#her name is bullet and shes a peacekeeper

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part one

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: yayyy hi! welcome to my new coryo series!! we're back but this time we have tribute!reader and a very different story from lucy gray's (though it might not seem like it just yet- but trust me okay okay).

series masterlist // playlist

"Oh, you'll be happy about this, Miss Crane..." Dean Highbottom says, getting up from where he's sitting on the steps in front of the students. "The 'runt girl', from District Twelve, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow."

Coriolanus gives a slight shake of his head, trying to dismiss his anger. He knew the Dean was out to get him, plotting against him- leaving him with practically no shot at having any success in his mentorship. No matter who he's about to see on that screen walking up to the stage. He was screwed.

"Y/N Y/L/N."

As the name is called and the camera tracks on a girl in the crowd, Coriolanus feels the urge to vomit right there on the floor. He watches as the shock on her face morphs into tears welling in her eyes, just like the girl from Seven. The only difference, being in sharp contrast to that other girl, the tears are contradicted with a smile.

"Why is she smiling, is she stupid?" Arachne laughs, and Coriolanus looks her way only briefly.

The District Twelve girl straightens her shoulders, giving a slight nod to no one in particular, herself, and ignoring the stares from all the kids around her as she makes her way to the cleared path. Coryo tilts his head at her choice of clothes. The fabric covering her looked as though it was a dress, one day long ago, but now it was sewn up in the middle turning it into shorts. He had never seen anything quite like it- it must have been homemade, and old. Like she had been wearing it her whole life; like the article had grown with her.

"Thank you." He reads her lips as she nods to the peacekeepers who accompanied her up to the stage, a polite smile present on her pink lips. She was too nice for her own good- they had nothing for her besides walk to the stage so she couldn't make a run for it. Even with loaded guns with bullets graced with her name, she was thanking them. Great.

"May I?" She says, nodding to the microphone in front of the mayor.

"Please." He agrees, gesturing for her to take his spot. She must be highly respected- this was a trust never granted to tributes.

"Hello," For the first time, Coriolanus hears the voice of the girl who will be his tribute. Her tone is soft, unshaking despite the circumstances. "Thank you all, for being the village that raised us." She looks off-camera toward Lysistrata's tribute. "There's nowhere in the world with kinder people and kinder souls." She quickly wipes a tear away. "My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile."

Coriolanus looks around, gauging the reaction of his classmates. Mostly confusion, and he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips at the sentiment. She clearly meant something to this community, or maybe the opposite. Maybe she meant nothing to them and they were happy to see her go. That's something he had to believe if he wanted to maintain any grasp on the purpose of the games.

"I must go in, the fog is rising." She says, leaving her statement unexplained as she takes a step back, and she's quickly guided away. As far as he knows, there's no fog to be seen in the forecast of the sunny day present in Twelve.

"Well, good luck, Coriolanus. She's clearly out of her mind." Arachne laughs, punctuating the incompletion of the tribute's statement as the faded material of her makeshift dress disappears with the close of the camera lens.

As the train comes to a slow stop, the cars rattle together. Coriolanus tries not to flinch as the waiting peacekeepers slam batons onto the metal doors, shouting for the tributes to get out while they're slid open. He's immediately looking for her, for that cream-coloured dress and the distinct tones of her hair.

The shouting fades out as his eyes lock on her, a dying white rose gripped behind his back. The boy from her district tries to help, but she turns him down. She sits carefully on the edge before lowering herself down, reaching out to gently pat his shoulder in a silent thank you once her feet are back on solid ground.

Coriolanus's feet are carrying him in her direction in under a second. "Hello." He says, clearing his throat and holding the rose out to her as she turns to face him. It's hard to remain indifferent to her beauty, to remain unaffected by the face of a District girl. How did she look so calm? She radiated an aura of peace and he could feel it in the air that surrounded her. What a shame it was that it would evaporate so suddenly in the coming weeks.

"Hi there." You smile, eyes locked on his. You hadn't expected your first interaction with a Capitol citizen to be so pleasant, but you tried to have faith in people. So far, it is paying off as you eye the boy in front of you. His blue eyes and blonde curls were incredibly welcoming, despite the harshness present in the red colouring of his suit.

"Welcome to the Capitol." He smiles, holding the rose out to you. Your cheeks flush as you take the flower from his hand.

"For the rose, though its petals be torn asunder, still smiles on..." You hum, mostly to yourself as you look over the flower you're holding gently in your palm. "Thank you."

"I beg your pardon?" Coriolanus asks, tilting his head at the girl in front of him.

"It's from a poem." You explain. "Roses are representative of things far deeper than love."

"Oh, I see." He replies, still confused.

"What is your name?" You ask, returning your attention to him.

"Coriolanus Snow."

"Coriolanus." You grin. "Is that why you came to greet me?"

He furrows his brow, quickly shaking off his confusion. "No, I am here because I will be your mentor in the games."

"The use of the term 'mentor' implies personal experience." You state, feeling the softness of the rose's petals between your fingers. "But I doubt you're a victor yourself."

"Well, no, but I will try my best to take care of you while you're here." He says, nervous about how much that answer will buy him your trust.

"How ironic." You giggle, tilting your head at him.

"Move!" A peacekeeper pushes past your new friend, shoving you in the opposite direction.

"It was lovely to meet you, Coriolanus! Until we meet again!" You call back at him, smiling down at the rose in your hand as you're corralled toward a truck parked ahead of the train.

"Excuse me," He tries to get the attention of one of the peacekeepers while you are being ushered away from him. "I'd like to escort my tribute to-"

He's completely ignored both times he tries, following after the group of tributes on the way to the truck. He watches you as you ascend the stairs, standing against the back wall. Smiling, still, at the rose he had gifted you from his grandma'ams garden. All the persuasion it took for her to spare just one was worth it just seeing the look on your face now.

Impulsively, as one of the other tributes tries to make a run for it, he bolts up the staircase and into the truck, tucking himself against the back wall next to you while the peacekeepers are distracted.

You look up at him, shocked he would put himself in this position willingly. Surely, he was not meant to. The doors slam closed, and he lifts his head after avoiding catching the attention of the peacekeepers who had ignored him before. "Hello again." You whisper, looking up at him.

"Hi." He whispers back, turning slowly and trying not to cower under the hateful gaze of other tributes.

"What's the matter, pretty boy?" Reaper asks, standing opposite of the two of you. "In the wrong cage?"

"No." Coriolanus replies quickly. "This cage is delightful."

The District Eleven boy is quick to walk over, slamming Coriolanus back against the wall behind you. You gasp, taking the slightest step back. There wasn't much room for movement, and the sway of the moving vehicle was unforgiving.

"I'll kill you-" Reaper threatens him, and the girl from his District speaks up.

"He will. He killed a peacekeeper in Eleven, no one ever knew who did it."

"I say we all kill him."

"Oh, let's not evince what they think of us so quickly." You interject, steadying yourself against the bench behind you. "Only your families will suffer. The pain of one is not worth the loss of others." You look up at him, giving him a reassuring smile. "He's my mentor. I think he's here to help."

"How come you get a mender?" Coral asks, inconvenienced by your rejection of the idea.

"Mentor." Coriolanus corrects her. "You each get one."

"Oh, and we'll all just trust you on that?"

"Like she said, I'm just here to help you." Coriolanus sighs, uncomfortable under Reaper's tight grip on the front of his shirt.

"Why does she get special treatment?" Her attention is turned to you now. "Why aren't our menders here?"

"Here." You say, holding the flower out toward her. "I'm sure they'll come meet you soon, but until then, I'm happy to share."

Coriolanus watches you, breath hitching as you so carelessly offer the gifted rose to another who only wants to see the both of you dead. He's flooded with a mix of anger and admiration- it was hard to tell with what little he knew about you whether or not the action was derived from ignorance or compassion.

Before she can say anything or take the rose from your hand, there's a beeping followed by the steady tilt of the truck. Without thinking, Coriolanus grabs onto your waist as the other tributes stumble and fall back toward the doors. While you return the action of securing yourself to him, he holds onto a loose strap to keep you both in place when the doors fly open and everyone is dumped out, falling down the rocks below.

It isn't long before his hand slips, and the two of you slide down together, losing your hold on each other. Instinctively, you curl up as you roll down over the rocks, holding the precious flower into your chest to try and prevent it from being crushed. You're sore, immediately, and no doubt have some cuts and bruises, but the rose is okay. That makes you feel better as you carefully get up.

You look around, for the first time taking in your new surroundings and realizing you're being watched by many people from outside the bars of this new cage. It looked like you were in a zoo. You had always wanted to go to the zoo, you had read about them in books or heard stories but you and no one you know had ever been to one before.

"You there! In the red! Who are you and why are you in there with them? We're live!" You hear someone shouting and look in Coriolanus's direction as he stumbles to get up next to you.

You can see the panic set in as he looks around at everyone watching. He wasn't meant to be here, this must be embarrassing for him, and that was reflected in how his breathing picked up and his gaze shifted rapidly. "Shall we go say hello?" You ask softly, giving him a small, reassuring smile as you carefully place a hand on his arm to try and ground him. "No one is laughing at you, I think they're just curious."

Coriolanus looks down at you and nods, smiling slightly and ignoring the man as he continues to shout in your direction. "Y/N Y/L/N, may I introduce you to my neighbours?" He asks, confidence regained and you nod.

"Please." You smile, allowing him to take the rose from your hand. At first, you are a little disappointed, you were hoping you would get to keep it, but then when he snaps the stem and reaches up your disappointment quickly disappears as he tucks it gently behind your ear.

His gaze on you is intense as he offers you his hand, which you carefully take. "Well, that's something you don't see every day... They're holding hands." You hear the man's voice again as Coriolanus guides you over to the bars. "Who are you, sir? What are you doing in the cage here?"

His questions go ignored by both of you, when your eyes land on some children walking up to the bars. You'd much rather speak to them. "Hi there, how do you do?" Coriolanus asks them. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and this is my tribute, Y/N Y/L/N." He smiles at you, lifting your hand closer to his chest as he leans down to speak at the kids' level.

The kids look nervous as they shift their gaze from him to you, but that makes total sense. People like him they felt safe with, people like you they had certainly never met before. "What brought you two to the zoo today? See any animals you could tell me about?" You ask, trying to make them more comfortable as you crouch down.

The boy giggles. "No, there's no animals here. We're here to see you."

"Me?" You gasp, pressing your free hand to your chest. "Why thank you, young man. I am certainly honoured, but where are all the animals? Aren't we in a zoo?" You ask, and the young kids just look back at their parents. Clearly, the zoo had been empty long enough that they'd never known it any other way.

"That's a shame." You speak again when the kids have no answer for you. "When I was your age I wished for a trip to the zoo and after all these years I got one without animals. I should have been more specific. Whoever grants our wishes is sneaky like that." You smile at them, and they both nod as if they'll remember it forever.

"Do you know how to read?" The little girl asks you. "You're really pretty."

"Me? No, I'm not very pretty. This is far from my Sunday best, but you look just stunning sweetheart." You smile at her. "And as a matter of fact, I do know how to read. It's my favourite thing to do, just about."

"You speak very smart for a District girl." The boy agrees.

"Why thank you." You laugh slightly, masking your sadness. These kids are barely old enough to know what that means and they've already been told that you and your people are less than. It's a tragedy, but not their fault.

With that, you stand up straight again, deciding to finally acknowledge the man with the microphone, seemingly desperate for your attention. "Hello, sir. What's your name?" You ask, prompting laughter from his camera crew that confuses you.

"Don't laugh, not everyone has televisions out in the Districts." He tells them, turning back to you. "I'm Lucretius 'Lucky' Flickerman, but more enticingly, who are you, Y/N, from District Twelve?"

"That's me." You nod, smiling as he sticks the mic through the bars so it can pick up your voice. "I was born and raised there, never thought I'd get the chance to see the world but here I am." You nod.

"Here you are." Lucretius nods.

"Ah!" You gasp, after moments of turning over in your head where you knew his name from. Then you remembered. "Why shed tears that you must die? For if your past life has been one of enjoyment, and if all your pleasures have not passed through your mind, as through a sieve, and vanished, leaving not a rack behind, why then do you not, like a thankful guest, rise cheerfully from life's feast and with a quiet mind go take your rest." You quote excitedly, oblivious to the confusion on Coriolanus's face behind you as he watches.

"Why, yes, that is an interesting way to see it." Lucretius replies and you nod, a little disappointed yet again that he didn't understand, but you decide to just move on.

"Are you familiar with my mentor? His name is Coriolanus Snow." You turn your attention back to him, pulling his hand closer to your chest so he'll take a step forward and stand with you instead of behind. "Fitting name, if you ask me. He was the only one brave enough to come and say hello at the train station."

"So the gamemakers did tell you to jump in the cage with them?" Lucretius asks, holding the mic up to your new friend.

"They didn't tell me not to," Coriolanus answers. "They just said it was a mentor's job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem. And I thought, well, if Y/N is brave enough to be here, then why shouldn't I be, too?"

"A Coriolanus indeed." You smile up at him, patting his arm as Lucretius hums. Coriolanus looks confused, but you are well used to that by now, so you just squeeze his hand.

"I think you're about to be whisked away, young man."

You both turn at the sound of feet behind you, and he's quickly being grabbed and pulled away from you. "Thank you, Coriolanus!" You call after him, sad at the expression on his face which shows he didn't want to leave you just yet.

And you were right, he really didn't want to leave you yet.

taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis

if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[katieaki]

So, you’re interested in jumping into Pony Express but aren’t sure where to start/feel daunted by the undertaking/are freaked out about missing lore & context? Pony Express is intended to be a completely standalone work with no knowledge of my prior work necessary for enjoyment, but it has been rolling for quite a while now! Here’s some info to help you orient yourself! 💫 I recommend looking at this guide on desktop as the mobile version collapses the bullet points in a strange way.

✨ Here’s the absolute most basic summary:

Lou Primrose (30 years old, 5'0", illiterate, hardworking, 3x rodeo champion) is a rider for the Pony Express, the Wasteland's mail service. Lou has agreed to transport an unusual package from the middle of the Wasteland to the nearly uninhabited coast: a glamorous redhead named Holliday Bell. A case of mistaken identity sees Lou brutalized and disabled by religious assassin from the church of Johnny Knives (god of death) Reckoning "Artie" Tehachapi, who attempts to atone for her wrongdoing by serving Lou until she's healed. Together (for better or worse) the three of them head toward the ocean through unknown and dangerous territory.

This work is erotic in nature 🔞 with some violence and survival-type gore.

✨ If you’re totally new here, you might have some questions. Here’s a super quick primer under the cut!

What’s up with The Wasteland?

The Wasteland is a post-apocalyptic, non-dystopian society in the former American southwest. It has been several generations since the civilization Before (that’s us, or maybe like... our grandparents) was decimated. Nobody is particularly interested in the whys or hows of the collapse, though it seems that environmental disaster & earthquakes were the main factor.

