#thg fanfic

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // signifying nothing (prequel)

summary: before everything, there came the reaping.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

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, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

close enough WELCOME BACK COLD NIGHTS I MISSED YOU!! :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

"Don't worry, bug. Your year won't ever come."

In the peaceful quiet of your bedroom, cicadas buzzing outside your window, you lay curled up under the quilts with your brother hoping they can coat him like a shield of armour. Impenetrable. Warm. Safe.

You only had two years left, this and the next, before you would be safe from the reaping. Lennox had four.

He wouldn't ever dare to show it outside of the safety of this room under the cloak of night, but he was terrified. And you were as well, knowing you couldn't save him if it was his year.

"I feel it. I feel it, something bad is going to happen. I'm going to- they're going to call me." He was crying as he spoke, his voice, only recently broken, shaking you down to your core.

You offer him a sympathetic smile in the dim light, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. "Remember last year? We had this exact same conversation. And the year before that, and the year before that, too. They're yet to call your name, and they won't. Not ever, bug."

You knew it had the potential to be an empty promise. That you very well could find yourself in the crowd of other kids tomorrow morning and hear your little brother's name echoed over the speakers- a summoning to death, but the odds of that actually happening were slim. One in close to three hundred other boys in the District aged between 12 and 18. He would be okay, you were certain.

When you're only met with sniffles in response, you pull the quilt up over your heads, pressing your forehead against his. "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," You whisper, and Lennox stops his sniffling.

"Don't give me a monologue right now." He grumbles, and it pulls a slight smile to your lips. You continue anyway.

"Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!"

You can see he's smiling too, even just a little bit as your eyes adjust to the dark.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale..." You pause, and he sighs.

"Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." He whispers along with you.

You let the silence swallow you both for a moment, looking at the redness in his cheeks and eyes from tears of fear. "It's signifying nothing, Lennox." You whisper again. "You will be okay."

Come the morning, his tears have dried and he puts a brave face on for your parents. You eat breakfast before the sun rises, before your father has to leave for work in the mines, and Lennox laughs and jokes with them as if he's never been less afraid in his life.

Your mother always has this look in her eye on reaping day. Her eyes are red-rimmed, puffy around the edges much like your brothers. You think that on this morning every year, they never look more alike. She's quieter as she makes something special, wheat toast with crushed berries and boiled sugar on top. Even a few chocolate shavings, if the year can spare it. This year, you can.

But then your father has to go, and you can see the hesitation in his look before he even moves to get up from the table dimly lit by a few lanterns so early in the morning. He chews on the inside of his cheek, looking down at his empty plate. He doesn't want to look at you. You know that, but you sit next to him at his spot at the head of the table, wishing he would.

"I should probably get-to-steppin'." He says, just like every normal morning when one of you happens to be up early enough to hear it. It's missing the cheerful note it usually carries, though.

Your mother nods, and both you and Lennox stand as your chairs push back simultaneously.

Your brother goes first, stepping around the edge of the dining table and shoving himself into your father's arms without a word. The air in your house feels multitudes thicker as you watch them.

"Be good for your mother," Your dad whispers, unable to help getting choked up already. He's holding the back of Lennox's sleep shirt so tight you know he's truly afraid he'll be ripped from his arms at any moment. "I love you so much. I love you more than anything. My baby boy..."

The nickname is reserved for days like today, of which there are very few. Your brother is fifteen now, and should be turning sixteen in just over a month. But on days like today, he's still just a baby.

Eventually, with a pat on his back, your father lets him go and Lennox knows he has to do the same even if neither of them want to.

His spot in your father's arms expands and shifts into your own, and before you're even aware of your feet carrying you those short three steps, your face is buried in his shoulder and his calloused hands are in your hair and on your back.

"Be good for your mother," He echoes the same sentiment to you, but his voice cracks. "My beautiful girl, I love you. I love you so much."

And into your hair, he whispers: "Be great in act, as you have been in thought."

You got your penchant for reading from your father. Most of your books, as well. You don't know where his family had acquired such a collection of by now ancient texts, but you were endlessly grateful. And together, he was determined that you both would read every last one. With the loss of a more than a few nights of sleep, that is.

"I'll see you tonight." You whisper back, a quiet reassurance that neither of you can fully, wholeheartedly accept. He nods anyway. "I love you, pa."

"I love you too," He replies, because saying it only twice wasn't enough. "Think about what you want to read tonight, and we'll all head out to the meadow, yeah? You and ma make some of those cookies I love, I'll be expecting them when I get home tonight."

"They'll be ready." You promise him, trying not to let the possibility that this is your last ever conversation choke you. Like last year and the year before, you were confident you would see him tonight. Both of you would, and to act as if you wouldn't, to say any kind of real goodbye would only result in the worst. But still, you couldn't take it. Maybe Lennox had gotten in your head last night, saying he felt like something would happen.

As your father pats your back in signal that he's going to let you go, you only hug him tighter. "I love you." You say again, but you both know it means something else this time.

The narrow, unpaved road and outskirts of the town are deathly quiet when the sun rose, and remained that way even close to noon as you held your mother's hand and walked down to the city centre. Lennox drags his feet a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks along the same rock he had been since you left the house.

Tybalt, bless his little heart, has decided to join you as well. You'd made it out the door, sans saying goodbye to him in manifestation that you would be back in the afternoon, before he jumped out the window of your bedroom and followed you out to the street. With a huff, your mother returned inside to grab his makeshift leash to be able to at least keep him close during the reaping if he wouldn't allow her to hold him.

You wanted to hold him, of course, but God forbid your name is pulled and then you would just have to hand him to Lucy Gray and say goodbye. You knew he would be fine if that was the case, but the odds of you being strong enough to let him go in a moment like that were slim to none.

Walking into the square and up at the stage ahead, grey and brown and dreary, you linger by the surrounding buildings for a moment.

"We should wait for the Covey." You suggest quietly, wrapping your arm around your mother's.

"Good idea, sweetheart." She agrees, entirely unwilling to let either of you go yet either.

But that excuse didn't last forever, and they came running into the square just as peacekeepers came rounding up the stragglers, forcing kids out of the arms of their parents and into mildly organized rows. Girls on one side, boys on the other.

Starting with the little ones, your mother hugs each of them and whispers something to them. A brief "I love you", if you had to guess, or some assurance that they would be okay. That it wouldn't be their year. When she gets to Lucy Gray, your friend grabs you by your hand and pulls you in to share in it.

"Oh, I love you, my girls... We'll see you both after. Dinner at ours tonight, Lucy Gray, we wanna hear that new song you've been-"

Her attempts to calm you both with normalcy is cut short by a peacekeeper grabbing the back of your dress and yanking you off them, nudging a gun into your shoulder. "Line up."

Lucy Gray was getting much of the same treatment, but she was able to grab your hand once they released the back of her corset. It was a beautiful dress, her mother's that she wore every year just like you wore yours every year. Hers was much nicer, that if she were to get picked it would scream to the world that she is not erasable. You'd commented on it years ago, the first time she'd been eligible and had to join you in the lineup, with the rainbow ruffles getting caught under her boots from it being too big for her. She'd offered to share it with you, to trim the bottom and make that into a shawl or a skirt or a scarf for you to wear so you could match and so she wouldn't step on it anymore. You said no, though. You knew she'd grow into it, and you liked the one your mother had stitched for you anyway.

You look for your brother in the crowd as you make your way with the Covey girls over to the rows and rows of other young kids.

Somewhere in the middle, you end up in the row behind Lennox, though he's obviously on the other side. You can see him, which comes as a comfort. He can't see you, though, unless he turns his head. Which he does.

You meet his eyes and give him a small nod, and little CC next to him looks over as well. You give him a subtle wave and what you hope is a reassuring smile, blowing him a kiss which he pretends to catch. You pat your pocket, nodding for him to "save it for later", and he grins. What little you could do to make the little ones feel better was extended eagerly and at every opportunity.

Lucy Gray's hand is shaking in yours, and she leans in closer as the Mayor starts speaking, ignoring him completely. "Billy Taupe is upset with me." She whispers, and you'd welcome the familiarity of her boy troubles happily as a distraction.

"Why?" You ask quietly.

"Jessup Diggs." Apparently they were cutting right to the chase today. You knew him, sort of. You weren't close, but you often helped your ma fix up clothes for his family, or she stopped to chat with them in the market on days where you weren't in a rush. He's a lovely young man. It's heartbreaking.

But it isn't any of your boys. You spare Lennox a weak smile and a nod just after Jessup is escorted down the middle between you.

Lucy Gray continues, though, rushed now to get her words out. "He's cheatin' on me again, with Mayfair." Your eyes widen and your jaw locks as you find the mayors daughter in the crowd. "I gave him hell for it and he said we're done."

"Oh, hon-" You want to try and comfort her, but you don't get the chance.

"I'm scared they're gonna call me. That she told her pa, and-"

She stops dead in her tracks when your your name echoes through the square instead.

Your eyes snap up to the stage again, feeling oddly calm considering you're certain you'd just been handed a death sentence.

Still, you smile, eyes getting watery. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you- not that it was a concern of yours, but the gaze of Maude Ivory and Clerk Carmine and Lennox felt particularly heavy. Lennox's relief had been so short lived.

Lucy Gray whispers your name, sounding horrified. You can't look at her, but you know the expression on her face. Similar to yours, minus the smile. Hurt, angry- you're sure. "Give 'em a show. Don't go down quiet." She whispers, and you can hear the crack in her voice. The last words your best friend would ever share with you.

Heart pounding you nod a little, pushing your shoulders back as you drop her hand and walk down to the middle aisle, cameras tracking your every step. For as long as you've been eligible for the reaping, that had been exactly your plan. To get into the arena and lay down and take whatever would come to be your end. You couldn't fight, you couldn't hurt anyone. It was all wrong, anyway. Even if you could, you didn't stand a chance. She must have known that, though.

You'd always said that when you were younger, since the games were established almost in myth, and every year older kids would disappear to the Capitol and never return. 

"I'd take one of them guns the 'keepers got, and I'd win in a minute!" Lennox said, holding a broken stick to his shoulder like a weapon, squinting as he pretended to look down the sights.

You eyed him with suspicion, remembering what ma always said. "Boys will be boys," But your baby brother always seemed so separate from that when it came to violence.

"No you wouldn't." You giggled, shaking your head as he turned the stick gun on you and little Lucy Gray.

"Yes I would! Bang, bang! The first victor of District Twelve! We'll have a party!"

Your parents, guiding you down the wooded path to the lake with the Covey kids in tow, didn't like this joke. "Len, don't point guns at anyone."

"It's just a stick, pa!" He groaned.

"Never point a weapon of any kind at anyone." Your father stuck to his point, grabbing the stick from your brother's grip. "It's never a joke. You wouldn't be laughing if they called your sisters name in a few years, so don't laugh now."

Your father was right, Lennox most certainly wasn't laughing now. Somewhere you hear a sob, and you know it's your ma. Peacekeepers block either of your sides so you can't run, and the march to the stage feels like it goes on forever. A tear falls down your cheek, but you don't wipe it away.

"Thank you." You nod to the peacekeepers when they come to a stop with you at the bottom of the steps, but you have to continue. You have to.

You never had much experience with crowds, not the way Lucy Gray and the Covey kids did. They could command a space, change the energy in any room at the drop of a dime. Finally you can spare a glance at your mother, who's clutching Tybalt close to her chest and crying into his fur. It's deathly quiet. With a brief scan of the crowd, you can see tears on Lennox's cheeks that match your own, but his face is stone cold. You look at Lucy Gray, Barb Azure, and Maude Ivory. It was a jarring difference, seeing them from on stage. Lucy Gray nods at you, now holding her little cousin close to her side. Lifting one hand she taps the bottom of her chin.

"Head up, shoulders back. It takes confidence to hold a crowd, but even more to get your ass up on stage in the first place!"

Her voice from when you were just kids rings in your ears. The day you'd told her you could never do what they do, and she'd insisted they'd adopt you and you'd learn it like second nature soon enough.

You'd never quite gotten the knack for performing, though.

"May I?"

"Please," as the mayor nods and gestures to the mic, stepping out of the way to give you a minute.

You're not sure how to feel, what to say- but you couldn't disappoint Lucy Gray and the others, you couldn't let your brother go without hearing your voice one more time.

"Hello," You settle on, your voice calmer and smoother than you expected. "Thank you all, for being the village that raised us."

With a glance back at Jessup who just looks shocked, you hope he's okay with you speaking on his behalf.

"There's nowhere in the world with kinder people and kinder souls." You continue, wiping away a tear when it tickles your jaw. "My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile."

"Don't be sad," you want to tell your loved ones, or everyone. This was the only way you knew how to say it, with so many eyes and cameras on you. Frozen were your own words, left to rely on the comfort of your beloved books. You know they understand, anyway.

The clock is ticking, and goodbyes cannot be forever. "I must go in, the fog is rising." You say in finality, and a fresh set of peacekeepers flank you again to guide you and Jessup back away from the stage, away from everything you'd ever known and loved.

This would be the beginning of your final act.

You couldn't bring yourself to look back, and you wished that you had when you're corralled into the dark and cold train car. For a while, you and Jessup travel in silence- the train wheels rattling beneath you as it drew you further and further from your family.

Even still, you sat side by side, shoulders bumping often with the sway of the car.

"I'm sorry." He whispers into the dark after what must have been hours, and the words sound more like a breath than a tangible statement.

Looking over at him in the dark your eyes have adjusted to, you give him a small smile. "Don't be." You whisper back, shaking your head. "The way I see it, I'm lucky today."

Jessup cocks his head to the side slightly. "How do you figure that?"

"It could have been my brother, or any of my sisters." You explain with a slight shrug, and though he knows you aren't related to the Covey, he knows what you meant.

"I guess..." He agrees hesitantly, scrubbing his hand at the back of his neck. "I mean, I wouldn't want it to be my siblings either, but that doesn't mean our cards are fair. It shouldn't have been any of us."

"It shouldn't be anyone." You nod. "But there's some... peace, I suppose, to be found in going off today knowing that all those kids are safe another year, at least. They all get one more birthday, one more Christmas... feels kind of worth it. Like we've done good, by giving ours up."

"Let's just get this over with." He grumbles as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, as gentle in touch as you knew he was in soul. Even yet to meet the other tributes, you hope that Jessup makes it home to his family.

You hear shouting as you blink your eyes open, head resting against Jessup's warm shoulder in the previously droning train car. You must be stopping. Sure enough, the train jerks as it stops and you're rocked onto your side, even sitting down. A rude awakening, to be in the Capitol.

