods want to see me without any clothes. Let’s leave them out of this.” Making light of her comment was safer than picturing himself naked with Effie.

The Avox poured water into the plastic cup and left the crackers in the bag instead of laying them out on fine china. Haymitch waved him off with gratitude then handed her the cup of water. “Drink this slowly. It’ll help you sober up, and when you wake up later you’ll feel like a small train hit you instead of a big one.”

“I don’t want to be sober!” What she wanted was to forget all the death she’d witnessed that day, but she took the cup of water and drank anyway. Haymitch’s attentiveness was more intoxicating than the alcohol had been. “...Is this what it takes?”

“What? Water?”

“Me being drunk. Is this what it takes?...” For you to touch me, she didn’t say. She gripped his T-shirt.

“You’re not making sense, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’ It means you’re pissed off, or worse it means nothing. I’m more than nothing. I want to mean more than nothing!” She let go of his shirt and shoved him. “I don’t want to look at you.”

But her eyes were still on him. Like inlets of a wild sea, he could drown in them if he let himself. She’s even more insane drunk than sober. But he couldn’t look away from her regardless.

“I have to go.” Effie set the water cup down and stood up. The room started spinning, so she plopped back down. “...My shoes are broken. I can’t stand up because my shoes are broken!”

“Your shoes are fine, honey. Do you want to take them off?”

“I love these shoes. Can’t you understand? How can you be so blind not to see that I LOVE them?”

“Okay, they’re great shoes. Maybe they’ll work better if you have something to eat.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a couple of crackers, eating one and handing her the other. “Food will keep some of the alcohol that’s still in your stomach from getting into your bloodstream.”

As soon as Effie ate the cracker, her long-empty stomach craved more. She took the bag from Haymitch and popped a handful into her mouth.

“Go slowly,” he said, “Like with the water.”

“Stop interfering!”

“Fine!” He sat back on the couch and folded his arms behind his head. “Do whatever you want.”

As she chewed the crackers, she bent forward to unstrap her shoes. Using his foot, he slid the table forward so she wouldn’t bang her head on it. She didn’t seem to notice his ‘interference.’

With a bit of food in her stomach and the high heels off her feet, she stood up and managed to remain standing even as the room spun. Haymitch put a leg up on the table, barricading her from walking in the direction of smashed glass. With an unsteady gait, she took the long way around the room. He followed her with the bucket of crackers and water.

As she wobbled through the living room, she unzipped her dress. “Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?”

“It’s definitely you.”

By the time she got to the hallway, she’d slipped the sleeves down her arms, and the dress spilled onto the floor in a puddle of chiffon.

His jaw dropped as she stood there in a baby blue corset, matching panties, and lace trimmed thigh high stockings. “...Holy Mary Mother of God.”

“I thought you said we were leaving mothers of gods out of this.”

“You changed my mind.”

“Oh...” Her stomach lurched, and she felt its contents pushing up against her esophagus. Shit. Throwing up was one thing that annoyed Effie more than bad manners. She commanded her stomach to settle down, but the will of her body to get rid of those last few mimosas and that large handful of crackers was more powerful.

She rushed to her bathroom, and vomited in the toilet. She crouched there in stillness while her guts churned inside.

Haymitch knelt behind her. “I’m right here, honey.” He touched her head gently and gathered her hair up into his hands. He’d never touched it before. Each strand was light and soft like a feather. Why she’d want to cover up this delicacy with wigs, he had no idea.

She threw up several more times until her stomach was empty. By then she was crying. He stroked her hair, feeling dangerously close to the brink of something inescapable. “How about I get you some water and help you into bed, okay?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, completely defeated. “Everything’s spinning.”

“Put your arms around my neck.”

She did what he requested. He picked her up off the floor and carried her to the edge of her bed. She was very drunk but not unaware of the sensation of his arms. Being there felt warm and safe and insanely good. When he let go, she didn’t like the absence. She cried some more, unable to contain the tears, emptying the contents of her heart as it had been with her stomach.

He poured her another cup of water and sat beside her, drawing small circles on her back while she sipped slowly. “The bucket’s here if you need to throw up again. I know you’re dizzy.”

She shivered. When those shudders turned to shakes, he knew it would be best to get her warm. “When you’re ready, let’s get you under the covers.”

“My corset...” Her throat hurt to talk. “Will you help me loosen it so I can take it off?”

Haymitch had loosened a fair number of corsets in the past twenty years. He didn’t know why he was so affected by this raw and vulnerable version of Effie. His hands trembled untying the laces at her back. He stopped when the corset was loose enough for her to unhook in front. If she couldn’t manage the hooks, then it would be staying on, because if he took off her corset there was no way in hell he’d be able to stop there, not with the way he was feeling.

“What do you need? A shirt? The robe on the hook in the bathroom?”

“The robe is fine,” she whispered.

He stepped away to get it for her, and when he came back, the corset had slipped several inches. There was no avoiding a view of her breasts, and he was only willing to be honorable to a certain extent. He was going to look for as long as she, drunk or not, would let him look.

She was refreshingly different than the woman he’d met yesterday in passing. Effie’s lingerie and the other’s hair were similar shades of blue, and maybe that’s why he thought of the comparison just then. Effie’s breasts were small enough to fit fully in his hands. They were firm from the fastidious care she gave her body, and he vowed right then to never taunt her again about those efforts. Her nipples were pink and upturned. She must be nearly 30, but her breasts probably hadn’t dropped a centimeter from where they’d been at 18. His mouth watered just looking at her.

When he glanced up at her eyes, they were on his, watching him watch her. He didn’t know whether her lack of embarrassment came from pride in her body or her altered brain state. Maybe he’d find out another time, or maybe this would be the only time he’d ever see her breasts bare. Either way, this had to be enough for now because she was still shivering.

He sat behind her and helped her into the robe. She fumbled with the corset hooks until the garment fell away. She tied the robe closed then peeled off her stockings. Bending forward made her more dizzy, so she sipped more water and ate a cracker before sliding under the covers.

Haymitch propped pillows behind and in front of her to keep her lying on her side. Then he lay facing her. He stayed on top of the covers because to climb inside with her, especially now, would be as much folly as unhooking her corset would have been.

Her eyelids were heavy.

“I’m gonna be here if you need anything. I’m gonna wake you up several times the first hour, then maybe once each hour after that. I’m warning you, so hopefully you won’t be as pissed at me. I know you’re tired, honey, but you drank a lot on an empty stomach, and your body has to process it. Throwing some up helped, but the alcohol in your blood could still rise for a while as you sleep. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He thought of the thousands of times he’d subjected himself to the risk and certainty of alcohol poisoning. None of those times mattered to him because that was his life. But this was Effie, and for whatever reasons, her staying alive mattered a hell of a lot more to him than he would have expected.

As she dozed off, he listened to make sure her breathing was regular.

The first time he woke her, she hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. She touched his face the same as before. “Sometimes I feel like my heart’s going to burst. You know?”

He really didn’t know what she meant by that, but he knew from personal experience that drunk people rarely make sense, even to themselves. He checked her pulse at her wrist. “You’re heart’s gonna be fine.”

When he withdrew his hand she said, “Don’t. Don’t let go.” She fell asleep again with him lightly holding her hand.

The second time he woke her, she teased, “I finally got you in my bed.”

“Finally?? I don’t remember you ever trying.”

“Trying appears differently to different people.”

The third time he woke her, she said, “I want to kiss you.”

“Another time,” he assured her, “When you’re gonna remember it.”

“I’ll remember it now.”