It’s a series of towns, shrines, convents, and monasteries. Quite a lot of it is in repurposed buildings from Before (imagine Route 66-style gas stations, diners, and motels, all heavily repaired) and some of it is kind of ramshackle old-west-y new builds.

God of Death, religious assassins, churches– what’s up with all that? I’m afraid, sounds lore-y.

Wasteland society is heavily structured around the two churches of the gods of life & sorrow (The Listening Lady) and death & justice (Johnny Knives), who are married, immortal, and absolutely real. They live apart from the mortals, but they do live in the Wasteland with them. The Listening Lady’s church is responsible for basically every aspect of Wasteland life. Listening Church shrines and convents are also the Wasteland’s official or de facto orphanages, pantries, farms, hospitals, therapists, inns, textile mills, wedding venues, and basically everything else you need to keep a society functioning. Listening Church acolytes may have a huge variety of occupations, from the extremely down-to-earth (midwifery and laundry etc) to the real Weird and Churchy (doing rituals and divination etc). Many of them take a vow of silence in honor of The Listening Lady. The church of Johnny Knives is much smaller and much more specialized. Knife Church disciples are assassins whose sacred duty is to kill those who need killing, as judged by god. 

You don’t really need to get INTO this, though. What you need to know is: Listening Church acolytes are generally warm and kind and in caregiver- or artisan-type roles. Knife Church disciples are peacekeepers & generally a little scary, but are also working toward the public good– kind, but not necessarily nice.

I know the concept of gods and disciples invokes the image of like, robes and shit, but that is NOT how it is! Listening Church acolytes tend toward chiffon and midcentury-lingerie-as-outwear looks and/or country western workwear, depending. Knife Church disciples nearly invariably have sort of a greaser/biker/leather daddy thing going on. They all talk about the gods like they’re their parents and their bosses, which they are. I think it’s kind of more normal than you might be expecting. 

So there’s like, magic?

According to the Wastelanders, yes. You don’t need to worry too much about any of that. Just let them do their things.

And everyone is in a church?

Almost everyone interacts with Listening Church in some way, very few interact with Knife Church in any way, but most people in the Wasteland are ‘civilians’ (that is to say, not working for either church).

And they’re all lesbians? How do they have babies??

They’re not ALL lesbians, but basically all our POV characters are & it’s a very lesbian-heavy society. There are many ways that two women may have children, including biological. You got this, I know you do. 

And everyone is blue?

Yeah, but it doesn’t really come up.

Why?

Because I liked drawing them with the sky blue posca paint marker when I began this body of work.

Ok. What’s up with Lou?

Louetta “Lou” Primrose is a rider for the Pony Express– she’s a Wasteland mailman. Her job is basically her whole life. She’s been working since she was ten years old, working for the Pony Express since she was 14. After receiving a romantic rejection from Venus, the dance hall girl she’s in love with, Lou agrees to take a strange red-headed woman, Holliday Bell, to the (allegedly) uninhabited coast, where Holliday’s wife is (allegedly) waiting for her.

Lou is dedicated, practical, and hard-working, but also hot-headed, frequently mean, a little self-conscious, and ‘a rambling man,’ never in one place for long. She’s markedly not religious among other Wastelanders (so is a great pov character for you if you’re new to al this!). Her greatest achievement has been winning the main event at the Wasteland’s biggest horse games three years in a row, unseating the previous champion. Nobody else really cares that much.

What’s up with Holliday?

Holliday Bell is an elegant and mysterious woman who showed up to Lou’s post office with stamps pinned to her blouse, claiming she’d mailed herself there from a town hundreds of miles away. She is asking Lou, who works at the most westerly post office in Wasteland, to finish the delivery by bringing her way out to the coast where she claims her wife, a pearl diver, is waiting for her. 

Holliday is strange. From the beginning, Lou feels put off by her personality, which is both abrasive and seemingly rehearsed. She can be unspeakably cutting and is obviously hiding a big secret. 

What’s up with Artie?

Reckoning “RT” “Artie” Tehachapi is the Knife Church disciple who, after a series of lies and miscommunications spanning several parties across the Wasteland, is sent to apprehend Lou, who she thinks has kidnapped Holliday. She breaks Lou’s wrist and dislocates her shoulder in their first altercation before she learns that Lou is an innocent party in all of this. Deeply ashamed of her actions, she vows to serve Lou until they make it back to civilization.

Artie is upbeat and optimistic, especially for Knife Church, but her guilt at her transgressions against Lou & eagerness to make up for them have left her in a kind of anxiety spiral.  She’s the only one who has any real survival skills and continually works herself to the last drop, and then works herself a few drops more. When her big, horrible, deep, dark secret is revealed, her mental state continues to deteriorate.

What’s up with Venus? We haven’t seen her in a while?/Who’s the one-armed smokeshow?

Venus is Lou’s love interest, the girl she left behind in Hereafter. We haven’t seen her in a while because she, wisely, stayed there while Lou went off on her extremely inadvisable mission.

Venus of the Wastes is a dime-a-dance girl/saloon girl/sex worker who lives in Hereafter. She is Lou’s friend and Lou is both in love with her and her best client. Just before Lou left to deliver Holliday, she admitted to Venus that she was in love with her. Venus is, at least, very fond of Lou.

✨ Ok, but this is a lot! Where do I start??

If you’re looking to hop in on the story in progress, I’ve made summaries of part 1 , part 2 , and part 3 as we have gone on. I’ll update this with part 4 when we finish it. 

If you’re a completionist, the links above have epub & pdf files of the full text of each part. Here’s where part 4 begins, until we finish that part and I post it all together. You can find the rest of part 4 by scrolling backwards through the collection. I will also attach pdfs & epubs of all the full text to this post on my patreon!

If you’re a completionist completionist & you want it ALL, here’s everything and the chronological order in which they occur in-universe. Again, Pony Express is meant to be able to stand on its own two feet without any of the rest of this, but it might be fun for you to read the rest. The first three here are kind of a series, but Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame and Bloodied on Arrival could both be read independently. Care and Keeping probably needs those two to support it, unless you’re happy just jumping in and figuring stuff out via context. It’s Artie’s backstory, but it’s not necessary for you to read to make Pony Express make sense. It’ll just give you a little more dramatic irony etc. 

Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame  - a novella about Hero Sasaki, a novice acolyte at the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life & sorrow) who has been tasked with delivering a package to an anchorite from her church. Frances is a disgraced assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who has been tasked with escorting her. Through trials of the road, emergency first aid, prayer, ritual (blood and otherwise), a little sex, and a lot of tears, they find love exactly where they should've expected it in the first place.

Bloodied on Arrival - a novel about Nuisance (and Hero), a road-weary assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who finds herself and her new cat taking refuge at a companionship shrine run by a beautiful older widow, Hero, of the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life and sorrow). The two can't deny their immediate connection and aim for a rewarding one-night stand, but things don't go as planned.

Care and Keeping - a work in progress novel(?) about Hero and Nuisance and their new adopted feral child, Artie, a little girl who has known nothing but abuse, pain, and starvation who believes it’s her sacred mission to join Knife Church. Nuisance agrees to train her to join the church in a bid to keep her from it for as long as possible. This is a kind of coming-of-age story for Artie and a becoming parents story for Hero & Nuisance.

Pony Express - A work in progress novel about Lou (also featuring Artie) - see synopsis at beginning of post.

The novel/las are available for purchase on my Patreon for $5 or for pay-what-you-want $5+ on Gumroad. If you find you can’t afford that, but want to read it, please let me know! DM me wherever or email me at missluckycatknives (at) gmail (dot) com I’m happy to make my work accessible to you. All Pony Express and Care and Keeping are free as I work on them. 

[daddycassie]

Fight or Flight Chapter 8 🩸🥼💉

Pairing: Lucy Gray Baird x Fem!Reader - 919 words

Warning(s): Vague descriptions of injuries, syringes, forced drugging, general pain🎀✨

——————————

When she woke up nothing felt quite right. The world spun hazily in the brunette’s vision. Where was she? Lucy Gray feels around the crumpled, scratchy sheets.

Not spare clothes, but paper, the smell of the forest now replaced by the scent of chemicals. Y/n. Y/n was gone. Lucy Gray tries to sit up, but finds that she can’t move.

Suddenly, it all comes back to her. The peacekeepers, the attack, the bullet, the pain. Lucy Gray cries out, her voice is weak and raspy, not nearly loud enough to garner any attention. The sound of her own voice helps her realize how dry and scratchy her throat is. It’s painful, but there’s hardly anything she can do about it.

Lucy Gray’s deep brown gaze skirts over the room. It’s dark, but not pitch black, so she can observe the environment around her. She’s in a stiff bed with paper curtains around each side, leaving only her view forward. They’re mint, a nice color. A small device beside the bed beeps in time with her heart.

With panic she realizes that these are the types of medical technology only the Capitol have access to. Now Lucy Gray desperately needs to know where she is. The girl turns her head with a wince and great effort. There’s a door on the other side of the room just within her line of vision, it appears to lead to another room which she can see through a large window in front of her.

She shivers at the idea of someone observing her while she’s unconscious and defenseless. Someone like Gaul. Testing on her and taking notes as though she’s just another mutt. Lucy Gray feels bile rise in the back of her painfully sore throat but quickly forces it back down, throwing up all over herself wouldn’t solve anything. Her wind drifts back to Y/n.

Where is she? Lucy Gray didn’t see a single hint of the other girl’s presence in the room, not that she could see much at all. Washington she shot down and murdered by the peacekeepers? No, no, she remembers. Y/n carried Lucy Gray on her back through the woods after violently fighting off the soldiers.

The brunette’s eyes brighten. She wasn’t in danger at all! They’d made it. All the way to district 13  and the rumors were all true, Barb Azure was right, people still lived here! The beeping of the device quickens as her heart flutters giddily with relief.

Tears of joy blur her vision and she lets them fall. They did it, the escaped 12, escaped the Capitol, escaped the Hunger Games. Lucy Gray hadnt lead her love to certain doom, no, she’d  lead the love of her life to freedom. Before she could really celebrate the room lights up, so bright that it hurts her eyes and she’s forced to squint.

Someone enters the room, a stranger, she doesn’t recognize him at all. He seems to be a medic of some sort, with a white coat and a matching mask. All she can see of him is blonde hair and dark eyes. The man stares at her, gaze hardening when he sees her fully up and conscious.

“Who-“ Lucy Gray tries to speak but it hurts too much for that. She really needed water. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man says to her sternly, almost mocking. She squirms a bit in an attempt to show her discomfort without words.

The way he smiles smugly gives her chills. The blonde grabs a syringe. “Calm down Lucy.” He begins, “this won’t hurt a bit.” Where did he learn her name from? Lucy Gray feels the blood draining from her face. “What…?” She forces the single word out.

The man unbandages her wound and she breathes in sharply upon seeing it for the first time. It’s deep but there’s no bleeding and she can see where the bullet was taken out from. He places a hand on her hip and pricks the syringe into her wound deeply. Lucy Gray cries out, quiet and raspy.

“Shh… just taking some blood.” The blonde whispers to her. Lucy Gray whimpers in response. “I guess we should give you water soon.” The man ponders as he takes blood from the wound on her belly. The loss of it makes her feel sickeningly dizzy.

“You’ll survive a bit longer, won’t you? It’s a bit late and I’m tired.”  Lucy Gray’s eyes drift over to the sink nearby. The man takes notice but makes no move towards it, he simply removes the syringe again and looks over the contents of it. Lucy Gray can’t help whimpering again.

“Oh? Have your pain meds worn off? Poor thing. Must be time for another dose.” He grabs a different syringe and not-so-gently inserts it into her arm. Lucy Gray wants to squirm and thrash — this man isn’t trustworthy, she doesn’t want him putting anything into her! All she manages is a weak wiggle of her arm.

The man pushes down on the syringe and Lucy Gray squirms again. “Stop.” He hisses, taking a grip on her hair to urge her to obey. She lets her body go limp. Lucy Gray’s head spins again as the drugs enter her system.

Lucy Gray groans hoarsely and she falls back under sleep’s spell. The man pulls the syringe back out and she lets out a tiny groan. Her eyes close slowly. Lucy Gray’s last thought is of Y/n, was she going through worse?

——————————

Note: Took wayyy too long - I’m so sorry, this was meant to come out last week, but I’m going through exams so bear with my babies 🫶

@torturedcoveydepartment consider this a birthday gift until I can send you yours <3

@losingmymindrn I do not apologize

@noooooooop-e I really hope you’re doing okay rn 🫶 get better soon!!!!

[http-paprika]

MEET THE OC! a tedtalk by paprika that no one asked for

after writing GOLD RUSH and spending some time toying around with the little character of Beau, I decided I'd take a chance and share her with you! If you have any further questions and want to know more about her or her story, please reach out in the comments or my inbox!

GENERAL INFORMATION Government Name: Beaumont Khalil Summerlin Preferred Name: Beau

Date of Birth: June 23, 1991 Star Sign: Cancer

Hometown: Yuma, Arizona

Native Languages: English and Arabic Learned Languages: Spanish and a Bit of Russian

CAREER Occupation: Linguistics and Intel Officer; Special Field Agent Branch of Government: Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) Supervisor: Kate Laswell Former Occupation: Translation and Negotiations with the US Marines under Captain Yoko S. Tanaka

RELATIVES and ASSOCIATES Father: James H. Summerlin, Sr. -- Retired US Marine Mother: Sana E. Summerlin -- Arabic and Anthology Professor

Brothers: James H. Summerlin, Jr. -- Enlisted Military Police in the Army; Asher G. Summerlin -- Enlisted Air Force Linguist Sister: Mona R. Summerlin -- Student at the University of Texas

Best Friend: Jolene H. Maxfield-Graves -- Intel Officer Partner: Alex Keller -- CIA-SAD Officer

APPEARANCE Height: 5'11 Build: Athletic

Complexion: Tanned Noticeable Markings: Scar from Bullet Wound on Left Shoulder, Barbed Wire Tattoo on Lower Back

Hair: Light Brown, Wavy Texture Eyes: Dark Green, Almond Shaped

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION Favorite Book: Jack Reacher; Running Blind by Lee Child Favorite TV Show: The X-Files Favorite Album: Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel

Choice of Cuisine: Vietnamese Favorite Dish: Duck Pho

MBTI Personality Type: ENTP Ennagram Type: 8 - The Active Controller Love Language: Words of Affirmation

HER PAST In 1982, when James Sr. was stationed in Lebanon during a peacekeeping tour with the US Marines, he met his wife Sana who was a local working as a translator for the Marines. The two often worked together and quickly fell in love, and when his deployment came to an end, he promised to return to Lebanon for her so they could be married. In 1984, he returns to Lebanon and much to the displeasure of her religious parents, Sana leaves with James and they elope. Bringing her back to the states, he is stationed in Jacksonville, North Carolina where Sana persues further education and later gives birth to their firstborn son, James. Jr. in 1888. In 1990, after being restationed in Yuma, Arizona they have their second child and first daughter, Beaumont.