"Everybody out!" A voice bellows, followed by banging on the outside of the doors. You're shivering as you stand, brushing off the back of your dress as Jessup holds your arm to steady you. It had been a long journey, and a while since you'd stood up to stretch your legs. You tried to sleep most of the journey, to eliminate the possibility of overthinking as much as possible. You didn't want to cry anymore- it wouldn't change the past, and you wouldn't want to change it anyway. Bid me farewell, and smile. You think to yourself as the doors slide open, and Jessup hops out first before peacekeepers would get the chance to jump in and drag the two of you out by your collars.

He extends his hands out to you to lift you out, but with that smile you shake your head and sit down on the edge of the train car before making the small jump down to the paved ground of the station. Patting Jessup's shoulder you quietly thank him, looking around and taking in your new surroundings. It didn't look too terribly different from the station at home, which surprised you. The Capitol, in all its superiority, was a myth at best back home. No one knew what to expect, really, no one ever returned to tell the tale. In your own mind, it would have looked more like a Shakespeare play- the opulence and royalty of castle walls, but so far, all you could see is concrete and military uniforms.

Except for the flash of red that appears before you in an instant, attached to the body of a boy. Blonde hair that's curly like Len's when he hasn't cut it, kind blue eyes, a determined step, and a white rose extended in your direction.

"Hello." He says, clearing his throat. You smile wider.

"Hi there."

For the rose, though its petals be torn asunder, still smiles on.

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[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance⁶

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts, war, violence, murder, mind games, religious references, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, and grief Words: 12.8K

Masterlist | Series Soundtrack

a/n: ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for! (greatest showman reference, not excluding my enbys y'all). here it is! this is the end! just for clarity, anything in present tense means r is thinking (as always), and there's an additional a/n at the bottom. love u guys!!

When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller. This wasn't your first time dwelling on that fact, but now you wondered if it'd be the last.

There was a saying your mother used to say, before your father died and she went mad. You reap what you sow. It was ironic how backwards it was in your life. First you were reaped, which then subsequently sowed the domino pieces to your fake life, all falling down to lead up to this moment.

Yes, backwards it was.

You'd barely gotten a wink of sleep before faraway booms were waking you up. You didn't flinch this time; you could tell they weren't close, but Finnick's hand on your shoulder still tightened, like he was reminding you that he was there if you so needed it.

"Mortal shells," Gale informed you, looking up at the basement's ceiling. "It's not ours. Peacekeepers must be shellin' the rebels outside of the city."

It surely didn't sound like it. Cressida must've came to the same conclusion because she soon piped up, "That's not outside the city."

Inside, then. They were inside the city. 

That meant it was show time.

You separated yourself from Finnick without a word, going to prepare. In his mind, you must've just been so focused that you couldn't speak to him. In yours, it was that you were so unfocused that you wouldn't.

For the last eight years of your life, you'd been spinning stories with Finnick like there'd be no tomorrow, and now that was about to become a reality. That's why you couldn't speak to him. This was the last chapter, the last dance before the song came to a stop.

So you got ready, screwing arrowheads onto their shafts and strapping yourself with guns, moving slowly as if you were frozen in time with knowledge no one else had. 

This was the end of your story.

This was the end of the song.

Music beat loudly in your ears, but it was quieted by the sound of beeping. Your eyes were drawn to a black box on the table in the corner, similar to the one you once watched Finnick from, now projecting a mandatory viewing. There was no fanfare this time, as if Snow was now realizing that there was no need to sugarcoat what was happening.

The rebels had already invaded the Capitol. If its citizen's didn't know the severity of the situation before, they sure did now.

Finnick lightly snorted behind you as Snow's face came onscreen, making you resist the urge to swat him and laugh. You wouldn't have been laughing at Snow, though—you were much too angry for that—just at the boy who still found the courage to laugh in such terrible times.

You'd miss that.

Snow began speaking right away. "To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation." Your brows knitted together. What? A quick glance at Katniss told you that she was just as confused. "Come to my home," he beckoned. "I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees... come to my home. There, you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children... and you will have my solemn oath to protect you until my dying breath."

Cressida made a sarcastic quip that you didn't hear, like your head was underwater.

This doesn't feel right.

"Our enemy is not like us," he continued. "They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication."

Somewhere in all the muffledness you heard Finnick mutter, "No shit," but it barely registered. Your eyes were trained on the image as if it'd unravel and reveal something to you. You didn't know what there even was to reveal—everything was laid out in the open now.

So then why do I feel like something's hiding in plain sight?

"And they despise us for it. Make no mistake." Snow's voice was filled with certainty and a spite so sharp it could cut through flesh.  "They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming... to bury us." He put emphasis on his last words before the stream ended, his image cutting out with a flash.

What an interesting choice of words he used. Bury them. The people in 4 had been buried underneath rubble, so much so that you couldn't bury your own mother.

Katniss cut off your thoughts. "Is he still in the mansion?" You turned toward her, seeing her eyes already on you. 

You had to clear your throat before you replied, "Yeah." You'd been in that God-awful room enough times to recognize it, even in your dreams.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Okay, where's that?"

Pointing to a map she pulled out, Cressida answered, "About five blocks away. We're right here, off the avenues." She pointed to another far-off spot. "Mansion's here."

You crossed your arms. That was a long distance. "What about the pods?" you questioned.

Cressida motioned to another part of the map. "Well, they'll probably deactivate the pods around here for the residents' safety." 

"That could work." Katniss looked up at you, that same fire shining in her eyes that reminded you of her nickname. "We could get close enough."

That was the problem. You could get close enough—you could really do it.

But that felt too easy.

You didn't voice your doubts; Gale did. "Every Peacekeeper's gonna be waiting."

"Next to our faces on every billboard," Cressida cut in.

You shrugged. "Well, Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." You could feel everyone's eyes dart to you, but you kept yours on Katniss. She understood your message right away. This was your shot. 

You had to take it.

The two of you were in agreement and that's all that mattered. Nobody was going to stop you.

Katniss got up, and then after grabbing the last of your weapons, you were heading upstairs.

One shot. You had one shot.

The extravagancy of Tigris' shop was lost upon you as you threw on a large coat, listening to Cressida's directions. There would be thousands of refugees; all you had to do was join them and keep your head low.

She wished you good luck, and then you found yourself hugging this girl you'd barely known for more than a few days. But she gave you trust when you needed it, and you wouldn't ever forget it.

You knew you weren't gonna see any of these people ever again, so you might as well say goodbye.

You were halfway through thanking Tigris when Peeta's voice suddenly sounded. "Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" You saw her face fall out of the corner of your eye.

He wasn't asking; he was begging.

"I can be a good distraction. They- they know my face—"

She firmly cut him off. "No, I'm not losing you again."

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?" Gale spoke up. Whether it was out of spite or concern, you couldn't tell. "And if he's captured—"

He barely got to finish his sentence before Peeta was hurriedly interrupting him. "Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

You inhaled a sharp breath. Unconsciously, your hand went to the side pocket you'd tucked your pill in. Peeta's words had reignited a fear in you that you thought you'd expelled, bringing back memories you didn't want to have at that specific moment.

Please- please, I don't want to play anymore.

You didn't know you had closed your eyes until you reopened them to Gale handing Peeta his nightlock pill. Katniss went to unlock his cuffs, and that's when you looked away, getting the feeling you were intruding on something private.

Instead your eyes went to the very person you were avoiding. You met Finnick's blue eyes easily. Pretty blue eyes the colour of the ocean, your favourite colour.

Your favourite person.

A smile crept onto your face without your knowing. This was exactly why you were supposed to be avoiding him, but as you watched your best friend with the boy she loved, disregarding everything just to say goodbye, you couldn't help but want to do the same. You knew you already said goodbye to him, but you were already running out of time; why waste what little of it you had left?

One last time, you told yourself, just one last time to drown in his ocean.

You made your way over to him across the room, and before you could even get a word out, he said, "I want to come with you, too." You opened your mouth to protest— "But I'm not gonna ask you to."

You furrowed your brows. "Wha—"

Finnick lazily draped an arm over your shoulder, yet at the same time there was nothing lazy about the action at all. That, coupled with him brushing strands of hair out of your face, made you go silent. He was quiet, too, just staring at you.

The way he was looking at you reminded you of the way he examined his surroundings in the Quell, trying to remember where everything was.

It was like he was trying to commit your face to memory.

After a moment, he explained, "I know you won't let me." Of course, you wouldn't.

You weren't gonna let him watch you die.

You sighed, "I'm sorry—" 

With his voice as soft as silk, he chided, "Don't be sorry." His lips quirked upward while he caressed your hair. "Just come back to me in one piece so we can have that talk?"

You tried your best to reciprocate his smile. "I will." Liar.

Terrified that he'd see through your façade, you pulled him in, wounding your arms around him tightly. He held you just as tight. Only when your face was no longer in his view did you screw your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

You'd stay like this forever if you could.

But you couldn't.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, which meant your time was up. You had to go now.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Finnick's body, wanting to hold onto him for as long you could. By the time you fully let go, you felt like something was missing. And there was.

Finnick Odair would always hold your heart in his hands.

You flashed him one last smile before you turned around. You wouldn't say you loved him before you left, and perhaps you'd regret that, but if you heard him say it back, you didn't know if you'd have the willpower to leave.

Déjà vu crashed into you like a tidal wave. You lived this moment before, saying goodbye then turning your back and walking away.

I'll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I'll see you at midnight.

You didn't see him at midnight. But you came back. It wasn't the same you that came back, but you did, eventually.

You came back before.

This time, you wouldn't.

You and Katniss set off, finding the crowd immediately. It was a sea of people, impossible to miss. You joined them easily; if you were tentative, you'd get caught, so you had to march with them like you belonged.

There were dozens of Peacekeepers lining the sides of the path. When you glanced up, you found even more on the balconies of buildings, which quickly made you duck your head back down.

If you so much as removed your hood, they could identify you. And you refused to die before Snow did first.

The two of you were silent as you moved forward. There was that feeling in your chest again, the feeling that you were supposed to be saying something, but if anybody recognized your voice, you'd both be as good as dead. Katniss must've felt that pressure, too, but she didn't speak up about it, either.

On a whim, you glanced up ahead of you. You immediately regretted it when a child's eyes locked on yours.

Shit.

She was clutching onto a woman's shoulder—her mother's, you assumed. You prayed that she was too young to recognize you or too tired to make the connection, but then her head lifted up and you knew it didn't matter. 

She recognized you.

You glanced away from the kid before looking back. Her gaze didn't move but neither did her mouth.

She recognized you, but she wasn't going to say anything.

You were about to breathe a sigh of relief before Katniss tapped your arm, motioning ahead. Your eyes travelled to where she was gesturing, and you could've sworn your heart stopped.

Peacekeepers. 

They were checking people. You wouldn't get past them and you both knew it, so you swiftly turned around without another word. Except they were behind you, too, sweeping through the crowd.

Fuck.

You turned forward again, your heart and your mind racing in tandem to find a way out of this. You don't know what you could've possibly come up with.

You don't even think you were breathing.

Your fingers were inching their way to the gun on your hip just as a hand went to your shoulder. But before either of you could do anything, a loud boom sounded, sending you to the ground.

People were shouting everywhere all at once, mixing in with the music so you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears rang but you could still hear someone bellow, "It's the rebels!"

You glanced backward, and their yell was proven correct. A mob of rebels marched forward in a line, shooting at every guard in white they saw.

Another explosion reverberated through the battlefield, making you cup your ears. You couldn't hold back the pained cry that left you.

You looked forward, your eyes finding the same little girl from earlier, her yellow coat now tainted with dirt. She was kneeling above her mother's body, screaming. Tears sparked in your eyes.

That girl's mother was dead.

But you couldn't end up like her.

Quickly, you gathered your bearing, ushering Katniss up. "Come on!" She was stagnant, but as soon as you pulled her up, she was back from wherever she'd gone to. And then the two of you were running.

You jumped behind a barricade, only stopping momentarily. There was a Peacekeeper lying on the ground in front of you. Good, you thought. You could use his gun.

You untangled the rifle from his hands, kicking him down when he started moving. Then you were running forward again.

You ran like never before, stopping only to check that Katniss was still with you. Explosions went off on your way, shaking the ground. Some were too close, but you kept running.

Whether it was your sheer will or the adrenaline pumping through your body, you couldn't stop, not when you were so close. The gate was in your view now. You pushed through the crowd, not caring if your hood fell off in the process. There was too much chaos for anyone to notice.

The people were restless, a robotic voice trying and failing to pacify them. You were so busy climbing up a tank, trying to get a better a look at the palace, that you barely caught it. The gates will open momentarily, it was saying. The children will be received first. Stay calm. Bring your children forward.

That... that didn't sound right.

No, it did. It did sound right. It was right to bring the children forward first.

And that's exactly why it sounded wrong.

President Snow had never cared about children—why would he start now? It was puzzling; it didn't make any sense. But you couldn't make sense of it. You're forgetting why you're here, Y/N.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to your objectives and not watch as the Peacekeepers lifted children from their parents' arms, but then something else caught your attention.

Whirring.

Your eyes shot to the sky where there was a lone hovercraft flying, Panem's emblem painted onto the wings. Not one of yours.

The hovercraft flew by. You don't know what you could've possibly expected, but you certainly didn't expect for it to drop parachutes in its wake.

"Gifts from the Capitol!" someone cheered.

The pit in your stomach returned, no matter how hard you'd just tried to get rid of it. The parachutes fell like they were in slow motion. You couldn't tell if they were truly moving so slowly or if was just you.

The world seemed to stop. The dance seemed to stop. And then everything clicked.

But you were too late.

Your eyes widened. "No—"

BOOM.

You were thrown through the air, landing somewhere hard. The wind was knocked out of you. At first, you were choking on nothing until you finally gained the ability to wheeze. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

This time, you couldn't hear anything. No screams, no more shooting. No more music at all.

The music came to a screeching halt. The record didn't skip. It just stopped.

It occurred to you then that the fucking needle must've just scratched the vinyl, because the music restarted. But it wasn't the same.

You shot upward, coughing your lungs away and waving dust out of your face. You stumbled as you got up—that was a misstep. 

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing— 

Katniss. 

Where's Katniss?

Frantically, your eyes darted everywhere. She wasn't beside you. She wasn't in front of you. You spun around, dancing, and she wasn't behind you either.

You wanted to scream her name, but you didn't. She's fine, you reassured yourself. She had to be fine—she was right next to you when the bombs went off. You just had to find her.

Your eyes scanned the scene in front of you, just now really looking at it. Bodies littered the ground, medics and Peacekeepers alike rushing to the wounded. So many wounded. You'd never seen so many bodies in one place.