“I don’t think so, and I’m not willing to risk it. Someday when I kiss you, you’re for damn sure gonna remember it.”

The fourth time he woke her, she said, “You’re getting on that train tomorrow, and I hate it. Every time it takes you away from me, I hate it more.”

He was afraid of what she might say next. Soon she was going to forget this conversation, and that reality was a mixture of relief and agitation. Because he wasn’t going to forget.

The fifth time he woke her, she asked, “Why do you keep waking me up?” The bubble had burst.

The sixth time, she pulled her hand away. “Haymitch! Quit waking me up!”

The seventh time was an hour later. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He lay in bed with her until noon, listening to her normal, even breathing and periodically checking the temperature of her skin with the back of his hand. He didn’t wake her again — because he didn’t want to hear her tell him to leave.

She woke up in the afternoon alone. Her head was throbbing, and the daylight hurt her eyes. She dragged herself out of bed, pulled herself together, and put on a pair of dark glasses.

The dress and corset she’d worn the day before were laying at the foot of the bed. Why didn’t I hang them up? She did so belatedly. I must have been exhausted last night. She’d worked the floor until early morning, making connections, trying to help escorts and mentors from other districts secure sponsors.

She passed through the living room and saw her wig on the couch and her shoes on the rug. Did I take those off here before bed? I can’t remember. I must have had too many drinks. That would explain the headache. She gathered them up and returned them to her room.

Haymitch was eating in the dining room. The Avoxes had laid out a full spread. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“Like I was hit by a train.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. My stomach hurts, but yes.”

“Eat a bit then. It should help.”

She sat down, and looked awhile at Haymitch’s eyes. Almost remembering... something. She took off her dark glasses and looked again.

“I think I had a dream about you last night.”

“You’re dreaming about me, eh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Still, something danced along the edges of her memory. It was almost... beautiful.

Haymitch smirked like he knew a secret. “What do you remember about the dream?” he asked.

“I licked my lips...” I wanted to kiss you. DID I kiss you? “...And you touched my forehead the way my mother used to when I was sick.” I wanted to touch you too... your face, your neck, your chest. DID I touch you?

“So, in your dream I was your mother?” He teased.

“No!”

“...Holy Mary Mother of God, no?” His grin was big enough now to show the gap between his teeth.

It was rare to see him gleeful. Effie loved it, but... “Wait. Those words were part of the dream somehow. Did I say them or did you?”

“Maybe we both did.”

She eyed him suspiciously. The dream had been sensual, erotic at times. I took off my clothes.. Or did you? You carried me to bed. Did we sleep together? Did we...

“You touched my hair.”

“It’s soft like feathers.”

“In the dream?”

“Sure. Why not.”

She recalled confessions of a bursting heart and wanting him...

Effie’s heart was racing now. She pushed her chair away from the table, stepped into the kitchen and started opening cabinets. To the Avoxes she questioned, “Where are all the champagne flutes?”

Of course they couldn’t answer. Confusion spread across her face. “Haymitch?...”

“You smashed ‘em up real good, honey. Like cannon fire.”

Honey? “In the dream?”

“Nope. On the living room floor.”

“What happened last night?”

“Last night I was asleep.”

“Then what happened this morning?”

Haymitch took his time before answering.

“I demand to know what happened between us this morning!”

“You were drunk. I took care of you.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s ALL?! You try taking care of somebody who’s drunk. It ain’t easy.”

She dropped back into her chair with chagrin. “I feel like I should thank you.”

“You already did.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. You showed me your breasts.”

“What?” Effie’s face flushed pink all the way through her makeup.

“I figure we’re almost even now, since apparently you’ve already seen me naked.”

“What?! How do you know that?”

“You told my friend here early this morning.” He looked to the red-clad Avox for confirmation. “Right?” The man shrugged his shoulders, and quickly escaped to busy himself in the kitchen. “I recall your words were, ‘Have you seen him naked? Holy Mary Mother of God, he’s so fine.’”

Effie pressed her palms to her cheeks to try to temper the blood rushing there. “So THIS is what mortification feels like.”

“You’ve got nothin’ to be mortified about. You think I’m fine, and I think you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You make me want to do things to you that I’m terrified and thrilled to think about. “See? We’re even.”

“Did you sleep with me?”

“I watched you sleep to make sure you stayed alive.”

The way he said it, all of it, set something warm into motion. It buzzed along her spine and down her arms. The sensation throbbed in her fingers. She felt it pulling her to hold his hand, but other forces kept her frozen. Just reach across the table and hold his hand! Why is that so intimidating?

Full of uncertainty she asked, “What’s going to happen?”

“I’ll get on the train.”

“Haymitch... when you do, I’m going to hate it.”

“...I know.”

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. Chapter 1

Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four

AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan 

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner

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

You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.

Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.

If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?

“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.

Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”

“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.

“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”

You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.

“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”

It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.

Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.

“Do you know his name?” He asked.

You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”

You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.

“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”

“Who?”

“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.

You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”

Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?

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

Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.

“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”

“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.

“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”

“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.

“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”

“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”

Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.

“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.

Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”

Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”

“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.

She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”

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

Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.

While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”

“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”

Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.

“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”

“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”

Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.

“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”

Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”

There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.

“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out

“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”

“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.

Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;

“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.

Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.

Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.

At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.

You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.

“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.

You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”

You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.

“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.

Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.

He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”

At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.

“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.

You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.

“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”

Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.

“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”

You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”

And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.

If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.

“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.

The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”

“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”

“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.

“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”

Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”

Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”

Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.

“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.

“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”

“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”

Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.

“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”

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Tag list: @i-love-you-green​, @heatherhollowayst​

[ellanainthetardis]

Prompt :"Going commando with haute-couture, truly! What a crime against fashion!" - jup, that truly is the problem at hand here. any care for Effie following those dirty thoughts? ;) (chap 534)

It can stand alone!  [x]

Trinket 1, Haymitch 0

“Not to alarm you, buddy, but your escort’s staring so hard at your ass I’m afraid it’s gonna catch fire.” Chaff chortled in his glass of whiskey, his eyes regularly darting over Haymitch’s right shoulder.

They were in a corner of the room the victory party was taking place in, it was loud and crammed with people and Haymitch refused to turn around to check, giving his friend a half shrug in answer. His escort, he had concluded early on, was weird. She had been around for two years and gave no hint that she would quit soon. He loathed her on good days, hated her on bad ones and most days made him furious out of his mind. He had reconciled himself with the thought that she wasn’t going anywhere but only just. Although, if he ignored her unbearable Capitolness and her very irritating quirks, she wasn’t the worst he had had. She was efficient if nothing else and his work load had been reduced by half since she had come on the team. And he had never had a smoother PR than since she had started handling it. So, yeah, she made him mad but she also had her uses.

Now, it would have helped if he hadn’t been growing hard in his pants every time they fought a bit too hard lately. She had a way of getting under his skin. Not that he would admit it. Not that he would ever admit it.

So what if she was now staring at his ass… Maybe she was dealing with the same problems he was. There was a tension between them that was thick enough to cut with a knife. They were both adults, they both knew what that tension was. He was in deep denial about it – or tried to be, at least – but that didn’t mean she was.

He wondered what he would do if she made a pass at him and concluded he might let himself be tempted. At least once. To get it out of his system.

“I missed something?” Chaff insisted, dark eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Nah.” he dismissed. “I don’t know what’s up with her, she’s been weirder than usual since the other night.”