Beau spent her first years of life moving from one place to another and was often withdrawn as a child. Prefering to be alone than playing with her brother and younger siblings. From an early age her parents noted that she had a greater interest in knowledge and reading, being more idept in Arabic than the rest of her siblings. In her teen years, with newer gained confidence, she sought higher education with hopes to attend university in Hawaii where her family was stationed at the time, receiving a handsome scholarship from the school of her choice. But an old colleague of her father, Scott Hardy, encouraged her to join the Marines and follow in her mother's footsteps as a trained translator, later becoming a negotiations specialist who was known for being level-headed and quick witted.

Feeling unfilled with her career choice, Beau left the Marines at the age of 22 to return to academics. But received attention from Kate Laswell after narrowly saving a whole Marine Corp Squard from bombing with her quick ability to process intel. Laswell, determined to recruit Beau under her, offers her a position that'll allow Beau to attend university in Washington, DC while working for the CIA as a linguistic and intel analyst.

After a few years of office works and receiving her degree through excelurated work, Beau accepts a field assignment to work in her mother's homeland of Lebanon. Stationed there, she spends time reconnecting with her heritage whilst helping filter through intel for all of the middle east. During her time in Lebanon is when Beau first meets Alex Keller during his time in SAD. And though there is an instant spark, the two are off and on, never having the avaliabity and emotional energy to commit to a full-term relationship.

Beau is referred by Laswell to a new field assignment to work alongside the US Marines and International Corp in Urzikstan as tense begins to arise between forces. (Where MWII starts up) During her time in Urzikstan, her relationship with Keller becomes more serious in the threat of terror and her specialty and skills catch the eye of Captain John Price who tries to recruit her as a support member of TF141. Hoping it'll give her a chance to return and finish her work in Urzikstan along with letting her be with Keller, Beau accepts the position and begins working alongside TF141.

[3lectra-he4rt]

since there’s only a few weeks left until the day of reckoning,,

What scenes do you *need* in the ballad movie?

This one’s gonna be a long one, i’m pasting it from my notes app. (Some have emojis cause i was going through the rings of hell while reading) Buckle up. Also, some are just very vague in the sense that i just want *something* like what i’ve described.

- Coriolanus reading the letter from Tigris

- When Lucy was crying in the classroom with Coryo

- When Coriolanus gave Lucy the compact

- When Lucy is running from Reaper

- Arachne’s death

- Sejanus putting the breadcrumbs over Arachne and her tribute after they died, either Coriolanus noticing him doing so or it in the background for us to find

- Reaper making the graveyard

- Reaper cutting the flag

- Sejanus going into the arena and everything that followed (and him putting the breadcrumbs over Marcus!!)

- Sejanus showing up to be a peacekeeper with Coriolanus

- When Coriolanus calls Clemensia “Clemmie” </333

- When Clemensia comes into Coriolanus’ hospital room in the middle of the night

- The pus coming out of Clemensia when she is bitten (it NEEDS to be blue, pink, and yellow)

- Coriolanus and Lysistrata. Them while watching the games and strategizing bc Lysistrata has Jessup, but also just them being silly together ☹️☹️☹️

- Tigris with her fathers coat

- “Lucy Gray, having languished in Dr.Gaul’s lab, would be long dead, and his heart dead with her.” (Coriolanus thinking of his future)

- Sejanus’ house + “Ma’s corner” 😭😭😭

- C: “I don’t know what ever possessed me to ask for twelve.” S: “Completely random, obviously,”

- Lucy saving Coriolanus from the bombing, a shot of when her arm is around his shoulder and he’s clutching the ruffles of her skirt (the clutching is EXTREMELY IMPORTANT.)

- Him parading her around the monkey house when he get stuck in there w her and the other tributes

- The picnic at the zoo </33

- Coriolanus holding Clemensia from behind when the snakes show up in the arena

- When Smiley says there’s going to be someone named “Lucy something” singing at the hob the book says “His girl. His love. His Lucy Gray.”

- Ma’s explanation of the bread crumbs

- “We pour money into our industries, not into the districts themselves,” said Sejanus. “The people are on their own.”

- Literally just the daughter of Mayor Lipp’s name. It’s Mayfair.

- The execution of Arlo Chance + ‘Lil’ coming through the crowd for him

- “What’s bothering you? And don’t say nothing.”

- Everyone slapping each other’s backs after drinking some of the stuff smiley got in the Hob

- “It reminds me of the capitol” “you don’t say home.” “No. For me, that will always be district 2.”

- The hob fight

- “And yes, I’d be happy to go with you.”

- C: “Do I look okay?” S: “Gorgeous. Trust me, that lips working for you, soldier.”

- Lucy and Coriolanus’s argument with Billy Taupe

- C: “I thought you were letting this whole rebel thing go!” S: “I can’t, all right? It’s part of who I am..”

- Sejanus having drugs in his locker box

- ‘High-as-a-Kite-Bottom’

- L: “that’s what my daddy thought, too. And he ended up with more bullet holes than I could count on my fingers,”

- “ "Well, that's it, then. I saved you from the fire, and you saved me from the snakes. We're responsible for each other's lives now." "Are we?" he asked. "Sure," she said. "You're mine and I'm yours. It's written in the stars." "No escaping that." “

- “ "You know, Sejanus, I'm your friend. More than a friend. You're the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother. And there are special rules for family. If you need help . . . I mean, if you get into something you can't handle ... I'm here." Tears welled up in Sejanus's eyes. "Thank you, Coryo. That means a lot. You may be the only person in the world who I actually trust." Ah, trust again. The air was full of it. "Come here." He pulled Sejanus into an embrace.”

- Barb Azure is a LESBIAN?? “She just started seeing a gal down the road,” (Lucy talking abt Barb Azure

- L: “People have been around for a long time without the capitol. I expect they’ll be here a long time after.”

- Cc finding Katniss for Lucy

- The lake being the same lake as THG trilogy, Coriolanus noticing the house that would end up being so important for Katniss in THG

- The explanation of the covey’s names (song + color)

- The “we all have a ballad, and this is Lucy’s!” Scene with the song

- Sejanus looking like an eight year old boy to Coriolanus as he’s being pulled up to be hanged

- Sejanus saying “Coryo” while being pulled up to be executed

- Sejanus’s last word being “Ma!”

- Coriolanus’s absolute breakdown after Sejanus died

- The epilogue.

- "Because we credit them with innocence. And if even the most innocent among us turn to killers in the Hunger Games, what does that say? That our essential nature is violent," Snow explained.

Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[heavensbeehall]

"Mockingjay", Chapter 24

Part 3: The Assassin

Chapter 24: Katniss is hurt my what Gale said. The Rebels are getting closer to the President's Mansion and Gale once again predicts what the Capitol will do. Tigris goes to spy. Katniss worries about Peeta's immunity. Capitol citizens have beaten a boy who "looks like Peeta" to death. Peeta wants to go great a diversion, and Gale gives him his nightlock pill. Tigris dresses everyone up, like a good stylist. Cresside and Pollux leave first, then Gale and Katniss, finally Peeta. The Rebels start shooting. The girl in the lemon yellow coat dies. Several weird pods go off. Gale is captured. Snow is using children as human shields. A "Capitol" hovercraft drops bombs. Rebel medics, including Prim, arrive VERY quickly. They are exploded.

-- Gale is always described as having a talent for snares--first in the woods. Then obviously he starts creating traps for people. But he's also really good at predicting the Capitol and I think that's kind of sad for him. It's like they have gotten into his brain. Like he knows here they will manually active pods. He knew they would firebomb 12. He's just a kid too, he shouldn't know these things.

-- Can I just say that I feel the movie version of Mockingjay - Part 2 made Tigris look like an idiot. The way it's described here they look "exactly" like refugees fleeing. And in the movie, they just have hoods on. It's very upsetting because it's her main contribution to the plot and she's been waiting since the prequel!

All the times these arms were my only refuge from the world. Perhaps not fully appreciated then, but so sweet in my memory, and now gone forever.

Guys... she knows he's right there, right? Peeta's improvement has not convinced Katniss that he's back at all.

The little girl who was watching me kneels beside a motionless woman, screeching and trying to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the chest of her yellow coat, staining it with red, knocking the girl onto her back. For a moment, looking at her tiny crumpled form, I lose my ability to form words. Gale prods me with his elbow. “Katniss?”

I am very upset about the girl in the yellow coat and it's weird to me that Gale doesn't seem to notice. Could be the fog of war but it seems intentional on the author's part.

Behind a rack of framed photos of Snow, we encounter a wounded Peacekeeper propped against a strip of brick wall.

The fact that they sell framed photos of Snow disturbs me. It's giving "Dear Leader."

Shoot me. That's what he was mouthing. I was supposed to shoot him! That was my job. That was our unspoken promise, all of us, to one another. 

Since this all started because Peeta said to shoot him and she wouldn't, this feels pointed. But I don't think shooting Gale would have saved anyone at this point.

I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt. I have the same reaction I did the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping. At least, I must go limp, because I find myself at the base of the flagpole, unable to account for the last few seconds. Then I am pushing through the crowd, just as I did before. Trying to shout her name above the roar. I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when I think she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name.

Her duck tail. D:

[accidentalfanficwriter]

of water and coal; a finnick odair fanfic

CHAPTER 2

A little info on the timeline of this story: the first chapter takes place 1-2 days after Katniss and Peeta would’ve visited district four for the victory tour. In this story, the quarter quell will be announced three months later, and the games will start three months after that. I haven’t decided at what point the theme of the quarter quell will be announced, but you’ll know. Sorry this isn’t 100% accurate, I’m trying my best I swear!

TW: Mentions of violence

I stay in the room with no windows for a few more days. I’ve hardly seen anyone let alone Finnick since we last talked. No matter how hard I try to forget it, Finnick’s words have a way of getting to me. It’s hard not to feel offended at the way he seemed to view me. The doctor at wherever we are gives me something for my nerves, she’s nice enough and assures me I’ll be released in a matter of time. My bullet wound heals surprisingly fast and by the fourth day, I can no longer feel it. The doctor, who I’ve learned is named Leonna Walker, finally removes my bandage and clears me. I’m led to a bathroom down the hall, handed a pile of monochromatic clothing and boots, and left alone to change. As I look at myself in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. Whatever they were feeding me through all those tubes and wires seemed to have remedied any starvation my body had gone through in District Twelve. Even with a victor for a godfather, I was still starving. I hadn’t had it nearly as bad as some of the other people in the seam, but no one in District Twelve was well fed. My cheeks were no longer hollow and I looked reasonably healthy. When I dressed in the clothes I was given, I felt out of place. No one in my district dressed like this, everyone wore hand-me-downs. I admired myself in the mirror for a moment before exiting the bathroom. A woman was waiting for me in the hallway, she seemed to be in her early thirties. She was taller than me, and despite being free of any visible weapons, she carried herself with great confidence. When she noticed me, a soft smile crossed her lips and she held out her hand to me.

“You must be Lyra Torres,” her voice is soft and full of warmth, “I’m Rose, welcome to District Four.”

I shake her hand politely and thank her.

“Finnick tells me you want to join the revolution?” She smiles widely, “We don’t get a lot of volunteers these days, I must admit.”

I hold back a laugh, I wouldn’t exactly say I volunteered. It felt more like Finnick bullied me into joining, but I hold my tongue, “Well, it’s for a good cause.”

Rose seems pleased by my words and gently slaps a hand down on my shoulder, “Well, Lyra, we’re happy to have you.”

“Where exactly are we?” I ask, hoping to finally learn where I’d be held these past few days.

“District Four’s rebel base,” she answers casually, she certainly put up less of a fight than Finnick, “Walk with me.”

I follow her down the long hallway, “I didn’t realize the district had its own rebel base.”

“If there’s one thing you need to know about District Four, it’s that we’re heavily armed. The Peacekeepers armory was raided a long time ago and we won't be running out of resources any time soon,” Rose tells me.

We find ourselves in a larger, busier hallway. There are a few benches against the walls and it’s certainly not scarce when it comes to people. Some people are wearing bandages, some armed, some not, but they all have one thing in common. They’re all in good spirits. I hear a few people laughing amongst themselves as if they don’t have a care in the world. I’ve never seen people act like this outside of the Capital. Rose stops to let me take in the energy for a moment, and before I can say anything, a boy no older than 19 comes up to us. He flashes a toothy grin and waves at Rose.

“Well well well, you must be the new recruit everyone’s been talking about?” He says in a cheery voice.

The atmosphere of the room is contagious, and I find myself replying, “I guess so. All good things I hope?”

A laugh escapes the boy’s mouth and he extends his hand out to me, “I’m Fox. I see you’ve already met my mother, Rose.”

I quickly glance from Fox to Rose, seeing the resemblance between the two. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Fox,” I smile, “I’m Lyra.”

“Welcome, Lyra,” Fox grins, “If you’re ready, I can take you upstairs right away to get to training.”

I look to Rose for approval and she nods.

“Lead the way,” I sigh excitedly.

I follow Fox up a flight of stairs and into the training room. It’s a large room with a row of training dummies on one end and a wall of weapons on the other. I’ve never seen so many weapons in my life. The wall is stocked with spears, knives, bows, and much more.

“This is where we train the new recruits,” Fox tells me, and motions to the wall of weapons “Take your pick.”

I carefully walk over to the weapons and my eyes immediately go to the bow and arrows. I think of Katniss as my fingers brush over the cool metal. 

“A bow’s a great weapon,” I hear Fox say.

“Katniss was teaching me how to shoot,” I tell him, eyes fixed on the weapon, “but I think I better try something else.”

“How about a knife?” I hear a cool voice say from the doorway.

I turn to see Finnick leaning up against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. My stomach drops and I glance over at Fox, mentally pleading with him to kick Finnick out of the room. Much to my dismay, Fox happily walks over to the intruder and greets him.

“Finnick, kind of you to stop by,” my discomfort seems to go completely unnoticed as Fox rests a hand on Finnick’s shoulder, “Lyra, you’ve met Finnick, I presume?”

I nod bitterly.

“I actually had the pleasure of saving Lyra from certain death,” Finnick tells Fox, his eyes trained on me.

“That’s lucky,” Fox grins.

“Indeed,” Finnick adds, “Fox, I’d be happy to show Lyra the ropes if you wanna go grab breakfast?”

Before I can protest, Fox is thanking Finnick and hurrying out the door. I stand my ground, now glaring at Finnick.

“Don’t you look happy to see me?” Finnick taunts.

“I thought we agreed to never see each other again,” I remind him, crossing my arms.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He stalks closer to me, “Besides, I’m a very good teacher.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather learn from Fox,” I turn around before muttering to myself, “Or literally anyone else.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Lyra,” Finnick stands closely behind me, “At least now you’ll get a chance to fight me, and maybe if I’m feeling generous, I’ll even let you win.”

I spin around to find Finnick very close to me, I ignore the feeling of his breath on my face and scowl at him, “You are so arrogant, I can’t stand it.”