You looked for a woman in a blue cloak among them. You didn't find her. But you did find someone else that was oddly familiar.

A blonde. A young blonde in a medic's uniform.

You know, I used to be jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

No, that couldn't be—

You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours.

You blinked as if it'd make her disappear, but when you opened your eyes, she was still there, not a figment of your imagination at all. She was there.

And then she wasn't.

You had just opened your mouth, but the words died in your throat. "Prim—"

It all happened faster than you could register it.

You saw the flames first. Light travelled faster than sound. Then you heard it—the explosion. And then you felt it. You felt it more forcefully than any of the other ones, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then you felt nothing.

The last time you awoke in the Capitol, you could feel that something bad was about to happen to you. Dread flowed through your veins like it was blood, infecting every part of you. It was as if a dark cloud hung over your head, a voice in your ear telling you to keep your eyes closed for as long as you could, to enjoy the rest while you still had it.

This time, your eyes fluttered open on their own accord. Your eyelids weren't as heavy. Your body wasn't as sore. But there was a still a weight on your chest.

The dread was still there.

Then the memories flooded back to you.

Bombs. And Primrose Everdeen.

No. You had to have been hallucinating.

With that thought, you blinked, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. The lights were fluorescent, but they weren't blinding like typical hospital lights—and there was an incessant beeping noise, but it wasn't very loud. You gathered that this wasn't a hospital room; it was more like a triage centre.

There was a shuffling to your right that you directed your attention to. It was a blonde woman tending to a sleeping brunette's wounds. You blinked again, and then you realized that brunette was Katniss. 

You let out a sigh of relief. She was okay.

Your eyes then immediately flickered to the other presence in the room. Haymitch stood between yours and Katniss' beds. He was already looking at you.

You didn't greet him; the two of you were past that. "Is it—"

"Yes." He seemed to understand without any explanation. Your eyes fell shut for a moment then, taking it in, and he let you.

The war was over.

You won.

But this didn't feel like winning.

When you opened your eyes, Haymitch seemed to already know what you were thinking. That's what you liked about him: no nonsense, no bullshit, no trying to sugarcoat something that was so clearly sour. Just straight to the point.

"It was over after the Capitol dropped those bombs to defend the Palace. Rebels took it right after." He paused, eyes glossing over with a look you knew all too well. "Everybody felt it—Peacekeepers, Palace guards... kids. It was, uh... it was over after that."

You could remember that. The children reaching up in the air, trying to grab what they thought were gifts from their beloved Capitol. Bombs exploded in their faces. You wondered if they were strong enough to kill on impact.

You hoped they were.

Children crying for their parents. Parents crying for their children. All of the sounds melded together eventually.

But you won. You won, didn't you?

Didn't you?

He changed topics. You think it was too hard for him to talk about, too, and that was almost absurd. You never thought you'd see the day that Haymitch Abernathy shied away from anything, yet here you were.

"Your injuries are minor," he told you. "Damage is superficial. You got off unscathed." Did you? "They wanted to take you right to the Palace, but I figured you'd want to change your own clothes." 

He said it casually, but the implication was there. That made you crack a smile, or at least the best smile you could give. "Thanks, H."

He nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't mention it. The victors didn't talk about those sorts of things, not up until recently. You knew what happened to him, to his family, his girlfriend. And he always knew what was happening to you, but it was never spoken out loud. The things that happened in the dark were never meant to be brought under the spotlight.

So Finnick brought out the sun. And now, every secret, every body, and every monster under the bed was out in the open for everyone to see. 

You just never thought the sun would burn so much.

Your gaze travelled over to the blonde woman, still at work, applying some type of ointment to Katniss' neck. She hadn't said a word.

You suddenly realized that you were staring at Carine Everdeen.

You looked back to Haymitch, then Carine, then back at him, a question lying silently in your eyes. You opened your mouth, but you didn't need to. Haymitch just nodded, a solemn countenance overtaking his face. At his confirmation, you felt yourself physically deflate.

You weren't hallucinating.

Prim was dead.

You sat there with that information for a bit, unknowing of what to do with it. Katniss' innocent little sister was dead, caught in the crossfire of a fight she should've never had to live through. 

Katniss only ever volunteered to spare her sister.

And now she was dead, anyway.

She deserved to be acknowledged. You didn't know what to say, but she deserved the effort. Prim deserved the world.

Your voice was just barely above a whisper, hoarse from either the lack of use or remorse, perhaps both. "Mrs. Everdeen?"

Her hands paused mid-movement. She slowly turned around to look at you. Only, she wasn't looking at you. She wasn't really there.

You could count the number of times you spoke to Carine on one hand. It'd only ever been in passing, a hello here and there. She wasn't close with Katniss, therefore, she wasn't close with you. But right now, it didn't matter how close you were at all.

Somehow, everyone felt so faraway.

You swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

She was silent, but you could see every word she wasn't speaking in her eyes. Sadness, regret, anger, devastation. Grief. For a second, you could see her come back, but she was gone just as quickly as she reappeared.

"Me, too."

The ride from the triage centre to the Palace was all a blur. Somewhere in between everything, you got dressed into your own clothes, not the ones from 13. You briefly wondered how they got ahold of them.

Katniss was still there, sleeping. Maybe she woke up by now. You just needed to get out of there. Haymitch had told you that Finnick was en route, and you asked him to help you get out before he got there, to just tell him that they'd taken you to the Palace right away like they originally planned.

You didn't know why you did that, but you just knew you couldn't talk to him. Not yet.

They gave you a random room then left you there after you asked them to. You were sure they weren't supposed to do that, probably on Coin's orders, but the glare you sent them must've been real bad because they went scurrying out like mice.

You exhaled when they closed the door, finally alone. For a second, you felt like you could breathe again. And then you caught a glimpse of the bed and it was back to feeling like you were suffocating.

Crimson red sheets, gold accents. A ginormous velvet head board. A huge comforter that would likely warm you up— God, you were still so cold.

But you'd lied on a bed just like that before. And you were just as cold then, even with the warm body lying right next to you.

You cupped your mouth, knees buckling, but your other trembling hand grasped onto the chair right in front of you. You held onto that crest for dear life, simultaneously holding back a sob.

Calm down, Y/N. Just stop.

You were trying— you were fucking trying. But then your eyes zeroed in on items on the table in front of you. They blended in with the rest of the extravagant decor of this room, but once you saw them, it was all you could see.

A crown.

And a vase of fucking roses. 

You screamed, letting go of the chair and throwing the vase the ground, not caring if any of the shards hit you. The crown was next. Then you were tumbling down to the ground, too.

The dam in your eyes broke, tears flooding down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Sobs wracked through your body.

It hurt. It fucking hurt. Not your legs. Not your back. Not your ears. Your heart. You clawed at your chest relentlessly, pleading for the pain to go away.

"Please," you cried. "Please make it stop." You don't know who you were crying to. You hadn't prayed in ages— you didn't even know what you believed in anymore. All you knew was that you were on your knees, begging for any God to listen.

But nobody answered.

You might've sat on the floor of that room for hours—you truly didn't know. You cried until you didn't have tears anymore, until you were numb. You just sat there after that, staring at the ground, at the crown you threw.

So much power that a single object had over you. It was a mask. A contract. A lie. A trick painted in gold. Your legacy.

It was your fucking poison.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they said. 

They didn't know the half of it.

After a while, you got sick of staring at it, forcing yourself up and immediately turning to the door. You were exhausted, sure, and you'd sleep eventually, but not on that bed.

You turned the knob on the door and shut it behind you, knowing it was unlikely that you'd return to it. You made your way through the Palace like it was second nature; you knew this place well. Dozens of parties and faux appearances would do that to you.

The Palace only held poor memories for you. Here, your life as a marionette began, and you hadn't known anything different since. What person would want to stay in a place like that, a place that symbolized the moment their life changed forever?

Getting reaped might've been when your life went downhill, but your life became Snow's the second you stepped into his home.

You found yourself pulling the French doors to the backyard open, wanting to feel a cold that didn't come from your own body. The ground was covered in a blanket of white that crunched beneath your feet. Only a thin jacket protected you from the air sharply licking your skin, but you welcomed the feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing, but when you saw two men guarding the Rose Garden, you couldn't help but be pulled to it, like you still had strings attached to your limbs.

You were just reaching the doors when one of the guards stepped in front of them, his hand out. "Sorry, Princess. Can't let you pass."

His statement caused you to intake a deep breath, whether it was from the actual statement itself or the name that so happened to spill from his lips. You had half a mind to argue with him—you weren't sure if you were in your right mind at all—until a familiar voice ordered, "Let her in." 

You turned your head, seeing Paylor stood on the steps you had just walked down.

If you were in a better state of mind, you might've smiled.

"On my authority. She has a right to anything behind that door."

You didn't smile, but you settled for a nod. You weren't sure if your eyes translated correctly, but when she nodded back, you knew she received your message.

You weren't just thanking her for this.

Without another thought, you turned back to the garden. The guards opened the glass doors for you, letting you in. Immediately, your nostrils were flooded with the rich scent of earth. Green plants and bushes were everywhere, the most vibrant colour of green you'd ever seen in your life. You wondered if light hit differently in the Capitol, allowing people to see colours you didn't have back home.

Then you thought back to how people here had ignored the black tendrils engulfing the city for so long, and you realized that: yes, light must have hit differently here. It was impossible to ignore the darkness otherwise.

White roses were everywhere. It made you sick, but you stopped the bile from rising. There were so many. You used to wonder why Snow seemed so obsessed with flowers, why he wore them on his person at all times, but you supposed it was no secret anymore.

Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.

Your eyes were trained on one of the roses when a voice cut through your daze. "That's a nice one."

Instantly, every part of your body stiffened, but you ignored every instinct screaming at you to spin around. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

"The colours are lovely, of course. But nothing says perfection like white." 

Your jaw locked, and you made good effort to relax it before you turned around. Seeing him there with that smile on his face nearly made you crumble, but you stood tall, echoing, "Ironic, isn't it? How a man so tainted tries to fool the world with an illusion of purity."

His grin only widened. "I was hoping you would find your way here. I knew you would." You wanted to slap the grin off his face and strangle him until the smugness in his voice disappeared. Your hands clenched by your sides, and judging by the way his eyes twinkled, he saw. 

He sat down on a ledge, musing, "You always were my greatest achievement."

The words were being spat from your mouth before you could stop them. "I am not your anything."

He tilted his head just ever so slightly, staring at you with pools of condescension as if telling you that wasn't true. It wasn't true, and he knew you knew it.

"I have a feeling your visit will be brief, so let's not waste our time, shall we?" You hated the way the word our rolled off his tongue, but you didn't show it on your face.

Snow cut himself off with a cough, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth. When he lowered it, it was spotted in blood. "Please offer my condolences to Ms. Everdeen about her sister." He tutted to himself. "So wasteful. So unnecessary."

You scoffed a humourless chuckle. "Really?"

"Why, yes, dear," he replied, shaking his head for effect. "Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes."

A scowl crawled onto your face. "What the hell are you on about? You released those parachutes."

"You really think I gave the order?" He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes peering into your soul. You didn't once look away. "We both know I'm not above killing children. But I am not wasteful." He stressed the word like it was disgraceful to him. "I take life for... specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children— none at all—"

He was cut off by another cough. It did little to disturb you; you were already disgusted from the moment he began talking. Every word he spoke was careful and calculated. Listening to him explain his rhyme and reason wasn't something you were interested in. What reason could he possibly have for what he'd done?

He took the lives of everyone he met. Every person you cared about had fallen victim to his schemes. Katniss. Johanna. Peeta. Finnick. He took your mother's life— he took your life.

There was nothing he could say to ever make you understand his perspective.

Once he stopped coughing and looked back up at you, the smile was right back on his face like it never left. "I must concede, it was a masterful move on Coin's part," he admitted. The second he uttered Coin's name, you tensed even more than you thought possible. Humour laced through his voice. "The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children to hold back the rebels... it turned the last of my guards against me. There was no resistance left inside the Capitol or the mansion." He leaned forward again, like he was letting you in on a little secret. "Do you know it aired live? There's a... particular savvy in that, isn't there?"

You were afraid that, if he kept talking, you wouldn't be able to hold back the bile in your throat. He's crazy. This was Coriolanus Snow, a man who rose to the top by knocking down anything or anyone that stood in his way. You couldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth.

Yet you were still compelled to listen to him.

The moment you met Coin flashed behind your eyes as you blinked. You felt the sensation of shaking her hand all over again. Every encounter you ever had with her ran through your mind.

You thought back to when you were in 2 and her and Commander Lyme disagreed.

You've been underground a long time, Madam Coin. This isn't like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.

Then there is no sacrifice too great.

Snow pulled you out of your trance. "I'm sure she wasn't gunning for that Everdeen girl, but... these things happen in war." It was as if he could see the gears in your head spinning out of control.

Spinning, spinning, spinning— 

"My failure was in being so slow to grasp Coin's plan," he proclaimed. "She let the Capitol and the districts destroy one another, then she stepped in to take power with 13's arsenal. Oh, make no mistake." He chuckled. "She intends to take my place now."

Your skin was crawling. You felt the urge to rip it off.

Something about his smile became more harrowing, like he was placing down his final piece on the chess board. "But I've been watching you. And you watching me." You dug your nails into your skin. "I'm afraid we've both been played for fools."

No. 

No.

"You're lying." You didn't even sound convincing to yourself.

He tutted once more. "Y/N, my dear, I may have done many things, but have I ever once lied to you?"

You were gonna be sick. You turned around before he could see the tears gathering in your eyes.

This was over.

You went for the door, but just as you were about to knock on it and alert the guards, Snow stopped you in your tracks. "I see so much of myself in you, Y/N."

You felt your lips tremble, but not a single tear raced down your cheek. You didn't allow it.

Slowly, you turned around, your voice quiet but firm. "I am nothing like you," you avowed—to him and to yourself.

You didn't spend another second wasting your time looking at him, going to knock on the door as he broke into a fit of coughing. That coughing transformed into laughter.

Snow laughed maniacally as you left the garden and didn't stop. You could hear him laughing as you powered through his backyard, echoing in the empty space.

And even when you were back inside the Palace, his laugh still followed you.

You found a random hallway in the mansion, the first one that didn't remind you of anything, and you immediately went to the wall closest to you, leaning your forehead against it and inhaling a shaky breath.

Get your shit together, you scolded.

You already broke down once today. You didn't deserve another breakdown— no, you couldn't afford another breakdown. You needed time to think.