He had troubles even recalling that night. He had been so drunk… He remembered coming back from Eleven’s floor so wasted that he couldn’t see straight… He had tried to reach his bedroom but he was pretty sure he had collapsed somewhere in the corridor. How he had woken up in his bed the next day wearing sweatpants instead of his suit was a mystery. Well… Not so much of a mystery probably but he refused to entertain the thought of Effie Trinket helping him to bed. It was more likely one of the Avoxes. She would have gladly left him to choke on his own puke, he was sure.

At least, he supposed.

The lack of certainty annoyed him, mostly because someone had undressed him while he was far too gone to know better and he had no idea who it was.

“What happened the other night?” Chaff asked, clearly invested in the story now.

“No clue.” he shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

He lifted his glass of whiskey as an explanation and his best friend nodded with understanding.

“Maybe you fucked her.” Chaff suggested helpfully.

Haymitch snorted. “I would remember that.”

At least he thought so. The state he had been in, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to get it up anyway. And he may hate her on principle alone but he didn’t think she was the type to take advantage like that. She probably liked her men to be clear-headed so they could tell her just how much they adored as they made sweet love to her.

Fat chances of that happening with him.

“She ordered me socks and underwear.” he finally admitted and, when Chaff’s eyebrows shot up, he rolled his eyes. “Ain’t that weird. She’s in charge of my wardrobe.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s not the stylist’s job.” Eleven’s victor mocked. “Your escort’s got control issues.”

“You think?” he smirked. Trinket was all about control. She went ballistic when they were off schedule by a minute. He made a face and shrugged. “Don’t mind that too much though. She knows what I like and she doesn’t force ridiculous colors on me. Our stylists always suck. She’s been good at picking out clothes I don’t hate so far. But the socks and underwear thing is new.”

And it wasn’t like she had been really subtle about it even. Well, the socks that had appeared in his drawer he had actually appreciated. Most of the ones he owned were really going threadbare and he had been planning to buy some once he would be back in Twelve but the other drawer full of underwear he hadn’t seen coming. Mostly because it was full and there were all kinds in there as if she hadn’t been able to decide which one he would like.

There had been trunks, boxers, pouch briefs and some stuff that looked like thongs he had pushed to the back of the drawers quickly. They came in different colors and fabrics and he had been so puzzled by their mysterious sudden appearance that he had stared at them for a good fifteen minutes.

“Capitols.” Chaff sighed as if it explained everything. And it probably did.

But Haymitch couldn’t shake the thought that the underwear thing had to do with her current weirder-than-usual behavior.

“Right?” he snorted, raising his glass to that.

Seeder signaled Chaff over not long after that and, since she was talking with one of the sponsors, his best friend left with a muttered apology about duty calling. Haymitch remained in his corner, sipping from his glass and watching the party unfold.

He felt her presence long before she actually stopped next to him, mostly because her staring had been a little overboard.

“You keep looking at me like that people are gonna get ideas, sweetheart.” he attacked before she could.

It was always good to get the first gibe in as soon as possible with her because, as he had discovered quickly, she wasn’t shy about throwing the first taunt. He refused to admit that was part of the reason he found himself so attracted to her. Usually, his escorts could barely keep up with him intellectually but Trinket… Oh, he had dismissed her as another pretty face as soon as he had met her and he had been so, so wrong. She may like to play dumb but he suspected she was anything but.

“That suit is Galanis. Please, tell me you are wearing something under those pants.” she almost begged as if the thought physically pained her.

It took him a beat to recover because that wasn’t what he had been expecting.

“Do you have something under that dress?” He openly leered at her.

She was wearing a purple number of thick see-through lace and nude-colored fabric that made it look as if she was very naked on first glance. It culminated in a huge hem made of something that looked like puffy purple fur around her knees. It was really ugly. Even the rainbow–colored wig towering over her head like the ice cream on top of a cone didn’t look as bad as the dress and that was saying something.

It was in moments like that, that he wondered why his body so strongly responded to her sometimes. She looked ridiculous and terrible and even the long legs and the swan neck couldn’t make up for it. Not with the pot of paint she had smeared on her face.

“How improper!” she chided – and not in a coquettish way either, she was genuinely offended, it seemed.

He rolled his eyes. “You literally just asked me the same thing.”

“I asked you in the interest of fashion and you are not a lady.” she retorted. “You cannot keep on wearing nothing under those suits, Haymitch. I won’t stand for it.”

There were several possible reactions to that statement and he jumped on the easiest one first. “That’s what the underwear thing is about?” And then he frowned, suspicious and a little angry. “Have you been spying on me? How do you know I don’t wear anything down there? You’ve got a peeping-tom act going on?”

She studied him for a second, obviously shocked and more than a little defensive if not outraged, and then she blinked and he was faced with her usual cheerful expression. He wondered, sometimes, if she was on drugs to be that happy all the time – although probably not because the pole in her ass was huge and drugs was probably as big a no-no as alcohol for her.

“Oh, you do not remember the other night. How awkward.” she laughed. “I have wondered.”

Whatever was going on wasn’t funny and something like dread coiled in his stomach. Maybe Chaff had a point. His frown deepened. “We slept together?”

He was so very sure he would have known. There had been no clue he had had sex with anyone for starters but maybe…

“Of course not!” she almost shrieked. “Do not be preposterous! How can you even… You… Oh!”

She was so furious he could guess at her crimson cheeks underneath the make-up.

“Alright, alright…” he chuckled, a little amused by the strength of her reaction. “Calm down, sweetheart. Just asking.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pursed and her head tilted to the left in that very attitude that always made his body react in way he would rather not.

“I found you passed out in the corridor and I helped you to bed.” she hissed. “Not that you ever thanked me for it, you ruffian.”

Well, it was one mystery solved.

He glared right back though. “And you thought it was alright to take my pants off without my permission?”

Because that was what had happened, wasn’t it? She had helped him to his bed and she had taken his clothes off and she had put sweatpants on him. It was humiliating on more than one level but he figured most of it was his own fault because he had been the one getting wasted out of his mind.

“Do not make it sound like that.” she warned. “I was trying to be kind. I thought surely you would be uncomfortable sleeping with your belt on and I could not know you weren’t wearing any… What sort of civilized man do not wear underwear?” She shook her head. “Truly, I am not the one at fault, here. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“And you got an eyeful.” he snorted, calming down a little. “Bit unfair, that. You should let me take a peek…”

He was very sure that if they hadn’t been standing in a crowded room she would have tried to slap him.

“Do not push your luck. I was not exactly happy to find myself eye to eye with…” She quickly looked down at his crotch and back up. “… that.”

“Never had any complains before.” he smirked.

“I would not think so.” she muttered under her breath but before he could ask what she meant by that – or more likely tease her about it – she cleared her throat and went on. “Anyway. I sent you the underwear for a reason and I strongly suspect you are not wearing anything under those pants.”

“How would you know that?” he snorted.

“I am an expert at determining what hides in a man’s pants, Haymitch.” she deadpanned with a straight face.

Fuck, but she was good at banter.

He downed what was left of his glass for appearance’s sake and tried not to let her words affect him too much in case she really could tell what was in his pants. He wasn’t sure how she would take the knowledge she made him hard but he suspected she would be smug about it and that was far too annoying an idea to bear.

“I don’t wear underwear.” he grumbled. “You can stop buying them.”

She pursed her lips. “Unacceptable. If you like another type than what I ordered…”

“There’s still stuff you haven’t ordered?” he taunted.

“Haymitch.” she said firmly, refusing to get sidetracked into a pointless argument. “Please, hear me out. Not only is it really distressing for me to think you are going commando under haute-couture, but and I do not say this to be judgmental, you have a tendency to pass out when you drink too much and that’s when you are not being sick all over yourself.”