“Some women find my arrogance irresistible,” Finnick chirps and takes a few steps back, “Apparently not everyone has taste.”

I scoff, “I guess not.”

Finnick is still staring at me with an expression that makes me want to punch him, “What do you say, darling? Are you up for the challenge?”

Finnick pulls two sharp daggers out of his waistband. I contemplate for a moment before my competitiveness gets the best of me. I reach out and snatch one of the knives from Finnicks grasp and step back. Finnick grins and repositions the knife in his hand.

“Now, I’m going to come at you,” Finnick assumes an aggressive pose, his dagger pointing right at me, “I want you to block the attack, okay?”

I nod and take a defensive position. I watch as Finnick lunges forward, swiping his blade toward my throat in an aggressive move so fast I only just manage to duck beneath him and move out of the way. A smile spreads across Finnicks face at my action.

“Good,” he straightens up, “See? It’s not that hard. Now it's your turn.”

Finnick resumes the attack position and once again points his dagger at my throat, “Go on, do to me what I just did to you.”

My eyes flit to his throat, gauging how I should go about this. As expected, Finnick runs at me and I let him come to me. I dodge at the last second and move out of the way. While he tries to spin around to face me, I use my leg to trip him. I tackle him as he goes down and the knife falls from his hand as he tries to catch himself. It’s too late of course, I put all of my body weight on him and pin him to the ground. I throw his knife to the far end of the room and hold the sharp edge of my blade to his throat.

“You’re dead,” I breathe out triumphantly.

“Well, well. Look at that. You got me,” Finnick puts his hands up in defeat, “I have to say, that was a smart move. I’m actually impressed.”

I reluctantly release my grip on him and stand up, feeling a wave of pride wash over me.

“Very good, Lyra,” I turn to see Rose standing in the doorway watching us, “Finnick, show her a few moves she can use against an opponent when she’s unarmed.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Finnick challenges, a glint in his eyes.

“Bring it on.��

Finnick teaches me self-defense and how to defend against attacks involving unarmed attackers. I can tell he’s trained in this before, and despite my anger toward him, his instructions are clear and concise. After an hour or so of training, Finnick stops and asks me if I want to continue. I nod eagerly, feeling more and more confident as we continue to train. As I finally get the hang of self-defense, we move on to something else. Finnick hands me a bow and a quiver full of arrows. 

“Have you ever used a bow before?” He asks as he helps me sling the quiver over my back.

“Katniss taught me,” I tell him, practicing aiming for the target.

“Well, you must be decent then, Katniss seems to be pretty skilled with a bow,” Finnick mutters.

I eye him and load an arrow.

“Go on then,” he says, “hit the target.”

I confidently take my stance, I don’t even bother to take a deep breath before I let the arrow fly. I watch with anticipation as the arrow flies right to the bullseye. My eyes go wide with excitement as I turn to face Finnick. I’m surprised to find him looking quite impressed.

Finnick clears his throat, “Beginners luck.”

I roll my eyes at him and load another arrow. Unfortunately for Finnick, I seem to have a knack for this. I hit target after target and before I know it, I’ve been practicing for an hour. 

“You’re a natural,” Finnick admits, “Maybe I’ll ask Katniss to teach me if I ever meet her.”

I grin at Finnick, momentarily forgetting how angry I was at him. For a moment he just stares at me with a look on his face I can’t quite explain. I clear my throat and remove the quiver to return to the arsenal.

“Are we done for the day?” I ask, avoiding his gaze.

“I guess so,” he puts his hands on his waist, “I guess I’ll let you off easy for recovering from a bullet wound.”

And just like that Finnick has ruined the mood once again. 

I turn and glare at him, “Is there somewhere I can wash up? I’m pretty sweaty.”

Finnick shows me to one of the base’s restrooms and leaves me be. It feels so nice to finally shower after sitting in that hospital bed for days. The showers here aren't as nice as the ones aboard the Victor’s train, but they're certainly better than the showers back home. I get out of the shower and find a pile of clean clothes stacked neatly by the door. I hope it’s Rose who snuck in to leave me them and not Finnick. I quickly change into fresh clothes and exit to the bathroom. I find Finnick standing outside the bathroom door leaning leisurely against the wall and fiddling with a throwing knife.

“Are you stalking me?” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

Finnick turns towards me and visibly looks me up and down, “Look at you, you clean up nice.”

I roll my eyes at Finnick, “What do you want?”

Finnick holds out the throwing knife, “For you.”

I take the knife from him and turn it over in my hands, admiring the beauty of it, “What for?”

Finnick shrugs, “Let’s call it a welcome gift.’

I eye him suspiciously but when he doesn’t explain further I tuck the knife into my waistband.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Finnick nods and moves to walk away but I stop him in his tracks.

“Wait,” I call after him.

He turns around to face me, “Yeah?”

“Can you show me where the mess hall is? I’m dying for some solid food,” I force myself to smile at Finnick.

The gesture doesn’t seem to go unnoticed as he smiles back at me and motions for me to follow him. 

[rebellicnrising]

ronen rubinstein . cis-male . he/him ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s RORY HAWTHORNE , the THIRTY-TWO year old UNDERCOVER PEACEKEEPER from DISTRICT TWELVE . they’ve been in the capitol around FOUR YEARS, long enough to gain a reputation for being so STRONG-WILLED & INCENDIARY . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: rory hawthorne . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . aurelius cragg nicknames: rory, ror age: thirty-two birthday: august 16 . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . august 6 zodiac: leo district: twelve . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . two  gender: cis male pronouns: he / him orientation: bisexual ; homoromantic profession: miner, rebel . . . 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . undercover peacekeeper

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: ronen rubinstein hair color: dark brown eye color: blue with flecks of green height: 5'11" scars: a patchwork of lash scars across his back and shoulders- varying from some that are roped with thick, purple scar tissue and others that are just that permanent angry red; a thin scar on the bottom of his chin from busting it when he was a kid; a scar above his left eye from a peacekeeper's baton, a three inch scar from a bullet graze on his right shoulder

RELATIONSHIPS

father: tba hawthorne ( deceased ) mother: hazelle hawthorne  siblings: gale ( older brother ), vick ( younger brother ), posy ( younger sister ) significant other: tba

EXTRA

mbti: esfp-t ( the consul  ) temperament: sanguine - choleric   moral alignment: chaotic good primary vice: wrath primary virtue: diligence element: fire playlist & pinterest

BACKSTORY

TW: parent death, whipping, police & gun violence

ᴏɴᴄᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ��ʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

the day your father dies is etched in your memory with startling clarity-- how the shouting from the mines had carried throughout the district, how the peacekeeper uniforms turned a dingy grey with the coal dust as some jumped in alongside the miners trying to dig out the collapsed shaft ( the same ones whose faces you'll recognize frequenting the hob, the same ones who pay or trade for the game gale brings back after he learns to hunt and never ask how or where he got it ); the feeling of how tightly gale holds your hand as you stand with your mother just outside of the mine, waiting for that blurred face to be pulled out- broken and limp. you remember the noise your mother made- not a scream or a wail of grief but a low moan that reverberated so deep that it's permanently etched in the walls of your mind- as her legs go out from under her and gale's hand leaves yours to catch her; you don't know the name for the noise but over the years, you grow so used to hearing it from the corner of the home where she huddles around baby posy or vick- both who are too small to know what's going on- and one day the word comes to you: despair.

you're not the only ones who lost a father in the accident and out of that tragedy is some bright spot: the everdeens. your mothers both share that empty stare of losing the men they loved who stood between their children and starvation; your mothers both share oldest children who step in to be fathers. gale gets katniss and you get prim; while the two of them go hunt, crossing over that forbidden line of the boundary, the two of you share the fullness of childhood-- a childhood that your older siblings had cut short in order for you to experience. a childhood in the seam- raised by the seam because while gale is away and your mother is away there is still that guiding presence with other mothers balancing babies on their hips who scrub your dirty, tear stained face with the corners of thin aprons and wash your scrapes with cool water and old timers ( whose bodies are too hunched and frail to work in the mines, chests constantly rattling with coal dust thats glued to the inside of their lungs ) who bark at you from dirt porches when you get too rowdy with other kids and the play fighting turns to real fighting. as you get older, they find chores for you to do- the old timers tell you it's good for your character, the other mothers tell you you're doing them a great favor saving their men and sons from the extra work after coming home from the mines- rewarding you with whatever little they can spare. everyone knows the hawthornes have got more than their fair share of open mouths and empty bellies; everyone knows the weight of the family has fallen on gale. they tell you that you should help your brother however you can.

you learn about the tesserae when you're ten-- you hear gale and katniss talking about it and the number of times gale's name has been added to the reaping bowl makes your stomach turn- truly full for the first time since the last time he collected tesserae and it makes you sick with fear and worry. you understand the reapings by now and you cling to gale later, unable to tell him what's wrong when he asks-- afraid that if you open your mouth, you'll get sick and waste the food your brother had paid for with his life. because if he gets picked, you know that's what it means-- twelve hadn't had a victor in longer than either of you have been alive and while you think he could win, there's always that very real possibility that he wouldn't; and you can't imagine a world without your brother. you're still too young to take out the tessarae for yourself- for your siblings- and you bite down on your tongue when gale comes back with the proof that he had yet again; you want to help your brother but you don't know how.

the morning of your first reaping, it's gale who gets you up, who fills the tin tub with heated water and scrubs at your skin until you yelp, who combs your hair- trying desperately to get it to lay flat- and helps to button your shirt when your hands shake. it's gale's last year, he's an old pro by now-- but you counted. and you know how many slips of paper have his name on them and your singular one floats in that sea of white but it's not you that you're afraid for. when you see prim's face and how scared she is, you smother your own fear-- you can't be strong for gale but you can be strong for her-- and the only moment you let it slip out before your arm wraps around her shoulders ( because younger kids go to the front, you can't stand with those pillars of strength in the back ) is when you look back at gale, seeking reassurance in his eyes. it won't be us, you tell prim, whispering in her ear like it's a secret before you have to go to one side and her the other, after this, we'll play pirates. when they call her name your heart stops beating, eyes wild to find her face as she stumbles out like a lost lamb into the aisle before you look back to find gale-- but the moment katniss' voice raises your eyes go to her.

you don't play pirates after-- you sit with prim while she cries and later after the stars have come out and you walk prim home, you take charge of home- getting vick and posy dinner and getting them in bed, tucking a blanket around your mother's shoulders- trying to without words take some of the weight off gale's shoulders. you sit quietly with gale for as long as he'll let you. there's a question sitting behind your teeth and there's times when that silence between you two feels so heavy that it almost slips out but it never does; would you have volunteered for me? the part of your mind that knows your brother loves you in the same way that katniss loves prim has no doubt that if it had been the reverse of the coin, that gale would've taken that burden from you-- just like he had taken every burden for the last five years; the part of your mind that is growing up knows that gale couldn't leave posy and vick, both of them younger than both of you. you don't have to wonder if you'd volunteer for him-- you also couldn't leave vick or posy... and you're still afraid of dying. the air is heavy and you don't say anything because you know gale is hurting but, you're relieved-- relieved it's not going to be him. you hate that it's katniss because the people you love most in the world are in pain because of it-- but he's safe and after all those years of putting himself at risk of the games, he's not ever going to have to go there. and for that, you're grateful.

ɪ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴍɪꜱꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴇ, ɪ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ɪ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀʙᴀɢᴇ, ɪ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ

they both come back- katniss and peeta- and everything changes. there are new peacekeepers with grim faces that seem to flood the district; there's a distance to gale that you can't understand. you ask him to teach you to hunt- you want to help, that's all you want to do because the weight of the world seems to be weighing him down-- but there's never time. they burn the hob and strap gale to a whipping post-- you're out gathering wood, trying to lighten that load on gale's shoulders and don't find out until someone finds you- arms laden with the driest pieces you can find with the snow as thick as it is- and regales the news to you; you drop the wood and run to the opposite side of the district, racing for that aisle of houses where prim lives now. another sound etches itself into the halls of your mind, taking up residence next to your mother's moan of despair: the sound of your brother screaming in pain. you help to hold him down, jaw clenched tightly and tears silently rolling down your face as hands that have lost the softness of childhood grip at his arm, desperate to keep him still while prim and her mother work-- until he falls still and quiet.

you don't want to leave him. you have to get back to vick and posy and mom. you don't know how you're going to carry him home- you're taller and your shoulders have started to broaden but it's a good trek back to the seam and gale can't move. you can never repay their kindness. you don't want to leave him. you promise to come back after you've got vick and posy in bed; you're reminded there's a curfew-- if you look back and examine it, maybe this is where that rebellious spark ignited in your chest because you don't care. you only try it the once, almost caught by those patrolling peacekeepers but you come back to the house and you sit with him that first night, shoulder pressed against the corner of the kitchen where he's laid out, head resting against the wall, sitting vigil silently. while gale heals you pick up more and more odd jobs where you can; you take his bow and sneak past the boundary-- and almost lose his arrows, spending most of the time trying to find where they've fallen. when the time comes, you take out the tesserae for yourself, vick and posy. gale can't do it anymore but you can and you want so desperately to just help him; the two of you end up fighting, your crackling voice ( changing because you're growing, you're getting older, you can help more-- ) raised in anger and exasperation. you just wanted to help.

when he comes home in that crisp white uniform, baton at his hip, you almost think it's a joke-- and honestly, you treat it like a joke. you're an angry teenager because the reality of life in your district is starting to actualize in your mind, how these white clad thugs walked around as if they owned the damn district, harassing folk who had generations buried in this ground, how they had damn near killed gale-- and he's parading around in one of their uniforms. he tells you he has to work-- you don't understand why he can't keep working in the mines like everyone else in the damn district. it's a cause of friction between you two that only softens the slightest bit when gale becomes involved in the rebellion with you following half a step behind him whether he wanted you to or not. you tell gale he doesn't have to provide for you anymore when you start working in the mines at sixteen. you're sick of him carrying your weight and whether he likes it or not, he's sharing vick and posy's with you-- you can provide for this family too. gale might be too good for the mines but you're not. you can help too.

the coal dust that clings to the threads of gale's hand-me-downs that you're quickly growing out of clashes against that crisp white uniform; and you continue to clash against your brother. over time, that clashing slows and ceases, seeing the evidence of your brother using his position to help where he can, to aid rebellion efforts at home and away. there's a lot you learn about your brother as you get older and go through all the ages he has already experienced, viewing them through the lens of your own life in one eye and his through another; there's a lot you've never thanked him for and aren't sure you'll ever really know how to. he works in his position and you work in yours and at the end of the day, you both come home-- that's the part that matters: you both come home.

you're twenty-three and still in the mines: eyes burning and red from the dust that falls in them, face with dark lines etched in your skin making you look older than you are, chest already starting to rattle with the start of that miner's lung. the older man next to you starts grabbing at his chest and you call for a halt, trying to help him get seated, shoving a canteen in his hand as he rubs at the spot breathing shallow through the dark dust that tries to settle. peacekeepers have joined the foremen in the mines, making sure production doesn't halt, pushing you deeper and deeper-- and just as you've got the man seated, gasping in pain as he rubs his chest, they push again. you start to argue on behalf of the man- his chest is hurting, he should see see a healer at the very least he deserves a moment to rest and catch his breath! a baton whips across your face and you see red, starting to launch yourself before you're drug back. it's not worth it, they mutter, voices rough against your ears, it's not worth it. the older man stands and work resumes. he drops dead about three hours later. you and another carry the body out, the dead weight balanced between the two of you and your anger lashes out before you can stop yourself. the baton cracks at your face again, splitting the skin above your eye and your vision does go red, dropping you to your knees. with blood on your face you carry the body back to his widow because these are your people. this man worked alongside you like a brother, an uncle, a father and you honor him in the same way you would if he were blood related. the next day you help to bury him with others in your crew; you're back in the mines an hour later and a scrawny fourteen year old year old kid takes his place in the line.