Did you believe Snow? Was this just his last way of fucking with you before he died, trying to get the last laugh by absolving himself of the blame? He had to know that he'd reached the end of the line, that he'd be dying at your hands.

He lost, and you won. The war was over—all that was left to do was kill him.

Katniss' voice suddenly rang through your head. This isn't right, she'd said, mourning the possibility of innocent life being lost before it even happened. You remembered your response to that, too.

It's fire catching, Everdeen.

A shiver ran through your body. Was this what fire catching looked like? Children dying. Hundreds of people with their lives forever altered—hundreds of people injured or killed by those bombs going off. Fire caught onto them.

This didn't feel like a win. Mulling over Snow's accusations in your head, it all made sense. There were no victors in an arena. You deluded yourself into thinking this was anything other than a game while Coin was playing her winning card.

You remembered what it was like in the arena, surviving off of ruthlessness, uncaring of what'd happen to anyone else as long as it meant you got to win.

But this wasn't meant to be a game. 

I see so much of myself in you, Y/N.

You didn't want to be like that anymore. You didn't want to play anymore.

"Y/N?"

You turned around, being met with the Girl on Fire standing across from you on the other side of the hallway. That was the name Caesar gave her from her first Tribute Parade, but you no longer found it appropriate.

The Girl on Fire was the girl who volunteered in place of her sister.

The woman that stood in front of you now had her sister killed by the very thing that once defined her.

You made it a point to never call her that again.

Katniss Everdeen was her name. She was The Mockingjay. And somehow, she became your best friend. So then and there, as you stared at one another, you knew that you had to tell her what Snow said, regardless of what you believed.

Softly, you told her, "We have to talk."

Yet no matter how soft your voice was, you don't think anything could have ever softened the blow.

Katniss took you to her room, and there, you told her everything. When you were done explaining, she looked so empty but so full of so many emotions at the same time. 

Do you believe it? she asked you.

I don't know, you responded. I don't know.

You sat there with her and gave her time to absorb it, not saying another word. The two of you sat there in silence until Gale came and fetched you, saying that Coin wanted to speak with you both.

You got up and left the room but closed the door on your way out. She wanted to talk to him—she needed to. 

You were there waiting for her when she was done, and you pretended you didn't watch Gale leave the room with tears in his eyes. 

Side by side, you walked to Snow's cabinet room with you leading the way. No one told you it'd be there, but you had a strong suspicion that that'd be Coin's choice. When you found two armed guards in front of the double doors, you were proven correct—and you didn't know why that unnverved you so much.

About 20 feet away from the doors, you held your arm out in front of Katniss, effectively stopping her. You had sat in silence with her for who knew how long, but now was one of those moments when you felt like you had to say something, and you were gonna take it before you got within earshot of those guards.

You stepped in front of her slightly so you could look at her, and for a moment, you lost your footing. It wasn't like you saw Katniss anything other than indifferent often, but this look struck you to the core. 

Perhaps it was the thin line of her lips. Maybe it was the emptiness in her eyes, no emotion in sight. Or maybe it was how you felt like you were staring into a mirror.

But she deserved so much better than being you.

Katniss Everdeen deserved the justice you never had.

You didn't know how to say all of this, nor did you know if she was in the headspace to listen, so you made sure she was looking at you when you spoke. "Do what you have to do," you whispered.

She stared at you for a few seconds, empty, but in all the darkness of her eyes you could see a faint light shine. Clarity.

She understood.

She gave you a small nod, and then you were moving out of the way, finishing your walk to the conference room. You might've been vague, but you knew your point was received. Whatever she wanted to do from this point forward, you'd stand by it.

The ball was in her court now.

The men in front of the doors gave you short nods of acknowledgement before stoically opening the doors. When they did, you weren't met only with Coin. This was a room full of victors.

And even though you suspected they hadn't been chatty before you entered, they were now radio silent.

Your eyes immediately locked with Finnick's, and you would've exhaled if you weren't under the microscope. He's okay. He's okay, and you knew that already, Y/N. You knew he was okay, but being told that wasn't the same as seeing him in person.

You didn't think you'd get to see those blue eyes again.

But you were.

Finnick flashed you a soft smile. It wasn't his classic Finnick smile, the one he'd throw at cameras and crowds. He was visibly exhausted, but he still found it in himself to smile at you.

It was the least you could do to smile back, even if it wasn't as dazzling as his.

"What's this?" the brunette beside you questioned, knocking you out of your trance. Her voice was cold and detached, but you noticed something now that wasn't there before. Deep underneath that ice was red, hot anger.

From Coin's response, you doubted she caught it. "The remaining victors." She gestured to the table. "Won't you join us?" Behind her, Johanna held out her arms, too, a mocking smile on her face that would've made you laugh if you weren't so tired.

You followed Katniss' lead, taking the last two seats at the table while also taking a cursory glance of the room. Beetee, Enobaria, Haymitch, Johanna, Finnick, Peeta, and Annie. You frowned. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon, not back in the Capitol—probably never back in the Capitol. But she glanced at you and you smiled, anyway.

"I have invited you all here for several reasons, but first, I have an announcement." Both Coin's words and her tone of made you look back at her, but then something else caught your attention.

Even under the glare of all the chandeliers in the room, you could still see the glint in her eye.

"I have taken the burden and the honour of declaring myself interim President of Panem." 

Oh, you could've laughed. Even though there wasn't a single thing funny about it.

You settled for narrowing your eyes; meanwhile, Haymitch scoffed. "Interim? Exactly how long is that interim?"

Coin's hands remained clasped on the table, and she didn't flinch. "We have no way of knowing for certain. But it's clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision." Her voice was calm and collected, if not condescending. "We'll plan an election when the time is right."

You hummed, and even though she undoubtedly heard you, she ignored it.

"But I have called you here for a far more important vote." She finally look her hands off the table, leaning back. "A symbolic vote." 

Everyone in this room is a symbol in some way, you thought, but you held your tongue. Symbols didn't mean much to people who had been turned into nothing more than just that, but the thought must've escaped her.

"This afternoon, we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths. Capitol officials, Peacekeepers, torturers, Gamemakers. But the danger is, once we begin, the rebels will not stop calling for retribution." Dread crept into your stomach. Whatever she was going to propose, you wouldn't like it. "Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So... I offer an alternative plan. Majority of five may approve it— no one may abstain." She gave you a pointed glance. "The proposal is this. In lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic Hunger Games."

Somehow, the room got quieter.

You fought to keep your face impassive—though, you were unknowing if you succeeded. You could only hope that the years of pretending paid off.

In lieu? What the hell did that mean? She wanted to spare a horde of evil people in exchange for the lives of innocents? That didn't make any sense.

But then you realized, powerful people. It'd be sparing powerful people. 

Johanna broke the silence with a laugh. It bounced off the decorated walls like rubber. "You wanna have another Hunger Games with— the Capitol's children?"

Peeta monotoned, "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest," Coin responded.

You glanced at Katniss. She was mute, just staring staring straight at Coin. They all might've thought she was in shock, grieving, but you knew the truth.

It was all falling into place for her.

Finnick let out a scoff. "Is this Plutarch's idea?"

If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the look on Coin's face was offense and not pride. "It was mine." There was another scoff in the room, probably from Haymitch that time. "It balances the need for revenge... with the least loss of human life."

The least loss of valuable of human life.

"You may cast your votes—"

"No," Peeta cut her off immediately, voting first. "No, obviously not. This is crazy."

"I think it's more than fair," Jo chimed in. "Snow's got a granddaugter. I say yes." You didn't judge her for that answer, even if you didn't agree with it. All of you had felt pain at the hands of the Capitol, but you couldn't possibly imagine condemning anyone else to the same fate.

Capitol children or not, they were still children. They weren't symbols; they were human. And you refused to join any line of thinking that said otherwise.

"So do I," Enobaria said, her red lips curving into a smile that made you remember when those lips were once coated in blood. "Let them have a taste of it."

"You guys, this way of thinking is what started these uprisings." Peeta's voice was incredulous.

Annie spoke up. "I vote no. With Peeta." Despite the decision in her tone, she cast a worried glance your way right after. Why haven't you said anything? her eyes read.

You looked away from them.

"No," Beetee voted. "We need to stop viewing each other as enemies." 

Finally, the voice you were waiting for sparked. "You have to be kidding me right now." Finnick had a baffled smile on his face, and you had a feeling he was going to start saying a few choice words.

And you didn't know why just yet, but you couldn't let him.

Before he could get his vote in, you blurted, "Yes." His head immediately snapped to yours, and you felt instant regret when his eyes met yours. In the swirls of all the blue, you could see betrayal.

The bile that you worked so hard to suppress earlier was back rising, but you wouldn't let it leave. He had to understand. You had to make him understand. 

You kept your eyes on his, no matter how sick it made you feel, pleading to him silently. His own words echoed through your head.

Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

You did. You trusted him, even when you didn't understand it at all, and now you were just begging him to return the favour.

You closed your for a brief second. Please just trust me, Finnick.

"Yes." Your eyes flew wide open to see him already looking at you. He maintained your stare before looking back to Coin. "You've got my yes, too."

He said yes. But really, he was saying so much more than that.

I trust you.

Coin nodded, disclosing, "It's down to Katniss and Haymitch." Majority of five. Only one of them had to say yes for her plan to take off, and you already knew which one of them it'd be.

Coin's eyes narrowed while Katniss remained expressionless, and in that moment, it was clear that The Hunger Games wasn't the one Coin was proposing. It was this, and President Coin was the Gamemaker and engineer behind it all. This was a game of cat and mouse.

Only Coin wasn't the cat.

After a beat of silence, Katniss finally spoke. "I get to kill Snow," she dictated.

A few pairs of eyes flitted to you, but you only focused on one of them. Coin glanced at you, and when you didn't object, she obliged, "Of course."

The room was back to silence, but your mind was anything but. What you heard were strings, brass, percussion, and a whole orchestra of instruments. A cacophony of noise and voices singing about a necklace of hope, only getting louder, and louder, and louder, and louder—

And then the beat dropped.

"Then I vote yes." That's five. For the first time since you entered the room, there was a crack in Katniss' voice. "For Prim."

That was nearly a warning, but if Coin caught the edge to her voice, she didn't say anything about it. You think she was so consumed by satisfaction that she wouldn't have been able to notice, anyway.

She turned her attention to Haymitch if not just to stay true to her words. No one may abstain. "Haymitch?"

Katniss and Haymitch shared a gaze for a few seconds, and then he looked to you, and to Finnick, before he was looking back to Coin. He didn't agree with this, but he still lied, "I'm with the, uh, Mockingjay."

Coin nodded, poorly stifling a smile. You wondered how anyone could smile at the news of a slaughter. "That carries the vote. Excellent. We'll announce The Games tonight after the execution."

And that was it. She got what she wanted. She won.

But as you glanced at Katniss to see the emptiness returning to her eyes, you had a feeling that wouldn't last very long.

Stylists brought you to your room and did your hair for you, taking the locks and forming them into the braided updo that the people had grown to love. It was a crown—that's why they liked it so much. You would've preferred to leave your hair as it was, but you compromised that you'd do the hair if they didn't make you wear that ridiculous costume.

Cinna was an impeccable designer, but if you could go forever without wearing that suit, it'd still be too soon.

On your way into your room, the stylists ignored the broken glass on the floor, stepping over it and sending each other looks that they thought were discreet. They weren't.

When they saw the crown lying on the floor, too, they didn't dare ask you to wear it.

They left soon after little small talk, though you didn't think they blamed you. You looked like shit before they got to fixing you up, making you look like you'd actually slept. 

Your lips were no longer pale, coated in lipstick that didn't look like lipstick. You supposed the "natural" element was part of the Princess façade. They did something that made your cheeks look less hollow and more rosy, and they concealed the bags under your eyes pretty nicely.

Now, you looked like the Princess.

But she doesn't exist, a voice reminded you. She's not you.

You tilted your head at the woman in the mirror. She wasn't your reflection; she was a mirage. You didn't see yourself in any of it, but you didn't see yourself before they added all the glamour, either. 

Who are you, Y/N?

You swore to yourself you'd find out.

After slipping on your coat, you left the room, promising never to see it again. You were walking to the front when you saw a woman in five inch heels and silvers tassles exiting a room, a big blonde wig on her head with sharp silver ticks pinned into it that looked like they could stab her if she fell the wrong way.

She glanced to the side and saw you before you could greet her, beating you to it. "Oh, Y/N!" A big grin came to her face as she marched her way over to you, heels clicking against the floor adamantly. You think she would've skipped if she could've. 

Her arms wrapped themselves around your frame before you could even think about protesting. "How lovely it is to see you!" she exclaimed.

Your humour trumped your discomfort, making you laugh and reciprocate the hug. "Hi, Effie." When she pulled away, you were quick to cut to the chase, knowing she'd talk your ear off for ages if you gave her the chance. You nodded to the doors she walked out of. "Is Katniss in there?"

"Oh, yes— yes, dear!" She ushered you to the doors. "Go right ahead!"

"Thank you." Effie uttered something along the lines of 'no problem' before opening the doors and practically closing them within the same breath.

The smile that was on your face promptly dropped when you saw Katniss, looking no better than earlier, but you made quick work to bring it back. "Hey, Everdeen." You tried to make your voice light, but the heaviness in the air didn't dissipate.

She turned to you after just a second too long, almost like she hadn't heard you. A grimace crossed her face, but you could tell it was her attempt at a smile.

You stood there for a bit, keeping your hands at your sides. There wasn't much more to say—this was it. After this, you didn't know what'd happen. What would life even be like without being crushed by the Capitol's thumb? Would you go home? Did you even have one?

You didn't know how any of this would play out, but you did know that whatever ending Katniss wrote, it would likely end in the two of you separating. You'd both go home, and you'd no longer see the girl you got so used to. Realistically, you'd only been in close quarters for a month, but before that, you were isolated. Katniss helped you get acclimated with the revolution and gave you hope for a better world, and now you'd be going into it without her.

She wouldn't be at your side anymore, but you wanted her to know that you'd be standing behind her regardless.

In two strides, you were embracing her in your arms before you could think better of it. She froze, stiffening, and you were just about to let go and apologize when she engulfed you with the exact same fervour.

Your lips curved upward, and that time, it wasn't forced.

Eventually, you pulled back, resting your hands on her forearms. Her eyes didn't look so empty anymore. 

You wanted to thank her for everything she'd done for you without knowing it, for saving your life in more ways than one. You wanted to tell her you loved her.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off before you could even try. "I know." She nodded, the slighest quirk of her lips visible. "I know." Pause. "Me, too."

She knew. You didn't need to say it, and neither did she. 