“So what?” he scowled, folding his arms in front his chest.

“So… You may need me to help you again. Or an Avox.” she explained. “And if not me, then you may find yourself in need of medical assistance. Do you truly want to find yourself potentially naked with strangers?”

He hated it when she made good points. He really, really did.

He glared at her ugly purple shoes.

“Don’t see why you would help me anyway.” he grumbled.

“I know we are not the best of friends but if I pass out on the corridor’s floor won’t you, at least, make sure I am safe and comfortable?” she asked.

“No.” he spat, just to spite her.

He tried not to mind the flash of hurt in her blue eyes. It was gone in a blink anyway, chased by the heavy weird-looking fake eyelashes she had on. “Very well. Then, I suppose there is nothing more to discuss.”

She turned around and was probably about to march back into the fray when he grabbed her wrist. He quickly let go, letting her turn around, the clicking of the numerous bangles on her arm almost impossible to catch with the loud music.

“I don’t like the weird thong things.” he declared. “The pouch briefs are uncomfortable and the trunks make me feel like I have two pair of pants on.”

She took it in strides. “That leaves the boxers briefs.”

“They crush me.” he mumbled, averting his eyes.

“I will order them in a bigger size.” she answered joyfully, as if they weren’t discussing an incredibly awkward topic. “Any preference regarding fabrics?”

“I can order them myself, you know…” he muttered. He was sure he was red in the face now. He could feel the telling burning sensation in the tips of his ears.

“But will you?” she deadpanned, probably knowing he wouldn’t.

“I like the cotton ones.” he sighed in defeat.

“What about colors?” she asked and he was pretty sure she was doing it on purpose now. To annoy him even further.

“Whatever.” he scowled. “We’re done now? Not that I mind you staring at my ass all day but…”

She rolled her eyes. “Always so vulgar. Can’t you mind your language? Please, excuse me, I actually have other things to do this evening than having embarrassing conversations with you.”

He let her saunter away this time and made a beeline for the bar.

The next day, he found the underwear drawer empty of the stock she had previously bought but full of boxers. He should have known better than tell her he didn’t care about colors, of course. Her idea of a joke seemed to have been ordering whimsical ones. Most of them were pink, some had big flowers on them and others had sentences embroidered.

His favorite, by far, was the grey one with I’m an asshole stamped on its back in pink flourished letters.

He should have been mad but he could recognize it was actually funny.

And he was an asshole most of the time so…

Trinket 1, Haymitch 0.

[madeofpurestarlight]

If This Was A Movie, III

// While Effie Trinket is Hollywood’s darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it’s time for his comeback. The two main stars can’t stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they’re not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU //

"INFINITE DEAL OF NOTHING”

i.

April, New York

The two kids have caught his attention - the girl in the pink dress with glitters and small, hardly noticable fairy wings on her back, and the boy with suit pants and a little sword. They were running around the departure hall, he was chasing her, but he was also older and taller and caught her every time, pretending to pierce her with the sword. It was probably made of polystyrene and wrapped in foil, but he still wondered how it got through the control. He, in fact, didn’t care about that as much as about the fact that their screaming and high-pitched laughs were giving him a headache.

He took a sip from his coffee and looked out of the window instead. After half an hour of aimless walking, he had finally found a spot in one of the duty-free cafés with a view at the runway and far enough from the awkward small talks his new colleagues kept coming up with. Some time alone was nice, considering what he was about to let himself get into.

Chaff went here with him since he has appointed himself into the role of a moral support he didn’t ask for. JFK was crowded like hell on a Saturday morning and the taxi driver that had previously drove them here was barely hiding the severe aggravation that was threating to bubble to the surface when he drove around the parking lot for the third time, trying to find a good spot to put the old yellow cab to rest. His calloused fingers were heavily tapping on the ratty leather coating of the stiff steering wheel when he waited for an elderly man with a mustard yellow Beetle to take the place he had been eyeing since he drove here and resigned.

“I’ll just drop you off in front of the hall,” he decided and slowed down, taking a place in a long queue of cars whose drivers have come to the same conclusion.

Haymitch simply nodded. He was clutching the boarding pass so tightly it became all crumpled while his palms went sweaty. He rubbed them against his jeans and tried with all of his will to calm down. Not that he’d admit it out loud, but he was nervous. Not nervous, he reminded himself. Just paranoid.

“Here we are.” The driver got as close to the sidewalk as possible and let the engine idle. The car was shaking to the rythm of Haymitch’s heartbeat - or so it seemed.

Chaff let his huge dark eyes rest on him from the neighboring seat. They were like two x-ray lasers which could be both a useful and a very annoying trait. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Haymitch’s voice was coarse like sand like it usually was in the mornings and his hands were trembling like they often were when he had been sober for too long. However, he smelled like aftershave and happened to be wearing a brand new shirt, one that Chaff bought him when he saw him having some troubles with packing. The thing was that packing for a three-month leave was somewhat of a craft for someone who hadn’t left his house for such a long time. He didn’t even have enough clothes to take with him and he had to take a lot of things into consideration, like that Italy was hot and half across the globe from home.

Or maybe Chaff merely wanted to show some kindness because he was behind all of this, and hadn’t it been for him and his inability to mind his own business, Haymitch wouldn’t be in a rush to catch a plane to Venice in the first place. Or maybe he just considered Haymitch too shabby. He wouldn’t be the only one.

Someone tooted behind them and the atmosphere in the cabin that smelled after ramen noodles, gasoline and cheap deodorant, became just as heavy as Haymitch’s heart had felt like since the last trip to this airport. Who would have thought back then that life would bring him here… or that Plutarch would. “I’ll go.”

“You sure I shouldn’t go with you?” Chaff looked and sounded like a soccer dad dropping his kid off on their first day of middle school.

“I’m fine, ma,” Haymitch mocked, but let his hand hover in the air uncertainly before he let it fall on Chaff’s shoulder. “Thanks for… coming.”

Chaff waved it off and briefly but tightly hugged his best friend despite the sigh the other man let out. “I’ll be there in the middle of June.”

“Okay.” Haymitch stepped out before he could change his mind. There was quite a line behind them already and he hurried with bringing his shabby suitcase out of the trunk. He quickly nodded to Chaff, checked his pockets and then he was left alone.

Coin was so kind she had reserved a private first class flight for him, Plutarch, Katniss, Peeta and Effie. He hoped he was sitting alone - he wasn’t in the mood for the director’s good cheer or Peeta’s babbling or Katniss’ hostility, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood for Effie in general. They were all supposed to meet in the hall at one of the terminals, but finding them would have been a much easier task to do if the hall wasn’t bascially flooded with families with little laughing kids going for premature holidays or businessmen in grey suits heading to meetings. Everybody was rushing.

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Haymitch was glad that Chaff was with him through what had been the longest two weeks of his life. He expected it, but there are things nobody can prepare you for, and when the day after his meeting with Coin Plutarch gave the official statement and the news about Haymitch’s involvement in the movie broke out, a shitstorm had started. His neighbourhood was quiet and empty and those who did live there, in one of the many same-looking houses with gravel driveways and small windows, in the loneliest part of Richmond, basically reserved for wealthy people with a desire to hide from the world, were snobs who were too well-mannered to directly approach him, but their eyes followed him every time he walked out to get his mail and morning newspapers. He was worried about the paps, but nobody tried to snatch a picture or anything.

