#so they train together! they force each other to keep going until Johanna's ptsd from the capitol hits her too hard

[sochilll]

Okaaaay just finished my first re-read of all 3 Hunger Games books since I was 12..... inconsolable frankly

[swiss-mrs]

Let There Be War (1/?)

(Clyde Logan || Hunger Games: Catching Fire AU)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Implications of Death, PTSD, Lil’ Angsty

Your eyes glazed over, your ears deaf to the world around you, you make your way down the hall, vacant in the late hours. Everything around you seemed a blur as you focused on keeping your mind blank, it being the only way you could get yourself through these next handful of hours. These last few hours. These could be your lasts. Your last time walking through the hall you’d hoped to never see again. The last time breathing so freely. The last time-

You furrowed your brows, steps and thoughts coming to a pause. ‘Who the hell is up this late still training?’ You silently ask yourself, though you have no place considering you too were up to, in fact, train. From the sounds of it, it was a man. You clenched your jaw, becoming on guard. ‘12?’ you begin questioning yourself further as you pick your steps back up, ‘2? 1?’ you round the corner to the training room slowly, coming to the conclusion. ‘7.’

Up on the slightly raised platform stood the already towering, 3/4ths armed man. His long,wavy locks messed around his face, falling out of his poorly tied ponytail, strands forced out by the sheer power of his fierce plows. The axe wielder could strike fear into the heart of any man just by standing a fair distance away merely holding the thing, but to see him in action, it made you nearly give up then and there. Each swing masterfully executed, his lack of limb not phasing him in the slightest. Every combination he did was followed by a low grunt; the entire spectacle so fluid and efficient, it could easily pass as a blur. Not too long after you stood in the entryway, he stopped to give his screaming muscles a break, only then noticing your presence. He stood up to his full, intimidating height, greeting you with only a curt nod as the focus on his face never left. He trained his eyes on you as you walked into the room fully now, making your way to the weapons rack. You hadn’t bothered to look back to him, not wanting to make the target on your back even larger. Keeping your head down, you pick the bow staff, each end sharpened to a deadly point, it reminding you of the tridents back home, but this being more efficient and versatile. You pick it up grudgingly, getting a far off look in your eyes, failing in the attempts to void yourself of the flashbacks.

You feel your heart rate quickening at the memories but are quick to squeeze your eyes shut and shake them from the confines of your head. You bite the inside of your bottom lip in frustration at the lack of focus your memories lead you to. Sighing, you lift your head to look over at another matted platform off to the side of the training room with a shaky breath, still feeling the itch of Seven’s stare. You spare a half glance in his direction before treading your way over to the mat. Skipping the single step up to the platform, you raise yourself up with one stride, making your way to the dimly lit, spotlighted center. Coming to a halt, you look at the staff down in your hand, unmoving. You stand there for a few sparing seconds before dropping into stance. You stand with your legs spread just enough for your knees to bend comfortably, feet planted solidly on the ground, your weight distributed to all the right points. Your back now facing the man who’d yet dared to move from his spot, your head remained forward, catching glimpses of the man from the corner of your eye as you stayed trained on the imaginary target on the wall. You tried to keep your breath steady as all the memories you’d once come to terms with started to flood back. ‘Focus.’

Taking a deep breath in from your nostrils, you focus on the feeling of the cold metal of the staff pressed so close to your cheek as you point it at said ‘target’. Mindless. Begin your training. Within the bat of a fly’s wing, your staff left its position from across your cheek at eye level to gliding through the air fast enough to make wind slicing sounds as you tear it through each invisible obstacle your mind conjured up.

Your heart pounded through your ears at a painful, headache inducing rhythm. Your breaths exited your mouth through pursed lips, puffing your cheeks out with each exhale. Your fighting was near silent, stealthy, swift. Each swing held a momentum of a death blow. Every target you landed came in flashes. Faces of those you’d slain in your past game interrupted your vision with each blow. Stopping only once you’d drenched through your training top, you found yourself back in your original position. Back at the start. Your jaw clenched back shut as you forced your pants to filter through your nose. Not being able to bring yourself back into reality, you stayed motionless, your breathing the only thing filling the silence. Feeling a gentle hand graze your shoulder, you are quick to turn your weapon on whom it belonged to. Your vision creeping back to you, you find the large man standing on the business end of your speared staff, arms held halfway up in surrender.