Things weren't okay—they probably wouldn't be for a while, but in that moment, you knew they'd get better one day, even if you wouldn't be around each other to see it.

You nodded back at her, and you squeezed her arms one last time, whispering, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Katniss."

And then you were letting her, walking away and leaving her alone while you still could. If you'd stayed any longer, you don't know if you would've left.

There was nothing left unsaid, and those were the best kinds of endings. But it was an ending, and that left you with bittersweet feelings you couldn't name.

Deep down, you knew you probably wouldn't see her again, and perhaps that was why you didn't meet the cars waiting for you at the front. If that was the last you saw her, you wanted that to be your last encounter.

And, so, your last memory of Katniss Everdeen was in that room.

The word revolution, in the least words possible, meant change. That's what'd been happening for months now, if not years, and your reality was on the cusp of being turned on its head.

Yes, things changed.

And yet some things never did.

West of the city, there was a big lake; you found yourself there when you were supposed to be watching Snow's execution. A certain part of you was disappointed that you wouldn't get to watch him die; it was all you wanted ever since you got to 13, your sole motivation for staying alive.

But the other part of you was relieved. He would die, yes, but he wouldn't see you again before he did. He wouldn't get another chance to exercise his power over you ever again. So instead of being there, you were here, watching the water.

It reminded you of home. Back in your days at the Capitol, you didn't get do much sight-seeing of the city. You'd be brought in for a day or two, really only for the nights, and then you'd be sent back by morning. But once you met Finnick, he started walking around with you, and some nights you'd end up here.

You'd stare at the lake together in silence. Back then, the water was as close to freedom as you'd ever get. You supposed that was one of the things that did change.

You were free now.

What does that mean?

You pondered over that question for a while. For so long, you dreamed of even just tasting freedom; the thought was unattainable for so long, but now it was in your hands and you didn't know what you'd do.

The war was over.

But it wasn't.

The fight was over for you, but that didn't mean it was over for anyone else. Homes were destroyed. People were dead, and even more people were left here just to grieve. The nation was broken.

What did that make you if you just went home and left things like this? Maybe you'd done enough. Maybe you should just go home and retire the crown, finally get the rest you'd been longing for. But you didn't want that.

Who are you, Y/N?

Maybe you could be more than Panem's Princess.

"Y/N."

You were startled by the call of your name, spinning around. When you were met with eyes that matched the water behind you, you were calmed down.

"Finnick." A smile graced his face, eliciting one from you like it was contagious. "Hi."

"Hi." So many words to say, and yet that was the only one that either of you said. 

He walked up to you, turning his gaze to the lake, and just like old times, you did the same. Just like old times, the two of you stared out at the water without saying a thing. Just like old times, for a little while, you were just Y/N, and he was just Finnick.

And just like old times, all of that came to an end eventually.

"You weren't at the execution," he said at one point.

"No," you replied. "I wasn't."

"But you already know what happened." It was set up like a question, but it wasn't.

You turned to see him already looking at you. His eyes weren't angry; they were just curious. You quirked one side of your lips upward. "I had a feeling." Judging by his statement, your feeling was correct. Your lips quickly drooped downward. "Is—"

He nodded before you could finish. "Katniss is alright." A breath of relief left you. "Paylor's gonna pardon her eventually. She'll probably be taking over." That confirmed it.

Coin was dead. And Snow was, too.

When you got your bearings, you shrugged. "I'd vote for her." You might've said it just to bring some humour to the conversation, but it wasn't a joke. You had no doubts that Commander Paylor would lead the nation with courage.

Finnick chuckled, agreeing, but as soon as he stopped, the light disappeared, reminding you of the weight of the conversation you were about to have. You didn't think you'd even be alive to have it, but you were, and now there was no avoiding it. 

He must've seen the shift in your demeanour. "Y/N—"

"I love you," you breathed, cutting him off. If you were gonna have this talk, then that was the way you needed to start it. "I love you, and I have loved you for years. I'm so happy that I get to say it out loud now, because I never thought I'd get to, but Finnick, I—" the quivering of your lips made you stop. Realization dawned on his face, and that made tears come to your eyes. "I don't think love is enough."

He stepped closer to you, grabbing your hands. You let him. "Y/N—"

A tear raced down your cheek. "I don't know who I am when I'm not pretending. I lost myself trying to love you," you confessed, more tears falling down your face, but in the blur, you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I need to find myself again. I'm not— I'm not in the right headspace for a relationship right now, and it wouldn't be fair to you to jump right into one like everything's okay." Your voice shook. "It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

You were just about to pull your hands away when he squeezed them tighter. "No, I can— I can wait."

Your chest tightened as you held back a sob. He was so frantically trying to hold onto you when he shouldn't have been. You shook your head. "No, you don't understand. I need to stay here— I need time—"

"I can give you time!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, simultaneously cracking your heart. "I can stay here— I can wait. Y/N, I will wait forever for you if you need me to."

This time, the sob did leave you, and there was nothing you could do stop it. "You shouldn't have to! You should just go be happy—"

"I can't be happy without you," he argued, stepping even closer to you like his every action was begging you to see his perspective. 

At his interruption, more sobs fell from your lips, and he promptly pulled you into his chest. Instinctually, your arms wrapped around his torso, and his hands went to your head, caressing your hair as you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried, and he held you all through it, letting you soak his shirt with your tears. He held onto you tightly, and not just physically, either.

Finnick Odair would never let you go.

Never again.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, you calmed down. You don't remember when you did or what happened after that, but eventually, your eyes were fluttering open to a white ceiling. Your hands grasped at your surroundings, feeling linen scrunch beneath your fingertips.

You glanced to the side where a big window was, light shining in from the moon. You furrowed your brows. How long were you out—and where were you?

Slowly, you stood up, soreness hitting your body immediately. You held back a hiss. Sleep must've given the bruises time to marinate; you decided to ignore it.

You walked through what was clearly a bedroom and opened the door. It opened into a hallway; noise was coming from the left, so that's where you went.

You didn't know what exactly you were expecting when you reached the end of the hall, but it certainly wasn't Finnick in front of a stove, frying something out of view. 

"Finnick?"

He turned around, eyes widening. "Oh, hey— let me just—" your brows raised as he turned back to the stove, picking up the pan and dropping its contents onto two plates on the counter. Eggs. You blinked, and memories flashed underneath your eyelids of scenes just like this one.

You didn't think you'd ever see him cooking again.

When you opened your eyes, he was back to facing you, a sheepish smile on his face that looked just a touch out of place. "Sorry, I was cooking us some food." He gestured behind him then added, "Since you can't."

You scoffed, almost like you hadn't just been bawling your eyes out, almost like you were back at home and everything was still fine. "Okay, first of all, screw you—" he let out a chuckle, "second of all, thank you. And third of all, where the hell are we right now?" Your eyes scanned the area; this wasn't a hotel room. It was an apartment. "Last I remember, we were at the lake."

"This used to be Cressida's old place," he explained. "Said we could crash here as long as we wanted. She doesn't really wanna be here either way."

"Oh." We. We could crash here, he said. You were brought back to reality. "Finnick—"

"Let's eat," he cut you off, an easygoing smile on his face. Easygoing, but not easy. You could see the nerves churning behind his expression, so with a sigh, you nodded, letting him lead you to the dinner table and pull out your chair.

You told yourself you did it for him. But really, you wanted to prolong this for a little while longer, too.

He put your plate and cutlery in front of you. You wondered how he managed to procure eggs that weren't expired, but you didn't ask him aloud. You just picked up your fork and started eating.

Whether it was your hunger or your desire to hold onto this, you stayed silent as you ate. You even caught Finnick eating slower than usual; he wanted to hold onto this, too. He was determined to do so.

You and Finnick did what you did best: you pretended. You pretended that you didn't just lose it and cry yourself to the point of passing out. You pretended that you didn't have to talk after this. You pretended that you were still living in the life you had before the Quell, eating dinner every night just like this. And in remembering those dinners, you pretended that you weren't pretending then, too.

But you couldn't pretend forever.

You finished your food first and waited for Finnick to finish his. He took his time, and you let him. You let him twiddle with his fork when he was done, and then you let him take your plates and wash them afterwards. And once they were on the drying rack and he had no more excuses, you stood up from your chair with reality ready to spill from your lips.

"Finnick—"

He took no more than second to get to you. "Please, just— hold on." 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "We can't avoid this forever."

"I know." Despite the shake in his voice, there was undeniable resolution in it. "And if... if what you said is really what you want, I'll give it to you." Out of sheer surprise, your eyes opened. The face you loved so much looked pained, but he still gave you a smile. This time, you could tell it wasn't real; it was purely for your sake. "There are countless things I need to apologize to you for, and I'd spend the rest of my life making it all up to you if you let me, but I'd do anything for you. So if what you want is for me to walk out that door right now, I'll do it." He swallowed, like he was scared out of his mind. "I just want to ask you one thing first."

The rational side of your mind screamed at you not to entertain it, to say no and get him to leave while you could both still bear it. He was willing to give you an out—that's what you wanted.

Was that what you wanted?

No, what you wanted was to feel better, and sometimes, Finnick did that, but other times, he did the exact opposite. Most times, the rational you corrected. Most times, he made you feel worse. But the happiness he gave you in those few times overrode everything else.

The other version of you, the one that remembered the good just as equally as the bad, nodded and gave him the greenlight.

He enveloped your hands in his, and the warmth made you realize just how cold you were. "Dance with me," he pleaded. "Dance with me and then decide."

No. Don't do it—

Transfixed by the way he was staring at you, you found yourself agreeing and ignoring your inner voice. "One dance," you told him.

The smile on his face became a grin. Real. This time, it was real. "That's all I'll ask," he promised. You took his word for it.

One last dance. 

He led you to the open area between the kitchen and the living room, keeping your hands in his hold and pulling you closer. You rested your head on his, listening to his heart rattle against his ribcage. God, you missed that sound. 

You missed this.

Finnick swayed you slowly to the music, nothing external or tangible, but the music you were dancing to was more real than any song you'd ever heard.

You realized now that the rational you was right. Finnick set his trap, and you lied in it. Because now that you remembered what this felt like, how could you willingly give it up? How could you ever leave?

The song might've been filled with heightening moments, and there might've been times when you just wanted to throw the damn record player into the wall, but it was your song. 

And this was your dance.

Minutes passed before you pulled away. Finnick's hands immediately tightened on yours, and you squeezed them right back. You were pulling away, but the song wasn't over.

It wouldn't be over for a long time.

You warned him, "It's gonna be a lot of work, Finnick."

"I'm okay with that."

"We had a life back home— you had a life. I wouldn't be blaming you if you wanted to go back to it." 

He was shaking his head before you were even done speaking, eyes earnestly poring into yours. "I'll build any life so long as it's with you."

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt or lying but found none. When you were sure that you believed what he was saying, that he believed what he was saying, you released the smile you were holding back.

"Okay."

His eyes widened. "Okay?"

An involuntary giggle left you. "Yeah. Okay—" without warning, he picked you up and was twirling you around, making you squeal. "Finnick!"

Your laughs resounded throughout the apartment, and when he put you down, it was just to engulf you in his arms again. You wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to kiss you, but you'd have to work your way back up to that.

And eventually, you would.

No, your song wasn't over.

It was just restarting.

In district 12, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood inside their home. They started to live together after some time had passed, and while they weren't a couple at that moment, they were still together. That was more than enough for the both of them.

Katniss chopped up vegetables for the dinner they'd be having later with Haymitch while Peeta read her a letter, addressed to them both. They didn't get mail often, not in 12, so they didn't know entirely what was happening with everyone else, but this letter informed them of all that they'd missed.

You'll be happy to hear that Katniss' mother has been training new medical units in the Capitol. Thanks to her, we'll be able to heal many more people at a much faster rate.

Gale has been promoted to a captain in district 2 to help keep order and security. He's doing well there.

Johanna has gone back to district 7 where she is taking the healing process one day at a time. She'll take as much time as she needs.

Annie and Julian are back in 4, along with Mags. They spend every day loving their son the way we all should've been loved, and it's a beautiful sight to see.

I am in the Capitol. I run a centre for children all over Panem who have lost their parents. One of the children has been staying with me personally for a while; she reminds me of you, Katniss. I'm thinking of adopting her.

Finnick has been here with me. We're happy together. One day, not any time soon, but some day, I'm gonna marry him, and the two of you better be there for the wedding.

We've all suffered so much. But we owe it to the memories of everyone we've lost to do our best with these lives. 

I hope you're both finding some peace.

As Peeta read the last lines, Katniss smiled for the first time in a long time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr @giverosespls @erindiggory @feyretopia @bibliosaurus @sleila @soursonnets @blackoutdays13 @lovelyteenagebeard @nj01 @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @marimba375 @willow-g-1 @blahablah2 @inatimate-icarus @shoebillcuicui @scoliobean @awritingtree @h-------n @yoonki-bored @miserablebl00d @iloubr @fairytales007 @beannnnnnnn @dominicfikexoxo @aclmagic @helaenaluvr @ravenmedows @bigdolldoeeyesgirl to all taglist members, tell me if you want to be added to my finnick taglist overall! thank you for reading my fic, and thank you for enjoying it enough to even ask to be on the taglist.

additional a/n: see what i did there at the end—our song and DANCE ;) you guys, this is it. the song is over (for us at least). i'm in a mix of like pride and sadness. this has quite literally taken a year to finish. it's one of my fav things i've written to date, and at one point, it was the only thing i was writing. to those of you that have stuck around to the end, thank you. i really hope u enjoyed the series and its ending! i'm thinking of writing little blurbs for this and whatnot if ur interested, all revolving around their journey. eventually, i'll post a list of canons ab y/n and where i think she ends up. once again, thank you all so much for your support. reading your comments has never failed to make me smile. i love you!! have a great day.

[sad-olive-girl]

Me, writing my Hayffie fic: I'm going to make Effie friends with so many of the other mentors! She already knows Mags and Wiress!! Let's have her be buds with Finnick and Cecilia and even Cashmere because the careers are just as fucked as everyone else! It's so cute they all get to be besties!