However, he was everywhere, in the news, on the internet, in the magazines. He knew most of it from Chaff, because he didn’t have the balls to go downtown, though that might seem a little paranoid, because people rarely reached out to him in Richmond. He sent him a picture of a magazine cover with Haymitch and Effie’s pictures on the cover with a winking emoji. His Wikipedia got updated. And it was causing him such claustrophobia, such anxiety. Thanks to his contract, he didn’t have to talk to anyone from the media, but his phone was constantly blown up nevertheless thanks to him not having a publicist or someone to take care of his calls and emails, until he changed his number that only few people knew. Coin did get him a publicist after he signed the deal, but he wasn’t planning on sharing anything, and didn’t care about what was written about him, eihter, but from what he had seen and been told by Chaff and Plutarch, they were all right about the best promotional move possible, even if it meant some discomfort for Haymitch. He was holding onto the fact that he’d soon disappear in Italy where nobody cared.

The story of a fallen star who was going through his big comeback, even if it was just one-off, simply sold well everyone and everything that was involved. There was definitely some controversy regarding the fact that the role had been recast so soon after Crane’s death, and a lot of people criticized the studio’s choice of actor as well, but as Plutarch put it, negative publicity is also publicity and overall, there was nothing that could bring more attention.

“Unless you and Trinket get married,” Chaff joked. For whatever reason, he took pleasure in teasing Haymitch about her. It was annoying and unnecessary. And strangely stressful. He didn’t want to be associated with her… or anyone else.

Haymitch wasn’t interested in that attention, though. The two weeks between his agreement and his departure have been hell for him, it was both mentally and emotionally challenging and he was feeling worn out. The fact that he had to slowly lower his alcohol intake in order to not fall into withdrawals and have a breakdown on the first day of shooting wasn’t helping, either. He was tired, but when he looked at himself in the mirror, even he had to admit that some shampooning, a shave and clean clothes could really do wonders, so at least some pros to balance the cons so far.

And he’d trade it all for a bottle of something, but the only liquor he was bringing along was a flask hidden in his leather jacket.

Plutarch was worried that all the sudden attention and all the stress would make him change his mind, and emailed him at least every three days to ask how he’s doing and if he’s still in, until Haymitch ran out of patience and said that if Plutarch didn’t stop, he might as well start looking for someone again. It worked, and the only mail Haymitch got from him since that day was the copy of the contract.

The public’s freshly renewed interest in him wasn’t the only thing that rocked him, though. It was the call from Hazelle Hawthorne, one of the things he didn’t expect at all. It had been such a long time since the two have talked; she married one of his friends from school and they used to be fairly close, but fell out after the mining accident, and the last time they talked was years ago, so long he didn’t remember the occasion. When he picked up, she sounded the same as always, tired, but there was a hint of teasing under the layers of year’s worth of exhaustion.

“I heard that you’re back.” There was the unmistakable rustle of newspapers on the other side, and the well-known noises of Greasy Sae’s Hub were illustrating the background and setting the scene. Clinking of glasses and plates, low music, loud talking, air conditioning always turned on to the highest point. He could see her doing the dishes with the old landline phone propped between her cheek and shoulder, while her kids were running around the lively pub and waited tables. “You could have at least said something.”

“Why would I do that?” Haymitch was in the middle of making himself a humble dinner consisting of two scrambled eggs and a week old white bread. “Now you know.”

She snorted. “I knew the day would come when you’d sell yourself out again, you know?”

“I’m not doing it for money,” he informed her sharply and supressed a curse when he noticed the egg-shell in the uncongenial mixture in the pan.

“So why? Why the hell would you go for this again?”

“Because.”

“Okay.” There was some shouting on the other side. “A turkey sandwich for table three,” she said loudly. “Sorry, Friday evening. You should come over sometime.”

Haymitch hesitated and turned off the stove. The meal looked poor, but it was better than the soup he had yesterday. He was slowly running out of supplies. Going to the grocer’s or even ordering something was totally out of the question. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I’d just rather stay home.”

Hazelle sighed. “So you’re back to this? You don’t want anyone to see you, or talk to you… so you’ll just lock yourself at home? Very well, Haymitch.”

“It’s not that,” he snapped. “I have to learn the script, organize some shit around the house for when I’m away-”

“Say no more,” she cut him off coldly. “I know you better than most, I know that it’s bullshit when they say that you simply think that you’re too good for this place, but sometimes I wonder what it is about you that makes you resent everyone trying to help you. We haven’t seen you in so long…”

He interrupted her, determined to stop it before she managed to make him feel guilty. “I’ll come over, okay? When the hype dies down, when shit’s settled. Not now.”

He could totally imagine her rolling her eyes and brushing away a strand of her fuzzily brown hair that always escaped the lose bun she wore. “You’re paranoid. You shouldn’t make another damn movie, you should get a therapist and finally do something normal.”

“Did you only call me to tell me that? Cause that’s what I’ve got Chaff for, thanks. I’ve got my reasons that are just mine. I know what I’m doing, Haze.”

“Sorry,” she said after seconds of quiet only interrupted by the background noise on her side. “Our Gale is in the mines now. He used to go to school with Katniss.”

That wasn’t a surprising information, given there was only one elementary in Seam, and basically all kids went to middle and high school in suburban Richmond.

“She dropped out some time ago and is homeschooled. So she can help her mom.” Hazelle paused. “Katniss is a great girl. She just has it hard. She comes here sometimes to help us at the diner. Gale really likes her,” her voice had a mischevious undercurrent.

“Yeah, a lovely girl,” he muttered and cringed when he tasted the eggs. He flushed it down with a sip from one of the last whiskey bottles he had here, the worse quality ones. “Can you like, ship me a sandwich or something?”

Hazelle chuckled raggedly. “I see someone’s missing my spinach sandwiches… or the salomon ones?”

“Actually, the ketchup and cheese ones.”

“Well, maybe if you come over-” the classical sound of shattering glass stopped her from finishing her offer. “Rory! Clean the mess up, right now, I- sorry, Haymitch, I’m glad you’re fine. Please call if you need something, I gotta go-”

He listened to the mess on the other side, and after coming to the conclusion that she forgot to hang up, he ended the call, threw the phone on the sofa and scratched the rest of mayonneise out of the bottle into his plate.

No, a trip to Seam surely wouldn’t have been a good idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, it was more like that there was no reason to do so. Seeing Hazelle and her kids again would have been nice but he wasn’t ready. And he doubted anyone would have welcomed him in Seam with open arms.

I knew the time you’d sell yourself again would come was the way most people would look at him, probably. That was how they have always looked at him. Like the boy who ran away from the small town to start a big career and left everything behind. It wasn’t true, but how could have they blamed him for wanting to get out? To make sure his family was fine? Some looked at him with disdain, some with envy, some with understanding. It had always been bittersweet to go home. It took him a while until he realized that something was wrong. The people in Seam must have been proud when he decided to quit acting. They’d probably consider this whole thing a yet another betrayal.

No, he really didn’t need to face that right now. He had enough of that in his own mind.

He had noticed her first. It was impossible to overlook her and it stirred up aggravation inside his guts - neither of them wanted to be seen or noticed and she was like a magnet for attention in her short and tight yellow dress and candyfloss pink stillettos. Her white RayBans weren’t going to cut it.

When she saw him, she smiled politely, but when she moved the glasses down her nose to take a look at him, he could physically feel her judging. And he didn’t care - he just ignored her instead and let Plutarch pat his back and shook hands with Katniss and Peeta. He had a certain feeling that everybody was looking at them, but they all - except for Effie, of course - looked dressed down and civil enough for nobody to even try to look for movie stars in them. Everybody had enough of their own problems and thoughts to give their attention to, apparently.