ɪ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡꜱᴘᴀᴘᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀꜱꜱ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ!

time passes and you strike a new vein of coal but you've all been doing this long enough to know that the deeper you follow it, the more unstable the shaft becomes. you tell them it's not safe; they push you. you tell them the shaft will collapse; they push you. and you see your father's death flash before your eyes as the tunnel collapses and you're dragged backward, watching the earth bury outstretched hands that reach for you. it takes three days to dig them out. time is a wheel and history repeats itself and there are still those digging who remember the last collapse, the sons whose fathers were buried now work these same mines-- and they're angry. it's not the capitol or it's peacekeepers who bury the district's dead or who care for her widows and orphans. it's you and everyone else with red-rimmed eyes and lungs burning with coal dust-- coal that never heats your homes. they don't care if you live or die because there's always room for one more on the line and there's more empty bellies in the seam than there are full in the whole of the district. you're not even sure when you started talking or when people started listening but it's a spark that catches onto every coal-dusted soul in those mines and sets it ablaze.

a sea of headlamps march from the mines and you lead them out, shovels and pickaxes gripped in tight fists: a strike. no production until conditions change. it's not anything set out by the rebellion leaders in that mythical district thirteen; no, this was twelve- the district and her people, acting in their own with that flame ignited in their chests- as you march out and are met immediately with a wall of white. bullets fly and batons whip but they're met with resistance, the tools of your trade now turned makeshift weapons. some scatter, most stand until they fall by bullet or baton and you're grazed by one, burning fire across your shoulder before the baton slams against your temple and everything goes dark. they drag you and two other 'co-conspirators' to the whipping post and you understand the sound of gale's scream that's etched in your mind, echoing through it's halls and joining yours as the whip falls against your back and shoulders. you understand how he couldn't move after, every breath feeling like fire. the train cars you had been loading for the past few weeks as you dug through that unsafe shaft are going to the capitol-- and you're going with it. since that tongue thinks it's so smart, wagging and inciting treason, the only way to deal with it is to cut it out. they're going to make you an avox.

that night, you're carried from the cell but by friendly faces-- rebels who work to get you from the justice building to the train yard, dragging your weight, legs feeling almost useless under you. they hide you in plain sight: on the train that was supposed to lead you to your doom. they shove a bandana in your mouth and tell you to bite down, muffling the sounds of pain as they lay you in a bed of coal that digs into the sore spots, staining the bandages around your torso red. you try to focus past the pain that has tears running lines through the coal dust that's settling on your face as they bury you under a layer just thin enough to be hidden: the train will take you to three. there, rebels in three will hide you for a few weeks before a train on it's way to six passes through where you'll stowaway on to get yourself to six. once you hit six, you're on foot until you reach thirteen.

you ask through the bandana you have gripped in your teeth where gale is-- it would be the first place they're going to look when they realize you're gone, he had to have a solid alibi, right now he's too important. you agree. you don't regret the choices that have brought you here and you don't regret the ones you'll have to make going forward but damn if you don't regret the fact you didn't get to say goodbye. you've left your family with a mess to clean up-- you just hope they understand why. you ask the faces to tell gale you're sorry you didn't make it home tonight.

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜɪʀꜱᴛʏ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

it goes exactly as planned-- you reach three and you wait for hands that dig, reaching out to let them pull you free. they clean your back and feed you, keep you hidden until the next train rolls in to three for a pick up of technological pieces for the trains and other vehicles that rolled out of six. it makes you stir crazy- to sit and wait, sit and wait- but there's this fear in your chest that has you wondering what it is that you're so eager to go for? getting to six will have risks and getting from six to thirteen will be beyond treacherous-- and after that? unknown. you think about home a lot- about your brothers and your sister, your mother ( which twists like a knife of guilt in your gut, wondering how much grief losing a son would bring her ), of prim and how you never got to explain or say goodbye-- wondering if you're ever going to see it again. you apologized for not making it home but now you're not sure you're going to make it home for a long time. maybe never.

the train to six is harder to hide on but you manage and you've had time to heal but those still-stitching wounds are tender-- you make it to the boundary and hidden among trees before anyone can see you. they gave you a map in three- taught you how to read a map, not exactly like you'd ever had need for one before now- and you follow it, pressing deeper into territory that's familiar and new all at once. you're not sure when you actually crossed the border into thirteen, having gone further beyond the boundary and losing the fence line some time back but you're found by scouts that you at first mistake for peacekeepers and try to outrun. you don't get far and at first it looks like you've missed the welcome wagon but they help you up and take you in.

you're not sure what you imagined when you thought about district thirteen before but it certainly wasn't what greeted you. you tell them who you are and how you managed to get there. they ask you how old you are- you ask what day it is; they tell you august 20-- you tell them you just turned twenty-five. you don't argue with the work assignments that are given to you-- hell, you're just grateful that you're given something to do and don't have to sit and wait or run anymore. that only lasts a few months because you've seen the military training that goes on, you've seen the rooms where it's happening- the rebellion, planned meticulously, different strings across the district all connected to thirteen- and you didn't come all this way to scrub toilets.

the next three years are different but focus and ground you. you train, learn how to be a fighter and not a brawler, how to be a soldier not a rioter. you fall in love-- it's three years, it's bound to happen. you still think about home but less and less in the looking back way and more looking ahead. fire is catching across the districts and you're ready to fight like hell to be able to go home. it feels a different life away- district twelve- so different than the one you're living now but once again, you're struck with that stir-crazy feeling. it feels too much like sitting and waiting now even with the parts that filled the space between like the lover who wrapped around your heart. when the assignment comes, you immediately jump on it, eager to be moving again.

ꜱᴏ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ɪɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡᴏʀɴ ꜱʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴇᴇᴛ-- ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

the assignment: peacekeeper in the capitol. rory hawthorne of district twelve is dead so you get a new name: aurelius cragg, born august 6th in district two. you tell them you don't want a new name-- especially not aurelius cragg. they tell you that you don't get to pick-- you can get rory out of 'aurelius'. you're briefed on your family history, your academic history, your record at the peacekeeper academy, all bundled up in the official documents that would prove your identity. you're smuggled across the districts to two where those documents get you a one way ticket to the capitol on a transport filled with other district two peacekeepers, freshly graduated from the academy.

the next four years, you live that double life; rory hawthorne is dead and aurelius 'rory' cragg is who looks back at you in the mirror. you wear the uniform you had sneered at when your brother wore it, working street beats and eventually your way up to private events of those self important capitol citizens. there are rebels all over the capitol and through out the years, you work alongside them in different missions. you hold up the facade of this identity that isn't yours and work as a dead man in the dark, each success drawing that dream of going home that much closer- to see your brothers, your sister, your mother, your best friend- and each failure pushes it further away.

you're assigned to the tribute center this year-- a place you've spent the last few years avoiding each time the games roll around and with good reason. rory hawthorne was supposed to be dead as much as your heart yearns for that glimpse of home, you've kept your distance, never getting any closer to those victors from twelve than a television screen. for the first time, you argue against the assignment-- but you can't give an answer that will satisfy when pressed for why; you can't exactly tell your superior officer that you're supposed to be dead.

every time you turn a corner, you're afraid you're going to be found out. you've seen them- katniss and peeta with their boy rye ( he was so much smaller the last time you saw him, has it really been that long? ), haymitch and alex, gale and prim-- but you've taken great care that they don't see you. the things you have been helping to put into place over the last four years are starting to fall into motion and no matter how desperately you want to seek them out, you cannot risk anything going wrong.

you want to be able to go home with them when this is all over-- you can wait a little longer for your reunion.

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ꜰʀᴇᴇ! ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇɴᴅ… ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ

TFLDR + EXTRAS

rory is gale's younger brother, second born, typical middle child.

after their dad died, gale took on everything and was 100% rory's idol for his entire childhood and into his teenaged years

grew up as childhood besties with prim he was her self appointed guard dog growing up

gale became a peacekeeper just as rory was entering puberty which of course meant he had to be a real shithead to gale about it for longer than he probably should've

he joins the rebellion and starts working in the mines at sixteen bc he's going to prove a point to gale. dont ask him what the point is

when he's 23, a fellow miner in his crew drops dead after being denied a moment to rest after complaining of chest pains and rory gets in an altercation with some peacekeepers.

later after warning the foremen of a shafts instability, there's a cave in that kills a handful of miners and rory organizes an impromptu strike that leads in a riot and violent altercation between d12's miners and peacekeepers.

rory and two other 'co-conspirators' are flogged publicly for inciting rebellion and are set to be sent to the capitol to become avoxes. rebels help to sneak him out and hide him in the coal being transported to the capitol that's stopping in three. rebels in three help him heal up and get him on a train to six and from six he walks to thirteen.

he spends three years training in 13 before he's sent on assignment to the capitol as an undercover peacekeeper where he's been for the last four years.

this is the first year he's been assigned to the tribute center and he's trying very hard to maintain that low profile-- we'll see how well that works out.

short math: rory was 25 when he reached district 13 so it's been 7 years since he disappeared from district 12.

has an alias 'aurelius cragg' but he thinks that name is stupid and has established that you can get 'rory' out of aurelius

CONNECTIONS

EX BOYFRIEND -- so rory spent three years in d13 training and preparing nd between that hyperfocus, he found time to fall in love. maybe the two of them were in the same training squadron or just lived in the same area. maybe they've both fled from their districts seeking shelter in thirteen or maybe rory's the outsider who's coming into their home. however it happened, it happened and for at least while he was in thirteen, it was this bright spot of happiness in his life. but after a while, he gets restless and takes an assignment that separates the two of them and they split- amicably? less so? horribly? who knows! i think it could be fun

REBEL CONNECTIONS -- rory's been in the capitol for the last four years undercover so would love!! to come up with some connections that have developed while both of these characters have been fighting this quiet ( and not so quiet ) war behind enemy lines !! but also the rebels that helped him escape to thirteen by sneaking him out of twelve and then hiding him in three and even some in six like this network of people who are all fighting for freedom from the capitol who helped get him safe pls i beg

fr yall know im up for anything and everything let's just do this

[skygent]

Introducing…

Sylvie Morin

Sylvie Morin was supposed to be impossible.

Automatons were never supposed to develop a consciousness.

They weren't supposed to wonder what it was like to feel the wind in their hair as they ran, or what it would be like to dream.

They were never expected to have an innate connection to what some called The Shimmer.

The second layer of the perceivable universe that could be manipulated by certain individuals to do extraordinary things. From shooting lighting from their hands to moving faster than a speeding bullet. Yet Sylvie had both of these things, and as her sense of self solidified, her adventures in New Cassini led to her being taken in by a recovering alcoholic who was trying to start over. A man who would become the closest thing she had to a father.

The pair bonded quickly, and even started going to church together. While some welcomed Sylvie others shunned her, pointing out that Automatons cannot have souls because they weren’t born. While others were all to quick remind her that she would never be a real girl.

Despite this, Sylvie never stopped going to church. Even as other automatons chastised her for being involved with an organization that says she shouldn’t exist. On the other side of the spectrum, there were those in her congregation who were trying to drive her away for pretending to be something she was not.

The only places she didn’t find herself judged was at home with her dad and alongside her friends and teammates in the Aeronauts. 

Sylvie jumped at the chance to be a hero and took on the name Luna Lazura after her favorite pulp comic heroine. Which was later shortened to Luna by her teammates.

Her earnest desire to help people paired with her laid-back attitude made it easy for her to integrate with the team. She helps Kara with peacekeeping duties and thanks to her super speed, she is often the first one into battle.

Whether zipping around beating up bad guys or dragging her friend and crush Elliot onto the dance floor, Sylvie is learning to be unapologetically herself and wear her labels, however contradictory, with pride.

Species: Automaton Age: 20 Birthplace: New Cassini, The Republic of Columbia  Weapon of Choice: Arm Mounted Retractable Razor Lance Powers: Super Speed Likes: Mag Ball games, windsurfing, card games, The Raven Shack comic book series. Dislikes: Crash’s pessimism, rainy days, and people who don't wear the Fahrenheit's team colors on game day (its bad luck!) Occupation: N/A Favorite song: Now You Know My Name by The Derevolutions Art by incroyabledraws!

[vulpixelates]

2,5,9,15 for Rosario if u want ^^

thank you for the ask 💖 i answered 15 here!

2. Is your OC a loner or a social butterfly? Are they satisfied with how they come across to other people?

rio has a +3 to speech (the highest you can get in the system) so she is DEFINITELY blessed w the gift of gab. she looooves to schmooze and talk to people despite her uh, intimidating exterior and reputation. i think she enjoys that the right people feel safe with her while the ones who are afraid of her, often fuckin' should be.

5. Does your OC have a signature weapon and/or attack? How long did they train to master it?

she does! i mentioned previously that she has a pair of twin revolvers (named widowmaker & peacekeeper bc i'm cheesy). she wasn't really allowed to train with guns when she was growing up bc of weird gender roles, but she knew on the way out that she needed SOME way to defend herself so she took them.

however, it's not just the guns :) rio is a psionic so she can slam people around with her brain, but is most infamous in the wastes for her ability to use her brain to change the trajectory of her bullets (curve them around corners, correct angles if a target moves, etc.) and cause extra psionic damage when they hit their target.

she also has this very good ability from her class (courier, based off of courier six from fnv and the abilities are named after quotes from the game) where she can roll a d6 to gamble with her shots that i am VERY EXCITED to play around with once we start playing.

9. Is your OC laid back or do they thrive on drama? What role do they play in their group of friends/associates?

i feel like rosario always ends up in a position where she's not necessarily like, the voice of reason but she takes on leadership roles bc she listens to people and understands when others have more knowledge than her? if that makes sense. also, she always has snacks on hand

she's not really into being INVOLVED in drama. though she does love to sip on some sweet tea and listen to gossip, she isn't really one to talk shit about anyone - the most she usually says is along the lines of "i don't care for them/that."

[hungergamesheadcanons]

The 1st Hunger Games

Matilda Yates didn't regret what she did.