Me, realizing that means Effie will have to watch a bunch of her friends die in the Quarter Quell: Uh Oh

[saptashati]

do you ever worry that to write good hg fic you’ve gotta start reading like ethics and philosophy because ur not doing right by it otherwise

[charcoalseraphim]

when you close your eyes, do you think of me? by @charcoalseraphim on ao3

a post-mockingjay, grow-together fic exploring the conversations that lead up to "so after." excerpt from chapter one “Please, Katniss,” I beg. “I can’t make sense of it. The way we sleep beside each other now—the way you hold me together at night. It’s familiar, and I remember... some of it. But it feels like there used to be something more. Something missing.” She furrows her brow at the floor. I take a deep breath and press on, the words tripping over themselves in my attempt to explain.  “I know you didn’t—I know I was there for comfort. But there has to be a reason you…” Fuck, how do I say this? “A reason you turn up in my dreams the way you do. And not all those memories are shiny.” My face is on fire, so I look to the table again. “And I just thought—that maybe, at one point—you wanted me. The same way I wanted—want… you.” I barely finish before my eyes sting with unexpected tears. I didn’t realize how deep the soreness penetrated; how persistent the longing was to hear her speak words I’ve been too timid to ask for.

[thedelicatearcher]

☆finnick odair masterlist☆

☆finnick odair who helps you study for your finals

☆finnick odair who breaks up with you after seven years together

☆finnick odair who loves making home improvements to make your life easier

☆finnick odair who loves doting on his partner, but also loves being doted on back

☆finnick odair is a sucker for affection from his romantic partner

☆finnick odair loves knitting and crocheting

☆finnick odair loves dancing with you on the living room floor

☆finnick odair loves being taken care of when he feels sick

☆finnick odair survives the mutt attack but is left with scars

☆finnick odair loves showering with his partner

☆finnick odair can’t stop writing poetry about you

☆finnick odair loves gifting you flowers with symbolism

☆painting finnick odair's nails

☆finnick odair likes going to sleep early

☆fair dates with finnick odair

☆finnick odair’s love language is physical contact

☆baths with finnick odair

☆finnick odair lets you braid his hair

☆finnick odair reacts at your bad haircut

☆you and finnick have a jewelry stand in the district four’s market

☆finnick odair loves having his back rubbed

☆finnick odair makes embroidery friendship bracelets

BLURBS

☆finnick odair has a bed full of plushies

☆finnick odair and classic maritime romance

☆finnick odair searches for your comfort when has nightmares

☆finnick odair's hair after the rebellion

☆finnick odair calls you cupcake ironically

☆finnick odair had a lemonade stand as a kid

☆finnick odair loves receiving forehead kisses

☆finnick odair's favorite ice cream

☆finnick odair is a hydrated king

☆finnick odair is an expert at poker

☆finnick odair loves being the little spoon

☆finnick odair is bad at making pancakes

☆finnick odair has a pair of shark slippers

☆finnick odair has a baby blanket

☆finnick odair wanted to be a firefighter as a kid

☆finnick odair gets sunburned very easy

HEADCANONS

☆finnick odair with a partner who loves animals

☆finnick odair goes dress shopping with his partner

☆finnick odair with a musical partner

☆finnick odair had braces as an adult

☆sick finnick odair

☆finnick odair with a partner who has dyed hair

☆finnick odair with a tattoed partner

NSFW

☆finnick odair eats you out

☆one of your favorite activities is sucking finnick off after his nightly shower

☆finnick odair doesnt't mind being submissive in bed with you

TWEETS

☆tweet #1

MODERN FINNICK ODAIR

☆finnick odair is a sucker for romcoms

☆finnick odair is a passionate duolingo user

☆finnick odair loves minions

☆finnick odair considers himself a fashion connoisseur

☆finnick odair doesn't want to wear his retainers

☆finnick odair loves cats

☆finnick odair and johanna mason watching garfield

☆finnick odair has a stanley cup in every color

☆finnick odair has protective cases for every device

☆finnick odair and the sims 4

☆finnick odair has a spiderman toothbrush

☆finnick odair is an excessive emoji user

☆finnick odair loves watching cake boss

☆finnick odair is a menace playing roblox

☆finnick odair gave everyone a kenough hoodie

☆finnick odair and peeta mellark love water parks

☆finnick odair calls the property brothers to remodel everlark's home

☆finnick odair and animal crossing

☆finnick odair & costco

SWIFTIE!FINNICK

☆finnick odair loves knitting and crocheting for his swiftie gf

☆finnick odair loves fearless

☆finnick odair and surprise songs

☆finnick odair is a swiftie

☆more swiftie!finnick thoughts!

☆finnick odair & eras tour

ODESTA

☆finnick and annie call themselves gamers

COMING SOON !!

☆finnick odair fluff alphabet

☆finnick odair's struggle after telling his story in mockingjay (requested)

☆finnick odair with a rockstar partner (requested)

☆finnick odair and a riot grrrl fan hcs (requested)

☆swiftie finnick odair and rock gf (requested)

☆swiftie finnick and rock gf go to the eras tour (requested)

☆finnick odair with reader dealing with trauma after being taken to the capitol (requested)

☆finnick odair with virgin reader (requested)

[peterjakes]

katniss x peeta - 'to you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it'

A snowstorm hits District 12, which means Peeta and Katniss must stay inside, together. Feelings are becoming too much to hide anymore, so much so, our heroes are coming to terms with their feelings and each other.

I luv these two v much <3

watched and re-read everything before sunrise on the reaping comes out in THREE DAYS (!!) so I decided to actually write another part of this series.

I actually love a lot of this one (which is rare for me)

thanks as ever for reading x

also posted on ao3;

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63878407

Katniss watched the snow fall as the tiny snowflakes flew into the window. It was the first real snow she had seen since being back home in District 12. Peeta was outside shovelling the already settled snow covering the walkway, preventing anything or anyone from making their way out of the Victor’s Village. Katniss was not going to be one of those people. She wasn’t a recluse, anything but. But she didn’t feel any need to leave the safety of her house to go hunting in the snow. She had listened to Haymitch’s warnings of how icy it was and didn’t fancy the next week bedridden due to a twisted ankle. Of course, this would give her more reason to require Peeta’s company, but thoughts like those were ones for silly little girls. Katniss wasn’t a silly little girl. Not anymore. If she wanted to spend time with Peeta, she just had to ask. But why was that still so difficult?  

She tried to remember the first time she saw snow. The memory was hazy and a little blurred. Prim hadn’t been born yet. Katniss must have been around 4 years old. Her father was there, out in the snow with her. Her mother…she was inside, at home. She didn’t do well in the cold, so delicate, so fragile. Her father and Katniss had walked to the market. It was so cold that day, Katniss remembered her mother fussing over her before she left, putting on as many layers as possible. Her father wasn’t at work, but Katniss couldn’t quite remember why. Perhaps the temperature was too low, even for the mines. Katniss was so excited, to spend the day with her father. She couldn’t care less about the strange, flicks of snow that would fall on her coat as she walked with her father. Or how it would crunch loud whenever they took a step. Her father would spend all week in the mines, working the long, tiring hours to come home to Katniss asleep.

They sold some game to the peacekeepers that day. Katniss remembered the warm bread they had with their supper, so a trip to the Mellark bakery must have happened. But Katniss didn’t have any recollection of that. It was the perfect day, as far as she could remember. Katniss had been thinking of her father more often recently. She had spent so much of her childhood watching her mother forget, watching her distance herself from her children, her life with her family. Katniss didn’t want that. She couldn’t turn into her mother; she wouldn’t let herself.

“Hey, Katniss.”

Katniss hadn’t noticed Peeta come in; her mind too involved in the lost memory. He was standing by the door frame, still holding the shovel he was using for the snow outside. There was slight flicks of snow dripping from his soft curls, snow drops hanging onto his coat. His eyes were bright this morning, as if he was happy about something. Katniss couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There was a slight pinkness to his cheeks, where the cold had found its way to Peeta’s face.

“Hm?” Katniss turned fully away from the window, to face Peeta as he walked towards her. She had tucked herself into the corner, wrapped in a blanket, not wanting to move.

“Enjoying the view?” Peeta raised his eyebrow, placing his coat on the side before slipping his shoes off. He knelt down to prop his boots against the wall, taking a moment to straighten them out.

“I…”

“I was kidding, relax. Where’d you go?”

“Just thinking.”

Peeta moved closer to Katniss, rubbing her arm ever so slightly, before starting to remove his gloves and scarf. “Well, I think we should be okay for now. It’ll probably snow more later, but we can deal with that then.”

Katniss smiled at Peeta, here he was musing over things that seemed so inconsequential. So normal. Like nothing that had happened to them had happened. No Reapings. No Games. No rebellions. Just them.

“What? Am I boring you?”

“Of course, not.” A smile escaped Katniss’ lips again, it crept up on her. She just couldn’t help it; seeing Peeta like this, it made her feel warm inside. It felt normal, natural for the two of them to speak to each other like this. Be in each other’s company. Katniss could freeze the moment, just there, and she’d be happy.

“You’re not hunting today?”

“Haymitch didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“When have you ever listened to Haymitch?”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying out. And I’d rather spend the day with you.”

“Okay, that’s what we’ll do then.” Peeta smiled as he hung his coat up by the front door, tucking the pockets back in.

“Weren’t you going to the bakery today?”

“I can go tomorrow, if the snow settles. I doubt anyone is going to venture out when it’s like this. I can just bake here, for us.”

“I don’t have any ingredients.” Katniss frowned, she wasn’t being intentional difficult, though she may seem like it. Any time anything seemed too good to be true, it was. Things was calmer now, time moved slower. District 12 wasn’t what it was. Panem wasn’t. Katniss could allow nice things to happen. She just had to keep persuading herself that.

Exasperated with her protesting, Peeta softly spoke up, “I can fetch them from my house. Katniss, why do I feel like you don’t want me here?”

“I do…just not because of me.” Her voice sounded so small in that moment. It was silly really; Peeta was one of the only people left Katniss could truly be herself with. Gale was gone. Prim. Her mother. Cinna. But Peeta. He had stayed. He’d left once, and Katniss never believed she would get him back. She would have to let him in, let herself be vulnerable and open. It was the only way to be.

“Katniss, of course it’s because of you. I don’t have to bake, either. I was thinking…”

“What?”

“The memory book, it’s been a while…if you wanted to?”

Katniss nodded. It was always difficult at first, settling down to open up for those memories. Katniss would collect the book; it was usually hidden away in her house. Sometimes she’d get Peeta to hide it just so she wouldn’t be tempted. Those memories plagued her dreams every night, she didn’t need them during the day too. It was different when they went through the book together, however. Katniss knew she held the majority of the memories, and Peeta hung on her every word. He'd listen so intently, putting his pencils down instead of scribbling away, watching Katniss as she spoke. Sometimes she wasn’t sure where to start, but Peeta always had questions. There’d be things he could remember, others he wasn’t so sure of. Peeta, Katniss’ Peeta always knew how to bring out the best in her. The best of everyone. He had a way with words that Katniss could never quite understand. How he spoke so eloquently, knew exactly what to say. She just wished he saved some of that for himself.

“Good. After lunch?”

“I don’t have anything in, Sal said she was going to the market but-“

“Ah, I thought so,” Katniss turned to see Peeta’s rummaging through her kitchen cupboard. He pulled out a few tins and a bag of flour. Peeta gifted Katniss a wide smile before placing the ingredients on the kitchen table. “I left some stuff here last time, just in case. I know what you’re like, Katniss.”

“And what’s that, then?”

“For me to know. I can make some cheese buns. And er, we could cook this…rabbit?” Peeta motioned towards the animal hanging up by the sink, frowning so slightly.

Katniss smiked, “Hare, actually. I forgot about this one.”

“Is it still good?”

Katniss nodded, “If we cook it right.”

“Well, you can be in charge of that. I’ll get started on the cheese buns. And then the memory book!” Peeta raised his voice, quickly smiling at Katniss before moving back to the counter. He started to pull out various bowls from the cupboard, clanking them down before pouring in several ingredients. Katniss watched as he moved around frantically, her eyes shifting from Peeta to the mess he was creating. She wasn’t entirely sure what has gotten into him. Something had clearly riled Peeta up, he was fine only a minute ago. But Peeta was different now. Katniss knew she was too. She’d noticed small things he’d do now to stay calm, stay still, stay secure. He'd zone out sometimes, mostly when painting or baking. His eyes would shift, become dazed. He’d go quiet, his hands would grip whatever was closest. Sometimes it was Katniss, but sometimes it seemed the sight of her just made him worse. There were times Katniss wouldn’t see him for days. She knew he was cooped up surrounded by pieces of paper, filled with sketches in wild colours. Katniss knew she could be difficult; she’d always been difficult. The meadow was the place she’d hide, for hours on end. She’d tried to not go as often, especially when Peeta would actively spend so much time with her. He didn’t love how long she would spend hunting, but it was the one place she could escape. Just Katniss and her bow. It was the songs of the mockingjays. The gentle breeze that travelled across the meadow. The burnt orange of the sun setting.

“Peeta, is everything alright? You’re acting more…”

“I’m fine. Honest. Just…enjoying the day.” A quivering smile escaped Peeta’s lips as his eyes looked away from Katniss, losing all focus. There was a hint of sadness within the pretend happiness in his eyes before he turned back to the mess he’d created on the counter.

Peeta was not fine, and it was unlikely he would ever be fine again, but he had accepted that, and just wished Katniss would. He could tell she was tiptoeing around him, which almost seemed laughable to him. He wasn’t someone who she needed to be scared of, and the thought of that wasn’t something Peeta wanted. But during those days in District 13, he was scary, he was viscous, he was confused, he was angry, he was sad. But Peeta wasn’t like that now. Peeta was not who he was before their first games. Or even their second. Peeta was something entirely different now, just as Katniss was.

Peeta knew trying to hide the fact that he felt broken almost every single day would not solve anything. And yet, Dr. Aurelius had given him some homework until his next session. Not to hide the darkness, or the so-called ‘bad’ parts as Peeta would call it, but to embrace the good. To take notice of things that made Peeta happy, things to be enjoyed. Peeta had tried to make a list in his head, but it wasn’t a very long one. Everything he thought of just had a different memory, a sad one that included a Peeta that didn’t exist anymore. Peeta enjoyed baking. He liked spending that time alone, creating something that someone could enjoy. The way Katniss’ face lit up when he made her cheese buns again. Making his monthly batch for Haymitch, and Greasy Sal. Baking at home was fun. But the thought of going into town, visiting the old site of the bakery, that only conjured up the worst of memories.

Peeta had supposedly been an artist at one time. Painting, drawing, decorating. Some of his old paintings from after the first games had survived. Some had been gifted to Katniss, others he had kept hidden away in dark corners of his home. But Peeta couldn’t look at them anymore. He had new paintings to create, new memories to put down to paper. Some of these memories were dark, destructive, and damn right horrific. But Peeta couldn’t keep them all inside of him anymore, he had to let them out. And the memory book…that was helping. Katniss would talk, she would tell Peeta things he imagined he should have remembered. Sometimes it would trigger a memory. It could be a happy one, one filled with good things, but other times it would be something sad, something that Peeta didn’t want to remember. But he did regardless.