It would take almost ten hours with a stop in London. The time shift from New York to Venice was minus six hours. It was going to be hell.

A mechanical female voice filled the departure hall and announced the number of their flight. He finished his coffee in one gulp, them him, Effie, Plutarch, Peeta and Katniss met up at the gate. Katniss was keeping a straight face and only her long braid was poking out from her hoodie, but even she had a curius look in her grey eyes when she took off her sunglasses and handed her passport and boarding pass to the airport’s smiling employee.

“I’ve never been to another country,” said Peeta, obviously putting Katniss’ thoughts into words.

The woman controlling their papers had lank ginger hair in a loose ponytail and sort of swimmed in her uniform. Her eyes widened with disbelief when she took Effie’s passport. “Euphemia Trinket? That Effie Trinket?”

Haymitch saw Effie wince and grew heavily aware of the stares people granted them with. He knit his brows and caught Plutarch’s gaze who replied by shaking his head in a meaningless gesture.

“Could you be more discreet, please?” Effie hissed when she whisked the papers out of the sheepish woman’s hands and hurried to the gate. Immediately, several camera clicks could be heard.

The woman didn’t say anything while she controlled Haymitch’s passport, but the struck look in her big pale green eyes gave away that she knew his name and was probably fighting the urge to start screaming. He was glad when they finally boarded the plane without anyone stopping them or trying to approach them, partially thanks to the security guy who had been hovering next to them the entire time until they got on the plane safely.

“Somebody took a picture,” Peeta whispered in surprise, his ears turning red, when they started looking for their seats in the half-empty first class. “They know us too?”

“They’re all looking at them,” Katniss moved her shoulder vaguely towards Haymitch and Effie. She stopped in front of one of the seats and took a look at her boarding pass. “This one’s mine.”

Peeta smiled awkwardly after looking at his own. “Seems like we’re sitting together.”

“Awesome,” she muttered and tiptoed to put her backpack into the luggage rack.

“Wait.” Peeta gently placed his palm on her wrist and helped her push the backpack further into the rack.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she lighted into him and slumped into the pale blue leather seat, blush spilling over her olive cheeks.

“I’m sitting here,” Haymitch threw his leather jacket over the armrest of his seat behind the kids’ and turned to Effie who was standing behind him. “See you in ten hours.”

Effie checked her pass and the flash of mischeviousness ran over her face. “Actually, we are sitting together.”

He supressed a moan. “C'mon.”

Plutarch, who was settling down on his seat in the row next to them, looked at them with concern. “Is there a problem?”

“Can we switch seats?” Haymitch grunted.

“Deifinitely not,” Plutarch replied in amusement, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You are going to spend a lot of time together, you need to get used to each other and preferably… get along.” He chuckled and waved it off when he saw Haymitch turning to the kids. “Don’t even try it. They need some bonding time as well.”

“Bonding time?” Haymitch shook his head and sat down before they started to attract unwanted attention again. He noticed a little girl pointing at them and whispering something to her mother who opened her mouth when she saw him and then quickly looked away as if she got burned. “Fine.”

When Effie sat down next to him, she breathed out heavily. “Finally. I should have gone by my private jet, but the studio had already gotten us these tickets and I thought that if I haven’t flown commerical in such a long time, it might be a nice change, but I really miss the comfort and privacy and-”

Haymitch gave her a side-eye. “I don’t feel any need to bond with you. So, if you could just keep your mouth shut, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Why are you so hostile?” she gently kicked his shin. “I think it’s time we finally have a proper talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk with you, and don’t kick me again if you don’t wanna get kicked back,” he growled, to which she reacted with an amused eyeroll.

“Rude. You don’t kick a lady.” Effie opened one of the magazines they were offering on the plane and crossed her legs, prompting him to notice that her dress had rolled a little higher up her pale tights. She caught his gaze and put the magazine down in annoyance. “What?”

“You’d use some tan,” he told her hastily.

She raised her perfectly shaped brows and slowly shook her head at him. “Pardon?”

“Forget it,” he mumbled and looked out of the window instead. “Let’s just stay quiet, right? Keep your mouth shut until London, you think you can manage that?”

“We will see.”

ii.

The flight was long and boring and the atmosphere was shitty. And, it turned out, staying quiet was kind of a mission impossible for Effie even when it came to the matter of mere minutes, let alone an eight hour flight to London. She kept continuously making attempts at starting a small talk, or at least shared everything that came to her mind with him.

He kept telling her that he didn’t care and replying with vague grunts and shrugs, but it soon became obvious that she wasn’t really talking to him, she just wanted to talk in general. He deeply envied Katniss - she had put her earphones in the second she had fastened her seatbelt and the seats in front of them have remained quiet since them. Peeta was drawing something in the corners of his screenplay, Plutarch was asleep and Effie was switching between the magazines and her tablet.

Haymitch had soon figured out that travelling by plane wasn’t for him at all - his legs were too long for the limited space and he soon got a backache, plus there absolutely nothing to do. The movie they were playing was some romantic comedy that had apparently starred some of Effie’s Hollywood friends, and the view from the window easily grew boring, considering it was just cotton-like clouds and the occasional plane flying in the opposite direction. The only light moment was the brunch they got - and the fact that while Plutarch was sleeping and Effie went to the toilets, he had ordered a glass of whiskey that he emptied in one gulp and gave back to the stewardess before someone noticed.

They had arrived to London at five pm of the European time for an hour stop. Some of the people who had reached their destination were getting off the plane.

“When I fly by my plane,,” Effie brought up, sounding annoyed, “I can at least go out during stops. I wish I could go for a walk, it’s such a shame.”

“Thinking about another hour with you, I’m considering it anyway.”

She shot him a sharp look, but backpedalled when she saw the mocking in his face. “Okay, you think yourself funny. I can work with that.”

“And you take yourself too seriously,” he shrugged and changed the intensity of the air conditioning.

Effie reached up and changed it back to the default mode, a little smirk lifitng the corners of her lips. “Oh, do I?”

“Yeah.” Haymitch changed it again. “It’s too hot in here.”

“It’s cold,” she argued.

He shrugged again. “Too bad.”

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” she informed him and hugged herself demonstratively.

“Who said I’m a gentleman?” Haymitch nestled in his seat comfortably when he finally found a position that wasn’t making his leg hurt. “You take yourself too seriously.”

“If you insist.” She changed the air conditioning again and gifted him with a fleeting smile.

He opened his mouth to say something when the little girl who had previously stared at Effie appeared by their seats, standing in a reverent distance from them. She was wearing a baby blue dress and had messy dirty blonde hair and a shy look on her freckled face.

“Are you Effie Trinket?” The girl’s cheeks were burning red when she dared to speak in a high-pitched tone.

“Yes, darling.” Despite Haymitch having the feeling that after the incident at JFK Effie wasn’t in the mood to socialize with strangers, she put on a bright smile and turned her attention to the little girl. He noticed she was clutching a crumpled piece of paper and a pink glittery pen. “And you are?”

“Rosie,” the girl answered and bit her lip nervously. Her blue eyes fell on Haymitch. “This is your boyfriend?”

“No,” Effie’s voice hurdled as she fought the amusement creeping into it, “not even close. He is my collegue. That means we’re working together. His name’s Haymitch.”

“I know,” the girl giggled, “my mum likes him.”

Haymitch caught Effie’s teasing gaze and scowled at her. She had turned back to the girl and smiled politely. “And where is your mum?”