Matilda had been from one of the prominent rebellious families in District 10, having grown up working in the slaughterhouse and using her knowledge of butchery to aid the rebellion. She had been a brilliant fighter, quickly putting peacekeepers out of their misery with her knife piercing vital arteries in seconds, and she had managed to cut swathes in the army the Capitol had sent to try and suppress them.

Until 13 disappeared.

She hated the Capitol, hated the way they'd just blown 13 off the map, hated the way the Districts had been subdued and suppressed again. So when her name was called at this 'reaping', she was entirely unsurprised.

She stalked up to the podium, glaring at everyone and everything. Even the mayor avoided her gaze, the white fabric of her dress still stained with the blood of cows and her hands still coated in red. She must have looked dangerous, and thoroughly pissed off. She didn't care. She knew this had been pre-decided - this 'reaping' was a sham.

Her brother Ben had died in the rebellion, taken down by a peacekeepers bullet. Her father was long since out of the picture, her mother killed by a fellow rebel in mercy as they tried to drag her away.

Matilda was all that remained of her family, and she knew they remembered what she did.

One of Ben's friends, Derrick Wilkinson, was reaped as well, and she nodded to him respectfully as he joined her on the stage. The kid didn't look pissed off, unlike her, but he looked stoic, as if he was struggling to process what was happening. He nodded back to her, and they turned to face their District, faces set even as their family and friends cried before them.

And they were shoved into a train.

Matilda had to admit, at least they didn't offer any false pretenses. The train cart they were shoved into was battered, with moulding wood and holes in the window. The wind whistled through the cart, and there was nowhere to sit beside the floor. A sole bucket sat in the corner, presumably for waste. There was no food.

"Lovely," Matilda muttered, "you know, the Capitol really treats their guests well. I may even want to return."

Derrick snorted, finding a corner with relatively little wind. "I know right. Top notch accommodations here."

"I'm gonna butcher the lot of them," she glared at the closed door, "I'm not sure what this 'Hunger Games' is, but as soon as I get a weapon I'm going on a spree."

"If you can even get your hands on one," Derrick frowned, "for all we know we're just going to our execution."

Matilda was going to reply, but the cart groaned beneath them and with a judder the train set off. Matilda fell to her knees, the movement of the train catching her off guard.

"Damn them all," she grimaced, scooting into the corner next to Derrick. "Damn them all to hell and back." They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, before she sighed. "Do you reckon we're the first they've picked up? There's only one cart..."

"Probably," Derrick shrugged, "Makes sense doesn't it? Start at the furthest point of Panem and circle round til we hit the Capitol. Seems like we're heading... eastwards? I don't know." He groaned miserably, "Oh god I feel sick."

"Please don't throw up, we've only got a bucket." Matilda rubbed his back, "So heading east?"

"Most likely. I stole a map of Panem a couple of years ago from the mayor's house... we border 11 so we'll probably pick up their 'tributes' first," he spat out the word 'tribute' like it was poison. "Probably 8 after that, then 12 and 3. The train route doesn't go directly from 3 to 9, so we'll have to cut through 6 to get to 9, then it'll probably go through 1, 7, 4, 5 and 2 before hitting the Capitol."

"Shit," she sighed, "so there's gonna be 24 of us in this one cart?"

"It'll probably take a couple of days," he frowned, "Panem isn't exactly small."

"Great, just what we needed."

So they rode in silence, sliding around the cart despite their attempts at staying in their corner far from the door. It took a couple of hours, but eventually the train stilled. They were sat in silence for another couple of hours, and Matilda could swear she could hear a reaping in process. But sure enough, the door opened, and two people were shoved in.

The boy, well, Matilda couldn't care less. He was big, like, BIG big, with rippling muscles and a ripped frame. He'd probably been a rebel just like her, if the scars were anything to go by. But the girl...

She couldn't have been older than 14, and was crying openly. Her dress, what may have once been a pretty blue, was covered in dust and her shoes were falling apart.

Matilda felt sick.

"Yo," she raised one hand lazily, as if they were old friends meeting again. "You guys lambs to the slaughter too, huh?"

"Yeah," the boy grunted, easily lifting the small girl up. He carefully dusted down her dress and tried to smooth down her hair, as if by doing as such he could fix the fact that they were in this situation. "Names Oliver Henry. This is Bluebell Griffin."

"Matilda Yates," Matilda nodded respectfully. "This is Derrick Wilkinson. Rebels too?"

"Me, yeah," Oliver led Bluebell over, settling her down next to Derrick before the train started. The jolt didn't startle him at all, his strong frame barely moving even as the train shuddered and creaked beneath him. "For Bluebell it was her dad. He's livid. Was fighting with the peacekeepers as we were dragged over here."

"I'm sensing a theme, here," Derrick drawled, "Who'd have thought that 4 people would all be rebels or related to rebels? I wouldn't be surprised if everyone who ends up here has some sort of tie."

"So much for an impartial reaping," Matilda huffed, "that shit was more rigged than the war-" she paused, realising a child was in the car now, and grimaced. "Sorry for the language kid... How old are you anyway?"

"13," she whimpered, wiping her eyes. "I'm scared."

"I know," Oliver stood next to her, "which is why I'm gonna get you out. I don't know how yet, but I will."

"Good luck with that mate." Matilda said, genuinely. "I don't think you'll need it, but if I can help with anything, I will. It's fucked up that kids are getting involved in this - if we can get the small ones out, I'll count that as a win."

"Thanks," Oliver nodded his head to her, and a tentative alliance formed. Soon enough, after a couple of hours, they hit District 8, and the same routine happened. A little while of waiting in silence, except this time it was accompanied by Bluebell's sniffles, and then two people flung into the train. Both of them scrambled to their feet, running at the peacekeepers behind them, but the door slammed shut before they could attack them. The girl screamed in frustration, while the boy pounded on the door, before both of them slumped in defeat.

Tessa Lane and Brett Parkinson, they ended up introducing themselves as, both of whom had been rebels. Bluebell seemed slightly intimidated by Tessa, who was cussing up a storm, but Brett seemed to be overall calmer, despite his ferocious beating of the door. District 8 seemed to be where their journey paused for the night, as the peacekeepers opened the door to chuck in a loaf of bread, before slamming it shut again.

"Assholes," Tessa growled, as Oliver picked up the bread and split it into six. "Eat up," he handed a portion to each of them, face grim, "it's not looking like we'll be getting fed well. We'll need all we can get."

Bluebell finished her portion, the poor girl seemingly ravenous. Her malnourished frame seemed weak, and Matilda saw Oliver quietly give his portion to her, even as everyone ate their own hurriedly. She wondered what his aim was - whatever it was the Capitol had in store for them, facing it starving wasn't going to help anything. She saved half of her portion, tucking it inside of a relatively clean part of her dress that she had torn off, for later.

Whatever she was facing, she wanted to do it on a full stomach for once.

The tributes ended up huddling together that night, the freezing wind blowing through the cart and chilling them to the bone. What little body heat they had, they shared, little Bluebell tucked in the middle of all of them.

At one point, Bluebell started squirming, an embarrassed flush coating her cheeks. "I need to use the toilet." She whispered, and Matilda pointed to the bucket.

She stood in front of it for a little while, tentatively lifting her dress, before pausing. Oliver stood up, walking in front of her and blocking part of her from view, even as he turned to face them. Matilda did the same, and tried to ignore the noises coming from behind her. When Bluebell was done, she tapped them on the shoulder, and they returned to the pile, the bucket on the far end of the cart.

They awoke to a violent shuddering as the train set off, all of them sliding roughly down and hitting their heads on the wood beneath them.

"Fuck," Tessa groaned, pulling herself up and rubbing the back of her head angrily. "Bastards couldn't make us a little more comfortable, huh?"

"We'd have to be Capitol citizens for any kind of consideration," Brett huffed, hauling himself up. He'd managed to catch Bluebell with his own body, so she was relatively unscathed. "Wonder where we're heading next."

"12, I reckon." Derrick said, "3 will follow. Then 6, 9, 1, 7, 4, 5, and finishing with 2."

"Wonder who'll get thrown in today."

Hannah Whitehead and Philip Holloway were the tributes from 12, both 16. They'd been flung into the cart with as much care as the rest of them, their clothes and faces streaked with soot even as defiance set their jaws. Hannah immediately took to Bluebell, a smuggled comb running through dark curly hair as Bluebell sat between the miners legs.

Like Derrick had supposed, 3 did indeed follow. Eunice Howarth, Hanly Marsden, 14 and 17 respectively. Eunice seemed like she was in shock, sitting quietly in the corner or the train cart staring at nothing, while Hanly paced madly, muttering under his breath. What about, Matilda just didn't know. She didn't much care to find out either.

6 too, with little Finn Houghton and Kayla Davison joining their number. Clothes dirty, and both of them weepy and weary, they curled up in a corner, miserable.

9 was their last stop, Tyler Gilbert and Estelle Atkinson joining their ragtag crew of tributes. Estelle was 12, younger than Bluebell, and both latched on to Hannah like a lifeline. To her credit, Hannah was a lot softer than the other tributes, with curly blonde hair and sweet facial features. She didn't look dangerous, not like a fighter at all, but Matilda knew not every rebel was a fighter.

Hannah could have been a doctor, a spy, someone who sold herself to peacekeepers for information. Whatever it was she did, or her family did, she kept quiet about it, putting all her attention on the two young girls in front of her. Her portion of bread was split between the two of them, Hannah claiming that she wasn't hungry.

Matilda knew that had to be a lie. She herself was hungry, even as she slipped the other half of her bread beneath her skirt as well.

The night passed, and indeed they hit 1, 7 and 4 like Derrick had theorised. Kimberley Shepherd and Darcy Howe joined their number in 1, both of them significantly cleaner and better dressed than the other tributes, but equally as bitter. Kimberley's blue eyes were stormy with rage, while Darcy's perfectly proportioned face was set in anger. 7 was equally as enraged, Belle Cooper's nimble fingers trying to open the door or pull up the floorboards while Preston Phillips yelled loudly at the peacekeepers, long after the train set off again. Oliver and Hannah were sat together by the time they reached District 4, little Asherah Doyle joining their group of children while Bryde Higgins gnawed on his bread desperately. That night, Asherah pulled them all to the window, showing them the sunset over the ocean that many of them had never seen before. She seemed wistful, as if hopeful that simply seeing it could sweep them all away from here.

Matilda didn't know when she'd awoken, as it was too dark to know for sure, but the moon was high in the sky, and a dull thumping broke the silence. She blinked blearily, seeing Oliver's muscled silhouette and Hannah's delicate one at the window.

"What's going on?" She muttered, hauling herself up. Hannah turned to her, kneeling next to her.

"The peacekeepers are in a hotel tonight," she whispered, "So we've made a plan to get the little ones out. Or as many of them as we can..."

"Ok," Matilda nodded, "Tell me."

The three of them worked to dismantle the window, which had already been hanging on a thread. Hannah's fingers were bloody from scratching wood and picking out nails, and Matilda joined in, both of their nails reduced to stumps by the time most of the nails were out, and Oliver brute-forced the planks and what nails remained out. He kept the broken panels, and used the open hole to heft himself up and look out.

"It's about big enough," he informed them, "might be a bit of a squeeze, but they'll get out."

"But we stand no chance," Matilda sighed.

"We knew we wouldn't." Hannah crossed her arms, bloody fingers staining her already soot-stained dress. "But we can get them out. As soon as we're out of 4, once we cross the barrier into untamed lands, Oliver will lift them out."

"Won't the train be going too fast?"

"Not if they land right, and we'll tell them what to do. Most of us have experience falling from height, they should know. Besides, it'll be better than whatever we're heading into."

"They'll punish us for it." Matilda said, resigned.

Oliver looked at her grimly. "They already are."

She didn't have an answer for that.

She barely slept that night, the three of them putting the bread they had collectively saved in the part of her dress she'd ripped off and tying it tightly. And then Oliver and Hannah settled down for a nap, and Matilda was so paranoid that when the peacekeepers came back they'd notice the missing window that she barely slept -

- But they didn't notice. And the train set off. Oliver and Hannah stayed by the now removed window, and as soon as they left the fences of 4 behind, they tossed out the wood, nails, everything that showed the evidence of their plan, before turning to the kids.

"Come on," Oliver knelt down, "Estelle first."

And Estelle was out, along with the bread. Then Bluebell. Then Asherah and Finn. And the little ones, the ones under 14, who managed to squeeze through the tiny hole with great difficulty, were free.

"They're going to hurt us for this." Derrick pursed his lips, watching the scenery speed by. They hadn't been able to see if the kids had made it, or if they'd died on impact, but undoubtedly it was better than where they were heading.

"At least they're out," Oliver sighed, "Now for the last leg of the journey."

"One more day." Tessa murmured.

And that day did indeed pass. District 5 and 2 were unceremoniously thrown in, thankfully none of them as young as the escaped ones. Dorothy Rice and Alan Powell were subdued, as if they were struggling to believe what had happened, while Hillary Stephens and Gaius Armstrong were struggling against the peacekeepers who threw them in.

And then they reached the Capitol.

There was no place for them to stay, so they were ditched into an old jail, run down and waterlogged. They were each tossed into an individual cell, which was small and cramped. The 'beds' were concrete slabs, without even a blanket to lay upon, and the windows were high up and barred to prevent escape.

Then came the interrogations.

4 tributes missing. Where are they. Don't know, don't know, don't know, was all Matilda said. Even when they beat her, even when they threatened her, even when they beat other tributes in front of her. Don't know. Don't know. Don't know.

Don't know. Don't know. Don't know.

Windows missing, did you do it?

Don't know. Don't know. Don't know.

They gave in after a couple of days, and the tributes that remained were tossed into one cramped cell. Apparently, none of them had given them the information they wanted, which made Matilda relieved.

At least they wouldn't know where they escaped - hopefully the kids had gotten out, far from Panem.

Both Hannah and Brett had died during the interrogation, and Tessa was so badly injured that she passed away due to her wounds. Alan Powell, only 14, also passed because of an infection, as they'd whipped his feet and then forced him to walk on them. Those were a miserable few days, listening to him sobbing and begging for his mother, his father, anyone to relieve him of this misery.

And then those who'd survived - only 16 of the original 24 - were corralled into an arena. They were followed by individual peacekeepers, with crowds in the surrounding stands. They were forced to stand on pre marked circles, a vibrant red against the pale stone backdrop, and a pile of weapons sat in the middle.

Matilda didn't know what was going on.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" A voice rung out, and Matilda couldn't tell where from, "WELCOME TO THE FIRST ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES!"

The crowd went wild, screaming and hollering and stamping their feet. She could see Eunice drop to her knees, hands curling around her ears as if it could stop the noise, even as the peacekeeper behind her tried to pull her back up. She wanted to help Eunice, but her own peacekeeper had that gun right to her neck.

"Now, our tributes here are unaware of what the Hunger Games are, so let us go over the rules." And the crowd quietened, as the voice continued.

"Once the countdown is over, the tributes will use the weapons provided to kill each other. Only one person will get out of the arena alive. Now, if our crowd will do the honours..."