Peeta knew he had decorated Finnick and Annie’s wedding cake in District 13. But he had little memory of it. He knew it had happened. But he wasn’t at the wedding. ‘It’s probably for the best’, that’s what everyone had said. The drugs they were using to soothe Peeta seemed to cloud everything. Haymitch said he had done a good job. But that could have just Haymitch being kind. And yet, Peeta couldn’t remember Haymitch had ever been particularly kind to Peeta. He had always preferred Katniss over him, which was something Peeta had been resentful of at one time. For a moment before their first games until he realised, they could use it. For a while in District 13 until he realised it wasn’t that important. Decorating cakes was something intricate, delicate, personal. Peeta hadn’t had any opportunity to decorate anything special since being back home. Cheese buns. Sourdough. Tiger bread. Scones. They were simple, easy, formatted. He knew people would have birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations, but were they ready to celebrate them? Being the only baker in the district also came with more pressure, something Peeta hadn’t thought about.

Peeta had a little plan in his head, it was a silly one really, something that was so inconsequential to everything else that was happening. He wanted to re-open the bakery. He knew it would never be the same, nothing ever could. It wouldn’t have his mother dictating the kitchen, his father at the front of house, smiling at any passerby or customer, or Peeta and his brothers helping as much as they could between school and the wrestling competitions. Buildings were being build up again, and Peeta was sure the council would be willing to spare one for a bakery. It would be nice for people to have a place to go, for Peeta to have a real routine again. He hadn’t mentioned this to anyone else yet, almost too scared they would laugh in his face and tell him what a silly little idea it was. There was someone who Peeta did want to tell. He was sure she wouldn’t laugh at him. He was sure she would listen. He was sure she would convince him to do it.

The problem was Peeta still had no idea where he stood with Katniss. It has been a few weeks since she had kissed him. A few weeks since Katniss had made that move. A few weeks since Peeta had realised what was happening between the two of them. But this wasn’t the first time Katniss had done something Peeta never thought she would. The first kiss during their first games. The way she would look at him in that cave. Those long nights on the train during the Victory Tour. And some things were still blurred, confusing. Moments when Peeta wasn’t so sure if they had even happened. Had he remembered it wrong, was it just a dream? The little game, real or not real, it made things easier, about what had happened before. But not how he felt. Not how Katniss felt. He couldn’t work her out, but maybe he didn’t have to. The way Katniss and Peeta were acting around each other was almost normal. Almost, but not quite. As if the two felt the shift between them, something unspoken but they couldn’t face it. Would rather tiptoe around each other until it became too much. Peeta wasn’t sure he wanted that, not anymore.

Peeta’s house was quiet, no, not quiet, it was silent. Peeta had realised just how silent it was a few days after the snowstorm. They were trapped in Katniss’ house, which was fine by Peeta. He didn’t want to leave Katniss alone, and he was sure she didn’t want to be alone, that she wanted Peeta beside her. But the blizzard had calmed down, the snow started to melt away and Peeta knew he’d have to go home eventually. He promised Katniss he would be back, back soon, and it was clear by her expression that she didn’t want him to leave. Peeta didn’t want to either; time spent alone meant time spent with his nightmares. Time with the monsters, the memories that would never leave him. The things he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. He wouldn’t turn into Haymitch. Spending his days alone, drinking whatever he could find. Things had got better for Haymitch; he was at least trying. But it was hard for a leopard to change its spots. Was a life of alcohol and misery in store for Peeta too?

It wasn’t until late afternoon that the two of them sat down with the memory book. Peeta was right, it had been a while since either of them had worked on it, or even mentioned it. It wasn’t intentional from Katniss or Peeta. Although Katniss didn’t necessarily enjoy re-living everything that had happened, she knew how important it was for Peeta, and she wanted to help him. Even with all the time in the world, Katniss just hadn’t found a good moment to bring it up. And Peeta always seemed so busy. He was baking more regularly now, making sure to find time to make something for some usual customers. A trading system was in place in District 12, rather than the currency before. Peeta would often trade his bakes for more ingredients or paint supplies. As well as baking, Peeta would attend all the regular council meetings. He wasn’t an official member yet, which Katniss couldn’t understand. Peeta was the perfect candidate for the council. He was clever, kind, well-spoken, could articulate his thoughts about the future so clearly and he cared. He cared so much. But there was a part of Katniss that thought Peeta was afraid. Afraid to take too much responsibility, as if it was easier for him to sit by the side-lines, watching everyone else make the progress he knew he could help with. This irritated Katniss on Peeta’s behalf, she wanted to push him to do something about it and made a mental note to do so. Even with not being an official member, Peeta was involved in the rebuilding of the district, and spent many evenings working on plans on how to make it possible.

There was the painting and sketches too. Peeta didn’t openly admit it, but he had been painting more and more recently. He wasn’t trying to hide it from Katniss, he just wasn’t ready to share them all yet. The sketches he did for the memory book was different, it was something shared. But the other paintings, the things he saw in his nightmares, they were only for him. He didn’t want to scare Katniss, didn’t want her pity or her sadness. It wouldn’t be a regular thing, just whenever the inspiration came to him. Sometimes it was from the nightmares that would greet him every night. Other times it were the memories that would haunt him even during the day. Some were dark and clouded, so much so Peeta couldn’t even make sense of them. But it was almost like a release for him. Katniss had her hunting. Haymitch his drink. Peeta had these paintings.

The last person they had worked on had been Katniss’ father. Peeta only had vague memories of him. He remembered his father telling him a story about Katniss’ mother, but the man she married was only briefly mentioned. Katniss had described him so well, and so vividly, it was almost like Peeta did remember him. The one thing Katniss focused on was his laugh, and her smile when she remembered, that was something Peeta would never forget. Katniss praised Peeta on his sketch of her father, but it brought up some strange feelings. It wasn’t as if Katniss hadn’t applauded Peeta’s work before. No matter how terrifying or upsetting his paintings had been, she could always appreciate the beauty. But there was something different this time. This was her father, someone she loved and missed dearly. And Peeta had made her feel something for him again. It was special.

Peeta had let Katniss take the lead with who they worked on; it made the most sense as she remembered more than Peeta. Peeta wasn’t surprised that they seemed to surpass Prim and go straight to Finnick. Peeta knew Finnick was less painful that Prim, but still painful, nonetheless. His ‘sea green eyes’ as Katniss had put it filled Peeta’s brain. Finnick was someone Peeta remembered, some parts were blurred and didn’t quite make sense. Quiet and calm, then loud and swirling, like the waves Finnick was so used to. Peeta remembered his dark, ruffled hair and the way it would move along with Finnick and his trident. He remembered how his teeth glistened whenever he smiled. He remembered how popular Finnick was wherever he went. He remembered the unsuspected kindness Finnick showed them both. Katniss didn’t need to spend too much time speaking about Finnick, clearly understanding that Peeta could get a sense of what he wanted to sketch for their shared friend. Peeta couldn’t understand the things Finnick and Katniss had in common, just like he and Annie did.

Katniss walked over to the kitchen at one point, leaving Peeta to his sketch of the sea. She returned quickly, holding something in her hand. Once Peeta had finished the section he was working on, she slotted the polaroid photo onto the right-hand side of the page. It was Annie, and her son. Finnick’s son. Peeta nodded, as if to say he approved, and the two didn’t speak for a while. Katniss watched as Peeta scribbled all the details in his mind. When Peeta’s hand started to ache, he realised it was time to stop. Finnick’s page was filled with small details of him, his eyes, the sea, the trident, all sitting alongside the polaroid of the people who loved Finnick the most. Peeta glanced up to Katniss for her approval, and she gifted him a small smile.

Finnick was the only person they managed to work on that evening. It seemed to take it out of both of them. It was still raw. Peeta didn’t need the memory book to remember the tunnels, nor did he need it to be reminded of everything Finnick had done for Peeta. He would be forever indebted to him. He had saved him, countless times. And Peeta would never be able to repay the debt. Katniss seemed to understand this. She closed the memory book after a while, placing it on top of a cabinet sitting at the edge of the living room. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she motioned towards her bedroom. Following her lead, Peeta tidied up the supplies he was using, and dimmed the candlelight, carrying it towards Katniss, who blew out the last flicker of light, before pulling Peeta towards her bedroom.

Finnick visited Peeta that night. It was rare for anyone but Katniss to haunt Peeta in the night. His sea green eyes, the toned, golden skin, his bright smile. And then the screams. The water. The trident. But then he was gone, forever, as he would always be now. Peeta didn’t want him to go, he almost urged him to stay, to not leave. But Finnick couldn’t, and Peeta knew that.

Peeta’s usual nightmare then took centre stage. He could never escape it. Even during his time at the Capitol, when all he could hear were Johanna’s screams, that particular nightmare would always be present. Yes, others occurred, but they could never overpower the one, true nightmare Peeta would have. The one he had since he left the arena the first time. And the one he had every night since. Even knowing he couldn’t lose her now; those fears were always there. Logically, this nightmare wasn’t realistic. Dr Aurelius had told Peeta he could control the dreams if he tried hard enough. But Peeta couldn’t seem to master it. And yet, there was a part of him that didn’t want her to leave his thoughts, not even within the nightmares.

“Peeta…” It was her voice that broke the link between Peeta and what was haunting him that night. It was always her; he could never escape her and frankly, he didn’t want to. Katniss haunted his nightmares, visited him in his dreams. She filled his brain; she clouded his thoughts. Peeta couldn’t face it all without her. They needed each other. “Peeta!” Katniss had shouted his name this time, her face full of worry. She was sitting in front of him, her hands cupping his face. She was blinking rapidly; it was unclear how long she had been shouting his name.

“I’m sorry. Where-“ Peeta moved to sit up, but Katniss kept her hands on him, not wanting to let go. He still had his eyes closed, the nightmares still swirling around his head.

“A nightmare. I’ve never…”

“I told you. Mine aren’t loud, they’re quiet and…” Peeta was rocking ever so slightly, mumbling words to himself that Katniss couldn’t quite make out.  “I’m sorry. I need a minute.”

“OK.”

“I’m gonna get some water, do you want anything?”

“No.” Katniss whispered, as she shook her head. She watched as Peeta scrambled out of bed, he swayed as his walked, clearly adjusting to being in the living world again. Katniss waited for Peeta to come back. It seemed far longer than she had expected. After what seemed like hours, Katniss could hear the soft sound of Peeta’s feet walking from the kitchen back to her. His eyes were red, a little puffy too. He was holding the glass of water, filled to the brim. Katniss didn’t believe Peeta left for that. But he was walking as he normally would, just a small limp as a reminder of what the Games took from him. Even in darkness, the sight of Peeta walking towards her, back to her, filled her with this feeling. It wasn’t the hunger she had felt before, though she could admit to herself she felt that often enough. A longing maybe or something else. Something sweeter. Happier.

Katniss shifted, to make room for Peeta. He placed the glass on the nightstand, straightening it before he crawled into the bed. Without hesitation, Katniss moved towards Peeta’s body, and he took her in his arms. His arms tightly wrapped around her, clearly wanting to hold on extra tight. Feeling the vibrations of his breaths, Katniss found herself drifting back to sleep quickly. Her dreams were filled of him that night.

Katniss woke first in the morning. Peeta hadn’t let go of Katniss the entire night, which may have been why Katniss had slept so well. The best she had slept in months. She felt guilty; that Peeta had such a terrible night, and yet Katniss felt almost like herself again. She didn’t want to wake him, not straight away. He looked so peaceful, deep in his sleep. The morning sun escaped through the window, reflecting onto Peeta’s forehead. His light curls almost looked yellow. Katniss watched as he breathed in and out, so calm and quiet. It wasn’t until Katniss heard Buttercup sprinting around that she moved closer to Peeta. He started to stir, clearly aware of their close proximity.

“Peeta…”

“Hm?”

“Last night…your nightmare.”

“Katniss, do we have to? I’ve just woken up.” Peeta yawned, before rubbing his eyes. His curls were all over the place that morning. So much so, Katniss dragged her fingers through them, smoothing them down.

“So, you did sleep?”

“A few hours, I think. I couldn’t properly after... I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.”

“What did you want to ask?”

“What was it? Was it a bad one?”

Peeta shifted, moving to face Katniss. The two laid on either side of the bed, their bodies parallel to each other. Peeta gripped his pillow with his right hand but allowed his left to stroke Katniss’ forearm. They were still for a few moments, just watching each other. “It must have been…I don’t usually wake you. I can’t remember much, really. Just…”

“Yes?”

“You weren’t there, here. But when I woke, there you were.” Peeta forced himself to smile. Katniss was there, and Peeta didn’t want her to go. He’d hold onto her as tight as he could, in his nightmares too.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Peeta.”

“Katniss…” Peeta sighed, not out of anger or frustration, but of desperation. He longed for Katniss to utter those words. Deep down, he knew she wouldn’t leave, but so many parts of him couldn’t quite believe it. But Katniss admitted it. She’d told him what she felt, what she’d wanted with just those words. Katniss didn’t need to say anything else, that had sealed it.

“Ssh, it’s still early. You could get some more sleep.”

“I don’t think so, why would I waste such a lovely morning?” Stretching out his arms and legs, Peeta shifted to sit upright, leaning against the bedframe. He smiled as Katniss watched him, he eyes following his.

“It wouldn’t be wasting it.”

“I’d much rather stay awake with you.”

“OK.” Katniss moved to lay on Peeta’s chest, trying to soothe him, if she could.

“Katniss…we do need to get up soon.”

“Not yet.” Nuzzling her face into Peeta’s body, the two laid still. Katniss drifted, not quite asleep, but not completely awake either. The bright morning sun seemed to dim once she came to again, indicating it had been some time. Katniss’s forehead moved to sit just below Peeta’s nose. She dragged her lips up inches away from Peeta’s chin. He could feel her quick breaths float against his skin. Peeta knew what she was doing, she was waiting for his agreement that this what he wanted. Of course it was. Peeta had longed for it. From the moment Katniss and Peeta sat in the car riding to the station. From the moment he watched her interview with Caesar. From the moment she had found him covered in dirt and muck. From the moment she nursed him back to health in the cave. From the moment they were announced victors of the 74th Hunger Games. Even before, seeing her sit out in the rain, starving. Watching her sing the Valley Song. Eating her squirrels his father would trade each week.

Everything was different now; for both of them. Peeta and Katniss could allow themselves to heal, could allow themselves to open up and they would do it together. Peeta saw that now, as did Katniss.