“She went to the toilets.” Rosie muted her voice. “She didn’t want to let me talk to you. She said that it’s not polite. Am I being rude?”

“Not at all,” Effie laughed lightly. “Are you going for a vacation?”

Rosie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. We’re going to Venice and then to Rome. For two weeks.”

“That sounds fantastic!” Effie exclaimed and clapped her hands. “You are going to love Rome. It’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Paris or Casablanca.”

“I don’t know Casablanca,” Rosie said, “but I saw Paris in pictures. It looks pretty.” She shuffled her feet and then handed Effie the pen and the piece of paper. “Will you give me an autograph, please?”

Effie beamed at her and propped the paper against her knee. “Of course.”

Haymitch watched her quickly write her name down - probably for the millionth time in her career - and put a for Rosie in front of it. Instead of a dot, she put a little heart above the i.

“Thank you!” Rosie clutched the paper to her chest and ran back to her seat.

“Kids are nice,” Effie said softly. “They always make my day.”

“Some are kinda annoying,” he remarked. “This happens to you often?”

She nodded with her eyes fixated on her nails. “Everywhere I go.” She looked up at him with a confident smile. “But I think it’s worth it.”

“Guess there are two kinds of people.”

“I- did you change the air conditioning again while I wasn’t looking?”

He flashed her a mysterious smirk. “Maybe.”

Effie sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. In the pale fluorescent light, the lines around her eyes that were otherwise invisible seemed highlighted by the heavy layer of pearly powder on her skin. All of those sexiest woman alive and the most beautiful actress in the world wins were surely deserved, he’d give her that. She had soft but attractive features, a great figure and a certain sex-appeal, with her blonde hair blowed in waves that she kept nonchalantly throwing over her shoudler and florid clothes that were screaming expensive. She was the prototype of a flawless Hollywood ambassador.

“Can I have a question?” she said cautiously, changing the topic.

“Maybe,” he repeated, with less certainity this time.

“Why are you here?”

“What?” Haymitch rolled his eyes. “What are you even asking?”

She looked at him directly and her face was unreadable all of a sudden. “It wasn’t very nice of Chaff to bring up what happened with Plutarch.”

He felt his body tense against his free will. “What do you know about it?”

Effie winced at his defensive tone. “Nothing. I am just curious.”

“Then don’t be,” he lashed out.

Effie gently placed her palm on Haymitch’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off violently. His brain was partly delayed due to the bubbling anger in his core. The nerve of this bitch. He didn’t know how deeply she was enlightened, he didn’t know what Plutarch did or didn’t tell her, and he knew that he shouldn’t let her get too close because she was just like the rest of them - calculating, manipulative, all about herself - but whatever she knew, it wasn’t from HIM, and whatever she knew, it was only a half-truth she took for real. She had put him in all of this, her and Chaff and Plutarch, and they didn’t have any right to judge him, especially not her. She wasn’t there - she had no right to open this particular old wound.

“I just wanted to know-” she hesitated, but not for long enough for him to say something, “I’m sorry if it is too personal, I was just curious what exactly could have possibly made you accept this offer. Chaff said it was some old… debt-”

“Chaff says a lot of shit,” he growled quietly, “and you don’t stuck your nose into that shit, are we clear? It’s not any of your fucking business. Just ‘cause we’re in this crap together doesn’t mean that you get to-” his voice died down when he realized it was getting heated. “Just fuck off.”

Effie stared at him in shock, but instead of adding something, she just sighed and looked away. The rustle of glossy papers let him know that she opened one of her magazines again, diving into her perfect little world where everything was as polished as the magazine’s pages filled with stories of people like him, the so-called fallen stars, making money for people she was probably firends with, and he felt sick, sick of everything and particularly sick of her.

When the plane landed at the Marco Polo airport, everybody was thanking heavens that the journey was finally over. Somewhere between London and continental Europe, Haymitch had fallen asleep and he woke up with a twitch to a trifling turbulence, desoriented at first. Effie was also asleep, Peeta has moved over to Plutarch and was passionately discussing something with him, Katniss was reading a book and the pilot was announcing they were going to land soon.

Getting to step out of the small space with stale air and get the taste of hot, sweet, late evening mare aura could, however, get even him in a slightly better mood. Just the mere fact that he had a solid ground beneath his feet again, was good enough for him.

The hotel they were staying at was a three-story building with pale pink plaster and a pool in the backyard and the rooms, though not the biggest ones, seemed like heaven after such a trip.

Haymitch and Effie have not said anything to each other throught the rest of the day, not even at dinner that he had chosen to skip and went to bed instead - he fell asleep the second his head touched the pillow. After a long time, he was so tired that when he woke up the next morning, he, to his great relief, realized that he didn’t have any dreams at all.

Author’s note: There has been a little pause, but I’m totally going to start working on this story again. I really like this setting! Hope you liked it, and see you next week. x

[lythea-creation]

Broken Toys - Johanna Mason x fem reader (Chapter 7)

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

word count: 2.253

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Relief filled my entire being when I spotted the giant forest.

As soon as the countdown was over, Rue grabbed a bag laying near her and escaped into the forest and then onto a tree.

The main screen was showing the blood bath. Cannon sound after cannon sound was drowning the battle cries of the tributes. It seemed like it would never stop.

After last year's almost non-existent bloodbath, this year's appeared to be even more brutal.

I concentrated back on Rue who was checking out the items of her bag: a water skin and an additional pair of socks. That would be extremely useful!

Rue's strategy was to stay off the ground as much as possible. Hence being able to carry water with her was a huge help.

Rue put the items back into the bag and explored the rest of the forest. Of course she stayed on the trees to prevent anyone from noticing her. She was even more silent than me as she was lighter. No one should be able to spot her up there.

After a short while she picked something up from the ground, but I could not detect what it was.

She built herself a slingshot and now I could finally identify the item she had picked up. It was a sharp rock she could use like a knife.

Pride filled me to have such a smart and skilled younger sister.

She went on jumping from tree to tree until she found a small lake at which she filled her water skin, drank everything up and refilled it before climbing back up.

While she had been at it, she had also picked some of the berries. They were very sweet and delicious. We had a lot of them back home, but had just really been able to eat them since we moved to victor's village.

The first night settled in and I noticed that Rue was freezing. She used the extra pair of socks to warm her hands.

Soon later the hymn announced the fallen tributes.

The girl from district 3, the boy of 4 and 5, both tributes from district 6, both from 7, the boy of 8, both of 9 and the girl from 10. A lot of deaths for the first day, but nothing surprising. The first day usually brought the most victims with it.

“Not bad”, Johanna startled me. She was standing right behind me.

“Since when are you standing there?”, I questioned, my heart rate way too fast.

“Since my tributes died. So a few hours”, she replied casually.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“I did. More than once, but you didn't notice. You were too concentrated on your sister.”

Johanna sat down beside me.

Chaff had chosen to use an armchair. Somehow we did not come along that well or rather we never tried to.

“You should sleep. It's unlikely that something happens during the first night after the bloodbath and you need your rest for looking out for her”, Johanna advised me.

I wanted to protest, but she was faster: “I promise you to wake you up if there is even the slightest danger in sight.”

Johanna did not wake me up as I did not even sleep a lot. The worry was too insistent.

I looked up at Johanna as my head was resting on her lap. Nice picture to help with our fake relationship.

She was absentmindedly stroking my head while attentively watching over Rue's screen, although Rue was asleep and nothing was happening.