And the crowd chanted excitedly - 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!!

A horn went off.

Matilda sat down. So did Oliver. The rest quickly followed.

They wouldn't fight. They refused.

A peacekeeper shot rang out. Eunice collapsed, dead. Preston followed shortly after, and then Hillary. Oliver's peacekeeper pushed him forward, to the weapon pile.

He picked up a knife and slit his own throat.

The crowd was silent, and Matilda could see a peacekeeper murmuring something rather aggressively to Tyler, whose face contorted in pain. He picked up a sword and walked up to Derrick, eyes watering.

"I'm sorry," Matilda heard him say, voice trembling, "They have my sister."

"It's not your fault." Derrick stood, hugging Tyler tightly. And Tyler raised the sword, sticking it through both of their abdomens as they dropped to the floor.

Gaius then took precedence, picking up a knife and walking over to Belle. She took a step back, breathing picking up as she started to cry.

"Please," she begged, and Gaius shook his head.

"I'm sorry," his voice broke, "it's better this way."

And she tried to run, but Gaius was faster, and he slammed the knife through her neck. Kayla was next, followed by Darcy and Phillip, and Matilda took the moment to run to the pile, grabbing her own knife. She killed Bryde and Dorothy quickly, aiming for arteries and letting them go as painlessly as possible, while Gaius clumsily butchered Kimberley and Hanly, before he ran at her.

She neatly dodged, using her superior size and strength to pin him.

"Kill me," he begged, "they wanted to shoot me. I don't want to go out by their hands. Kill me. I'm sorry for killing them, but please kill me." He was sobbing by this point, and Matilda herself had tears in her eyes. She had seen the cameras, mercilessly filming the children who didn't want to fight each other being forced to do so, and knew what she had to do.

"I'm sorry too," She whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead before slitting his throat. The crowd went wild, but she wasn't done.

She took Gaius's sword, turning to face the crowd with knife in one hand and sword in the other.

And she charged.

She sliced, hacked, violently cutting a bloody path through the crowd as she tried to make her way to the camera. The peacekeepers seemed caught off guard, the crowd no longer screaming out of excitement but out of fear, and as they chased after her, she got there.

"Look at me," she hissed at the cameraman, "look at what you made me! YOU DID THIS!" She was enraged, furious, bloody fingers grasping at the camera and leaving smudged all over the lens. She grinned, raising the knife to her throat even as the peacekeepers charged her.

"May whatever God you believe in have mercy on your souls."

And the knife hit home, and the very first Victor, Matilda Yates, dropped dead.

[maytheoddshq]

Hazel Till (she/her). District Seven Mentor. 96 Victor. 31. Tracy Spiridakos.

Luck in district seven was a length of rope and no one could ever guess the length. Hazel was lucky once. She lived on it for ten years. It tasted like freshly bled maple syrup and smelled like shaved cedar. Her mother was a cook for the district's mayor and her father a carpenter. And, always, there was her older brother Jack. He was five years the senior. At once both annoyingly present and sorely missed. Those days remain to her only in sensory details, the colors bleached. She remembers afternoons in the workshop and mornings by the stove. For childhoods in Panem it was both indulgently long and viciously short.

The end came while she was sleeping and it didn't wake her. She'd have slept on till morning, unaware of the gunshot or the tears if not for Jack. He pulled her from the sheets and under the bed. He pressed a hand against her mouth to force the fear back in. Five hours later, when the sun rose like a red blister above the trees Hazel's father was dead. She never got the full story from Jack and it didn't matter. Stories have a way of outlasting people. In short, her mother had an admirer in peacekeeper attire. Liquor and opportunity did the rest. Her father stepping between them was good for nothing but target practice. That was autumn and by spring grief and guilt took their mother. One bullet. Two lives. Hazel thinks now that they were her first witness marks.

At fifteen, her brother inherited a business and a home. The latter was lost within the year and the former in two. Jack didn't have the hands of a builder or the patience. The hope for that legacy had rested with Hazel, but there were no more hopes to apprentice. There was hardly a hope for survival. They moved into abandoned housing without running water or electricity and made due with what they could. Hazel learned the taste of tree bark and how it might soothe an empty stomach for an hour or two. She learned the smell of rot. While Jack worked as a lumberjack, she bargained away her father's pieces. In this, grief became just another price tag. It was survival made bearable only by each other's companionship. They were bound tighter with every tesserae Jack took out; by every tesserae he refused her.

The caution was all for nothing. At thirteen, with a grand total of two entries in the reaping bowl, her name was plucked. At that age, she was skinny. She's seen the footage of herself, winced at the sharp jut of collarbones below her yellow collar. There's a distinct look all prey animals wear, it's a skin that human's can slip into. It's a skin that the children of Panem wear twice a year. The abstract fear of the games became a reality in an instant.

Jack could have volunteered for her, but he didn't. He waited for that second name before stepping forward. On the footage, he doesn't look like prey. He's tall and eighteen with sunken cheekbones and anger in the set of his lips. She hadn't known him, she never got the chance to fully understand. Jack Till, a brother who'd rather weigh his sister's odds in the games then the districts. It was his gamble and, as it turned out, his luck had always been better than hers.

They arrived at the capitol with a story. It was all a tribute needed in the end. The narrative set forth by the team was executed beautifully. Hazel dressed down to look more childish and Jack dressed in strong lines like a sentinel. A guard. He pushed her toward survival skills during training and told her to play the sweetheart for the interview. The capitol ate it up, and the sympathetic sponsors poured their wallets into seven's account. For Hazel, it was a like taking one breath at the reaping and then being swept down the river. She didn't take another for quite some time.

The games that year were held in an abandoned amusement park. The rides were faulty and temperamental. A roller coaster would run without warning, the teacups would start and stop like a scratched record, cotton candy spun endlessly at the food court caused hallucinations, and the hall of mirrors would reflect you as a rotten corpse. They launched on an enormous merry-go-round with all the goods and weapons at the center. The bloodbath was a mess of confusion with a sliding floor and plastic horses dropping in and out of your path. Hazel remembers bumping into a small boy from eleven and then watching him get killed moments later by a career. She remembers running and running and sticking to the plan. Get to high ground.

That meant the carousel. The climb was the most harrowing of Hazel life, but she squirreled away in a carriage and spent that first night alone scanning the sky. The next morning, Jack found her. Their roost high above the arena was ideal even if the ride clicked on at random times. Jack scouted for food in the blue hours of the morning and for a few days things worked like clockwork. That was until a tribute from twelve got the idea to hide in the carousel as well. When he locked in on them, a fight broke out a hundred feet above the ground. It was a fight Jack might have lost had Hazel not gotten the nerve to give the boy a solid kick to the shin. The pain and shock, along with Jack sent the boy down to a hard and quick death. The hovercraft that came to collect the boy alerted the career pack to search their area and they were forced to abandon the shelter.

They survived, as they had in seven, together. One shelter given up for the next and rest snatched where it could. Sponsors sent them food and one, iconically sent Hazel a child sized mallet with a blue and pink checkerboard pattern. Mutts released on the fifth day in the shape of demented carnival animals left Hazel with nasty scratches and Jack with a festering bite wound. The career pack ran into trouble with the raw combination of cotton candy and mutts. As others died, Hazel didn't feel hope only mounting dread. She knew the plan brewed up in Jack's mind. When there were only five, including them, left Jack went on the offensive. She's seen his attacks in the highlights. He was brutal. There was a satisfaction in those final hours, a sense of pride that turns her stomach even today. In real time, he stashed her away before each kill and set her out of eyesight. The last death took the better part of a day. It was a hunt for a boy only fifteen years old and injured. She thinks about him too often.

And then there were two. It was an ideal storyline for the games, and one the gamemakers were salivating to twist. They'd seen the writing on the wall and prepared for the possibility of a sibling finale. Jack's mutt bite had left him with a ticking timebomb and with a few lines of code and a marvel of bioscience he was feral. He turned on Hazel and what commenced was a six hour fox and hound chase. Real terror, Hazel learned that day, tastes like metal in the mouth. By all rights she should have died, but the hall of mirrors provided just enough confusion. She was exhausted and terrified and starving and when he came near she didn't think, she just gripped her mallet and swung. One hit didn't do the job. Ten did.

No glorious hovercraft raised her from the hall of mirrors. Peacekeepers came to remove her when she refused to leave Jack's body. When she swung at them they sedated her like a wild animal.

She was crowned, paraded, and celebrated.

She came out of the games as Panem's favored orphan. Before victory, not a peacekeeper in seven could be bothered to give a starving child the time of day. Now her guardianship was handed over to a big name sponsor. For Calanthe Price, she was a favored trinket to be passed around parties. She kept a smile on her face and clenched fist in her pocket. Those she let close, were inevitably other victors and kind stylists or escorts. Well-behaved wasn't the right word for her though. Birthday bashes held at Calanthe's expense often ended in mysterious and costly mishaps. A fire, or flooding, and one eventual sixteenth a small explosion. (District three victors and fireworks mixed well.) Her favor with her guardians waned quickly when she was no longer a sweet, young thing. Well-fed finally, she matured quickly and set her mind toward independence. And, at eighteen, she graduated into what some might call freedom. To her, it was a home in seven and a decreasing popularity.

Eventually, at twenty-five, she was able to retire from mentoring. She went home and built herself a workshop. In time, she taught herself her father's craft. It turned out that legacy, that story, did have more chapters. She was a bit of a recluse with no one to share her big victor's home with, but she was far from idle. Her handcrafted, signature furniture became a statement in Panem. To the capitol, she sold pieces at exorbitant prices. To friends in the districts they were gifts. Time away from the noise of the capitol, opened her to the whispers of rebellion in the districts. Her contribution to the cause came with her carvings and furniture. Each slab of wood she transformed into a sculpture or a bit of furniture came with a secret compartment. Perfect for hiding weapons or correspondence, perfect for smuggling things between district lines.

It was a tricky bit of business for one so unlucky. When Hazel came home to her workshop on fire and a bouquet of roses she was hardly surprised. Her orders were clear. Cameras in her home, a new (heavily overseen) workspace in the capitol, and a return to mentorship. Two decades later she wasn't afraid. She wasn't prey. She knew her story would outlive her. She knew to make it a good one.

Personality:

There are two sides to Hazel. The business side that knows how to chat with a sponsor and can choke down the taste of bile. The side, that learned the Price family the value of a smile and the words 'tell me more'. The second, more sincere part of herself is naturally quieter and more guarded. She's got a sharp bit of snark and a strong sense of herself. To those who know her well, she goes by Haz. If pressed, they'd call her loyal to a fault and laser focused.

Positive: Persistent, adaptable, loyal

Negative: fatalistic, reclusive, blunt

Penned by: Rachel

[madame-mongoose]

Shows y'all my spyro oc and disappears again

[breabraddock]

aishwarya rai . cis woman . she/her ➶ did you see them ?! they’re finally back as a mentor , and you know they’re one of my favourites ! it’s brea braddock , the forty-eight year old winner of the fifty-ninth hunger games! i’m just so excited to see them returning to the capitol all the way from district ten! they won their games using a cleaver so their tributes will no doubt be desperate for their wisdom. the capitol just loved them for being so kind, even if they have been known to be volatile at times. they do have a tribute in this years games ( son ) . ( character is part of the uprising ) ~~ penned by rach. 22. she/her.

BASICS

full name: brea braddock

age: forty-eight

gender / pronouns: cis woman , she / her

sexual orientation: heterosexual 

occupation: mentor

district: ten

victory: 59th hunger games (won at age 15)

BACKGROUND (cw: violence, beatings, death, guns, blood, suicide)

Brea was born to a middle class family in district ten. Her mother was a schoolteacher while her father was a butcher and beloved figure of the community. As the family’s only child, Brea was taught her father’s trade from a very young age, as she was poised to one day take over her father’s shop. 

As a young child, Brea’s father taught her the importance kindness, as they would spend the end of each day bringing extra meat scraps to the district’s orphanages and homeless population. While Brea adored and admired her father to no end, she would always be the spitting image of her lion-hearted mother in both image and soul. Against her father’s more pacifist ways, with her fiery heart and quick tongue Brea was never one to back down from (or really, start) a fight. 

With age, however, came maturity and as a young teenager Brea had successfully perfected the art of swallowing her fire, taking on the guise of a well-cultivated businesswoman. Perfectly pleasant, Brea learned to bat her lashes and greet customers with a smile as a sharp as her knives.

THE GAMES

At 15, Brea is reaped much to the shock of her parents who ensured she never had to take out tessare. Her parents had always expressed silent displeasure for the games but her reaping set off a ferocity in mother that she had never seen before. In the goodbye room, her mother refuses to leave her side, clinging on to her with a grasp so tight that the peacekeepers are forced to intervene. Her mother fights back and in the midst of a messy struggle, one peacekeeper’s gun goes off, with a bullet lodging itself into her mother’s chest.

Shocked and frightened, Brea is rushed on the train screaming and crying until her district partner successfully manages to calms her down. Brea hugs him tightly unable to let him go until her escort gently guides her away and washes away her tears before returning her to the rest of her team. At 17 years old, Buck is tall, strong, and clever-- everything a victor should be-- but he’s also naïve. Against the advice of their shared mentor, he partners with the boy from four and girl from seven, leaving Brea to face the arena alone. 

Anger blurs most of Brea’s time in Capitol as she rails against just about every rule and regulation the Capitol puts in place. It’s only when they threaten the life of her father does she finally begin to play nice. She forces herself to close her eyes and swallow her fire, pretending she’s in her father’s shop trying her best to make a sale-- only this time she’s selling herself. Against all odds, Brea enters the arena as mild favorite of the capitol, as the gambling folk see her as a risky but exciting investment. 

Brea’s games last a short but brutal 3 days. Trapped on a single large boat with only weapons and water, the proximity of the tributes ensure the 59th games are a bloody bash to be remembered. After narrowly escaping the bloodbath which ended with her first kill (the twelve year old girl from three), Brea manages to hide out the next day with Forrester,  the boy from seven, avoiding the massive career showdown that resulted in the death of all the careers including Buck and his allies. The finale sees Brea against Forrester and girls from six and four.

While Forrester takes down the girl from four and Brea manages to take down the girl from six with a perfectly angled knife slice, they are ultimately left them to face each other. At first neither are willing to make the first move, hesitant to break their tentative allyship. But when Forrester finally lunges for her, something in Brea breaks and she lets her rage explode as she brutalizes his body with her knife. With blood splattered across her face, Brea is crowned the victor of the 59th Hunger games. 

THE AFTERMATH

Brea returns home to impressive fanfare. The first victor in countless years, Brea is celebrated and adored by her district. Her father, however, is unable to look at her. All he can see is his deceased wife and brutal killer. Twelve days after her return, there’s an accident at the butcher’s shop the results in her father’s death. They say he bled out after a knife slice gone horribly wrong, but Brea knows in her heart that father was far too skilled a craftsman to allow such a thing to happen.