Peeta lifted Katniss’ chin with his index finger, allowing her lips to find his. This kiss was slow, it dragged on and on, Peeta didn’t know how long exactly. But Katniss didn’t stop, and nor did Peeta. The two not wanting to part. Her lips were soft, a cherry-like taste travelled from Katniss to Peeta. Her breaths quicken as Peeta pulled her in closer, the tip of their noses brushing against each other. Katniss ran her fingers through Peeta’s curls again, pulling on the ends. Peeta’s hands found the back of Katniss’ neck, tracing his finger along her skin. It was Peeta who pulled away first, smiling to himself to the sight of Katniss. Her cheeks reddened, clearly embarrassed. But Peeta didn’t care, he liked that about Katniss. A memory appeared, one from the first games. He remembered the way she had kissed him in the cave. Remembered how lost he had felt before. He remembered teasing her about how peaceful she looked in her sleep. How her frowning seemed to disappear.

As he mused over this memory, his thumbs stroked the pinkness in Katniss’ cheeks, slowly disappearing as she opened her eyes again. Peeta didn’t need to play the ‘real or not real’ game. He knew the answer already.

[mscresta]

One hell of an interview. //

Finnick x tribute reader.

Cw: anxiety, comments about beauty and youth, mention of death and fighting.

———

Read part one and 2 here:

one’ and two’

The Capitol dressing room was alive with activity—stylists flitting around with last-minute touches, assistants holding mirrors, and the faint hum of voices echoing through the halls. You sat in front of the vanity, your reflection staring back at you, looking far more composed than you felt. The shimmering outfit you wore was tailored perfectly, another creation from your stylist that echoed the ocean theme of the parade.

But as you ran your fingers over the fabric, you felt that familiar weight in your chest, the same pressure you’d felt on the train and in the chariot. The Capitol might adore you right now, but you couldn’t shake the knowledge of what came next.

“You’re quiet,” Finnick’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you glanced at him through the mirror. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face. “I’m not used to seeing you this serious. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Just… trying to figure out how to survive another Capitol spectacle.”

Finnick chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. “It’s just an interview,” he said lightly. “If you survived the parade without tripping, you’ll survive this.”

You gave him a look. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

He crouched down beside you, so you were at eye level. “You did more than survive the parade. The Capitol loves you. They’ll eat up whatever you give them tonight. All you have to do is flash that smile and pretend you’re not terrified.”

“I wasn’t smiling last night,” you muttered, your fingers tightening on the edge of the vanity. “I was just trying to breathe.”

“And they loved it,” he said, his tone softer now. “Trust me, you’re doing better than you think. Besides, you’ve got me in your corner. That has to count for something.”

It was hard to argue with the confidence in his voice. You glanced down at your lap, where your fingers brushed against the little carved fish he’d given you. It was smooth now from how often you’d held it, a small comfort against the chaos of the Capitol.

Before you could respond, your stylist appeared, fussing over your hair and making sure everything was perfect. Finnick stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes on you. As the stylist finished, she placed her hands on your shoulders and smiled at you in the mirror. “You’re ready,” she said, though the words felt more like a command than reassurance.

When they called your name to go onstage, you froze for a moment, the noise from the crowd hitting you like a wall. Finnick must have noticed the hesitation because he stepped close enough to whisper, “Remember what I said—confidence. Even if you have to fake it.”

You nodded, standing up and forcing your legs to move. As you walked toward the stage, Finnick’s voice followed, low and teasing. “Don’t be too dazzling up there. I’d hate to lose the spotlight.”

You rolled your eyes, but his words pulled a reluctant smile from you. Maybe, just maybe, you could do this.

When the bright lights of the stage hit you, the roar of the crowd almost swallowed you whole. Caesar Flickerman’s beaming face greeted you, and you felt your heart pound just as it had in the parade. But you straightened your shoulders, forcing the fear down, and stepped into the spotlight.

The Capitol might have owned the arena, but here—on this stage—you could own them. At least for a little while.

Caesar welcomed you with his usual flair, extending his arms as the crowd roared. “Ladies and gentlemen, from District 4, the tribute who’s been making waves—let’s give them another Capitol welcome!”

The applause was deafening, and you forced a smile as you made your way to the seat beside him. Caesar was a master at his job, his charm and energy a lifeline for anyone who stepped into the spotlight. Still, your heart raced as you sat down, the bright lights making it hard to see past the first row of Capitol citizens.

“So,” Caesar began, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye, “you’ve already captured the Capitol’s attention. The parade last night was one for the books—how did it feel to have all eyes on you?”

You hesitated, gripping the armrest for a moment before answering. “It was… surreal,” you said honestly. “I didn’t expect that kind of reaction. It’s overwhelming, but I’m trying to take it one step at a time.”

Caesar nodded as if he completely understood. “Overwhelming, but you handled it with such grace. And let’s not forget that stunning outfit—you practically stole the show! Tell me, does confidence come naturally to you, or is it something you’ve had to work on?”

A flicker of uncertainty passed through you, but you quickly remembered Finnick’s advice. Be bold. “I think confidence is like swimming,” you said, your tone steady. “Sometimes you dive in headfirst, and sometimes you’re just trying not to drown. Either way, you keep moving.”

The crowd laughed and cheered, clearly entertained, and Caesar’s grin widened. “Well said! You’re already a natural at this. Now, tell me—what’s the secret to standing out in a sea of tributes? How do you make sure you’re remembered?”

You hesitated for just a beat, your eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Finnick, who stood near the edge of the stage, watching. His posture was casual, but there was something in his expression—a hint of pride, maybe—that gave you the courage to push forward. “I think the key is to just… be yourself. People can see through an act, but if you’re genuine, they’ll remember you for that.”

Caesar clapped his hands together, delighted. “Ah, authenticity! A rare quality in the Capitol, wouldn’t you agree?” He gestured to the audience, earning more laughter and applause. “But speaking of authenticity, I’ve heard you’ve got a pretty interesting mentor. What’s it like working with the famous Finnick Odair?”

The crowd erupted in excited murmurs, clearly eager for gossip, and you felt your face heat up. Finnick raised an eyebrow at you from the sidelines, a smirk playing at his lips. You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual. “He’s… helpful,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “He’s given me a lot of advice, and, well, he’s definitely good at keeping things interesting.”

Caesar leaned in, clearly loving the tension. “Interesting, you say? Care to elaborate?”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “Let’s just say he’s got a way with words.”

The crowd roared with laughter, and Caesar nodded knowingly. “Oh, we all know that! Finnick’s charm is legendary, after all. But don’t let him hog all the attention—you’re holding your own just fine.”

The rest of the interview went by in a blur of laughter and applause. By the time it was over, you felt a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. As you stepped off the stage, Finnick was waiting for you, arms crossed and that ever-present smirk on his face.

“‘A way with words,’ huh?” he teased, falling into step beside you.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t get used to the compliments.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said smoothly, leaning in just enough that his voice was a low murmur meant only for you. “I’ve already gotten used to you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let him see the effect his words had on you. Instead, you quickened your pace, pretending not to notice the satisfied look on his face. The Capitol had their show, but it seemed Finnick had his own game—and whether you liked it or not, you were part of it now.

Repost and likes are very appreciated! Keep in mind that I read All comments and request on my page, so if anyone has ideas or requests for this series let me know.

I will say this series is planned too have at least 10 parts? I want it too end with the reader and finnick in district 13. 

[allisluv]

blurb for finnick and the reader’s first public kiss in the arena? they’ve been secretly dating and the capitol has always seen them as ‘best friends.’ one night finnick couldn’t help him seeing her look so in the moonlight and he just pulled her in for a kiss.

shoreline.

summary: finnick kisses you in the arena, outing your relationship to the public.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!victor!reader

content warnings: not proofread and probably not my best work, mostly fluff

The waves crash against the shore and the foam soaks the ankles of your wetsuit. You had offered to take the first watch while Peeta and Katniss slept, and Finnick had insisted on staying up with you.

Your fingers trace shapes in the damp sand and Finnick tilts his head to lock eyes with you.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?" Finnick asks, reaching up and running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones.

You squirm under his intense gaze. It's like he can look right through you and see into your soul. "Nothing," you whisper innocently. Finnick fixes you with a look that says he believes otherwise. You manage to hold your ground for another few seconds before relenting. "I hate it here," you sigh.

"I know honey," he offers you a sad smile and falls quiet, running his thumb over your knuckles. "Would a kiss make you feel better? Cause you look real gorgeous in the moonlight baby," he grins.

Your eyes go wide and you itch to put some distance between the two of you. "People are watching," you point at the cameras hidden in the tall trees.

"Let them," Finnick shrugs. "I love you, honey. I'm tired of pretending I don't."

Your heart flutters in your chest and your insides turn to goo. "You are such a sap," your lips quirk upwards into a smile and you pull him into a kiss.

[justafewberries]

i can't believe people have subscribed to my fics. you want to know when i post? not just stumble back upon my work? you want to come back on purpose?

[triassictriserratops]

so here's a thought for any Everlark/Greek mythology loving writers who might want to take this one on: (note, I'm taking a TON of liberties with the mythology to make it also fit the Everlark of it all)

Peeta Mellark - Hephaestus. Cast out of Olympus by his mother because of his disability. Created out of revenge by the mother who wanted to punish her husband for creating the daughter he wanted so badly.

Katniss Everdeen - Artemis/Aglaea. Peeta's second wife following his failed marriage to the Goddess of Beauty, who was in love with Peeta's sibling, instead. Goddess of the hunt, nature, healing, and care of children.

Delly Cartwright - Aphrodite, Goddess of love and beauty, forced by the king of Gods to marry Peeta, but in love with the Goddess of Wisdom & Warfare instead - Peeta's sister.

Madge Undersea - Athena/Ares, Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare. Created by Peeta's father for want of a daughter

Primrose Everdeen - Apollo, God(dess) of music and prophecy. Sister to Artemis.

those are the main ones I can think of story wise but I feel like there's a lot more room to play around -

Finnick - Poseidon

Haymitch - Dionysus

Asterid - Hestia

anyways...if this sparks anything in you...HAVE AT!

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights masterlist (completed)

“gonna hold my breath until you're here 'cause i can't breathe without you."

summary:

all the stars aligned, and it was you.

word count: 118k (have fun)

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.

authors note: hi again!! its raye back with another coryo series (shocking absolutely no one). i know i said i wanted to stray from the plot so i wanted to see what i could do with tribute!reader that's not just a copy-paste of lucy gray's story (which i eat up every time btw, no tea no shade) so this one is going to be very different from the original and something totally different from LTPF!! i hope you guys love this as much as you loved that one!!

season one

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

season two

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two

season three

twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

epilogue.

oneshots

signifying nothing (prologue)

moodboards

black friday

edits

i feel it

playlist // pinterest board

all your thoughts // let’s talk ab it

masterlists // fic recs // nav (please read!)

[norsevvy]

"AFTERGLOW" is now officially up on ao3!

the fic is an alternate universe, with the premise of the sunset four being offered the same deal as peeta and katniss during the 74th games—all four of them can win the 50th hunger games together

the fic starts immediately post-chariot crash, and is from maysilee's pov! lots of focuses on found family ("found family"), developing friendships, angst, grief and guilt, and forging relationships during the impossible situations the games put you in

[ @m-eowdy , @heartforeyes , @fionas-frenzy , @strrawberrywaffles ]

[saptashati]

“You can talk to me if you want. But if you don’t, I can finish this and leave you alone. Whatever you want.” He smiles, soft and open. His eyes are so earnest.

After everything I said—he’s here because he wants to make me feel better. A hot flush of shame rises up in me.

I hesitate. I’m not used to talking about these things. Even with Gale, our anxieties are shared silently, without much detail. I won’t burden my mother or Prim. And in Twelve, hardship is met with indifference—everyone has their own.

But then I remember: when I was starving, there was a boy who threw me some bread.

each time you happen to me all over again | Chapter 6-7

Just as Effie Trinket’s hand reached for the slips, a slight gust of wind stirred the air, and a spirit tinkled a wind chime—its ringing whispering a different fate into the breeze.

In District 12, the Games never come for Katniss Everdeen or Peeta Mellark. But survival still does. And so does everything else.

(AU — Never Reaped. This would have happened anyway.)

[cheriladycl01]

The 7th Hunger Games

In this series I’m creating OC victors (and using the OG victors) and showcasing Victors 1 - 74! Any characters here apart from know ones in the show is strictly fanon! And I’m just having fun and being creative while I try to work out if I want to write for Haymitch or Finnick first!

So welcome to the 7th Hunger Games ...

Name: Revolt Ash

District: 11

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Height: 6'3

Looks: Dark Skin, Afro Black Hair, Brown Eyes

Family:

Ream Ash (Younger Sister) 12

Conner Ash (Father)

Eloise Ash (Mother)

Occupation:

Victor of the 7th Hunger Games

Owner of a Flower Shop

Revolution Starter

Status: Dead as of 74th Games

Home:

District 11

Weapon: Hunting Knives

Arena: Amphitheatre

What happened in the games:

Where it was in an Amphitheatre the first 9 games were always pretty short as there wasn't really any entertainment value at this point and there wasn't any hiding places as such. His district Partner looked so much like his little sister that he was ruthless when it came to protecting her, he wanted to help her win the games without any blood on her hands. However when the careers ran for them and got them in a corner of the theatre she got tourtured and he locked in, killing the remaining tributes there and sitting with his ditrict partner until she died.

Post Games:

He opened up a flower shop in memory off his district partner who was named after a rare flower from 11. He made bunches for the Capitol, with hidden messages in them for the districts and made free bunches for the fallen tributes each year.

Taglist:

@dragon-in-a-stew

[makesitprecious]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 ― t.h.g/marvel mashup

Karen, you're not originally from the Capitol? No, I'm not Trish. I moved here from District 11. Ohh, Agriculture, it's a pretty district, I've been there. Yes, it . . . gets small fast. You were hired to be a district escort, but you asked for a different district than 11? I believe in what Matt and Foggy are doing. They really want what's best for the tributes. It's not just about the games. They help out a lot in their district all year round. The role of escort has changed over time, what do you do? I do the reaping, obviously. We bring the kids back to the capitol and it's sort of like --- being a parent in a way, for a while. I help them most with their interview, but a lot of that is the stylists too. Then . . . they go to the arena. I try to earn them sponsors and supplies while they're there. Escorts actually do more during a victory tour than any other time. What if you don't have a victor? Then I take them home.

When an unusual amount of bodies — including a Gamemaker — begin showing up in the Capitol shortly before the annual Hunger Games, an unlikely group of people band together across their Districts to solve the mystery. 🔍