“Easy.” his accented low tone draws out. “It’s alright.” he whispered out calmly. “It’s okay.” The largely built man took slow steps closer to you, lowering his hand to the metal of the staff and running it closer to where yours rested on it. Your grip weakened and you let him disarm you, something that would have been foolish if it was not he who did it. The dark locked man stood in front of you, tossing the staff off to the side of the mat, careful for it not to make a loud noise if it were to land on the concrete floor. You now faced each other, your pupils blown wide and breaths still a bit staggered. Your widened eyes stared off into your own traumatized imagination in the line of his abdomen, barely even registering him cautiously closing in on your distance. It wasn’t until you felt yourself get pulled into his grip did you bring yourself back. Panic settles in a bit but just prior to realizing that this hold wasn’t hostile at all but an embrace. You tensed up, turning your head to not get suffocated by his tightly clad chest. You felt his chin rest on the crown of your head, causing your lids to falter.

Committing to a blink, you notice the dampness of your lashes caress your cheeks. You look down as if you could see your own tears streak down your face. Taking in a gasp through your nostrils, you are taken aback to find yourself crying. How had you not noticed? You felt Seven pull you a little closer, tightening his hold on you in the slightest, as not to scare you but also wanting you to find comfort and safety in the arms around you. Your lips turn downward as the bottom begins to quiver along with your chin. The feeling of more tears and the overwhelming pounding in your head start to get the better of you. To keep yourself from breaking into sobs, you bury your face into his warm chest and wrap your arms around his middle loosely, still not finding the strength to fully submit to the man whose name escapes your mind.

You two stood there for an undetermined amount of time, he rocking you side to side and rubbing your back while shushing your silent cries. You decide against your overbearing desire to stay in his comfort and pull back slightly, his que to let you go. You both pull away from each other, you still shying from making eye-contact. The seemingly simple gesture weighing so heavy on your shoulders. Looking at him, really seeing him, would only mean more pain when it came time to part from his lively eyes. “Can I tell you my name?” He asks, taking you off guard causing you to stiffen back up and raise your eyes from his shoes to his torso straight ahead of you. You furrow your brows, questioning. “I’m assumin’ you’re choosin’ to find as many ways to remain detached from everyone here...” He trails off. Your silence solidifies his assumption but after standing and staring thoughtfully into his rib cage, your nod answers his question. “Clyde.” He rumbles out, “It’s Clyde.” Still focusing your gaze below his shoulders, he sighs, taking his eyes from searching your face to retreating to your shoes. His head dropped low, causing a few miscellaneous strands to fall and frame his face. “I-” he struggles to get out, “I don’t really do this, probably out a’ the same fear you hold, but-” he cuts himself off with a huff of air through his nostrils, pouting as he looks as if he’s racking his brain, going through his options, before his speech picks up again, “in this game- these games… allies seem to be what gets folks the furthest.” He infers his proposition. You begin to shake your head furiously, a frightened expression making its way to your features. “The team from Twelve and Three have already got Six in and Johanna ‘n’ me are joinin’ ‘em” He continues in spite of your disagreements, keeping his eyes on your shoes. You slowly start to create some distance between you two, still shaking your head. “‘N’ seein’ that you're by yerself… I jus’ thought.” You find yourself on the other end of the mat now, staring frightfully at his shoes as he continues to mumble reasonings on.

“I-” your rasped voice stutters out, “I can’t.” Clyde stops his mumbling his look back to your face.

“I know. I know you think you’re protectin’ yourself, your mind by not comin’ together with anyone, but…” he pleads, making an attempt to close the gap a little more, “please. Please, I don’t want you to force yourself to go through this again… alone.” He says, your eyes shooting to his finally at the final word. Your heart catches in your throat at the sight of his warm toned eyes. “Make this time different.” He says softly, reaching an open, upward facing palm out to you. “It’ll be okay.” He pleads. “I promise.” Swearing to you so intently through his eyes, you find the strength to tear yours away, dropping the gaze down to his hand. You stare at it almost longingly before you shut your eyes tight, shaking your head ever so slightly. Opening them back up, you meet Clyde’s eyes again, your lids fluttering before going back to his unwavering hand. You take those few steps back to him halfheartedly, slowly lifting your left hand to hover over his right. He waits until you lower it on your own before engulfing your hand in his calloused one securely, stating with the small gesture that he was serious, that he wanted to earn your trust, keep you safe. And that maybe, maybe this time would be different.

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Hello there! This was just a short little water tester I typed up last night or this morning rather and I’m curious about some feedback.

I may or may not be really excited about this concept

I plan on making a little series out of this as there is so much I want to unpack and build upon. I’m writing this as I go (which I don’t usually do due to my incredible procrastination skills) so please bare with me.

I’m just so gosh darn exCITED

I’m gonna try and get up another part up today so stay tuned if you’re interested in my far fetched shenanigans.

@douglasdriver​