I smiled softly at that. It felt great to know that I could trust Johanna.

On the next day Rue carefully observed the other tributes from above. It was quite amusing as they did not even realize that they were being watched.

At night a cannon sound signaled the death of another tribute, which happened to be the girl from district 8.

“How dense can someone be to make a fire at night?!” Johanna laughed irritated.

It really was stupid, especially with the careers hunting down other tributes.

What surprised me about the careers this year though, was the fact that they had a tribute of district 12 with them. At least until I remembered that Rue had told me about Katniss, the district 12 female, who had gotten the highest score, an 11. They probably thought the other tribute of 12 could help them find her.

Ironically Rue was the one who found Katniss on day three, before the careers.

She silently watched the girl on fire, how everyone called Katniss thanks to her brilliant stylist.

Unfortunately the gamemakers were bored by the fact that no one had died on day three. Large flames woke Rue up as Johanna did the same with me.

Rue jumped as fast as she could, but still got some burn wounds, luckily nothing severe.

After she had escaped the fire, she eased the burning with some herbs.

Katniss had not been that lucky.

Rue watched from above as the careers approached Katniss, who had been resting inside a pond.

Katniss escaped onto a tree, but one of the careers climbed after her.

It was funny to see the girl struggling to get onto the tree. None of them had the skills to climb up. Therefore the careers decided to camp under Katniss' tree to wait for her to come down.

How long did they plan to stay there and wait?

After Katniss got an ointment from her sponsors to treat her burn wound, Rue got out of her hiding place and made Katniss aware of her presence.

The anxiety inside of me grew again.

What was Rue doing? That Katniss had volunteered for her little sister did not mean that she would spare Rue. After all I would have also volunteered for Rue, but had killed two children.

Rue pointed at the tracker jacker nest above Katniss' head. I hated those insects.

When the anthem resounded announcing no death, Katniss' began sewing the branch of the nest, but stopped together with the hymn.

A few hours later when everyone was fast asleep, Katniss made some quiet sounds to alert Rue. She put across that she was about to cut down the branch of the tracker jacker nest, giving Rue the chance to build up a distance between her and the dangerous wasps.

My sister silently moved through the trees until screams and loud buzzing cut the silence of the night.

I could see the careers struggling on the main screen until two cannon sounds erupted.

Later Rue searched for Katniss and found her unconscious.

She treated Katniss stings with special leaves. We were used to it in district 11.

“Hey, how is it going?” Finnick joined Johanna and me.

It was a rhetorical question.

He sat down beside Johanna and continued watching the Games together with us as the other tribute of his district had died due to the tracker jackers.

Katniss slept for two nights, although it was not looking peaceful at all.

Many people had told me how horrible the hallucinations from the tracker jacker stings were and I was glad that I could not assess it.

Rue hid behind a tree when Katniss came back to her senses.

The latter immediately realized that someone had been helping her with her stings and looked at the tree Rue was hiding behind.

Rue had stepped onto a branch creating a cracking sound.

“The career's aren't the only ones who can form an alliance”, Katniss alluded, luring Rue out of her 'hiding place'.

“I can treat your wounds with leaves”, Rue offered.

Katniss accepted and shared the burn ointment with Rue.

I was feeling ambivalent. On the one hand I was grateful for Katniss' help and glad that Rue had not had to fight on her own anymore. But on the other hand there could only be one victor and Katniss would definitely not sacrifice herself to let Rue win.

The duo started talking about their districts and even about me.

“Sounds similar to the relationship I have with Prim. I'm sure she's a great sister”, Katniss noted smiling.

Rue nodded. “She's the best. I want to return to her like she did for me.”

“Therefore we have to beat the careers”, Katniss remarked.

“That could turn out difficult. They have a lot of supplies, all piled up”, Rue declared.

“That's it! We have to destroy their supplies. Without them they will be helpless. Unlike us, they have few survival skills”, Katniss realized.

“But how?”, Rue wondered.

“I will find a way. You just have to distract them somehow. Let's make several big fires to lure them away.”

“Great idea!”, Rue agreed.

That settled it.

The next day the duo prepared three fire places.

Then they decided to use the tunes of the mockingjays to communicate with each other.

When they parted ways Katniss disappeared out of my sight.

My full attention was turned toward Rue.

She lit the first and the second fire, but stumbled into a trap imprisoning her inside a net.

My heart rate increased as an immense fear seemed to swallow my entire being.

My eyes were glued to the screen as I watched her resisting, desperately trying to free herself from the net, to no avail.

Katniss' tunes moved through the forest via the mockingjays.

“Katniss!”, Rue called out.

But before Katniss could reach her, a spear pierced Rue's stomach.

Katniss furiously shot an arrow at Rue's murderer, but the damage could not be undone.

The blood was streaming out of Rue's body, tainting the green grass red.

No. It could not be real. I prayed for Johanna or Rue or anyone to wake me up from this seemingly never ending nightmare.

My hand automatically moved to my necklace. “Please, help her”, I pleaded in my mind.

I did not even know whom I was addressing. It did not matter as long as anyone saved her. But no one did.

Katniss had not managed to. But I was the person who had failed Rue the most.

She had always made sure to make me feel better. She had always been at my side and helped me moving forward. She had given me hope, no matter how unbearable life had appeared to be.

Katniss' singing rang inside my ears.

I did not want to hear it. I did not want to perceive anything. It was not true, just a nightmare. Soon I would wake up, Rue sleeping peacefully beside me.

The cannon sound brought me back to reality. The reality I had not wanted to return to.

I watched Katniss arranging beautiful white flowers around Rue's body and laying some of them into Rue's hands. Now she looked like she was sleeping on a bed out of flowers.

Katniss saluted into the camera as a farewell to Rue. She had shown that Rue's death had not just been a part of the Capitol's games.

After Katniss had left, Rue's screen turned black.

I was overwhelmed by painful numbness. My head was refusing to process what had happened.

I could feel Finnick and Johanna staring at me, but I did not do anything, except staring onto the other two screens.

The next few days passed by in a daze.

Honestly I felt like I was just existing.

Emotionless, I watched the 'love story' between Peeta and Katniss, though I did not really pay attention. I just made sure that she and Thresh were still alive.

From the corner of my eyes, I had glimpsed at Thresh's screen from time to time to make sure he was alright.

I just seemed to wake up when I saw Katniss' getting attacked by Clove.

Clove was holding her down and mocking her about being in love with Peeta.

Anger boiled up inside of me when Clove mentioned how Katniss had not been able to save Rue.

I barely noticed my hands bleeding thanks to my nails.

Suddenly Thresh arrived and clashed Clove's skull with a stone. He looked down at Katniss and said: “Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?”

Then he grabbed the bag and fled.

Two days later I had to watch my other tribute die thanks to a storm that had begun the day before. He was buried under an avalanche. The cannon sound did not even drown out the rain.

Now all screens in front of me were black. That was pretty exactly how I felt. Like I was trapped in eternal darkness.

I had not eaten anything since Rue's death, but did not care. I did not even know how long it had been since then.

Mechanically I stood up and sat down next to Haymitch. He looked at me for a moment, but did not question my behavior.

For the next two days Finnick tried to get me to eat, fruitlessly.

Johanna had reached her patience limit long ago and was cursing most of the time.

Haymitch just stared at us from time to time, but did not complain once for annoying him.

I was staring blankly at the screen as Peeta and Katniss got some poisonous nightlock berries out of their bag and intended to eat them.

Just a glimpse before they actually swallowed them they were announced as the victor's of the 74th Hunger Games.

Next Chapter