After so much pain and grief within such an unbearably short period of time, Brea becomes a recluse. She keeps quiet and to herself, rarely leaving her home in Victor’s Village. She spends years doing nothing more than holing up in her home during the year and doing her best to mentor tributes during the games. 

She makes peace with withering away, until one day, while picking up some food in the market, is she approached by a young boy, desperate for her cut of meat. She eventually learns that the boy has lost both his parents and instead of merely giving away him her food, she takes him home with her, in addition to his younger brother. Two years later, Brea’s house is home to a total of four adoptive children-- Landon (16), Hyde (13), Lennox (9), and Frida (8). 

The Braddock household is loud, chaotic, as Brea's home becomes something of a foster home for children in need, clothing and feeding whomever she can until they find a more permanent place to stay. She even erects a schoolhouse in honor of her parents, located in the poorer part of the district, where she among other kind members of the community teach trades to the children of the district. Her school and home serve as good covers for discussion of possible rebellion activity. 

All finally seems to be well until the 94th games roll around and Landon is reaped, much to Brea’s horror. Despite being given the opportunity to volunteer, Brea knows she can’t because she needs to make sure she can take care of her other children. 

[witchesoz]

Oz Lore: The Wicked West (2)

After its first publication in 2012, the first volume of the Wicked West comic was re-released in 2015, with an additional story depicting the four witches of Oz as they were in the past (the exact date is unclear but it might have been two thousand years ago, as it is implied in the first volume).

The story tells of a meeting between the four witches of Oz - whose official title is not "witches" but actually "Peacekeepers of Oz". These four women were "named" and "selected" (by who? It is unknown) to protect Oz and maintains peace in it - and each one was given a "jurisdiction" over one of the four countries of Oz. The land of the Munchkies in the East, of the Winkies in the West, of the Quadlings in the South and the Gillikans in the North (not Gillikins like in the books but Gillikans). They were appointed and each was given a weapon - a specific weapon crafted by the Nomes (yep, from the books) with a specific ability.

Their task needs them to stay in their own countries, and to meet each other once every ten years, outside of their respective jurisdictions.

Except that this meeting (which seems to be the first after the witches were appointed) doesn't go as planned.

The Peacekeeper of the North is here, a purple-haired and purple-eyed woman with Japanese style (in fact her hair is dark purple, so you can mistake it for black), but only referred to as "The Woman with no name". The Peacekeeper of the South is Glinda, blond and blue-eyed, still dressed in a vaguely southern girl style but much more adventurous and colorful than the outfit seen in the main story. The Peacekeeper of the West is given a name, Winnow, and appears here as a regular human being, not the green hag seen in the main story. Red-haired with green eyes and wearing a brown cowboy outfit. As for the Peacekeeper of the East, here is where things go wrong.

The one that shows up at the meeting was not the one appointed, but a new girl. A young woman named Cardinaal, dark-haired and blue-eyed, dressed in blue but bearing the ruby pistols and ruby spurs. She explains to the other witches that she is not from Oz. You see, Cardinaal is actually from our world. She lived in Kentucky, but one day a huge storm happened and carried her house away in the sky... before making it fall over the Witch of the East, crushing her (sounds familiar?). The Munchkins who were present at the scene welcomed her and gave her the Ruby Trappings, making her become the new Peacekeeper of the East - and she was also told that apparently this death was an accident. The Witch of the East was "practicing her aim" and unknown to her, her bullets opened up a portal to our world, to Kentucky, which caused the magical storm and teleported the house right above her head.

Now a new Witch, Cardinaal asks advice and help from the other Witches. She quickly gets caught up in the conflict between the two most bossy witches.

Winnow, helpful and friendly, and deeply surprised by this turn of events, proposes Cardinaal to teach her and help her - she also proposes that the four witches learn more about each other and form a group. She presents her project - the four peacekeepers should unite and act as one group to help defend Oz from both outside and inside threats. She wants the four witches to undergo a "tour" of Oz which will show Cardinaal what Oz is and what each witch has been up in her own jurisdiction during their ten years of service. But to this, Glinda refuses.

Glinda is a woman of traditions and customs. And it is traditionary for the four parts of Oz to not mingle. Each population of Oz dislikes travelling or going to the other lands of the country, staying in their own territories, their only interactions being the "general commerce" at the Emerald City, which is the linking point between the four lands. Cardinaal points out that it looks like segregation, to which Glinda objects that is no law enforcing it and it is just the way of the people. And she goes on explaining that each Peacekeeper was given her own jurisdiction and duties, and thus they should not cross or let their magical weapons cross the borders.

She stands against this "tour" project, but being accused of trying to hide something in the land of the Quadlings, she reluctantly admits to let the tour happen - but at the condition that in the end, they will choose if they should unite as a team or each stay in their own jurisdiction.

The tour of the South seems to go really great. The people are happy, and while the town of Nahon they visit seems like a town from the Wild West, the manners of the people are clearly from Antebellum south (they also all dress in purple curiously, despite it being the North's color normally). People seem happy, the South is peaceful, everything seems great. Glinda even shows Cardinaal her own magical gun and its powers - it is blue in color, and its bullets have the ability to heal any kind of wound thanks to blue magic. (Later she implies that the bullets also have a deadlier effect, but it is unkown if she bluffed or not).

There is however one negative point - when they arrive the Peacekeepers notice a castle is being built. Glinda explains the Quadlings were so thankful and kind they wanted to reward her with a castle ; but Winnow implies that Glinda might have guided and manipulated the Quadlings in building her a castle, and might be more tyrannic than she ought to be (the role of a Peacekeeper is to maintain peace in their jurisdiction, not to control or rule it).

Then the tour goes in the West where Winnow shows the other witches the "Stone Spire", a giant spire/tower of white stone standing on an island in a small lake. It has been standing here for centuries, even before the peacekeepers were given their job, and there is only one entrance - but it is a balcony at the top of tower. This is at this point things go a bit sour. Winnow had already been asking and pushing Cardinaal throughout the tour to show her and the other witches the Ruby Bullets abilities. Now, she asks for help to reach the top of the Spire. At first the witch of the North proposes to help, but Winnow insists on Cardinaal using her ruby bullets to get to the top of the tower.

Glinda then gets mad and accuses Winnow of being a bit too ambitious and power-hungry for her own good. Indeed, she is clearly deeply fascinated by the Ruby pistols and keeps wanting to know more about their power - but on top of that, she also wants to know and enter the Spire, a monument that is not for her to obtain or explore? Glinda accuses Winnow of trespassing over things she has no duty or jurisdiction of. She is too fascinated and curious about the powers of other beings and places. For Glinda, witches should stick with maintaining peace in their jursidiction and that's it.

Cardinaal, who had been a bit hostile to Glinda before, this time sides with her. She thinks that they should not try to use the Ruby Pistols powers carelessly, especially since none of them know how to properly use it. This acts of "rebellion" actually reveals Winnow true colors - as she gets mad and punches Cardinaal for being selfish and refusing to "collaborate" in protecting Oz. This also reveals to Cardinaal that, indeed, Winnow was only interested in knowing and seeing the powers of the other Witches - Winnow even turns on her "friend" by claiming she might be a murderer who stole the Ruby Pistols and does not deserve them, insulting her with not being "one of them".

Ultimately this strains the witches relationship but they still depart in peace, deciding that each of them should stick to their own jurisdiction and not team up again.

However, we know that Winnow would not stop there... because the Stone Spire of this flashback? The reader will recognize it. In the future, it will turn black and buildings will be built around it - it is the future castle of the Witch of the West.

Upon departing, Winnow also asks the Witch of the North about the "winged monkeys". Indeed, the North Witch mentionned that among her country there was a queen called Quelala, and jungles where flying monkeys lived. Winnow's interest is clearly not innocent, the same way she began obsessing over the Ruby Pistols. It is implied, given that the Monkeys were enslaved by her centuries later and the North Witch is nowhere to be seen, that she might have done something to the Witch of the North, in order to obtain the Flying Monkeys...

[ilikefandom]

Healing the Stars

An: Hello my lovely readers!!!!!!! I am so sorry for not posting! I have finished my Caesar fic, if you peoples would like a version with a more developed relationship let me know!

Type: Fluff

Pairing: Light Caesar Flickerman x reader

Summery: The Star Squad has to find a safe place to hide, their lucky to find two secret allies on the way.

Warnings: Light description of injuries

When they entered the Capital, they were told to expect the unexpected. Unexpected didn’t cover half of it. With all of the booby traps in the streets and the citizens in their homes, the adrenaline pumping through the Star Squad was what was keeping them alive and alert. One unexpected thing that shook the group deeper than a bullet was the sight of a bald man running around a pool on a running track.

The man was tall and fair, his face masked with youth, even though he seemed to be older than the twenty something he presented to the world. He was dressed in the fancy workout clothes associated with Capital health ads, which were probably manufactured in District 8. He looked down at his watch, tapped it twice, then he sat down on a little bench that sat just beside the track. He picked up a clear flask from the floor and drank from it. Inside was a neon yellow concoction that flowed down his throat  like a river, and as he drank, the wrinkles that were on his face faded away. 

He looked familiar, so familiar, but Katniss couldn’t tell exactly who it was. It was then that it dawned on her, “Is that Caesar Flickerman?” She asked, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

Finnick grimaced as he lifted his gaze to look at the man on the bench, blood dripping from his legs, which were mangled by the mutts. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Peeta, who had suddenly found himself to be eloquent, stepped up to the glass and knocked thrice, hard.

‘Caesar’ jumped and looked at the rebels with shock in his eyes before getting up and disappearing into the depths of the mansion that he must have called his home.

Gale raised his crossbow and prepared to smash the glass, a sensor let out a small beep and the window slid to the side, revealing a hidden door. 

“It feels like a trap,” Gale noted as he loded a bolt in his crossbow. It did indeed feel like a trap, but there was nowhere else they could go and Finnick was in dire need of medical attention. 

Finnick was the first to hobble through the door, he barely made it the ten or so steps to the bench before sinking onto it, letting out a whimper as more blood spilled from the bite wounds. There was a red smear on the floor from where he had stood. 

‘Caesar’ reappeared  as soon as Finnick had found his seat. There was a young woman who came running in after him. She held a large red bag and a smaller bag filled with bandages.

He gestured silently at the rebels’ various injuries and she nodded. She looked unnaturally natural, like the man who had called her in, that was, apart from the tattoos littering her body. She opened her bag and produced a bottle identical to the one that sat next to the bench. She handed it to Finnick with one word, “Drink.”

She began to examine his legs, looking back up at him, “Drink the tonic. It will help to regenerate your cells faster. I should know I invented it.” She pulled another bottle out of her bag and began to dab the bites with the disinfectant in the bottle. 

The woman looked up again at the Star Squad, back to the man, then again at the Star Squad. “Go put on some hair, dear, you’re frightening the children. Finnick O’Hair, you drink up now!”

Finnick looked at the woman, seeming to recognise her, at least vaguely. Then he lifted the drink to his mouth and began to sip at the liquid.

‘Caesar’ left and appeared moments later wearing a very familiar blue wig. The same wig that Caesar had worn for the 74th hunger games.

“You are Caesar Flickerman!” Katniss gasped as the tattooed woman began to bandage Finnick’s now disinfected legs. Caesar nodded and picked up the partially empty bottle of disinfectant and screwed the lid back on then setting it in the bag.

“Then who are you?” Gale asked, directing his gaze at the woman as she pinned the bandages together at the top of Finnick’s legs. 

She stood up, smiled at him and tilted her head to the side, her natural (y/h/c) hair bounced on her head. “How rude of me! I remember most of you, but I forgot how you would never remember me. I’m Dr. (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

Credessa’s eyes widened. “I remember you. Two years ago, you were on the hunger games program. You surgically attached Peeta’s leg and you had an interview about it.”

“You would be correct.” (Y/n) blushed as she played with a chain that hung around her neck. “I’m the official Hunger Games doctor. And, as you can see, I’ve lost a lot of patients.”

It was then that Katniss noticed the tattoo she thought was an interlocking chain of black links was a series of names. Each of the links had twenty three names and only one had more. She spotted Marlee’s name on (Y/n)’s left shoulder, where those who perished in the 50th hunger games sat. She saw the newest link, with Wiress’ name inked into her right wrist. Above the new tattoo was Rue’s name spelled in cursive with a flower background around it. It was the name of every single fallen tribute, every tribute from the 29th games forward. 

“Is that?” Finnick whispered, running his fingers up her arm finding the link that represented his first games. 

“Every tribute,” Dr. (Y/l/n) smiled sadly, “every single one.”

Peeta took a deep breath then entered the house to sit next to Finnick on the bench. He too touched her arm and began to look at the names as well. He looked back over his shoulder, gave a small smile and gestured for the rest of the Squad to enter.

Although hesitant, the whole Star Squad finally crossed the threshold. They let out breaths of relief when alarms didn’t go off and nothing seemed to trigger an alert. However, as soon as they all were gathered around the bench, the door snapped shut and the windows darkened.

“So nobody can see you.” (Y/n) smiled. “And so that you can see us.”

Katniss looked down into the water of the pool. Lights at the bottom were moving together, revealing a mocking jay emblem.

“You’re rebels?” She asked, wonder blooming in her eyes. 

“Why do you think that we both started working for the games? You think that we wanted to?” Caesar asked as he looked at the younger group, as he pulled (Y/n) to his side. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

“During the 27th hunger games Caesar and I threw a party. It was a meeting of young Capital citizens who were going to refuse to watch the games. We were holed up in a basement when the Peacekeepers came.” (Y/n) shuddered and Caesar gave her a squeeze, holding her tight. 

“All of us were sent to prison.” Caesar continued for her. “We spent a year down there, then we were offered a choice, work for the Games or our families would die. We were stuck in these positions because we organized the party. We worked together the year district ten won the games.”

“We weren’t that old.” (Y/n) whispered. “He was only 26, I was 21.”

“I wanted to be like my father who was a talk show host on Capital TV. (Y/n) wanted to be a doctor. In the end I suppose we got our wishes.” Caesar said bitterly.

“When we found out what Pultrich was up to I went to him and asked if we could be in on it. Coin denied up entry on the grounds that we were too close to Snow.” (Y/n) turned to Caesar and smiled. He looked down to her eyes and kissed her forehead.

“Here,” Dr. (Y/l/n) said, handing Katniss a device with blinking lights on a map. “It’s a map of all the pods. The ones marked in red contain bad things. The green ones are for the Capital citizens, they are full of food and weapons. The blue ones are pods that have already been activated.”

Caesar slid an arm under Finnick’s and hoisted him to his feet. “He can’t come with you, he’s too slow and will only weaken your team. My wife will take care of him.”

(Y/n) took Finnick’s other arm across her shoulders and the two began a walk to the other side of the hall, where a door stood. 

Caesar turned to Katniss who was looking at him and Dr. (Y/l/n), no, Dr. Flickerman in shock. He smiled, “You go, girl on fire, burn his rotten regime to ashes.”